#that was a mess i am so sorry anon

[chalkrub]

nonono i love his randomly shaped antlers they fit his vibe perfectly. chaotic kind of man. Welcome To My Twisted Antlers

you are of course right, i should just commit to it and make them even gnarlier. it's an artistic choice and not a consequence of me being too lazy to figure out antlers.

[yuanology]

Hey, i love your writing! Could you please write for

M!reader, a seemingly innocent guy, though appearances can be deceiving. Then there's Geto, who initially dropped subtle hints about having feelings for Reader. But frustration mounts as Geto's attempts go unnoticed, with Reader simply viewing their interactions as friendly. Eventually, Geto's patience wears thin, especially since Gojo and reader have been getting along well. As jealousy and frustration brew within Geto, he unknowingly directs it at reader through snarky and bratty comments. Reader, though patient, can only take so much. They finally snap, (Geto is surprised because reader is always so soft spoken and sweet) giving Geto a piece of their mind and putting him in his place.

Can i please be 👁️ anon?

welcome 👁️ anon! i forgot to actually write smut in this! so have a really long build-up and hopefully a part two in the future, holy shit. i am so sorry. (suguru's characterisation is also a bit weird here . i can't put a finger on it but my brain is not clicking rn. i am so sorry, 👁️ anon. i'll do better next time. please forgive me for this failure just this once.)

geto suguru was not an impatient man but you were an entirely different matter. you always had been.

there was something about you that drove your existence apart from all of the others— a steadiness in your presence, a constance in your friendship with him. you kept him grounded, an anchor and a light in the darkness that came with being a jujutsu sorcerer. had it not been for you, suguru thought he might have gone rogue so many times ago in the past.

"suguru."

ah, speak of the angel (yes, he knew that wasn't how the saying went, but you weren't the devil. how could you be, with your smile and your careful hands? you were an angel, sent from above to keep him from drowning), you slid into the seat next to him. as usual, you smiled at him, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you did, before you dug into your meal.

suguru let his gaze linger on you for a few short seconds before he turned his face to eat his meal, too.

lunch was a contented affair, filled with small talk and the occasional sound of your laughter. there was something domestic, suguru would like to think, about the way you stole his chicken and he snatched your meatballs in compensation. suguru could hardly think of a time he had ever been this comfortable with anyone but you. you had him lowering his guards without ever having to ask him at all, an inane talent he doubted you even noticed. but it was there, and you were a miracle worker that never failed to hold him through his worst and his best.

so, really, it shouldn't come as a surprise that suguru would have to share you with others, too.

specifically, one fucking annoying gojo satoru.

don't misunderstand him, he loved satoru. satoru was his best friend, his one and only, his steady companion. they had been through hell and back together, shoving each other to further heights and hauling one another out of the deepest pits. he cared for satoru, loved him in every way a man could love his best friend. suguru loved his friend.

but jesus christ, could satoru get on his nerves sometimes.

because the thing is. the thing is that satoru knew—he knew the way suguru looked at you, he knew the way suguru spoke about you, he knew the way suguru's heart beat and ached for you. satoru knew all about the depths of his affections for you, every single beautiful and ugly thing, because that was what you do with your best friend, right? you trust them.

backstabber, suguru thought bitterly, shoving a now-acrid tasting meatball into his mouth.

because there satoru was, his arms thrown around you in ways that suguru could never touch you, his jokes making you laugh in a way that left suguru feeling ripped between wanting to watch your smile and punch satoru in the face hard enough that he'd be bleeding for days for stealing that sight from you and leaving suguru nothing but the left-overs to pick after.

in spite of everything, suguru was hardly ever really envious of his best friend. yes, there were moments where he wished satoru would get off his high-horse and someone would knock some sense into him (and that responsibility, more often than not, fell on suguru's shoulders), but he was never really jealous of satoru. there was never a need for it, not when he knew the worst and the lows of being gojo satoru.

however, in that moment, watching satoru cling onto you and make you grin, suguru understood what it meant to truly be seething with jealousy. that should be me.

the rest of the day passed by in a hazy blur after that. suguru vaguely recollected leaving lunch early, reciting robotically that he had somewhere to be urgently and ignoring the knowing grin satoru shot his way or the downwards curl of your lips. he thought he might have given you the cold shoulder at some point or another, the words leaving his lips a little sharp and a little cruel, but he didn’t remember what he said. you might have recoiled, you might have not. suguru couldn’t remember.

(and he didn’t want to remember— he didn’t want to remember the way he had turned his face away when he heard the sound of your voice calling out his name. he didn’t want to remember the way his shoulders had knocked against yours a little too hard as you passed each other by in the hallways. he didn’t want to remember the way your face dropped when he took a seat on a table across the room from your usual one. he didn’t want to remember because if he did, then he would have to remember all the tiny ways he hurt you. papercuts still stung like a bitch, after all.)

then, one day became another, and another became a week, and a week became a month—

and the end of the month brought you.

a beautiful, brilliant, furious apparition of you—one that stormed up to him and, without warning or another word, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hauled him bodily after you. his feet dragged against the floor, his toes catching onto the heels of his own choes before he could struggle to right himself.

“what are you—” he began.

“shut up,” you interrupted him.

cleverly, suguru did.

he didn’t say a damn thing even as you slammed the door to your dormroom open, shoving him inside without another word. his lips parted in confusion when you began to lock the door behind you, but he still said nothing as you grabbed him by the wrist to direct him further into your room. he didn’t say a single word until you shoved him onto your bed, his back flat on the mattress.

“what?” he tried again.

“you’ll shut up and listen to me when i talk,” you said, your voice leaving no room for arguments. suddenly, you were looming over him, straddling his waist as your open palm pressed over his chest; right above his pounding heart. “do you understand?”

suguru swallowed thickly as he nodded. this was a side of you he hadn’t even known existed; rough and unafraid, your hands on him meant to firmly rule rather than to guide gently as you usually would. even in your anger, you had never been anything else but firm—steady and stubborn.

fuck, he thought wisely to himself. i'm in deep trouble.

but when your hand found the collar of his shirt, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, he finds that he didn't mind it. not in the slightest.

because you had always been beautiful, but you were damningly ephemereal now, peering down at him with something burning carved into your irises; bold and brilliant, striking and inescapable. suguru had never felt so wonderfully trapped before, caught in your stare and unable to look away.

"satoru told me everything," you began, your assessing gaze never once leaving him. "i'm disappointed, suguru."

static clogged his head immediately, all thoughts clearing from his head into an unbearable haze. dirty little traitor. his throat felt tight, his heart stopping in his chest. excuses climbed up the back of his mouth, tasting like bile and the curses that he swallows, and every single little ugly thing that had ever crossed his mind. explanations defining his inner-most thoughts, apologies creasing into the space between his teeth. nothing came out, nothing but a strangled sound; caught between a whimper and a whine. weak, pathetic.

your head tilted at the noise, your gaze sharpening into something vicious. "you should have told me yourself," you said. "i never took you for a coward, suguru."

suguru couldn't help the weak, strangled thing that escaped his throat. he thought that it might have been a piece of his heart. "i'm sorry," he whispered, before he could think better of it.

the sigh that you let out was low, almost vicious in its nature. suguru hid his wince by turning his head, the side of his face half-buried into the sheets. before he could succeed, however, your hand caught his chin, forcing him to turn his gaze to meet your eyes once again.

"look at me when i'm talking to you, suguru." your voice sent a series of goosebumps rippling up his skin. he shuddered, trying to shake it off, but he couldn't when your grip on his face was firm. he still tried to nod a bit, wanting to appease you.

"i'm sorry," suguru rasped out once again.

"stop apologising."

all of a sudden, his forehead was flicked. the motion was so familiar in the face of such an unfamiliar circumstance that suguru couldn't help but blink, startled. for a moment, suguru couldn't think, couldn't do anything—much less suppress the faint smile that appeared on his lips. perhaps not much had changed after all. perhaps you could still have him as your friend, still care for him the way you cared for him before.

"so," he started slowly, "you're not angry at me?"

"i'm pissed at you," you told him bluntly.

before he could wilt, though, your grip on his chin became a gentle caress to his jaw, and suguru felt his whole world tilting upside down once again. your face was close to his, too close, and suguru felt like he couldn't breathe at the proximity.

"i am so, so angry at you, suguru. you should have told me everything sooner. i can't believe you made me wait so long just for this. all your attitude as of late, all your snark and sass, that was just a defence mechanism, wasn't it?" your voice was cutting as you picked apart his brain, dissecting all of his secret truths with all the precision of a surgeon's knife. "you got jealous—and instead of talking to me, you decided to push me away."

your voice was a low murmur, not meant to be anything seductive but still sending a sharp thrill up to suguru's monkey brain all the same. all he could think of was the curl of your smile—secretive, knowing, like you were in on some secret joke that he wasn't—and the way you were looking at him now—like a predator who had his hunt cornered—and how suguru couldn't do anything but take anything that you doled out.

fuck, that's so hot.

"i'm sorry," he said again, dutiful and polite.

and for a moment, simply a nanosecond, he caught a fissure in your exterior; that softness bleeding out for a moment before the cracks smoothened itself out. even so, that split-second was enough for suguru to realise oh. he's not actually angry at me. because all of this, he knew now, was part of the game that you were playing with him; a theatrical dramatic act to compensate for the weeks of silence you got from his end.

your head tilted slowly, dangerously, as if you're assessing him, and the newfound knowledge that you like were made a shiver run down his spine. because you wanted this, you wanted him too, even if you haven't said those words out loud. you craved him, and that single piece of knowledge was enough for suguru to feel like he was going to break himself apart and meld himself together until he fit all and every single one of your wishes; until he became perfect just for you.

suguru's smile was small, placating in the way he knew you hated it. "forgive me?" he asked, practically simpering.

you caught onto what he was trying to do—of course, you did, you always did—and you threw your head back in a sharp laugh. "i don't know, suguru." your smile was mean, dangerous, and suguru almost fainted on the spot. fuck. "do you think you deserve my forgiveness?"

all of suguru's bravado melted in that moment as he felt like a miserably delighted pile of limbs and bones and a beating heart that thumped and echoed and lived just for youyouyou. "no," he said, his voice coarse, rough with his own admission. his hand moved to rest on your knees, not reaching higher because he knew better than to touch you more at a time like this. he didn't deserve it yet. "but let me show you." let me deserve the taste of you, let me deserve to feel what it means to worship you.

your lips curled into a smirk, and suguru felt as if he was going to die right then and there. miraculously, he managed to stay alive just long enough to watch you crawl off of him, standing by the edge of the bed, your gaze still following him like you were going to eat him alive.

"hands and knees, suguru," you said. "you better earn it."

geto suguru was not an impatient man but in order to satisfy you, no time in the world was ever enough.

[angeart]

How dare Link correctly predict my reaction to teases, how dare (<3) YES I wanna know what prompted the upset, what well meaning thing went so wrong D: And that bit about still hoping to be loved breaks my heart for them

-🎀

the bit about still hoping to be loved broke my heart too, and that's why i needed to include it <3

so, about hermits wanting to help them. one smaller example is them taking a look at scar's tattered wings and suggesting that maybe they could help fix them. which is good!

but this comes after scar having his wings like this for about a year, and it took a long time for him to learn to accept them as they are. he's no longer ashamed of them, seeing them simply as a part of himself now. (the same way his scars have always been)

and, sure, he will still take a chance at having them healed, but it still rubs him wrong, in a way. even though it's a kind, well-meaning offer. because it proposes that he needs to be fixed.

but a whole big issue stems from something else.

we know scar and grian have changed.

grian, in particular, flinches a lot and seems scared. scar, on the other hand, often shields grian, and calls on his vex traits to intimidate the danger away, showing he's not afraid to fight. (he is afraid. he's constantly afraid.) and they're both awfully codependent, clinging to each other and isolating from everyone else.

[1,7k rambles and ~3,2k rp snippets below the cut]

one of the things they leaned into in that other world was their hybrid traits. and they show in the way they interact with each other, you know? the way they express trust and love and know what the other one needs.

well, scar is a vex.

we know there's a mating bite, but that's not everything. him and grian indulge in a lot of biting and blood related stuff. all consensual! grian is a little freak so he likes it!

it's something the two of them do, privately and intimately. it's safe, it's fun, it's theirs. them being insanely in love and ready to give all of themselves over. lose all of control on both sides, at least for a moment, in a world that hardly allows such a thing.

but here's the issue: the others don't know anything about any of it. they don't know what scar and grian have been through. they don't know anything about vex instincts or mating rituals. they don't understand anything about this new thing.

so when they see grian timid, bruised and bitten? and they know that scar seems more violent now, sharp-fanged and clawed?

let's just say they get concerned. and stage a bit of an intervention.

they just want to make sure that grian is okay! it... should be a good thing. except they've separated them and are now cornering grian, asking all these questions and voicing all these assumptions. and it's a bit awful, actually.

grian is pressed into having to explain that yeah, actually, he wanted all of that. that it's love.

but him naming the so obvious damage love just rings more alarm bells. and maybe someone asks him if it's a form of self harm, to allow that to happen to him? like, if grian seeks it out, is it self destructive? is that why he craves it?

and sort of, him and scar spiral about this in different ways.

grian struggles with untangling his way out of it, because what if they're right? what if he subconsciously sought harm? but he liked it? is it wrong to enjoy it? he knows that he had his moments when he was actively trying to bring himself damage. mostly aimed at his wings—plucking out his feathers and such. but is this just another thing like that? a substitute damage of sorts? was he just oblivious this whole time?

grian never had a previous relationship experience, so he really can't tell what is love. where does it end and Something Bad begins? he associates the bites with love, but is that bad? is he wrong? would it feel different if someone else showed him that love is something else? did he just manipulate himself into feeling like this and now he's in too deep?

at least he knows scar would never hurt him if grian says no. if grian doesn't want it. but... if grian wants it... is it self destructive? is that what it means? or maybe he was just chasing the aftermath? the soft care (that scar'd offer regardless)?

his mind is a mess and he can't figure out what his real feelings in this all are. he doesn't know how to figure it out. he gets really confused and worried and scared. (he's terrified that they're right, not necessarily for himself, but because of what that'd do to scar.) (he's scared that scar will blame himself over this. that no matter the outcome, this is inevitably going to mess something up between the two of them.)

in the meanwhile, scar feels like a monster. like maybe he was doing something wrong this whole time. was he enabling something horrible? was he genuinely hurting grian this whole time, unaware?

because he's a vex, and it makes sense to want this on his end, but grian is an avian, and... maybe scar should've questioned it more? shouldn't have been so eager to indulge? did he do something irreparably cruel without meaning to?

through this all, he reassures grian it's okay to take a break from it, or even to completely stop. it's fine! it's always been fine! but despite that, their feelings continue to spiral, caught in a maze they can't escape.

it used to be so simple. back in the vex commune. scar never had to doubt himself and the way they express their love. not when it came to this.

and now suddenly it seems so different. so vile and wrong and horrible. people are genuinely concerned and scar and grian wonder, separately, if maybe they're right to be?

... eventually they both hurtle towards a breaking point. and scar decides he needs to talk to someone about it. and grian decides he needs to be alone for a moment, becoming overwhelmed, needing some space to think.

i really want to tell you about what happens in the talk scar has with the others, but i can't. not quite yet.

anyway, this is where the breakdowns come in. (yes. multiple.)

first is scar's during the conversation he has. he gets to hear a lot of good, wise, reassuring things, but ultimately, he still needs to hear from grian. he's been trying so hard not to influence grian's conclusion to all of this, but. he needs to know grian's thoughts, once grian is ready.

grian is not ready. he's been growing so emotionally worn out from all of this, so volatile and fragile. it's all a bit Too Much.

scar messages him, checking up on him.

are you okay?

and

i'm here waiting for you whenever you come back

and

but i'll come find you if you want me to

and

i love you

... but here's the thing, right? neither scar nor grian are used to comms anymore. so grian doesn't read any of that.

they regress back to what they know.

scar howls.

grian chirps.

and only then does scar's comm ping.

come.

zero hesitation, scar unfolds his wings and jumps off the balcony, rushing towards where that chirp came from. he's being called. he's being wanted.

he'd go anywhere for grian.

he finds grian perched atop a tree. struggles to climb up, but never falters. because grian's now starting to cry, and scar needs to be there.

tucked safely into scar's gentle, loving arms, grian breaks down.

--

with a hitched sob, grian falls forwards into scar's arms, burrowing easily into the warmth and familiarity and security.

he wants to say he's sorry. he's sorry this is so hard for him. he's sorry he can't untangle this; sorry he can no longer tell which are his feelings and which are just things people have suggested he might feel. he's sorry he's making this so difficult. he's sorry he's worrying everyone.

but words evade him as scar's arms provide just enough safety for his guards to crumble lower, making him just sob instead.

--

and believe it or not, somewhere in the midst of this (hey do have a proper talk, if a bit tear-drenched) is scar's second breakdown. (grian's time to hold him!!!) that's where the rp snippet in the previous ask is from. and you'll get more of that in a second.

first i just need to tease the aftermath, because i'm a menace.

after crying and comforting their hearts out, they fly(!!!) back. there's immense relief to wind in grian's feathers, and a dangerous edge of the feeling of freedom it brings, wanting to soothe all the cracks on his soul... but the truth is, his soul is still cracked. and he's still depleted. he knows he's still hovering over something so incomprehensibly fragile. that the smallest prod will set him off and break him again.

they arrive at their nest—scar first, to warn their company not to ask questions, grian second.

it doesn't stop it from happening. grian was right: the smallest thing can set him off.

so he has another breakdown, possibly a bigger one, drawing on far deeper hurt that screams and tears at his heart. and plunges all three other people in the room into breakdowns of their own <3333

(yes that's the part we can't talk about. yet.)

aNYWAY!!! how about some rp bits.

---------------

SCAR

Despite Grian’s crying being entirely contagious— or perhaps Scar is just simply too empathetic and emotional himself— Scar’s had practice with consoling his sweet bird. He knows what he ought to do here. 

He tightens his hold until it’s snug and secure, then pressed a few little kisses to whatever part of Grian’s head he can reach.

And then he talks.

“I knew you’d be up in a tree somewhere.” His voice wobbles a bit, but it’s alright. “I wanted to give you some time… I missed you though. Like immediately.”

He chuckles softly, knowing their bond borders on codependent, even if it’s something they’ve worked on since they’ve gotten home. Still, it’s okay to poke fun at it, he thinks. It’s okay to admit the truth.

--

GRIAN

grian's sobs quiet down a little as scar talks, energy redirected to hook into the familiar rumble of his slightly quivery voice, sniffling as he listens to what scar has to say. 

it's sometimes hard to decipher the meaning of sentences when he gets like this, but scar doesn't seem to expect an answer; he's not asking him anything, and grian's grateful for being given time, a grace period where he can just cling and cry and calm down while scar holds him. 

he laugh-sobs at the note that it was obvious he'd be in a tree. he's given scar a lot of hard time in the past until he figured out that lesson, but now he always knows unfailingly where to search when grian's heart needs him after cowardly isolation.

he comes every time. he comes and he finds him and he holds him. 

grian sniffles, despondent, burrowing tighter in. he chirps a little to encourage scar to go on, to keep talking; the sound of it is shaky, about to fall apart to pieces, but he thinks it still counts. it's still something. a participation, not leaving scar stranded and alone in this.

--

OK LOOK WE HAVE TO SKIP AHEAD HERE BECAUSE [REDACTED] REASONS

--

GRIAN

grian hums again, fond and soft, slumped against scar with utmost trust. and then he finally says it. "'m sorry."

--

SCAR

"Hey, none of that, mister," Scar says, shaking his head into Grian's hair in more of a no than a nuzzle now. "It was a lot, it's okay. You needed a moment."

He places another kiss.

"And you knew I'd be here in a heartbeat when you were ready, right?" Scar grins sheepishly.

--

GRIAN

grian's hands trace idle patterns on scar's back as he gets comforted by words and another kiss. he closes his eyes, taking it in, before replying with a soft little "yeah."

-- 

SCAR

Scar purrs at the affection, openly so. "Doin' a little better now?"

--

GRIAN

grian nods, still right against scar, clingily pressed into him. "yeah, i... yeah."

--

SCAR

Scar doesn't budge, not interested in releasing his darling bird just yet. "...what's on your mind?" he prompts softly, hoping to get a glimpse at Grian's inner turmoil.

--

GRIAN

with eyes still closed, grian lets the pause linger just a moment, before replying with a quiet but honest, "right now? how nice this feels."

--

SCAR

Scar chuckles again, a little anxiety getting settled by that fact, though certainly not all. "Oh, well that's good, yes. I agree with that sentiment entirely."

--

GRIAN

"good," grian purrs, squeezing at scar. "'coz i don't wanna lose it."

--

SCAR

Scar's ears twitch, something awfully depressing in those few words. "Hey, no, never," he assures. "This is never going away, okay?" 

Since he seriously doubts cuddling is about to give anyone the wrong ideas.

--

GRIAN

grian has to swallow several times for his feelings to not go off the rails again. he takes a shaky breath, still squeezing at scar, as if he was afraid he might disappear. "... okay."

--

SCAR

"And neither am I!" Scar tacks on, even if it should go without saying. Even if it may be a little dramatic. But he thinks maybe Grian needs to hear that fact stated with absolute certainty. "I love you too dang much."

--

GRIAN

that gets grian to loosen his grip a little, enough to shuffle and look up. hair messy and eyes glistening and red rimmed, he looks up at scar with so much aching adoration, it feels like he might drown. 

"i think it's okay if— if we love each other in our own way," he says sheepishly. he ducks down, laying his head on scar's shoulder, feeling shy as his hands go back to tracing patterns on scar's lower back. "even if the others don't understand or agree." there's a precipice of a pause, and then the most timid little "... right?"

--

SCAR

Scar's heart stutters, and his ears flick up again with carefully optimistic anticipation at Grian's words. His eyes threaten to flood over again, but the tears feel different, more cathartic, less miserable. 

He tucks his head over Grian's again, brushing his cheek over his locks affectionately, daring to release a few hopeful tears as Grian says what he desperately hoped he might. 

"I..." he starts, still trying not to influence this decision if he can help it, but... "I think so. ...I mean it's—" He thinks of [REDACTED], and chuckles wetly, morphing them in his own Scar-silly way. "It's not really anyone else's business what we do in the bedroom, is it?"

--

GRIAN

grian's hands still against scar's back, simply holding him for a moment as he soaks up scar's nuzzles. there's wetness to them, something that makes grian's heart ache as he worries about all the possible meanings, but hopes against all hope that it's just scar getting positively emotional—a relief of sorts above all else. 

a small strained chuckle makes it past his lips, and he muffles it into a kiss that he presses into scar's shoulder. "right. exactly."

--

SCAR

Scar weakly smiles, giving Grian a squeeze. "...but seriously, I— you know it's okay if we stop, right? If you ever change your mind— and I mean your mind, nobody else's— then it's fine! But... I... yeah." Another squeeze. "I just want to be sure you know that."

--

GRIAN

there's a barely stifled sigh, but no hint of tension pools across grian's back. his hold remains still and gentle, his head idly leaning on scar's shoulder. "i know," he murmurs.

--

SCAR

"Good," Scar states, ducking lower so his forehead presses into Grian for a moment before releasing just enough so he could escape the big bear hug if he wanted. “... you know, [REDACTED]”

--

WE ARE ACTUALLY TAKING ANOTHER LEAP, ANOTHER SKIP, ANOTHER SCRIBBLED OUT SECTION. bear with us <33

--

SCAR

[REDACTED VERY REDACTED] “I mean, I had to learn all this vex stuff, too. It’s not… I mean it’s certainly not the most family-friendly sort of culture but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong, does it?”

--

GRIAN

grian blinks at that, lifting his head in attention. this really surprises him, for some reason. that [WOO REDACTED AGAIN WOW] 

"oh." he takes a moment, leaning slightly back, inviting scar's touch a little bit further. "yeah... yeah, i think he's—" he bounces the words around in his head again, then settles on: "it's a learning curve every way, isn't it? whenever there's new instincts and..." he skirts around the words mating rituals, feeling a faint warmth rise up to his cheeks. he looks away briefly, teething at his bottom lip as he thinks of all the worries he himself used to have, all the mistakes kane made, all the effort and talking and correcting it took for things to finally have it all sink in the proper way. 

he clears his throat, shyly looking back at scar, but then his gaze anchors and softens. his hand travels up from scar's chin, brushing through his hair, tucking a strand behind his ears. "it's not wrong."

--

SCAR

“It’s not?” Scar asks meekly, even though he was the one to propose so first. To have Grian confirm it is so much more important. Because even if they can agree it’s not wrong for Scar to have sought out these things, ultimately he wants it to be right for Grian as well.

Scar chews at his lip nervously, but still tilts toward the offered affection, absolutely weak to it.

--

GRIAN

"mmm." grian lets his fingers brush through scar's hair again, gentle with him at every step. "it's not wrong," he repeats softly.

--

SCAR

Scar opens his eyes, both of them glistening with potential tears, but he offers up a weak, wobbly smile, appreciating every graze of Grian’s fingers. “…is it— it’s not wrong for you either?”

--

GRIAN

grian takes in scar's expression and he leans in for a short kiss. "it's not wrong for me," he murmurs, right over scar's lips. 

and maybe he still feels confused, and maybe he still has some exploring and figuring out to do, just to really settle things in his heart, but he knows scar will be there with him every step of the way. just like he knows that [REDACTED] is right—scar is good for him. 

and he wants all of him.

--

SCAR

The tears fall alongside a pitiful little chuckle, but Scar leans right back in for another kiss, not caring at all for the wetness that streaks down his cheeks. 

They can match now. It’s fine.

“I… I’m—?” Scar falters, and he laughs again, ducking his head down in slight embarrassment. He can’t even bring himself to say it. To even imply that he was worried that he was wrong for Grian. “…okay.”

--

GRIAN

the sight of tears breaks grian's heart. still keeping one arm around scar, hoping it'd make him feel close and secure, he lowers his other hand from scar's hair to his cheek, gently collecting the wetness even as scar leans in for a kiss. (one that grian gladly gives.) 

even though scar doesn't finish his question, grian can connect the dots. he remembers the time when he himself thought he's not good for scar, and he knows how awful and heavy that self doubt was.

with utmost tenderness, he kisses scar's cheek, right in the path of wetness, while his fingers gently brush the tears on the other side. "scar." it's quiet, reverent. irredeemably loving.

he pulls away, wanting scar to look at him as he says this. his wings twitch, brushing over scar's, curling inwards towards him. pressing against scar's sides under scar's wings as grian lets go of his back in favour of cupping his face, thumbs brushing over cheeks.

"scar, you're good for me."

he strings up the words, slow and deliberate and certain.

--

SCAR

It’s Scar’s turn to break again, clearly, as his eyes water over and big, wet tears fall down his cheeks and collect over Grian’s hands. He doesn’t even have words to respond with, just wide, grateful eyes and wobbly lips that can’t decide between a cry or a smile. 

His hands also find their way over Grian’s, though one escapes to run his own thumb over Grian’s cheek in turn, still feeling the dampness there. It’s oddly comforting.

“…sometimes I worry the hermits don’t think that,” he admits, gaze flicking away as he tries to keep a strong facade. (Hard to do while he’s actively crying, but it could certainly be worse.)

--

GRIAN

"oh, scar." grian sighs, heartbroken, brows pulling into a pained frown upon hearing that admission. he can hardly bear this, knowing scar's been made to feel like this.

he leans in to press a kiss to his forehead, wings slinking further along, wrapping around scar right underneath his vex wings. he wants to cocoon them into warmth and safety, away from these treacherous feelings.

the hermits managed to somehow break both of them down, with nothing more than good intentions.

grian hates the uncertain, askew feeling that pushes bitter bile up his throat, telling him maybe they're not quite right for this place anymore. that they forgot how to belong, but nobody has caught up yet and still expects them to be their selves that they can no longer reach.

“you know [REDACTED I AM SO SORRY]” he attempts a smile, though it's hard. he tugs at scar, wanting to pull him in for a hug, tuck him underneath his own chin, all safe and protected, but he leaves it up to scar whether he wants that or needs more breathing room right now. 

"maybe they need time. i... i've been hiding away a lot and. honestly i don't think they can tell what's good for me anymore. not right now." it's hard to admit. "even if they mean well." but well-meaning that hurts both him and scar is just meddlesome. 

maybe they needed this though, in a way. it would be better if it came from a different place, subtler, gentler, but still. maybe they needed to work through exactly these feelings.

"anyone who says you're not good for me will get smacked," he threatens, remembering scar's (and kane's) offers to bite people who look at grian wrong, in a way returning the favour. "'coz they're wrong and they have no business spewing nonsense."

--

SCAR

Scar gladly takes up the offer to be smothered in affection, and he boldly chooses to corporealize his wings fully and gently tug them around the base of Grian's, knowing well that wing-on-wing contact is almost always acceptable. And right now that sort of thing brings immense comfort to him, too. It's something they both share, after all. A pair of wings and a pair of patched up hearts.

"I know they mean well..." Scar whines into Grian's chest this time, and though there's no cozy shawl to bury himself in, it's just as comforting. "but they don't know everything, and... and I know that's mostly on us, but god it's just... it's so much sometimes, Grian." 

It's not exactly pleasant to recall those memories. To try to explain just how horrific it was to their old friends. To look them in the eyes and admit that they're different now because they had to be. (And how they still hope to be loved despite it all.)

--

GRIAN

grian wraps scar up in his arms, holding him close. one hand in scar's hair, the other sliding down between his shoulderblades, rubbing at that point between his wings, unaware he's copying exactly what [REDACTED] did earlier.

the pressure of scar's wings over his own helps him settle a little, gives him comfort and courage through this glass-shards of a conversation.

"they don't know everything," he echoes quietly, kissing the top of scar's head before he leans his cheek on it, cradling him. "i just wish..." he closes his eyes and tugs at scar, holds him a little bit tighter. he doesn't really know how to finish that sentence; all the words feel like they're crashing and splintering over sharp cliffs.

all that's left in the rubble is a weary sense of defeat. "it is so much," he agrees. "it's so tiring to... they expect us to be..." he doesn't finish any of his sentences, but he wonders if scar understands anyway.

--

SCAR

Scar understands perfectly. He nods softly as he listens, lulled in by those soft touches, tears drying as he lets Grian’s presence fully engulf him.

“…they expect us to be the same,” Scar finishes for him, certain that Grian’s had the same trouble he has, though perhaps to a different degree. “And… maybe we won’t ever be. But… I don’t think all the ways we changed are bad. Like— sure, we’re still messed up and jumpy and… and I mean, frankly traumatized, but…” There’s an effort to poke his head up, but Scar finds himself too reluctant to leave the comfort of Grian’s arms just yet. “We’re also in love. And… we have a new appreciation for life. And each other.” A half-sniffle, half-chuckle gets stuffed into Grian’s chest. “…is that too sappy?”

--

GRIAN

grian chuckles mirthlessly at the list of things they suck at, their reactions and trauma stitched close to them like their shadow, endless and monstrous, looming behind their every step. but scar is right: they have changed in so many messed up ways, and they might never be the same, but... it's not all bad. 

"we're in love," grian echoes, a notch lighter, just a little bit amused that the list of dark things ends with a complete shift, plunging them into sappiness. it's such a scar-like thing to do; he's aware of just how bad things have gotten, but that doesn't mean he won't fight to dredge up every little optimistic and hopeful thing out of it anyway.

grian loves it. it's gotten him through many dark times, this quality that scar has. his tenacious way of thinking and latching onto bright things, even if it's a barely flickering flame amidst complete, terrifying darkness.

he kisses his head again and then nuzzles against his hair, humming. "it's scar level sappy," he replies, mulling it, before landing on: "which means it's perfect." 

the only time scar's level of sappy is too much is when he's flustering grian, but he's not going to point that out, in case scar takes it as a challenge to compare the two right here and right now. (he'd be capable. grian knows.) 

he rubs at scar's back again, humming a soft melody, wanting to calm him further. but there's one thing even he can unearth from the ashes, something written into all their stitches and scars.

"we survived." 

nothing can beat that. no matter how they've changed, or what they can now see in a different light.

they made it.

"and we're good for each other."

--

SCAR

Scar giggles at the term. Scar-level sappy, indeed. His own brand of optimism, wrapped in layers of insecurity but boundless levels of adoration. 

And it got him this far, didn’t it?

“We survived,” Scar repeats, because that’s so damn important. They survived. And they did it because they were together.

Because they’re good together.

“…the power of love,” Scar adds, soft and sentimental and maybe just a bit goofy, hoping to turn the tides from tears to mirthful laughter.

--

GRIAN

once again he gets grian to giggle in a fragile moment—a talent scar has and grian values. in retaliation, he shifts his hands, brings them much closer, until he can tease at scar's ears. 

"we survived, so now i can do this!" his cheeks are still wet, and he feels depleted from all the heavy emotions, but he still manages a grin as he tries to make scar squirm.

--

SCAR

Scar barks out a fit of genuine laughter, somewhat startled by the shift, but he can’t complain when his lips are suddenly tipped into a bright smile and his ears are flicking wildly at the affectionate abuse. 

“Hey!! No fair! I’ve been so gentle!!” he cackles, already shedding that mercy and tickling at Grian’s ribs.

---------------

aaand i'm going to end on this note (because you know it devolves again. we're good at making things fall apart repeatedly <3 a great angst loop if you ask me.)

but, i'm going to leave you with a little bonus. which is what me and link talked about today. on this same topic, really.

which is how scar changed. hermits know him as the guy who dies a lot, right? also easily distracted, carefree, easily dissipating into giggles, easily brushing things off. all of that.

he could get startled by a fly. he'd yelp and stumble and fall over when he got scared.

but that other world forced other things on him. it forced him to be brave, or at least, to seem like it. forced him to fight to keep himself and grian safe. fight for them both to survive.

now when he gets scared? there are wings and claws and fangs.

he couldn't show weakness in that world, you know?

and it sticks. it sinks its talons into him and holds.

the only person he shows weakness around is grian. and... maybe if he'd been willing to show it more around the other hermits, they'd see that he's still scar.

that he's still scar and he's hurting and afraid.

(yes blame link for this heartbreak brb sobbing with u)

also. a potential conversation:

someone saying to grian (while scar is also possibly there): "scar came back... wrong."

grian angrily counters with "no, scar came back different but not wrong."

and then

quieter

"... i came back wrong."

because, think about it. scar changed, but it can be argued that some of it is better and he's just being misunderstood. but grian? grian can't imagine any good coming from how he's now.

he didn't grow braver or kinder or stronger or any of those things. he just caused [REDACTED]. he's a scared, hurting mess. there's nothing good about him now.

as link said in our discord dms: scar needs to scoop grian up and remind him that he's here for the whole ride. he'll be here while grian learns to heal.

because he will heal.

[kimbapisnotsushi]

oh please talk about kawanishi taichi i love that silly guy

OF COURSE ANON I TOO LOVE THAT SILLY GUY LET'S GET IT!!

(also i am SO sorry for taking so long oh my god i am back in action and catching up i promise!!)

i think he likes beanies in his casual wear

idk kawanishi feels like such a beanie person but not the douchebag slouchy ones he's got one that's a little snug and has something embroidered on it like a bird or something

okay that's a lie. he has ONE douchebag slouchy beanie that makes him look like how a high school romance shoujo mangaka of the mid-2000s would dress a flashy somewhat-delinquent teenage boy (honey lemon soda my beloved)

this, of course, could not be farther from the truth

the entire second year is scared of him bc they never somehow realize he's there until he says something and they're like "holy SHIT". this also means he knows a bunch of hot gossip

(the hot gossip miyagi group chat: kawanishi, watari, onagawa, and narita)

on the other hand. that means the students of 2-5 win the contest for "best cultural festival attraction" between classes bc they had the best haunted house the miyagi prefecture had ever seen

he's on really good terms with the school nurse because sometimes he sneaks into the infirmary to take naps during lunch or gym periods

knows how to lockpick BECAUSE he keeps trying to sneak into the infirmary. and occasionally the school roof for their "team bonding picnics" so that tendou doesn't have to keep swiping the key from the student council

i'm not just saying this bc i like enamel pins but i think kawanishi DOES like enamel pins. he's got a collection of these edgy sarcastic ones that he thinks are hilarious in a "started-ironically-and-now-i-can't-stop-pipeline" kind of way

he's got this whole tumblr-grunge-indie-hipster thing going on with his douchebag slouchy beanie and denim jacket with pins all over the collar and ripped jeans and converse sneakers and shirabu thinks he pulls it off unfairly well

i feel like kawanishi also really likes fantasy/sci-fi and is actually SUCH a huge secret nerd about it. and really likes cyberpunk and fantasyland settings you'd get from like idk snow white with the red hair or nivalis (i KNOW it's an indie game that's not even out yet but sue me i don't know cyberpunk all that well)

he and tsukki actually become friends while arguing about how much of akira is deep meaning and how much of it is actually just straight up bullshit because WHAT the fuck was that

also he's subscribed to a bunch of these small artists on youtube who make background music and fun art to go with them bc he can put together a great soundtrack for getting hw and studying done

likes getting lil gifts for shirabu, especially to add to his stationary collection. shirabu has sticky notes in the shape of whales and ice cream and paper lanterns and washi tape with fireworks and beach motifs and bakery stuff and it's all because of kawanishi

kawanishi just sticks to the plain solid-color square sticky notes that he uses to leave shirabu notes around his dorm. just small things, really, a reminder that this is a place shirabu belongs and it is a place he is loved. you're doing great. get some water soon. i'll bring you dinner, just text me. don't forget to sleep.

and shirabu will be hard pressed to admit it, but those might be his favorite sticky notes of all

[shimmershy]

Hello! Just wanted to say I absolutely love your art!! And I have a question, What kind of music do you think Chara would like to listen too? =) ( Also, You are a really big inspiration too me!!) Thanks 😊

Aw thank you so much!! :) It always makes me so happy when people tell me I've inspired them!!

Also it's kind of hard for me to decide what kind of music I think they'd listen to. I feel like there's a lot of different music they might like... Dramatic instrumental music for one thing. Like Dullscythe by Porter Robinson is a big one I think they'd like. Go Find Out For Me from the Luca soundtrack... That kind of dramatic instrumental music. And Experience by Daniel Hope, I Virtuosi Italiani, and Ludovico Einaudi. Maybe they'd be into classical music in general too. I also think they might like bands like The Oh Hellos and Of Monsters and Men, and some Coldplay songs (mostly from their early 2000s albums)? Radical Face as well. That could just be me projecting, but I think they might resonate with some of the lyrics and the vibe in general. Like a calm/comforting vibe.

And then on the other hand. They might be an Angry Music kind of person too. This one's definitely me projecting but I think they'd like Mother Mother. Maybe rock music in general sometimes, I don't know. Or maybe not rock music, maybe more like alternative music...? Songs with like a bitter kind of vibe to them. Like Monster by Dodie or Community Gardens by The Scary Jokes. But. Yeah.

[hopefuloverfury]

Hello, I was wondering if I could request Kent x Reader if you don’t mind since you said requests are open? The dynamic being an oblivious farmer who is just very polite and unaware as fuck while Kent is basically just like “I would both kill and die for you” (I apologize I am completely obsessed with him)

I don’t personally feel anything but platonic fondness for the rest of the townies, so this was a really nice challenge. It did take me forever to write because it gave me a lot of trouble and I kept rewriting it, but I eventually landed on this and I’m pretty pleased with it. They’re both dumb, but they figure themselves out by the end. I really hope I did your prompt justice, anon, and that maybe it was worth the wait! Enjoy! <3

2650-ish Words. This is a monster. I don’t like writing infidelity, so you can be sure that there is a hefty amount of canon divergence, even if I don’t mention anything outright. GN!Farmer. This is a little suggestive at certain moments, they flirt quite a bit (Kent does it knowingly, the Farmer does not because they are an oblivious shit), and there’s drinking, but nobody’s drunk. Ah, and there’s cursing, and Kent imagines the Farmer being all roughed up once (nothing explicit), and I use “Yoba” instead of “God.” Yanno. For immersion. I do say “fuck you” to the immersion in favor of using our twelve-month calendar year, though, so. There’s also that. Lmfao

Kent swirls the scotch in his glass, watching the amber liquid slosh around with the ice. It’s Friday night, half-past seven p.m., and the saloon is lively and bright. He’s been people-watching since he arrived, settled alone in his little corner. Marnie and Lewis still haven’t figured out their shit, Robin is attempting to teach Demetrius to dance without stepping on her toes once again, and Elliott is lamenting his writer’s block to Leah at the table over.

Same old, same old.

“Evening. This seat taken?” The Farmer asks, a nearly-empty drink in hand and a knowing grin on their face. 

Except for this. This is a relatively new development.

Kent smiles up at them. “You know it isn’t.”

“Just in case.” The Farmer settles down on the stool next to him, the legs of their newly claimed chair screeching terribly against the worn down hardwood of the saloon. His heart tries to leap out of his throat and into their careful, calloused hands, but he swallows it down with another sip of liquor. It burns his throat terribly, but he welcomes the distraction.

“I haven’t seen you at the saloon in a while,” Kent says, his voice rough from the alcohol. They take a sip of their own drink—something deep red and fruity, with a cherry sitting at the bottom of their glass.

“I try to take a little break at least once a week, but last week was hectic as hell.” They sigh, a satisfied smile on their lips as they sit back.

“Yeah? You get a lot of work done on the farm?” Kent asks, openly checking them out as they set their drink down and stretch their arms high over their head. A few months ago he would’ve been more discreet, but now he’s given up entirely on subtlety. The Farmer never notices anyway. The face they make as they stretch has his mouth going dry, and he drinks a too-large sip of his scotch, trying not to make a face about it.

“Before the snow hit, yeah, but now there isn’t really anything for me to do. Winter doesn’t make it easy for crops, so I’ve been collecting other things to sell. Animal products, gems, that sort of thing.” The Farmer settles down, done with their stretching, and Kent silently thanks the universe for giving him a break. “Actually, I was in the desert today. I haven’t been to the skull caverns in a while, so I spent most of the day down there.”

He immediately rescinds his gratitude, and sets his glass down with a sharp thunk.

“You went to the caverns?”

The Farmer nods, shrugging a bit as their mouth twists into a frown. “Yeah, but it wasn’t a great run, if I’m honest. A few gems and geodes. I wanted iridium ore, but there was basically nothing. I only got three nuggets from what was there because I spent so long beating back monsters.”

That last bit has Kent’s blood running backward, and he taps his fingers on the table-top, the beat agitated and quick. “That’s unfortunate.” 

The Farmer snorts. “Yeah, tell me about it. I could’ve gotten more done if I just stayed home, honestly. But it’s my fault for going on a bad luck day.”

He doesn’t know what the fuck that means, if he’s honest, and he’s not particularly superstitious himself, but he’s learned not to question them. Except now the thought of the Farmer being overrun by monsters won’t dissipate, and it’s making his stomach turn. He clenches his jaw. 

“You should bring me with you next time.”

The Farmer looks up at him, their eyes wide and stunned for only a moment before they’re chuckling into their glass. “Yeah? You wanna be my good luck charm, Kent?”

Yoba, he does.

The Farmer licks their lips clean, and whatever juice Gus mixed up with their alcohol has stained their lips and tongue a ruddy red.

He leans forward, propping his chin up on the palm of his hand, and smiles. “I could be.”

They laugh outright, bright and delighted. Kent absently notices the quick glances they’re receiving from the other patrons. Nosy.

“You know, I was talking with some of the ladies at Caroline’s aerobics class on Tuesday,” the Farmer starts, rolling the stem of their glass between their pinched fingers. Their smile is soft. “They said something interesting about you.”

Kent raises an amused eyebrow. “You gossiping about me, Farmer?”

“It was against my will, I assure you.” They deadpan, and Kent laughs, covering his grin with a wide palm.

“Enlighten me, then: what trivia did they bestow upon you against your will?” Kent asks.

“They said you never smile unless you’re with me,” The Farmer says quickly, rushed out in one breath like they can't say it fast enough. Kent’s eyes widen, and he’s pretty sure there’s steam rising from the top of his head, but the Farmer doesn’t catch any of it because they refuse to look at him. “And that I’m the only one who’s been able to make you laugh, since you came back.”

They were gossiping like roosting hens, the lot of them. Kent sighs heavily, harsh and a little embarrassed. How can they see it, but not the Farmer?

Still…

“They’re wrong, actually.” Kent straightens up, pushing his near empty glass aside. 

“Yeah?” The Farmer asks, and Kent doesn’t try to think too hard about why they sound so disappointed, or why they’re fighting back a frown.

“Even before getting drafted, I wasn’t like this.” Kent admits, and he can feel the tips of his ears flushing hotly at what he’s about to confess next. “I’ve never been like this with anyone, actually.”

“Oh.” The Farmer blinks owlishly, their hand stilling on their glass. “Really?”

Kent shakes his head, humming an affirmative. “Just you.”

“So… I’m special?” They ask, and it’s obvious they’re joking, the tilt of their lips just a little too teasing, but he doesn’t care. It’s obvious, and they’ll figure it out for themselves eventually.

“Are you going to the caverns again tomorrow?” Kent asks instead of answering, flagging down Emily for the bill. She notices immediately, and Kent knows it’s because she was staring. Everyone is always fucking staring.

“Um.” The Farmer picks at a loose thread on their shirt, even though there isn’t one. He doesn’t mention it. “Yeah, I was—I was thinking about it, if the day’s luck is good.”

“You don’t need to check if it is.” Kent watches Emily walk out from behind the bar, the bill and a pen in hand. “I’ll be your good luck charm, remember?”

The Farmer opens their mouth to respond, with the prettiest blush on their face, but Emily finally appears at their table, effectively cutting them off.

“Here you are,” Emily says, a curious smile on her face as she hands him the bill. 

He sets the bill on the table and reaches into his pocket for his wallet. “Thanks, Emily. How’s business tonight?” 

“Fridays are always busy, so it’s going well, I suppose. What about you two? How’s your night so far?” She asks, mischief sparkling in her calculating blue eyes. Even if Kent didn’t know her and Haley were siblings, the way they look at the world would give it away immediately. Haley’s eyes are far more cunning, but still. Two peas in a pod.

Kent places a few heavy coins in the tray, making sure to tip her a few extra than usual, and passes it back. “Great, but we’ve got plans to go into the desert early tomorrow, so we’re gonna head out.”

“Calico Desert?” Emily asks, and Kent is almost surprised she doesn’t push for more info. “My friend Sandy lives over there!”

Ah. That’s why.

“I’ll make sure to say hi to her for you,” The Farmer jumps in, making deliberate eye contact with Emily. The smile on their face is polite, but distracted.

“Would you?” Emily smiles gratefully. “Thanks, Farmer. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.” The Farmer’s returning smile is genuine this time, and Kent’s heart thumps heavily against his ribcage. If they make his heart race any more, he’ll have to check in with Harvey for potential bruising.

“Well, you’re all set, so y’all have a good night,” Emily says with a smile, reaching out to pluck their empty glasses off the table.

“You too.” Kent stands up, pushing his chair in and waiting for the Farmer to get up to their feet. “Are you ready to go? Got everything?”

The Farmer nods, and Kent follows them with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets as they walk out. He takes one hand out to hold the door for them as they step out into the frigid winter air, and almost immediately his fingers are numb. He’s never been able to handle the cold very well. It’s in his best interest to head home, to get out of it and into some central heating, but…

“Can I walk you home?” Kent asks quietly, after the door swings shut behind them. The Farmer stops short, and he can’t tell if the flush is from the cold or from something else.

“You’re welcome to, but don’t you hate the cold?” The Farmer gestures vaguely at the snowflakes floating around them. “Shouldn’t I be the one walking you home?”

Kent smiles, his chest suddenly light. “Maybe, but your place is farther, and I don’t wanna say goodnight to you just yet.”

“Like my company that much, huh?” The Farmer asks, cocking their head to the side as they slip their hands into their pockets. The collar of their winter jacket pulls against the back of their neck, and Kent steps onto the icy path. 

“Let’s get you home, Farmer.” Kent starts walking, expecting them to follow. He smiles at the sound of their boots crunching against the frosted grass and gravel, and starts heading for the farmlands.

“You ignoring my questions on purpose, Kent?” They ask, but he knows it isn’t a question.

“Yep.” He nods. “We’re taking the bus tomorrow morning, right? What time should I meet you there?”

They sigh, playfully irritated, and he grins to himself. “Pam usually gets there at 9, so I should be good to head out at eight-fifty? If that works for you?”

“Eight-fifty it is, then. Anything in particular that you’re looking for down there?”

They sigh, looking up at the cloudy sky as they walk past Marnie’s. “Same thing as today. I really need iridium so I can get Clint to upgrade all of my tools before the new year, and I need my hoe upgraded desperately if I want to make a profit off of strawberries next spring.”

“Thinking that far ahead, huh?” Kent glances at the sketchy caravan beyond the trees next to Cindersap, and purposely puts himself between it and the Farmer. 

“Not by much, but I have to if I don’t want to go bankrupt. Strawberries are good for a lot of other stuff, too. I can make jam and wine with them, which are both pretty profitable.”

“Are you going to grow anything else, or just strawberries?”

The Farmer shrugs and unlatches the south gate to their property. “I grow some things year-round in my greenhouse, but I think I’ll only plant strawberries in the fields, since they’re the most profitable.”

“How do you know?” Kent asks, genuinely curious. He doesn’t know shit about farming, truthfully.

“I’ve done the math,” they say, pulling a small notebook out of seemingly fucking nowhere. Kent glares at their jacket in confusion. “They’ve got the highest profit ratio, based on how much I drop on them at Pierre’s stand and how often they grow. Strawberry plants fruit every four days once they’re fully grown, so I can get the most out of them if I start them early.”

They hold out their notebook, flipped to a random page with a smattering of bullet points and notes in their handwriting. There’s a silly doodle of a strawberry at the top of the page, and Kent smiles fondly.

“You’ve got this shit down to a science, Farmer. I’m impressed.”

They snort, and their notebook practically dematerializes as they shove it into their jacket, but he doesn’t see a pocket—where on earth do they put it?

“Two years of fucking up and not planning ahead has taught me to think about the future a little more.” They shrug. “We’ll have to see if I can actually pull it off, though; planning ahead won’t mean anything if I can’t get the iridium ore for it.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’ve still got two months left.”

“Two months goes by pretty quickly, though.” They sigh, and Kent watches as the lampposts in front of their house begin illuminating their face.

He swallows hard and averts his stare. He shrugs, forcing himself to be casual. “Well, between the both of us and a little luck, I think we’ll manage it just fine.”

They hum, and he catches their smile through his peripherals.

“Maybe.” The stairs on the Farmer’s porch creak under their weight as they step up to their front door, and Kent knows he has to say goodnight now, but as they go to pluck their keys out of their pocket, he grabs their wrist.

“I know I’ve been kinda pushy, but I want you to tell me honestly.” Kent knows without a shred of doubt that his fingers are nearly frozen against their skin. They look at him, chin angled down with their sudden height difference. He won’t go up their front steps to even it out, though. That’s a boundary he won’t cross, not unless they ask him to. “Is it really alright that I come with you tomorrow? I don’t want you to force yourself to be okay with it if you don’t actually want me there.”

The Farmer’s lips part, and he sees rather than hears their breath of surprise—a cloud of vapor in front of their face, glowing orange in their porch light.

“Why have you been so pushy?” They ask, and now it’s his turn to get ignored. “Why do you want to come with me so badly?”

Kent lets go of their wrist, and his palm burns. He doesn’t have it in him to lie. “Because I’m scared of what might happen to you if I don’t.”

They’re quiet for a long moment, recognition passing over their face, and Kent loves the fact that pity is never something he’ll have to see along with it. Not with the Farmer.

They walk forward, placing a sturdy hand on the banister as they lean in close. “I have one more question for you, Kent. Answer honestly, and I’ll let you come with me.” 

Kent nods stiffly, his eyes flicking everywhere but their own. “I’m great at honesty.”

They hum, and Kent watches, frozen solid as they glance at his lips. “Am I special to you?” 

He bites his lip, the back of his neck burning. “Yeah—yes. You are.”

They nod once, and then step away. Kent watches, a sudden panic thickening in his chest.

“Good.”

Wait, 'good?'

The Farmer unlocks their front door, and opens it wide. They turn around before stepping inside, and their smile is giddy. Kent’s panic subsides. He’s imagined rejection more times than he can count, and he’s pretty sure that’s not what it looks like. “I’ll see you at eight-fifty, okay? Don’t be late—I’d hate to have to leave my good-luck charm behind.”

“Cross my heart.” Kent nods, his own smile just as giddy. 

They close the door, just a bit. Their eyes twinkle. “Goodnight, Kent.” 

“G’night.” He waves, and the cold isn’t nipping at his fingers as much anymore.

When he collapses into bed that night, his skin is flushed and cold, and his heart is thumping erratically in his chest. His smile doesn’t subside, even as he falls asleep.

[send-up-my-heart-to-you]

you forgot to wish me a happy ace day 🥺?

oh shit

oh no

who is this

fuck who is this

is this nova

help i am so sorry

[pardonmydelays]

fave lyrics from “who lives who dies who tells your story” because im mentally ill?

i am mentally ill too ngl

ok, so we will get there soon, but just for you anon, when eliza is like can i show you what i'm proudest of? & the company is like the orphanage & she's like i estabilished the first private orphanage in new york city & then in their eyes i see you alexander & when my time is up have i done enough will they tell my story and and and-

[kitakami-zorua-kin]

Good points, but I can't help but be curious theres a lot of he's pathetic yapping going on but at the same time this means you actually done some considerations regarding him and his behaviours, in your opinion as someone who actually fights his battles, what would russet need to do to not be a waste of space and be deserving of respect, including yours? I mean he somehow manages to be part of Drayton's, on that note ugh Drayton, trail team. where would YOU as someone who knows him we'll see him if he were to start taking himself and things seriously? And how would you advise going about it? And before you turn mean on this I wanna ask you to stay neutral, there's others reading this thing too so maybe you can give some actual advice? Maybe I can learn something too? And yes I'm aware you see yourself as a villain but those can teach valuable lessons too lets see what the champion has to share, show us just how much better then us you are I'm curious.

// is it smart to egg him on like this?

Well, to start with, he would have to try. Ugh, that Drayton is awful - never does more than the bare minimum, doesn't even bother really trying most days, just absolutely wastes all of his potential...

I can at least respect someone who tries. Not everyone can be as strong as I am, but so many people are just content to stay weak and useless forever like i was never again can't go back can't let anyone hurt me ever again-. He needs to grow a backbone and stop trying so hard to be liked rather than be himself - and he needs to stop lying to everyone, on that note, he's always pretending to be something he's not. It's infuriating because I know he could be a strong trainer if he just bothered to push himself - he didn't even bother fighting for his spot on the Elite Four, he just laughed it off like it was no big deal. I hate him for that, something people will try so hard for and he just treats it like nothing. Then he doesn't even bother to try to be good at anything else - just doesn't try on anything, ever, except apparently when he lies. He's never fought for himself in his life - just rolls over and gives up, like he's scared of fighting for himself. Can't protect anyone if you don't protect yourself, first. don't i know that personally i couldn't ever help him i was weak i was useless never again i won't let them close again but no one will ever hurt me again he'll just have to stand on his own like i did if i hurt him first no one else will and he hurt me so it's fair

[charliethemanticore]

please tell me about sayer and bernard roth, and do not pretend to be normal about it 🩷

okay okay okay, anon I am giving you a little kiss on the forehead. I am gonna be going back through my notes so if this takes a hot minute, that’s why.

Update: This is… getting very long so I’m going to do this in sections. Your introduction lies below the readmore. Because I’ve hit 850 words. It really needs an edit. I am not doing that. Have fun. There will be another installment later.

So. Corsets (and Why We're So Weird About Them)

So, a few things need to be established here to understand the roots of modern anti-corset rhetoric. I will be dealing with sexism, ableism, and likely touching on racism within the medical field during the 19th century. If you’re anything like me, you will be angry by the end of this, just hopefully at some guys who have been dead a really long time, and not me. I’m just some guy who is three arbitrary credits off having a degree in History (with High Distinctions, btw. I’m very proud of my disabled ass for my current 6.0 on our 7-point scale)

France, America, and the UK in the 19th century were very Christian in the 19th century. The research I’ve done mostly focused on these countries, however I did briefly dabble in German history because the medical dress reform movement more or less started there, but more on that later.

As many of you know, it is a fairly standard belief in (many denominations of) Christianity* that if you do something Wrong™ then you will be Punished™ with misfortune. During this period, if someone was ill then they had Done Something To Deserve It™. This meant that, often, your physical condition was treated as a shorthand for your moral standing.

* For the purposes of this discussion, Catholicism is included under the “Christianity” blanket, I know many Catholics disagree with that categorization, but I am not writing “Christians and Catholics” fifty times

The medical field was professionalized to a recognizable degree in the 19th century. A lot of that professionalization resulted in super fucked up ideas about gender, race, and disability. The professionalization of medicine was parallel to the rise in global eugenics movement. This will probably surprise no-one but needs to be stated, nonetheless.

Many disabilities are more frequently observed in Women* than Men*. Scoliosis, which was the focus of my research for my major work, was one of these conditions. It followed, therefore, that women were doing something Bad™ that men weren’t** and the easiest options were exercise and corsetry. Now, doctors genuinely believed that women were more delicate and susceptible to disease and injury (both to the physical and spiritual being). For the most part, many doctors did NOT want women to be doing as much exercise as they were recommending for men. So corsets were Public Enemy #1

* I’m nonbinary, I know that the binary is bullshit and biology is weird soup, but I am using the terms applicable to the medical understanding and discussion of the period, it’s just easier when referring to primary texts.

** Many men did actually wear corsets. I want one of the advertisements as a tattoo. They’re great.

Right. So now that we have the basic facts outlined, onward. I will include a reference list below. I might put some of my recommended reading in a google drive or smth if anyone wants that.

So. First of all we should probably talk about what a corset is. “Oh by Charlie I know what a corset is” shush. Maybe you do. Maybe you know what a modern corset is. This is my ted talk and I will be as obsessive about my definitions as I like.

For the purposes of SEO algorithms, a corset is a generic term that could refer to bodies, stays, corselets, true corsets, and anything you can find on google when searching for a fast fashion corset top. A generic term that can be applied wantonly for a thousand different garments from the 16th century to today is not very helpful.

When I say “Corset” I mean a garment that began to evolve from stays in the 1820s and had established itself as the popular foundational garment by the 1840s and remained so until the 1920s. For simplicities sake, a corset is a “rigid bodice” supported by vertical boning (Usually baleen/whalebone. Sometimes steel, sometimes reed, sometimes cording)(1). Its primary function was to support the bust, but they also formed the foundation of popular fashions (2).

Corsets work by distributing weight of the bust (and also clothing) across the entire torso, supported by resting on the hips (think of the difference between cradling a toddler – or a heavy box - and sitting them on your hip)(2). They also formed a smooth surface so that clothing could be tight to the body while limiting wrinkling but, more importantly, IT STOPPED WAISTBANDS NEEDING TO DIG INTO THE BODY TO STAY UP. They could be tight to the body, but the corset would not allow them to dig into the body. They were (USUALLY) custom made to the individual and (USUALLY) only worn to the tightness comfortable for the level of activity for the individual. (I will talk about exceptions later). Tight lacing wasn’t hugely common. Usually the drastic shape was achieved through optical illusion and padding (Bust improvers, bustles, bum pads) (3)(4). If you make the hips and bust appear larger, the waist will naturally appear smaller, regardless of actual measurements.

God this is going to be so long I haven’t even got to the Bernards. Okay so this might have to be in installments.

REFERENCES

1 Steele, Valerie. Encyclopedia of Clothing and Fashion. Kindle ed. Charles Schribner’s Sons, 2005, p. 290

2 Waugh, Norah, and Judith Dolan. Corsets and Crinolines. Abingdon, Oxon; New York, Ny, Routledge, 2018, p. 75.

3 Kunzle, David. Fashion and Fetishism: Corsets, Tight-Lacing and Other Forms of Body Sculpture. Sutton Publishing, 2004, p. 89.

4 Steele, Valerie. Fashion and Eroticism: Ideals of Feminine Beauty from the Victorian Era to the Jazz Age. Oxford University Press, 1985, pp. 62-63

[such-a-fellow]

You can't just drop "oh my queer theory read of Breaking Bad" and then not elaborate

Oh I will gladly elaborate! This is mostly compiled from thoughts I had while discussing Breaking Bad with my partner while I watched it for the first time recently. [NOTE: this is VERY LONG and disjointed, it ended up being almost a whole shittily structured essay. I have no idea if it makes any sense and I have edited nothing. bear with me.] anyway, i am so sorry, but here you go:

Because Breaking Bad is such a conventional tragedy with Walt's relationships (and how he wrecks them) as the series' emotional core, it's easy to read into the "why" of the choices he makes and consider if other unseen factors could contribute to his whole.......everything. Walt sucks, right? He's shitty and snappish at best and manipulative and abusive to the point of literal murder at worst towards pretty much everyone in his life; his enemies, his associates, Jesse, his kids, and most centrally Skyler, are CONSTANTLY on the receiving end of this stupid man's destructive spiral and rancid personality. Obviously, nothing excuses the depths the guy descends to, but his surface motivations are simple enough. He's terminally ill! His career has fizzled to a depressing dead end! He has an accidental baby on the way! Being embittered by the run-of-the-mill suckiness of him and his family's circumstances has led him to chase this grand unattainable ideal of perfect, conventional family life that he never can really achieve. The harder he tries to force his life into that perfect shape, the more he hurts those around him.

This is the first point of my idea that reading Walt as a closeted, very unhappily unaware bisexual can add a really interesting depth to the show. It would be easy to interpret Walt as gay and miserably closeted. He’s dissatisfied, he CLEARLY isn’t really in love with his wife, and he keeps pursuing this life of crime represented by the men he's caught up with (Jesse and Gus in particular). However, I think that simply reading him as gay misses an opportunity for extra complexity. Textually, Walt is caught between two lives and is never satisfied with either. No amount of money or accomplishment is ever enough for him. His white picket fence delusions and insistence that he loves Skyler even though it's extremely clear that what he loves is the idea of Skyler is one side of the coin. That's the ideal of conventional heterosexuality, which he always falls short of. The other side of the coin is his fight for power in the criminal world and his attraction to men, which I think is best analyzed through his all-consuming jealousy of the power and perfect security of Gus, who is known to be gay, and his relationship with the heavily queer-coded Gale.

This is mostly symbolic/subtextual interpretation, but again bear with me. In my mind, the narrative of Theoretical Bisexual Walt goes something like this: Walt begins to realize he's attracted to men through his initial partnership with Jesse. That relationship, however based in manipulation and overall shittiness, is one that Walt is drawn to because he sees Jesse as a gateway to the criminal world he wants to enter. It’s also his gateway to this new possibility of attraction which he had never considered and cannot avoid, even if he doesn’t want to confront it. Indeed, he's only forced to confront it later, specifically when Gale (artistic, scientific, opera-loving Gale) extends a hand of understanding to him. Gale is happy and content! HE has reconciled any parts of his life that might be disjointed. He deeply admires Walt, and openly presents him with the promise of friendship or more. Central to this, obviously, is his close association with the poetry of Walt Whitman and gift of Whitman’s Leaves of Grass to Walt. Walt Whitman is believed by most scholars to have been bisexual, as evidenced both by the relationships he had in life and by his poetry where he praises the beauty of men and women alike. The lightness and freedom and wonder at the universe expressed in the tones of his poetry fits Gale perfectly, and this is what Gale is offering Walt. Choosing to reject Gale is ultimately the thread which unravels Walt entirely in the end, because he’s rejecting not only Gale but any option to find joy in his new work beyond what money it can make him. This extends, in my opinion, to rejecting anything positive he could gain from his attraction to men.

As Walt is going through this slow realization, part of what drives him to despair is his persistent belief that what he really wants is still the same secure, middle-class, heterosexual family life with Skyler. More specifically, the thought that if he is attracted to men, then he cannot possibly HAVE that. This is why I like to analyze him as bisexual rather than gay; the way he can’t be happy anywhere at all, with either part of his life, is at its most complex and tragic when (like the Walt on the surface of the show) he absolutely could have had both if he hadn’t pushed so hard, if he hadn’t been so selfishly caught up in his own tragedy. If Walt is bi and accepts that, he CAN be happy! However, as we know all too well, Walt is a narrow-minded disaster. Internalized homophobia compounded with his “main character syndrome” hold him back from even trying to give himself space to explore his newfound attraction. Throughout this section of the story Walt is clinging harder and harder to that crumbling façade of happy heterosexuality. He’s more and more abusive towards Skyler and refuses to cooperate when she tries to divorce him. He even flounders through a lame attempt to have a heterosexual revenge fling when she cheats on him. I’d hesitate to reduce this to compulsory heterosexuality, because I think any percieved choice between the two here is entirely in Walt’s mind. To Walt, everything is binary. He can have a family life without deception and die in obscurity, OR he can stop at nothing to become the world’s most powerful druglord. He can be attracted to men OR he can be in a happy straight marriage. Like I’ve said, this is NOT a man who could ever concieve of both. This is where Gus becomes a bigger factor in Walt’s terrible horrible no good very bad sexuality crisis.

To even things out and to really drive home trajectory he’s set himself on, Gus has Gale killed. I think there’s definitely a portion of this that is escalated by the presence of Gus in Walt’s mind. Gus is everything Walt wishes he was in more ways than one. He’s rich, powerful, successful, clever. He carries himself with awe-inspiring gravitas. Now, as the audience learns, Gus’ primary motivation in becoming all of those things is vengeful grief over his lover’s murder. It is made clear to the audience in Breaking Bad (and expanded upon in Better Call Saul) that Gus is gay. For this unaccepting Bisexual Walt, the presence of this man who he percieves as above him in power and influence and who is also perfectly obviously gay and entirely secure in that is completely impossible to cope with. He’s past the point of letting himself consider options here, of course. He is jealous of Gus. All-consumingly jealous, just as he’s jealous of the Schwartzs’ wealth and happy marriage. Walt’s drive to remove Gus from the picture, then, becomes a conflation of not only his lust for power, but also of his self-imposed sexuality impasse.

In the end, the discovery of Gale’s Leaves of Grass gift—that quiet, friendly offer to Walt from a man who understood a part of him that he could never bring himself to try and confront—is what undoes the whole charade.

[singsweetmelodies]

Currently thinking about the lyric ‘wondering if I doges a bullet or just lost the love of my life’ with piarles and I don’t know what to do with this but thought you may enjoy

first and foremost: whatever Tumblr is doing to asks on mobile lately is TERRIBLE. it looks completely broken & i can barely read it!! *charles_wtf discord react*

anyways!! hello anon <3333 sorry it's taken me this long to respond! i saw this ask at work, didn't have time to reply, and then, predictably, forgot all about it. i am so sorry. BUT here i am now - better late than never, right?

SO. omg. this lyric!! 🙏 a banger... ngl it breaks my heart to think about it in a piarles context, but i also love it. "wondering if i dodged a bullet or just lost the love of my life" - i could see this as charles POV after a break-up. he's hurting and he's mad but he's also terrified that he lost the one thing that matters even more than ferrari...

ALTERNATIVELY - and you'll have to forgive me for bringing in something a little toxic/cursed here, but this is where my brain is at lately, i'm afraid - this lyric is still charles POV, but he thinks it about max. after a break-up with max (and, spoiler alert... he DID dodge a bullet with that one.) but it was a good dodge, because guess who is there to pick up the pieces and treat him a thousand times better than max ever could... 😉 pierre, of course. and THEY never break up - no, they have a "call it what you want" inspired romance <3333

either way: there is SO much potential for this lyric + piarles, and i adore you for opening my eyes to it!! tysm anon 🤩

[hadrianblackwaters]

I am SO excited for Drumindor to come out, do you have any hopes for that book? Scenes you want to see or development you hope will happen?

Ok again, I think I am SO late in answering this!

And anon my brain is full of holes like the cheese from working an adult job this year and I desperately need to reread the books to actually deserve my username. I am, however, also VERY excited for Drumindor! I, like everyone else on this webbed site I think, love a good heist plot and MY GOD a good heist plot with Royce and Hadrian? Heaven truly is a place on Earth! I want to see them bicker and I want to see them stressed out when they're making their little plans they never end up actually following :')

But mostly I hope we get to see them being friends and see them care for each other in their own weird ways. I kinda hope we get some more emo scenes from Hadrian, I love when he's being tortured by dark scenes from his past and I love when he's mean and a bit scary :') It's funny when no one takes him seriously when he's brooding, but I do also hope we get to see someone (preferably Royce) acknowledging him and his past.

I also hope we get to see some prime himbo behaviour from both of them. Of course.

I am sorry that I can't give a more intelligent answer than this right now, but I need to reread the books because I've forgot so much. It's a real shame! :(

Also PLEASE tell me what you are excited about, too!! Anyone feel free to reblog this with an answer or to reply to it, I'd love a discussion on it and to hear from ppl who actually remember more of the lore!!

[rfaromance]

Rika and Hinata... Tell me more... Women loving content....

ALWAYS HAPPY TO TALK ABOUT MY WLW

So, Hinata has always dreamed of being an idol! She dedicated a lot of time & effort into practice, and she did well as a trainee! The issue isn't her skills--she's a phenomenal singer and a great dancer, and being small & pink surely helps from a visual aspect.

The problem is her personality, to be blunt. 😅

She's INTENSE. Hinata has high expectations that even she doesn't always meet. She was delighted to debut with her group, and on stage she played up her angelic image: frilly skirts, tons of fairy kei/ decora accessories, white image color, and always did her hair and makeup to accentuate her blush and frame her pale face with her pink curls, like a cherub.

Behind the scenes? She's brutal. She's strict, she's critical, she's constantly pushing the other girls. She ended up butting heads with a couple of the bolder girls, who told her she was being a tyrant. Eventually they got sick of her treatment and the group disbanded. Hinata's heart was in the right place, but her approach was AWFUL. She wanted them to succeed, but her high ambitions led her to only see faults. They were all talented, but Hinata needed them to be the BEST.

Of course, no agent was crazy enough to produce Hinata after that. While most fans don't know the truth behind her group disbanding, word spread around in the industry.

Which is how Hinata ended up doing street performances and trying to grab free agent jobs. She refused to let her dream die... even if she knew, deep in her heart, she'd blown her chance.

In comes Rika, with sunglasses and a mask to hide her face, and her arms full of Mint Eye flyers. She couldn't help but notice this cutie pie putting on a show in the park. Rika was drawn to her glow, the shine and sparkle of an idol trying to brighten other people's hearts. (Because despite herself, Rika is like a moth to flame and can't resist people who have "sunshine" energy.) She saw hope and promise, but she could also see that Hinata was struggling (why else would she be alone out here, singing a capella?).

Well, Mint Eye is the perfect place for people who have been scorned by society and have no other place to go.

Rika genuinely enjoyed Hinata's performance, and she told her so. She praised Hinata and gave her a flyer, but then also asked for her name.

Hinata, who had felt ignored and abandoned and desperate to reach her "heaven" of being an idol once more... latched onto Rika. Rika really is Hinata's "savior," because her kind words and her attention rekindled Hinata's flame and inspired her to keep going.

Naturally she went to Mint Eye after that and swore her devotion to Rika. So Hinata isn't a regular believer, but rather she has a special role. While Ray handles security and tech, Hinata is important for recruitment and morale at Mint Eye. Who doesn't want to see a cute idol? Who doesn't want to see a cute idol with an ANGEL shtick sing praises about their Savior? Once a month they can have a ☆fun☆ prayer session led by a pop idol. Rika's not a regular cult leader, she's a cool cult leader!

Rika and Hinata definitely are toxic at the beginning. Hinata is obsessed with Rika, and Rika finds her useful and cute. And at times you may find yourself wondering "Who is actually manipulating whom? Who is pulling the strings here?"

They finally get to the point where they're in a healthier, happier, genuine relationship. Rika sees someone who never left her side and wasn't afraid to be bold with her, and Hinata sees someone who isn't a goddess but has just as many flaws as Hinata does. They get their cottagecore ending.

Of course, after the SE, it's a cottage out in Alaska, but y'know.

[throwaway-yandere]

ansy, i match you with facess!ayato. you're welcome. /hj

honestly i am so bad at matchmaking people so i just default to someone's favorite characters. so in this case i am matching you up with dain.

no, listen.

he's so soggy for you it's giving us secondhand embarrassment. probably calls you 'light of my life' or 'my brightest star' in khaenri'ahn despite knowing that you write cannibalism and all these awesome fucked up shits (/aff).

20/10 would die for you. would also give you the heads of your enemies on a silver platter but he knows you're bad with gifts so he refrains from doing it. in exchange, he will make sure that all cockroaches that comes within five hundred meters of you will be thoroughly decimated ala raiden shogun style. L

he absolutely adores your drawings and writings, if he had a house he would totally frame them and put them up his bedroom walls. alas, the man is homeless. it's okay though, he's an expert at camping and his chest makes for a pretty comfy pillow. not as big as al haitham's but then again man i built like a brick house feeble scholar my ass-

his secret talent is reading your handwriting and he's proud of it. carries you everywhere at any time of the day as soon as he sees you sweat. man. he's so whipped. go get your man and go live happily ever after with him. don't forget to invite me to the wedding 👍🏻

- ✾

he's so soggy for you it's giving us secondhand embarrassment. probably calls you 'light of my life' or 'my brightest star' in khaenri'ahn despite knowing that you write cannibalism and all these awesome fucked up shits (/aff).

HEISIWOEOWI HELP THAT'S VERY CUTE– and also i feel like he'd be like "yeah, I've seen enough of this world that the cannibalism thing didn't bother me." HDHSJWOW–

"it's giving us secondhand embarrassment–" HDJSKS HELP–

The way you described this made me wish he was real even more 😔. I just want dain to eradicate all the cockroaches in the world is that too much to ask for.

(my genshin signature is ""feeble scholar" yEAh RiGht" rn so I agree, mfer alhaitham stop capping.)

His secret talent is reading your handwriting and he's proud of it

*sobs even more*

Help.

Don't make me fall harder for this man. I can't marry him 😭😭😭–

Ansy feels soft and will now shut down in 3... 2... 1...

[ssreeder]

Oh man. Even when there are soft moments, pain lurks somewhere. We will go through turmoil.😭

Also, possible upcoming projects? 👀 Seems interesting!

I like Red Balloon anon! :D

...

Reeds... you're giving me too much power with that name. You have no idea what you gave me because that's going to be my "alter ego" now. Pain will be nicer, still wants to sprinkle pain here and there because yes. But even Pain can take so much torment.

Now Red. Red likes chaos, and wants all of us to suffer. It will read and give possible worse outcomes of what may or may not happen. It will want for us to think over and over about those bad situations. Worry about the safety and health of all these characters.

Reeds... what have you done to me? Why are you making me do this... I hate myself for creating this at the moment. AHHHHH! Please tell me not to continue this! PLEASE! Tell me to stop!

Welp, Pain will continue to talk with this font.

Red on the other hand will

talk with this one.

Tick tock. The timer has now begun. On what? Well, that's a little surprise! We wouldn't want to ruin that now? Do we? :) HEHEHE! It will be so much fun! OH! Look at that. A small RED thing in the corner. What are you doing there? Come out and play! Don't be shy.

-Pain Anon

and

Red Anon

(It's fun to play roles from time to time :D

Reeds, please. Tell me to just be Pain.)

Maybe it's better if we both unite Pain.

Hahahaha. Is it weird that Red Balloon anon gives me more strange vibes than Pain anon because I think of IT & the red balloon from that??

Hahaha…, I’m sure you saw what I meant with the mixture of fluff/angst from last chapter ;) <3

Love you Painfully Red Balloon anon <3