#this is what grief and depression and loneliness can do to a person :) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 3 months ago

Text

Chan x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Suicide, Death, Grief, Slight Age Gap, Life after loss, Cursing, Angst, Blood, Brother's Friend, Manic Behavior, Depression, Panic Attacks.

Word Count:

If you or someone you know is suffering from suicidal ideation or thoughts of harming themselves, please reach out for help. You never know when someone's last day will be; no one ever does. But if you can help - even just a tiny bit, sometimes a word, text, or even a call can be a catalyst for positive change.

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹

pt1 Part Two

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹

You sat alone in your dimly lit room, the silence almost palpable. Your parents were away for the night. As they had been the last few nights.

You didn't blame them at all. It was hard being in, let alone living in a house that carried so much weight now. It was only a matter of time before your parents would move away. Taking you along with them, as you were still young. Just barely 21 yourself.

The only light came from the desk lamp, casting a soft glow over the envelope in your hands. It was marked with the words "Read when you're lonely," and the familiarity of your brother's handwriting stirred up a mix of emotions. You carefully peeled open the envelope, feeling the weight of the moment.

This was the first letter you were opening. It only seemed right, since you were feeling lonely.

Extremely.

As you unfolded the letter, a rush of memories flooded your mind—the way Hajun used to write letters when he had first left home, the warmth you felt when opening them, and the excitement of the thought of another one coming soon. The endless support he gave you in those letters.

A testament to the strength your relationship. You took a deep breath, your eyes scanning the neatly written words on the page:

I'm sorry I’m no longer there to give you a hug when you need one or to share in the laughter and tears of everyday life. I wish more than anything to be there with you, to tell you that everything will be alright and to remind you that you’re never truly alone.

I know this time is incredibly hard, and I can only imagine the weight you’re carrying. It was selfish of me to inflict this on you, but I hope you understand. You've always been understanding. And I hope you can be understanding now.

But I need you to remember that even though I’m not physically with you, you still have remnants of me everywhere. Whenever you feel overwhelmed or lonely, reach out to those who care about you, even if it’s difficult. I hope they can help begin to fill that void.

There’s someone I want you to contact if you ever find yourself feeling lost or isolated. His name is Christopher. He’s one of my closest friends, and he knows what it means to be there for someone who’s hurting. It's been a while since I've talked to him, but I trust him completely, and I believe he’ll offer you the support you need.

If anything, he'll do it out of pity. But he'll be a person in times of loneliness that you can look too.

Sometimes, a change in environment can help bring a fresh perspective and new beginnings. Knowing you, you'll want a change of pace. Something to get away from me. Consider moving to Korea. It’s a big step, but it could be an opportunity for you to heal and find new joys. And there are people there that I believe can help you begin to heal. I know it’s not an easy decision, but I want you to be open to the possibility of finding happiness, even if it means making a major change.

I hope these words bring you some comfort and help you find the strength to face each day. Know that my love is always with you, even if I’m not, Gremlin.

Hajun

You sat there for a moment, letting your eyes burn slightly. You looked at you clock and saw the time.

3:07 a.m.

You wondered if Chris was busy at the moment. You found yourself opening up Instagram.

You hadn't opened it up since Hajun left.

Left. It was easier to think of it like that.

You didn't want to scroll through the countless amount of edits you knew had been made. Juju had always been the favorite of the group. Rightly so, because even though you were prejudiced it was easy to see just how amazing your brother was. And it made sense that others would see that as well.

You didn't watch through any of the edits fully. But it was the first thing that popped up on your screen. With some corny ass pop song playing in the background that made you grit your teeth.

They acted as if they knew him.

We'll miss our Junebug.

You swallowed the bike that had risen in your throat.

Our?

They didn't know him. They couldn't have been going through the pain you were going through.

The anger you felt made you want to become a key board warrior. To respond to every comment and call them out on the utter bullshit.

The comments saying that "no one understands how hurt I was when I found out" or "it hurts as his number one fan" or "no one knows pain like this".

The comments with immense parasocial vibes made you sick to your stomach, and you clutched your phone as you scrolled through countless girls and guys who commented on how heartbroken they were of their husband being gone.

You had gone through that phase, it was normal even, something common in the fandoms. But at times like this it left a sour taste in your mouth. And you couldn't sit one moment to and try to empathize with them; even if you knew that sometimes people you looked up to, admired even- felt closer than those you could reach out and touch; those whose embraces were tangible.

You felt like reporting each and everyone, screaming at them.

They never knew him.

At least not like you did, not like your mom did. Your dad. His friends.

And to those who had "stumbled" across your account after doing enough research on your brother it was nearly a full on doxxing; and then spread your information- had sent you a plethora of messages that you didn't open up. You'd let them sit in your requests until the day that you went to meet your brother once more.

You went to the search bar and typed in the reason you had come to the social site to begin with.

Christopher Bang

You clicked on a page that had the blue verification.

@gnabnahc.

You scrolled through a few of his posts, not realizing a smallest smile had molded to your face.

His way of posting was similar to your brother's. Very boyfriend coded. Something you had always teased him about in the comments of your "fan" account.

"Y/N you know you're atrocious for leaving that comment." "219k people liked so I think you're wrong." "Yeah, cause they thought it was funny that you tagged Mom and Dad." "What else was I supposed to do? Allow my brother to solicit such images? I'm tired of hearing people simp over you. You're not even that great-"

Except he really was.

Your thumb stilled over a clear image of him, his birthday post froma a few days before you first called him.

26.

Your breath caught slightly as you stared at the unfamiliar face on your screen. You had never met him - his name now only being mentioned in the wake of your brother’s death, a friend of Hajun’s you had never gotten around to knowing in his life. Yet here you were, unable to tear your eyes away from his smile.

It was strange, the way his smile seemed to reach out to you, even though he was a stranger. His lips were curved in a way that felt so effortless, as if joy came naturally to him, even in a world that had assumingly taken from him. As it tended to do for everyone.

The crinkles at the corners of his eyes hinted at a warmth that felt oddly familiar, and foreign simultaneously. You didn’t know him: you had no reason to feel anything for him- especially in the mental state you were currently residing in -but there was something about that smile that tugged at something deep inside you - a place you had been trying to keep sealed off since Hajun died.

You frowned, your thumb hovering once more as if you might scroll away, but you didn’t. Instead, you found yourself studying the details - the way his dimples deepened when he smiled, the slight tilt of his head as if he was caught in the middle of laughing at something. A laugh you could almost hear clearly. Light, and airy, carrying the essence of an eternal giggle rather than a deep bellowing guffaw.

His smile reminded you of the way Juju smiled.

Except the difference between Hajun's smile and Chris's was that the warmth in Chris's smile didn’t just comfort you, or make you feel as if you were seen- it sparked something restless and new, like the first hint of spring after a long winter, coaxing your frozen heart to thaw slightly, even when you were sure you weren't ready to feel the warmth of the sun again.

You didn’t want to feel this a draw to someone you’d never met personally, especially not now, when grief still clung to you like a second skin. But the longer you looked, the harder it was to deny the pull. It wasn’t attraction, not exactly - it was more like an inexplicable need to hold onto something, anything, that didn’t hurt.

And somehow, without knowing how or why, Chritopher's smile had become that something.

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹

"Hyung! Your phone is ringing!" Jeongin's voice rang across the home to the eldest member, as he stuffed chips into his mouth while lounging on his bed.

"Innie-ah, I thought I told you to stop eating on my bed. You always leave crumbs." As he walked over to his dresser where his phone laid, Jeongin made a theatrical crunch as if proving a point to his leader.

"Ah! You're calling me messy! Our dorm is the cleanest how could you say that?" He mumbled, rolling over and opening up his secret account to scroll through edits.

Chris sighed and grabbed his phone, the call missed. When he tapped the screen, your name had popped up and immediately his heart flew to his throat.

He called you back immediately, waiting impatiently for you to pick up.

"Hello? Sorry did I wake you?"

"Ah, ah, no I promise you didn't wake me. It's only early evening over here- but wouldn't that mean it is early morning for you?

"I couldn't sleep. I'm home alone and even though I want to be alone...together. I don't want to be alone...alone."

Chris nodded. "I'm sorry Y/N, I'm sure that's really hard." Jeongin's ears perked up, his body flying into a seated position as he crawled closer to his Hyung who was now seated on the edge of the mattress. "But I'm here for you, you know?"

Jeongin tried his best to listen in, even trying to disguise his nosiness as seeking for affection, but Chris shook his head and pushed him off lightly with a light noogie to his head. Jeongin pouted and opened up a pack of gummy worms, chewing slower and more deliberately to try and listen in.

"Korea?" Chan asked, his voice raising slightly in surprise. "I mean that's a huge step but..." He nodded and Jeongin sighed, throwing himself back on the bed.

"I'm sure it will be hard. But you'll have support here. But with all the visas and stuff you'll have to have a valid reason to move...yeah...hm...I mean it could take a little bit unless you found a job...yeah..." He absentmindedly drew little doodles on his knee.

Jeongin's eyebrows scrunched. Who was the girl his leader was speaking so softly to? He could hear the slightest sound of your voice and Jeongin hmphed as he moved around again. Was his hyung dating someone?

The conversation you had with Chris went on for a while, until you decided that maybe it was time you at least try to rest your eyes.

"Good. You need to get sleep. We can talk about this when you have a clearer mind. Sleep well, Y/N."

"Goodnight." You said, hanging up. You put your phone on your desk and trekked towards your bed but looked at the small notebook that laid on it. Just one of many notebooks left.

There were hundreds and hundreds of lyrics Hajun had scribbled onto the cream-colored paper. You were grateful your parents had taken the time to raise you as a polyglot rather than just Hajun.

You seamlessly switched from English to Korean to Japanese and the occasional surprise inducing Spanish lyrics Hajun had written.

Language had always been an interest to you.

The minute Hajun had shown interest in becoming an entertainer by the age of seven, your parents had enrolled him in all types of music and dance related extracurriculars, and made you tag along as well in hopes that maybe you too would want to become a part of the entertainment industry, but rather than that you had fallen in love with tagging along to Hajun's language classes.

You credited your parents to the Korean and English knowledge you had, your mom and dad speaking the two languages throughout your childhood after reading somewhere that it was easier for children to learn languages due to brain plasticity. And due to the glories of the education system, you had taken Spanish throughout your high school years and taken quite a liking to the widely spoken language, even if you only knew it intermediately.

Hajun had been the one to teach you Japanese alongside one of his band members who was a native speaker. It was an excuse for you to chat with him regularly, and you missed that excuse when you had become a better speaker than your brother himself.

You flipped through his lyrics and wished you could have heard his voice sing these words or rap them. Or have these words overlay on a soothing melody.

Your fingers glided over imaginary piano keys, and you hummed softly. Not that you knew how to play the piano; you just enjoyed clashing a few keys together in a discordant way ever so often. But you had always been a choir kid, thanks to your parents pressuring their expectations on you. Hoping that one day you might choose to be on the same path as Hajun.

How sick and twisted may irony be.

The pages in front of you felt heavy with the weight of his unspoken words, dreams that were cut short too soon. You could almost hear his voice in your mind, the cadence of his lyrics dancing between panning between your ears. But it was just that - almost. The more you read, the more you were consumed by the silence, a silence and emptiness that gnawed at you.

A sudden pang of grief shot through your chest, sharp and undeniable. How could this be all that was left of him? Words on a page, a life that had been poured into lyrics, melodies, and dreams that would never be fulfilled. As if everything he did was for nothing? The thought twisted inside you, tightening your throat, suffocating in its cruelty.

But then, something else began to simmer beneath the surface of your grief - something that made your breath catch, and not in a way you were prepared for. You shook your head, trying to dismiss it, to focus on the memories, on the reality that becoming an idol was what drove him to his demise. How could you even think -no, it was irrational, absurd even.

Yet the thought was persistent, sneaking into the corners of your mind when you least expected it. What if you…what if you became the voice that could bring his words to life? What if you took the path he couldn’t complete, not to replace him but to…honor him? Was that it? Or was it something more?

You remembered Chris’s words from before, the casual mention of visas and logistics if you ever moved to Korea. It was a passing comment, a practical consideration that seemed so far-fetched- and now...now it was like a splinter under your skin.

The idea lingered, manic and wild. It felt almost like a betrayal to consider it, as if you were trying to follow in the footsteps that had led him to the edge of a cliff. But at the same time, there was a strange, allure to the consideration; one that made you wonder if you could find him again, not in the grave where he rested, but in the songs that never got to be sung.

The conflict in your mind was almost unbearable, a cacophony of fear, grief, and a desperate yearning for something you couldn’t quite define.

Was it closure? Was it madness? Or was it simply a need to feel closer to him, to understand why the path he chose became too much to bear?

You wanted to dismiss it as a fleeting thought, a product of your grief-stricken mind, but the more you tried to push it away, the more it burrowed itself into your consciousness. Becoming an idol -how crazy was that? It was the very thing that had taken him from you. And yet, the more you thought about it, the more it made a twisted kind of sense.

You weren’t like him, and maybe that’s why you could do it. Maybe, where he fell, you could stand. Maybe you could be strong enough to carry his dreams forward, to finish the songs he started. Or maybe it was just the grief talking, leading you down a path that made no sense, but felt like the only way to hold onto him, to not let him disappear completely.

The snap, when it came, was not sudden but gradual, like a rope fraying one fiber at a time until it finally broke. It wasn’t rational, it wasn’t even something you could explain, but the thought was there now, alive and insistent. You couldn’t tell if it was the worst idea you’d ever had or the only one that made sense in the wake of his absence.

The idea of giving life to Hajun’s lyrics -of turning his words into a melody that could fill the silence he left behind- was the only thing that seemed to soothe the ache in your heart. Even just imagining his songs being sung was like a balm, easing the pain with every note that played in your mind.

Becoming an idol…The very notion was wild, crazy, even, but in the midst of your grief, it felt like the only way to hear his voice again. To be with him. To find a way back to him, to find a way forward that wasn’t just drowning in the hundred of emotions he left behind.

You could feel it building, an irrational yet unstoppable force, a need that defied logic. It wasn’t about fame, or fortune, or even following in his footsteps. It was about something deeper, something primal. It was about reclaiming a part of him, of yourself, that felt lost in the shadows of his death.

The idea grew roots, tangled and dark, winding through your thoughts until it was impossible to separate it from your grief. You imagined yourself on stage, under the harsh lights, the crowd’s roar in your ears- was it your voice they wanted to hear, or his? The lines blurred, your identity slipping between the cracks as the thought took hold.

You had the voice. You had the potential to learn to dance. Your image would almost be a given - the amount of attention a company would get for signing on the younger sister of an incredibly loved and deceased idol would have media swarming and an immense amount of free promotion. It would be a conglomerates dream. But could you do it?

Could you really step into that world, knowing what it did to him?

The grief whispered that maybe you had no choice. Maybe this was your path now, carved out by the loss that had ripped your life apart. Maybe by becoming an idol, you could bring him back in some way, keep his memory alive.

It was reckless, it was irrational, it was everything you had never been. And yet…it was the only thing that made sense.

You could almost hear him scoffing at you from above, calling you out for your foolishness, and that made you smile- just a little. If he were here, he’d tell you how ridiculous you were being, probably flick your forehead scolding you about how this was the last thing you should do. But he wasn’t here. And that was the point, wasn’t it? To be where he couldn’t be, to say what he couldn’t say, to live the life he never got to finish.

The snap was complete now, your mind fracturing into a thousand pieces, each one demanding something different. Rationality warred with logic with desperation, but in the end, only one voice remained. The one that told you to go, to become, to do the very thing that had destroyed him.

Because maybe, just maybe, in that destruction, you could find the pieces of him that were still left. Maybe those pieces could fill what he had carved out from you.

And maybe - just maybe - in the echoes of your own voice, you could finally find peace.

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹

988 - USA Suicide Prevention Hotline | 24 Hours 111 - Helpline UK | 24 hours 1393 - Suicide Hotline Korea | 24 hours

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

@minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg

@0325tiny @resi4skz @soaplickerrr

@leezanetheofficial @stressymessyana @istglevi-gotmesimping

@hannamoon143 @kayleefriedchicken

#skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x female reader #skz angst #christopher bang #bangchan angst #christopher bang x reader #bangchan x female reader #bangchan x reader #skz bangchan angst #stray kids

147 notes · View notes

stxrvel · 6 months ago

Text

losing myself

memories of how you lost yourself trying to keep your best friend afloat. content. angst, depression and suicidal thoughts. this is post-suguru's death, except the first memory. a/n. i just can't seem to bring myself out of the angst for jjk, i apologise in advance!

jjk main masterlist | main masterlist

Helping Satoru was a way of losing yourself. When Haibara died and Suguru abandoned them, Shoko dealt with it in her loneliness and the only thing Satoru could lean on was you. Your shoulder was his support, the only thing that kept him sane to reality as you both tried to graduate and made the decision to teach school, you for a much more selfish reason than Satoru's human reasons.

Helping Satoru cost you a lifetime of loneliness. You loved your friend and after what happened you were so desperate not to lose anyone else that you were willing to do anything, even if it meant losing everything that once made you who you were and all motivation. You thought your identity didn't compare to the pain and helplessness of not being able to do anything while everyone walked away, but your decision led to a lonelier life than you had thought.

“Hey, everything okay?” Shoko approached through the hallway, the darkness relenting once she was standing next to you. “You look pale.”

“I'm fine. Just a little tired.”

The clouds around you enveloped them on either side, a somber feeling settling in between the space Shoko kept her distance with.

“Well, we've graduated. From now on the pains can't be so great.”

“Yeah, right. We're past the worst of it, aren't we?”

“I'd like to think so.”

Her cocked smile thawed a little of the chill settling in your chest, but her eyes told you everything her lips didn't. She knew, everyone knew, that you hadn't been the same since Suguru left. Satoru was staying afloat because of his goofy personality, but trying your best to keep it that way, the sparkle in your eyes disappeared. The person who used to be told that she brought the sun in her eyes had completely clouded over. Shoko saw the storms in your eyes, the impenetrable and unceasing tempest. She couldn't cross it without dying trying.

“You can talk to me if you need to.”

That was what she said every time, even though you never took her at her word. Shoko always proved she could survive on her own, however she had done it, whatever process she had to go through, the smile she gave you in those moments at least was more genuine than yours.

Satoru was too wrapped up in his own world, his own head and his own pain to stop for a moment to notice yours, which Shoko and the others could. You never placed that guilt on Satoru's shoulders, nor did you need to, but it was something you were sadly aware of. Satoru didn't push you aside because he was selfish, it was simply his way of processing things, so internally and individually inside his head. Just as you had made it your way of processing grief to help Satoru tirelessly, to the point of almost becoming his shadow.

“I don't know what to do anymore, y/n,” Satoru cried, hands holding his head and knees against his chest.

Utahime had called out to you, barely passing you out of eagerness and blurting out a couple of words that you could deduce were about Satoru. It was painful as you knew you had to prepare in advance to see him, because it was heartbreaking to have to help him process his pain while you had to keep your own at bay.

“I'm tired of dreaming about it. I'm tired of… seeing him.”

Your hands moved over his hair, his cursed technique disappearing every time you were near. You tried to contain the trembling of his body by holding his shoulders, but having you closer only made him more vulnerable.

“Not sleeping is not the solution, Satoru.”

“That's the only way,” raising his head, his puffy blue eyes returned your gaze. At times like those, you didn't know how he hadn't noticed your sunken eyes or the black bags that even years later still wouldn't go away.

But it was about him. Satoru was in bad modd. You had to help him. You had to hold him.

“No, it's not. I'm here,” your knees touched his feet, his face contracting as a fresh tide of tears lashed his chest. Cold hands wrapped around you and your numb hands wrapped around his neck. “I know you miss him. I know you regret it.”

His sobs against your shoulder grew louder and louder, but Satoru kept his grip with hostility. He held close to you as his lifeline, the float that carried him across the ocean, shipwrecked in his own pain, lost in his own mind.

“But you know you don't have to carry that pain alone, Satoru.”

“I don't know what I did, y/n…”

“You did what you had to do.”

“No…”

“If you hadn't done it, I would have.”

His head jerked up, his blue eyes crystallizing and pain written all over his face with the trail of tears that wouldn't stop flowing.

“It wasn't anything either of us would've had to have done,” you shook your head, trying to contain the memories in the back of your head, trying to focus on pain your friend in that moment, on what really mattered. “It wasn't anything either of us had to endure.”

“But you're fine…”

You almost snorted, controlling yourself enough to let out a sigh. His naive eyes wouldn't leave yours, almost as if he was constantly wondering what you were doing to deal with all that he wasn't. As if there was something wrong that he was doing or something he wasn't doing that you were, because in his eyes, up until that moment, you were fine.

“I'm fine when you're fine.”

“I'm not fine right now.”

“I know.”

You seemed to think a glimmer of understanding crossed his eyes. You didn't know, you couldn't be sure, but his face returned to your neck and the tears stopped falling. Minutes passed in silence.

“I'm sorry,” was the last thing he said that night.

Helping Satoru was something you would never regret, even when you had lost your spark and the students loved him more than you.

“I thought you were going out tonight.”

You ran into Nanami on your way to your dorm. It was getting close to the time of the outing Satoru had proposed for that night and you knew that if you didn't go no one else would show up there. You hated to think of dashing your friend's hopes, but he had already developed enough strength to go through such a disappointment. It had been months since he had becone strong enough to deal with such situations on his own.

“I'm tired.”

“For something specific?”

It was common for your friends to dance around the elephant in the room, and sometimes you allowed yourself to think how different things would be if they had at some point been more daring with their approaches, as you were with Satoru. What would've changed, then or in the past, if Nanami or Shoko had been more insistent? Where would you be now? Where would you be later?

“Nothing specific. I'd just like to get more rest tonight,” you sent Nanami a smile, the kind you had mastered to avoid such conversations.

“Very well. You know I'm just a phone call away if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Nanami.”

Were you really that selfish? In all their remoteness, your friends were still concerned about your well-being. Had enough time passed for you to not care? If you didn't want to be unwell, why was it so hard for you to accept their help?

“You've lost weight,” Satoru was right beside you from the moment you left Yaga's office.

“The mission went well, Satoru, thank you for caring.”

You tried to dodge him to go back to your room, but of course the white-haired man wouldn't just walk away just because. Lately he was closer, more attentive, more condescending…

“Are you eating well?”

Satoru was trying hard to ignore the way his words brought back dark memories. From the moment he realized what had been happening, his mind was scheming every second of the day in trying to find a way to bring you back to your original state. He couldn't even fully concentrate on the missions, but that was no obstacle for him.

“I'm tired, Satoru. It was three days. I need to sleep.”

“I told Yaga many times to let me go with you…”

“I handled it just fine on my own, Satoru.”

“I know! I'd just like to be of some use-”

“You want to be of some use? Leave me alone!”

The bed was freezing cold as it was every night. You changed the sheets that morning and organized the entire bedroom in a strange spike of energy. You felt a little better afterwards, but not enough. It had never stopped looking and feeling so empty, no matter what you did.

Satoru called you a couple of times that night, but as usual, he'd give up after a couple of tries.

You wondered again, drowsily, what would be different if only he had insisted a little more…

#satoru x reader #satoru x you #gojo saturo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk angst #satoru angst #gojo angst

338 notes · View notes

chronicdisasterwrites · 1 year ago

Text

these morons of jujutsu high

pairing: gojo satoru, geto suguru, shoko ieiri and fem!reader

genre + warnings: - this is NOT a poly fic. they’re all just vvv good friends. nanami and haibara were mentioned. mentions of blood, death and general jujutsu kaisen TW stuff. smoking, the word “goddamned” is mentioned. gojo being an idiot lmfao.

overall FLUFF !!

word count: 1219

authors note: so this is just a cute, heartfelt piece about the jjk troublemakers including and reader. i was thinking of making this the intro of a potential series but ✨ let’s see ✨

enjoyyyy <3

Is this really my life?

A question that always lingers in your mind.

Being a jujutsu sorcerer was no walk in the park. Death was a regular occurrence in your line of work. Deaths you anticipated, deaths you caused, deaths of friends, and even deaths of curses. None of them are ever easy to deal with. Nothing about this goddamned job is easy.

The smell of blood is as common to you as the smell of antiseptics is to a doctor. The sound of a curse evaporating into nothingness is ingrained in your brain as the sound of a child's first laughter is ingrained in the minds of their parents. Your hands are used to the touch of the cold steel of your weapons as a guitarist is used to the wood of their guitar.

This is your life. Your weapons are your instruments and the world is your stage. The only difference is, you have the blood of the crowd on your hands every. single. day. The blood of curses, the blood of humans, the blood of your comrades, and the blood of your own body.

How could it be that this life; so full of hurt, pain, despair, regret, fear, loneliness, anxiety, and depression, can also have so much happiness, love, excitement, companionship, adventure, humor, and serenity? That’s life, you suppose. But how can a life like yours have so much love alongside such hatred?

Your friends are the reason, you suppose.

These morons of Jujutsu High.

They feel the same emotions as deeply as you do. They have all felt loss, betrayal, grief, and death as much as you have.

Gojo Satoru had basically been raised as a trophy or a high-value product kept in perfect condition for the world to gawk at with wide eyes and ulterior motives. With the weight of the responsibility of being ‘Strongest’ hanging over his shoulders and daggers and spears pointed at him from every direction, he never had the chance to be a mere child. Which is what he was. Just a child. From birth to the present day, he has had eyes on him with the neon sign labeled ‘Strongest Sorcerer Ever’ blinking over his head. Always on his guard, being wary of who to trust. Not a moment to be a child. Not a moment to be a teenager and certainly not a moment to be an independent adult, free to choose who to love or what to do in life. He only has one thing to do. One obligation he has had since birth. Be the strongest. Throughout the heavens and the earth, he alone is the honored one.

It's a pretty lonely role for one person to bear.

Geto Suguru has kind eyes, a simple smile, and an extremely feared cursed technique; but what that smile and easygoing personality covers is his heart burdened with the horrors he has had to face in his life. He too, was born with the responsibility of using his cursed technique to help people. Born with the ability to absorb curses and later use them as he so desires. Living every day just killing and absorbing something that tastes like a rag covered in vomit and shit. Having to force your oesophagus to open up and force your mind to think of something more delicious whilst absorbing the thing you killed a few minutes ago is all second nature to Geto Suguru. Doesn’t mean it ever gets easier. But the smile comes easily to him and his voice stays soft and stable as his words soothe even those who hate him.

Because Geto Suguru wants to help those who are weak, and he would swallow all the curses necessary in order to do so.

Shoko Ieiri is the epitome of genius. Since she was a child she knew fully how to use the reversed curse technique; the ability to heal oneself and others, a technique even the strongest and most experienced jujutsu sorcerers have trouble mastering. Being so valuable means she has to stay in a lot, or go to missions alone a lot. She doesn’t get to choose missions, doesn’t get to accompany her friends to even ‘potentially’ dangerous locations. Being so valuable, she is the first person every jujutsu sorcerer goes to for healing and rejuvenation. Which also means she has to see a lot of her comrades lie on the steel bed, lifeless and cold and limp. She is the one who has to patch them up and she is the one who has to cut them open. Dealing with death and the aftermath is her job.

That's a lot of death for two eyes to see and two hands to explore.

Meeting them, knowing them, and growing to love them is the most rewarding experience your roller coaster of a life has had to offer by far. Checking out every single cafe Japan has to offer, milking Satoru of all his wealth by going out to eat and Satoru eating the most (ironically), pissing off Yaga-Sensei, celebrating birthdays, arguing and then making up with actions instead of verbal apologies, being the loudest group in every train station, smoke breaks with Shoko and Suguru while hiding away from Satoru, spending sleepless nights under the stars with Satoru, teasing Nanami and Haibara for acting like a 50-year-old married couple, fighting curses and always having each other’s backs. This was your family. However dysfunctional and however small.

So now, sitting in the classroom watching Suguru and Satoru bicker about who knows what this time, with Shoko sitting next to you fiddling around with Satoru’s sunglasses making faces and terrible impressions, bathed in the golden rays flooding the room through the windows as the sun goes down, you ponder the question; is this really your life?

You hear your name being called and the train of thought comes to a halt, as you look up to find honey-gold eyes staring back at you.

“What’re you thinking about so hard?” Suguru asks with his soft eyes and an even softer smile.

“She’s obviously thinking about how right I am and how wrong you are, Suguru,” Satoru interjects with his usual cocky smile and teasing lilt to his voice.

“Yeah, she definitely thinks a seal can beat a hippo in a fight to the death,” Shoko quips with unimpressed eyes and an obviously sarcastic smile.

Satoru slaps his hand on the desk so loudly that the sound reverberates throughout the entire floor you’re on, “HAH! Thank you Shoko, exactly what I’m saying. Of course I’m right.”

He wears an accomplished smile as the sarcasm completely flies over his stupid head.

“Gojo… I was joking. You’re obviously wrong.”

You can almost hear something crack in his head. The sound of disappointment.

“HEY just think about it okay? So a seal-“

As a new chapter of bickering begins between Shoko and Satoru, Suguru nudges your shoulder with a quirk of his eyebrows, silently repeating his previous question.

You look at him, look back at Satoru and Shoko and shake your head with a content smile and a huff of laughter, “Just thinking about life, I guess.”

With a hum and a smile Suguru relaxes on your other side as you both turn your attention to the ongoing argument unravelling before you.

Yeah. This really is my life.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #shoko x reader #jjk fluff #gojo satoru #geto suguru #shoko ieiri #gojo uses sarcasm but fails to understand it when someone uses it on him #shoko is babygirl #geto is babie boy #nanami and haibara are a certified married couple #yaga wants to die #i love them your honor #jjk x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #shoko ieiri x reader

667 notes · View notes

sleepyelliee · 7 months ago

Text

taking a bath with jack marston.

౨ৎ SUMMARY... your favorite gunslinger seems to have trouble keeping himself together during the rough patch he is currently experiencing, so you decide to step in and tend to his needs.

౨ৎ RATING...fluff ! but, mentions of depression, implied grief, dirt, bacteria, nude body, alcoholism, scars, cuts, and bruises, implied financial situation, loneliness, implied to be shorter than him, GN READER. no 'y/n', just 'you.' Loosely proofread. established relationship.

౨ৎ CREDITS... thank you sooo much, @slversprngs for allowing me to use your jack drawings <3. you should definitely check them out because they make amazing art.

You were familiar with the young man and his family who lived couple blocks down from your ranch and your father would trade different products each month with the Marston's. This soon became a way to know the teenage boy as his mother, Abigail started to invite your family to dinner every other weekend, an attempt to make her loner son have some friends since all he did was read books and help out his father whenever they did ranch work.

Abigail thought you were a good influence, you liked reading books and engaged in conversations whenever her or her beloved husband would ask about your hobbies or they observed how you would treat their son. The Marston's loved having your family around and soon enough you became a family friend, and a best friend to Jack.

All those memories and dinners with the Marston family soon came an end three years ago, when Jack's father, John passed away and soon after that his mother passed as well.

It changed the young man - crushed him to pieces that it altered his personality. The old sarcastic boy you knew was far from that now, he was quiet and only kept to himself with that stoic mask he displays to everyone.

It seems you were an expectation because he wasn't entirely closed off, he still spoke to you occasionally about the things he's doing in his life - aiming to kill Edgar Ross, a man who murdered his father apparently.

You didn't know what to say to that, two wrongs don't make a right. But, you couldn't stop the young man as he let his anger out about the whole situation as he spoke about it whenever he would lean against the railings of his porch and you would quietly listen to his rambling.

...

Opening the crunched up newspaper that was left in your mailbox messily caught you off guard. The retired federal agent, Edgar Ross was reported as dead - something you didn't want to take literally due to how sweet the young man used to be in the past, nor wanted to believe his words of murder true. You felt terrible because you knew that the true fate of the man before it took place and deep down you knew you could've reported it to the law.

That's what you repeated to yourself numerous times - never to ever interact with an outlaw, a gunslinger, a murderer, someone like him, but you found yourself stripping naked to wash the young man as you slowly got into the bathtub.

"You don't have to do this," The gunslinger repeated as he took a heavy inhale, trying to respect you in the best way possible without making this awkward, "You know you can leave, right?" He continued but any conviction seemed to land on deaf ears.

"Mhm, I know." You muttered, reaching over to grab the shampoo and rubbing it on your hands before massage it into his scalp. The built up grease from days or even weeks was noticable but you decided not to speak about it.

Jack feels guilty - not for the killing a man but how he's making you, a childhood friend of his clean him up like he's a baby. The alcohol in his system doesn't make the anxiousness fade away as he is afraid you'll judge him - you'll will leave him.

He doesn't know how long it's been that he genuinely felt so clean but he won't ever even admit a side of vulnerability despite the fact he allowed you to take care of him.

After shampooing his hair, you gently wash off the shampoo and rubbed conditioner on your hand before going in and applying it to the outlaw's dark hair, causing him to hum. "What else are you goin' to do?" He questions as his gaze slowly meets yours, hoping you won't be grossed out.

"Do you want me to wash your shoulders? You...uh, can do the rest.." You mutter as your cheeks grew into a rosy red. Damn. He swears that look you give him anytime you get embarrassed will be the death of him.

Jack doesn't comment on it though, he silently reaches down and takes hold of your waist and pulls you closer. "Don't stress it," The gunslinger mutters, slowly dipping his face in the curve of your neck. "Darlin'..? Love you."

Jack Marston was not a vulnerable man, but in this moment, he felt safe and secure in your arms.

Thank you soo much for reading ! reblogs and likes are very much appreciated... please do not repost my work on any other platform. Masterlist

#john marston #rdr1 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption community #adult jack marston #rdr2 john #rdr1 jack #jack marston x reader #jack marston nation #rai's rambles.#jack marston

109 notes · View notes

c0smoshit · 1 year ago

Note

Hun, I just saw your post about my request being posted earlier! Don't worry about it! Take all the time you need and I want you to enjoy it as much as you can! I know you'll do amazing, and it'll be worth the wait! I am so sorry Tymblr has been a bitch

Blue eyes ミ★

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ≫ Cloud Strife/Reader

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕝𝕠𝕥 ≫ Cloud's been having some horrific dreams lately

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ angst!, fluff too, traumas, nightmares, slight harrasment from a drunk guy, visions, voices, not proofread!

⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ Sorry for the inactivity and tumblr being a bitch :(( But anyways, enjoy this mess 🫶😭

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 ≫ 4.462

« Red »

The colour his mind pictured when he started hearing things, seeing them. His head spinned and hurt, closing his eyes tightly while strange voices filled his mind.

He didn't know where they came from or why they did it, but he was so tired of them.

At first it didn't happen really often, it all started when he stepped on that polluted city. It caused him such a weird and sad feeling, Midgar, the city that was supposed to be such an advance in technology, bringing fresh and huge mako reactors to create those little colorful pearls everyone seemed to want.

But it was all bullshit, they were destroying the planet, milking every mako drop out of it. It got to a point were people couldn't even see the daylight from the slums, greeted by hours and hours of darkness and emptiness.

His mind often circled around how lifeless the faces of the people were, matched with the depressing sight of the metallic buildings and playgrounds. The only natural light that beamed through the endless sandy paths were the children, bringing honest giggles and big jovial grins to the world.

How would it feel to be a kid again?

Nostalgia rested deep inside him, he mourned those years, when it all felt right and real.

Long walks along the little village with his mother, longer ones in the mountains by the back of his house.

Breathe clean air, sleeping with the sound of the air hitting the slope of the mountains with persistence.

His mother caressing his hair as he told her not to ruffle it up

"Learning" how to be a SOLDIER by himself.

He reminisces about his loneliness too, he constantly looked foward to what Tifa's friends were up to.

Although he didn't really fit with anyone on Nibelheim besides Tifa, he was happy and he had dreams. Dreams that were soon sliced by a huge Masamune.

No matter how hard his subconciousness, driven by the silhouette of SOLDIERS and Sephiroth, tried to tell him that those kids were inferior to him, they seemed to be so joyful and honestly happy.

And he just... was there.

Those were the happiest years he had ever looked back on, and now they just remained as memories.

But time appeared to exacerbate those imminent dark nights.

People would frequently put him as a companionless guy, one of many who enjoyed the silent strides of their own feet. And he was, he loved being alone, not with his mind.

He had become accustomed to being alone, he always had been a solitary person and that's all he knew.

His mind roved around his past, his memories, and he often found himself trying to decipher if they were real or just some images that this new voice had placed deeply inside his psyche.

Maybe that was the reason he actually likes spending time with the group, not really the fact that he got to be with them but the comfort of the voices being subdued by them. Even if it just lasted some hours.

Midgar had a dark aura around it that he only seemed to discern. And it got worse and worse, scarlet painted memories of the ones he couldn't protect.

He was tired, tired of it all.

Tired of fighting only to be compensated with grief and regret.

Tired of taking care of everyone, as cruel as it sounded.

Tired of seeing him everywhere, even on the safety of your arms.

The man, if he even deserved that name, who took his life away savagely, his dreams and his trust for him. The day he remembers the most, yet so vaguely, a chaos of blurred ( burnt ) out images inside his messed up brain.

The years had taken away decades of sanity that should still remain inside him.

And hundreds of hours of sleep too.

His body sometimes walked itself out of his makeshift appartment Tifa had lent him, governed by the need of "fresh" air. Nonetheless they were just mere excuses for the fear he felt, knowing that he had to sleep that night with his own thoughts.

He saw you once, streets painted with the caliginosity of the moon, you looked calm as you feet dragged you through the solid metal walls.

He pondered about going and talk to you, but he opted to just watch you fade away into the dead of night. Kind of creepy, he thought, but he didn't want to disturb your peace.

But the metal clank of his comically large sword, resting heavily on his back almost exposed him. Two confused glowing orbs looked around, trying to decipher what they just heard. However they eventually calmed themselves down and continued their enigmatic pace.

He let out a sigh of relief he wasn't aware was holding, lowering the rapid gloved hand that tried to stop the movement of his sword from the handle.

Before he decided that he should leave you alone, something sparkled inside him, something was wrong.

He resumed his steps and before he even had a chance to think, some strange man approached you. Maybe you had a boyfriend he didn't know about?

That option was quickly discarded as your face scrunched up in disgust for a brief moment before you smiled at the man, telling him something. Something he didn't seem really excited about as he slurred some words out of his mouth while closing the distance between the both of you.

His forbearance soon emptied itself, he couldn't bear seeing you like this for another minute. He was aware you knew how to manage yourself in fights and this wouldn't be the first time your shin ended on some guy's crotch.

But everytime something like this occurs, you try to be as polite as you posibly can, not wanting the situation to escalate to a higher problem. Muttering some

"I'm fine thank you"

Your hands crossed in front of your chest, tugging tightly your own shirt as you tried to walk away. But the weird guy got even closer to you, smiling as if he was proud of winning a medal, trying to cage you into the wall.

"Aww cmon, I just wanna have some fun tonight"

His disgusting drunken reek filled your poor nostrils, god why couldn't he just walk away or something?

"You don't want to have some fun?"

You were forced to stop dead on your tracks as his hand launched itself, hitting the wall besides you, ending up at your eye level.

"Hey-"

Your eyes widened in horror as he came closer to your face, whispering something into your ear that your mind couldn't process, as the only thing that popped up instead was the image of your fist fitting so good into his cheekbone.

The hand that grabbed your waist was your last straw, but before you could land a decent blow into the man's face something stopped you. Well, rather someone.

Some signature light blonde locks followed by a stoic and quite angry expression appeared behind the guy, his thin lips parted, words fell out of them full of irritation.

"Mind your own bussiness, freak"

A scoff was heard but it was soon replaced by a leather sound, the yank of someone's jacket followed by the loud sound of a body hitting the ground.

The man quickly got himself up, dusting off his clothes and when he was ready to make some comments about the appearance of the one who had taken him down, he decided to shut his mouth as his eyes travelled to the weapon he was wearing.

That and his intimidating appearance, the moon casting it's light into his back so his face was dark enough not to reveal his features, but not his piercing mako eyes.

Eyes that stared down at him with the most disgusting look he had ever seen on anyone's face before.

And in spite of the fact that Cloud wasn't that intimidating like Barret could be, his actions made his whole facade darker. He wasn't a tall and beefy guy, but he was strong.

Just by one movement of his sword he could slice a motorbike in half, his dexterity with blades was what made him feared.

And yet he was also good in close battles, clear agility as he moved through both the battlefield and the hits that were thrown at him. That and his quick thinking and last minute dodges he offered too.

The man had already vanished into the rumbling engines that worked overnight, fused with the quiet chatter of the souls who worked late. You sighed out in harmony with his grip softening on the handle of his sword once again.

You had so many questions that needed to be answered right now, the louder one asking how come he was here tonight?

The night ended with him taking you back home, telling you that you should be more careful, gaining a frow of your brows and you saying something about how you could protect yourself.

And he knew that, he had seen you fight with him, taking down enemies that he was too slow to see. But he still wanted to take a look after you, make sure nobody harmed you in any ways.

He wanted to be there the way you were there for him.

« Blue »

The way his visions were tinted like, navy blue mixed with some undertones of green.

They were the worst part of all this madness he was enduring.

They caused him headaches and the feeling of disorientation, and he absolutely despised being lost. He didn't even know who he was or why he was here, his mind was the worst puzzle he had to ever go through.

However, that wasn't the darkest thing about it.

The visions felt so real, vivid images flashing through his mind like a high speed train, travelling through all his senses and flooding them.

He could see everything and no matter how hard he tried to squeeze his eyes shut, his own brain forced them open.

He could hear the cries and wailings for mercy, sometimes for help, his help.

He could touch, but everything was so far away yet so close to him.

He could taste the bitter-sweet savour of guilt.

The rancid smell of sadness.

The only sound that brought comfort to him, as it being a signal that he was still alive, ceased it's rythmic pumping. A looming mist spreading from his stomach to the rest of his body, fueling his nerves.

He could sense that they either were years appart from his timeline or mere minutes away.

But the conclusions all ended up in the same alleyway, they were going to happen.

Something deep inside whispered into his pierced ear that he couldn't do anything about them, that they weren't just some visions inside his head.

And they frightened him, watching from an imaginary seat how his friends died, how the planet was destroyed, his face.

As a result from this, his head became a cage that no matter how hard he tried to break the iron bars with his naked hands, he was too weak to do so. He just wanted liberty.

That cage multiplied at least ten times the feeling of claustrophobia the aura of the city gave him.

"No!"

A heartrending cry ringed painfully through his ears, loud enough to make them feel as if they were about to bleed.

His eyes were closed but he didn't want them open either way, the ground felt cold even with his boots on.

"Please don't"

The agonizing voice didn't die down like he was waiting for, instead it increased it's volume, almost as if it wanted for him to look up and see what was going on.

And eventually, he did.

His eyes searched for the voice ( for you ), eyes falling on the hand that was clutching for dear life a metal structure.

He recognized the place right away, the lukewarm temperature envolving the gears and his body, the mustiness that filled up his nose. He was inside a reactor.

Faint lights gloomed upon his clothes as his feet dragged him through the grilles, his back felt empty. He didn't have the soothing weight of his weapon, feeling vulnerable to whoever wanted to fight him.

"Please, Cloud"

That did it for him, it was unmistakably you.

Your sweet and sometimes monotone tone was gone, blatantly swapped with a much more startled and uneasy one. Your hands were the only thing visible for him to see right now, the image of your body suspended in the air already present inside his brain.

He didn't know why but a memory of your hand touching his flooded his mind, he liked the softness of them, he wished he didn't had gloves on.

The more intense your cries became, the more he wanted to scream back at you, tell you that he was there, that you were going to be fine.

But nothing came out of his mouth

He kneeled down in front of you, finally able to see your face. But he didn't like the way you were sweating, how your eyes widened in horror as you looked back at him. He wanted to see your features soften, to hear your laugh, your voice telling him not to overwork himself.

The abyss consumed him, what seemed like miles and miles of hollowness and darkness bellow you.

Your left hand slipped off the edge with a yelp, you were slowly sinking down and he wasn't going to let you do so. His hand grabbed the one that was still gripping the platform, clutching it tightly.

He wouldn't let you slip off that easily.

Your quivering voice was the only sound that could deafen the roar of the engines around the both of you. Although you were visibly sweating, your hand felt cold under the thin layer of his black gloves.

An invisible rock attached to your feet by a thick rope made you feel heavier than before, gradually dragging you lower and lower from his grasp.

He couldn't even let out grunts or sighs out of his mouth, he wanted to tell you to hold on, just a bit more and you were going to be safe with him once again.

He tried to lift you up, but you didn't budge. His body tensed up and he was becoming more and more impatient.

By the time your hand finally gave up on him, he was laying face down on the ground, his feet stopping him from falling down with you.

"I'm sorry"

A tear slipped from your tired eyes, your body dissapearing into the void with the saddest smile he had ever seen on your face. He didn't want to ever see that expression again, he wanted you to smile brightly, not fade out lights with it.

And why were you apologizing? He should be the one to do so, he was unable to save you. You should be here with him now, enveloping your loving arms around him while you thanked him.

He felt his heart being crushed down, he wouldn't be able to feel you pat his shoulder in a reassuring way whenever he had to fight someone again, your hands dusting off his clothes after a long mission.

He wanted to cry, to scream, to kill someone.

But his mouth was sealed shut, his hands trembled but no tears seemed to stain his cheeks. His heart pumped harshly inside his chest and as if someone were tugging his hair, his head hurt.

And when he closed his eyes, they were opened again.

But he wasn't met with cramped, massive iron walls around him, he was met with his unfurnished blank wall.

Thank god, he thought.

His sheet was between his legs and the floor, a cotton waterfall on the side rail of the bed. His shirt was ridden up above his belly button, the moon was still up in the sky staring at him with a motionless facade. And he could've sworn it was mocking him.

He had sat up abruptly, letting out a screech he wanted to let out for a while now, reverberating from his chest and into the small room. He tried to calm his breathing, his hands clutched the matress bellow him.

His hair was messier than it usually was, he stared at the closed window and into the incessant lightless sky.

For the first time in his life he was pleased to see those streets again.

That took place about week ago and of course he didn't tell anyone. He didn't want to pile more stress and worry on the shoulders of the group.

On the outside, his demeanour didn't change a bit. Well, not for the ones who didn't know him.

His subtle tiredness and grumpiness was cristal clear for you to notice. His patience died down sooner than before and his irascibility when he was fighting someone was what exposed him.

And if his answers were dry and short they basically were nonexistent now.

But he had a thick skull and no matter how many times you asked him—

"Is everything alright?"

His head turned around to see you, a confused frown rested on his face. Had he done anything weird?

—he didn't seem to answer you.

He then shook his head and his hand, silently telling you that he was fine. But you stopped yourself before asking him a second time, you didn't want to be a nuisance either way.

You were walking next to him a few meters away from the group in front of you. They walked back to Seventh heaven, but you purposedly abandoned your talk to walk with Cloud instead.

And he didn't seem bothered by it, he appreciated the way you cared about him, but he couldn't tell you what was happening, not now.

He didn't dare to look at you, he knew if he did so, flashes of his prior dreams would engulf his mind.

Sooner or later he did, throbbing guilt crossed painfully his mind when he did so. He saw blue in your eyes.

An ocean emerged in front of his eyes, submerging your face and then your clothes, coalesced with a big meadow of beatiful grown grass that enveloped your features.

He could've found this view incredibly magestic if it wasn't for the fact that he knew what was about to happen.

He didn't- He couldn't take it anymore.

His skull appeared to be thicker inside his skin, crushing down his brain. His hands swiftly made contact with his forehead, eyes closed shut and avoiding to see anything.

Whispers and sometimes yells echoed through the dim alleyway, his knees bucking as he supported himself on the wall.

His eyes achingly opened up again, his hands grasped something that was too soft to be a stone wall, he saw your face.

"Please don't- Please don't go"

"to the reactor..."

Your soft voice with some hints of sleepiness reached his eardrums, was he dreaming?

A question he found himself asking a lot lately, not knowing how to discern between reality and a vision or a dream.

He hesitated to open his eyes once again, his headache had dissapeared but his eyelids felt heavier than before.

When was before?

He saw your face, but you weren't staring at him back. Subsequently your hands stroked his hair tenderly, a touch he would love to die for.

You were humming softly, his mother did that a lot when she was cleaning him up and tucking him before sleep.

He wanted to admire your beauty for just a little while, the moon stared at him once again, but this time he was the one who laughed at it.

Your soft skin, your hair released from the confines of your hair tie, your lips, your eyelashes that batted so cutely whenever you saw an animal, your nose.

You were from another dimension.

And he melted right away after you noticed that he was awake, your smile being the first thing that came into his vision. The loss of warmth on his blonde locks made him a bit mad.

That was when he noticed where he was laying on, your legs. Blood rushed to his cheeks, creating a slight blush on his pale skin. But he shrugged his thoughts fast enough for you not to notice his weakness.

He wished that whenever he had a nightmare or a crude vision your thighs would be there to craddle his head.

He didn't know why he was here but he didn't want to hear the answer too, he was more than happy to be there either way.

He knew he could speak right now, but he didn't have anything to say. Your hand falling down into his cheek followed with a kind look on your lips was what kept him silent.

And the words that fell from them were the only reason he was still fighting Shinra, fighting with you, for you, to hear them again and again.

He didn't demand poetic phrases for him to melt on spot, just by hearing the most simple reassuring worss fall from your lips was more than enough for him.

"I'm here for you "

He spent the rest of the night curled up like a ball on top of your legs, hearing your honeyed words deliciously filling his ears repeatedly.

He wouldn't tell you why he had passed out on top of you, why had he pushed you to the wall in front of the group as he anxiously warned you.

And he ceirtantly wouldn't tell you about how his dream of you walking alone in an alleyway was the reason his body walked itself out of his appartment.

The softness of your skin wasn't there anymore it was replaced by your cozy pillow, but it wasn't enough for him.

Dawn's first light entered through your closed window, hitting his face. He had slept without any worries for the first time in weeks, drowned in your touch.

He wanted to thank you, he only had spent a night with you and you had managed to clear his mind from any racing thoughts. His head craved for your touch, his arms and his hands too.

He looked down and he saw his usual clothes, but now they smelled like you.

But you weren't there, he looked around and he took advatange of the quiet dawn to see your room. It was the same size as his own one, but it was definitely prettier than his.

Clean sheets deliciously wrapped around his body that fell down onto his legs when he sat up on the bed, your bed. Cute posters and images about some cats, family and friends laying around on your desk or hanging on the wall.

He rubbed his somnolent eyes before getting off the bed with a swift move, laying on his feet. He noticed that they were lighter than before and when he looked down, he wasn't wearing his boots anymore. You had taken the time to take them off before getting him inside your bed, a small smile formed on his lips at the thought.

His head pekeed through your door as he opened it as quietly as he could, it was still pretty early so he didn't want to wake you up if you were still around.

Without the huge piece of metal behind his back he was pretty quiet, so he used that on his advantage.

His feet guided him until he reached what seemed to be like your living room, it was the same like your bedroom. It was a copy of his own one but much cozier.

But he didn't have time to look around like he did with your room, you were a much more pleasant sight to see. He walked silently until he was right next to your sleeping form.

The first thing that crossed his mind was how gorgerous you were like this, comfy and relaxed under the spell of sleepiness. Your rythmic slow-paced breaths, they reminded him of the sea.

However, he immediately felt bad for stealing your bed, he noticed the way you were curled up on the small couch, your back was probably going to kill you when you woke up.

So without any second thought, his left hand wrapped itself bellow your knees while his right one simultaneously enveloped your back. He gently lifted you up in his arms, your head lolling to the side until it met his shoulder, your temple resting next to his chest.

He wasn't going to lie to himself, he sometimes daydreamed about carrying you like this, how would it feel. Your sweet "thank you"'s echoed inside his head when he lifted your harmed form after a cruel battle, your arms hugging his neck.

A few minutes passed and he thanked his hard training for being able to hold you like this for a long while.

Your body shivered, right, you didn't seem to have a spare blanket other than the one in your bed. So he pressed his body closer to yours, trying to warm you up.

He knows he's already called you pretty and gorgerous over ten times now, but god, he needed to remark it. And right now you looked as cute as those cats you seemed to love, unconciously hiding your face on his chest with a long sigh.

He marched back into your room and he noticed that his buster sword was resting on the right wall of the living room, next to his boots.

The more he noticed those little details, the more he wanted to hold you close to him.

But when he finally reached your room after an agonizing ( purposely ) slow pace, it was time for you to properly rest.

So he placed you on top of your mattress, heart fluttering when he saw your little stretch on the bed. He enveloped your body with your blanket, mimicking your pleasured smile when he did so.

If only time could stop right now

He closed the curtains so the light didn't disturb your well deserved sleep like it did to him and then he sat down next to your bed.

Thankful for having a cure for his illnesses.

229 notes · View notes

iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 1 year ago

Note

hi big brother ! so i had an idea. what about headcanons for when mc has to go somewhere for some time, how would the m6 deal with it ? maybe spraying mc's perfume on a pillow and hugging it or writing every thought they have about mc. (this is totally not a self-indulgent idea (◔◡◔✿) )

The Arcana HCs: M6 when MC goes on a trip

~ hi little sister! oh my, what a completely not self-indulgent prompt. I'll be sure to stay extra uninspired while I write it (joking) @elysian-chaos I hope you like these! - brainrot ~

Julian

You're going on a trip? Without him? Why?!

Oh. Are you sure you don't need him to go with you?

Doesn't try to convince you otherwise, but will tell you that he'll miss you. To avoid falling into old habits, he decides that everything he does is "for MC."

He leaves the clinic on time without overworking himself "for MC." He only has one drink at the Rowdy Raven "for MC." He eats three times a day and drinks water at least twice "for MC."

He brushes his teeth "for MC." He puts on his coat "for MC." He washes his dishes "for MC." He clips his toenails "for MC."

Portia and Mazelinka start to give him grief for the amount of times a day he murmurs "for MC" before doing something mundane with a heroic air, but he lets them in return for crashing at their places

Because going through the day is busy and distracting enough, but when he gets home and it's exactly the way it was when he left? When he can't hear anyone else breathing in the house?

He hasn't spent one night at home since the first one after you left, choosing instead to show up at Mazelinka's or Portia's right before dinner with the biggest puppy dog eyes they've ever seen

He sporadically writes you long, poetry filled love letters, and sleeps with your replies tucked against his heart

When you get back his ginger chest hair is stained blue in splotches from where the ink rubbed off

Asra

Ah, the sweet, sweet taste of poetic justice

Asra's delightfully humble when you rub it in their face - they're the first to point out the irony and suggest they run the shop for you

He makes sure you have everything you need before you leave, puts you in touch with several trustworthy friends, encourages you through any travel anxiety, and waves happily at you as you walk out

And then they mope

The shop starts opening later and later, customers walk in to find a sleepy and depressed Asra behind the counter, and even Aisha and Salim have a tricky time cheering him up

Until two days in when they look up to the sound of the shop bell, and there's Muriel, grumpily following through on your request to check up on Asra while you're gone

Which results in the mountain man standing stoically in front of the counter, trying not to give in to his oldest friend's infectious laughter at how the tables have turned

Seeing how much his visits perk him up has Muriel dropping by almost every afternoon until you return, and the two have a great time catching up on life

Muriel even gets the chance to repay years of teasing when he goes upstairs and sees that Asra has dragged your entire wardrobe onto the bed so they can snooze buried in your smell

You have a lot of laundry to do when you get back

Nadia

Almost smothers you with everything you need

Transportation? Clothes? Funds? Useful tools to not get lost? Enough paper and ink to write her a ten page letter every day?

She admires your determination to do this on your own merit and decides that she is going to follow suit. She is going to spend the extra time being the best Countess she can for Vesuvia (and you)

Two days in she can't stand the loneliness any more. Where is her MC when she just wants to sit back and relax after a long day? Where can she find someone who'll just treat her like a person?

She quickly finds that most of your mutual friends are unfortunately busy

Desperate times call for desperate measures

She writes to her sisters

Over the next few days, the Satrinava siblings descend on the Palace in hordes. The workload has never been so light, which leads to unexpectedly empty afternoons

And oh, those afternoons are so much more fun than she could have ever expected. Exploring the Heart and Temple districts, riding through the fields, even sparring and dance matches

She would almost feel guilty for how much fun she's having in your absence if she wasn't purchasing everything she saw that reminded her of you

You get home to a pile of presents and lots of sisterly teasing

Muriel

He's sad to see you go, but he's not hugely bothered

He knows you're a competent traveler, and to be honest, he could use a little alone time. He loves you, but he also likes his introvert recharging time and he's used to being a little more isolated

Starts to get frustrated because for someone who likes being alone, it's a lot harder to enjoy than he remembers

Until he opens the door to his hut after a walk with Inanna to see Asra snoozing in front of the fire

It seems you saw fit to have them return all the favors Muriel did when they were the ones going off on a trip (they were more than happy to humor you) and make sure he didn't get too lonely

Between Asra's love for shaking things up and his own restlessness without you, Muriel suggests renovating the hut to surprise you

The two of them first built it when they were kids, so they know they can do better. It ends up being more fun than either of them expect and they get to really talk for the first time since the plague

The hut itself turns out beautifully - the beams are reinforced, it's given a new floor, any rickety furniture is repaired and replaced, and Asra takes it upon themself to paint the entire interior in beautiful detail

You get home to a yard full of chickens wearing mini bow ties (don't ask) and a Muriel who is very happy to have you back

Portia

Oh dear, you lowkey triggered her a little bit when you told her you were going on a trip by yourself

This is exactly how it always goes! The cool person she loves and admires takes off on an adventure and forgets all about her!

Until you remind her that the reason she can't join you is because she's also scheduled for a very cool trip to a different country as a representative of Vesuvia

The first half of your trip goes well with both of you on the road. She tracks your itinerary on one of her many maps and writes you letters with updates on Pepi and the crew every day

Until her trip ends halfway through yours and she's stuck waiting in Vesuvia until you get back

The only moment she stops to breathe is when she writes your daily letter and cooks herself dinner (all of them your favorites)

Other than that, she's too busy working to stay distracted. When she runs out of things to do at the Palace, she deep cleans her cottage, and then Julian's house, and tries to clean Mazelinka's

It's when Mazelinka looks over mid-afternoon to see Portia bustling in the door with a cutlass she "borrowed" from the Palace armory, begging for a distraction, that she intervenes

You get back to an empty cottage, only to find out that Portia's been challenging the Palace guards to sparring matches and sleeping at Mazelinka's every night

Lucio

You're going on a trip? Without him? Why?! (pt. 2)

He knows that the job you've accepted will work better with only one person, and he knows that of the two of you you're the one who practices magic, but still!

Alternates between grumbling about you leaving and cheering you on because you're so cool, you don't need help, you've got this!

Thankfully, the town he stays in waiting for you knows and loves both of you and is happy to host one of their regular journeymen for the two days you'll be gone

This is fortunate, because Lucio's response to missing you is deciding to learn magic, regardless of his natural ability (or lack thereof) and ignoring the fact that he has nobody to teach him

After you leave that morning, he spends the rest of the day out in some poor farmer's field practicing magical attacks on their hay bales while Mercedes and Melchior terrorize all the local wildlife

He stops by the tavern for dinner early that evening, and after several drinks, decides to camp out in the town's square belting out tone-deaf ballads of your virtues

The townspeople love him for all he's done on different jobs for their sake, so the next morning they take turns asking for his assistance with different tasks to keep him out of trouble

You get back that evening to half the town telling you how much he missed you and a very tired (but satisfied) Lucio

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana fluff #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

251 notes · View notes

radical-revolution · 4 months ago

Text

HOW TO STOP GIVING FUCKS

Be happy, be good, be positive, be optimistic, be successful, be woke, be spiritually enlightened.

Consume the perfect diet. Attract a million followers on Instagram. Live your best life! Rise up the career ladder. Be fit and healthy. Be your greatest self! Manifest your life’s purpose.

Optimise your body's functioning. Release your pain, fear, anger and sadness. Free yourself from doubt. Fall in love with the person of your dreams and live happily ever after and never feel lonely again.

This dream is beautiful but it is literally killing us.

The eternal Soul has no interest in living up to any second-hand ideal of ‘happiness’, however beautiful, dramatic, sexy, compelling. Its terrible and sacred rage boils underneath the entire self-help project. Its cry for authenticity, for Truth at any cost.

Fuck the lie of the ‘perfect life’; it only makes us depressed, anxious, addicted - and actually feeds our shame and self-loathing and sense of cosmic failure.

Our constant striving eventually exhausts us, brings us to our knees. It’s too much work for the poor organism, to be ‘positive’ all the time. The Unconscious is enraged by the lie. And it wants to fucking rest.

But in our exhausted state, afraid even to touch our exhaustion, we turn to medication, energy drinks, drugs, mantras, the gym, more positivity, even toxic forms of ‘spirituality’.

Or we simply lose ourselves in thought. Or we create a new identity as ‘the depressed one’ or ‘the failure’. Or we simply ‘push through’ the exhaustion and just keep busy, and numb.

Keep moving at any cost. Never stop.

Happiness literally can make us unhappy.

Fuck this kind of false happiness. It’s vitally important to make room for the darkness. Your life depends on it.

To create space for the grief, the rage, the shame, the fear and the loneliness. To bring these poor, misunderstood creatures out of hiding and into the Light.

If you do not, they will drain your lifeblood like vampires.

Until you listen…

Be willing to expose your unhappiness! Give a voice to the sorrow, the anger, the fear, the deep loneliness at the core. Break some taboos. Say the ‘wrong’ thing. Shatter the false image.

You may lose followers. You may lose friends. You may lose your job. You will certainly lose your mask.

Change may scare the shit out of you.

Good. It’s supposed to.

Nobody has ever awakened without dying over and over again.

You may lose everything and you may have to begin life again yes but the Soul will rejoice. It has been through myriad deaths and rebirths and it couldn’t give a fuck about protecting itself from change.

The Soul finds change thrilling, life-giving, erotic even.

There is a bigger Happiness that actually embraces even our deepest unhappiness and does not shame it and this is the true Happiness you have always longed for. The Happiness that strips off the mask, destroys false protections, sees our flaws, our vulnerabilities, our deepest sorrows… and accepts and loves us and embraces us just as we are.

Okay. Here is your new spiritual mantra…

Fuck - the mind’s concept of - happiness.

Fuck ‘Namaste’.

Fuck trying to be good.

Fuck spirituality. Fuck bliss and love and light and good vibes.

Fuck perfection.

Fuck fitting in.

Fuck all the gods and gurus and self-help guides who fuel the filthy lie of happiness as a destination and a goal.

Fuck this narcissistic, self-absorbed, shame-based culture that suppresses the feminine and our gorgeous vulnerability and tries to mould us through fear.

Accept it all and fuck it all. Bless it all and fuck it all and love it all. Open your heart to it all! Bless this gorgeously silly human mind with its conditioned ideas and impossible standards and its never-ending attempts to tell us how we ‘should’ be, or what the ‘right’ thoughts and feelings are.

Fuck the lie of happiness that sends so many to an early grave.

Protect the inner child, the one who feels unhappy, lonely, sad, disconnected, sometimes. Stop telling her to be happy, connected, peaceful, spiritual and blissed-out today. She couldn’t give a fuck. She just wants your love.

Drench the sad and lonely inner one with curiosity, understanding. Breathe into her. Let her express herself, each day.

Fuck all the forces of the world that would seek to harm her or silence her.

She is God in form.

And when she asks,

“Mommy, Daddy, do I have to be happy and perfect for you to love me?”

You can reply, without hesitation:

“Of course not my love. I love you exactly as you are. I love your flaws and imperfections and your vulnerable heart. They are all so beautiful to me. It’s okay to not feel peaceful. You don’t have to be happy right now. Let’s be truly Unhappy together…”

Now THAT, my friends, is fucking Happiness.

- Jeff Foster

28 notes · View notes

sirfrogsworth · 1 year ago

Text

I've been getting two kinds of responses from my recent trips out of the house to the movies.

People who are proud of me for accomplishing something even though it is difficult and uses up a lot of spoons.

And that feels nice. The encouragement really helps.

And there are people who think it is some kind of sign that I am making progress with my physical and/or mental health.

This can be frustrating. I clearly say I'm going to the movies because the house is quiet and the loneliness gets so unbearable I have to leave for a bit.

They see a coping mechanism as improvement.

It would be like if someone were having a panic attack and they thought breathing exercises were a sign they've nearly kicked that pesky anxiety condition.

"A few more deep breaths and you can throw away that Xanax, amirite?"

Going to the movies makes my physical health worse. I've been struggling all week to recover.

And these excursions into the world don't help my grief or loneliness or depression. They just let me escape those things for a couple of hours. The house is just as quiet when I return home.

There is a person on Facebook who has never understood my illness. They constantly suggested exercising and getting out of the house and basically using willpower to heal myself. And she didn't outright say it, but the tone of her comment was one of self-validation. Like I finally took her advice. And then she said, "Keep it up!"

Meanwhile I feel like I am punching myself to distract from being sad and lonely.

I wish I could just watch movies at home. Feeling crappy for days just because I need to escape is not an ideal solution for me. It's just what I need to do right now.

I know these folks mean well. But sometimes when someone thinks I've made progress when I really haven't... it sort of makes me feel like a fraud. And I feel like it sets up these expectations. Like if I reveal I'm not actually doing better I am letting them down even though I never intended to make it seem like I was doing better.

I don't know if any of this is making any sense.

I really need to get some sleep.

152 notes · View notes

the-east-art · 4 months ago

Note

IDK if this counts as a Hagstone ask, but what is Hagstone? Could you give me the rundown? Or do you have a post where you explain the basics already?

Yes!!! It definitely counts!!! Let me tell you about my OCs and their story!

Hagstone is a story that I've been working on with @browniefox on and off for about seven years now! We've made at least one or two complete drafts of the first book, and I'm currently going through and rewriting the first book for (hopefully) the last time! and then it will be done! Hagstone is intended to be a duology, so just two books long.

enjoy this seven year old art when I was first developing the characters! The tag is Hagstone, but to find ALL the art I've ever done on it check the tag wtgp - it had the temporary title of 'Way to go Paul' for like... four or five years, referencing a Vine which I can't remember why we did that haha. There aren't any characters named Paul in it.

The story is about Kyle - a recent college dropout - who has to find new housing after an Event at his old place. He moves in with the eclectic Eldan - and over the course of the book gains new housemates (none of who are actually human) and discovers a dark danger lurking under the town.

(are by @browniefox) The story itself focuses on themes of struggling to let go of the past and face the future, dealing with grief, depression, and combatting loneliness.

One of the reasons I wrote this story was that I was really tired of stories that constantly have a 'normal' character who later realizes they're Secretly half witch or a fea or whatever so a big part of the story is the fact that Kyle is a very Human person with no magical abilities and how he interacts with the magical world.

The main characters are Kyle (of course) an anxious, depressed, and self conscious guy with a special interest in bugs and anger issues.

Eldan - the oldest living Fae who always seems to know more than everyone else and has been reportedly 'in a funk' (didn't leave his house) for many decades leading up to the story.

Marion - An acerbic vampire only a century or two old with trust issues and a secret soft side. He has been ostracized by the local vampire covens for reasons not yet known.

Ollie (Oleander) - Hailing from a family of monster hunters, Ollie is a sweet boy who can transform into a giant beast. His family are technically a line of Gargoyles but many centuries ago Eldan blessed them, hence the furriness of the transformation and the lack of being made of stone. However, something has happened recently causing him to go to Eldan on behalf of his family for help.

and Jonah! - Jonah is the ghost that haunts the house with few memories of his time alive whose death is connected to the darkness that lurks under the town.

(if you look you can see that Jonah and Ollie were recently renamed. Ollie was originally Leander but that read and wrote too similarly to the name 'Eldan', so we changed his name to Oleander and have him go by 'Ollie'. But THEN that was too close to the name Odon, so we changed Odons' name to Jonah. I'm much happier with these names and I think they are now distinct enough from one another, but it may be confusing if you're looking at old stuff)

That's the basic so please feel free to ask questions about the story, the characters, or if you want to meet some of the side characters in the story!

#wtgp #hagstone #the easts ocs #the easts asks #longpost

32 notes · View notes

the-curious-cat24 · 1 year ago

Text

Archons

I have seen a lot of players in genshin, still saying bad mouth to Furina, if you don't like her and still even after the archon quest, then it's okay, its your opinion anyway, however, I cannot fathom the hatred on her. calling her stupid and all, is not nice.

Archons has flaws, even if they are the gods in teyvat and they still feel like a human. They show us a different sides of a human, there is always good and bad, and that's what human is.

Venti - someone who is under depression, with a resolve to drinking to suppress the hurt, pain and loneliness he felt. Still he smiles and wants his people's happiness, some of us might relate to him, there are times that we want to give up, do things that can let us forget from traumatic experience or even, wanted to unwind yourself because you need a breather.

Zhongli - wants to retire and only watch his people grow, like a chairman in a company who wants to give a consultation and don't want to involve much, because he too, needs some rest and relaxation. Like us, when we are tired from work, wanted to rest and enjoy the days with travels or anything that we find leisure, because we are getting burn out from work or even at home.

Ei - she is in grief, the pain of losing someone special to you is hard, and especially that someone is her twin, her coping is being hard to herself, made a puppet that doesn't feel because her innermost thought is that having this kind of emotions, clouded her judgment, which it really happens during the vision hunt decree. Other factions of her commission took advantage of this, for they are too proud and selfish, the collateral are the people who resist and fighting what is right. She does have some lapses as a leader however, this lapses made her eyes to see, that the vision she thought of helping her people not to suffer, is the reason why some of them suffers. She accepts her fault and willing to learn, and know her people well, hence she is willing to change, because change is constant. Like us, whenever we are in grief or depress, all thoughts are clouded, making bad decisions in life and hurting ourselves, closing our mind from those people who truly care for you , because you thought that no one will save you and no one will accept you, we are a puppet of our minds, As they say the only person who can save you is You, if you are willing to accept your flaws and embrace to start anew, your life will be different than what you suppose to see.

Nahida - she is too kind and doubtful of herself, its like an intern with great potential and talent, but doubtful to say what she really thinks because she though that her less experience might have no value in contributing. Her kindness made those sages abuses her, by locking her up since she is not the god they wanted and for her not to resist, because she too, thought that she is not worthy.

Furina/Focalors - her sense of responsibility and love for her people, made her act like an entertainer to the people of fontaine, to divert their attention from the prophecy, to give them entertainment and go on with their lives, like living the moment. Like human, we do sometimes force to grow and think mature under circumstances with responsibilities and suppress our child heart, as we work or even study, we tend to forget to feel like children, free from responsibilities, free from bills and dues and free from stress, hence the reason why we find this game an escape from reality, to enjoy, and to unwind. Like Furina, the world is a stage, for we have different views of the world, which made us unique and show love by expressing what we feel. The world is cruel but it is also beautiful.

I cannot express more how much I really feel for this game, to me this game is my escape bubble, a stress free bubble and a game to meet new characters , and most of all, to meet new people that shares the same passion for the game or for the art.

#genshin impact #traveler #paimon #lumine #aether #venti #zhongli #ei #nahida #furina #archons #barbatos #beelzebul #morax #rukkhadevata #focalors

92 notes · View notes

meepinmeat · 21 days ago

Note

Thinking about how the only time Dionel ever felt genuinely disappointed and angry at Cel was when Celestino had started to let his negative emotions warp into hatred and malice towards the Hypogeans to the point where he just wanted to make them suffer.

Now all I can imagine is Dionel going down the exact same path after he finds out how Celestino 'died'. I can so picture Dionel being so consumed by grief and rage at losing his son at the hands of a hypogean that he channels those feelings into unadulterated heavenly fury.

And imagine Talene, Scarlita and Dunlingr being genuinely concerned about it because as much as they saw him as a slacker before, they actually wish he would go back to being the easygoing and calm person he was before.

I'd assume he'd settle down eventually after getting some kind of closure about Cel, or maybe it continues until he finds out that Cel is 'alive'. But I still love the idea of someone like Dionel absolutely losing it.

-bunnybird

PS. Good luck with exams. I have my honour's thesis due on Monday, so I understand the struggle, lol.

[Thankiu so much!! And best of luck with your honor's thesis, you got this👍]

~~~~~~~~~

The way it'd be so cool yet scary to see Dionel snap😩 especially when we all know how so chill and composed he is majority of the time. But to add salt to injury, Dionel was actually there and saw how Cel ended up 'dead' that spiralled him into a period of maddening grief. He and the other Celestials came too late by the time Cel collapsed to the ground, golden blood gushing out of wound where he took a fatal strike to the heart.

And with him falling into that same route as his son did during his lowest, I bet that also gave Talene, Scarlita and Dunlingr a lil epiphany that they may have taken his laxedness for granted. Cuz seeing the light gone in his eyes, the glowing soft smile no more, or even the annoyingly cheeky smirk replaced with so much gloom and consumed by darkness is actually quite unnerving but also depressing. Especially considering (during that time atleast) that marked the death of Magister Merlin. Dionel would understandably be most affected as his father but the way he's coping with his grief was becoming borderline psychotic, they had to rein him in eventually.

They get that he's devastated, but they are too. They're just as angry and unforgiving of the hypos for the greatest loss to befall Esperia but they don't want Dionel to lose himself too in the process. The Celestials, especially Dionel, do get their closure once they held a funeral (they did retrieve Cel's body before anyone else saw him) just for themselves (and later for a certain General😉) and made him his own tomb marked with his real name and what not, allowing for them to mourn and getting Dionel to actually settle down and process his feelings but the grieving loneliness still continued deep within for the decades to come, just quenched enough to not cloud his mind whenever he has to tend to his duties.

He's still a lil mirthy, just that he's noticeably mellowed out and reclused himself to the ruined Moon Temple even if the functioning Sun Temple is right there.

While odd for the Venus of Dawn to reside in a very lunar place, some say it is his way of remembering and honoring his son, the Venus of Dusk. Thus marked the age of the Great Magister going into hiding, (Merlin's Slumber)

"Sleep well, my little star."

🌅🌠

#afk journey #afk dionel #afk merlin #afk talene #afk scarlita #afk dunlingr #into the merlinverse!#the day dionel becomes depressed is the day the world ends-#mention and hint of hogan ;)

11 notes · View notes

nalyra-dreaming · 1 month ago

Note

I just finished Qotd and i enjoyed it a lot less that the first two books. Iwtv and tvl read like gothic novels, not just in terms of the setting, but in terms of the characters and their interactions, in terms of philosophy.

Parts 3 and 4 of Qotd read like an Avengers movie. I liked the legend of the twins as a standalone story, but ultimately the whole arc left me feeling hollow and unsatisfied. What was the point of all that? The book never dwells on the destruction of nearly every vampire or on the hypocrisy of Akasha's past vs present actions (only on how wrong her current plan is). And what was the point of describing over and over how powerful Akasha is only for her to be so easily destroyed? There was no argument betwen the surviving vampires about whether or not they should join her. No character ever truly considered the thrilling question of "would I kill her if it meant death to me and all my loved ones?" and in the end the question itself turned out to be completely meaningless.

I remember Assad said that no one's a mustache twirling villain in TVC, but i think Akasha is exactly that. I don't know what Anne was thinking when she wrote her (are there any interviews?) but to me she's not a grey character, not even an interesting character. I can see how Marius can be compelling to some people, Akasha just isn't. I can't relate to Lestat's love for her.

The final argument is clumsy and incomplete (although I think the show will improve this part considering the changes to Armand and Louis). While I was reading it I kept thinking "Anne, you should stay away from trying to comment on world's problems, your own worldview is too western-centric for that". She should've kept to universal things like death, grief and loneliness and yearning for recognition, she writes them well.

Just in general I personally always found small scale stories to be more emotionally and intellectually fulfilling than "save the world" plots. So my question is - are the rest of the books lile Qotd? I know TVA isn't, I'm wondering about the rest.

I'm sorry you didn't enjoy QotD.

And I know what you mean!! I also... was taken aback by the finale at the first reading(s).

Akasha... grew on me over time. There is more to it all, but at the point of the story you are at right now she really can come across as a bit... shallow. Let's put it that way.

Interestingly enough I find the almost flat finale very clever - Akasha is stopped, by an action as simple as brutal. They all think she is unstoppable, they all think it is impossible to kill her without dying themselves - but it only takes one actually little thing - and a self-sacrifice, to do so.

There is only one decisive action needed to stop Akasha's hypocrisy, which no-one else dared. Yes, Anne wrote this whole... prophesy around it, if you will, but ultimately that is what it boils down to.

And no, the other books are not like QotD. Each book is... decidedly different.

"The tale of the Body Thief"... is just that. "Memnoch the Devil" is a rather depressing excursion into mythology and God and the Devil, literally. "Blackwood Farm" and "Blood Canticle" cross over with the Blackwoods and the Mayfairs. "The Vampire Armand" is Armand's story and very, very different^^. "Merrick"... is mainly Louis' and the titular Merrick (Mayfair)'s story, but narrated by David. And the other three books are also a very wild ride.

No book in the chronicles is really like the other.

I hope you will find joy in reading them still.

#Anonymous #ask nalyra #the vampire chronicles #vc #vampire chronicles #akasha #queen of the damned

11 notes · View notes

blessedarethebinarybreakers · 6 months ago

Note

I've been struggling a lot with anxiety and depression about COVID. Only one person in my immediate family still regularly wears a mask, and even my friends and significant other don't often wear them. I feel like the most I've been able to do is continue to try to model good practice by masking most of the time, but I don't directly address the issue with anyone. I wonder sometimes if I should be distancing myself from friends and family that don't mask. I've felt really alone and hurt, because it seems like people don't care about making spaces safe for people who are immunocompromised. The most hope I get is from seeing people around me at the grocery store and on public transport who still mask. I've felt especially deep disappointment in the church, because I thought we were supposed to take care of each other and take care of those who society marginalizes, but so many people there have stopped masking too. I also feel a lot of anxiety that *I'm* not doing enough. Do you have any place you draw hope / comfort from when it comes to COVID issues? (I know this message is a lot of anxious thoughts, so no worries if you aren't able to respond.)

Ach anon, I'm sorry for the delay; this hits very close to home. I am with you in your frustration, your sense of isolation, your lament. This got really long, so my TL;DR is this prayer:

The Body of Christ has COVID.

The Body of Christ is immunocompromised.

Blessed are they who cannot go to church, because to do so would risk their health and lives, for God hears their grief; God holds them in their loneliness; God treasures their worship wherever it takes place.

Blessed are they who keep on masking — even when it feels useless, even when facing mockery or pressure — for theirs is the Kin-dom where the last are first, the oppressed are lifted high.

Blessed are they who mourn and rage against unjust systems, for they will be given the courage and strength they need to join God's revolution.

___

Now the long response. I feel your pain — especially your disappointment with faith communities that stopped requiring masks long ago — for so many of us (and it really is so many of us, even if distance and silence makes it easy for each person to feel like they're the only person hurt, the only person who gives a damn), that's been just the latest bead in a long string of disillusionment at human iterations of Church.

How indeed can we claim to follow the one who makes his home among those the world calls "least," when we fail the bare minimum steps at ensuring such people can at the very least enter our spaces without risking their health and lives??

It's a stark reminder that the Church as a human institution =/= the Body of Christ — and sadly, in fact, often makes itself hostile to that Body. We are called to prioritize, to center, to treat with greatest honor those parts of the Body that are most vulnerable (1 Cor 12).

It's no wonder so many of us end up seeking spiritual homes outside Church, when Church tends to center the very opposite kinds of people. Meanwhile, others stay, calling Church out for these failings and calling Church into a better way. (I personally find myself on a tightrope between those two options — taking frequent breaks from capital C Church to find spiritual nourishment beyond it, and to fuel myself to step back in and keep calling for that better way, as many times as it takes.)

___

I wish I had more comfort to offer, places I find encouragement. I'm definitely with you that seeing others masking out and about is huge balm to my soul. It's so easy to feel utterly alone in this, but we aren't! There are others who care, who are dong their small part, and it does matter!

...But mostly I just have shared lament — which is the soul's outcry that this is not how things are meant to be:

"[Lament is] an innate awareness that what is should not be. As if something is written on our hearts that tells us exactly what we are meant for, and whenever confronted with something contrary to this, we experience a crumbling. And in the rubble, we say, God, you promised. We ask, Why?" - Cole Arthur Riley, This Here Flesh

Make space for lament. Hold on to the truth that this really is not how things are meant to be, that God has promised something better — and that therefore, something better is coming! It is unfolding right now, every time one small person, one small community, chooses to believe that a better world is possible, and acts on that belief.

This truth in a better world is not shallow progressivism, the idea that the future will automatically be better than the past — we can look around and see how false that is! Assuming that things will just magically work themselves out lulls us into passivity.

No, this is a truth with teeth, with a loud voice, with feet and hands ready to join the Spirit's movement in making the arc of the universe bend towards justice, dammit, because it sure as hell won't bend that way by itself.

___

...Whoops, I'm rambling far beyond just masking lol— but the failure to keep masking seems like such a stark example of everything that is holding us back from justice that it's hard for me not to start thinking bigger!

When it comes to masking, you are doing your part. It's our wider communities that are failing — and I don't just mean individuals within those communities.

When I find my rage and despair about COVID directing itself towards individuals — whether that's churchgoers and colleagues, or close friends, or strangers I pass at the store — I try to remind myself that my anger and lament are better directed towards whole systems that are keeping us trapped in this horrific cycle of intentional ignorance or despair and isolation.

It's absolutely okay to feel hurt and frustrated by loved ones who don't hear us when we ask for their support. It does hurt! I wish it were easier to convince people to just wear a dang mask! And also, at some point we have to focus on what powers hold them captive, influencing their decision to go about their day as if COVID isn't still happening.

Why have people stopped masking — if they ever masked at all? Who profits when misinformation runs rampant? when people isolate for a couple days tops before heading back to work, still sick with a potentially disabling or deadly disease? when elderly and immunocompromised people, and people shoved away into nursing homes and prisons, and immigrants, etc. are left to die of COVID in private as everyone else goes about their day in a public with no room for such people?

And most of all, who profits when everyone feels so helpless about it all, resigned to COVID continuing far into the future, that they decide there's no point in them being the "only ones" to keep masking?

This isn't the post to carry on about those systems lol, but I do want to briefly name them so that no one can misinterpret what I'm saying into some conspiracy theory:

I'm talking about capitalism and fascism, about neoliberalism and nationalism and hyper-individualism. The systems that have allowed billionaires to become even richer during a global pandemic; that have allowed politicians to gain further control with an anti-vax agenda or by blaming one foreign entity or another for all our troubles; that have keep everyday people so exhausted and isolated and feeling so helpless that they don't have the time or energy to research fact over falsehood, or to take even small steps to protect themselves people they care about.

The failure to mask is a symptom — a major, deadly symptom, but just a symptom nevertheless — of the oppressive forces holding us all captive. I honestly don't know if remembering that just leads to more anger and grief, or whether it can motivate us to keep fighting those bigger evils. I think for me it depends on the day.

Sometimes I have a little despair session; I rant and rage against anyone and everything.

Then I pull myself out of that despair — or, more often, I allow someone to pull me out of it, with a suggestion for one tiny way I can make a change.

___

Sorry this is so long. Not sure how helpful it was, but I am with you, anon. I feel and respect all you are feeling.

And I'm so grateful for your continued masking, even when it feels like you're the only person left doing it — you're not, and it's not useless. Maybe someone who sees you masking will think about pulling a mask back on themselves; or even just that they're overdue for their next COVID booster. Maybe someone will see you and remember that some people do care about chronically ill people like them.

Keep on going; you are not alone. Solidarity forever <3

#covid #church hurt #lament #masking #if anyone has any ideas or encouragement to add please do!

16 notes · View notes

ifishouldvanish · 10 months ago

Note

(sorry, one more bc it's been on my mind for a long time)

I worry though, about... the dynamic. Can someone really find and bond with another through their grief and loneliness, without this grim depression they share becoming *worse?*

For me, personally, whenever I think about them... I think there's going to be a level of catharsis. They have something that would be very hard to find in another living being, and a certain love for humanity and the past that would be difficult to find among vampires, and this shapes them into shattered pieces which fit together. But would they still be able to find happiness? It kind of feels like they're two damaged clocks that have coincidentally been stuck on the same minute and hour hand. Would they be able to heal and move time forward?

Okay so like!!!!

I see it less about bonding over the shared grief itself and more about what their responses to that grief have exposed in each of them. Like, in the beginning and on the surface level, yes. It is the grief and loss and loneliness that brings them together. But they are foils!!! I'm telling you!!! They can learn from each other!!!

I've mentioned probably all of this before in scattered pieces across all my posts at some point but!! I think the lowest common denominator, the core of their dynamic, lies in how they seem to have established their senses of self.

Alucard struggles with how not to define himself by his father, and then having to define himself in opposition to his father. "Slave to our families' wishes" etc. And when that chapter of his life closes he's like, "welp, guess I'll just entomb myself here 🤷" until Trevor and Sypha are like "what?? Dude no??" And he's like "oh haha I guess you're right, I can uphold the legacy of the best parts of both of my parents!!" And they're like "ya!!" But then a month goes by without anyone coming round to say "hey!!! Share that knowledge with me!! Fulfill the role you've given yourself" and he is just... so fucking bored and unfulfilled?

He needed they-who-shall-not-be-named to come along so he could fill that role, needed Greta to come along so he could fill that role. He tells Greta about how rescuing others sort of fills a void for him/gives him purpose, which is honorable, yes. But like... It's also so sad imo?? This comfort in denying his sense of self? "I don't know what to do with myself, just gimme a shout if the world ever needs saving again"?? Like Alucard, honey, babygirl, sweetheart... you need to learn to live for yourself 🥺

Olrox on the other hand is... not selfish exactly, but he knows what he's about and he refuses compromise himself. You killed the only man I ever loved? Okay, then I'm killing you, and no, I don't care if your nine year old son witnesses it. You want the juicy story of why that boy is terrified of the big bad vampire? Okay, but you will learn about my humanity first so you can sit with your cognitive dissonance about it later. You think I'm just going to throw myself at your feet because you promise us all eternal night? How about you kindly go fuck yourself? You happily stump for Erzsebet because she promised you that she'll create a world that will allow you to relive your glory days? Couldn't be me!

Like obviously we have a much more limited viewpoint for Olrox because we know so much less about him and his past, but this is not a guy who's waiting for someone to give him a purpose. He acts alone, he doesn't play nice with others, he has his own agenda, and is even a little bit of a hedonist: investigating the relationship between the abbot and Erzsebet? Might as well fuck a hot monk while I'm at it. I said eat the rich, but I might as well look good doing it. You hate/fear me cause I killed your mom? Get over it already. You think the opera singing night creature is annoying? Well, I'm familiar enough with opera music to know he's actually reading you all for filth, so I think it's great!

I think at the end of the day, Alucard is a character who defines himself by others, not understanding why he still feels so empty and alone. And Olrox is a character who defines himself by his own terms, but in being caught between both human and vampire worlds has learned to push people away because he thinks he is better off that way. But by the end of the season, his worst fear is realized: I cannot do this alone. I am at the mercy of someone else's help.

But Olrox isn't like anyone else Alucard has rescued before. He's a fellow vampire. He's a fellow immortal. He's going to be around for as long as he is. And maybe, in that time, a little bit of that ego can start to rub off on Alucard. Maybe he can learn to live for himself without apology, without feeling like he has to atone for the sins of his father. Maybe, just maybe, he can learn to exist outside of the role of the mythical savior.

Because Olrox doesn't want one of those—heaven's no. He can take care of himself, thank you very much. But what if he could learn he doesn't always have to? Who better to restore his faith in the world than the guy who has his mother's conviction that all of this mess is worth saving so deeply ingrained in him that it's been the primary source of his identity for centuries?

I'm starting to ramble here so I hope this is coherent, but in conclusion: they would be so restorative for each other and look so hot together and that is why I believe in Alurox supremacy 🙏

#castlevania nocturne #Olrox #Alucard #adrian tepes #Alucard x Olrox #alurox

17 notes · View notes