#which seems like a lot of time but this is kind of long | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shdysders · 7 hours ago

Text

too late

pairing: jenna ortega and reader

summary: in which, after weeks of hesitation, you finally decide to tell jenna the truth—only to realize she has plans of her own.

word count: 7.1k

warnings: sensitive topic - lung cancer

authors note: in honor of november being lung cancer awareness month.

It began with a cough.

Not the kind that comes and goes with a cold or allergies, but one that lingered—sharp, persistent, and out of place.

At first, you brushed it off, chalking it up to stress or the changing seasons. But days turned into weeks, and instead of fading, it seemed to grow heavier, like it was pulling something deep from your chest.

You'd ignored it longer than you should have, convincing yourself it was nothing.

Jenna had even teased you about it once or twice, her laughter light and dismissive as she handed you a bottle of water and told you to "take better care of yourself." You'd laughed along with her, but deep down, something about it unsettled you.

When the pain started—a dull ache beneath your ribs every time you took a deep breath—you knew you couldn't ignore it anymore.

That's when you made the call.

The appointment came and went in a blur.

The doctor had been kind but direct, asking questions you couldn't answer with certainty. How long had the symptoms persisted? Had you noticed anything else? Fatigue, weight loss? You'd nodded at some points, shook your head at others, feeling like each response was pulling you further into a place you didn't want to be.

"We'll run some tests," they'd said, their tone neutral, almost too neutral. "Just to be safe."

You'd left the office that day with a sinking feeling you couldn't quite explain, like a storm cloud had settled just over your shoulders. But even then, you told yourself it was nothing.

It had to be.

When the call came, days later, their voice was calm but edged with something you couldn't place.

The voice on the other end, professional but cautious, had asked if you could come in—today. It wasn't a suggestion; it was an urgency wrapped in sterile politeness, and that was when it hit you—that it wasn't nothing.

The drive to the clinic had felt like an eternity. The silence in the car had been unbearable, but every time you'd reached for the radio, your hand had fallen back into your lap. Music felt too loud, too intrusive, as if it would force you to acknowledge the knot in your stomach that had been tightening since the moment you hung up the phone.

The streets blurred past you, familiar landmarks losing their meaning. All you could focus on was the road ahead and the gnawing thought that something was wrong—something worse than you wanted to admit. Your hands had gripped the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white, and at one point, you'd realized you were holding your breath without meaning to.

By the time you'd pulled into the clinic's parking lot, your chest ached—not just from the persistent cough but from the weight of your anxiety.

You'd sat there for a moment, staring at the sliding glass doors, wondering if you could just... drive away. Pretend the call never happened. Pretend nothing was wrong.

But then you'd thought of Jenna. Her face had flashed in your mind—her smile, the way she always seemed to know when something was bothering you, even when you tried to hide it. You couldn't hide this forever, and if you didn't walk in now, it would only get worse.

The waiting room had been quiet, save for the soft hum of a fish tank in the corner and the occasional murmur of voices. You'd checked in at the front desk, the receptionist's cheery smile making your stomach twist, and then found a seat near the window.

The minutes stretched on.

There had been an older man across from you, his hands trembling slightly as he flipped through a magazine he clearly wasn't reading. Beside him, a woman with a scarf tied around her head stared at the floor, her expression distant.

You couldn't stop wondering about their stories—what they were going through, what battles they were silently fighting. Compared to them, your cough and aches felt trivial, like you didn't belong in this space.

You'd convinced yourself, even as you sat there, that you were wasting everyone's time. That whatever was happening to you couldn't possibly be as bad as what these people were enduring.

Maybe it had been an overreaction to come at all, you thought, even though you knew deep down that wasn't true.

When your name was finally called, your heart jumped into your throat. You stood, legs feeling unsteady beneath you, and followed the nurse down a hallway that smelled faintly of disinfectant and something metallic.

She'd led you to a small room and asked you to wait for the doctor, her smile kind but fleeting, as if she knew what was coming.

The seconds ticked by in excruciating silence. Your eyes had scanned the walls, landing on a framed picture of a mountain range, a feeble attempt to make the space feel less clinical. It didn't work.

When the door opened, Dr. Patel had stepped in, clipboard in hand, his face calm but serious. He'd greeted you with a nod, his usual warmth muted, and gestured for you to sit.

You'd perched on the edge of the chair, your hands clenching and unclenching in your lap. Dr. Patel had sat across from you, his gaze steady but unreadable as he placed the clipboard on the desk.

"I wanted to go over the results of your tests," he'd begun, his voice measured, like he was trying to soften the blow before it landed.

He'd turned his computer screen toward you, the image of a scan glowing faintly against the dim light of the room. He'd pointed to an area on the scan, circling it with the cursor as he explained the findings.

The words he used were clinical, detached, but you caught enough to piece it together. Something about nodules, abnormalities, and how the mass in question hadn't been there before.

And then he'd said it. The word you'd been avoiding, the one that made everything crash down around you.

Cancer.

You'd felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. For a moment, you couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

The word echoed in your mind, bouncing around like it didn't belong there. You'd stared at the scan, your eyes unfocused, as Dr. Patel continued to explain the next steps—biopsies, treatments, consultations—but his voice had become background noise.

You hadn't cried, not then. You'd just nodded numbly, your hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly you thought they might snap. Your chest had tightened, the ache you'd been ignoring now unbearable, but you'd forced yourself to stay still.

When the appointment ended, you'd walked out of the clinic in a daze. The world outside had felt too bright, too normal, like nothing had changed when everything had.

You'd sat in your car for what felt like hours, staring at the steering wheel as the weight of it all pressed down on you. And for the first time, you'd thought about what this meant—not just for you, but for Jenna.

How would you even begin to tell her? How could you?

She was the person you turned to when things felt too heavy, the one who always knew how to make everything seem a little less impossible. But this time... this time felt different.

You'd closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the seat, trying to imagine how the conversation would go. You could see her face so clearly in your mind, the way her brows would furrow, her lips parting as she searched for the right words.

You could almost hear her voice, the way it would waver as she asked, "What does this mean? What do we do?"

And that's where your mind stalled—because you didn't have the answers.

You didn't know what it meant, not really, and you definitely didn't know what to do. The idea of seeing that kind of fear in her eyes, of being the reason her world tilted off its axis, made your stomach twist.

Then there was her work. Jenna had always been busy, but lately, it felt like the world was pulling her in a million directions at once.

She'd been running from set to set, juggling interviews, photo shoots, and endless calls with her team. You'd seen how tired she was, how she tried to hide it behind a bright smile whenever she came home, but you could see the strain in her eyes.

How could you add this to her plate?

The thought hit you like a punch to the gut, the realization settling in with a kind of brutal clarity. If you told her, it wouldn't just be your burden anymore—it would become hers, too. And that wasn't fair. Not when she already had so much to carry.

You'd opened your eyes, staring at the dashboard, trying to convince yourself that waiting wasn't the same as hiding. It wasn't like you were lying to her, not really.

You just needed time to figure things out, to understand what this meant and what came next. Maybe once you had more information, once you knew what the treatment would look like or what the prognosis was, it would be easier to tell her.

Or maybe that was just an excuse.

The truth, the part you didn't want to admit even to yourself, was that you were scared. Not just of the diagnosis, but of what it would do to her.

Jenna was strong—stronger than anyone you'd ever met—but this felt like too much, even for her. You couldn't bear the thought of seeing her break under the weight of it, of watching her world shift because of something you couldn't control.

And then there was the selfish part of you, the part that didn't want to see the pity in her eyes. You didn't want her to look at you differently, to start treating you like you were fragile or broken. You didn't want this to define you, not yet, not in her eyes.

So you'd made the decision, sitting there in the stifling silence of your car. You wouldn't tell her—not now, at least. You'd keep this to yourself, at least until you knew more, until you could figure out how to explain it without falling apart.

It wasn't an easy decision. In fact, it felt like the hardest thing you'd ever done. But as you sat there, the weight of it all pressing down on your chest, it felt like the only choice you had.

You thought that, for now, you'd carry this alone.

But after a while, things felt different.

The days had turned into weeks, and with each passing one, the weight of the secret grew heavier. It wasn't just the diagnosis itself; it was the way it bled into every part of your life, a shadow you couldn't shake.

And Jenna—she'd started noticing.

It was small things at first, things that were easy to dismiss or laugh off.

You'd caught her watching you more closely when you coughed, her brow creasing ever so slightly. "Maybe you should get that checked out," she'd said once, the words half-teasing but laced with genuine concern. You'd waved her off with a smile, promising it was nothing, but the look in her eyes had lingered.

Then there were the nights when you'd felt too drained to do much of anything. Jenna had curled up beside you on the couch, her hand brushing against yours as she asked, "Are you feeling okay? You've seemed... tired lately."

You'd blamed it on work, on stress, on anything but the truth, and she'd let it go—though not without a small frown tugging at her lips.

The tipping point had come a few nights ago, when you'd caught her staring at you in the mirror.

You'd been brushing your teeth, the rhythmic sound filling the quiet bathroom, when you noticed her reflection watching yours. "You've lost weight," she'd said softly, her voice more curious than accusatory.

"I haven't noticed," you'd lied, avoiding her gaze.

She'd hesitated, her arms crossing over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. "Maybe we should book a check-up or something," she'd suggested, her tone light but her eyes serious.

You'd shrugged it off again, changing the subject, but the way her gaze lingered on you made it clear she wasn't convinced.

And that's what finally pushed you to make the decision. You couldn't keep brushing her off, couldn't keep pretending everything was fine when it clearly wasn't.

She was already worried, even if she didn't fully realize it yet. And sooner or later, she was going to piece things together on her own.

So when she told you she finally had a night free—no calls, no meetings, no obligations—you decided it was time.

The two of you had been planning this date for weeks, trying to carve out time amidst the chaos of her schedule. It wasn't anything extravagant, just dinner at your favorite little spot downtown, but it felt significant in a way you couldn't quite explain.

You told yourself it was the right moment, that you couldn't keep putting this off. You didn't know where this illness would take you next or how much time you had before the symptoms became impossible to hide. The coughs were more frequent now, the fatigue harder to mask. It was only a matter of time before Jenna noticed something you couldn't explain away.

This wasn't how you'd wanted to tell her—not like this, over a quiet dinner on what should've been a happy night. But you didn't see another choice. You couldn't keep lying to her, and you couldn't bear the thought of her finding out some other way.

As you got ready for the evening, the weight of the decision settled over you, heavy but resolute. You weren't sure how you were going to say it or what words you'd use, but you knew it had to be now.

Tonight, you'd tell her.

You'd been rehearsing the words in your head all day, trying to prepare yourself for what felt impossible to say.

But now, sitting in the car, you couldn't ignore the way the air seemed heavier, weighed down by something you couldn't name, and Jenna—Jenna wasn't herself.

She'd been trying to act normal, you could tell. Humming along to the radio, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel like she always did, glancing over at you every so often with what you guessed was meant to be a reassuring smile.

But there was a tension in her movements, a stiffness that wasn't usually there.

It was subtle, barely noticeable if you weren't paying attention. But you were paying attention.

Her hands gripped the wheel a little tighter than usual, her knuckles pale against the leather.

Her gaze lingered too long on the road ahead, as if she was focusing on anything but you. The way she adjusted the air conditioning, even though it didn't need it, or fiddled with her bracelet, slipping it up and down her wrist—these weren't things Jenna usually did.

Your chest felt tight, and not from the illness.

Had she figured it out? Had she found something—a paper you'd forgotten to throw away, maybe, or a note scrawled hastily with an appointment reminder? You'd been so careful, but the thought that you'd slipped up sent a sharp pang of anxiety through you.

You replayed everything in your head, scanning for mistakes, for signs. She hadn't said anything outright, but that only made it worse. If she had found something, she wouldn't confront you about it—not Jenna. No, she'd let it fester, trying to give you space, trying not to pry. But that didn't mean she wouldn't act differently.

And she was acting differently.

Even the silence between you felt louder than it should have, thick and charged with something unspoken. You'd always been able to sit comfortably with her in quiet moments, sharing space without the need to fill it. But this wasn't that. This was an entirely different kind of silence, one that pressed down on you like a weight you couldn't shrug off.

Your mind raced, chasing every possible scenario. Maybe she'd pieced it together herself, noticed more than you thought. Jenna wasn't oblivious.

She'd seen you brush off dinner more often than not, heard the cough that hadn't gone away, seen how you'd flinched the other day when she wrapped her arms around your ribs from behind. She'd even asked, once or twice, if everything was okay.

"You're sure you're fine?" she'd said a few nights ago, her brows knitting together in concern as you forced down a glass of water to stop the coughing fit. You'd laughed, waved her off, told her you'd been pushing yourself too hard at work.

And maybe she'd believed you. Or maybe she hadn't.

The thought gnawed at you as you stared out the window, the glow of passing streetlights streaking across your vision.

You turned to look at her, and for a moment, she felt impossibly far away. She was still Jenna, your Jenna, but there was a distance now, something fragile and strange sitting between you. Her profile was calm, unreadable, her lips pressed into a line that wasn't quite a frown but wasn't a smile, either.

You tried to convince yourself that you were imagining things, that your own guilt and nerves were making you see something that wasn't there. But deep down, you couldn't shake the feeling.

When she finally pulled into the restaurant parking lot and shifted the car into park, she sat there for a moment, her hands still on the wheel.

"You okay?" she asked, her voice steady but quieter than usual.

"Yeah," you answered quickly, too quickly. "You?"

"Of course," she said, the words slipping out a fraction too fast.

Her smile came next, bright but brittle, like it might crack if you looked at it too closely. And as she turned away, unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching for her purse, you caught a glimpse of something in her eyes—hesitation, maybe, or something close to it.

You didn't know what it meant, but it lingered, heavy in your chest, as the two of you made your way inside.

The restaurant was warm and softly lit, the kind of place where the low hum of conversation mixed with the faint clink of silverware on plates. You'd picked it because it was one of your usual spots—familiar, comfortable, with memories stitched into every corner. But tonight, none of that comfort seemed to settle in.

You couldn't stop picturing how the night might unfold, how Jenna might react once you finally told her. Would she cry? Would she be mad—at you, at the world, at herself for not noticing sooner? Would she try to fix it, as if sheer determination could somehow erase what was already happening?

The thought of her being mad was the one that stuck, looping endlessly in your mind. Would she think you'd waited too long to tell her?

Or worse, would she be upset that you'd told her at all, that you'd burdened her with something so heavy when her life was already so full?

You could see it so clearly—her soft features hardening, her voice laced with frustration as she asked why you hadn't come to her sooner. Why you hadn't trusted her enough.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your nerves from spiraling further out of control. But it didn't help that Jenna was acting off. You'd been together for two and a half years—long enough to notice when something wasn't right. And tonight, something definitely wasn't right.

She was trying, you'd give her that. She smiled when the waiter brought the menus, chatted with him about the specials like she always did, and even reached across the table to brush her fingers lightly over yours. But her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, and her touches felt more like a distraction than a comfort.

When the waiter came back to take your drink orders, she didn't hesitate. "A glass of the house red," she said, her voice steady, almost automatic.

You were about to do the same—it was your thing, after all. A little tradition you'd fallen into on dates like this. But the doctor's voice echoed in your mind: Avoid alcohol, caffeine, anything that might add strain. So instead, you said, "I'll just have a Diet Coke, please."

Jenna's head snapped up, her brows knitting together as she looked at you. "No wine?" she asked, her tone light but curious. "Since when do you skip wine?"

You scrambled for an excuse, heat rushing to your face as you waved it off. "Just... not feeling it tonight. Wanted something lighter."

Her eyes lingered on you for a moment, like she didn't quite believe you but wasn't going to press the issue. "Alright," she said, leaning back in her chair. But there was a flicker of something in her expression—confusion, maybe, or concern. You couldn't tell.

As she turned her attention back to the menu, you tried to steady your breathing, but your chest felt tight. You knew she noticed things, little things, even when you thought you'd been careful. And now you couldn't help but wonder if she was piecing them together in real time, one by one, until the truth clicked into place.

You looked down at your hands, twisting the napkin in your lap as the nerves swirled in your stomach.

You weren't sure how much longer you could keep this up—pretending everything was fine, acting like tonight was just another date. Because it wasn't. And you weren't sure how to tell her that without everything breaking apart.

And still, you couldn't shake the feeling that she already knew.

But you tried to keep the conversation going, forcing yourself to focus on Jenna and not on the crushing weight of your own nerves.

She talked about work, the projects she was excited for, the roles she'd recently turned down. You asked questions, nodded at all the right times, even laughed softly when she mentioned something funny one of her co-stars had done. But the way she was looking at you—it made it impossible to relax.

Her gaze was soft, too soft, like she was trying to protect you with just her eyes.

There was a sympathy there, gentle and unspoken, that only made your stomach churn harder. Did she already know? Had she pieced it all together? The thought gnawed at you, turning every word you said into an effort just to keep up the act.

By the time the food arrived, you were too nervous to eat. The plate in front of you looked like it belonged to someone else—steaming, perfectly plated, entirely untouched.

You picked at it, moving the food around your plate, but your appetite had vanished. Every nerve in your body was screaming, the weight of what you were about to say threatening to crush you.

You didn't understand why. You loved Jenna. You loved her more than you could ever put into words.

She was the reason you smiled when you didn't feel like it, the reason your laughter didn't sound hollow. She was the first person you thought about when you woke up and the last one before you fell asleep. She was your person.

And that's why you had to tell her.

You told yourself that over and over again. This wasn't just about you. Jenna deserved to know. If there was anyone you wanted to be the first to hear, it was her.

Not a friend, not a family member—Jenna. Because no matter how terrifying this was, no matter how much it hurt, she was the one who deserved to know the truth.

You tried to convince yourself that it didn't matter how she'd react, that you'd find a way to deal with whatever came next. Whether she stayed, whether she left, whether she cursed you out for not telling her sooner—it didn't matter.

This illness was a part of you now. There was no escaping it, no undoing it, no pretending it wasn't there. And if Jenna didn't want to stay, you'd have to accept that, too. But you couldn't let her find out some other way. You had to be the one to tell her, no matter how hard it was.

A little while into the dinner, you glanced up from your untouched plate, the words balanced precariously on the tip of your tongue. You were going to tell her. Right now.

But then you noticed Jenna again. She was fiddling with the edge of her napkin, her fingers smoothing and crumpling it over and over.

She hadn't touched her wine glass in minutes, though she'd ordered it with enthusiasm. And when she wasn't fidgeting with the napkin, she was twisting her bracelet up and down her wrist or tapping her nails lightly against the table.

Her nervousness was palpable, radiating off her in waves. And it made you pause.

She looked like she already knew. Like she was bracing herself for something—maybe for you to say it out loud. The realization only made your own nerves spike higher, your throat tightening as you tried to steady yourself.

What if she was waiting for this moment? What if she'd guessed and had been dreading it ever since? It was impossible to tell, but the thought made the words stick in your throat, suddenly too heavy to push out.

You took a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the table to ground yourself, but the question remained, lingering in your mind like a storm cloud: Did she already know.

The silence between you was thick and unyielding, like a barrier you couldn't push through. You stared at your untouched plate, willing yourself to speak, to just get it over with. Your heart hammered in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears, and you felt like you were teetering on the edge of something vast and terrifying.

Just say it, you told yourself. You've rehearsed this a hundred times. Just say it.

But the words didn't come.

Your throat felt dry, the air between you charged with everything unsaid. And then, in that fragile quiet, you finally opened your mouth, the beginnings of your confession trembling on your lips.

"I—"

You barely got the first sound out before Jenna interrupted you.

"I need to talk to you about something."

Her voice cut through the moment like a sharp blade, and your eyes snapped up to meet hers. She froze, realizing she'd interrupted, her brow furrowing in apology.

"Sorry," she said quickly, her hands lifting slightly as if to physically backpedal. "You go first."

The tension in her expression, the nervous energy radiating off her, should've made you more anxious. But instead, you felt a wave of relief so profound it nearly knocked the breath out of you.

You didn't want to say it.

You didn't want to tell her, to put it into words, to make it real. Because once you said it out loud, there'd be no going back.

The illness that had already seeped into every corner of your life, consuming your thoughts and your body, would become something undeniable. And it wasn't just your burden anymore—it would become hers, too.

So you nodded quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. "No, it's okay. You go."

Jenna hesitated, her eyes scanning yours as if to make sure you meant it. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible sigh, she shifted in her seat, her fingers tangling together in her lap.

You watched her, noticing for the first time how truly nervous she looked. Her hands moved constantly, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, twisting her bracelet, pressing her palms flat against her thighs.

For a fleeting moment, your mind latched onto something completely irrational: Was she going to propose?

The thought felt absurd, but it burrowed into your brain anyway. The way she was avoiding eye contact, the way her fingers clasped and unclasped like she was gripping something small—it all seemed so... deliberate. Like she was holding onto something important.

You could almost picture it: a velvet box, hidden in her jacket pocket, the hinge creaking as she opened it to reveal something glittering and perfect. Her nervousness would make sense then. Proposing was a big deal, a life-changing moment, and Jenna would want to get it exactly right.

It had to be that. Maybe it was wishful thinking, your mind scrambling for anything to distract you from your own nerves, but for a second, you almost let yourself believe it.

Then Jenna spoke, and it all came crashing down.

She didn't look at you right away. Her gaze dropped to her lap, where her hands were still fidgeting, and she swallowed hard before starting. "I've been thinking about this for a while," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the hum of the restaurant.

Your stomach dropped.

Her words were slow, halting, like she was trying to choose them carefully but wasn't quite sure how. She glanced up at you briefly, her eyes heavy with something you couldn't place—sympathy, maybe, or regret—before looking down again.

"It's just..." She paused, exhaling shakily. "With everything going on—with my career, and the projects, and traveling all the time... it's a lot. And I know it's not fair to you."

You didn't respond. You couldn't.

"I'm barely home," she continued, her voice trembling slightly. "And when I am, I'm... distracted. By work, by everything I have to do. I feel like I'm constantly being pulled in a million different directions, and no matter how hard I try, I can't... I can't give you the time or attention you deserve."

Her hands tightened in her lap, her knuckles pale against her skin. She looked up at you again, forcing herself to meet your gaze even though it clearly took effort.

"You've been so patient with me," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "So understanding, even when I didn't deserve it. And I hate that. I hate that I've let things get to this point, where I feel like I'm failing you."

She gulped, her Adam's apple bobbing as she struggled to steady herself. "I've been thinking about this for a long time," she repeated, almost as if she was trying to convince herself now.

The words hung heavy between you, suffocating in their weight.

"I just... I think it's for the best if we—if we break up."

The final words came out like a whisper, but they might as well have been a shout. They echoed in your head, over and over, until they drowned out everything else.

She was still looking at you, her expression raw and vulnerable, waiting for you to say something—anything. But you couldn't.

Because in that moment, it felt like the ground had opened up beneath you, pulling you into a freefall you couldn't escape.

For a moment, you couldn't even process what she'd said. It didn't feel real, couldn't feel real. The restaurant around you blurred into nothing—voices faded into static, the clinking of plates and glasses became a distant hum. All you could hear was the sound of her words echoing in your mind.

Break up.

You blinked, and suddenly your throat was tight, your chest heavy, and your vision stung with tears threatening to spill over. You tried to swallow, but it felt like there was a lump lodged in your throat, growing bigger with every second of silence that passed.

All you could manage was a quiet, broken, "Oh."

It was barely a sound, barely anything at all, but it carried everything. All the confusion, the hurt, the disbelief—it was packed into that one syllable that trembled out of you. And the moment it escaped, you felt like you were collapsing from the inside out.

Your hands trembled slightly as they rested on your lap, and you clenched them into fists to steady yourself.

But it didn't work. Your chest felt like it was caving in, your stomach churning violently as if you were going to be sick. You suddenly felt more ill than you'd ever felt before, like every bit of strength you had left was being drained out of you all at once.

You blinked again, and a tear slid down your cheek before you even realized you were crying.

Jenna didn't look away.

Her gaze stayed locked on you, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and that only made it worse. It made your chest tighten further, your throat burn hotter. Because why was she crying? Why was she crying?

If she thought this was the right thing to do, if she believed that breaking up was the solution, then why did she look like she was on the verge of breaking, too?

The thought stirred something sharp and bitter in your chest—something close to anger.

You didn't want to be angry, not at her. You loved her more than anything, more than yourself, more than anything you'd ever known in this world. But in that moment, it bubbled up anyway, unbidden and ugly.

How could she say this was for the best and look like she was about to cry? How could she sit there, tearing you apart with her words, and act like she felt guilty about it? Like she didn’t want to do this but was doing it anyway.

If she didn't want to do it, then why was she?

Your hands unclenched, trembling as you wiped hastily at your face, trying to erase the tears that kept coming. But it was no use. They kept falling, hot and relentless, leaving tracks down your cheeks that you couldn't hide, even if you tried.

"Okay," you whispered, though it wasn't okay. Nothing was okay. But you didn't have anything else to say. Your mind felt blank, empty except for the deafening echo of her words and the ache that spread through your chest like wildfire.

Your lips parted like you were about to say more, but nothing came out. There was so much you wanted to ask, to scream, to cry, but the weight of it all held you frozen. You could only sit there, staring at her through the blur of your tears, wondering how it had come to this.

Why now? Why like this? Why, after everything you'd been through together, was this the moment it all fell apart?

Your heart felt like it was breaking, splintering into a million pieces you didn't know how to put back together.

You stared at her, searching her face for something—anything—that might explain this, that might soften the blow. But all you saw was sadness and guilt and resolve. And that, more than anything, made you feel like you might throw up.

You didn't know how to respond—what could you say? Everything felt so wrong, so heavy, and all you could do was sit there, your throat too tight to speak, your heart too shattered to form words.

And Jenna, maybe out of nervousness or guilt—or both—began to ramble again. Her voice was softer now, tinged with a slight tremor, like she was trying to steady herself but couldn't quite manage it.

"I—I've just been thinking about this a lot," she said, her words spilling out in a way that didn't quite connect. "With... everything. My work, how busy it's been, and I don't know. I've been trying to figure it out, and it's like—like maybe it's just too much."

Her fingers fidgeted in her lap, twisting her rings and pressing into her palm as if she could ground herself that way.

Her gaze flicked up to you, then away, then back again. She looked like she was searching for something—understanding, forgiveness, anything—but couldn't seem to hold your eyes for more than a second at a time.

"It's not that I don't care," she added quickly, almost desperately, her words tripping over themselves. "You know I do. You know I care about you so much, and that's why—" She stopped mid-sentence, pressing her lips together hard, her brows furrowing like she didn't know how to finish the thought.

Her voice was uneven when she started again. "I just—everything's so complicated right now. With filming, with traveling, and—and I feel like..." Her words faltered again, and she let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging as if the weight of her own thoughts was too much.

Her sentences were fragmented, scattered, like she didn't fully know how to explain herself. It wasn't an argument, wasn't a definitive declaration—it was just... messy.

And that made it worse.

Because nothing she was saying felt concrete, nothing felt like a real reason. It was all just vague, unfinished thoughts that left you sitting there, trying to piece together what she actually meant. Trying to figure out if she even knew what she was saying.

Jenna swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as she glanced down at her lap again. "I don't know how else to say it," she murmured, almost to herself, her voice barely audible.

But that didn't make it any clearer.

All you could do was sit there, still frozen, still unable to speak, as she rambled on, her words tangling together in a way that felt more like she was trying to convince herself than explain anything to you.

And it felt like every word she said was chipping away at something inside you, leaving you raw and exposed and aching.

You couldn't even process the idea of why she was doing this, because she wasn't giving you a reason—she was just... saying things. Vague, messy things that didn't feel like they added up to anything but heartbreak.

"What were you going to say?" She asked, clearly getting the point of her rambling not helping anybody at the table. You felt your stomach twist violently. Her tone was soft, hesitant, like she was trying to patch the cracks she'd just shattered into existence, but it only made everything worse.

You stared at her, your heart thudding heavily in your chest. Was she serious? Did she really think she could just ask that now—after everything—and act like it hadn't happened? Like you weren't sitting here, choking on the weight of her words, trying to make sense of it all?

You couldn't believe it. And yet, part of you could. This was so her—to try and smooth it all over, to shove the pieces of normalcy back into place even when it was painfully obvious they didn't fit anymore. But you could see it in her face, in the way her lips trembled and her eyes flicked nervously over your expression. She knew it wasn't working. She knew this was ridiculous.

Still, you couldn't answer right away. Because, what could you even say?

What you were going to say—what you needed to say—wasn't something you could tell her now. Not after this. Not after she'd sat across from you and torn everything apart, leaving you to sit here, raw and exposed, trying to make sense of her fragmented reasoning.

You couldn't tell her. You couldn't tell her that you were sick. Because now it would look like a desperate attempt to make her stay, to guilt her into taking it all back. And that was the last thing you wanted.

No—more than that, it would make it real. Actually real. Saying the words out loud, to her of all people, in this moment, would make it something you couldn't take back. And you weren't ready for that. You weren't ready for any of it.

"It was nothing," you muttered, your voice flat and quiet, barely recognizable as your own. You stared at the table, refusing to meet her eyes, because the weight of her gaze was too much to bear. "Just... nothing important."

You hoped she'd leave it at that, though you could tell from the way her expression softened into something unbearably sympathetic that she didn't believe you. She was probably going to ask again, probably going to try to dig deeper, but you couldn't give her more. Not now. Not like this.

She didn't press you for more, but the silence that followed felt louder than anything she could have said. You didn't look at her, didn't dare, because you knew what you'd see—concern, confusion, maybe even guilt—and you couldn't take it. Not after everything.

You tried to focus on the table in front of you, the half-empty glass of soda that had gone warm, the plate of untouched food that suddenly felt miles away. But your mind wouldn't stop racing.

This wasn't how you'd imagined it. None of it.

All the words you'd rehearsed, the courage you'd spent all day building, the carefully planned moment—it was gone now, swept away like it had never existed. And no matter how much you wanted to, no matter how desperately you wished you could take it all back, it was too late.

Too late to say what you'd come here to say. Too late to stop what she'd said instead. Too late to fix whatever had been shattered between you tonight.

And now, you'd have to face it all alone.

The waiting rooms. The cold sterility of hospital walls. The appointments that stretched on longer than the days themselves. You'd prepared yourself for those things, or at least tried to, but you'd never prepared for doing it without her.

You couldn't blame her. You wouldn't. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

You swallowed hard, willing the tears to stay put, and reached for your glass, if only to give your hands something to do. The carbonation fizzed on your tongue, sharp and bitter, but you barely tasted it.

And as Jenna's gaze lingered on you, hesitant and uncertain, you told yourself the same thing you'd been trying to believe all night.

You would be fine. You had to be.

Because now, it was too late to say otherwise.

#jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday addams x reader #mabel x reader #melissa barrera x reader #sam carpenter

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hyperions-light · 9 hours ago

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The Poison Fruit Ripens

#defendingtheending here we go

First of all mega super ultra spoilers for the ending teaser that Steam says like… 6% ? Of players have seen? So you’ve been warned. No cuts baby, it’s Miyazaki style

Okay, so it’s the Executors, and they’re probably coming across the sea in the next game (if EA doesn’t nuke BW), from what I can gather. I mean, this is fine from a lore perspective. All we knew about those people before is that 1) they are mysterious 2) they are from over there, across the ocean

And now they’re maybe connected to the revealed Qunari lore, which I am ! So excited to have! We already knew that the Qunari fled across the ocean for unspecified reasons, and that going back there was Not A Thing. But now we know that they left because of the (probably metaphorical?) Devouring Storm, which could be connected to the Executors. What are the odds that there are two separate Huge Bad Things Over There that both want to destroy Thedas? Probably is just one big thing— also the title Executor implies they are doing the bidding of someone else, so whatever the Qunari were talking about could be it. (They also talked about being agents of someone else’s will in the Inquisition War Table quest).

So the cinematic shows a bunch of our prominent villains from the previous games being influenced in some way by the Executors. Which I think people are upset about, but I think it’s fine because:

- They did not really specify the manner of influence. I would be annoyed if they retconned Loghain’s decision to leave Cailan on the battlefield because it makes him interesting, but they didn’t say that. They just said they influenced his decisions. They could have done that by stoking his paranoia about Orlais, or by planting Arl Howe to influence him after the battle. He did a lot of OOC stuff while he was King Regent, and this could be a chance to explain what didn’t make sense for his previously established character and was just put in there to make him seem Very Evil.

- They also were around some people doing a blood magic ritual… there weren’t enough of them to be the Magisters, technically, but that is usually what it looks like when we see them in DA art so I’m going to assume that’s them for now. I mean that’s wild if that’s what it is bc that was such a long time ago? Thee guys have really been playing the long game I guess

- The other person they directly influenced seems to be Bartrand, which is really easy because who the fuck gave him that damn map? We NEVER found out who pointed Bartrand to the Thaig! Someone did it, and they probably did it on purpose! It may as well be these guys

- the rest of the villains don’t get guys whispering to them, so I have to assume they mean to imply that they just set up the circumstances that would lead to these people gaining power. I mean someone sent the Carta to the Vimmark mountains, right? And there was like some weird demon there, too.

-So basically they’re just implying that these people have been manipulating events to make sure that shit in Thedas is hitting the fan all at once, which does kind of explain the frankly improbable number of world-ending events that have happened during the Dragon Age. I mean, three Blights, two Magisters, two Evanuris, Antaam invasion, major mage rebellion, Templar schism, and the death of the Southern Divine? It’s only been like 50 years!!! Before the Dragon Age there had only been four Blights since the Ancient Age! Shit does not normally happen this fast in Thedas

I think the phrase itself is pretty direct (also giving Southern Reach vibes). All this chaos they helped sew is reaching its culmination, and now they’re getting ready to cash in the chips. They’re coming to Thedas at the moment that all the great powers are at their weakest, when there’s basically no one to oppose them. Tevinter? Fucked. Qunari? No military anymore. Antiva? Haha! lol, even. Fereldan? Basically gone. Orlais? In shambles. Free Marches? Decimated. Anderfels? There’s like 100 Wardens left in a swamp. Nevarra? I actually don’t know, maybe the lichlords can do something. Maybe Rivain could field some token resistance if they didn’t get hit by the Antaam too badly, but that’s kind of it IMO. This is THE time to come in and conquer(?) the land, or whatever they’re trying to do. Kill everybody?? Turn them into Darkspawn? Who knows!

Some speculation about what could be done to repel invasion:

- shit ton of blood magic

- fix titans, wake them up??? But idk if they’d be into it

- adaari, but idk if there are that many

- people with dragon blood, like the Theirins, are maybe super special and can do things?

- pirates, baby!!! Woooooo!

- I guess Mythal could know something? She can see the future a bit

- dragon army! Dragon army!!

#dragon age #datv spoilers #veilguard #dragon age: the veilguard spoilers #veilguard spoilers #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard

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msunitedstatesjames · 2 days ago

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Rating Veilguard companions based on their living spaces:

I'm coming up on the last handful of missions in Veilguard, and I noticed that I hadn't really spent all that much time looking around the rooms of the companions. I pretty much burst in and out, only staying long enough to hear whatever they have to say. So I decided to do a more in depth look. (There will be some moderate spoilers ahead if you haven't worked your way through most of Emmrich's companion quests.)

7. Lucanis

Okay, we've all heard the reasoning behind Lucanis's room of choice, but this "room" is still sad. As awesome as access to the kitchens is, this is just a straight up trauma room. That's without even mentioning the perilous number of candles near the bed of such a haunted (literally) man. But, at least he has somewhere to sleep, unlike some others, and he has plenty of supplies of citrus fruit, so scurvy won't be an issue.

6. Emmrich

I hate to rank this one so low. Not only is Emmrich my romance of choice, but I'm a huge book lover in real life, and I love this aesthetic. But this man doesn't have anywhere to sleep! He's in his 50s and has nowhere to sleep! Much has been said about where he might be sleeping every night. Does he sleep on the corpse slab? Does he sleep in the big red chair? Does he curl up in front of the fire like a hound? If he was 19 maybe those options would be feasible. But I'm in my early thirties in real life, and the idea of spending a night on a hard floor/slab is already unbearable to imagine, and sitting upright all night is only done if I'm so ill I can't do otherwise. No bed is just unforgiveable. Also, he's stuck with the skull and spirit of his former friend/rival seemingly listening in on everything and critiquing him constantly. Imagine just minding your own business and having a skull call you "moldering" while implying you're too old to be with your partner of choice. On the other hand, I envy the shelf space, the spiral staircase, and the gorgeous balcony view.

5. Taash

Maybe Taash likes having a gloomy room, I don't know. But sometimes this room looks like a straight up dungeon. Also, though there is some good functionality for training and such, the room lacks daily functionality due to the sheer amount of stuff everywhere. I get that Taash is a Lord of Fortune and treasure hunting is like their whole thing, but like, does Taash really need multiple huge stacks of silver bars and random sheaths of fabric here in their temporary Fade bedroom? What's the point of having so many tables if none of them have any more room to set things on when you actually need to? Some of these rugs are fantastic though. And Taash is one of only two companions with a real bed, so that counts for a lot.

4. Bellara

This is more workshop than bedroom, which I guess suits Bellara well enough. But there's a couple of issues here. First, there's some pretty spiky tools a little close to her cot. God forbid she has a nightmare and jerks upright out of a deep sleep, she'd get slightly impaled. Also, imagine trying to sleep with the smug face of the Archive looking out at you all the time. And don't forget the room is just full to bursting with mirrors. That seems like a confusing, hazardous, headache inducing horror. There is some cool elven decor though.

3. Neve

Neve has a pretty tiny space compared to some of the others, but I guess it's fitting for a noir style detective. She does have a bed, though it's only a less than stellar cot. She also has a bunch of wisps stealing her stuff all the time. But she has a beautiful view, more privacy than some of the others, and a nice desk, which is essential to a detective. And in the end this room is kind of gorgeous.

2. Harding

This whole place is fabulous. The plants are amazing. The magic butterflies are enchanting. The giant ceiling flower is beautiful. Harding doesn't have a real bed, but she has a canopy and a bedroll, which she's probably pretty comfortable in by now after 10+ years of being a scout. I also like that this room grows and transforms over the course of the story. Personally, I think this is the most aesthetically pleasing of the rooms, and I imagine there's some crickets in there to give you that peaceful summer evening soundtrack.

1.Davrin

Davrin's biggest advantage is the simple fact that he has a private sleeping area with a real bed. No one else has both of those things. On top of that, it's a functional space for he and Assan. It's open and has a nice perch for easy Assan access. It has shelf space for his carvings. He has lots of cool knick knacks. He has lots of natural light and a great view. But after looking more closely at his space I almost dropped him down a spot for one reason. NUGS. Did I miss a dialogue line about his love for nugs? Because there's A LOT of nug memorabilia in this place. There's a taxidermy nug with a face only Leliana could love. There's little nug carvings. There's bigger nug carvings. There's drawings of nug anatomy. I don't know if I'm more freaked out by the idea that Davrin brought them or the idea that Solas left them. Still, he does have a cozy fireplace/chair combo, as long as you don't mind being watched by the empty stares of a thousand lifeless nugs.

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #lucanis dellamorte #emmrich volkarin #emmrich x rook #taash #bellara lutare #neve gallus #lace harding #davrin #spoilers #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #video games #rpgs #bioware #why are there so many nugs?

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thewadapan · 1 day ago

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I do recommend people take this test, it's a riot.

But like, it's not a study. (The site linked above appears to be yet another waste-of-space Amazon-affiliate-advertising content aggregator grift, which talks a big game about Creative Commons but why would I want to repurpose any of this material in the first place? The only original content I can see here is obviously-AI-generated thumbnails for the art, which look like dogshit. The original results post for the test is a much better read.)

The way the test is designed is like this. Images were roughly balanced by art style: so of all the digital-art pieces, 50% are human, 50% are AI, same for the renaissance paintings, same for the impressionist stuff, same for abstract. Except, obviously, the human pictures have been selected to exhibit stereotypical signs of AI-ness: overdetail, odd scaling, incorrect proportions, random meaningless shapes, illegible text. Meanwhile, the AI stuff has been filtered to avoid anything that had obvious tells to a layman's eye, like fucked-up hands or whatever.

So it's basically a game of like... whatever your gut instinct tells you the image's provenance is, it's probably the opposite.

When you filter out the human works, and look at the provenance of solely the AI pictures (as given in the results post), that's when you find out what this test is actually indicative of. The pieces were mostly generated by two ACX readers, Ryan Wise and Jack Galler. I remember spotting every single one of Ryan's images, without fail. Meanwhile, nearly all of Jack's images fooled me. (There were also a handful of other AI images taken from social media or whatever, which again, I easily pegged as being AI-generated, they're pure slop.)

I'll actually go so far as to say that it's pretty embarrassing for Ryan that he thought these images were good enough to share. Wall-eyed figures whose clothes blend into flesh, abstract shapes with eerily-lifelike inhuman faces leering out of the picture, inconsistent details... but most of all, a sense that the prompts themselves were bereft of any creativity. "robot skeleton abstract painting", "woman in field impressionist". Come on man. AI is the ultimate tool for ideas-guys, and yet here you are without a single idea to show for yourself.

Ryan was apparently using StableDiffusion. Meanwhile, here's Jack talking about his process:

I just used Midjourney. Most of the prompts were just describing some generic impressionist scene. I've never had an art history class (but I am an art history fan!), so I worked with ChatGPT to identify key trends of say, Impressionism, so I could prompt better. I generated a lot of each one ,and just used my subjective opinion to decide what looked good and what didn't. The Paris Scene (which fooled the most people) had this prompt: "Impressionist painting of a bustling Parisian street under the soft rain, 1881" The Riverside Cafe (which people liked the most) had this prompt: "Impressionist painting of a countryside café terrace during twilight, 1883"

It seems that specifying a year in particular was what helped Midjourney hone in on these historical styles in a convincing way. Jack's method obviously involved a huge amount of cherry-picking—which I would argue is another huge element of human intervention, if only in a sense of curation. A version of this test I would like to see would be one where both different AI models and a range of talented artists were given the same prompt. What if it was one-shot, with just a single generation, no cherry-picking? Except of course an AI can generate thousands of paintings in the time it takes a human to do just one, so what would that even prove?

This test reminded me of a piece I saw on deviantART a long time ago, of this ruined fantasy castle in a cave. Pretty cool! But then you look at it a bit longer, and it's like- hang on, why is that human skull the size of the collapsed turret lying next to it? It's exactly the kind of nonsensical composition you see in AI, except no, it's just a digital artist using photoshop and they fucked it. I kind of feel like this is where the state-of-the-art of AI image generation is right now; about as good as a guy bashing together stock assets in photoshop, which is to say maybe good enough to get an idea across, even if it can't actually stand on its own two legs as a piece of art.

So yeah, from a cynical perspective, I'd find it hard to argue that Jack's generations aren't "good enough" for many applications. I don't know that I'd hang any of them in a gallery. The longer I look at them, the less I like them. But they've got the right vibes.

So a more accurate headline for that BOING BOING article might be, "AI art haters unknowingly prefer AI-generated works by Jack Galler, according to test".

If there's one thing I'll be taking away from this post, that's helped me better understand my own feelings on AI art, it's this analogy from digital artist Ilzo, quoted in the results analysis:

Imagine if everyone got the ability to create mostly nutritional adequate meals for like five cents, but they all were mediocre rehydrated powder with way too much sucralose or artificial grape flavor or such. And your friends start inviting you over to dinner parties way more often because it's so easy to deal with food now, but practically every time, they serve you sucralose protein shake. (Maybe they do so because they were used to almost never eating food? This isn't a perfect analogy.) Furthermore, imagine people calling this the future of food and saying chefs are obsolete. You'd probably be like "wow, I'm happy that you have easy access to food you enjoy, and it is convenient for me to use sometimes, but this is kind of driving me crazy".

Last month, over 11,000 people took Astral Codex Ten's survey to see if they could they tell the difference between 50 human-made art and AI-generated images. The results were humbling for humans, especially ones who professed a loathing for AI art.

Most participants stumbled through the test, scoring just 60% — barely better than flipping a coin. What tripped them up? Our preconceptions about art styles, it turns out, are deeply ingrained. When people saw classic Impressionist paintings, they confidently declared them human-made (and were often wrong). When they encountered digital art, they quickly labeled it as AI (and were frequently mistaken).

Perhaps the most ironic finding was about people who claimed to despise AI art. When these AI critics picked their favorite pieces without knowing their origin, they consistently chose AI-generated works. Even among those who rated their hatred of AI art at maximum levels, their top two favorite pieces were created by machines.

#ai art #ai

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kingkat12 · 2 days ago

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enigma (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, sub!Roman, blindfold, handcuffs, riding, handjob, edging, banter, Roman likes tits tihi, name-calling (for a second lol), fluff sort-of?

summary: after Roman became the CEO of Godfrey Industries, he hasn't been able to let off any steam... so it seems he might need some help figuring out how to channel his frustrations

word count: 4,713

a/n: celebrating 600 followers w the return of sub!Roman!!<33 y'all seemed to like can i watch, so see this as a part 2? gif by @godfreysteel!!! THANK YOU, and hope you enjoy;)

Roman Godfrey was a man of many mysteries— many I didn’t want to uncover. Yet the enigma of how to get him to properly unload after work was one I spent many months figuring out.

After work, Roman would usually come home with a lot of pent-up anger he tried not to take out on me. He’d sit with a shake in his leg, he’d huff at the slightest inconveniences, and blow up without warning over small disagreements. He was no longer the man I had known him to be, now too frustrated with the position of CEO his mother had forcefully bestowed upon him to function properly. Still, I knew that the man I had fallen in love with was buried somewhere beneath the rubble of chaos going on in his life.

So I started out simple.

When Roman would come home, I’d make sure to hurry to the door and hang his jacket up for him. It was a small thing, nothing major, yet a kindness which eased him with the following kiss hello. Now that I had introduced a form of routine, now that he expected something pleasant the minute he got home, there was a new ease in his step.

Nonetheless, I knew the day would come when that wouldn’t be enough anymore. Roman was still fidgety and frustrated with his dealings with Dr. Pryce at work, so I realized I had to find a new way to have him release the pent-up energy in his body.

At first, it was easy. When it felt like a surprise, before Roman pieced together that I had an ulterior motive, it could be done with a simple run of my hands through his hair after dinner on the couch. He’d be hard in no time— I could see the way his cock swelled with interest beneath the restrictions of his suit, and the green of his eyes nearly swallowed me before he pounced.

I wondered why I hadn’t used sex as a solution earlier. Why I hadn’t let him take all this energy out on me in bed before. Roman wouldn’t even bother getting out of his suit sometimes, as he was too impatient to get any form of release— and impatient, he was.

His long, slender fingers would twist into the hair on the nape of my neck, holding me in place as he pushed deeper into me, feeling me clench around his cock in a mix of desperation and utter satisfaction. It was perfect, satisfactory for us both, and it was the best bandaid in the world until it one night got to his head. Giving Roman the power to take anything out on me was seemingly not the best way to go, especially after he had avoided doing just that for so long— now I knew the reason why; “Look at you, taking my cock like the pretty little whore you are… All for me, hm? Just— hah, for me?”

My eyes widened; he knew I didn’t like him calling me any names of sorts. Why had he even said that? I managed to grab a fistful of his hair, yanking him off me as he yelped. “Nope. We’re done tonight,” I huffed, getting up from the bed as Roman protested.

“Come on, I didn’t mean that!” He was a panting mess, cock twitching at the denial of hot, wet friction. “It just— fuck, it was a thing I said in the moment, you can’t fault me for that!”

This was the night that it hit me that I had been slaving around to accommodate him… almost to the likes of a whore. I turned to Roman after getting dressed, watching as he sat up in the bed with a frown. The more I looked at him, the more I saw the spoiled, arrogant man that was constantly on the front pages of gossip magazines for bad behaviour with staff and other associates. “You don’t get to talk to me like that,”

Roman sighed, moving closer to the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, mind still fogged up by his arousal. “Come back here, take that shit off… Let me make you feel good, okay?”

I folded my arms over my chest, narrowing my eyes— “No. I’m tired of you not being able to regulate your emotions like a grown adult, and I most certainly will not stoop so low as to let you call me names!”

Roman groaned, raising his voice; “I didn’t mean it, for fuck’s sake!” I could see the usual anger blooming in his big, green eyes, and I hated the sight of it. “I don’t think you’re a whore, my mind just turned off, and it slipped! I wouldn’t fucking be with you if you were one, who do you think I am?!”

I was sure Roman didn’t realize he was digging his grave with every new word spilling past his kiss-swollen lips. “Who I think you are…? Who I think you are?” Finally, it was my time to rage; “I think you’re a spoiled, entitled,��whiny man! And quite frankly, I’m tired of walking on eggshells around you!”

Roman jaw fell, his hands now clutching the duvets to keep himself calm. “… Go on,”

“Go on?!” I wasn’t sure why. “I don’t care to accommodate your bullshit anymore, okay? If anything, I should be putting you in your fucking place!”

This time, when Roman didn’t say anything, I could feel the switch in the atmosphere. It was as though the air got thicker, harder to inhale— I saw the way Roman’s pupils dilated, the way his ears perked up in intrigue.

Oh.

That night, I allowed Roman to sleep next to me after he pleaded with me to accept his apology. I told him that the next time he said anything like that, I’d bite his dick off.

… That seemed to shut him up.

But as for the enigma? I had cracked it. I had cracked it big time— finally, I knew exactly what he needed, and how to give it to him.

It wasn't hard to find a moment when Roman was seated in his home office, busy answering a couple of emails. A few kisses here and there, a dirty word in his ear, and he was ready to sit still for me; but not without putting up a fight, of course.

“I know what you think you’re doing,” Roman huffed, not fighting the handcuffs anymore. His compliance finally allowed me to secure his hands behind his back, wrists locked behind his office chair. “You think this is some sort of kink-thing that will work on me like magic, like reverse psychology. But I can tell you right now that this something I’m trying out for you and not for me. So don’t get any weird ideas about me, okay?”

Roman’s innate denial was almost comical. I straightened my back, leaning down to press a short kiss to his neck. “It’s not weird,” I cooed, circling him. “You should’ve just told me.”

“Told you what?”

“That you need someone else to take the control once in a while,” I sat down in Roman’s lap, untying his expensive silk tie as I innocently batted my lashes at him. “You just need a little time off, don’t ya?”

His jaw clenched, watching me with narrowed eyes. “Don’t push it,” he mumbled. “I’m doing this for you.”

“Oh, Roman,” I treaded the tie between my fingers, biting back a laugh. “The game is over now, don’t you see? I figured you out!” Pressing a short kiss to his nose, feeling him scoff, I slowly covered his beautiful green eyes with the fabric. I immediately missed them, but I knew it was necessary for his immersion. He was too proud of a man to give in so easily. “Why don’t you just let me take care of you…” I tied the tie, securing the knot before leaning in to whisper into his ear; “… Properly?”

Roman remained silent, too shocked to speak, but his interest was unmistakable— I could feel him hardening beneath me, a tight jolt of his cock bumping into the underside of my thigh. Bingo.

I angled myself in his lap, slowly grinding my hips up against his bulge; there was a rough breath, almost a groan, as though he was still fighting the idea of completely letting go. “You don’t need to do this,” Roman said, voice unsteady. “You don’t have to.”

It was as though he didn’t trust me not to judge him. “And you don’t need to be so nervous,” I cooed, grinding my hips down against him once more. “Trust me.”

I could see his jaw clenching, but the shaky breath that followed unveiled everything. “I don’t even know what you want to do to me. Don’t get too excited, okay? Don’t do anything crazy,”

It was impossible not to roll my eyes. Roman didn’t see it, anyway. “I’m not doing anything to you, per se,” My fingers trailed down his shirt, unbuttoning the top button. “I just want you to relax and enjoy. Can you do that for me?”

I could see the goosebumps appearing along the exposed skin of his forearms, his shirt bunching up at his biceps. “Sure,” Roman mumbled, attempting not to sound too excited— yet the jump of his cock against my ass gave it all away.

“I’ve been thinking a long time about how to alleviate your stress…” I got to the end of Roman’s buttons, now trailing my hands up his bare, toned chest. “I thought I needed to let you take it out on me in bed, but I knew that was a misstep the second you got too greedy and called me a whore—“

“Come on!—“

“And that‘s fine,” I leaned down, pressing a kiss to his exposed collarbone. “When I let you run wild, your imagination follows. I should’ve known better than to give you more power… Especially now that I know you crave it taken away from you.”

Roman was starting to become fidgety, his hands fighting the restraints. “Nonsense,”

“Really?” I straightened up, lolling my head to the side as I watched the man of my life struggle to face his situation. This was the root of all his problems, wasn’t it? I sighed, pressing a short kiss to the soft pillows of his lips— I no longer heard the clanking of the metal handcuffs against the back of the chair. “You got this job sprung on you despite your wishes not to… Bet you wish it could’ve gone to someone else.”

Roman had finally quieted down. I longed to see the look in his eyes, but I didn’t need to in order to know I had hit a home run. “And I’m sorry about that,” I breathed, hooking my hands beneath the edge of my top to wry it off, tossing it somewhere on the floor. “I’m sorry you don’t feel like you can talk about it, but I’m here to make you feel a little better. You’re not the CEO of anything in here, you’re allowed to relax.”

I saw the way Roman’s shoulders slumped, the way his breathing got a little softer. My poor boy. I would’ve felt even more sorry for him if I didn’t feel the way his cock was twitching with excitement at the way I was talking to him.

I knew I sealed the deal when I sat up in his lap, letting one strap of my bra fall over my shoulder as I brought him closer— it didn’t even take a second before Roman’s lips sealed around my breast with a wanton moan.

Roman’s tongue circled my bud as I did my best not to let my legs give in to a tremble— I knew this usually drove him crazy. The enigma of men. I held onto the chair, one hand going up into his hair to tug at the tips of his dark locks. Roman let out a soft grunt against my skin, his hips bucking up as his hands instinctively fought the handcuffs. I knew he wanted to grab at my waist, squeeze my ass, knead at my other breast— I knew him too well. The restraints only seemed to make him more desperate.

I pulled away, realizing I was panting as I fixed my bra. Roman threw his head back a little, a small smirk present on his plush lips— “You really know how to get me going, don’t you?”

I shrugged, now trailing my hands down to his restricted cock. “You’re easy like that, Roman,”

He let out a shaky breath, hips keening against the warmth of my hands. “Am not,”

“Yes, you are,”

“Nope,”

“Keep fighting me and I’ll leave you like this,”

That seemed to shut him up. Roman straightened up in his chair, softly clearing his throat as it dawned on him that I was dead serious. “Would you really?”

My God— I didn’t think it was humanly possible for him to get harder right now, but the threat of me leaving him hot and bothered seemed to do it for him. I wondered whether his zipper would split open soon, as the constraint only got tighter. “If you don’t shut up soon, I will,”

“You wouldn’t,” Roman echoed, his voice growing weaker. “… Would you really?”

Seeing him get this excited only did the same to me— I needed to get him out of these pants before it was too late. This was Armani, for fuck’s sake. I placed two fingers against Roman’s mouth, knowing he’d get the memo— with a small huff, he wrapped his lips around my small digits, letting them rest against his warm tongue.

The sight of it sent shivers down my spine. “You talk too much,” I said, my free hand unbuckling his belt and discarding it somewhere next to my top. The second the zipper was rolled down, Roman let out a sigh of relief against my fingers, his head rolling back just a little.

“If you promise to stop snarking, I’ll take my fingers out. Hum if it’s a yes,”

As expected, Roman did— when my fingers were out, I leaned forward to brush my lips against his, feeling his shaky breath seep out of his lungs. “Kiss me, at least,” he pleaded. “I feel like I’m gonna fucking burst.”

I leaned forward, watching him part his lips on a soundless intake of breath as my gaze darted to his mouth. I cupped his cheek, my thumb brushing over the softness of his skin— it was surprising to see how he was responding to it. I hadn’t ever been given the opportunity to lead; had he maybe just been scared to be seen as vulnerable?

“I’ll kiss you in a second,” I breathed, my mind returning to Roman’s aching cock— I watched his breath hitch when I gently tapped the tip of it with my finger, and his head shot to the left as his breathing got heavier.

My heart was thumping hard in my chest at the sight, and I got the confidence to bring my palm to my mouth, slicking it with spit before I brought it down the length of his cock. Roman let out a breathy hah, pushing up into my fist.

Oh, this was almost sweet— I pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, slowly working my fingers around the shaft. “Is this okay?” I asked, pulling away when I sensed his wish to turn back to me.

Using his senses, Roman somehow managed to find the tip of my nose, nudging it gently with his. “Yeah,”

I was relieved to know he wasn’t seeing the deep blush creeping up my cheeks. The small drop of pre-cum that had built up on the tip of his cock spilled over, now running down the back of my hand, and it brought me back from my moment of shyness— I had gotten him this worked up. I never thought I’d be able to do that, especially not to Roman. So, with a newfound confidence, I leaned forward to grant him his wish of a kiss.

As he was still blindfolded, his muscles hitched with caution, yet his cock twitched in my hand at the softness of our reunion. Roman quietly moaned into the kiss, easing up further in my hold as I continued my slow strokes along his thick shaft.

However, what I didn’t expect, was for his usual instincts to kick in, and I was left with my breath caught in my chest as Roman placed eager kisses down my jaw. I had a feeling he didn’t think I would have control for longer than this— “Rome,” I cooed, tilting my head upwards to give him access as his kisses trailed down my neck. “Give it up.” It was impossible to deny that it felt good, and I was unsure how I was supposed to will myself to stop him. “You’re not in control, Roman.”

He hummed against my skin, the instinctual fight against the handcuffs echoing throughout the room. “But I want you,” he breathed. “I want to see you, want to touch you—“

Fucking hell. I should’ve known Roman would get greedy. So I decided I needed to go to more drastic measures; I unwinded my grip around his cock, getting up from his lap to a string of protests.

It felt as though all my nerves were on fire as I watched him buck up into nothing, panting at the lack of contact; “No,” he breathed, whimpering. “Come back, I’ll— I’ll sit still, okay?”

“Hmm…” I slowly tapped my foot against the floor, making my frustration audible. “That’s not enough.”

“Come on!” Roman was whinier than ever, throwing his head back as he struggled against his constraints. His mind was fighting the idea of letting go, yet his cock was twitching with immense interest. Silly man— he didn’t want to recognize this wish to surrender.

… This meant I had to force it.

I stepped towards him, watching as his breath hitched in anticipation. Now that he was blindfolded, his senses were heightened. “Tell me what you really want, Roman,”

He took a second, brows drawing together. “You know what I want,”

“No, not that,” I placed myself behind him and pressed a kiss to his ear, hearing him whimper as I reached down to wrap my fingers around his cock. “What do you want?” I whispered into his ear, listening to his quiet moans.

“I want— shit, no, I can’t!—“

“Yes, you can,” I sped up my strokes, and Roman’s lips parted in a mix of confusion and pleasure as his head rested against my shoulder. “Tell me.”

I knew he was close to breaking, I knew I had him exactly where I wanted him; Roman turned to me, almost for comfort, as he whimpered against the crook of my neck. “I just— want a break… from being in charge,” he breathed. “I’m so tired of the fucking— responsibilities—”

My heart swelled as I pressed a kiss to his forehead. This only proved that I had been entirely correct in my deductions. “I know,” I cooed, slowing my strokes to give him time to breathe. “It’s okay to be tired, it’s okay… Just let me take care of you for once, hm? It’s not weak to want… relief.”

“Relief,” Roman echoed, huffing against my skin. “You planning on giving me that tonight?”

I had to bite down on my lip not to laugh, resorting to a scoff. “If you keep snarking? No,”

The denial was surprisingly effective— Roman’s cock twitched in my hand, followed by a sharp, breathy moan, which was the sign he was close. “Something tells me you secretly like being told no,” I teased. “You probably haven’t heard that word much, have you?”

“Shit, maybe— yeah, you’re right,”

“Of course I am,” I ran my free hand through his hair, feeling him panting against the crook of my neck. “Wanna cum?”

“Yeah... Yeah—“

“Well, too bad," I removed my hand; "Not yet,”

Roman’s head rolled forward as he let out a loud groan, hips bucking up into nothing as I moved away from him once more. “Fuck you!” he yelled, fighting his restraints. “Fuck— God!”

I hadn’t been this entertained since I saw the last episode of Sex and The City for the first time. “I’m gonna be nice and act like you didn’t just cuss me out,” With a smirk I was happy he didn’t see, I sat back down in Roman’s lap as I tapped my fingers against the tip of his cock, watching his breath hitch as his thighs clenched. The droplet of pre-cum connected to my finger like a string of saliva, and I gazed in awe as I toyed with it— he wouldn't let me do this if he wasn't beyond horny, so I seized the moment to explore. “I think you’ve had enough now… don’t you think?”

Roman nodded, his plush lips parting as he tried to steady his breath. “Yeah,”

I never thought I’d like being in control like this. Yet I reveled in it as I wrapped my hand around his slick length again and watched his breath catch in his throat. Roman was so raw, so vulnerable, fucking finally— “What do you want, then?”

“Fuck me,” he breathed, his head tilting back as he fought a string of moans. “Fuck me, just— fuck me.”

“Wait… me fucking you?” I had to rub it in, I couldn’t help myself. Thankfully, Roman didn’t see the evil grin that spread across my lips. He had taunted me like this many times before, anyway. “That’s unheard of in the Godfrey vocabulary.”

Roman would’ve gnarled back more insults if he wasn’t so damn horny— “Don’t make me say please,”

“Well… That was never the plan,” I shifted, pulling my underwear to the side as I raised my hips, letting the tip of his cock slowly brush against my sex— I hadn’t expected to be this wet, actually. Neither did I expect the broken moan that escaped Roman, whose hands were fighting the handcuffs in a flash of instinct. “I know that making you say please would make you want to kill me after we're done here, so I’m not gonna do that… I’m just trying to take care of you, remember?”

It was only when I sunk down on Roman’s thick length, draping my arms around his neck, that I heard a weak little yeah from him. I knew he was long, long gone now. Doing my best not to shudder, I pressed a loving kiss to his cheek; “Are you finally gonna— hah, let me do that?”

Roman nodded, turning, his lips now placed parted against my jaw; “Yeah,”

The few times I had been on top didn't compare to this time at all. There was something so thrilling about slowly sliding up and down the length of Roman's cock, feeling his choppy heaves of air against my skin as he fought the primal thrust, pound, fuck. It was exhilarating to hear his need for me when I ran my fingers through his hair, the small whimpers falling off the tip of his tongue.

Blindfolded, with no possibility to touch, feel, hold me— I knew this was driving Roman absolutely nuts. Still, he was yielding, surrendering to his deepest, darkest wish to finally, fucking finally, have no control in the world. At long last, he had no other task than to sit still, enjoy, and feel good. With a sigh of relief, Roman's lips found mine with the utmost gentle touch that made me clench around his cock, which coaxed out the most delirious moan from him.

His mind was so, so gone, his senses on absolute fire when I pulled my hips up along his cock, keeping just the tip in me. Roman groaned as his hips jerked forward, giving up the fight against his instincts. "Shit—You tease!"

"Really, now?" It was no longer possible to keep my voice steady, too drowned in the pleasure. "You do this to me all the fucking time, Rome. Call it karma."

Roman whimpered— "Sorry,"

That was almost too sweet to ignore. I fought my wish to coo at him, to cup his face and pepper it with kisses, and instead opted to stroke my fingers through his hair and shortly kiss his lips. "No need," I whispered, pulling away to watch his breath hitch when I slid back down his length, the thickness of his cock filling me up once more.

"Fuck— Fuck!" Roman was so close, I could feel it.

Who would've thought this would be the thing to break the great Roman Godfrey?

His jaw was tight, and the sound that escaped his chest was somewhere between a moan and a sob— I would've been worried, had he not been smiling. Roman's head tilted back, his body now relaxing, giving in to the pleasure as I enveloped him to the hilt with a small breath. I leaned forward, putting my hands on his chest for support; I fucking loved this. Because finally, I understood him better— Roman's hunger for power was made clearer to me than ever before, and the all-taking high of being able to do something like this to another person corrupted my mind as well.

Like this, I could drag him into me, squeeze him tight around my walls when I slowed my pace, and simplest of all— I could choose when to kiss him. And Roman wouldn't dare to deny me now, with how he was desperately chasing his high.

"Thank you," was all he managed to say, smiling against my lips in complete and utter ecstasy. Something told me he was grateful I had staged a coup of dominance. "I needed— needed this, thank you, thank you, I— shit, shit!" Roman buried his face in the crook of my neck, the soft fabric of the tie around his eyes pressing against my skin as he let out a loud cry, spilling into me with a small shudder.

Roman's cum was warm as always, and it felt like a consolation prize for all the bullshit I had taken from him these past weeks; it slowly seeped out of me as he tried to catch his breath.

I brought my fingers to the nape of his neck, gently twisting his hair in my fist, knowing he liked a little sharp twinge of something to bring him back from a climax that strong. "You did good," I cooed, stilling my hips as I softly kissed the shell of his ear. "Good job, Rome."

And with that, Roman sunk into the chair, no longer fighting his restraints or the blindfold— he let his shoulders slump as he let out a sigh of true relief, a feeling he had been chasing since the day he got his new job as the CEO of Godfrey Industries. "If you ever speak a word of this... to anyone," he breathed, struggling to talk through the quiet heaves of air. "I'll have your head on a spike."

I rolled my eyes; "... Lovely," Who the fuck would I ever tell this to? Silly, silly man.

I couldn't help but laugh as I brought my hands forth, untying the tie around Roman's eyes. It slowly fell over his nose, and the hard glare I had expected from his green eyes wasn't there— instead, there was a look of pure and utter admiration. I had a feeling his heart was swelling at the thought of finally having met someone who dared to go against him like this. "But if you don't tell anyone..." Roman practically blushed; a sight I hadn't seen before. "We could... do this again sometime?"

I leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose, holding back a grin of victory. "So you liked it?"

"... Don't push it,"

"Say it, or I'll tell the whole world,"

"Yeah, right!"

"... I bet the newspapers are dying to know the fact that Mr. Roman Godfrey likes to be bound and fucked—"

A loud groan followed from Roman; "Fine!"

"Fine, what?" This was too much fun.

"Fine, I liked it! A lot!"

I grinned, slowly inching off his softening length. "There you go," I cooed, watching the blush on Roman's cheeks deepen.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he grumbled, trying not to let his breath hitch. "Now, get me out of these fucking handcuffs so I can get you off too."

Finally, Roman wasn't an enigma any longer, having made himself and his intentions clearer than the bright rays of the moon... and who was I to say no to such an offer?

"As you wish,"

#roman godfrey #roman godfrey x reader #hemlock grove #bill skarsgård #fanfic #x reader #fanfiction #bill skarsgard #oneshot #smut #bill skarsgård x reader #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgard smut #hemlock grove fanfiction #DRUNK ANON ARE U SEEING THIS #THIS WAS SO MUCH FUUUUN OMG #I LOVE ROMAN WHEN HE'S WHINY SORRY #forgive me my loves

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dira333 · 12 hours ago

Text

Mom Friend - Kenma - pt 2

The room is vibrating with quiet conversations and the anticipation only a good game can bring.

Below, Hinata’s warming up. He knows exactly where you’re sitting and he waves excitedly before moving on in the line-up.

“Hey, you’re here already.” Kuroo smiles when he squeezes through, pulling you into a hug.

Behind him, Kenma comes shuffling in. You move to hug him, like you always do when you’re meeting in a group, though you barely touch this time. It’s a fake-out more than anything else.

“Have you been here long?”

“Hinata needed a ride,” you shrug your shoulders. “I had the car this weekend, so it wasn’t a problem.”

Kuroo whistles a mismatched tune. “Do you think they’re going to win?”

“Oh, for sure,” you smile up at him. “Like how can they not?”

You know you’re not the most knowledgeable when it comes to Volleyball. Most games one of the boys ends up explaining a play to you, but no one ever seemed to mind.

Today, though, you mind.

You know Kenma hasn’t told Hinata about that night, because Hinata’s the worlds worst liar. You’d be able to tell if he knew.

Kuroo, however, is an amazing liar. If he knows, and you suspect he does, he isn’t letting it slip.

His kindness feels forced to you now. Is he pitying you?

“Did you get that?” He asks half an hour later when the referee waves his hands in a way you haven’t seen before.

The “no” is on the tip of your tongue but you can’t bring yourself to say it.

“You don’t have to explain it,” you say instead, the words a little more biting than they should be. “It’s fine.”

Kuroo startles and behind him, you can see the concern in Kenma’s face.

You can’t stand it anymore, being this close to him, and get up.

“I need to use the toilet,” you rush out. “Lady problems.”

The line is short.

But you sit on the cold toilet seat for fifteen minutes, scrolling through Tiktok until your heartbeat settles and you feel ready to go back out again.

You’ll have to apologize to Kuroo in some way if you want to save this friendship.

Though is there a way to save it? Should you, even?

“Did you see my spike?” Hinata asks later, hair damp from the game, towel slung around his neck. “Did you?”

You’re not sure which one he means, but you nod and you fawn over him like you usually do.

But then he’s gone, gone for a quick shower, and you’re left to wait around.

“You good?” Kuroo asks and you can feel your spine stiffen, from the top all the way down to the bottom.

“Yes,” you tell him, though your eyes stay on the floor. A quick check, Kenma’s shoes are nowhere to be seen. At least he’s not here to witness this. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“I don’t want your pity.”

Kuroo quiets. He’s usually someone who moves a lot, squiggles his foot, or taps his thigh, but he’s motionless right now, at least the lower part of him that you can see. Nothing is going to make you lift your eyes up. You don’t want to see his face.

“Did something happen last week?”

You hesitate.

“Nothing happened.”

“Are you sure? Kenma said you watched the movie and went out for dinner after like we usually do. He said you didn’t talk much, that it was quiet, but if it’s something about Kenma-”

“Why does it have to be about Kenma?” You lift your eyes now, want to see his face. He looks concerned. Too soft.

He reminds you of yourself. How did Kenma call it? Bothering people.

“Maybe it was something at work. Or it’s because I’m on my period. Or I’m just having a bad day. Maybe some creep tried to hit on me and I’m weirded out by that. Why do you automatically assume that it’s about Kenma?”

Kuroo’s quiet for a moment. “You usually react differently to Kenma being around.”

“Yeah, well,” you shrug. “Things change.”

He looks pained but he doesn’t pry anymore. You can’t help but think that he’ll ask Kenma about it later. That Kenma will tell him the truth, eventually, because they’ve been friends longer than anyone you know.

You force yourself to smile. This might be the last time you see Kuroo in a while.

“I’m just being weird,” you promise him. “A girl has to be weird sometimes.”

“Okay,” he nods and you stay there, silent, until Hinata comes back.

- - -

“Hey.”

You look up from your desk. Kuroo’s standing in the doorway, shirt pushed up to the elbows, his hair defying gravity as usual. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve seen him.

Work has kept you busy. You’ve got other friends too, though Hinata has been pretty good at calling you up.

“Hey,” you hesitate for a second. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “I was in the area and remembered you work here. Do you wanna get lunch together?”

You hesitate.

“Just checking in on you,” Kuroo promises. “Don’t be a stranger?”

You sigh. “Fine.”

“Kenma hasn’t told me anything, by the way,” Kuroo tells you as he separates his chopsticks. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Why would I be worried about that?”

He chuckles. “You’re pretty good at deflecting, has anyone told you that before?”

“And you’re a mother-hen, has anyone told you that before?”

“Yeah,” he stuffs an egg roll into his mouth and nods.

“How do you deal with that?” You ask, pushing the rice around your bowl for a moment before taking a bite.

Kuroo shrugs. “I like being this way. If I step on somebody’s toes, I apologize of course, and try to stay clear of that, but in the end… it’s who I want to be, so why change?”

You consider that, but it’s not that easy.

Nothing really ever is when there are feelings involved.

“We’re having a movie night next weekend,” Kuroo adds gently when your bowl is almost empty. “I’m formally inviting you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. But I want to. I like having you around. We,” he corrects himself with a grin. “Like having you around.”

“Who’s we?”

“Bokuto, of course, and where’s Bokuto there’s Akaashi. Atsumu invited himself and he’s bringing Osamu, so there’s food involved. I think Hinata managed to rope Sakusa in, but that’s always a little debatable.” He stops. “I just realized they’re all just guys, so I’m counting on you to invite a few girls.”

“Are you using me to find your friends some girlfriends?”

“Why, is it working?”

- - -

It’s no surprise that Kenma’s not showing up to movie night. He’s not a big fan of crowds, you know, and there’s always a crowd when Atsumu is concerned.

It’s a good thing you end up going because you end up setting Emi up with Osamu - completely on accident - and as Hinata figures out he’s allergic to some weird European drink you’re the only one with antihistamine pills in your possession.

“Do you always come this prepared?” Sakusa asks, hiding out in the kitchen where it’s calmest.

“I guess,” you reply, preparing yourself for another sting.

“I like that,” Sakusa hums. “Do you have hand sanitizer?”

“Sure,” you pull it out of your purse. “Scented or unscented?”

“Unscented please.” He offers his palm and thanks you quietly when you squeeze out the liquid.

“You can call me Kiyoomi,” he adds after a moment of silence. “Just don’t tell Miya.”

You smile. “This is what being knighted must feel like.”

Kiyoomi taps your forehead. “Don’t get too cocky or I’ll revoke your rights.”

“Are you coming to the cinema this weekend?” Hinata asks after a game, eyelids already fluttering with exhaustion. “It’s that one movie you said you wanted to watch.”

“Sure,” you tell him, ushering him forward, waving at Kiyoomi whose car’s a little further down in the parking lot. “Who did you invite?”

“Everyone,” Hinata yawns. “Can you drive? Key is in my-”

“Wallet, I know.” You pull it out of the bag he’s carrying. “If you invited everyone, surely you wouldn’t miss me.”

Hinata furrows his brows. “That’s not true.”

It’s sweet, but you wonder about it sometimes still.

It’s the age-old question, isn’t it? Do you like me because you need me or do you need me because you like me?

You think you’ve grown, in these last few months.

You like the way you are. Not the smartest and not the dumbest. Over-prepared and over-caring.

But you’ve also recognized that you’re a friend and not a mother.

That you want a partner, not a child.

“I’m good,” you tell Hinata when you reach his apartment complex. “But thanks for inviting me. Maybe next time.”

Join my Taglist: @notsochillnerd @fuzztacular @callingmyself

@kaykaystrings @alienaiver @alexxavicry @tsxkishimx @stellar-haikyuu

Mom Friend - Kenma pt one two three

#my writing #kenma angst #kenma x reader #kenma #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu #sakusa #bokuto #kuroo #miya twins

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dunmeshistash · 2 days ago

Note

Greetings, Mr. Meshi!

This is perhaps a bit of an unorthodox question, but one that has been bothering me for an unreasonable amount of time.

Now, here's the thing: I OBSESS over Marcille outliving everyone she holds dear. It's a theme very close to me, but even beyond that I just find it to be one of the most interesting elements of Dungeon Meshi's story for me personally. I've written an embarrassing amount of lengthy essays on it that will never see the light of day - that's how obsessed I am over this specific element of her character. But, there's something that bothers me...

A lot of poignant stories and artworks that tackle this topic get comments on 'em whenever Falin is the subject of aging, each one some variation of "Everything points to Falin having an extended lifespan after her revival!" which... Seems weird to me?

I don't know why this bothers me so much, but setting aside my personal annoyances, I don't remember anything pointing to this at all. At least, nothing concrete.

I don't know if this is a question you'd want to answer or not, but since your blog is a hub for all sorts of opinions and headcanons, I'd love to know where this line of thought could originate from.

I really wouldn't blame you if you didn't answer this question, though. Part of me feels I'm just asking this because I want to see if others share in my confusion or not.

Rrrregardless, though! Lemme take the opportunity to say that your blog is delighful. Love it! Also, that mushroom man with the funny face that sometimes responds to you with lengthy essays is also really cool. Everyone is cool. At least here on the northern hemisphere! It is smack dab in the middle of fall, after all! Coolness all around! Stay frosty! Or don't! Maybe warm up at a fireplace. I don't know!

Hi there! Thank you for the kind words, I love reading other's opinions on what I post so I also love the additions by the mushroom <3

It's quite hot over here in northeast Brazil, send some coolness my way please I'm dying.

Your question isn't strange at all! And I don't mind answering anything (unless it's rude or sounds like shipping war bait) so don't worry.

(Decided to put the rest under a readmore, TLDR: Kui said "maybe so, right?" about Falin having a longer lifespan but I have arguments why I don't think this actually confirms it. Anyway if you're someone who likes the headcanon you might want to skip this post)

To be honest those type of comments bother me too because I also LOVE Marcille's struggle with mortality and sometimes "Falin will live much longer!" feels undermining of the lesson she had to learn. I don't mind it in the headcanon sphere where everything is allowed and happy endings grow on trees but when it becomes intertwined with canon it starts to make me a little disappointed.

Just a reminder of the lesson she has to learn

She has to come to terms with the cycle of life and death, that something she wants (everyone to live longer) shouldn't be forced upon others just because it causes her grief. So, to me at least, Falin being made into something that will end up outliving other tallmen would undermine the message? In a canon sense ofc, if you're writing a wish fulfillment story then her living longer would have a different meaning, I just wanna be clear I have nothing against it in that sense, it all depends on what story you're trying to tell.

Anyway, actually answering your question that idea comes from the fact she was fused to a Red Dragon, and the fact her body has been affected by it, her sight was fixed and she grows feathers for example, so people theorize maybe her lifespan has been affected too. But we don't really know how long dragon's live so it's hard to say how much it would have been affected if at all.

It also comes from this answer Kui gave in a QnA

Q: Would Falin have an extended lifespan after the whole chimera thing? A: Maybe so, right?

To me this reads as the usual non-answers Kui gives, like, "I'll leave it up to your imagination" but for other people this read as a confirmation of the headcanon, in another questions she answers "I hope so" about Thistle leading a happy life after having his desires eaten and it's even debatable if Thistle survived at all so I don't think those comments indicate much of canon (I'm that way about most QnA answers tbh, unless it's something inconsequential like confirming Mithrun's Brother's name or stuff about very minor characters)

Another argument I have against her having a different lifespan is Izutsumi, Izu has been mixed with a monster but continues to age at the same rate a Tallmen would, even tho she also has different biology because of the Great Cat she's fused with (ears, reflexes, eyes etc etc) she is still a tallman

Falin isn't really the same thing as Izutsumi tho, I understand, but it's the closest example we have, if we believe the AB descriptions and demi-humans are really mixes between humans and monsters that's also another argument about it not affecting lifespan, since all of them are short lived and have an average lifespan of 55.

All of this *can* be dissmissed tho, the other demi-humans and beastmen are all mixed with mammal monsters and nothing nearly as powerful as a Dragon, so there is arguments to be made that Falin is different and that she *might* have an extended lifespan, all I'm saying is that there's no solid confirmation of it, it's fine to believe it but going around "correcting" other people saying it's a fact wouldn't be right I don't think, especially if you're saying that in a conversation about Marcille journey of death acceptance.

Death is a touchy subject and everyone is at different stages of their own journeys with it so I really don't want to judge those who would rather have Falin or even Laios live longer. I'm not really sure how to talk about this in the proper way, but I hope I didn't make anyone upset!

#ask #dungeon meshi spoilers #dungeon meshi #death tw #tw death #Meta ask #long post #longpost #dunmeshi thoughts #Falin Touden #Marcille Donato

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headspace-hotel · 2 days ago

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further update

Apparently you have to click "patchy" biome distribution rather than "realistic" or you will have to travel tens of thousands of blocks to easily reach a type of climate different than the one it spawns you in

Also, if you have "temperate" spawn checked and "realistic" biome distribution, it will spawn you in birch and maple forest with cattail marsh Always

So i used the patchy biome distribution (also turned off temporal storms, whatever that is, because it doesn't sound like something i want to fuck with) in my new world and wound up in some kind of gorgeous open environment with tree ferns, reminding me of Aotearoa.

I'm not fully happy with the animal behavior on second thought. Predators will pretty much attack you on sight, even where they realistically wouldn't, whereas large herbivores don't seem to really threaten you, even where they realistically would. It gets really annoying because almost every environment has predators that won't avoid you and will try to kill you, and in forested environments you can't see them to avoid them.

I found a creepy structure with a copper vessel full of "Rot" and "Human skull" and "Deformed human skull." I took the copper vessel for storage—difficult to obtain in this game

The day/night cycle and monster spawning mechanic is really, really annoying. You can only sleep for 7 hours on the hay bed, which means you are going to spend some amount of time awake in the dark, and it's very hard to tell when it is daylight enough for safety.

At night, monsters called drifters (which look weirdly like capuchin monkeys) spawn and try to kill you. They spawn in groups, leaving no hope of successfully defending yourself, can get through 1x1 block holes as well as apparently dig through soil walls, and do not seem to go away when daylight arrives.

Unlike Minecraft where you can get away with sleeping in the open as long as no monsters are nearby when you try to sleep, in this game you will almost invariably be killed by monsters unless you sleep in an enclosed space that is completely sealed off. Since you are not able to make wooden planks or anything that could be used to construct a door using the flint tools, you basically have to bury yourself alive to safely sleep, and in this state you can't tell when it becomes daylight, or whether there are monsters outside that will just kill you when you emerge, because you're fucking buried in a pile of cob, dirt and logs.

It is an incredibly frustrating mechanic that makes no sense. According to the (very outdated and empty) wiki, the monsters drop an item that allows you to set spawn, but I haven't yet managed to kill one as they attack in groups and can damage me faster than I can inflict damage armed with an axe.

I will see if there is a way to turn off monster spawning entirely, because it adds nothing to the game to have to seal myself underground every single night in order to sleep without being murdered by creepy mutilated capuchin monkeys. It is a game with realistic exploring and crafting and foraging but for some reason realistic sleeping is a problem.

I don't really see why this game has to have monsters in it at all. It adds a lot of environmental hazards and sources of difficulty that Minecraft doesn't have, it doesn't need monsters just because Minecraft has them.

vintage story update

figured out how to eat (you hold down right click, and have to be facing away from something that is interactable like a campfire)

Thoughts so far:

The variety of useful plants is great, I love being able to make baskets, hay and thatch and to forage for food. I am in a marshy environment with patches of maple and birch forest. The environment has a lot of variety while still feeling cohesive

The stone knapping system is great, though you can use stones that wouldn't realistically make flaked tools like that—a forgivable oversight

I also like the possibilities of foraging. So far, i'm doing well living off of cattail rhizomes and the occasional berries. The wild food resources are very realistic.

I haven't done much of anything except make a hay bed and sleep in it, (which doesn't seem to change your respawn point, unlike in Minecraft) as well as get killed by a wild boar (also realistic)

#vintage story

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yridenergyridenergy · 2 days ago

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Live report - Tour24 Who Is This Hell For? 2024/11/23 at Sendai PIT

Setlist

CONCEIVED SORROW

DOZING GREEN

IIID Empire

Phenomenon

Keigaku no yoku

Magayasou

Tsumi to batsu

DIABOLOS

VINUSHKA

Soshaku

Ochita koto no aru sora

The Inferno

-encore-

The Devil In Me

Cause of fickleness

Uroko

Eddie

Wow, tonight was way more energetic and intense than in Sapporo, which makes me feel sad because Dir en grey don't tour in Sapporo every year, and it was just a matter of using one setlist versus the other.

And well, the highlight of the night was definitely that blunder Shinya did in Soshaku hahah!

First, the SE was the same. Shinya walked on stage wearing black pants rather than white like yesterday. I found that it didn't suit his grandeur that much. Die came next with the same thights but the tunic/vest he wore was white, I think with some smokey design? I was in shimote tonight, so I didn't see much of him. Overall, the members did not change places even half as much as they did in Sapporo, which is odd considering that the energy was much higher today.

Toshiya arrived and BAM, he has a beautiful red satin dress cut from a bit above the belt/hip all the way down, exposing his left leg. Sometimes, when he raised his bass, we could see his belly a bit! The top portion of the dress was like a somewhat ample dress shirt, with long sleeves and buttoned up, and Toshiya wore a black tie with golden ornaments, some dingle at the bottlm of the tie. I felt that it was a detail that tied in subtly with Kaoru's outfit, which was the Versailles/Innocent Rouge costume! It looks amazing! Nobody had mentioned that he was loyal to the style all the way to the toes: he wore shorts with black thights underneath, and I didn't see his shoes much but they seemed to match that old French royal fashion. He had an elaborate bowtie or whatever, hair tied and sleeked back except for one strand on his right. He looked downright fabulous. He remained entirely stoic and without a drop of sweat yet again tonight! Kaoru had some zigzag makeup lines on his left temple at least.

Kyo then arrived at the very end of the SE and,.as I thought I'd remembered, he walked slowly, smugly with his hands in his pockets, dressed all in sleek black. His chin was even a bit up, like he was indifferent to our cheers or that it was the very least he expected. Like damn, he and the other members know exactly what kind of effect they have on us!

Conceived Sorrow started and already, it was 100% felt, emotional. Everybody raises their hand when the line about not being able to reach comes up. Kyo ends the song with the loud a capella to seal the deal.

We didn't really do anything or make any noise after that ending, which Dir en grey seems to have prepared for because the intro to Dozing Green started soon after. Already, it was clear that Kyo was engaging us more into the show from early on, and I think he even had us sing one part in this song already.

The IIID Empire was then played, which I had kind of forgotten that it was in this tour! And man, these two shows have checked a few things off my bucketlist: I saw Toshiya throw his mic stand meters in the air, with my own eyes! Every single soul in the venue was looking forward to it, so it would be a real downer if he didn't do that one time. The crowd participated a lot in the lines, fist-pumping, etc.

And then, I really did see Phenomenon live! I feel like it must have happened in one of the early tours I attended, but I'm not sure that Kyo had been doing those hip sways with his arms up back then. If he did, then I certainly wasn't in the second row with a perfect spot on the side to watch it!

Phenomenon starts with Toshiya crouching, before any sound is even made, which is really like... intimidating hahah? He stayed in a low posture like that for a very long time.

Keigaku no yoku - How could I have forgotten last time that Kyo kicks at his crate right before the song starts? I've never seen him do it. The crate is taped to the stage, but his kick is strong enough that the crate moves forward a little. And it was an odd action today especially because I think we hadn't really cheered after Phenomenon's: "kore ijo" kind of grated by Kyo, so the kick almost gives the impression of being frustrated by our silence. Anyway, Kyo again changed most of the lyrics of Keigaku no yoku, and once it seemed like he was making a mistake and sang the second line of a verse before the first, but he ad-libbed the second portion, so let's assume it was intentional hah. I don't really remember what he said. At the end though, I want to correct that he sings about "you" shouting: "Hurry up and die!", not himself like I'd written in my 11/21 report.

Magayasou was as always Shinya's spotlight, but Kyo was definitely more invested in the song today compared to the Sapporo show. The backdrop video had a lot of colourful flowers which turned into... Mush? Something rotten? I,m trying to remember what kind of thing they transformed into by the end of the song.

I don't remember if there was as much of a break between the two songs as last time, but Tsumi to batsu came next and again, it feels like Kyo sang more diversely this time around. His growls are awesome no matter what though. He gets on his crate and crouches almost for the entire song. I think there might be a lyrics memo sheet taped there just for that song?

I think it was in Tsumi to Batsu that Toshiya literally dropped to his knees, out of nowhere? And/or there was another song where he went on one knee, then rotated to the side and stretched one leg while his bass touched the floor. Again, quite "intimidating" hah.

By the way, twice throughout the show, I can't remember which songs specifically, but Kyo was so invested that he almost fell backward from his crate. No actual danger, just a step backward which seemed to serve to catch his footing because he'd gotten intense.

DIABOLOS was once again very felt, but this time Kyo did not ask us to sing half as many "Blue Velvet"s. And by this point in the show, Kyo had already called out "Sendai" 2-3 times, and I'm certain he did during that song too. The segment before: "Saa, ningen o yamero" was also different and shouted, I'd say even more emotional than in Sapporo, like probably with Kyo clutching his shirt or his head during that part more? Oh and he thumped his mic on his chest super hard most likely in this song and another time near the end of the show.

Vinushka starts after the break with Toshiya just leaning back on his speakers, arms draped widely on his side while he looks at us sexily. There's no other way to describe it, and it's more or less appropriate for Vinushka hah?

Toshiya kept nodding and smiling at us, whether it was because we knew the beat or were reacting like he wanted to the melodies.

In Vinushka, I think it was, Kyo placed his hands at his sides, palms facing us, after throwing the mic over his shoulder, and raised his hands slowly to demand our cheers. I'd love to remember exactly what song it was, because Vinushka is pretty obvious from all the times they've played it, but the song in which Kyo did it and he got almost no response from the crowd, only after a delay, you could see that he raised his eyebrows and looked down at his positioning, as though pondering: "I'm in the right position, aren't I? Isn't it clear what I want?" It wasn't necessarily something he did every time in whatever song it was, but yeah, the crowd should have been more adaptive and smart.

Oh, in terms of Kyo's facial expressions, there's also one growl or scream he did at the end of a song, which he seemed taken aback, blinking a bit after it like he was surprised by how much it took out of him.

Soshaku... It started a bit off from the start, like Shinya was one note too late, but then he fucked up the drum melody for real by seemingly repeating that first 'phrase' of the song rather than moving on to the rest of the composition. The band kept going for a few seconds, but it was Kyo who just stared unimpressed first toward us, then circled back to stand right in front of Shinya without singing anymore. We couldn't see his face, but his posture exhibited a polite: "What the actual fuck?" Die had actually been at Shinya's platform already with one foot raised on it, but I don't know if he was subtly trying to steer Shinya in the right direction or if that's just what he wanted to do in Soshaku anyway. Once the others realized that Kyo had properly disconnected from the performance, everyone else stopped playing. Shinya appeared clueless at first, then he seemed to shake his head quickly. I don't think any words were spoken between the members. When Kyo was assured that Shinya would do his part, he turned around to face us and said: "Suman" (Sorry about that). They picked back the song from the start, and I can't say that Shinya's drumming was 100% synchronized or accurate, but at least he did proceed with a different phrase than the one he had repeated.

Kyo made extra efforts to pump us up after that, and even had us sing multiple parts of the song, from what I remember.

Same thing with Ochita koto no aru sora. Kyo gives me the impression of emitting a vibe of: "This song is yours, guys" and we sang a lot.

It was in one of those last couple of songs that Kyo actually smiled in satisfaction. Always so heartwarming to see!

Toshiya was the MVP backup vocalist as always!

The Inferno was very much the same as in Sapporo, with Kyo throwing his mic and leaving before the song's even finished. However, I think he engaged more with the audience this time, coming up in front of his crate, crouching, and at one point either in this song or another one, he even did the hook fingers or something like that toward us.

The Inferno ended much differently though, unless I missed something from being in kamite in Sapporo. Kaoru dumped his guitar near the front of the stage after he finished, Toshiya was low and dragged his bass across the floor toward the back for the audio effect and punkassery, Shinya left at some point and Die stayed to do some distortion but for a shorter period of time. He was all smiles as usual!

It was funny because all the technicians/assistants had to come on stage when the band left before the encore to clean up the instruments that had been left there, which I hadn't seen in Sapporo. Toshiya's guy even had a hard time with his mic stand, which in fact looked bent a bit. The technician tried to force it back in shape and tested its balance on the floor a couple of times. What's funny is also that Toshiya's mishandling of his bass was apparently so bad that it took forever for it to be tuned, and we chanted: "Encore! Encore!" for so long before it was ready. The poor guy didn't seem to be able to fix the cords, based on what I saw on the monitor in the background.

Maybe to make up for that delay, but it also felt that way in Sapporo a bit, but the members walked back on stage almost simultaneously, not one at a time for each to savour their cheers.

Toshiya made a gesture toward his left, presumably at Shinya, smiling and I think even clapping afterward. I don't know if the band had a mini "What the hell happened there?" chat backstage about Shinya's mistake, which could also explain why it took them so long to return for the encore.

Kyo was once again utterly nonchalant, indifferent, but in a super teasing way, as if to say: "I deserve all your cheers and attention, but it doesn't sway me."

Shinya had changed into a sleeveless version of the tour T-shirt, Die I think also had that custom sleeveless sweater, Toshiya came with the black sweater this time with the same shorts and long leather boots, Kaoru might have removed his upper jacket, and Kyo had only wiped off his sweat hah.

The Devil In Me was intense as always. Kyo did the noose at the end, and I saw exactly how he measures the right length. He didn't do the disvesting/shedding part with the mic cord afterward though. In the song, the bass seemed off at first, and we could barely hear the back vocals at all? Even more reason to have Die and Shinya properly do them on stage. Kyo asked us to sing the first or second chorus, which ends in: "What did you really love?" but it sounded like nobody sang or few people knew how long to maintain that: "Kaaaaaaaketa"

Man the people in the first row were almost not headbanging sometimes, it was so stupidly frustrating hah.

I remember Cause of fickleness starting and Toshiya just nodding like: "Yeah, you know which one." All the members who could came at the edge of the stage. Kyo had us sing most of the "Wake me up"s. He took off his ear monitor once in a while to hear better.

Uroko also had Toshiya nodding and mouthing like: "Oh yeah, you know it" hahah. Kyo demanded that we sing more than just the "Anata shidai de", or it was in another song, but man was he demanding tonight hahah. His own voice was spotless but he gotta come for us!

Before the last song, Kyo asked: "Sendai? Sendai? Sendai? Sendai?", so much that at one point we were exasperated, who else was he talking to if not Sendai hah? Then he asked us if we could go on, become one, etc. and I think his new variant where he growls about us going to die then or something?

Kyo let his mic drop to the ground after Eddie. He seemed to contemplate what to do after Shinya's last hit of the drums in the final climax, but he opted for not leaving and took one of his water bottles, drinking briefly from it, then tossing it in the crowd. Actually, I can't remember if it was with the first or second bottle, but he threw it in the general direction of someone in front of him who he gestured at and the reversed L that they had on their shirt. Hopefully they did catch the bottle meant for them, because Kyo's throw was not that gentle and precise hah. He also christened people a lot in front of his crate.

Shinya once more took a very long time to get off his platform. He seemed characteristically impassible, but everybody cheered for him, so I hope he felt our appreciation despite his mistake. He threw his four drum sticks and I believe he waved at us briefly.

Die squirted us from far away, huge smile on his lips. Kaoru did the same but just to shimote. He threw a towel right to the first few people in front of his position on stage, delicately.

Toshiya threw some picks and got on Kyo's crate to clap with us and smile. He climbed back down and bowed ever elegantly before leaving the stage.

On his way out, Kaoru pointed to the background, which had the tour name, as though to really make us think about it.

Die left with much appreciation and satisfaction as usual. People were cheering him on as he prepared his towel to throw, and he made it almost reach the back!

That's what I remember for now. I need to sleep hah.

#Dir en grey #who is this hell for #live report #interaction

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