#why can’t the world be kinder?

[nope-body]

.

[fairycosmos]

i am tired of having to be brave i feel like i am barely living when i have to prepare myself for terror or rejection or hardship or grief every single day why can’t the world just be kinder why is it on me to develop superhuman levels of strength and resiliency just to make it through the week. i’m sick of it

[tired-biscuit]

is it weird I wanna rub my face against Logan chest hair?

18+ MDNI, fem!reader // established relationship, domestic bliss

wc: 1.2k+

———

definitely not. hairy men are hot!

like, now i’m thinking about finally getting a day to yourselves and spending the majority of it in bed. cuddling, resting, catching up after an excruciatingly busy week, with your limbs tightly intertwined and your voices soft and hushed because despite being a mutant that’s been blessed with inhuman strength, logan’s body and mind both feel so overworked and exhausted that he’s practically sinking into the mattress with a prolonged and incredibly grateful groan.

continuously fighting for the sake of being the ‘good guy’ is no small task, after all… it can take quite a toll on him sometimes — powers or no powers.

still, that specific role has been graciously placed to the back of his mind for now because he’s fresh out of the shower and he’s scrubbed all of the grime and sweat off of his skin, keeping it clean until it’s time for him to head out the door again — straight into a world where wolverine stands front and center.

but for now, he gets to be just logan. nothing more, nothing less.

and speaking of logan; his hair is still slightly damp from the previously mentioned shower. the wolfy ear-like shapes that he prefers to style atop his head have drooped slightly with the weight of the water, and the apples of his cheeks have become flushed from the steam.

the smell of the shower gel that you had picked for him a little while ago at the store mixes with his signaturely masculine, heavy scent. it only intensifies, steadily filling your nostrils when you swing your leg over his middle to pull yourself on top of him and lay your head on his bare chest.

he didn’t bother putting a shirt on. i mean, why would he, when he’s in the privacy of his own home and at long fucking last doesn’t have to look presentable — he calls it fancy, the idiot — for anyone?

but anyways, his rough hands wrap around your hips when you straddle him. he exhales deeply, the breath long and content, but it breaks into a confused chuckle when you begin to rub your cheek against the hair on his chest all of a sudden.

“uh,” he starts, arching a dark eyebrow even though you can’t see it from how busy you are with smushing your face into his tits as far as it’ll go. “should i even ask, or…?”

“just petting myself against your love rug, my dearest,” you mumble, unfazed by the curiosity that’s lacing his voice. “unlike the rest of you, it’s surprisingly soft. feels kind of nice.”

the corner of logan’s mouth twitches upwards at that. it’s barely there, less of a smile and more of a smirk, but it’s there.

“unlike the rest of me?” he repeats, clearly amused in some shape or form now.

you stop the movement to roll your eyes at him. “i meant your crazy man muscles and the whole skeleton enveloped in metal thing that you’ve got going on for yourself, not your dick, you pervert.”

there’s a second chuckle slippist past his lips, and you can hear this one rumble in the depths of his chest before he asks, “who said anything about my dick?”

you look up into his hazel eyes as you rest your chin on your knuckles, grinning at the glint of playfulness that’s residing there. his forehead is smooth, no deep wrinkle of agitation in sight. gosh, you love it when he’s relaxed and happy. it makes him appear kinder, even if you do have a weak spot for his more broody side.

“well… what else have you got that’s hard, then?” you ask, choosing to play along now.

“easy,” he replies. “my heart.”

you stare at him. he stares at you.

a steady beat of silence stretches out between you.

“pfsh,” you huff finally, immediately snickering like a girl in love. “your heart? seriously?”

“what?” he asks, stroking his fingers up and down your sides. his touch is so warm, it stirrs you into motion, lures you into grinding your hips against his own. slow and lazy and thorough — just like the way your entire day off has been spent so far.

blood rushes below logan’s waistline as a result. he readjusts, gripping you tighter by the hips, pressing you down on instinct. you can feel him poking you between your legs already. eager.

“oh, nothing,” you purr, reaching out to comb your fingers through his hair, picking up the moisture there. “i’m just a bit taken aback by this piece of information, that’s all… i mean, for a man who loves to cuddle every chance he gets and who secretly enjoys having his fruit cut up by me into tiny little slices despite possessing claws, you sure as hell don’t strike me as someone with a hard heart, you know.”

foreheads pressing against one another, you keep your voice as quiet as it can be when you add, “the truth is that you’re a softy, logan... like a teddy bear or a really good pillow, it’s always nice to have you at home. and i love you for it.”

you say it like it’s a secret.

before he can respond, you lean in to place a gentle kiss on his lips, then, just for the sake of provoking him further. his stubble scrapes your skin, prickling slightly when he pushes forward to deepen the kiss, and you can feel his strong heartbeat speed up underneath your palms.

it keeps doing that as of late. racing on and on and on… hmm.

logan looks up at you, his pupils visibly dilating as he takes you in. the shape of your face, the curve of your cupid’s bow, the love that he still can’t believe you harbour for him of all people, and that’s currently swirling inside your eyes. you even smell like love, goddammit.

he doesn’t say the words back — he can’t yet, he’s not ready but he will be, you just have to give him time, just wait for him, please — but what he does is flip you around in one smooth movement and pins you down with the help of his hand holding onto both of your wrists.

there’s no pressure behind the grip, but you know he doesn’t feel the need to apply it because he’s positive that you won’t go anywhere. and he’s so big above you now; the curve of his shoulders is broad, the muscles in his back are strong and flexing with anticipation. even his eyes have turned dark. like an animal’s that’s gone into hunt.

he hunches his shoulders slightly as he drops lower to cup your cheek and kiss you again, this time being the one to initiate it first. with the distance now nearly gone, you open your legs further for him, locking your ankles on the small of his back. he uses the chance to press the hard-on that’s painfully straining his boxers against you.

breaths intermingle as you both begin to pant. his cock is big just like the rest of him is, heavy. you squirm, lifting yourself just enough for him to help you take your shirt off. his chest presses against yours after that, sharing the warmth, sticking with upcoming sweat, making you feel the silky smooth hair that’s residing there and driving you even more wild.

“oh, by the way,” he murmurs between hot kisses, fingers already tugging on the waistband of your panties, “never say love rug again. when you need me to pet you, just tell me.”

[blue-mood-blue]

I have been thinking about the blackening (as one does)…

…and it’s so interesting to me, the penalty Shen Qingqiu is faced with should he not decide to yeet his disciple into hell.

Account termination. Instant death. Sent directly home to his already-long-dead body, and that’s it for the villain of the piece who outright refuses his villainy. The protagonist needs a blackening for the story to continue, and Shen Qingqiu is going to provide it or get written out of the narrative. Either way, Luo Binghe is going to lose him. Either way, this is a turning point.

I wouldn’t claim that this is the intent of the penalty, but it fascinates me that the System has, potentially, backed the plotline into a corner - because Binghe still stands to be blackened even if Shen Qingqiu took the other choice.

Think about what that would look like, to him. He’s at the Immortal Alliance Conference, and everything is going wrong. He’s been outed as a demon, and not just a demon - the top tier of demon, as bad as it gets from the perspective of a righteous cultivator. His beloved teacher, the person who has been kindest to him and opened his home and heart to him, is standing there with his sword in hand, deciding what he’s going to do about what must look, to him, like a horrific betrayal. Binghe is apologizing. Binghe is begging for his life.

Shen Qingqiu hears him. Maybe it shows on his face, or in his voice, that he already knew; maybe there’s no hint at all, but Shen Qingqiu is suddenly talking quickly with an abrupt sense of urgency that Luo Binghe is having a hard time keeping up with. Telling him he’ll be wonderful - telling him he’s the best. Telling him the world will be his, with emotions cracking through that aloof mask that Binghe has never seen on Shizun’s face before, and it’s terrifying for reasons that Binghe cannot identify.

(He will, later. When he has time to think, he’ll realize it sounded like a goodbye.)

And then Shen Qingqiu is bleeding. And then Shen Qingqiu is on the ground. And then Shen Qingqiu is dead. There’s no countdown for Binghe - there’s no System, there’s no warning, there’s no answers.

Luo Binghe is a heavenly demon in the middle of a conference sabotaged by demons. Luo Binghe is alone. His fellow competing disciples are scattered, some dead or injured. The Peak Lord of Qing Jing Peak, the second in command of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, maybe the only person he loved and who loved him back, is dead at his feet. No one will believe him if he says it isn’t his fault.

(He can’t believe it isn’t his fault.)

What choice does he have but to run? The last heavenly demon the cultivation world went up against has been sealed under a mountain for years, and one of the people responsible for that is probably looking for Shen Qingqiu already. They’ll be looking for him, too. There isn’t anywhere to hide; there isn’t any time to mourn.

There isn’t even enough time to ask why. Why again.

There is no closure waiting for him, because there is nothing to explain what happened. It just is.

It would be a different kind of blackening, certainly - less intense, probably, less of a warping, desperate thing. But how many times can one person have all the love and safety in their world torn out from under them before it starts to show? Before they just don’t allow things like love and safety to touch them, because that’s the better option?

Interesting to consider that, simply by offering the choices it did, the System rigged the story to guarantee that Luo Binghe would end up in hell (deliberate or not).

Interesting to consider that, even if Shen Qingqiu made what might have seemed like a kinder choice, there was every chance it wouldn’t have been.

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

Geoffrey and Bob Karaoke selection- Creep - Radiohead

AN: A little more insight on Nancy and her major: Nancy is majoring in architecture. The Landgraabs are famously known for owning land and property- both residential and commercial- and Nancy will eventually operate the part of family business that will allow her to design houses, buildings and other structures in addition to leasing. (Geoffrey comes from a family of doctors but he decided to get a business degree- as he knows this would likely please Nancy's parents)

Transcript under the cut

Siobhan: Think about it, Nancy! Making your mark on this university—on the world—begins with Theta!

Becca: Nice one, you two.

Nancy: They only want me to join their organization because it’ll benefit them. All they care about is money -Ouch!

Geoffrey: [winces] Sorry. Your knees are completely raw.

Geoffrey: They’ve only got as far as knowing your name. If you give them a chance to get to know the real you-

Nancy: There’s nothing to know! Why do you think I had my parents make arrangements so I’d have my own room? I don’t want roommates. I don’t want friends! I just want to do my time so I can-

Geoffrey: Get away, I know...but what if you just take the next four years to have fun? It’s ok to just enjoy it for what it is. Isn’t that what college is all about?

Nancy: [scoffs] Sure, for you. You don’t have the same expectations as me.

Nancy: You can be anything you want. You can join any sports team; you can switch your major a million times if you want to. I have to excel at everything I do, whether I want to or not, and I cannot come out of this a failure. I have to be ready to start working along with my parents the moment I graduate.

Geoffrey: I just want you to be happy. I want you to take care of yourself. Be kinder to yourself. Give yourself the benefit of the doubt. You’re a good person. You’re an amazing person, Nancy. Anyone would be lucky to be apart of your life.

Geoffrey: Does this hurt?

Nancy: Yes. It hurts.

Nancy: You’re too good for me.

Geoffrey: Don’t say that.

Geoffrey: It’s Karaoke night at Tab’s. Bobby and I wanted to check it out. Did you want to go?

Nancy: I think I’ll pass. I should get started on this project for Munch. I want to get ahead.

Geoffrey: If you change your mind, come down and unwind a bit. Have fun. Eat. Ok?

Nancy: Ok.

Geoffrey: I love you, Nance.

[door shuts]

Nancy Narrates: [I’m holding him back. A selfish part of me knows it, but I can’t fathom the thought of losing someone else]

[distant laughter]

Nancy: Heavenly Father, help me to find peace in Your love and wisdom-

Geoffrey and Bob Karaoke Pick: Creep by Radiohead I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo What the hell am I doin' here? I don't belong here

[crowd whistles and cheers]

I don't care if it hurts I wanna have control

I want a perfect body I want a perfect soul

Morgan: [hums] Upright High Priestess. That’s twice now. Once again, my intuition is being called forth.

I want you to notice When I'm not around

Morgan: My appetite is off. I can’t focus. If I weren’t on the pill, I’d think I was knocked up. So. What does that leave me with? I can almost bet this is all connected to-

Morgan: You! You have something to do with this.

Nancy: [frowns] Do with...what, exactly?

You're so fuckin' special I wish I was special

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo

Morgan: Rich Christian girl with walls as high as Berlin stumbles on campus and taps my shoulder. I had a dream the night before that I placed an injured dove back into its nest. I think this is fate. Sit. I’ll do your reading. Free of charge, of course.

Nancy Narrates: [I didn’t know it then, how right she was. About fate. About everything]

What the hell am I doin' here? I don't belong here

[strawbeerossi]

August || Chapter Two

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Chapter Description: Spencer confides his guilt of losing you as a friend into JJ and he hatches a surefire plan to get you back. In the meantime, you are still struggling to pick up the pieces of your broken heart. Although mourning is slowly manifesting into exhaustion.

Content/Warnings: Guilt, Spencer trying to buy friendship, reader is a tad hostile, threats of violence, a special interaction at the end.

WC: 2.5K

Navigation || August Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Request

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“I can’t believe that she said that!” JJ stared at Spencer in shock, the male sulking on the couch while he brought a hand up to rub his face. “So now she is just abandoning you? Some friend.” She murmured.

JJ felt she did nothing wrong. After all, you and Spencer weren’t dating and the confession was life and death at the time. She never assumed he would approach her and ask her if what she said was true. She could accept how she’d be the villain to Will but that was neither here nor there.

“I just feel like I was too harsh at the moment. I know it’s the truth but I could’ve been kinder to her about it..” Spencer had been going over the full interaction in his mind for hours, worried about wherever you stormed off to. He could take a hint, you didn’t want him to follow so he stayed with Penelope, who looked at him with disappointment and disapproval. It was never easy to swallow whenever even the lovable blonde knew that you were in the wrong.

“What more could you have said?” JJ asked, face softening as she was sitting beside Spencer while her gaze was fixed on him. “You told her that you didn’t assume it was serious. That’s the truth. She's upset with your honesty, that’s hardly your fault. She will have to get over it.” 

The more they talked about it, the worse that Spencer began to feel. Sure, you had feelings that he didn’t know about prior to the JJ situation but there was a lot more that he still could have done. He couldn’t help but ponder what could’ve happened if he explained everything to you right after they were released from their hostage situation. 

You could’ve talked some sort of sense into him, maybe something along the lines of a nicer reminder of JJ’s husband and children. He was blinded by devotion and adoration to JJ, quite frankly, he still was. Regardless, he couldn’t afford to completely lose you, not after the way you’d worked so hard to get him to open up to you.

All he needed was to figure out how to make things better. It would take a lot of time and effort but he knew that just as you had broken his wall down whenever you first started, he could break yours down as well.

You weren’t interested in those games. Spencer had begun approaching you at the office a few weeks after your last conversation. He would bring you your favorite desserts, a coffee, sometimes even flowers in an attempt for reconciliation. 

Luke definitely appreciated the gesture though, being the lucky one to get whatever beverage or food item that Spencer tried putting on your desk. It was annoying, truth be told. You set a firm boundary, one that you assumed he’d be more than happy to follow. After all, JJ was the light of his life now, you didn’t understand why he was so focused on you again. With the way she continuously followed him around, it seemed as if they were plenty happy.

Just like every day, you walked to your desk on a bright Monday morning to see a muffin sitting on your desk. Spencer was trying to be sly, hand against his cheek as his eyes were subtly looking in your direction. 

However, the pattern continued much to Spencer’s dismay. 

“Wow, thanks.” Luke was grinning as you held out the baked good towards him, happily reaching for the muffin. In the first few instances, you felt bad for Spencer, your heart still holding out hope for reconciliation and the chance for him to change his mind and just be with you instead.

That dream was massacred worse than the murders from the likes of George Foyet and Mr. Scratch. Especially when you realized it was almost as if he expected to be immediately forgiven, even though his actions could never warrant instant reconciliation. 

“It’s gonna take more than confectionary goods and coffee.” You stated in a simple tone, eyes down on your desk as you could feel Spencer’s eyes fixated on you. “I’d hope you’re not ignorant enough to believe that buying my friendship is all it takes.” 

“Right..” Spencer frowned while looking away, fingertips drumming against the wooden desk. “I’m trying.”

“Not hard enough.” 

He could admit his attempts were lazy, the idea of getting treats being a shot in the dark. You wouldn’t speak to him, so he was having to sift through every single idea in his brain. He may have been a genius but he was horrible with apologies, never being able to articulate the words he needed to say without the stress of offending anyone being there. The words were hard to find for him. 

He could give a profile, intricate details about victims and serial killers as well as absorbing every ounce of their past and personality. He could apply that same logic here, although he felt like treating you like a victim or a serial killer wouldn’t make things any better. Probably even worse. 

Regardless of that, he was more than determined to rekindle your friendship, even though deep down he knew that it could never be the same. Being complacent in the end of a marriage made nobody look good, he should’ve had the common sense to think of that before.

“I don’t understand why things have to be this way.” JJ spoke up, a mug of coffee in her hand as she was walking from the kitchenette. “We can talk about things, make them a little easier. I mean, I think a conversation is long overdue.”

You were shaking your head. “I have nothing to say to either one of you. I wish you would get it through your thick skulls. You had a chance to talk to me after everything happened and you stayed quiet. It shows what your intentions were. You aren’t ashamed of what you’ve done and you clearly didn’t care about the fate of our friendship at the time, so I see where I stand.”

“I just think it’s unfair. That’s all. Spencer is trying.”

“Life is unfair. He should try harder.” You responded, calm and collected so as to not get yelled at by Emily again for an outburst. You didn’t have the energy to yell at them anyway, they weren’t worth it.

“I don’t know what else you expected.” Matt spoke up from his desk, leaning back in his chair. He hardly ever got involved but this situation was enough to frustrate him and his wife. “JJ, you knew what you were doing when you decided to pursue Spencer. Not only did you betray a friend but you ruined your own marriage over it. You had vows with Will and completely tore them up and burned them in front of everyone.”

Spencer was sighing from frustration from his desk. “I understand what was wrong about this situation but continuously bringing up the incident isn’t going to benefit anyone..” He spoke while bringing a hand up to rub his face.

“You can’t handle hearing what you’ve done. It’s natural for people who feel guilty.” Luke hummed as he let his arms cross. You really did have the whole team on your side, it seemed. That helped more than ever, honestly. 

“You’re biased in this case. We all are. Arguing will get us nowhere.” You spoke up, a soft sigh leaving your lips. “You think you did nothing wrong and we all know that you did. That’s all there is to it. Just let the fantasy go. I’m not interested in friendship with either one of you. Not now anyway.” 

It was honest, mainly due to the fact that you didn’t want to spend all your time talking about the possibility of friendship after such a stab to your heart.

“I think you should at least allow us to extend the olive branch. Spencer at the very least,” JJ began while putting her hands together. 

“Giving me a branch will only result in you getting beat over the head with it. I told you, I’m ot interested in pretending that things are okay and that I’m perfectly happy with the both of you. That’s not going to happen. I’m telling you that if you want to salvage any morsel of a friendship, you need to leave me alone.”

That seemed to be enough to make Spencer look back down at his desk, gaze fixed on the file on his desk although he couldn’t bring himself to focus. He didn’t want to have things completely ruined between you both, even if the blueprints for that were there. He felt anger, anger at himself for his way of going about the whole relationship business. He wasn’t made aware of the feelings you once had until it was too late for that to even be discussed.

JJ was angry but not at herself, more-so at the fact that you just weren’t open to the shortest of discussions. Explanations were always used to clear up negatives in every aspect of life. This was no different. “But-”

“Jennifer. Just let it be.” Spencer spoke up with a frown on his face. The use of her first name meant business, that was what made her stop and turn to face him. “Leave her alone. She’s not interested right now. We can talk to her some other time.”

You were thankful, however you didn’t acknowledge the action. 

After that, it was seemingly smooth sailing. Your day was spent finishing case files and ultimately filing them away whenever things were finished. It was honestly the most peaceful you’d been in weeks. It did feel weird, not having Spencer following you like a lost puppy and making an attempt to reconcile.

You oddly.. Missed it. 

Spencer didn’t deserve any of the feelings you felt towards him but you just couldn’t turn off those feelings. Not in the slightest. You still harbored love and care. You needed to put that love and care into yourself, to learn to move on and release any thought of what could have been. 

You were torn from your thoughts when you felt a hand against your shoulder, the touch startling you enough to make you quickly turn around. You were met by Emily offering a small smile back at you. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just saw you standing here for a while and I had to check up on you.”

“It’s fine. I, uh, I’m okay!” You offered a smile to match hers. “Just thinking of some stuff.”

“Well, Penelope has expressed concern to me, as has everyone else, so I just figured that you needed someone to talk to. I don’t like to brag but.. I am a very good listener.” She mused, her hand moving from your shoulder to rest by her side once more. 

Of course Emily would approach you. You could talk to her about anything without being shamed, even if she could tell you the harsh truth when you needed to hear it. That was why you admired her so much. She was strong, confident. A woman who would speak her mind without fear of anything.

“We obviously don’t have to talk here. We can go to my office, if you’d prefer.” She was trying to get you out of your own head, to help you heal in a constructive way. You were mourning the loss of friendships and she was the one out of everyone else who could understand the complexities of your feelings. She mourned the loss of the team in a far different manner in her past but she knew all the same.

“Yeah.. Okay.” You reluctantly agreed, following close behind as you both made a b-line to her office. You felt stupid, having to cry about how a relationship that isn’t even your own has deeply affected you. 

The minute you were in the safety of her office, you felt an aura of safety. This room was a place where you could speak freely, to rant about your feelings and even shed a few tears all while being in the confinement of the office.

Once that door was shut and the blinds were drawn, you took in a breath. “I don’t want you to think that I’m overreacting.”

“You’re not. You know that you are allowed to have feelings. My only issue is what those feelings are doing to you. I’ve never seen you so upset before.” She said softly while getting seated at her own desk. “Everyone needs to vent sometimes, even if the other person is just listening. I just want to help you in an effort to move past this.” She admitted.

“I also want to make an effort to help you. I want you to grow stronger from this experience rather than cower down and refuse to accept the fact that they are together. I love you, dearly. That’s why you need to know that they shouldn’t bother you. That whole situation is a shitshow and I know that. I just want you to mourn the loss of your friendships and not sulk over this relationship..” 

The lecture was much needed, forcing you to soak up the fact that she was right. You shouldn’t be heartbroken over them. Your friendships were one thing to be upset about but their relationship was none of your business. “I can understand where you’re coming from. I just.. Em.. I don’t know how to deal with this situation. It’s hard to even think about the situation. Maybe it’s the betrayal from JJ that hurts so much.”

“Betrayal can hurt anyone. Believe me, I know. I just want to see you thriving. Between you and I, I feel like you could do much better than him. I used to root for you both but after this nonsense? I’d rather see you with someone who will appreciate what they have. Friend or not. If you and Spencer could work out your friendship, then I’ll be happy. I just hope you consider these circumstances later.”

“Right. I just told him and JJ that I need my space from them. Working with them is one thing but I have no desire to talk to them outside of the work environment.”

“And that’s fine. Just don’t let these negatives throw you off when it comes to your job. Getting along will make things easier, work conversation is a part of that.” Emily wasn’t going to force you to speak to either of them outside of cases and work hours. That wouldn’t be constructive at all.

“Please don’t think that I’m not looking out for you. I’ll always be here for you,” The raven haired beauty said softly as she was reaching over the desk to gently take one of your hands in hers, a reassuring smile on her face as her thumb swiped over your knuckles.

It was oddly.. Affectionate. More affectionate than you were used to coming from Emily.

[lucky-clover-gazette]

okay i have THOUGHTS about this line

he didn’t have to say that to make his plan work. i mean yeah, being nice to the player definitely earns their favor and future assistance, but he could have just as easily gone the route of gaslighting them into feeling bad and like they caused the problem, eliciting a more shame-based and desperate and less uplifting and righteous kind of reliance. like if volo really hated the player, and was truly cruel, that’s what he would have done. the player would have still gotten the chain and felt indebted to him for the plate hunt, but they also would be miserable and feel lonely and hurt and confused. but volo doesn’t do that, he grounds the player and validates their feelings, which were hurt by the cruel townspeople more than the event volo caused to prompt that cruelty. like truly, it’s only volo’s fault that the player gets banished through the most like simple calculated logic—yes, if he hadn’t caused the rift, they wouldn’t have been banished, or brought here at all. but kamado CHOSE to banish them based on his own paranoia and disdain for outsiders, and the others enabled it by choice. volo didn’t make that happen, just how he didn’t make or even want arceus to get the player involved in the first place.

i don’t think volo hates the player, personally, at all. or at least, i think that he hates them and cares for them just as much as he hates and cares for himself. i know this isn’t groundbreaking volo theorizing material, but he’s absolutely projecting his disdain for society based on his vague past experiences here. he dislikes the outsider because his plan demands it, but he dislikes everyone else because he personally thinks they’re terrible. it’s kinda neat how he “fake” compliments the player’s loyalty to him as a merchant so often, bc i think loyalty is something he actually takes very seriously. and he probably saw how loyal the player was to the galaxy team, and then the way they kicked them out, and was genuinely pissed and hurt on the player’s behalf.

the things he says at the end of the game are said in extreme distress and defeat, and while they are not NOT reflective of his character and motives, i’m shocked by how many pokemon fans regard volo like he’s a nihilistic and amoral sociopath. passion and compassion are behind nearly everything volo does, for better or for worse. they’re behind moments like this, and moments like his ranting at spear pillar. he is a person who constantly grapples to align his personal moral code and lofty ideals, which live in this weird space between the manmade and divine, with the flawed reality of existence. his entire mentality is full of contradictions, because he is a man who thinks he should be god, but in reality could never be a good god, because he is still very much a man. it’s the emotion, idealism, and intellectual curiosity of humanity that drive him, not the impartiality, absolutism, and complacency of an omnipotent all-knowing deity.

so like, with this line. he specifically mentions that the galaxy team has treated the player poorly. not that the galaxy team’s choice was illogical, not that the player just needs to try harder to get them to accept him. he is emphatically rejecting the premise that the player did anything to deserve blame, even though he has no intention to actually explain why this really happened or volunteer himself to take the blame. because ultimately, volo is not the person to blame for the galaxy team’s cruelty, and he knows it. and he also knows that it’s the cruelty that has hurt the player, more than the sky problem itself, because he has been treated like an outsider too. and he can’t DO anything about that. even if he told the truth, the damage has already been done. the player knows how their supposed allies would react in this situation, regardless of the logic or truth. and volo can’t fix that. he does not believe he can make people kinder or the world a better place, which is exactly why he wants so badly to remake it. for himself, bc clearly he’s been through some shit too, for people like the outsider, and for anyone else whose loyalty and dedication have been met with rejection and apathy. which is so deeply tragic and ironic, because by being the only person to care for the player in this moment, he is making the world a better place for them.

volo is, at his core, a hypocrite. he’s like if you put the ingredients for a hero into a blender, but accidentally used the “tragic hypocrite” setting so he came out a janky villain instead. to volo, concepts like loyalty and self-righteousness are driving forces, much moreso than simple black and white morality or consequentialism. this makes him a hypocrite because he believes a perfect world is possible as long as his moral code is strictly followed, and his evil plan is to prove it. but in his efforts to do so, he proves over and over again that a perfect world isn’t possible, and certainly would not be possible under his control.

like, okay—if someone suggested that the means of pain and suffering in the world justified the ends (the world), volo would disagree and claim that arceus is responsible for the pain and suffering, and therefore does not deserve the power to create/rule worlds. but then, following that very same logic, if volo needed to get a random person banished and betrayed in order to create his better world, then those means wouldn’t justify his ends either. which is WHY we see him subconsciously draw a line here, between the things he’s not responsible for (other people being cruel, arceus transporting the player) and the things he is directly responsible for (the way he treats the player in these circumstances, either with derision or support). and wouldn’t you know, in this instance where it truly is up to him what the means are to his ends, he chooses kindness where he could have been cruel. because while arceus sending the hero and the town banishing them weren’t really Volo’s means to Volo’s ends, this conversation sure as hell could be. And he doesn’t want his better world built on a foundation of suffering and pain.

by saying this one line and treating the player as he does here, i think volo accidentally exposes something deeply true and good about himself. this man could say “i’m a villain and i don’t care about the player” and fully believe it, but at the same time demonstrably possess the morals and compassion of a hero, which he uses to actively care for the player. he is a delusional hypocrite, but he’s definitely not heartless. and i just think that’s neat.

alternatively, volo is completely heartless, knows that people are endeared to people who want to protect them, and methodically uses that knowledge here for his convenience. that very well could have been the intention, and it makes sense too—but i personally enjoy entertaining the notion of depth where i see potential for it. so yeah.

[iww-gnv]

Writers employed by “Sesame Street” producer Sesame Workshop have voted unanimously to support a strike authorization vote from the Writers Guild of America as the April 19 expiration of the current contract approaches. The 35 writers represented by the union have been in negotiations with the production company behind “Sesame Street” and other children’s programs since February. If the sides can’t reach a deal by April 19, picketing will begin outside Sesame Workshop’s Manhattan headquarters on April 24, the WGA said Tuesday. “We are committed to working with Sesame Workshop to codify a fair contract for writers that embodies these values, and which allows the Workshop to continue to attract top-level talent who can artfully create stories that successfully balance entertainment, playfulness, and joy with education and enrichment,” the union’s Sesame Workshop negotiating committee said in a statement. “Our demands would be extremely meaningful for the affected writers, particularly those in animation who are currently being excluded from basic union benefits and protections like pension and healthcare. We hope for a speedy and amicable resolution to these negotiations so that we can continue to do the work of helping the next generation grow smarter, stronger and kinder.” “Our writers are integral members of our creative team, and we are engaged in good faith negotiations with the WGA. We’re still hopeful that we’ll come to an agreement in advance of the expiration,” the company said in a statement. Sesame Workshop is a nonprofit organization, which means it’s in an unusual position of facing a strike threat. WGA East president Lisa Takeuchi Cullen acknowledged the awkwardness of the situation. “No one wants to see a picket line on Sesame Street,” said Takeuchi Cullen. “Millions of parents and families around the world are going to have a lot of questions. They might ask why the bosses at Sesame Workshop are ignoring their company’s own messages of kindness and fairness.”

[giuliettagaltieri]

Breath of Spring

Pairing: Young!Gojō x Young!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Emotional constipation was Gojō Satoru's congenital defect.

Warning: angst, unrequited love, suggested misogyny, arranged marriage, age gap

Word Count: 1060

1 of 9

Gojō Satoru has known you even before you knew how to walk.  He attended your naming day, he was already five years old then.  The memory is vague and blurred but he was certain of the strong feeling of dislike he had for you.  How is it that everybody was congratulating him, telling him that he is so lucky to be betrothed to you.  The well anticipated daughter of your family, one long awaited after having birthed with boys alone for nearly a decade.  But that does not have anything to do with him.  All you did was drool and suckle on your tiny fingers.

There was nothing particularly special about you, he comes to realize after you attended his 12th birthday.  It was a day he received many gifts, the wrapped packages piled so neatly in the corner by the handmaidens of the estate house.  He is not to touch any of them, lest some were sent by malevolent individuals who seek to bring harm to him and his family.  Not that he can’t see cursed material from a mile away but the elders of his house insisted.  He cannot complain either, it saved him from wearing fake smiles and throwing away forced gratitude.

It was why he was upset that his annual hunt had to come to a pause just so you could hand him your gift.  He eyed you with his much aggravation.  You are never without your nannies and personal guards, being sheltered from the world like a fragile little flower.  You were nearly half his age but you already act like an adult.  Like you were better than him.  It was as if your back had a rod with how straight it always appears to be, your chin always tilted upwards, and eyeing everyone as beneath you, how haughty.  It brought him great satisfaction to see you shy away from him though, your eyes always finding your dainty shoes whenever he is nearby.

Your handmaiden had to usher you forward so you would have the courage to hand him your gift.  The elders looked at his actions carefully, almost awaiting him to make a mistake just to have something to criticize him over.  He mutters a small “thanks”. And you nod at him and retreat back to the arms of your mother who was watching you with much fondness.

As he previously thought, you’re nothing different.  Just another puppet.

Gojō wasn’t in the mood for hunting afterwards.  Simply kicking rocks by the pond as his servitor accompanied him, standing a few meters behind him, still like a statue.

“The young master appears to be upset.”  The servitor says calmly, his voice even and unprovocative.  But young Gojō Satoru whips at him with so much fervor that the servitor nearly breaks into a smile.

“Upset?  For what reason?”  He scowls as he steps closer to the tall man.  He looks about ready to fight anything that moves, his face contorted to a wild scowl.  “Because of her?  That spoiled shrimp?  You think that pipsqueak is relevant enough to upset me?”

The servitor clears his throat to hide the smile as he closes his eyes.  “Perhaps the young master should be kinder to the young lady.” 

Gojō scoffs and looks at the tiny gift that he had in his clutches, never letting go of it ever since you handed it to him.  “Kinder?  She has done nothing but be a nuisance!”  In a fit of anger, he throws the carefully wrapped item to the ground.  A loud shatter of ceramics startles him, and the servitor flinches upon hearing the sound.  They both stare at the still wrapped gift, its shape no longer preserved and it looks nothing more than a heap of oddly shaped objects covered with the intricate fabric.

“Oh my.”  His servitor sighs, disappointed.  “What a shame, the lady was very excited to know how you liked her gift.”

Upon hearing this, Gojō raises his defenses, his teeth gritting as his cheeks flushed.  “You don’t have to do her biddings!”  Yet despite the outburst, the little boy’s eyes cannot leave the heap of your broken gift on the ground.  They have many talented craftsmen in the estate, it can be fixed, he is certain of it.  But then again, why does he need it fixed?  You’re insignificant, your gift is no different.

Or so he tries to convince himself.

His mood has not been better for the next few days.  He was cranky, snapping at anyone who looked his way for too long.  His father, ever so perceptive, asked young Satoru’s servitor about his dramatic, or at least worse than usual, turn of emotions. 

A day later, Satoru finds another wrapped gift atop his nightstand the moment he opens his eyes.  It was familiar, the shape of it.  When he reached for it, the weight of it was something his hand had known.  A small tag was attached and he read it, his still pouting lips moving as he read the words one by one.

To Gojō-sama.  Wishing you a fine day.

He knew the curve of your handwriting too well.  The frown in his brows deepened and deepened as he pulled the ribbon.  And the wrapping came undone and the ceramics figure of him and you, hands intertwined, stared back at him.

It was beautiful, smooth, and greatly detailed.  Even the clothes were made of the finest material.

But it was useless.  It was good to look at but there was no purpose to it. 

A knock in the door startles him, and he nearly drops the figure but he manages to grab hold of your foot, well the sculpture, he did not expect the dress to flip, showing him your bloomers.

Gojō twists the doll right-side up and pulls your dress down until it covers your ankles.  His face is bright red and warm.  It was simply too much for young Satoru.

“Young master, is everything alright?”  The door slid open a fraction but Gojō yelled for them to close it at once!

“Yes!  Everything is alright.”  His face was still aflamed as he clutched the dress tightly around your tiny body.

By the next day, you receive a bouquet of blue roses littered with baby’s breath accompanied by a poorly scribbled note of ‘Thanks’ from the young master of the Gojō estate.

Where the Blue Roses Grow

[huntersrequiem-if]

Hunter's Requiem

demo [HERE] | forum [tba]

dark fantasy, horror (?), romance

CW: violence, gore

You are a minor deity of the Hunt, known by your followers as The Hunter, used by the other Higher Beings as The Hound. The All-Seeing Sun had given you countless tasks over your existence.

Yet one day, while on a mission sent out by him, you were summoned and judged for treason. The punishment left you mangled; your magic ripped off.

Cast away, you went into a deep sleep to recover.

After centuries you awoke to find your name spoken in whispers in the darkest nights. The Traitor. The world has changed, yet you still have true believers who await your awakening.

Will you be successful in your revenge? Will you be able to topple the gods or will you try to live in peace?

Features:

Play as male, female, nonbinary.

Your choices will affect the fate of your followers.

Befriend, romance or even antagonize a wide cast of characters.

Have a loyal shadowy companion by your side.

Astaroth [M]

"And to think I hated you. Now I can’t imagine living a single day without you.”

Your “other half”, attached to your psyche. He is content to stay in the backseat and offer comments. Tall and lean with gray skin. His face is sharp and angular, eyes with black sclera and white iris. Long black straight hair parted only by his antlers. His hands are black, tipped with long claws. The gradient loses color the closer it gets to his elbow. When he grins at you, you see beast-like teeth glinting in the light.

The Beloved Moon [F]

"That was the worst mistake I ever made. Please, I will do anything you want for you to forgive me.”

Moon has a curious interest in you. Since the moment she saw you, she had sought any chance to talk with you.

A short woman with deep blue skin and freckles that shine like stars. Her skin is shifting between deep blue and purple. She has a round face with full lips and a button nose. Round eyes with black sclera and bright blue iris stare at you with curiosity. Her long curly hair is white with pale blue streaks. Massive white feathered wings cover her back, sometimes used to cover her body like a cloak. Her smile might be gentle but the sharp fangs showed less so.

The Eternal Night [NB]

“I have turned a blind eye to the world far too long. I will no longer allow anything to happen to you.”

The Eternal Night is a distant person. Even more towards the other gods, yet for you they show a kinder side. They are tall and slender. Their sharp face is softened by full lips and expressive eyes. They have dark grey skin paired with stark white hair, that reaches their chin. The wavy strands frame their face nicely. Their eyes-- black sclera with crimson iris—are often covered by their mask. Massive black wings sprout from their back, and then the light catches the feathers right they look more blue than dark.

Santana [F/M]

"Why is it that every time I look at you I feel that I have known you for lifetimes? Why does my soul yearn for you?"

A priest you met in your past, a rather interesting person with a stubborn brand of kindness.

Tawny skin sprinkled with freckles. Golden hair is kept in a braid, far away from their face, yet a few strands escape and frame their heart-shaped face. Expressive eyes look at you, their blue gaze shining brightly.

They stand at an average height, donning the white and golden robes of the priests of Sun. Over that, they wear a chainmail.

You thought you lost them to the sands of time.

??? [F/M]

“Do you have any idea how long I prayed to see you, to hear your voice?”

Every day, they're slipping farther, their grip on the edge of the chasm growing fragile. Can you drag them back or will you shove them off?

[weskie]

A New Dawn (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

descriptions of injuries, descriptions of violence, tentacle murder, tentacle affection, yeah that's a thing, shared shower, wesker lives au | Fic Directory

You found him by sheer luck.

That rock he’d crawled onto could’ve simply crumbled.  The volatile lava could’ve risen higher and submerged him completely.  Despite the odds being stacked so incredibly high against any hope of recovering Wesker, you managed to pull his legs from the impossibly hot liquid with the help of a small rescue team and loaded his charred body into a helicopter for what was arguably the worst moment of your life.

All you can do is stare at what he’s become– at the autonomous slithering of tentacles that, by some miracle, contained themselves to their host and did not spread to your shaking hands.  His lower body is marred entirely with burns and blisters so severe that you’re unsure if taking him out of there was even humane.  If, perhaps, letting him be swallowed by the earth would’ve been kinder than putting him through whatever is to come next.

Once he’s placed in a containment room, you call in every favor you’ve ever known him to be owed.  But it’s all for nothing.

The first attempt to prick his skin with an IV catheter results in bloodshed.  The entire team of medics stood stock still as the head doctor was impaled and dangled overhead by a mass of black, oozing tentacles emerging from Wesker’s body.  It happened so fast that you only realized it once the blood hit the observation glass.

Such would be the result of any attempts to address his injuries.  Not even a blanket was able to be laid over his bare form without retaliation. It was like the mass of tendrils had a mind of their own, geared only toward protecting their host– though it raises the question of why the initial recovery of his body hadn’t produced the same response.  Regardless, you wager they’re the only reason that Wesker is still alive.

For that, you’re thankful.

You talk to him through the intercom regularly.  You tell him about the BSAA’s seizure of Tricell and its assets, of how you’ve turned one of his hidden facilities into something livable for when he wakes.  That you’ll be there when he does, and how excited you are for the day.  That you hope he can hear you but feel none of the pain.

You pray he doesn’t.

At the end of the first week, you come to the realization that the tendrils are slowly engulfing his body.  Every day, more seem to appear until his legs are cocooned.

You take notes and photos of everything as best as you can, just as you know he’d want you to.  After all, this is his creation in action. The seed for his perfect world that was now seemingly consuming yours whole.

By the fourth week, they’ve risen as high as his clavicle. 

By the fifth, you feel as if you’re losing your sanity.  Alone in a massive underground facility, having not seen the sun for weeks on end, eating only MREs and having what little sleep you get plagued by stress and worst case scenario nightmares… 

You crack.

“I don’t know how to make it better, Al…”  You whisper brokenly, forehead pressed to the glass. “I can’t– I don’t know how to help you.”

Any assistance you could have possibly had turned their backs the moment the danger far outweighed the payment– which had been the case from the very start.  Though you can’t find it in yourself to fault them.  If it wasn’t for the fact your heart was lying on that table, you’d have probably followed. The threat of death can be very convincing. 

When the tendrils creep onto his face, you break containment.  And why not?  Why shouldn’t you go in?  You helped make this mess.  You helped create the organism consuming him.  For years, you worked alongside him to perfect the cure to humanity’s wretches– to cull the species destroying this planet and dragging the rest down.

Perhaps you deserved the same fate for sharing in his endeavors– for even having goals so similar and selfish.  But was it really?  Was it so selfish to want better for humanity? 

You drag your swivel chair behind you as you tread over dried blood smears and dehydrated viscera. 

“You always did like making me do things the hard way,” you jest as you approach him.  But you’re not in there to take notes or vitals.

You set foot inside to relieve your madness.

Your hand quakes as it hovers above his forehead.  You’re unsure if you should even touch him due to the blistering and ripplings of infection marring his skin.  The burns have healed a tad since bringing him in, but not nearly as much as they should’ve.  Then again, it’s been weeks since he’s had a dose of suppressant to keep his strength balanced.

You lower the back of your hand toward his nose, relieved to feel the faintest tickling of air.

“Thank god,” you whisper tightly.  “I really miss you...”

Which was the honest truth.  You miss your mundane nights with him, sitting near as you both worked independently. Stacks of paper, the clicking of keyboards, endless hours in the laboratories spent refining mere dreams into reality.  You miss his cold affections and strange ways of expressing that he, too, had been infected with that parasite known as love.

You let your hand rest shakily over a section of his hair that hadn’t been burnt down to the scalp.  You hold your breath and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

You are not added to the stains of violence on the walls, nor are you impaled in the blink of an eye.

But you are greeted with a much thinner tendril creeping up over his brow and forehead to inspect you.  It nudges your thumb and your whole body goes tense, veins chilling as if your blood had turned to ice.  It slithers over the bumps of your knuckles, leaving a thin layer of ooze over every inch of skin it touches as it trails to wrap around your wrist.  For a brief second, you’re petrified of it taking hold of you like that.  Would it try to bind with you?  What if it did to you what it had done to your precious Albert? What if it rejected you?

And if it did, how would you continue to try to help him? 

But it doesn’t.  It does nothing of the sort, just simply continues snaking up the length of your arm.  The tip rests atop your shoulder in a strangely… docile manner. You cease petting Wesker’s hair for but a moment to calm yourself, and then you feel it do something odd.

The head of the tendril lifts itself and plops back down on your shoulder, stroking backward little more than an inch before repeating the process.  You watch with wide eyes, both fascinated and terrified.

It’s mimicking you.

You pet Wesker’s hair once more and it ceases its movements.

You stop; it begins again.

Was Uroboros itself doing such an act?  Could it?

A flicker of hope flashes in your mind and tears prick at your eyes.  It’s so fucking unlikely– nearly impossible even.  And yet–

“Is that you?”  You ask softly, inching just a little closer to him.  You can see the way his eyes dart around beneath his eyelids– an entirely new development.  Was he dreaming? 

The tendril wraps the slightest bit tighter around your arm. 

“Can you hear me?”

The head of it lifts and falls against you once more.

It couldn’t be… but, at the same time, it had to be.   The tears you’ve fought against so hard fall and you grin from ear to ear.  All of that fear fades away, the desperation, the depression and hopelessness– it’s all gone.

You lean forward and press a kiss to his brow, suppressing your silent cries as you revel in the joy that your love is still in there.  This is no mere corpse kept alive by the resilience of a virus. The tendril wraps tighter the second your lips brush his skin, and you know in your heart that it’s how he’s able to reciprocate.

“We're going to figure this out,” you promise him. “I love you.”

Two weeks pass before his flesh starts to peek from between those slithering lengths.  You’d almost lost hope again.

It’s his lower body that starts to emerge first, bit by bit, starting from the feet up.  Flesh that was once marred an angry red, blistered and scorched beyond recognition, was now a scarred pink.  Amazingly, some patches seemed to have healed flawlessly, as if he’d never submerged in the fires of the earth to begin with.

Notes and photos.  Tests where possible.  Anything you could do to make sure Albert had every scrap of information possible about his otherworldly creation.  

Uroboros works.

Not only that, but it can bring its host back from the brink of death– if not perform a complete resurrection. 

Day by day, more of him is revealed until the pink line at his waist shows you just how deep he’d been submerged.  There are splatter patterns elsewhere, you notice.  Tiny specks of scarring from where lava had touched him long enough to burn through the dermal layers.

You decide to finally attempt to cover his body again.  A simple blanket, but hopefully one that’s warmth would not go unappreciated in the chill of the sterile room. 

When his hands are freed, you hold and press countless kisses to them.  You rest your cheek in his palm, telling him about your findings– that he’s almost healed and that you’re so goddamn excited.

“Uroboros is a success, my love.  You’re proof of it.”

The most fascinating of all, though, is the amber-like formation embedded in his chest.  From what you can tell, it is from this that the tentacles on his body are emerging.

You dare not touch it. Not yet, anyway.

Six days later, you find yourself kicking around in the barren kitchen of the complex.  There’s nothing but crumbs, and you’re miserable.  You haven’t left since arriving, and these compounds of his were never meant to be more than a brief hideaway.

You drag your feet as you make your way back to the bedroom.  Seems there’s little more to do than throw yourself in the shower to start your day, so you do exactly that.  Though not with any degree of enthusiasm.  Instead you sit on the ground and hug your knees, eyes shut as you ignore the complaints of your stomach.

You’ll have to find transportation to and from the nearest town– if there even was one.  It’d be lucky if you spoke the language or could even find the currency, but you’ll figure it out.  You have no choice.

In the absence of your awareness, coupled with the white noise of the shower, you fail to hear the door creak open.  Not even the disoriented shuffling against the tile floor rouses you.

Suddenly, the shower curtain is ripped open, and you startle– damn near knocking your head off the floor as you slip around like a fool.  But you clamber to your knees in an instant, arms flinging around the intruder who had fallen to your level.

You can’t help but weep.

“Al?!  Oh my god!” you exclaim through the tightness of your throat. Your hand strokes at the nape of his neck.  “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry.”

You should’ve been there when he woke up.  You should’ve fucking been there.

He shouldn’t have had to find you.

You move back and cup his face in your hands, pressing a smiling kiss to his lips despite the torrent of emotion rocking you to your core.  You pull away and find that he looks exhausted.  Completely and utterly drained.  His eyes are hooded, but the blue irises peeking out from under his lashes confirm that he is, in fact, exactly that. The formerly bright formation on his chest is dimmed nearly black.  All of his energy had gone into merely surviving.  Your poor, sweet love looked death in the eye for a second time and emerged victorious.

You help him get under the stream of water where you sit and hold him close.  You’ve never seen him like this before.  Vulnerable was an understatement.

He’s quieter than ever, staring straight ahead at the wall.  Shame, you surmise.  Humiliation.  He was defeated again– maybe even flat out killed.  His pride has always been its own Tower of Babel, built high enough to reach heaven and godhood.  But now it was truly shattered.  Crumbled to bits and buried in the sands of his failure.

There are no words to say.  Not yet, anyway.  He’s already heard them all.  Instead, there is shampoo to massage into his scalp and soap to trail over his body.  You may not be able to fix his pain, but you can wash away the remnants of volcanic ash and ooze tarnishing him.  The burden of grime is at least gone by the time the water runs cold.

You dry him with a towel, taking note of how his hands shake and how he balls them into fists to hide it.  You wonder if he still hurts, but you know he’d never admit to it even if he was truly in pain. Even wincing was out of the question, so you pretend not to hear it when he does.  You pretend like he doesn’t lean on you for support as you walk him to the bed, like he doesn’t need your help to lift his legs high enough to settle in.

He lets you hold him while he sleeps, something so out of the ordinary it leaves you blinking in confusion the second his head lays upon your chest.  Nevertheless, you do it anyway.  You pet through his hair, even occasionally running your fingertips over the healed sections of his scalp.  Normally he would stir if you so much as shifted, but he doesn’t even groan in his slumber.  

You hold him as though he's made of ceramic, basking in the tenderness of hope until your own eyelids grow heavy.  The world can wait.  Rebuilding can wait. Hell, even revenge can wait.  All that matters is this– is him. Your precious Albert, safe and very much alive in your arms, is more than you could ever ask for.

For the first time in weeks, your eyes flutter shut without fear of tomorrow.

loose followup fic here

another loose followup here

[my313]

milk teeth ୧ ‧₊˚ 🥛 ⋅ ☆ kang taehyun

now playing 𝄞₊⊹ milk teeth - niki

⋆ pairing: taehyun x f!reader 

⋆ summary: taehyun loves the things you do for him. he loves how familiar you are. probably more than he ever liked you.

⋆ genre/themes/warnings: angst, suggestive (implied former sneaky link!tyun, implications of sex), unhealthy relationship ++ scenes in italics are flashbacks

⋆ word count: 2.6k

a/n: sorry to solomons he was my muse for this song.... I PROMISE ITS NOT THAAAAT BAD I THINK?? lmk actually if this is sad enough.. highly rec listening to the song while reading, i ref some scenes and lines throughout n just... i love the lyrics ! underrated nicole track icb she wrote this in high school lmao

taehyun had been something between a secret lover and a stranger in the past few months. over the course of your frail affiliation, you jump between thinking that the world was testing you by sending over a guy who would kiss your forehead in the comfort of your dorm room but never look you in the eye in-front of his friends; to being so overtaken by infatuation each time you see his bare skin against your sheets, the sun kissing him on places you’ve found yourself feathering over the night before.

the daydream always shatters when you wake the morning after and the only remnants of his existence within your bedroom are the stains on your bed and the warmth of his body clinging desperately onto where he slept. it’s easy for that dream to rekindle every night; because when taehyun’s at your doorstep with a huge grin on his face, you can’t help but leap into his arms.

when you feel the sun joining you in bed and instead of a phantom of his physique, you find taehyun sound asleep next to you; you can’t fall back asleep. you prop yourself on your side, cheek pressed on your hand and elbow holding your weight, admiring the rare view bestowed upon you. you think it won’t be as rare to see now that taehyun’s your boyfriend — a newly-formed title that came into fruition just yesterday. it wasn’t the most romantic way to ask, settling for a conversation on this very bed after showering together. 

it went along the lines of you saying:

“i’m starting to like you a lot, taehyun.” 

your back is against his chest, situated between his legs. “yeah?” you etch taehyun’s half-smile, half-smirk in your mind as he plays with your hair. it almost feels like he’s finally in the room with you, not drifting away, someplace else, when you confess. you push the thought to back of your head when you feel his chest rumble from a laugh. “have i stolen your heart yet?” 

“...y/n, you thief.”

“am not!” you refute, silly smile stretching your lips, cheeks swelling from the searing affection taehyun offers. it probably burns, but you can’t resist – not when you’re usually off scraping corners of his lukewarm responses and icy texts. 

“can i keep it though?” the tone of your voice is hopeful, and taehyun doesn’t have it in him to say anything but yes. he doesn’t know why he does this, is it because you’re nice? the girl you love should probably have more words under her belt than nice. but that’s what taehyun settles for. 

you’re so nice that taehyun doesn’t even have to spew out the question. 

“can i be your girlfriend, i mean.” you clarify, assuming the silence on his end stemmed from confusion. or that’s what you’ve convinced yourself these kind of moments were; the times where taehyun reels back in and decides you’ve seen enough of his kinder gestures for the time being. 

he nods.

giddy, anxious, once again hauled into infatuation; these are the things that culminate in your chest as you watch taehyun stir. 

you don’t bother to look away once his eyes flutter open, wincing at the light sneaking between your blinds. “morning, boyfriend.” his lips curve into a small smile, “morning, girlfriend.”

you sit up expectantly, wanting to start the day with all these ideas that have been blossoming since you started liking taehyun. things like making pancakes when he finally stayed long enough until the morning, or simpler ideas like struggling to leave the bed and being tugged back into his arms, “five more minutes…” tickling your nape as he nuzzles into you. 

your ideas start to dwindle when taehyun’s first course of action is to pick up his phone and look through his texts. you’re left blinking, confused by the nonchalance that clouded the air in your room. you should be used to this by now. the push and pull was always what made you come back to him anyway; but in your brain, after the intimacy of last night, you had hoped that taehyun’s hot-and-cold would begin to melt.

you don’t want to think about it. giving taehyun the benefit of the doubt is always easier than having to recode your mind to admitting that you just like him a lot more than he does you. you already have a boatload of excuses piled up from all the times you had to defend your crush on him from your friends; always something about “he’s never had a serious relationship, he doesn’t know!” or “he’s just not that kind of guy, y’know..”

instead, you’re pushing yourself out of bed, and that is thankfully enough for taehyun to look up in surprise.

“want pancakes for breakfast?” 

‧₊˚ ⋅ ☆

you’re sitting in the back of his friend yeonjun’s car the next time taehyun invites you outside of your stay-at-home ‘dates’. 

you’re squished between two long-legged boys, soobin and kai, while beomgyu called dibs on the very back, using the excuse of “somebody needs to hold our shit from falling” as a guise for wanting to catch up on sleep. taehyun’s in front with yeonjun, chatting with a carefree smile.

that kind of smile was reserved for people you knew taehyun held no doubt for. the kind of people that taehyun’s already settled into and signed his lease. you’re a hostel in taehyun’s unknowing search for a home, you start to think.

but you’re young, and there’s plenty of time for renovations and renewals. maybe in a few months time, taehyun’s “nice” and “cute” will turn into “beautiful” and “kind-hearted.” in a few months time, you’ll be more than a place to lounge and leave; perhaps even earn his breathless laughs and sparkling eyes. 

today, your destination is a barred cliff overlooking the view of your hometown. beomgyu suggested watching the sundown before spring started, ever the romantic. he’s also the reason taehyun even bothered to bring you; the invite making you audibly gasp over the phone when he called, asking just half an hour before they were set to go. taehyun always did that — made plans and canceled; only to call you a few hours later, when the sinking feeling finally set in and you were ready to push it to the backburner, saying “i’m coming over.”

you’re leaning against the side of yeonjun’s car, taehyun on the edge of the hood and the rest of the boys scattered just around the front. by the time you’ve arrived, the chill of the upcoming night was beginning to creep up. 

kai picks up on how much you’re feeling the cold. your teeth are chattering, and your posture hunched into your own body, arms crossed and trying to keep yourself as warm as you could. he blinks at taehyun’s apathy. you’re right next to him, there is no way he couldn’t hear the way your teeth crash against one another, or the hisses you unconsciously spew. 

“dude, y/n looks like she’s dying.” kai finally speaks up, interrupting the flow of conversation between his friends.

all five turn to look at you. you feel like you’re being watched like a wild animal at the zoo, scowling at beomgyu’s laughter. his teasing begins, taking advantage of being on taehyun’s other side, sprawled on the hood. he pokes his friend’s forearms, “yeah, tyunnie, y/n looks like she’s dying. why don’t you go warm her up?” his mischievous antics have your heartbeat picking up. you don’t know whether to thank him or jump him.

you’re anxious, for some reason; but you’re also wide-eyed and expectant. you’ve been dating taehyun for a month now and his friends have been warming up to your relationship, though you can’t get beomgyu’s words out of your head — much like now. 

you recall it was at one of yeonjun’s parties.

beomgyu hovered around you and taehyun that night, tipsy for the first time in a while. the air was silent, each breath clinging onto the question that beomgyu spilled that night: 

“why don’t you ever do anything.. like.. couple-y with y/n? i swear- i’ve only seen you makeout. and that was before you even started dating!”

beomgyu always seemed to know the pain points of your sluggish relationship.

taehyun rolls his eyes at beomgyu’s jabs, though his smile reflects different from the snarky glint in his eyes. you don’t know what he’ll do. will he tug at your arm and pull you over his lap, wrap his arms around you? say “i’ll keep her warm, don’t worry.” and keep you close for the rest of the evening, until the stars wake from their slumber?

your arms are wide open for anything. any semblance of affection or care, anything to make you feel like taehyun isn’t just keeping you for the sake of avoiding being the primary source of your heartbreak. sometimes, it felt like he kept tabs on you like someone who had forgotten about a game they once liked, habitually coming back but never in the same intensity. you remember how he looked at you so hungrily the first time you met. you only ever get glimpses of his twinkling eyes when he has you under him.

your boyfriend shrugs his jacket off and pushes it in your direction, barely looking at your pitiful state. this time, even beomgyu knows to hold his tongue when you both share the same look of disappointment and confusion at taehyun’s frigidity. taehyun resumes his conversation with soobin, though the latter boy awkwardly smiles at you, dimples providing some comfort. 

“thanks,” you mutter, holding the jacket to your chest before slipping your arms through the sleeves. you don’t feel much warmer, even with the makeshift feeling of taehyun’s body heat radiating from the inside of his jacket, right on your bare skin. 

you’re not sure if it’s the wind that’s keeping you shivering, or the awful feeling that you’ve made the wrong choice.

‧₊˚ ⋅ ☆

“why don’t we ever go on dates, taehyun?” you quiz, half-curious and half-unprepared for the answer you’re going to get. if you get to that point. but tonight, you’re determined to know.

it’s been four months since you and taehyun have started dating, and nothing much has changed from where you started. except for the fact that taehyun thinks he’s starting to get better at keeping you at bay; knowing the right words to say at the right time, being aware of your weak points and using his kisses as a way to sway your lips away from yet another important conversation.

“what do you mean, babe?” he only calls you that when he wants to shut you down. “we just had one. the movie marathon yesterday?” 

“no, i mean–” your voice is stuck in your throat. taehyun often has that effect on you. at first, starstruck from seeing him at a frat party; then, when he’s pushing your head down onto the pillow as you tremble beneath him; and now, too cowardly to know how he truly feels about you, but too fed-up not knowing.

“i mean outside dates,” you explain, fingers fiddling aimlessly with each other, trying your best to keep looking at taehyun. he’s sitting across from you, on your bed, again. this godforsaken place that started the turmoil in the first place. “we never do anything planned. we don’t even go out for anniversaries or anything, tyunnie.” you hope the nickname softens the blow.

“i just like being at home with you, love.” taehyun answers gently, like he knows he’s treading on dangerous grounds right now. he doesn’t want to hurt you, and he doesn’t want you blaming him for anything that happens once you’re just another travel stamp on his life; permanently a memory. 

despite his consistent nonchalance towards you, taehyun can admit to himself that not having you around would be odd. it would be inconvenient, would be the better word to describe it. your hopes of becoming more than “nice” and “cute” have transformed to something arguably worse; now, you’re “helpful” and “grounding.” 

he couldn’t survive without you, but not for the passionate, romantic reasons you long for. taehyun knows this; that he loves the familiarity of you more than he likes you. he likes the heat that radiates off your body more than your body itself; the habits you’ve grown into that he’s responsible for, like the pancakes you make every sunday morning or how you’re always prepared to run to him when he needs you. he doesn’t remember you calling for him like that (though he doesn’t know if he would drop anything as fast as you had done).

“taehyun.” 

“what..?”

“you don’t really mean that,” you shake your head, now unable to keep your eyes trained on him. you opt for the solid colour of your sheets.

“why are you.. doubting me?” 

“because you’re never here!” your voice is strained; you try to say it in some sort of yell, but it comes out as a desperate screech. “and i mean your mind. your heart. whatever the fuck it is. your body’s here, but you’re always drifting somewhere else!”

you keep going. your mouth is spilling words like a waterfall, the most you’ve ever truthfully said in taehyun’s presence. “you don’t even like being around me. you do just enough to keep us alive, and then you half-ass it until you have to fix it again. what– what kind of relationship is this?”

“babe, wait,” taehyun’s moved from his spot now, laying his palms flat on your shoulders and trying to ease your outburst. you’re starting to sob, hiccups replacing your words. “i-i’m sorry if i made you feel that way–”

“if?” you scoff, and taehyun is taken aback. you’ve been rather docile and forgiving for most of the time taehyun has known you, only ever yelling at beomgyu that one time. 

“i mean– i’m sorry that i made you feel that way, baby..” he soothes you, taking your hands and trying to get you close. 

“i think we should stop here.” your words are firm in spite of the trembles underneath. 

taehyun pauses. it’s the first time you’ve seen him display some sort of fear over you. 

“no, no, no,” he’s desperately clutching your hands to his chest, bringing your knuckles to his lips and pressing kisses to the back of your hand. “it’s only been a few months. i’m just going through something right now, baby. i promise.”

your courage only takes you so far, because you let taehyun toy with your hands, bring his face close enough to make you fluster and cave.

he puts your intertwined hands down, a thud against your unassuming mattress. taehyun’s saving face by pressing his forehead against yours, lips hovering over one another. “i’ll make it better. i’ll be better, i swear.”

so you do. you cave. 

when you feel his lips on yours, you know you’re doomed to unwrap the fabric and find you’re still bloodied; that your relationship is bound to break its fragile bones beyond repair. still, another empty kiss bandages over the scabs and wounds you’ve accumulated over the course of your ‘love’ and you make-believe that it isn’t too bad. not at all.

[uyu-boba]

Forgive me if I get any of this wrong. To me knowledge Seol is… a combination of North and South Korea as well as Japan. My husband (South Korean) explained it as “If Japan succeeded in taking Korea.”

Nobody knows about it because nobody’s *from* there. Nobody gets out. Kim’s half/quarter Seolite because his grandparents presumably immigrated, or were possible refugees. Who knows.

Point is. There are clearly no other Seolites in the game. It’s just Kim. Martinaise is pretty small, but I can imagine that, due to Seol being the way it is, it’s probably a good bet that the general population of Revachol is the same.

And I know and understand how Kim feels about his identity. My husband often yells at him through the screen to be nicer to himself and not have so much internalized racism. But… what choice does he have?

Do you think that little orphaned child every looked around and asked ‘Why do I look different? Why do people treat me differently?’ And never got an answer? Do you think he might have tried to connect with his ancestry, to try and remember his mother, and came up short because nobody here teaches Seolite. Nobody knows the language. Don’t even try, we speak *Revacholian* here.

And this also reflects in the real world how much culture Korea has lost. How Korean language was almost completely lost. In trying to connect with my husband’s culture I too have tried looking up their history and culture often to be met with “we don’t know much about this because the records were lost in WWII”

So anyways, obviously Kim has every right to call himself a *regular Revacholière*, he grew up there! It’s his place! It’s all he knows! But we need to be kinder to him about being that way, too. Because I think he wanted to connect with Seol, maybe still does. But he can’t.

[hansolen]

sunlight blooms within the crevices of my soul. (it burns a little, but i still love you.)

꩜ pairing ⇾ aventurine x gn reader

꩜ word count ⇾ 2k

꩜ author’s note ⇾ i don’t know what happened here lol this guy has been rotting my brain for the past 4 months and suddenly i combusted and decided to write something for him <3

when you first met aventurine it felt like you were gazing at the sun itself. he was flamboyant, bright and unafraid to be the centre of a show. or at least that’s how he tried to present himself as.

his presence was magnetic, it drew you in relentlessly. you wondered if this was how pirates felt — when sirens lured them into the depths of the ocean with their melodious voices. aventurine was akin to a siren. he was alluring, unreal and dubious. almost otherworldly in the sense that there was always a distance between the two of you. one you couldn’t exactly point out, but the feeling always lingered. even with his arm around your waist, pulling you in — it felt like he was worlds away. despite how you both were just centimetres apart.

to you, aventurine is the sun. and if there is one thing you know about the sun, it’s that you should never stare at its light for too long. else it starts to blind you. however when it comes to aventurine, you can’t help but look. you gravitate towards him like a moth does to a flame.

afterall, you were someone who was locked into the shadows for too long. someone who had gazed at the sun for the first time in ages, admiring his light from a distance. what you hadn’t expected was for the sun to gaze right back at you. with those mesmerising eyes of his, aventurine looked through your soul with the same intensity as you looked through his.

that’s where it felt scary, you think. the realisation that his gaze alone brought out certain parts of you to light. parts you didn’t even remember existed — the kinder, sweeter bits of you. yet, just how there’s a duality between light and dark, and how one cannot exist without the other, the darker parts of you also emerged. the more murky and broken pieces of you — wherein you desired him carnally. yearning for his touch, his warmth.

that’s the thing about aventurine, his presence is warm — in an addictive way. the kind where once you’ve had a sip, you just can’t seem to get enough. nothing quenches your thirst quite like his affection. this ache for him, you kept it all in the dark for a reason, for self preservation. yet when it comes to him, you can’t help but succumb to these desires. you can’t help but lean onto him.

another fact about the sun is that it is all encompassing. get too near and you will burn. it is inevitable. you wonder if that too is a form of self preservation. his form of sustenance. rays of light that pierce so harshly, people can’t help but look away. perhaps there is a reason why he tries to shine so brightly, so that no one stares too long, lest they see what he actually is. what he is hiding. the ugly parts of the sun, his blemishes, his lack. him.

aventurine was resting with his head on your lap as you ran your fingers through his soft hair. a small moment of intimacy shared between the two of you. unspoken words laced within the strings of silence that hung over the two of you.

he often left you confused with his conflicting actions. when it came to all matters related to you — he was greedy, yet distant. whenever you both got too close and you brought him to put down a mask of his (among his many), he always ended up leaving you for days at a time. it hurts, it always does.

to him it’s scary. scary how you make him crumble with such ease. he can’t let you. so he won’t meet you for days, weeks even. you are left on your own and it feels as though your light has been snatched. that’s what truly terrifies you. the possibility that one day he might truly leave, and you won’t be able to stop him. (little do you know he feels the same. he isn’t the idealised version you think of him. he is no Sun. he is just a dying star.)

aventurine is used to hurting himself, used to putting his life on the line, on bets and games of chance. but that never meant that he wanted to hurt you in the process. in all honesty, he is afraid. just as you think of him as the sun, he thinks of himself as a shell. he has many facets in this mask of his, filled with what others wish to see him as, want him to be. he often thinks of them as characters to play in a script. he is so used to living in this facade he has created that he no longer feels in touch with the ‘self’ under his myriad of masks.

he doesn’t like how he hurts you. yet he can’t help but be thankful that you still take him in despite it all. in some dreadful way he is glad. glad that you always forgive him. that you want him just as much. it is both scary yet comforting that someone craves him, too.

what he doesn’t know is that you want to be led to him. not just in the light touches or small moments of intimacy. no. you want him. you want him to eat you whole and form you anew. it doesn’t matter if you get burnt in the process, doesn’t matter if at the end of the day he is but a dying star.

you wish for him to know that it is alright for you to come too close and end up seeing him for what he actually is. that you know he really isn’t all that shiny, and he isn’t all that warm either. he is cold and he is dying. he is a dying star.

you too, are afraid. afraid of being left alone in pitch black darkness once more. afraid of the sun no longer letting you bask in the essence of his warm rays. the ones that you had made yourself all too familiar with — to a fault.

you know all stars die one day. and the sun too, is but a star. you wish for him to know that you wouldn’t blame him if he cracks. you wouldn’t leave him. you love him and you will stay. even if he consumes you in the process.

he doesn’t know that you are but a defenceless sailor. giving yourself — whole, to the siren. doesn’t matter if you are being hypnotised by him. by his voracious light. by his enigmatic eyes. by him.

he’s like a ray of sunlight. with the way how you feel his warmth reach the most intimate parts of your soul, but as soon as you reach out to touch him – he disappears. as if he was never there to begin with. yet his warmth lingers.

so you do what you can. you numb yourself. you try not to lean into his comforting touch. try to to revel in his presence. you try, you really do. to put up the curtains so that the sunlight can no longer enter. but one thing about the sun is, it is insatiable, and so is aventurine.

he finds a way. mere curtains are never enough to push the light aside. if he wishes to, he will have you whole. he will engulf you into his light. and you — you let him. you allow him make you one with the sun. let him swallow you whole. maybe it's true — if he was the sun, then you were Icarus.

the sun is calling you in and you can’t help but reach for it. you fly towards him despite how it sets your skin ablaze. even with your wings melting, the feeling of hot wax burning you as it dribbles down your skin. as the heat rips your insides out. you can’t help but let it. because you know that no one has flown higher. no one else has reached this close to the sun him.

you close your eyes as you fall. you let him in. and in return he lets you stay. as you fall, you brace yourself for the impact of the cold harsh earth. it never comes. you end up being pulled into the depths of the ocean instead.

© hansolen do not translate and re post anywhere else.

[celandeline]

Over The Wall

Carl Grimes X Reader, oneshot

Dedicated to @grimesdotcom , as promised :)

You only know a handful of things about Carl Grimes. 

There's the obvious things, of course. You know that he likes comic books. Whenever you see him, save for when he’s with Judith, he’s got his nose pressed between the pages, his sheriffs hat and long hair blocking out the rest of the world. You know that he’s a good shot - you’d have been dead when those people with Ws on their heads if it weren’t for him. 

Then there’s the things that you know just for yourself. You know that he has the prettiest blue eyes you’ve ever seen, even if he only does have the one now. You know that he’s got a terrible farmer’s tan, and that he sunburns ridiculously easily. You know that he makes you stomach do funny flips whenever he smiles at you - you know you’ve got a crush on him. 

You also know that almost every day, he disappears over the wall. 

It’s always in the afternoon, after Judith’s been put down for her nap. You can see him from your attic bedroom window as he slips out the back door of his house and steals across the lawn, bag slung over his shoulder bouncing as he jogs. He’s by no means a graceful climber - more than once you’ve seen him almost fall - but it never takes him more than a few minutes to swing himself over the top of the wall and disappear. 

There’s plenty of things you don’t know about Carl Grimes - chiefly, where he sneaks off to every day. But you’re dying to find out. 

So you wait on the back porch of the house you share with Aaron and Eric, with a bag of your things and a knife in your belt, until the afternoon sun hangs in the sky, and you see a distant figure, only recognizable by his sheriff's hat, start towards the wall. 

You follow after him at a distance, ducking behind one of the neighbors sheds as he glances behind him before starting to climb. You wait until he’s all the way over the wall before you begin to haul yourself up, shoes slipping against the smooth metal. Maybe you should be kinder to his climbing abilities - it’s harder than it looks. 

Still, you manage to swing yourself up and over, quickly surveying the immediate area before carefully climbing down. You jump the last few feet, landing with a soft thump on the ground. You’ve just started brushing the grit off your hands when you hear the click of a gun behind you. 

Your stomach drops, and slowly, you turn around, hands raised, to see Carl pointing his little handgun at you. You drop your hands when you see that it’s him. “Really?”

“Oh.” He clicks the safety back on, and tucks the gun back into his belt. “Sorry. I didn’t know it was you following me… why are you following me?”

“How did you know I was following you?” You shoot back. 

He gives you a look. “You didn’t even wait until I was over the wall to come after me.”

“I didn’t want to lose you and end up not being able to find wherever it is that you sneak off to all the time.” You say. 

“So, what? You’re just curious?”

“Maybe.” You admit, a little sheepish. It sounds so stupid when he says it, like you’re just a little kid who wants to figure out what mom’s hiding in the cabinets you can’t reach. 

He rolls his eye, and breezes past you, into the woods. “You could have just asked.”

“You told Ron to fuck off when he asked.” You said, following after him. 

“Ron’s a dick. You’re not.”

Your stomach flips at that - it’s the nicest thing he’s ever said directly to you - but you shove the feeling down. “Thanks, I guess.”

He doesn’t say anything, simply leading you deeper into the woods, following a path that’s invisible to you. Eventually, the trees thin out a bit, and he stops in front of a small clearing. It’s obvious that he’s cleaned it up a bit - the ground is largely clear of leaves, and he’s strung a tarp between some of the trees as a makeshift roof. There’s a few logs, arranged like couches, and a few seat cushions that have seen better days. A dirty cooler sits at the base of a tree, and a crate covered with a plastic bag next to it. 

“This is it.” Carl says, walking over to the crate and pulling the plastic bag off the top to reveal some comic books. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“No, this is really cool.” You say. “I mean, yeah, it’s less cool than you sneaking out to kill walkers or something but it’s still cool.”

“Thanks.” He says, shooting you a small smile. “It’s just my getaway from all the people in Alexandria, I guess. Just somewhere for me to be actually alone.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t thought about that - that maybe his routine climbing over the wall had more to do with peace than it did secrecy. “Sorry - I can go-”

“No, it’s fine.” He says quickly, cutting you off. “I mean, I don’t mind… and you climbed over the wall to get here so you should at least rest a little before climbing back over.”

“Yeah.” You agree, smiling. “I don’t know how you do that every day, I already know my shoulders are going to be killing me tomorrow.”

He grins, and sits down against one of the logs. “You get used to it.”

You sit down as well, leaning against the log across from him, the soles of your shoes brushing against the soles of his boots when you stretch your legs out. You watch as he closes his eye, peace sweeping across his face as he rests his head against the back of the log, tilting his nose up towards the sun. The way the sunlight dapples through the leaves paints him in spotty colors, but it doesn’t diminish his beauty at all. You find yourself entranced with the way the shadows dance across his face, and you don’t know how long you stare at him before he cracks his eye back open. 

“What?” He asks. 

“What?” You try to play it off. 

“You’re just looking at me.” He says.

“You’re sitting directly in front of me.” You deflect. 

“Yeah, but you’re always looking at me.” He closes his eye again, the slightest hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. 

You scoff, and try to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. Caught. “Am not.”

“Are too.” He shoots back. 

“Maybe I just zone out a lot.” You try. 

He actually laughs at that, and opens his eye again, sitting up from his lazy sprawl. “C’mon.” He says. “It’s just us. You can admit you think I’m cute. Promise I won’t tell anybody.”

You close your eyes, tipping your head back against the log you’re resting against so that he can’t see your face. You’ve never been so embarrassed in your life - you thought you were being discreet. But maybe he’s more observant than you gave him credit for; after all, it didn’t even take him more than the distance between your back porch and the wall for him to figure out you were following him. 

“Was I really that obvious?” You ask, still refusing to look at him. 

“I mean, kind of. You just stare at me, like, all the time.” You can hear him grinning. “At first I thought it was just the eye, but you look at my hands a lot too, so…”

It’s humiliating, how easily he figured you out. And you can hear him smiling, it’s in the tone of his voice. At least he’s not outright laughing at you - you think you’d actually die on the spot if he did. 

“I should go home.” You say, picking your head back up off the log to stand up. “Sorry for following you-”

“No, what?” Carl stands up with you. “I’m not mad or anything, it’s just-”

“Funny?” You fill in the blank for him, pinning him with a look. He just blinks at you, obviously taken aback, like he wasn’t expecting you to notice how amused he is with this. You sigh, and grab your bag from where you set it next to you. “Figures. You are such a dick, Carl Grimes.”

You turn away from him, starting back towards the wall. Hurried footsteps tell you he’s following you, but you don’t turn around, not until he grabs you by the wrist and makes you. 

You meet his icy blue gaze. “What now?”

“It’s not funny.” He says, brows furrowed. “I wasn’t laughing at you. It’s cute. I like that you have a crush on me, ‘cause I like you, too.”

You just look at him for a minute, trying to determine if he’s being honest or not. “If you’re just saying that to, I don’t know, get me to say something embarrassing and make fun of me, I swear to God-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence because he rolls his eye, and then presses his lips to yours, insistent. It takes you a second to realize what he’s doing, but when it clicks, you melt into it, kissing him back with the same intensity. When he pulls back, you can see the beginnings of a smile on his lips. 

“I mean it. I like you.” He says. “Wouldn’t have shown you my secret spot otherwise.”

You can’t stop yourself from grinning. “I guess I believe you now.” You joke. “But if I say I don’t will you kiss me again?”

“You can just ask.” He says, leaning in to connect your lips again. 

It’s better, now that you know it’s coming - less sloppy. You take the opportunity to wind your arms around his shoulders, playing with the silky tresses of his hair. You’re the one to break it this time, pulling back to rest your forehead against his, looking deep into his pretty blue eye.

“Sorry for calling you a dick.” You say. “And thinking you were laughing at me.”

“S’okay.” He says. “Do you, maybe, wanna come back to the spot with me? Hang out?”

“Yeah.” You say, grinning. “Sounds great.”

[with-my-calamitous-love]

LOSS OF MY LIFE

chuuya x reader

chuuya questions his humanity while you’re on your deathbed.

inspired by loml

he wished he never knew you.

at least then, he wouldn’t have the feeling of knowing you, knowing every part of you, but not having you around.

it all happened so fast. one wrong mission. one wrong move. one wrong mistake that should’ve landed on chuuya- but costed you everything. he should have seen the attack coming, but he didn’t. why didn’t he? the one time chuuya nakahara fucked up, it fucked you over instead.

it should have been me. he thought.

he’s lost track of time. he knows he has work to return to, stacks of paper on his desk. his stomach growls and his throat is parched for water. his eyes yearn to close, wanting to sleep. but he can’t. you’re not there to keep him company in his otherwise barren office. you’re not there to share the meal with him and scold him about staying hydrated. you’re not there to be wrapped up in his arms, fully trusting you while you sleep together. because you’re here. on the hospital bed, tubes attached to you keeping you alive.

the beeps of your heart monitor was merely white noise to him now. the doctors told him to hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. you were hit in one to many fatal areas. you lost almost too much blood. you might not recover. you might not wake up.

but she has too. he thought.

spending a year with someone does a lot to a person. chuuya had loved before you, but never like this. he had never promised so much for someone, felt his heart beat the way it did for you. you and him promised marriage, a family, you two promised forever.

chuuya nakahara was a man of the mafia.

and that meant he knew death better than anyone.

in his line of work, losing people meant hoping that death is kinder than life. he didn’t have the time to grieve, he could only wish them peace in slumber and fortify his heart. he had been through it, possibly preparing himself for worse and worse each time.

but nothing could have prepared him for this.

chuuya could feel his being overfill with grief. he had given so much love to you. so much time, so many promises, so many kisses, embraces, late nights and forevers to you. he’d given you every fibre of his mortal being because fuck, he loved you. and he had never felt a love like yours- and he didn’t want to try and feel anyone else’s because it would never feel like yours. his grief was just love with nowhere to go.

you were an anchor to chuuya’s humanity, something that kept him in place throughout all the pain and suffering of his life. he thought he would love you forever. but right now chuuya wished he could forget. forget the life you two almost had. the wedding you almost had. the kids you almost raised. the life that was so close he could graze it with his fingertips right before the rug was pulled out from underneath him. it was either he had it all with you, or didn’t know you at all. not the in between. not the purgatory. not the almost.

“i’ll love you for the rest of my life.” he hears you say in the tone of voice he adored.

he wasn’t sure what he would do if that life ended too short. no, not when you were supposed to be forever.

he would rather tear down the world than lose you. he’d tear the roots of the world into pieces, collapse buildings upon buildings and set everything in his sight ablaze. he’d burn down everything, everyone and anything that dared his grief. and in the end he’d cause massive waves to erupt from the ocean floors, washing over all who inhabits the planet, making sure no one would return from the seas unbiased fate.

i’d do it. he bargains in his mind, pleading to anyone out there who may hear his call. he was never the faithful type, but seeing you barely hold onto your life made him desperate. maybe arahabaki would hear him, maybe the universe would. i’d do it for her. just bring her back. bring her back to me.

he held your wired hand, a knot in his chest forming feeling how cold you were. it felt like death was already trying to take you away from him, and chuuya wasn’t having it.

he wanted to speak, to call out to you. he wanted to beg you to wake up, remind you that he’s still here. remind you that you still have a life to live. a life with him.

he opened his mouth, but nothing camee out.

he wasn’t just losing you. he was losing his life.

and he felt all of it escape his eyes and roll down his cheeks.