#with these labels. so i am just kind of speaking from my heart and my perception of what was making me kind of crazy

[metallteeff]

okay i will rant for like two seconds my once a month rant but i have recently realized fucking psychology or i guess like modern/pop psychology especially is destroyingggg art. so bad.

like as writer/artist for like the past 2-3 years i’ve found myself being like oh i need to be able to perfectly articulate how my stories deal with mental health and then i get in this awful loop bc i’m not writing anymore im dissecting.

and on the audience part too it’s also awful. i love metas and analysis etc etc but it’s all turned into this strange phenomenon of like “proving a theory” and so many of these metas (im just going to use that for the catchall) focus on the same dissection.

just lately when it comes to art and discussion old or new academic or twitter rants i feel like i constantly see people asking “what is wrong with the artist to make them make this” instead of understanding the emotion or subject present in the piece and dissecting that as it relates to you. it has ti be clinical and hard fact and true to the creators intent.

i hate this approach so much and the way i see it effects my writing has made me crazy so i’m glad i’ve realized. i do not like to see abstract concepts put into a box im sure no one else does but being in like online art culture it’s so so so bad for that because no one can discuss anything online it has to be a debate. and then you’re debating art instead of analyzing and sharing experience.

this is all very vague and that’s kind of the point. what i’m talking about applies to anyone from like brain rotted edge lord anime girl artists to characters in mainstream/high production projects. there is no separation of art from artist on the basis of how does it make you feel it seems like it’s everyone’s wondering what’s going on in the artists head and trying to use their art as tools to figure it out. i think that has terrified me in creating and it’s made me feel like i have to make it present in my art in the first place so i have “nothing to hide” but why does an audience need to be in your psyche???

this is not me saying exploring mental health and illness and symptoms of it in art is a bad thing, it is exactly the opposite. it’s when it turns into everyone fighting about how xyz proves their headcanon correct and then no one else is allowed to interpret a character another way when the point of most art from the people i know and/or admire want the exact opposite. every character should be a mirror to a large variety of people and experiences. the same shade of green should excite one person and disgust the next. i am just so tired and appalled and over the like compartmentalization of art to enjoy it as a monolith go fuck yourself!!!!!

and i kind of got off topic with the subject of psychology present in art but looking at art with a psychological lense can be fun but that’s the lens you should already be using in the sense of connecting emotionally to pieces. i’m seeing yourself in the art right in front of you. most people (especially people who don’t create art often) go into art immediately trying to “figure it out” which i understand but how to you make it clear to everyone that they already understand, they just need to listen to what is there in front of them.

to look at art through a clinical lens is the death of art is maybe a more accurate way of talking about it. to look at art and try to dissect it, not for yourself, but to say “i know exactly what the artist was thinking” you’ll never be right. it’s fun to joke about in the basis of relation to the art but then that’s just you relating. that’s your experience and perception. you will never know the artists intent.

this is more specific and a little more silly but i feel like that^ over laps with people freaking out about character and “good/bad” representation. saying gay characters can only act this way. that characters with plurality can only be portrayed like this. that characters with a disability or neurodivergence or this or that can only say this list of things or else you’ve made a “harmful character”. of course there is harmful stereotyping but i would hope everyone able to publish and produce stuff knows what to do and not to do. i know that’s not realistic but i hope majority of writers don’t need a strict do and does list to write all of their stories!

i really mean this more in the way of making a strict view of how exactly to portray a certain character especially when it comes to marginalized identity and psychology then makes a new box that pisses people off. people did not like autistic people being portrayed as emotionless genius robots who parade as people and that’s normal because that is fucked up. but why now does every autistic character need to be almost a joke about being “too weird”. why also does a character need to be confirmed by the creator to be anything. it’s definitely nice but to me if a character portrays your experience without being confirmed anything, why not just enjoy the character in the way you perceive them. i’m also just a really big fan of ambiguity and surrealism in art so that’s how i prefer to take it but i don’t understand why every single aspect of art needs to be labeled for enjoyment. it’s killing it.

i kind of got off track with this but i hope it’s clear how i feel like psychology effects art in the ways of when you confine symptoms to one box and you put people into those boxes and those people love art and make art. then the perception of art will be affected and it’s hurting it badly. it is okay to be uncertain but i think psychology is hurting people and art badly in tandem

[a-leg-without-fear]

The Miranda to His Ferdinand

this is actually the response to this ask from the lovely @yarrystyleeza!!! i was so frickin inspired and ended up writing this :)

Ship: College!Matt Murdock x f!Reader

Rating: 18+

Wordcount: 1.3k

Warnings: lots o' Shakespeare, kissing, suggestive material

Series: Request Fulfillment

Your dorm's mattress creaked as you and Matt settled on top. He sat to your left, braille script clutched in his hand, with his sunglasses tucked into his shirt collar and his hair ruffled after a long day. An easy smile settled over his full lips.

"What's the play, again?" he asked, an eyebrow cocked as a large hand swept over the front page of his script. Long fingers traced the raised bumps on the solid white pages.

"The Tempest," you replied with a sighed chuckle, "It's about a woman, Miranda, who's lived on an island her whole life, knowing only her father and their slave, Caliban. Ferdinand shipwrecks on their island, then he and Miranda fall in love. Typical Shakespeare stuff."

Matt laughed at your synopsis, shaking his head, "And you're auditioning for Miranda, I'm guessing?"

"Nope, Caliban," you snarked in return. Matt rolled his eyes as you stuck your tongue out at him.

"Alright, Caliban. Which scene are we reading?"

"The last part of Act Three, Scene One," you said, flipping your script to the correct page, "Should be page ten in your booklet."

Crinkling pages filled the comfortable silence between you. It was quick work to find the correct page, considering the section you'd be reading from was labeled "MIRANDA AUDITION." The booklet lay open in your palms as you scanned briefly through the lines. You could almost feel the adoration formed by the prose, the pure affection woven into the words. Shakespeare truly was a genius.

"Okay, page ten," Matt announced, breaking your silent reverence of The Bard. You cleared your throat.

"Right. Ready?" you asked as you straightened your posture. Matt nodded, gesturing for you to start. A deep breath filled your lungs, chest expanding like a balloon, as you tamped down your nerves.

"Do you love me?" you read from the script. You glanced at Matt out of the corner of your eye. His lips ticked up in the corners as he read his part.

"Oh heaven, oh earth, bear witness to this sound," he began, fingers rapidly skimming over the pages, "And crown what I profess with kind event if I speak true. If hollowly, invert what best is boded me to mischief. I, beyond all limit of what else in the world, do love, prize and honor you."

You couldn't breathe. Not when Matt's sightless gaze was fixed right between your eyes. Not when this profession of love came from him so earnestly. Not when your years of pining after him had finally bubbled to the surface.

"I-I am a fool," you stuttered. You shook your head, clearing the distracting thoughts, then tried again, "I am a fool to weep at what I am glad of."

Matt placed his free hand on your knee. Your heart pounded against your ribs, anticipation leaking into your blood like ink in water.

"Wherefore weep you?" he read softly. His dark eyes traced the space around your head. Almost searching, scouring for your answer in the planes of your face.

"At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer what I desire to give, and much less take what I shall die to want. But this is trifling. And all the more it seeks to hide itself, the bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning, and prompt me, plain and holy innocence. I am your wife, if you will marry me. If not, I'll die your maid. To be your fellow you may deny me, but I'll be your servant. Whether you will or no."

A tense silence fell over the two of you like a sudden burst of snow. Your pulse coursed rapidly under your heated skin. The weight of the line you'd read felt world-encompassing. Would he understand that it wasn't just you reading words? That the meaning behind them is what you felt?

"My mistress, dearest, and I thus humble ever," Matt whispered, a faint glance of understanding passing behind his eyes. You swallowed a lump the size of a baseball.

"My husband then?"

The hand nearly burning a hole in your knee wrapped its fingers around your own.

"Ay, with a heart as willing as bondage ever of freedom. Here's my hand," Matt breathed, fingers tangling with yours. Your breath caught behind your lips. This is happening.

"And mine, with my heart in it," you said shakily.

That same silence. Charged like the static before a lightning strike. Nearly choking you with how intense the moment felt. The pad of Matt's thumb rubbed circles into the back of your hand.

“Does Ferdinand get to kiss Miranda in this scene?” he asked, gaze landing on your lips. Your heart leapt like a horse over a hurdle. Swirls of anxiety and finally! chased each other through your mind.

“It-it’s not in the script, but I think ad-libbing is more than okay,” you said as your heartbeat roared in your ears. Matt’s signature, cocky smirk pulled at his lips.

His hand seemed to move in slow motion as it lifted from his braille script and cradled your jaw. Palm warm, almost searing, and calloused like you could barely believe. Yet you’d never felt anything softer. His thumb passed over your flushed cheek slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away, before it caught on your bottom lip.

“Is this okay?” Matt asked, voice barely above a whisper, as his thumb pulled gently on your lip. A shudder rolled over your spine like rumbling thunder.

“Yes,” you uttered with a quick nod.

Before you could blink, his lips were pressed against yours. Lightning struck your mind and rendered you breathless. Shocks coursed through your veins. Your heart nearly stopped beating.

He was kissing you.

Matthew Michael fucking Murdock was kissing you.

You quickly reached out and clung to him like he was your lifeline. You didn’t want this moment to end. This singularity that felt impossible, your whole life building to this one kiss. 

Warm fingers carded through your hair and tangled in the strands. Matt pulled you closer, your chests pressed together. He swiped his tongue along your lips to silently ask permission. You more than welcomed the intrusion as an involuntary moan kicked up your throat, opening your mouth to grant him entrance. A groan of his own matched yours in kind. He licked into you like you were the first drop of water after a month in the desert. Drinking from you, clinging to you, almost desperate.

Your head was spinning. You could barely breathe. Your hands shook where they clung to Matt’s t-shirt.

And just like that, it was over. Matt parted from you like separating two strong magnets. His forehead rested against yours, heaving breaths puffing along your cheeks. You screwed your eyes shut at the loss of his lips on yours.

“I could… I could do that forever,” Matt laughed breathlessly. You grinned as you opened your eyes. His sightless gaze was fixed on you. Pure adoration flowed from his joyful expression, how his eyes crinkled in the corners and how his dimples dug into his cheeks. You couldn’t help but match his wide smile.

“Me too,” was your clever response. You inwardly groaned at your quick wit. Matt chuckled, placing a chaste kiss to your hairline.

“When’s your audition?” he asked, like how close he was didn’t render your mind completely useless. You took a moment to gather your deteriorating thoughts.

“Tonight. At eight,” you said. Matt hummed.

“And what time is it now?”

You glanced at the digital clock that sat on your nightstand. In bold, red letters, the clock displayed “4:48 pm.”

“Almost five,” you replied. Matt ran the tips of his nails over your scalp. Pulses of pleasure coursed through you, your head tipping back in his hands, as your eyes fluttered shut.

“I think that’s plenty of time to run the scene some more, don’t you think?” he suggested, voice a low rumble deep in his chest. All you could do was nod.

And if rehearsal ran long, who were you to object?

[just-call-me-by-yn]

SNOW ON THE BEACH — spencer reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content warning: mainly fluff, itty bitty angst if you squint, hurt comfort, swearing, an oblivious reader (to some extent), and mention of alcohol consumption.

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: The reader just got broken up with, but Spencer is there to keep her company, try to cheer her up, and maybe confess his feelings for her.

a/n: first fic yay! I got this idea while listening to my Taylor Swift playlist also English is not my first language!

“So then he’s telling me all about how he has feelings for someone else” A couple of tears streamed down your face and the voice cracked several times throughout the sentence. “I’m like- motherfucker! Did he truly think, that I would just be like ‘It must have been so hard on you! It’s okay, go run into the sunset with the other girl’?!”

Spencer took a wine glass out of your hand just in case, since you were gesturing a lot. He didn’t want you to spill the burgundy liquid on your couch. When he looked at you, there was worry in his eyes. His lips pressed into a fine line. He thought about how to tell you of the feelings, he had towards you for a long time, but he labeled them as 'not proper'. Millions of ideas of how to communicate it to you streamed through his mind as you told him, about how there was another woman in your relationship, and when he saw your emotional reaction to a breakup, he backed out of the idea of confessing. He had never seen you this distraught and livid, never in the years of your friendship. But he couldn’t just blurb out his love for you, no, not in this moment, not when he wasn't sure if you’ll even remember it by the next morning. Maybe it would be the way to go. That was it! It would be off his chest, and it wouldn’t ruin the long run, your relationship had. No. He couldn’t. You deserved better. You deserved to know.

“You’re oddly quiet today Spence, penny for your thoughts?” You sniffed your nose, which wasn’t exactly ladylike of you, but was a perfect summary of how you felt.

“Do you really want to know what I think?” He answered with a question that was enigmatic in itself. You just nodded. “That’s kind of what you get for dating someone like him, a player. You knew he was that type, but still pursued it, fell in love, and got hurt.”

You were too speechless to make a sound, too stunned to speak, eyes wide open, and mouth agape. 

“I am not saying that’s necessarily your fault, actually it’s scientifically proven that it’s just hormones and neurotransmitters acting up in your brain, you know, dopamine that gives you euphoria and pleasure, oxytocin, and vasopressin. A lot of love can be explained that way, but my point stands. You knew he would probably break your heart, but you were chasing the high knowing the risk”

“I never regretted my words more than asking you for your opinion just a second ago” You stated as you shook your head and rolled your eyes.

“I am not blaming you though, y/n!” Spencer took your small hands into his. “I know how it is.”

“Oh, do you?” The question lingered in the air, for a minute which felt like much longer for him, as he battled the urge, to simply tell you then and there.

“Yeah, maybe not exactly, but I feel like love can make you act or at least seem very irrational at times,” He said quietly, deciding to keep it vague, not wanting you to feel cornered.

“Okay, so tell me about her,” You say in response to a sudden spike of interest that bubbled in your chest. You removed your hands from his grip and reached for the glass of wine.

Spencer froze, going into autopilot thinking hard, and trying to find the best way to exit that conversation. His mind was going as fast as the speed of light.

“Matter of fact she doesn’t know I like her that way… she’s sort of out of my reach. We are friends though, and-” 

“You don’t wanna ruin it, do you? Just in case she doesn’t feel the same?” You finished his sentence in awe at how romantic his struggle was. “I can tell you, she probably dreams of you confessing your love to her. Any girl would. You are a great guy Spencer!”

He wasn’t so sure, so when you put your hand on his arm to show him some support, his whole body tensed because of that act. He prayed you wouldn’t notice, but you did.

“Are you all right? Did I say something wrong?” You asked as your eyes got heavier with each passing moment, tired because of all the tears you’ve shed in the past couple of hours, it was already dark outside, so it got even harder to keep them open. A small yawn escaped your mouth, which Spencer took as a sign to drag you off the couch and put you in bed. He put one of his arms under your knees and the other on your waist, making you squeak in surprise at his sudden actions “Spencer! What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed,” He said under his breath more to himself than to you “That’s what I’m doing”

“I can walk you know” A delicate chuckle left your lips, somehow the casualness of the situation overshadowed the sadness you felt because of your douche of an ex-boyfriend.

“Yeah, but what’s the fun in that” He felt much better as your mood changed to some more of a positive emotion. He set you down on the bed and gently covered you with a duvet.

“Spence?” Your voice was quiet slightly above the whisper. “Stay the night?”

“Yeah, okay, sure, I’ll be on the couch if you need me” Spencer turned off the light, leaving the dim lighting from the other room cast over the room, making it so you could only see the shape of his silhouette, he turned on his heels to leave your bedroom, but as he meant to walk away you spoke again.

“No, like in the bed you know” A small smirk started creeping onto your face, and he mirrored your actions. When he was already in your bed you felt comfortable enough to cuddle into his chest, and say “You should tell her, you got to”

“You think?” He put his chin on your head avoiding eye contact.

“Yup! Also, you have to tell me, do I know her?” Being seen as noisy was the last thing you cared about at that very moment.

“Oh yeah, quite well” Spencer smiled at how adorable you were, like that big kind of smile that bore all the teeth. Even though the atmosphere was light-hearted a lump in his throat made itself present.

“Wait… please tell me it’s not JJ! I’m begging you. Spencer, please, you can’t just snatch Will’s wife like that! Are you okay in the head?” You were putting the puzzles, but they all were in the wrong order.

“No, it’s not JJ, geez, y/n!” He laughed like that was the most unbelievable and ridiculous thing he ever heard. “I’ll let you guess, give you one more try, and then I will tell you.”

You tried your best to figure out the equation. Failing miserably to add two and two together. Your intoxicated state of mind made you spiral like you were some sort of conspiracy theorist, trying to figure out what the government was hiding from the citizens. 

“No! I give up, please tell me now!” You wined as you looked up at him and saw his loving glance. “Oh shit! No way.”

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, really, I just thought you deserve to know” The look he gave you did not resemble any look anybody had ever given you before, in your entire lifetime nobody did. It made you sober up right away when the butterflies erupted in your chest, and you could feel their wings brush against your rib cage. 

You always had a thing for Spencer, even though you'd never admit it to yourself, your ex came around, so you let that emotion play the second fiddle. Now all you could feel was affection, unconditional and utterly amazing, warm, and fuzzy love, you have never even imagined happening to you in this cruel world. It felt unreal and made your feelings for your ex-boyfriend look ridiculous, and juvenile. It felt like that was what you were destined to do your whole life, and it struck you, you were meant to be in love with Spencer this entire time. 

“So that’s what it feels like” Your eyes begin to fog with tears again as the abrupt feeling of admiration repeatedly runs through your veins. 

“What does?” Confusion painted his facial features.

“When the feeling is mutual” 

That’s when his lips found yours. Light pecks on your top lip innocently asking you, if it’s okay to move further. As an invitation, you part your lips silently allowing him to continue. Soon his tongue found its way into your mouth, exploring it gently. 

The kiss was like a storm cloud, raining thoughts into your brain, which was exposed to every little drop of wonder. There were a lot of thoughts going through your mind but the main one was how good he tasted, and then there was the other one that you could compare to a background noise of how you were so clueless all this time when you could have had him in your arms for so long, as more than a friend. 

His hand moved up to your face cupping it, deepening the kiss. Then he suddenly pulled away.

“I can’t. I’m sorry,” He said caressing your cheek as you both were catching your breath, he gave you a weak apologetic smile, it was clear he was having an internal battle with his emotions. “You have had a few glasses, and you’re in a vulnerable state, I don’t want you to despise me after tonight.”

“I can promise you that would never happen, but I understand. It's alright” You just cuddled back into his chest and fell asleep listening to his fastened heartbeat, the one of a heart that you’ve recently learned beats for you.

check out my masterlist -> here ♥︎

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 11

Again, I am working on Paper Hearts and Sweet Home Indiana until they are complete and Paper Hearts just snuck in another chapter so that was fun.

In this we have Corroded Coffin trying to change the culture of metal and the band meets Bob Newby.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

****

Celeste Baptiste was a miracle worker in her field and everyone knew it. Producers and recording studios were chomping at the bit to work with The Fallen the second she put out feelers that their current producer and studio just weren’t meeting the band’s needs.

They decided to go with Starcourt Recording studio as it was closer to home for a lot of the members. Which of course pleased Spence to no end, as it meant that he got to spend more time with Nadia.

They were currently interviewing for producers and had yet to find on that worked for them.

Enter Bob Newby.

****

Bob wasn’t used to working with bands that had alter egos. He heard of them of course. Slipknot, Daft Punk, and others. But he wasn’t a fan of secrecy for the most part and beyond the basic NDAs of contracts, he wasn’t a fan of those really, either.

But there was something about these four men that pulled him in. Especially when he learned that their previous producer had been trying to do with them. It was like he hadn’t listened to them at all and was trying to force them into what he thought metal meant.

So he thought he’d at least speak with them. If they didn’t like him or he didn’t like them, he’d walk away, no skin off his nose.

They walked in all wearing more casual versions of their onstage personas. They wore hoodies and masks of their colors to hind their face and hair, but the rest was all very down to earth. Bob supposed it made sense, after all, they couldn’t record in their tight leather outfits.

He was surprised to see that the drummer’s mask’s eyes were covered unlike the rest of the band and he couldn’t help but wonder if his eyes would give him away, like having some kind of heterochromia or something like that.

“Hey, I’m Bob Newby,” he greeted. “Everyone take a seat. Thanks for coming to meet me at my house studio, I’m two days away from a deadline and am really crunching it.”

“Of course,” the one in white said. He was the only one’s whose mask didn’t completely cover his face. “I would apologize for the subterfuge but it’s kind of our shtick.”

Bob smiled. “So I’ve been told. Tell me a little bit about yourselves.”

The one in white smiled. “I’m Abbadon, I’m the lead singer. I can play guitar, piano, and violin, but we don’t usually incorporate that stuff into our music.”

“Is there a reason why not?” he asked, clasping his hands together and leaning forward on his knees.

The band members looked at each other in shock.

“The label wanted us to stick to metal,” the one in blue said, “They were okay with Abbadon on rhythm guitar to help fill out the sound, but they didn’t want any of that other ‘stuff’.” He put air quotes around stuff.

“They do realize that metal and heavy rock have been using piano for as long as the genre has been a thing, right?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Again the band looked shocked.

Bob sighed. He held up his hands. “Wait, wait... we’ll get into all that once all the introductions have been made.”

The one in red and the one in white shared what he assumed was a concerned glance.

“You weren’t told about us?” the one in red asked.

“Oh, no, I was,” Bob replied with a grin. “But I want to hear it from you.”

So they went around and introduced themselves and he was starting form a picture about the band’s dynamic.

“Right,” he said, “I’ve listened to your other albums, seen recordings of your live shows, and even watched interviews and this is my takeaway on your sound. Your last producer was trying to force you into harmonies and melodies of early thrash metal of the 1980s, which isn’t your style at all.”

Astraeus, the one in midnight blue, spoke from his place on the floor, “That’s what we kept trying to tell him. He said that the sound was coming back and if we wanted to compete with the likes of Metallica and Corroded Coffin then that’s direction we needed to be heading as a band.”

Bob let out a long exasperated sigh. “But you can’t compete with them.” He held up his hands when Azrael, the one in black, and Asmodeus, the one in red, bristled. “I’m not saying you’re not as good as they are. Absolutely not. But you’re not in the same genre of metal that they are. It would be like comparing the Rolling Stones and Beatles because they were both British rock bands.”

Astraeus and Azrael shared a glance, one Bob couldn’t interpret with their masks on.

Azrael rolled his eyes. “We’re what our detractors love to call nu metal as if music can’t have more than one sound.”

Bob nodded. “Yeah, that sounds about right. You’re vocals tend toward the melodic over the screaming or more guttural sounds of thrash metal. So I would focus on that. The label sent me over the demo and you’ve got a lot of great stuff here. Stuff the other guy didn’t want to touch. Some of the more...” he cocked his head back and forth, “blatantly queer? LGBTQ+? Gay stuff?”

“Queer works,” Abbadon said with a wry note to his voice.

Bob nodded again. “Who is the writer/writers?”

Astraeus and Azrael raised their hands.

“With a little lyrical help from Abbadon,” Asmodeus said darkly.

Abbadon rubbed his back to calm the other man as he bristled at his other bandmates.

“So how does your writing process work?” Bob said ducking his head to his smile.

Astraeus explained how Abbadon would write down his thoughts and feelings and that he would turn them into lyrics for Azrael to turn into songs.

“So I’m guessing that at least either Abbadon or Astraeus is some variation of the rainbow spectrum?” he pressed the band.

The two men in question shared a glance, Astraeus nodded.

“I’m bi and Astraeus is gay,” Abbadon confirmed. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Bob threw laughed. “No not at all. In fact just the opposite. I want you two to come out.”

He couldn’t see their faces but he could feel the blank stares as their eyes bore into him.

“I understand that is a daunting feeling,” he murmured kindly. “But I think it would really boost your image, allow you to be more open with your songs, especially with Starlight Eyes, and it would make more metal artists be more comfortable with an LGBTQ+ label. Because right not a lot of metal stars are out and all of them have come out while being so massively famous that they could ‘take the risk’.”

Asmodeus and Azrael shared a look.

“The two of us are straight though...” Asmodeus said, “I’m literally famous for women throwing themselves at me, is them being out going to hurt either us or them?”

Bob tilted his head to the side. That was a fair question and one that should be considered. But he shook his head. “It shouldn’t. No one is going to expect the whole band to be queer. Take Corroded Coffin for example. Other than their bassist, Brian Martin being ace, he is still attracted to women romantically,” he held up his hands in defense when it seemed that a couple of the band were about to interject, “and I’m not saying he doesn’t count as queer, because I’m not. But the only one with what the average person would consider queer is their frontman, Eddie Munson. He is an out gay man, but even he didn’t come out until they were selling out arenas.”

The other members started teasing their lead singer, ribbing him and making low probably ribald comments.

Bob raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat.

Azrael turned him and Bob could feel the absolute glee radiating off the man. “Abbadon here, has a crush on Eddie.”

His face split into a large grin. “Aren’t you scheduled to tour with them next year?”

Abbadon coughed and cleared his throat. “Yeah, we’re working on that.”

Their manager who had been waiting in the corner on her phone for the meeting to conclude turned to the band. “What do you think, boys? Is Bob our man for the job?”

He looked up at her and then back to the band. “So what do you say? You ready to rock the metal world?”

Abbadon spoke for all of them when he said, “Yeah. Yeah we are.”

****

In the end it didn’t matter what Steve and his band wanted for the tour dates because Gareth’s little stunt landed him in rehab. And Corroded Coffin’s label refused to tour without him.

Which had pissed Eddie off. They had made a deal with Gareth and he had broken the deal first. And as shit as it was, getting a touring drummer was easier than replacing anyone else in the band.

Eddie and his band were doing an interview about Gareth’s sudden stint in rehab, talking about the future of the band.

Only they weren’t dressed like they normally were. They were still in jeans and t-shirts. But their jeans were in various shades of blue and Brian wore a plain white tee, Jeff wore a Taylor Swift Eras band shirt, and Eddie wore pale pink tee with David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust on it.

In short they did not look like a metal band. They looked like three guys, just shooting shit.

It had been a slow change over the summer. Every time the band went for an interview that wasn’t at an event one of them would dress slightly different. Then two or three of them would wear something a little less ‘metal’, until they were all dressed like they were.

The interviewer, Jenna Peterson looked as uncomfortable to be interviewing them as they looked to be interviewed.

“So let’s start with something softer,” she said, crossing her legs and simpering, “so why don’t we first first talk about your shift in style.”

Jeff threw back his head and laughed. “Good god! We don’t wear the ‘uniform’ for a couple of interviews and we get the clothes question.”

Brian shook his head.

“You think all those leather and chains and shit is comfortable?” Eddie asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Maybe, maybe not. But it sure is hot as hell,” she said cocking her head.

Jeff snorted and ran his tongue over his lips. “We were getting tired of the hate metal stars get for wearing anything but leather and black denim. Do you know how fucking hot that shit gets?”

“Like there was a bassist from a huge metal band,” Eddie said, agreeing, “that was papped wearing a graphic tee and cargo shorts standing outside of a shop where his wife was shopping and suddenly everyone was talking about how he sold out and that he was disrespecting the genre. Dude was sixty or some shit. If he can’t wear what makes him comfortable without being told he’s selling out, than what hope is there for up and coming bands from being shunned because they ‘don’t conform’ to the aesthetic of being in a metal band.”

Jenna smirked and tilted her head. “Is this about The Fallen and their assertion that they wouldn’t have been welcomed if they had been themselves.”

Jeff and Eddie shared a glance.

“I won’t lie,” Jeff said, “and say that wasn’t a part of it. But it was also because one of my good friends from high school was a huge metal fan. Loved all the greats. Metallica, Iron Maiden, Dio, Black Sabbath...like was the biggest fan of all of them. Had all their albums on vinyl, posters on her wall, but other than the odd band t-shirt she sure as hell didn’t dress like a metalhead.”

Jenna leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand, elbow propped up on her knee. “So what did she dress like?”

Eddie snorted, rolling his eyes. “She was a cheerleader with a fondness for pink and frilly. She loved floral prints and cardigans for fuck’s sake.”

Jenna sat back in shock. “Wait, really?”

Brian nodded, scratching his cheek thoughtfully. “Yeah. She’s our manager now. But the push back she would get for not dressing like a metalhead and just being a girl was repulsive.”

“We apologized to her about not trying to change the culture around what a metalhead should look like,” Jeff said, “and she waved us off. Said that if it had bothered her she would have said something herself. But she was the one that helped carefully curate what we wore so that it went smoother.”

“We’ve been talking to other bands, too,” Brian said. “Getting them to help. We are supposed to the genre about non-conformity but here we are pushing a conformity on people in the same story, different font.”

Jenna returned to her simpering, she batted her eyelashes at Jeff. “Is The Fallen among those you’ve asked to help?”

“No,” came Eddie’s blunt answer.

She reared her head back in shock and blinked at him for a moment. “Why not? It seems to me that of all the bands to need to dial it back, The Fallen would be at the top of that list.”

Brian snapped his fingers. “And that would be why. They don’t need to dial it back. Maybe they would be as famous as they are without the masks and shit, but now it’s integral to who they are as a band. And we aren’t going to make them change to make other people more comfortable.”

Jenna uncrossed and crossed her legs. “Well, good luck. So you just finished your ninth album, tell me about that process.”

They talked about the album and Gareth’s battle with substance abuse.

The interview never got less awkward, but Corroded Coffin handled it with such grace that a lot of people were calling Jenna out on social media for being the absolute worst choice for that interview.

****

Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25

Tag List:

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@spectrum-spectre @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson

@messrs-weasley @danili666 @chaoticlovingdreamer @val-from-lawrence @goodolefashionedloverboi

@i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @vecnuthy @irregular-child

@yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

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@ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart

@dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95 @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot

@papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33

@child-of-cthulhu

[cursorcomets]

Re: The discourse

I really don’t want to speak over anybody, I just want clarification and believe discourse is necessary for justified understanding.

I am very confused with a lot of the discourse i’ve seen today, and this confusion itched curiosity which became answers which then lead to further confusion.

Firstly, I have nothing but sympathy for anybody unable to bridge their connection with dan and phil through their tour. It makes me so upset knowing there’s so many people (knowingly the largest areas of fans), unable to see them in person because of external factors, outside of their controls. My sympathy is shared with my privilege in my other hand.

If we act in good faith, we also understand this is also very upsetting to dan and phil, from what they have said regarding the unjustified barriers they’ve tried to get past. They want to meet their fans, we know this from the generosity they extend to these issues, even ones out of their control. If that means hosting the equivalency of two meet and greets in one day due to ticket mishap, or their willingness to sacrifice their own discomfort for the sake of transparent fairness. It would be questionable to claim they do not genuinely care about their supporters, and when able, demonstrate that to the extent possible.

Obviously they cannot and should not go without criticism. They have, and will make mistakes, holding them to their mistakes is also important, and their responses to most of community concerns demonstrates it matters to them as well. They don’t want to upset or offend us. I believe they value our opinion, hold our viewpoints very high and want to set some kind of example of these beliefs. Could they do more? of course. At the end of the day, it breaks my heart to acknowledge, they are middle aged white men from England.

I also think it’s so important to acknowledge the raw realities they have shared with us, being their humanness, authenticity and vulnerability they have given us access to for 15 years. In the face of the mass scale personal intrusion they have sacrificed for our benefit, we have to acknowledge they are at their core deeply human. This point sounds cliche but i fear the desensitising of it only causes harm.

As dan said in his most recent reply, “to some extent i think i should be allowed grace to process being told my existence is not welcome.”

He further goes onto explain the importance of being sensitive with his platform. This is what i feel is at the core of this discourse.

There is so much nuance within discussing the careful line between expression of his lived experience, and minimising the extent of these vocal frustrations against his responsibility as a lighting rod of hope for so many.

His original reply which initiated the discourse, in relation to touring in asia, “we tried but the governments said no homo”.

Although later clarified is true, caused a lot of upset to many people. I am in no place to invalidate those feelings, and do not mean too. Those directly affected by this comment are more than entitled to feel this way. I do not want to touch that issue, my confusion comes from issues that exist outside of the topic specifically.

More so, the power of assumption and trust. I acknowledge it may be easier for me to detach and adjudicate situations from the outside of an issue due to privilege. I have tried to consume most of the opinions from those at the core of the issue. It seemed there was an assumption this statement of his was decidedly the single and final statement regarding asian tour dates. If that was true, it would be deeply unprofessional and disloyal to those fans affected. His statement now reads as truth masked through frustrated tone in response to hurt at the expense of himself and asian fans. As he since explained further, this sentiment is correct. Where my confusion lies, is the immediate jump to action, the accusatory labels and immediate conclusion his intent was malicious, consciously or not. I do get it, we should not carelessly trust people we only know parasocially. His statement was no more embellished than the acknowledgment of a massive factor to his answer to the initial question. The tone of his reply is where we have to apply nuance to the real life implications. The reality is, they were subjected to censoring on the basis of their sexuality. This does not take away from the lived experience of lgbt people in those countries. He acknowledged and apologised for not clarifying sooner, however the discourse of the initial reply is swallowing the larger sentiment, this is deeply upsetting to both dnp and those missing out on the tour. To find malice in his personal processing of discrimination, when his initial statement at its core was coping at his own expense doesn’t make sense to me with these points applied.

I do not disagree with sentiments expressed by those affected by this, or saying that there is absolutely no reason for any critique. I want to listen, I want to support those affected, but i want to do this with total comprehension and understanding. I can’t thoughtlessly defend something without reason. I also take umbridge with SOME people weaponising their ignorance or purposeful incompetence to be bullies, whether to defend dan or attack him. It’s incredibly translucent the people that jump to the occasion in bad faith, taking away significance from actual well intended intelligent opinions. If you’re using this as an opportunity to be racist or regina george, you don’t care about the crusade your fighting, you are simply miserable.

If anyone disagrees or thinks im missing something please let me know! Im more than happy to have a conversation, its not your responsibility to educate me but Im more than happy to listen! Please be no meaner than justified haha.

Peace & Love,

Aimee

[leighbaye]

can you do another popular!readerxmikewheeler blurb please?😊

— COINCIDENCE

written by mina leigh ୨ৎ , mike wheeler 𝔁 f! reader | wc 1400

summary. mike wheeler isn't the same boy he was last year. the hellfire club and d&d are his only escape from feeling like a nobody in his own school. she's hawkins high's brightest star, leading the cheer squad with a confidence that lights up every hallway, but when she stumbles upon mike during one of his campaign sessions, curiosity sparks-can two people from different worlds find common ground?

labels. popular cheerleader reader, extrovert reader, introvert mike, shy mike, touchy and affectionate reader.

warnings. add any if necessary

‧₊˚ ୨୧ mina speaks. sabrina carpenter’s short n sweet album. i love it! my favorite songs have to be taste, good graces, juno, and don’t smile. enjoy ♡

hawkins high hadn’t changed much. the same squeaky floors, the same buzzing fluorescent lights, the same faces in the hallways. but to mike wheeler, it felt like an entirely different world. the one where he fit in had disappeared, replaced by one where he was just … invisible.

he hadn’t meant for it to happen. friendships drifted, people changed. lucas found a place on the basketball team, max had her own battles, el and will now resided in california, and mike? mike had the hellfire club.

most days, he liked it that way. the campaign room was a sanctuary, filled with laughter, dice rolls, and the kind of camaraderie he didn’t find anywhere else. but today? today was different.

the door creaked open, and he froze mid-sentence. ❝… roll for initiative.❞ his voice wavered slightly, eyes flickering toward the intruder.

it was her. y/n l/n, the girl everyone noticed. the head cheerleader, with that bright smile and the confidence that seemed to glow wherever she went.

she shouldn’t be here. this wasn’t her world.

her gaze swept over the room, lingering on the chaos of the game board and the scattered dice. ❝sorry, am i interrupting?❞ her voice was light, almost teasing.

dustin answered before mike could. ❝yeah, kinda. but, you know, stay if you want.❞ he grinned, clearly amused by the sheer absurdity of her being there.

mike’s cheeks burned. he ducked his head, pretending to be focused on the game. but he felt her eyes on him.

❝actually, i was looking for you,❞ she said, directing her words toward mike.

his head shot up. ❝me?❞

❝yeah. can we talk?❞ she gestured toward the hallway.

every pair of eyes in the room was on him. dustin gave an exaggerated eyebrow raise, and eddie leaned back in his chair, smirking.

❝uh … sure.❞ mike mumbled, pushing himself to his feet. his heart pounded as he followed her out.

the hallway was quieter, the hum of distant chatter fading as they walked further. she stopped near the trophy case, turning to face him.

❝so,❞ she started, crossing her arms over her chest, ❝what’s the deal with that game?❞

mike blinked. ❝what? d&d?❞

she nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. ❝yeah. it seems … interesting.❞

he didn’t know how to respond. was she messing with him?

❝why do you care?❞ his voice came out sharper than he intended.

her smile faltered for a moment before softening again. ❝i don’t know. i guess … i’ve seen you around. you always look like you’re having fun with your friends. and, well, it looks nice.❞

mike stared at her, trying to process her words. he wasn’t used to people outside of his circle being curious about his world. especially not her.

❝it is fun,❞ he admitted, his voice quieter.

her eyes lit up. ❝see? i knew it.❞ she stepped closer, leaning against the wall beside him. ❝it’s cool that you guys have something like that.❞

he shifted uncomfortably. ❝yeah, i guess. most people just think it’s nerd stuff.❞

❝who cares what most people think?❞ she shrugged. ❝you like it, right? that’s what matters.❞

his heart did a weird flip at her words. he wasn’t sure if it was her tone or the way she was looking at him —like she genuinely meant it — but something about this moment felt different.

❝thanks,❞ he said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

she smiled again, this time brighter. ❝anytime.❞

for a moment, they stood in silence, the weight of the school around them feeling far away.

❝so,❞ she broke the quiet, ❝you gonna teach me how to play?❞

mike blinked. ❝you want to play?❞

❝why not?❞ she laughed, bumping his shoulder lightly. ❝maybe it’s time i tried something new.❞

he hesitated. ❝i don’t know … it’s kind of complicated.❞

she raised an eyebrow. ❝are you saying i can’t handle it?❞

his lips twitched into a small smile. ❝no, just… it might not be your thing.❞

❝let me be the judge of that, wheeler.❞ she grinned, and for a second, he forgot why he was nervous.

the following week, she showed up at hellfire. dustin’s jaw practically hit the floor, and eddie looked like christmas had come early. but mike? he was nervous.

still, y/n fit in better than he expected. she laughed at their jokes, asked questions about the game, and even rolled her first dice with an enthusiastic cheer.

by the end of the session, she was leaning into mike’s side, her hand resting lightly on his arm as she whispered, ❝this is actually fun.❞

his heart raced at the contact, but he managed a nod. ❝told you.❞

❝you’re a good teacher,❞ she teased, her fingers squeezing his arm gently.

he swallowed hard, feeling a warmth spread through him. ❝you’re a good student.❞

she smiled, resting her head against his shoulder for a moment. ❝thanks for letting me crash.❞

❝thanks for wanting to,❞ he replied, his voice soft.

over the next few weeks, y/n kept coming back. not just to hellfire, but into mike’s life. she’d find him in the hallway, throw her arm around him, and drag him to sit with her at lunch.

people stared. they whispered. but she didn’t care, and somehow, neither did he.

❝you’re different,❞ she said one afternoon, walking with him after school.

❝different how?❞ he asked, curious.

❝different good,❞ she clarified. ❝you don’t try to be someone you’re not. i like that.❞

mike felt his cheeks heat up. ❝thanks.❞

she stopped walking, turning to face him. ❝i mean it.❞

he met her gaze, her sincerity hitting him hard. ❝you’re… different too.❞

her smile widened. ❝different good?❞

he nodded. ❝yeah. definitely.❞

she stepped closer, her hand brushing his. ❝you know, i think we make a pretty good team.❞

he glanced down at their hands, his heart pounding. ❝yeah … we do.❞

her fingers intertwined with his, and suddenly, hawkins high didn’t feel so overwhelming anymore.

© MINA LEIGH 2023 - 2024

[kaitsawamura]

FICS FOR GAZA

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SERIES

East of My Heart (West of My Soul) | Estimated WC: 50K | Current WC: 25.5K | Chapter WC: 5.1K/12K | BNHA Folk Tale AU | Prince!Izuku Midoriya x Reader | 18+ MDNI

Donations Made to Sponsor This WIP: 1

SUMMARY: Your life is one that is abundant with family and the magic in small things.  But when a great white bear comes rumbling at your family’s cottage door one winter’s night, you are obviously taken aback.  Even more so when he speaks to you in a language you can understand and asks for your help.  Come away with him, live with him in the ice castle he calls home for a year and day and release him from the curse that blights him.  You agree to go with him even if as time goes along, it is very apparent that there is more to this polar bear than meets the eye.  There is more to a lot of different things as you learn to love the polar bear as friend and companion during the day but are visited by a mysterious man who insists on sleeping in your bed every night.  Can you last a year and a day to save the bear from this strange enchantment?  Will you learn the true identity of the man you’ve come to care so deeply for?  Will you find yourself (and maybe love) along the way?

The Farmer and The Wizard | Estimated WC: 50K | Current WC: 3.2K | Chapter WC: 1.2K/3K | JJK Stardew Valley AU | Wizard!Gojo x Farmer!Reader | 18+ MDNI

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SUMMARY: You need a change, a big one. When your estranged grandfather passes away and bequeaths you his farm in a little town just south of the middle of nowhere, you take it as the sign you needed to make a change instead of waiting for one. The farm, while having fallen into a state of disrepair, is just the thing to cure your modern-world ailments. The people are kind and always ready to offer help, if a bit unusual. They have old superstitions, a haunted community center, and a resident wizard. Spoiler alert: those last two on the list take some getting used to. Yes, things are different here but you have a sneaking suspicion that the slow pace and a certain alchemical practitioner are going to remind you that sometimes, all you need is time and a little bit of magic.

that's just wasteland, baby | Estimated WC: 15K | Current WC: 2.2K | BotW/TotK!Link and Zelda x Reader | 18+ MDNI

SUMMARY: Calamity Ganon has finally been vanquished for good, Link and Zelda have finally managed to break the wheel. But things are not as either of them had hoped they would be. Zelda is soon to be Queen with all the duties of such a position. Link would remain her knight and yet, he is restless. When he hears of the restoration efforts in Lurelin Village, he decides that he must go. He can’t stay cooped up within the castle walls, not after so long in the wild. Zelda and Link are unsure of the new direction their lives are taking but maybe they’ll find that their true north is you.

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a shrike and a thorn | Estimated WC: 3K | Current WC: 1.2K | Priest!Kento Nanami x Congregant!Reader | 18+ MDNI

SUMMARY: You save everyone but who saves you? You don’t know what makes you step foot in that church.  But you do and you spend the next year a dutiful congregant to Father Nanami.  Devoted and kind, he’s exactly the kind of man you would expect to be a priest.  And none of this would be a problem if it weren’t for the fact that you can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to see him lose his religion between your legs.  Unbeknownst to you, the good Father is having the same kind of thoughts.  Will the two of you build a new altar at which you might worship?

They Say It's Your Birthday | Estimated WC: 3K | Current WC: 1.6K | Pro Hero!Eijiro Kirishima x Reader | 18+ MDNI

SUMMARY: Strangers to lovers (they meet in the club), birthday smut for the Birthday Boy, I've had this in my drafts for literally three years to post on Eiji's birthday.

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SUMMARY: No description for this yet either, just wanted to explore the idea of Sukuna putting his claim on you but not in the way you'd think he would, more in like the thing about how a warring alien race comes to earth and is baffled and fascinated by the enduring human spirit.

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[emmitaaa4]

I want to preface this little rant by saying that I am all for ship and let ship—at the end of the day none of this has any significance, and we should all get to enjoy our silly little ships to our heart’s content. Me personally I just want Elain to do whatever the hell she wants and be happy in the end. That being said, rn I just felt like getting something off my chest.

From what I have seen and understood, most of The Other Side believes that Azriel feels entitled to Elain. That he sees her as a sexual object, or at the very most as a rebound he doesn’t truly care for, nor respect; he does not think of her beyond what he can get from her sexually. They say his attitude towards her is toxic in its ‘possessiveness’; he doesn’t consider her an equal, for he sees her as a perpetual damsel in distress he must save; his attraction to her / feelings for her are a symptom of some twisted trauma response.

We know that they believe that. We’ve heard it. Over and over and over. Since 2021. Hell, everybody’s momma probably knows it, too, with the way that rhetoric is spread. But Elriels have made it plenty clear that we have a very different interpretation of the text and do NOT agree with those assessments of Azriel (nor half the things the poor man is diagnosed with, bless his fictional soul), considering what we do know of Azriel’s character and his relationship with Elain, based on the books--and yes, the bonus (see this, this, and this post). Otherwise—i.e. if we believed him an incel x fuckboy hybrid (probs the first of his kind!) who is only interested in getting her in is bed—we would obviously not be shipping them together: most of us (99% I’d say lol) care about Elain more than we do Az, or care about them both just as much.

So it is getting pretty tiring to see us shippers—the actual humans behind the screen—labelled as having a toxic/immature view of what love is, of being “too young/naive” to see the supposed red flags, of mistaking lust for love because we have not experienced a healthy relationship (?), of actually promoting toxic relationships & advocating for toxic masculinity (which someone told me on tiktok just now)(stay away from tiktok, folks). Those generalizations are wild to me, not only because they are wildly untrue and condescending, but because Elriels are a colorful bunch, you know—when you’re speaking of the fandom Villain™, you’re speaking of people of every demographic, speaking of daughters mothers grandmothers, depressed uni students (pardon the self-insert), etc... I need to get thicker skin, but those statements can get pretty hurtful in the long run. And I’m tired of feeling the need to justify myself as if we’re wrong for shipping two people who MUTUALLY want one another and lets be serious, no its not “just lust”.

I know I know, I am probably being dramatic. But it’s just weird to see a ship being so demonized and its shippers along with it, all because louder portions of the fandom disagree with our opinions and insist on toxifying ours. Just to be clear, I know that many have had unpleasant experiences/interactions with Elriels, just like many Elriels have had the same with Gwynriels and/or Eluciens. I condone none of the disgusting behaviour I’ve seen from some shippers, and in fact I abhor it. As everyone should.

To end this on a good note.

Elriels, I say we run with it. Az wants Elain for himself. He is jealous and his mind is plagued by thoughts of her. Her presence is too much to bear, for he can’t stand to be in the same room as her and pretend like he feels nothing. He is ready to beg on his knees for a chance to worship her, and it took Nesta one look to see it.

AZ IS OBSESSED AND I SAY WE EMBRACE IT.

[chainelunaire]

a heart of a jack of clubs

(7,4k words. angst through and through, somehow ambigious ending. slowburn. so slow, it takes them quarter of a century to fuck.)

when you’re almost 8 months pregnant, you meet scaramouche.

it’s pretty awkward, actually - you sit under a tree in a chinju forest, trying to breathe, but you do a pretty bad job at that. everything hurts so much, you hoped no one would hear your crying, but gods like to laugh at you. you close your eyes from time to time, hoping you would never open them again. you never knew that giving birth is such a challenge, you only heard of it, and you thought you’ve prepared yourself. but it was supposed to be a month more untill you meet your child. and now, well, yeah. nothing is ever right in your life.

when you open your eyes again, after getting so tired of screaming and maybe losing your consciousness for a minute, there’s three of them right in front of you: a little girl with soft white hair in a pretty green dress, touching your forehead. a man with a stark red strand in his light grey hair, his gaze is so worried and pained. the third man stays behind those two, and you can’t even comprehend how he looks like.

“i think she’s dying” girls says a little too brightly. the man with white hair looks a little bit bewildered.

“don’t say it like that!”

“does it matter?” the third man says. “open your eyes, kaedehara. she is dying.”

“still, you can hurt her with this even more” the kind man sits in front of you - his touch is blessedly chill against your feverish skin. “lady, can you hear me? can you understand what i say to you?”

you can only blink slowly in response. because of the pain you can’t really scream anymore, but tears start streaming down your face once again. you want to ask them to kill you, because you’ve suffered for god knows how many hours by now. maybe you even do ask them, considering that the girl now frowns, the kind man tries to wipe your tears away and even the third man stiffens because of your cries.

“i am no expert, but i think it’s a preterm birth.” girl says, her tone really sad now “she really might die. we need to move her in some more of a clean space, quickly.”

“we can’t really move her, you know?” girl turns her head and you guess her gaze makes the third man sigh loudly. “okay, okay, don’t look at me like that” you hear his steps and he finally bends in front of you. you can’t really see his face because of how ridiculously big his hat is, but his voice is much softer now when he speaks to you directly “hold on my shoulders, lady, we’re gonna take a quick ride.”

you do as he says, feeling another wave of terrible pain shuttering your body. almost laying on his chest, yet you hear no heartbeat. his skin velvety and cool under your fingertips, when he easily lifts you from the ground, and from now on you don’t remember anything.

***

you took your son outside to play in grass, when scaramouche returns from sumeru. unexpectedly, as always.

here’s the trick: even if you can say now, that kazuha is your friend (and thank god for him, he’s the best human who ever walked this earth), nahida is probably your friend too, even though you don’t see her a lot and she’s much, much more reserved than kazuha (who is a grown man, despite his height), scaramouche is an interesting case. you’ve never ever asked him, who he even was, what he did for life. you felt like you had no right, since you’ve been nobody yourself. he’s just kinda...there. you don’t know what to think of him. you can’t label it, so you just don’t do it.

he visits you regularly. he’s at your house more often, then even kazuha; he has more than enough duties in sea, and scaramouche doesn’t. he just does as he pleases. and it seems like he wants to be near you a lot of the times. you don’t mind, really: he’s a nice company, very useful and not overbearing. he also seems to know a lot about caring for kids, which you find unexpected, but again, you need that guidance. 

even if in the beginning you thought he was the one with a cold heart, now you’re definitely not sure. you gave birth that night and you’ve slept for over two weeks after. nahida told you, that she put you in that state, since she was afraid, you die. your body was so fragile after giving birth, she spent days and nights healing you. kazuha was busy building you new home with the help of the beidou’s crew - you don’t want to know, how nahida learnt, that you were homeless. in that time, scaramouche was the one who cared for your son: he fed him, lulled him to sleep, checked on his health. you’ve learnt that only months after, nahida told you that. but you kinda got the feeling anyway.

you could easily say, scaramouche liked spending time with the kid. he brought him presents anytime he visited. expensive toys from fontaine, liyue and snezhnaya, clothes from natlan, candies and some delicious food from sumeru. he says, he doesn’t care about mora, and it looks like he doesn’t lie, but you still feel uneasy with how much he spends on your son. but again, he helped you. he still helps you a lot. weeks, then months go by, and you’re so used to him at your side, you start to feel a bit lost when he finally leaves again. you know he’ll return, yet you still wonder, what if not.

“look who’s all grown up now” your son squeals in delight when he hears scaramouche’s voice, and you turn your head too, because your son tends to have better sight than you, he also hears a lot more than you. 

scaramouche’s on his way to your little home, and you stand up to greet him. you actually stop, because he stumbles funnily, when you come near him. it’s as if he wanted to hug you, forgetting himself for a second. you see no problem though. you would hug him, if he wanted you to. 

it’s always a happy time, when he’s at your home - playing with your son, while you make dinner, then telling you both his stories. they’re quite endearing, and he has such a nice voice, while telling them, it’s as if he was truly a balladeer. your son loves listening to him, he actually likes to sit on his lap and watching him speak. you usually stand near the kitchenette, cup of tea in your hands, watching them talk.

it brings you somewhere close to longing for something you never had. but you, weakly, love that feeling. and sometimes scaramouche looks at you strangely, like he wants to ask, what are you thinking, but even if he did ask, you don’t know what to tell him. you don’t know what you want of him yourself.

you love when scaramouche comes to your home. that you know for sure.

this time is only slightly different. your son is sleeping soundly in your arms, when you want to bring him to his bed. you hear scaramouche’s voice near your ear:

“lemme hold him. please”

you look at him with wide eyes.

he actually rarely took your son in his arms. it wasn’t like he didn’t want to, more out of his respect for you as your son’s mother. 

he holds your son with such gentleness, caressing his hair through his fingers. you smile, because of how fond you find that gesture. he studies the kid’s face for a minute, and then he looks straight in your eyes:

“you really love him, huh?”

“what? of course i do. i am his mom”

“not every mother loves her child” and you know, there’s a bad, bad story behind those words, yet you say nothing on that matter. 

“you love him too” you say instead. it’s as clear as the sky is blue to you. it’s clear for pretty anybody - read, nahida and kazuha - too.

and yet, for a second, he looks like a kid, who got cought stealing candies before dinner.

“bullshit. i’m just helping you because you’re such a baby and know nothing”

“yeah. that’s why you asked to hold my son”

“exactly”

“okay. give him back to me then”

he actually takes a step back. you think it’s funny how he looks like he will fight you if you try to snatch a baby back in your arms. so you laugh quietely.

“scaramouche” you call him.

“what” he snaps back, but quiet enough not to wake your son. you take one step towards him, then another, untill you can hug him lightly, and he’s so stiff in your arms, like a porcelain doll.

“it’s okay. you can love my son too,” you whisper, feeling how his head falls on your shoulder. “i allow that.”

you stay like that for long, long moments, and you’re actually so surprised that your heart doesn’t beat so fast. it’s just so calm to you, being near him.

“i wanted to say to you that it’s okay to stay here, you know” 

“i always stay, stupid”

“no. i mean for real. i know you don’t want that, probably. but you can always stay with us. for however long”

you hear him laugh bitterly.

“you say you know i don’t want to stay? so funny”

“why?”

“because it means you truly know nothing”

***

your first kiss with scaramouche happens when your son is five and he learns that everyone has a father, except him.

interestingly enough, it’s kazuha, who tells you that. he visited you again, while being in inazuma, as he always did for past years. your bond only grew stronger with years, but you know that it’s nothing, comparing to his bond with scaramouche. they weren’t even that good of a friends. it’s more likely that something tragic bonded them, and you’re partly glad you know nothing about it.

you’ve learned a lot about scaramouche in past years while living with him. he still left sometimes, when nahida needed him or his duties called, but he lived with you for much longer. his trips were much shorter too. you fell into some kind of ruitine, and with that came few things you needed to know about each other.

he never actually hid anything from you, it’s just that you felt uncomfortable being persistent, so you learned thing at a time. you’ve learnt he doesn’t need to eat or drink, but he likes to cook and does this often. you’ve learnt he doesn’t care if it’s hot or cold outside, he’s fine anytime. if listen closely, you can hear how his joints quietely screeching everytime he moves. his skin is slightly velvety to touch, like cold porcelain. he sleeps with his eyes open.

he’s not a human, not really. you thought that would worry you more, with everything you’ve been through, yet you just... don’t care.

“i never thought i would tell you this, but it doesn’t matter. you’ve learned this yourself!” kazuha says, and you stand outside the room, hearing everything they say, hoping, they won’t see you. “you know, how much nahida loves you, and i know you love her - don’t you dare to interrupt me right now. it doesn’t always have to be blood. don’t fool me and say you don’t love the kid.”

“i do” scaramouche says after a long pause “and i’m not his father. there’s no need for a father at all. they’re useless.”

“but he wants one. he wants you to be”

“he has a father, he was born somehow, wasn’t he? do you see him here? me too. so that’s what i’m not. i’m not his father.”

you feel so much pain you can’t breathe.

you don’t even go out to say your goodbye to kazuha. you just sit on a stone near the cliff, watching foxes running and playing around. you hate them with your whole being.

“so you heard everything”

it’s rare now to see scaramouche parading in his hat and fancy outfit. his hair grew a bit longer, he wears no hat, and his shorts and shirt are very simple. his haori is a present from you on his birthday. he wears it religiously.

and you’re pained.

“i have”

“i see. may i sit near you?”

you nod, turning your head away.

he sits silently next to you. he’s still the most pleasant person to just sit next to in complete silence, and you despise yourself for how weak you were. you gave up on being close to him, but your son? what he ever did to him?

“actually, i genuinely hate inazuma” scaramouche says suddenly - your heart clenches, because yeah, of course, why would he love it here? you live in a deep of a chinju forest, in small wooden house with your son. he has an opportunity to visit anywhere he wants. whay would he want to even be there, of all places? “i hate it so fucking much, you can’t imagine.”

“i truly can’t”

“yeah, you can’t” he says again, no mockery in his voice. “this is the place where i was born and left behind. the only thing i ever wanted is to set everything up in flames here. and i felt like that for years. centuries.”

your heart sinks.

“i thought you’re i don’t know? twenty five?” kazuha is around thirty, so you’ve guessed he’s also around his age, even with how young he looks. scaramouche chuckles.

“yeah. slightly older than that” he looks at you with unreadable smile “still, i’m here. any ideas, why?”

“you’re masochistic?”

“no, anything else? come on, you can do better than that” his smile disappears as fastly, as it was brought. “here i thought you would explain me why”

you don’t answer anything to that. he chuckles again - more bitterly this time.

“i meant what i said. kid has a father. a shitty one, i assume. i don’t want to be anything like that. you need to believe me” he takes your hand in his and squeezes it slightly, making you look at him. and he’s so serious and worried right now, you feel your heart might explode. “i wish only the best on you two. i wouldn’t do anything to harm you. and you don’t have to tell me anything. i know a thing or two about how shitty those kitsune bastards can be. in the end, it’s your life, and i’m no one to you, you owe me nothing”

“are you serious right now?!” you almost yell, yanking your hand away. “you’ve lived here for five years! five! you’ve teached my son how to read, you’ve played with him, you brought him gifts, you brought me gifts, and you sleep in my room on a bed that stands next to mine, and you are no one to me?! you fucking selfish little-” you stop only when you hear him laughing. it makes you even more mad, but it disappears the moment you see how glassy his eyes are. and he keeps laughing and laughing and laughing, untill he stops completely.

“i do sound like my mother” he whispers, more to himself than to you. and then he looks at you again, his eyes are so clear and sad for how badly he hurt you. “i shouldn’t have said that”

the worst part is that you don’t feel hurt for yourself. you feel bad for your kid.

you never planned on having kids. your plan was to become a priestess in a great shrine, which is really ironic, considering of course it was a kitsune who made you change your mind. who made you drop everything you planned behind, to run away with him from your hometown, only for him to drop you the second he got what he wanted from you. and maybe he didn’t even want anything at all. probably that, because that’s just how cruel yokais can be. it was all just a fun game, and you kinda lost. you would strongly disagree it was fun at all.

that’s the reason your pregnancy was so difficult. the baby was just too strong for your human body. he keeps getting stronger every day, and you were so thankful to scaramouche because he seemed to know how to handle your son. he’s so strong willed and independent even now, that you need help. because yeah, you do not know how to raise a child.

your son looks like a normal kid, except for his now little dark claws. they showed when he became four, and he cried that night, thinking he’s very ugly now. and you know why he’s thinking that. some might say he’s scary and looks like a demon, but even though your son’s eyes are blood red with a vertical pupil, they remind you strangely of kazuha, of all people. your son is half yokai, yeah, and people might be scared of him, but his gaze holds no malice. he’s the sweetest boy, who loves you deeply, who loves scaramouche, nahida and kazuha. you hope, he’ll be like kazuha, because his kindness and gentleness is seen in him even now, and you don’t want to hate your kid just because for who his father is.

the dinner is very silent - even your son keeps it low, because he somehow sensed that something is wrong between you two. he thanks you for food, kisses you on a cheek while saying goodnight and then turns to his room.

“don’t you wanna say goodnight to me too?” scaramouche asks suddenly. your son turns to him, surprised. ever so gentle, scaramouche rarely openly show affection towards kid, even when your son wanted him to.

“can i?” he asks hesitantly. scaramouche smiles lightly and extends his hand.

“come here, give your dad a hug”

you drop the plate you were holding, and your son literally runs towards scaramouche. you know if it was you he would probably hit you (not intentionally, but he’s that strong at his age), but scaramouche catches him easily, and it reminds you of a day when he brought you here just as easily. you chew your bottom lip, while watching, how happily your son hugs said man, and that man, while smiling, looks you right into the eyes, as if asking for your forgiveness.

you turn away.

scaramouche usually reads after the dinner, yet you’re not surprised to find him in your room. he looks up at you - it’s late in the evening, your son is very much asleep, so it’s quiet and cozy here.

“that was super weird.”

“which part?”

“i’m not his father. i’m not anyone’s father” he frowns “and it felt really weird saying things like that”

“oh, really”

“don’t fucking laugh at me, woman” you think it’s adorable, how his harsh words don’t match the soft tone of his voice. “i’m not-”

“scaramouche”

“what?”

“can i kiss you?”

you’re afraid you broke him for a minute - he looks at you with such a strange expression on his face, you can’t comprehend it. he looks so young and vulnerable and alive, you can’t imagive, how he’s not a human. and how much you want him by your side.

“yes” he says quietely, voice not above just a whisper “yes, you can”

***

your son is eleven, when his... father decides to show up.

and you think, why would it end differently? of course there’s always a way to ruin it for you. last few years was the best you ever had in your life, so something needs to change to show you, how are you not actually in charge.

your life became just a little bit too perfect. it consisted of you, scaramouche and your son having a breakfast together, then you stay to study with your son, while scaramouche works in a garden, because you can’t do hard work, so your health won’t worsen. later you usually go for a walk to a shrine or at the seacost. you’ve visited countless festivals and watched fireworks together. in evenings you still listen to scaramouche’s stories, and then you say goodnight to your son, so you can to bed together. years later, you still only sleep together. he likes to kiss you, yeah, but nothing more. you’re fine. you’re not sure your body won’t betray you anyway.

so of course it has to be ruined.

and this prick - you really can’t even bring yourself to call him a father of your beautiful, kind, sweet son - shows up looking exactly like you’ve seen him last time. you know time flies, and you’re fine with you aging, yet it feels like a slap in a face. you’ve never felt this way with scaramouche, even though he too, obviously, doesn’t change a bit.

give me my son, that prick says. you did everything i’ve wanted from you. now it’s time for me to teach my son how he needs to be.

your blood boils with such rage, you think you’ve never been able to feel this much. you remember how one morning he just never returned, and later you found out you were pregnant. how much you cried, feeling horror almost in your bones, and how high priestess said that if you decide to keep the child, best case scenario it’ll take a good half of your life. the decision wasn’t up to you anyway. it was late, and you made peace with the fact that you will probably die soon.

did you really think i’ll just leave my son be with you, he asks, not really wanting you answer. 

fuck you. scaramouche is his father, you think stubbornly. and, also, fuck you again.

he says, he’ll return back when your kid will turn twelve, and he’ll ask if he stays with you or go with him. he will know that man who raised him never was his father, and he’ll hate you for it. 

and maybe if you were stupid young self, you would listen to him. you would dread the date and think a hundred times over how to tell your son that... how to tell him anything. you would cry because your son might turn into his father, hurting more and more people, without the possibility for this cycle to break.

now you’re smarter. 

you see there’s a lot of foxes near your house. your son sits at a table, focused on a book scaramoche presented him just a week ago. it’s a book from nahida, so it’s very special. scaramouche is nowhere to be seen - he’s probably in city, buying stuff you need. your heart aches for how heartbroken he will be.

foxes get closer to your son. be it your young self, you would cry out of horror.

but now you’re smarter. 

so you take your son’s hand and just run.

***

you hide with your son for five years, when you meet nahida.

your son is first to pinpoint her in the crowd. people moving and dancing around you, there’s smell of hot spice and something sweet in the air, the sun is so hot and red. you change regions frequently, you need to, but natlan so far is the least favourite of yours. you hate how loud it is, how hot it is. there’s no serenity in those lands, only war and feasts.

“nahida? nahida!” your son’s voice helps you to snap out of it. you feel something between panic and excitement.

there she is: still so small and young, an adult in a kid’s body. you’r afraid people might hurt her. but she moves right towards you, her gaze stoic and unwavering.

“nahida!” your son kneels so he can hug her and she does immediately hug him back, her little hands look even smaller on his back. your son is not very tall, rather lean and not so broad. he reminds you of a fox - the only one you won’t hate.

“i’m so glad to see you. it’s been so long” you blame yourself for longing in his voice. you took everything from him too.

“how have you been?” she asks him, holding his face with her hands. he smiles widely.

“we’re fine. wanna talk to mom? i thought you like me better” she finally giggles and pats him on a head.

“we’ll have plenty of a time to talk. but yes, i need to talk to your mother”

you can’t let go of your habits that easily - all those years you spend watching your son every moment, so no one would steal him from you. nahida sees that, she was always capable of seeing through people.

“i wonder what it takes to be able to hide from everyone, even from the goddess of wisdom” she starts. 

you sigh.

“you wouldn’t want to know”

“i always wanna know” she argues “i can’t believe i was finally able to find you. we’ve all tried to find you”

“please, don’t torture me like that. please.”

she gets quiet for a moment.

“you look sick” it’s because you are sick. there was no peace in your life, not a second since you were on a run. you don’t age like normal humans, not after given a birth to yokai, yet sometimes you wish you just get grey hair and that’s it. your body hurts all the time, so much, sometimes you can’t sit straight. “i told you years ago, if you don’t watch yourself you will-”

“don’t care”

“but i do. your son does.” you know who else does too, probably. “can you at least tell me, what happened? i can’t help you if-”

“no one can help me.”

“i think we might argue about that” she gets closer to you and takes your hand into hers. you immediately feel strange relief, as if something very heavy was taken off your shoulders. “tell me. we will find a way. i, as an archon of wisdom, will find a way for you”

there’s sunset, and music gets louder, people start dancing again. your son looks at you, his lips trembling. you so, so want to go back to your home in a dark forest. 

“please, mom” he whispers, almost inaudible. “let’s return”

the ghost of his father still haunts you at nights, but with years passing your horror started to fade away. there’s no way somebody was able to make your son someone different. he loved you deeply, yet you knew he judged you for not saying anyone a word. 

he looked so much like scaramouche sometimes, it brought you to a physical pain. he frowned like him, his smile was just as mischievous and fond as his, he liked to read, liked to watch fireworks and work in garden. he was so softspoken even when he was hurt or angry.

there’s no way he could be like anyone but his father.

you blink once, twice, feeling tears sting your eyes. 

and start speaking.

***

you’re with kazuha in mondstadt year later, when scaramouche steps in your rented room.

“there you are” is all he says. you almost jump off the chair, turning to him immediately.

“i’ll leave you two” kazuha stands up and winks at you. “good luck”

traitor.

what you expected to see? scaramouche looks exactly like six years ago, still young and lean, though he looks much, much darker now. his clothes are from the way back, when he dressed in black and turqiuose, but now it has more purple to it. the bells on his veil dangle dangerously.

"let’s summarize what we have here” he says as if nothing happened, as if you haven’t seen him for so long. “instead of talking to me and just saying you need some help, you decided to run away and hide for years, am i right?”

“it wasn’t like that”

“oh? tell me how it was then”

you have no words. you knew he would be mad, that’s why you begged nahida not to tell him anything. nahida said okay. and there was kazuha, who didn’t say anything, when you tried to ask for his promise to stay silent.

he probably did it for your son. he wanted to see him so much, it became hard to keep him low.

“i hear nothing” the venom in his voice almost burns you.

“i couldn’t say anything. he would take my son away”

“he wouldn’t”

you smile sadly. you still feel heavy in your stomach, your back hurts.

“he would” you repeat, and for the first time scaramouche looks less mad. “when i returned home, after i found out i was pregnant, he followed me. i didn’t know that. and when i told my family i needed help, well...”

he looks at you expectantly. you feel so cold in your limbs.

“what did he do?” he asks you, way calmly this time.

“my yonger sister, she... she went out one day and never came back. my parents searched everywhere, nothing. and week later another girl. and another”

he stays silent, yet you see how he clenches his fists so much, you hear that sweet, sweet sound of creaking joints. you can’t smile anymore. 

“i know it was him.” you say simply. “there’s no evidence. i don’t know what he did to them. i hope they hadn’t suffered and died quickly, because he enjoys... he loves to play.”

“i killed him” he says matter-of-factly. you feel cold sweat on your back with how calm and lifeless he looks. “he broke the rules anyway. so i did what i had to do”.

“what rules are you talking about? how did you even found him?”

“i asked my mother” that surprises you. “see, i could, of course, just kill him in silence. but the forest belongs to yokai. there are rules. kitsune can’t really mess with humans that much anymore. apparently, that made everyone’s life difficult, and it was not easy to lure him in... long story short, he’s dead. he won’t bother you anymore.”

“you asked your mother?”

now he looked nervous.

“i had to. i needed help to track him down. this is her land. she knows where he could hide, since she’s yokai herself” you remember all the times he spoke to you about his family, his mothers or his sister. he rarely did this, granted, yet it pains you even more to hear him going through it alone.

“are you okay?”

“you kidding?” he looks at you, bewildered “that’s what you choose to ask me?!”

“i don’t know what else to ask” you asnwer truthfully. 

you see the gnosis on his chest starts to shine - he closes it with his hand, as if his heart hurt. you know he has no heart. you’ve never heard his heartbeat.

suddenly the door slams open.

there’s kazuha with your son, standing in front door. kazuha took him under his wing, helping you hide him, because there’s no such place as the ocean, and though kitsune usually hate water, your son loved it. you’ve seen him only yestersay, thinking he’s already on a ship, which is now under kazuha’s command.

but it seems like everything goes not how you expected today.

you see so much emotions on scaramouche’s face. from surprise and joy to sadness and anger. he’s angry at you, because you’ve stolen him of those years he could spent near you and your kid, like a family that you were. you see, that it’ll take time for him to forgive you for those years he lost, net seeing your son growing up, changing and become who he is now. they’re the same height now, the eyes of your son are still bright red and kind, but not at all naive. he’ll only learn now, how simillar they look, when they get angry, or how their sense of humour is basically the same. they look nothing alike, and yet it was your son and his behaviour who reminded you always of what you’ve left behind. and you’re so sorry too.

you’re so, so sorry you hurt them both.

and then scaramouche smiles - widely, so fond and kind, like years ago.

“so grown up now, you don’t even want to give me a hug?” he says, only half-joking. he’s testing waters, if he could take what was his once back.

your son runs towards him in a second.

kazuha pats your back reassuringly, as if saying that it’s going to be okay now. you’re sure you’ve never seen scaramouche cry. it’s just tears down his face, as he smiles and hugs your son tighter. and you actually now know, what you want to ask.

can you return home?

***

it’s almost twenty five years after you first meet scaramouche, when you finally can say you’ve found peace.

scaramouche chuckles, when you say that to him, as if you said something really funny.

“your standarts are still really low” he says, and you nod thoughtfully.

“yeah. i’m living with you at the end of the day”

he glares at you, but says nothing. you’ve learnt a lot from him in those years, so now he keeps his mouth shut.

when you first returned to your home in a forest, you were too busy bringing it back it’s cozy view. it was still not as abandoned, as you imagined. kazuha told you, scaramouche returned here regularly, hoping to meet you here one day. 

it took him a year to become less paranoid. you could understand that, since you too couldn’t really let go of the feeling that you’re free to do what you want. finally, what you want. not what you need. nahida took your son to sumeru, to help him become more independent, and you? you were truly all for youself, the first time in your life.

“what is going on inside that brain of yours now?” scaramouche asks you impatiently. you only smile in response.

“that’s a secret”

“ugh. disgusting” he holds you closer, eyes sparkling with mischief “tell me”

you look at him and can’t not smile. he’s so beautiful in your eyes. you could never understand, how he switches so easily between being angsty teen brat and a centuries old wise son of a god. you think that that sounds right, because only a god could create someone so endearing and loving and vulnerable and brave-

“you’re doing it again”

“doing what?”

“drifting off” he says seriously. “what’s on your mind?”

what’s on your mind? your son was no longer there, so you couldn’t tell yourself scaramouche was here only for him. however much he loved him, it was stupid to stay in denial. you couldn’t afford that anymore.

“do you love me?” you ask him. he looks surprised for a second, but collects himself very quickly.

“of course not. i just enjoy spending years of my life near somebody i hate”

“you would love that. you easily could do that out of spite, don’t lie.”

“you know me so well” he retorts sarcastically, but stops himself, seeing your face “why you asking stupid questions?”

“because i want more”

he stays silent, and you hate how sometimes you truly can’t say, what he’s thinking right now.

“okay let’s forget-”

“you’ve seen me naked” he starts cautiously. that you did. “i’m not human. i am a puppet at the end of the day.”

“do i look like somebody who would spend years of their life living with a puppet and suddenly find out that yeah, i might actually care that said puppet has no dick?” he coughs, as you quirk your eyebrow. “yeah, exactly”

“but can you imagine my mother designing my dick?” he asks in the most flat tone, his face unreadable. you can’t help but cackle. the corner of his mouth twitches, as if he tries to supress a smile. “that fox bitch definitely could though.”

“maybe it’s for the best she was stopped”

“probably, yeah”

you want to say to him, he’s not a puppet, he should stop thinking of himself like that, but you know it would just anger him, if anything. he was always realistic. he was a puppet. with his own mind, his thoughts, desires, feelings. he was just...like that.

and the thing is, even with your inexperience, you know, that there are definitely more skilled men in a block. maybe you could even snatch one for a good night, but you don’t want to, genuinely. you never did. you want this puppet - you want him - and there all it is to it.

so when he finally gives in and kisses you, rolling on his back so you would be on top of him, you can only sigh. he sits up and puts your hair from your face with quiet, yet so fond smile, you can feel your heart breaking your ribs.

“you’re so beautiful” he whispers, while looking you straight in the eyes “always were and always will be”

you kiss him with desire you refuse to ignore any longer. 

he’s definitely not the most expirienced either, but what he lacks with skill he makes up to with his patience and tenderness. he has to be gentle because of how fragile your health is, so he tries to do that exactly. his smile so innocent, almost angelic, if only it wasn’t for the devilish sparks in his eyes, that lit up when you whine his name. you quickly decide, that you both love that. that, and how cool his skin feels under your touch, especially when he kisses your neck, while telling you to lift yourself a bit. you shiver in anticipation and yet still moan, when you feel the first finger inside. you don’t see his face, but you know that now he must be smiling like a stupid arrogant brat that he is.

and yet, his fingers feel so good, you clench on his shoulders with such force you fear you can break him. he only shushes you, his other hand patting your back, mouth never leaves your neck for long. he fucks you slow and steadily, keeping you in place, so you don’t move and he’s the one deciding the pace. even when you beg him to go faster, he only kisses you lovingly and continues to torture you with slow deep thrusts. you hate him for it, but not really.

you come with his name on your lips, and he keeps fucking you through it, so tenderly you feel tears in your eyes. to your surprise, you feel something wet on your neck too.

“scaramouche?” you ask worriedly, lifting his face with your hands so you can look at him properly. “are you okay?”

his eyes are glassy, and his cheeks are wet with tears, but you’ve learned a long ago that his tears are the only way showing anything of his emotions. and even though he cries, that’s not all to it.

“i’m great” he chuckles and kisses your shoulder, as you ruffle his hair “better than i have ever been”.

***

it’s winter, when you talk to scaramouche abouth death.

you have always dodged this topic elegantly. nahida told you, now decades ago, that your life won’t be long, nor that it would be joyful. scaramouche argued with her on that, but you silently agree with her. your life was on a thread the minute you felt your son in you. you can’t believe he’s so mature now, even though he still looks like a teen boy. and while scaramouche doesn’t visit his mothers ever, your son did visit his mom once. he later stayed in her shrine for about a year, learning from her, since she was, in scaramouche’s words, a knowledgeable bitch. 

but it wasn’t you and your condition, that triggered that talk.

kazuha dies so suddenly, it leaves everyone in shock. of course he was an old man now, but still you hadn’t expect it. you’re sure, if it was up to scaramouche or nahida, they would try to save him, but he just... dies in his sleep, that’s kind of it. the most peaceful, most kind death one could ever imagine. your heart roars in loss when you hear the news, your son cries in his bed when he learns his favourite unckle won’t ever return. he was your friend, the best friend of your small family, his kindness saved you the day you wanted to die - losing him feels worse than losing an arm. even nahida, who, you know, is very, very reserved, can’t help but shed a few tears.

only scaramouche stays stoic. even months after, you don’t really talk about how he lost another human that he loved dearly. 

you lay in bed together, your face in his neck, while he stares at a ceiling, swirling a strand of your hair between his fingers. 

“you're angry” you whisper. you know he is. you know his fears all too well now.

but he surprises you.

“no” he says quietely. “not really”

“huh?!”

“if it was me, say, hundred years ago, i would be so pissed with him” he says with a smile - not his usual arrogant one, something different. “that would make me so mad, i would probably find a way to bring him back alive just to kill him myself for that. but i think i get it now. huh. we really do change through our lives, don’t we?”

you don’t know what to answer to that, so you just lay there silently.

“i asked nahida to turn my head off, when you die”

this is such a shock, you stand up on your elbows to look at him. but he looks back at you - calmly and peaceful.

“what did you just say?”

“i said, i asked nahida to turn me off, when you die.” he scoffs softly and caresses your hand gently. “because you will die, y/n. like i said, i get it know. it’s not something you can’t decide not to do. yet i can decide what to do with myself. and six hundred years is more than enough”

“you can’t just decide to kill yourself” you whisper in shock, “nahida won’t do that, she won’t do that to you” he looks at you in surprise, but then smiles.

“oh, it’s not like that. she just... she’ll change the things in my head, i don’t know. she’s way better with tech, than me. so one day i’ll just stop working, i guess.” it’s impossible to you how he smiles dreamily, how content he looks “huh, i don’t know for how long i’ll walk on this land after you, but i’m looking forward to find it out.”

“what about our son?” and there it is, the only pain he lets himself have.

“nahida will take care of it. and, like i said, i won’t be gone in a blink of an eye. i’ll take care of him myself too. i guess, i’ll just finally have a life i’ve always dreamt about” he again turns to you and smiles fondly “i had a purpose and i fullfilled it. that would be a normal human life. have i ever told you? i once wanted to become a god. now i want nothing, but to become a mortal.”

you know it’s useless to argue with him, but you try to keep in mind that he really is centuries old. you would never know what it feels like to be this old. and to think of it - you don’t really want to find out. you see the example right before your eyes, how lonely it can be.

“you look so worried”

“i feel like i’ve been bamboozeled”

“oh, you definitely have been” he laughs and puts you near himself, so he can kiss your forehead. “but let’s use what we have now yeah?” you nod and he smiles wider, while rolling you on your back, so he can be on top of you. he looks so smug doing it you can’t help but scoff. 

“alright then” he kisses your nose lovingly, and you giggle again. “hold on my shoulders, lady. we’re gonna take a wild ride.”

[genshinemblem564]

Sagau: A god's closure + world building

World building, possibly, it's here if I need it

Characters: Hu Tao

This came about from a journey to the "border" with Hu Tao. As an immortal being who grew up as a mortal, your own mortality, or lack thereof, began to weigh on you. When you finally reached your destination, you and Hu Tao were surprised to find a massive gate where you distinctly remember there wasn't one, and in front of it stood a hulking being which resembled an Anubis.

"Anubis": Ah, your grace. To what does this watcher of souls owe your visit? Ah, but forgive me, your memory is not fully intact, so I imagine you must have many questions.

Warden: I am a being known as a "Warden" as I am a protector of the kind and good willed souls that pass through here, while making sure the evil spirits remain trapped in their prison. This gate you see is the gate to the after life. You may note that it was not here upon your last visit, both it and I were revealed by your desire and divine power. Now may I ask, what is your desire?

You shake yourself from your shocked state and state the purpose of your journey.

(Y/N): I-I wish to know, can I visit my friends once they're "gone"? I may be immortal, but I was raised as a mortal, so bonds come to me much easier than they do the archons and other immortal beings.

Warden: I see. Well, to answer your question, yes, you may visit the afterlife whenever you like .

You breathe a sigh of relief as the weight that had been on you the entire journey here finally lifted.

Hu Tao: Oooh, hey, big fella, would you mind describing the afterlife a bit? I'm just "dying" to know more about it.

(Y/N): I'm also rather curious.

Warden: Very well. The afterlife has gone by many names, you may choose to call it whichever you like, but it serves as both paradise and prison. You may recall I said I am "a" warden, there many more of my kin beyond this gate. This place was made by you in your past life to be a paradise to all, and that meant making it a prison for others, and I must say your past self understood mortals well, as there are many aspects to this ever expanding plane. First, I should explain that this gate's destination changes depending on your soul. Good and neutral souls enter a serenity inducing room where servants attempt to lift the weight of their past life, and just beside that is a therapy center as some spirits are more tormented than others. Meanwhile, evil souls are brought straight to the prison, where they are kept until further notice.

(Y/N): Sorry to interrupt, but what is a neutral soul?

Warden: Hmm. I suppose you would say they are those who mind their business, or perhaps they are broken souls who could have done more if life had provided better circumstances. In short, while these souls are not "good" by some standards, they hold no malice within then. Thus, they are neutral. Pranksters, such as your guide here, are also labeled under this category, while good at heart, they are still trouble makers disturbing the peace and thus require disciplinary action should their pranks get out of hand.

You nod and smile in acceptance to this answer, feeling relieved for all of the broken people you've heard of. Hu Tao kind of huffed as if she thought he was describing her.

Warden: On the note of broken souls, there is also a rehabilitation wing of the prison per your command. In your words, "Evil is a disease. Those who are born with it may be beyond saving, but those infected by it are curable with proper treatment." So far, these words have proven true. Many a Rotten soul has been cleansed of malice and given freedom from their torment. Speaking of the prison, the only other thing of note is that it is ever changing in size to house the ever changing number of inmates, but this is true of all aspects of this realm. Now, onto the more pleasant aspects of the afterlife. As stated before, your past self understood mortals well and constructed many districts, with the souls making new ones with each generation. The first is the obvious housing district where the souls live or rather have more personal family time as, if you wish to be technical, no one "lives" here.

You and Hu Tao chuckle a little at his little joke.

Warden: Second, there are the working districts as, surprisingly, many souls find satisfaction in hard work. These souls do jobs such as farming, cooking, many different types of artistry, engineering, construction, smithing, and sales despite there not being a currency here. These districts include the market, the entertainment district where concerts and plays are held, the foundry where all metal is worked into a new shape where it is promptly sent to either the workshop where it is used as machine parts, or the ones made into weapons will be sent to the coloseum where the souls who yearn for battle can relive their glory and have crowds of adoring fans cheer them on for it, and then there are the self explanatory farmlands and restaurants.

(Y/N): That's, um, a lot.

Warden: Quite, and there's still more. There are also the springs and gardens for those seeking a moment of peace, the banquet hall often used by the warrior spirits after a thrilling match as they revel in each other's glory, then there is the central plaza which the souls have taken to calling Festival Street as all of the realms festivities are held there, the archives where those who seek to learn can go to hone their craft. Also, since many people seem to ask, yes, the souls of animals are sent to paradise as, while a lot of animals do kill, it is most often during a hunt or defense, and they are not all malicious. Pets will often wait outside this gate for their owner or one of them if they had multiple, wild and farm animals are led to separate biomes that are suited to them. These biomes are also popular spots to take a trip. Ahem, sorry, I'm just so used to being interrupted by that question that going so long without answering it felt weird. Anyway, back on topic, there is also the museum, along with the archives it is used to preserve the truth of this world's history, not the glorified mess they teach in schools. There are many more human desires that I can list districts and buildings for, but I feel you and your friend would like to make it home before the end of the season, so this will be the last of what I say provided you don't have anymore questions. It may not surprise you that many of the souls within this realm are quite religious, so much so that there is a statue of you, er, your former self in the central plaza, with many smaller shrines to you and other deities scattered throughout the numerous districts.

Hu Tao thanks the warden before turning to leave.

(Y/N): Just one more question, I promise this will be quick. As I've stated before, immotality can be costly on one's soul. This holds true even to those born with it. My question is, would I be able to give others the ability to visit?

Warden: If that is what you desire. I take it this means I will be seeing a few of the archons soon?

You nod and thank him for his time before finally leaving with an extra spring in your step. Once outside, Hu Tao stretches rather loudly.

Hu Tao: Mmmmh. Man, that took forever, but I think we both got something out of that. You got peace of mind and i got a new appreciation for my work.

(Y/N): A "new" appreciation? You enjoyed your work well enough before, I dread to think of what you'll do now.

Hu Tao: Oh you. Don't some archons to visit?

(Y/N): Maybe later, we were in there for quite a while, and all that listening made me rather hungry.

Hu Tao was about to comment before her stomach growled, causing you both to laugh as you made your way back to the harbor.

___________________________________________

Well, that was a massive info dump, definitely longer than I anticipated. I haven't seen anyone tackle the subject of the reader's lack of mortality, and the idea of a creator who can willingly traverse both the realms of living and dead has been rotting my brain, I also wanted the ability to give the archons a bit of closure, at least the ones who lost someone dear to them. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed that rather lengthy info dump

[sophosoterica]

I think that in order to write, I need to face struggle. Not negativity or horrible situations, but difficulty. I need challenges, and I need to surmount them, because that feeling is inextricable from the core of my identity. Everything that has played such a defining role in my life so far, that defines my goals and aspirations, sloughs off like dead skin. Including gender. Including perceptions. Including my identity itself, because who said I could not be multiple people? I encapsulate contradictions, just as all humans do, just as humanity itself. Fragile. Unbreakable. Unwilling. Devoted. Passionate. Lost. And instead of embodying “clean girl” or “pre-med”, I begin to flush the color of those same core human experiences- not that they themselves “feel” good, but that they are truer and more ingrained in my nature than any of the labels I spend so much time fussing over in my daily life.

And I write about it well. My greatest difficulties have morphed into my deepest epiphanies, and I think writing and speaking  are the closest I have gotten to externalizing my personal understandings of the world. I have, for so unspeakably long, been unable to articulate concepts far more complex than what riddle these pages now, and my life’s work has been to cross that impermeable barrier. Words were just what happened upon me. I am no less predisposed to writing than anyone around me. I just had the aching desire to find a way to bring others through with me, to let them see how I think and love me for it. It could easily have been pottery or music or photography, and I may still end up fully embracing those later in life. But for now, language is a scalpel that I use to extract my more mature ideas, allowing them to ripen in the outside world. All of this is to say that my writings are a reflection of both my current state and my nature as a whole, and if I am compelled to write by struggle, than I am compelled by struggle itself.

This insight seems invaluable, but it only provides another complicating factor when deciding the kind of life I want to live (and along with, the kind of person I want to become). I want to be “successful” - which to me, means financial success, a very certain kind of education, a husband, kids, and, of course, femininity. I want to help people, I want to accept the social responsibility that I have assigned to myself: I want to do search-and-rescue, I want to be a nurse, I want to teach, I want to resist, and though all these desires make my blood pump a red color that dullens the earlier idea by comparison, they are both true and real to me, and have severe weight in my decisions.

Lastly, as I just explained, I want struggle. Because I only grow when I struggle. My pinecones only sprout after devastating wildfires, my heart only beats after risking my life to put them out. I have realized that I can expedite my maturing by just brute forcing myself through arduous circumstances, and I believe wholeheartedly that I would know everything I needed about the world and myself if I pushed my abilities to the brink.

All of these, as well as an egotistical need for appreciation and my suffocating desire to learn, congeal into murky and half-baked pathways that I know I could go through. The only question is whether I would look back and regret the weight I put on each value, recognize that I prioritized something wrong, that I could have done better with the precious little life I have been given. Because all I want to do is enough.

[unabashedly-so]

💙💜🩷 SDV Bachelor HC 🩷💜💙

How much has each bachelor explored their bisexuality?

Content warning: compulsive heteronormativity, loss of family, grief, risky sexual behavior mention, drinking mention. SFW.

✨The Bachelors✨

Elliott

look me in the eye and just try to tell me this man doesn't already know. i dare you i fuckin' dare you i WANT YOU TO

that line on the 10 heart boat scene about not knowing he could feel that way about another man is bullshit and that is a piece of canon I toss into the sea.

now please understand the majority of this is colored by my very vivid hc of Elliott's upbringing and young adult life, but you're literally reading a hc post that is labeled hc so you bought the ticket now board the train. choo choo mfs.

the low hanging fruit is that this is a man that canonically spends hours on hair care, dresses like that, talks like that, etc. etc.. Yes, you can be cishet etc. and do that, sure.

and don't get me wrong, it's valid that Elliott could just Be Like That. (I love and respect the hell out of that incorrect opinion)

but this man is penny-romance novel cover coded. just. think about that. think about this active CHOICE he is making.

ffs he lives on a BEACH and dresses in a THREE-PIECE SUIT with his PERFECTLY COIFFED hair that he has to spend HOURS on because that's what happens when you LIVE. ON. A. BEACH.

i am going to have an aneurysm about this man's life choices rn

he's arguably pretty self-secure*, which tracks because you don't get to be his age and not have some better understanding of yourself. As others have pointed out, there's no real ""growth"" in Elliott's arc because boy came whole because HE BEEN KNEW HE BEEN THROUGH THIS ALREADY. He's secure in his identity because he's worked it out already! He's moved on! focusing on his career and legacy now that he knows who is he and who he's not!!

*dont make me drag out the receipts his part is already long enough just trust me ok

now meet Elliott in his early 20's and wow, buddy, you are trying way too hard I promise you things are gonna be okay sweetheart

speaking of his early 20's, it's hc to me that he did, uhhhh, so much exploring. of everything. and everyone in the English and Theater department during university.

King Slut, long may he reign. 🙏

just. someone who's not as self-secure and self-aware would not be able to own the aesthetic PLUS the temperament we see with Elliott, who really only gets flustered with the intimate interpersonal stuff because he's a romantic and it's meaningful. He's confident in who he is and the kind of person he wants to be, and you don't get to that point in life without having done a lot of experimenting and soul-searching.

I could write a whole fucking meta on this boy, but for today: 9/10 he knows it, owns it, enjoys it, but he's got more interesting things going on in his opinion than to make one of his core personality traits just Gay/Queer/Bi/Pan, etc. He has an AESTHETIC and BI BY YOBA he's sticking to it.

also he can walk in heels better than you.

Harvey

Hmm, he's actually hard to get a read on for me. There's a few others in the fandom who might have a better take than me, but here's what I can offer.

first let's grant him that he's older. With age comes wisdom, experience, etc. the older bachelor/ettes are just going to be at an advantage vs the younger ones.

also... like 8 years in college. I cannot be swayed away from this as a crucial part of his journey.

twinkle TWINK-le little snack.

it just feels like one of those things he felt happening in high school and might have gotten bullied for it because everyone Knew but he couldn't/wouldn't just own it.

but then in college he finally realized that owning it would give him the power, so he did. kind of. very quietly.

he probably had a boyfriend or two in undergrad. They were definitely the kind to hold hands from the coffee shop to the library. you know the ones, we've all seen 'em. <3

and isn't he just so lucky that he can get butterflies from girls too?

a blessing and a burden for this man with anxiety because, oh no, now everyone's cute.

by the time he gets to Pelican town, his last relationship kind of ended on a sour note, so he's a little discouraged from pursuing romantic relationships, hence why he's a bit guarded and shy and nervous.

he gets a 8/10, he's just quiet about it because who's business is it but his own? also, like, he's literally the doctor for everyone. He's gotta keep some confidentiality in this small town.

Sebastian

while he doesn't show it, I'd say Sebastian is actually quite comfortable with being bi.

I mean like as comfortable as he can be around people in general.

He doesn't bring it up, and doesn't really let anyone know either, but again that's just kind of his MO, regardless of gender.

now when he's Together with someone, well that's a different story. we stan possessive Sebastian in this house 🫡

he probably wouldn't bring it up with the gang unless someone else brought it up first. 🤷‍♀️

would probably give some semi-defensive response of "yeah, what of it??" to his friends, but a low hearts farmer might get a coldly aggro "why are you asking? That's none of your business."

he and Maru Know about each other but keep those conversations private. hashtag just sibling things ig

has definitely kissed guys at concerts before. Lots of people can also provide a feeling of anonymity, letting him get lost in the crowd and not have to worry so much. 10/10

Shane

closeted sportsballer. As a former Closeted Sportsballer, I can see this going two ways.

First option: you DO NOT explore that unless you want things to get real weird REAL FAST.

Like, I'm not even talking locker room nonsense, let's be mature here. Even if you do not like your teammates, you WILL still share a Sports Bond with them built on a shared passion, a common goal, and lots of comiseration.

So if you're already on iffy social standing, which I'm just gonna go out on a limb and say Shane might have had... you're gonna have a bad time.

Then after his gridball career ended, it may have already been baked in that that was Dangerous. OR he could have just been so far down the path of self-loathing that he stopped looking at people romantically.

OR OR--part of his self-loathing actually opened him up to exploring his sexuality......

......which is a very nice way of saying he took part in a lot of risky sexual encounters. 😮‍💨 (with all genders! One night stands do not discriminate!)

so if there were any feelings involved, it was... not good or conducive to self-understanding. Probably made things worse.

cue the drinking! the depression! all the risky behaviors!

ALTERNATIVELY... Option two: he does explore Feelings For Dudes and it could have played into his sportsball exit. 🤔

Hi. Let me just reiterate personal experience here: LEAVING A TEAM CAN REALLY FUCK YOU UP depending on your life outside the sport. Sports teams are a social support group, like, I really hate the phrase "like family"... but literally structurally so similar. If you already don't have a strong family life outside of the sport (like Shane has admitted to, let's fuckin goooooo), AND being on a team is an overall positive thing in your life??

Leaving your team (willingly or unwillingly) takes away that social support. And not just the social/emotional support, but the structure to your life, the routine, the feeling of belonging, the PURPOSE!!!

gee, wonder what kind of feelings those can bring about in a person. like a sad chicken man.

are we seeing a trend here???????

Ok this definitely got more into a sportsball psychological study, but what I'm saying is my money's on gridball heavily influencing his trajectory but since he DIDN'T have the family or social supports outside of it, he crashed and burned afterwards. Contrast with Alex below who DID have social supports and--

focus, bisexuality.

Personally, I like the idea that Shane's been with dudes, but it's never been anything emotionally healthy (except maybe one pre-gridball-exodus which could have prompted the leave......🤔👀) or fulfilling.

5/10, would be 6 but he got -1 because it was driven by self-loathing. >:(

somebody come show him some mlm love!!!

Sam

baby boy. sweet baby boy.

the younger bachelor/ettes are at a bit of a disadvantage because they're in the time of their life where they would be exploring their sexualities in a conducive environment. Not to say the valley isn't but there's, uh, only 11 other singletons there and they all know each other sooooo...

that said, due to Kent's military career, it's likely Sam has had time living outside of Pelican Town, so may be a bit farther ahead than, say, Sebastian who's lived there his whole life.

speaking of Kent, it's canon that Daddy has been in and out of his life and tbf I don't remember exactly how Sam feels about that but

I'm JUST SAYIN'. baby boy gets a whiff of attention from some buff dude who wants to make him his baby girl?? melting.

you know the trope of how girls with absent fathers sometimes overcorrect for that and seek out male attention like crazy? well, who says boys are any different??

what I'm getting at is this: you're trying to tell me Sam has NEVER had a raging crush on Alex?????

I mean fr it was probably like. Alex told him "good choice" on his ice cream flavor once and it was all downhill from there.

plus I'm hoping he's got a solid enough friendship with Sebastian (and Abigail) that they could talk about these things without it getting weird.

also, singer/lead guitarist in a band?? come on, too easy.

anyway 5/10, once again a bit oblivious until he gets smacked in the face. Definitely a flavor of "haha no homo bro! :):) ...... unless...?? 👀"

Alex

closeted sportsballer, round 2 EXCEPT

he canonically admits he crushes real easy. so just statistically speaking, there's an equal likelihood that he's crushed on the male singletons of the valley, too. Which totally doesn't even take into consideration his gridballer time, which I'll get to in a second.

he also admits his crushes don't usually last very long. part of that probably has to do with a lot with attachment issues (seriously he should be more messed up than he is), but if gridball is just SDV American Football, there's probably a good deal of internalized homophobia Alex has had to either work through or not work through. hence why his not het crushes might not last long.

but confusing and conflicting as they may be, THEY'RE STILL THERE. just. probably presenting more like a "wow I'm really noticing this person a lot lately huh. I mean I guess they look pretty good and seem kind of cool..." he's completely and utterly oblivious to so much, his own feelings included.

so what I'm saying is there was a brief window of time where Alex unknowingly had a crush on Sam and, listen, under the right circumstances Sam/Alex (Smalex?) could have been canonized--don'T BOO ME, I'm RIGHT

as for gridball, compulsive heteronormativity is absolutely rampant so there's no way he could have felt comfortable exploring his interest in other gender(s). ESPECIALLY in his case where he's still kind of on the outside, trying to model himself to fit a certain kind of mold. Just, no chance, absolutely none.

and really, Idk, between him and Haley I'm starting to get real compulsive heteronormativity vibes now... not that they're mad about it, but they were kinda forced into those roles and, well, the shoes KIND OF fit I GUESS...

you might say it was ... they're kind of sh... shoeho--shoehorn--*shot*

Anyway, boy's represso. 2/10, if you called him bi he'd say wait why are you leaving , what did you want to tell me???

[an-online-journal-of-nothing]

The world around me has always been ablaze.

From the very first moment my eyes opened, they stung and filled with tears—not from the blinding lights of the hospital room, but from the smoke that clung thick in the air.

My cries were not just the cries of a newborn but echoes of a world already burning.

My tender feet, unsteady and small, have always felt the scorching heat below them. The ground, never cool, never kind.

The flames that loomed above me as a child still rise, fierce and unyielding, their tongues licking the sky—casting long, twisting shadows over the years I’ve lived. I once believed, perhaps naively, that they might dim, that time would teach the fire to retreat. But here I stand, two decades later, and still they burn—just as fierce, just as untamed.

I have known of war, of tragedy, of loss, and of injustice for as long as I have known how to speak. These words aren’t confined to textbooks or history; they are etched into the marrow of my bones, written into the fabric of my being, as if the world itself inscribed guilt into my DNA.

Pain is the universal language, whispered to me from every corner, woven into the silence between breaths.

I am drowning in the cries of a world gasping for life—its grief shouted from rooftops, its agony glowing like embers on our screens, its suffering passing me by in the faces of strangers on the street. What was once the distant tragedy of past generations now stands at our doorstep, pressing its face to the windows of our homes, uninvited and unrelenting. These tragedies were once historical lessons, but now, they are the pulse of the present.

We carry the grief of others—strangers whose names we’ll never know, whose faces we’ll never see. Their pain has become our own, stitched into the fabric of our hearts. A burden we never asked for, yet one we bear nonetheless.

Since our first breath, we’ve learned to carry suffering like a second skin.

And so, we turn to each other, reaching out in the darkness for hands to hold, for arms to embrace, seeking comfort in the fragile solace we find there. We laugh at the absurdity of it all, casting light into the shadows because what else can we do? If we don’t, the flames inch closer, licking at our already scarred and calloused heels. And we are labeled—rude, unfeeling, childish—by those who lit the fire in the first place.

How else can we survive the weight of it all?

If we stare too long into the flames they started, let the fire grow too real, we risk burning alongside the world we’re so desperately trying to navigate.

Here we stand now, the inheritors of a world in ruins. We’ve been handed an empty extinguisher, told to face the inferno with nothing but hollow words of luck and fleeting hope.

And every time we fill buckets with water, drawn from the wells we’ve dug with our own hands, they light another fire, insistent that the way we choose to extinguish it would also destroy everything they have built. They refuse to see that even once they’ve turned to ash, we’ll still be left to burn.

The fire rages on, uncaring, and we, standing in its midst, are left to find our way through the smoke—a haze that blurs the line between destruction and survival.

But the flames do not relent, and neither can we.

We walk through the fire, searching for a way to remain whole, to keep ourselves from becoming the ash that the winds of this burning world carry away.

I Was Born into a World Ablaze an-online-journal-of-nothing

[lesbonono]

Its interesting how american queerness is so different from south african. (In my opinion duhh and within my context duhhh)

I think the main diffrence i can think of is the divisions of identities. I rarely and i mean RARELY hear people in ZA that take ownership of how they identify (femme, stem, masc) other than butches and studs and some masc because of the external nature of their expression of presentation but even then its still upon introduction there might be light talks when discussing fashion or friends or relationship experiences but never in terms of true identity. Even the butches i meet here its truly not a expression that holds true significance within our context.

The fluidity here is interesting.

Also i have never been to america but seeing tik tok parties catering specifically to femmes (though i must say most of those spaces were disgustingly white and cis and BASIC and BLAND) it was so interesting to see such subgroups truly be able to centre a gathering of queerness on gender expression. And i might be wrong because durrr i dont know everything but its kind of sad imo. Even this whole thing of femme4femme masc4masc i dont critique though i am perplexed and maybe even sad that we still house ourselves contain our interest and pleasure. I am not unawre to the historical significance of these labels but truly most people i meet that are my age holding onto those labels im like babe give yourself a few years.

Side note: i do love how the identities have rooted roles within the flow of a community that shit makes me so happy😚😚 how people extend their identities as a indicator to people in the communties the kinds of ways their commited to protecting, serving and honouring.

I do hope in my own hearts of heart that the sepration of these lables fall away. Like we see each other as whole humans even though the short skirts or the choppy hair and the stoic personality, feminity or masculinity we are humans that truly NEED to connect. The object of this post was not to say we dont need and i dont value labels just an inquiry. But i do resent some of the american white femme lesbian whether it be in thd medua or celebrities or just people i talk to. They turn themselves into a commodity that to me looks so superficial and privileged buuuuuttttttt somehow they always are the loudest. Always speaking out ABOUT THEMSELVES. I didnt even truly make a contrast towards south africa but whatver my bru. Also i could write a whole piece on white american femmes that i hope break a bone today.

[rainyamidala]

Leon kennedy one shot

authors note; this is rough, finished in like 10 minutes. i havent read over so please forgive any grammar mistakes.

I am not american, my mother tongue is NOT english!!

she/her used. will continue to be used unless requested otherwise.

theme; Leon S. Kennedy has spent the last weeks in bars, or in his couch - heart broken over the fact that his alcohol issue has cost him his relationship. On cloud nine, he calls y/n: drunk.

warning; alcohol

Leon S. Kennedy didn't feel the pride he once had all those years ago, when he had first arrived in raccoon city as a brand new police officer - hoping to make a change.. Be part of something bigger and serve a purpose. No, he didn't feel the pride in his badge any longer there he sat in a bar for the 4th time this week. The other 2 days he had spent drinking alone in his apartment, the last and final he had spent in bed sleeping the alcohol off. Normally he wouldn't spend every day of the week drinking his last breath away, especially since this exact issue had cost him his relationship – drowning the pain with the cause of the split. stupid, but alcohol was his only thing to turn to these days. Drunk, feeling like he was on a cloud with his arms giving in, he was walking home from the bar - having been thrown out for a physical fight involving another customer. "Throwing me out, tsk.." He muttered to himself as he walked unsteady in the street - reaching his hand into his jacket pocket, successfully pulling out his phone and dialing a familiar number; y/n's. "mm, mm.." He said with the ringer, waiting for his ex-girlfriend to answer the phone. But – she never did. As the phone service began telling him to leave a message, he responded sighed - pinching his temple before he began speaking into the microphone: , "Hey, uh.. It's Leon." He said, despite the caller ID exposing this fact already. "It's been a while since we last spoke and i know you don't want to see me, but i can't stop thinking about you." He began

, uncertain of where this would continue. "You broke up with me because of my drinking and here i am calling you - drunk. Kind of funny, huh?" He chuckled short, almost awkwardly into the phone: did he seriously think that was worth mentioning? "I was hoping youd pick up your phone so i could hear your voice again - i guess you're sleeping." He sighed to himself yet again, looking over his shoulder with his phone still pressed up against his ear. It was ironic, even in this state he knew as such; begging for another chance whilst the problem itself was an active event? Right, she would totally listen to you, Leon. "Can we meet? Tomorrow? Talk about what happened, I' guess." There was an ounce of harshness in the ending of his sentence - not intentional, but it masked his embarrassment. When his (now ex) girlfriend had learned of his issue– or habit, like Leon would much rather label it – he was so embarrassed. Denying and yelling in the end, because he refused to admit he didn't have it under control: refusing to admit the bottle of alcohol in the cabinet was what he reached for those nights he couldn't fall asleep and y/n already had. "I miss you." He began, stopping in the street now and bringing his hand to his face - rubbing his temple as he continued with a low sigh; "a lot." Being without her, knowing she was (not mad but) upset with him made it even worse. she loved him, she just couldn't handle it. it was understandable, but unbearable. "So, please.. Just uh.. Call me back? Or text. Or both, they're both good. Just - something. Sorry I didn't mean to leave a whole audio book on your thing, bu-" he was cut off, the voice message not allowing him to speak any further than that. Leon looked confused at his phone, barely beinging it away from his ear. He had his eyebrows furrowed, and his mouth opened ever so slightly as he looked at the screen and then brought the phone back to his ear - opening his mouth again: "Son of a bitch." then closed it with a harsher sigh than before. He caught himself acting like a teenager, rolling his eyes a tiny bit as he shoved his phone into his pocket and began walking again.

[shikai-the-storyteller]

UEUEUEUEUEUEU ILL SEND YOU THIS WHILE WAITING TO SEE BOBBYS STATUS.

Dw idm u answering publicly, I want everyone to be cursed w the thought that Rubius is a babygirl and a very bad one at that <3

Honestly I've only read a few explanations of their lore and bits about their relationship but they seem sooooo,,, /pos. Like they have such a fun and silly dynamic that has this air of toxicity and their loves feels quite self destructive bc rubius is kind of a destructive force of nature of a person who has a tendency to hurt those around him, perhaps as a defense mechanism or perhaps out of simply not understanding there are consequences to the things he does while vegetta is someone far too forgiving, he continues to love rubius despite how much he hurts himself, others, and vegetta himself. I'm not saying cubito rubius is an awful person but from what I've seen he is,,, complex. Difficult despite seeming silly. I could be just completely wrong tho LOL I am doin my best I prommy

ANYWAYS IM CHEERING U ON IN WRITING!!! I'd love to talk to u abt them more and learn more abt rubegetta bc like. Look. Theres no way q!vegetta isnt hung up on that demon idc,,,

I'm likewise waiting for the Eggstatistics (which will probably get posted while I'm in the middle of writing this) (EDIT: IT DID) and you gave me the opportunity to infodump so prepare for an essay LMAO

There are SO many layers to Rubius and Vegetta’s relationship (both romantic and friendship-wise), and that complexity makes them fascinating characters to study. I’ve been discussing this a lot in private lately, but I feel like there’s quite a bit of misinformation / misinterpretations of Rubius and Vegetta’s relationship amongst some of the newer fans who might not know some key components of their personality and their relationship dynamic as a whole (which is understandable since the majority of their lore came from Karmaland, and a lot of newer fans only speak English / only watch QSMP), so ALLOW ME TO ELABORATE:

I think of the two, Rubius definitely gets mischaracterized the most (which, again, maybe isn't too surprising since not everyone watched Karmaland and he hasn't been on the QSMP server too much lately). I could go off on a tangent here and list my frustrations about the people who harassed him for his role / his actions during the Egg event / whining about ships to the point where he decided not to log into the server again ‘til the Egg event is over, but that's ultimately irrelevant to this discussion.

“Their love feels quite self-destructive” is a really good way to sum things up, because Rubius is a pretty self-destructive man. Rubius is, fundamentally, a man who is full of love for the people he cares about, but those feelings are in direct conflict with his reluctance to let people get close to him (and his commitment issues). He can freely give hugs and kisses (and more) to Vegetta, but when it comes to expressing his true thoughts and feelings, he’s pretty emotionally constipated. We’ve already seen this a few times on the QSMP server – when Rubius visits on Vegetta’s birthday, he sings him the most beautiful heartfelt love song ever, but as soon as it’s over and Vegetta tries to talk to him, Rubius runs away. Even in Karmaland V, when hooked up to a lie detector and asked about his feelings for Vegetta, Rubius tried to wiggle his way out of answering. Only when the world was literally ending and they all thought they were gonna die did Rubius finally admit his feelings, shouting his confession and his love for Vegetta at the top of his lungs.

(The real tragedy here is that it was so chaotic with everyone shouting, Vegetta never heard his words…)

Although it’s easy to slap the label “toxic” on Rubius, I think that’s unfair to him and his character, as well as his intentions. He truly does love Vegetta with all his heart, in every universe, and he doesn’t want to hurt him, but Rubius doesn’t want to get hurt either. The Meteor shower conversation gives us a clear understanding of that:

Rubius: I don't want to get hurt. I don't want to get my hopes up, and then get hurt. It's happened to me many times before. Especially here in Karmaland. Vegetta: Have you had lovesickness? Rubius: Yes. In Karmaland, everywhere, in real life... I'm already used to getting beaten. Vegetta: That's a pity... Rubius: I just want someone to take care of me, and that's it. I don't ask for much. Vegetta: I'm very protective.

The way I see it, Rubius is afraid of his feelings for Vegetta, because the larger his love grows, the larger that potential for hurt and disappointment gets. Does this excuse all his actions? No, of course not, however there’s a big difference between doing something out of self-preservation (possibly as a trauma-response, depending on how you interpret his character) and doing something with the intent to hurt someone.

IMO, Rubius isn’t a toxic guy, he just needs therapy.

Vegetta doesn’t get mischaracterized quite as often, though I do feel like people have a tendency to put him on a pedestal and minimize the flaws he has. I’m a massive Vegetta fan, but this guy’s far from perfect. He’s self-centered, borderline narcissistic sometimes, and he’s a very prideful man. He’s never left Rubius at the altar, but he’s still had his fair share of “oopsies” and "yikes" in their relationship. One (which I’m surprised people don’t talk about more) is an incident from Karmaland IV where Vegetta, very unhinged and mentally unstable at the time, kidnapped Rubius’ wife Nieves and threatened her with a sword, saying, “If Rubius can’t be mine, he can’t be anyone’s.”

For the longest time I genuinely thought that line came from a fanfic or something, then I stumbled upon the clip one day and I was just like:

Anyways

In Karmaland V, Rubius became very close with a little alien child named Titi. He took care of Titi like he was his own son, and despite his attempts at emotionally distancing himself early on so he wouldn’t get attached, Rubius wound up caring a lot for him.

Then Titi died.

It was basically Rubius’ worst nightmare come to life – he’d let himself get close to Titi, he’d loved him unconditionally and let Titi into his heart, and Titi’s death utterly destroyed him. Everyone in Karmaland was affected by the death, but Rubius took it especially hard because of how close they were. Rubius was hurting badly and resorting to terrible coping strategies to deal with the pain, and Vegetta…

Well. Vegetta wasn’t very nice about it.

There are a lot of ways we could interpret Vegetta’s actions and words during this time – maybe he’s not super sensitive when talking about death since he’s probably some kind of demigod, maybe he speedran the grieving process, maybe he thought brutal honesty and direct action would help Rubius “snap out of it” sooner. However you see it, ultimately it did a lot more harm than good for Rubius’ overall mental health.

I bring these examples up not to paint their relationship as toxic or negative, but rather to express just how complex it is. Because, despite all their mistakes and drama and heartbreak, at the end of the day, Rubius and Vegetta still love each other more than anything else. Even towards the end of Karmaland V when they were quite literally on opposite sides of the battlefield (one supporting Quackity, the other supporting Luzu), their true loyalties lay with one another. When Rubius was hit by an enemy, Vegetta defended him with his life, and when Vegetta was hurt, Rubius did the same.

Yes, Rubius doesn't really know how to handle healthy relationships, and yes, Vegetta tends to forgive him too easily, but that doesn't erase the love they have. The key we need to remember here is that Rubegetta is a telenovela that sits squarely in the romcom category. They may wander into other genres and tropes from time to time, but they will always gravitate back to one another. Whether you define that as fate or soulmates or just sheer dumb luck, the facts remain and the love is there.

PHEW anyways that felt good to get out, I have so many thoughts on Rubegetta so I appreciate the excuse to rant. I'm always happy to chat about these two! :D And you're so right - Vegetta is so smitten for that demon, I hope he gets to meet the angel too. I hope Rubius comes back soon so Vegetta can see his Osito Fiu Fiu, but in the meantime, we'll have to keep wishing and praying just like Vegetta...

(ALSO THANK YOU the current chapter of that dang Rubegetta fic is kicking my butt rn because it's the only chapter I didn't outline and life events keep interrupting me when I try and work on it, but it IS getting chipped away at bit by bit! I hope folks enjoy the outcome when it's released :D)