i did not mean to write this. and yet, here we are. nanami breaks my heart every day. i'm debating whether to make this a multi-part thing because personally i am a fan of make up sex but we'll see
wc: 1.2k cw: conflict in established relationship (this is the comfort part)
You’ve been in the kitchen for at least an hour now—standing over the cutting board on the counter, making no move to slice up the vegetables in front of you. Really, all you’ve done is put water in a pot and set it on the stovetop—you didn’t even turn it on. By now you know it’s a lost cause, cooking— but it would be effort you’re not willing to expend to move from the spot where your feet feel like they’re trapped in cement. Because leaving the kitchen means walking past the living room, where you know Kento sits, and if you see him and he looks at you with that face you will split apart at your seams.
You should apologize. You should go out there and tell him you love him because that is what any sensible human being would do for someone they care about after they’ve hurt them. But you can’t, so you don’t. You can’t, because saying the words you’ve been screaming inside you aloud will make this real, and if it’s real then he will have a tangible reason to walk out of this house and never look back. You wouldn’t blame him.
You’d regretted it the moment it left your lips. What he'd said to you cut you deep, and your mouth opened almost automatically. You saw the way it registered with him—shocking at first, that expression quickly replaced by what you knew to be incredible hurt. He said nothing—just turned from you and walked to the bedroom, gently shutting the door behind him. Leaving you to stand in your shame that ricocheted off the walls, cutting you down over and over again. If he was packing his things in there, who could’ve blamed him? It’d be a long time coming.
You’d been at each other’s throats for weeks. Kento was chronically late getting home and you were irritable and distant and standoffish, and it dawned on you that you don’t know which one came first. You don’t even remember how tonight’s argument started—it didn’t feel like it mattered anymore, with the way it escalated—it was something that had been building for far too long and had come to a head the moment you opened your mouth. You might as well have told him he was worthless, with the way you’d cherry-picked your worst words for him. You knew they would hurt him and you said them anyway, that’s what you did when you were hurt and afraid—you’d lash out like an animal caught in a trap. The weight of the aftermath, this time, was more than you could hold.
“Sweetheart?”
A string of expletives leaves your lips as the knife you’d been holding clatters against the cutting board. You spin around, trying to steady your breathing as you take in the man now standing in front of you. The man who is certainly too close and looking far too vulnerable for the way you just punched a hole through his chest. You could feel yourself tense, bracing for impact. The one you get is almost more devastating than the one you’d been expecting.
“Be sweet,” he murmurs gently, lips brushing over your temple. He reaches his arms around your shoulders, one hand coming up to tangle itself in the hair on the back of your head.
“You first,” you sniffle, and you jab him in the side lightly before you allow your fist to unfurl and curl around his shirt, pulling him to you. It’s not what you wanted to say, but you hope he hears what you meant.
“I love you,” he tells you. There’s a soft smile stretching across his face—tentative, like he knows he’s pushing his luck, but he thinks it’s safe to do so— and it is. You need him like you need air. You want to hear him say it again, but you can’t bear to ask. Can’t bear to put him through anything more tonight.
“I’m sorry,” you croak, and he presses another kiss to your hairline. You bury your face in his chest and squeeze your eyes shut, too proud to let him see you cry again. He knows anyway—of course he does—and you feel his arms tighten around you. He presses kisses to the crown of your head and whispers his love to you again. Your grip on his shirt tightens. Anything to tether you here—the alternative, to be without him, is unbearable.
“I don’t want you to leave,” you confess, and it’s barely audible, but you assume he’s heard by the way his grip on you turns to that of a vice.
“Sweetheart,” his voice is strained, and the guilt squeezes around your gut, “look at me, please.”
You take in a shuddering breath to steel your resolve, and you lift your head up to meet his gaze. All you see is hurt. You think he might actually cry, and it breaks your heart again.
“There is no reality that exists in which I belong anywhere but where you are. Do you know that?”
And you can’t say anything. How could you? You can’t tear yourself from his gaze, because he’s showing you everything. He’s torn himself apart just to let you see inside. He does so, full of fear that you’ll reject what you’ve found. He does it anyway.
“We will let each other down—there will be days where you are certain you can’t bear to look at me again, and there will be days where I feel the same. But we’ll still choose to love each other. We’ll still choose to be here.”
You shake in his arms at his words. You’ve not said a thing since your quiet admission, and it doesn’t thwart him at all. He keeps talking—keeps shredding your insides with the love he lets drip off of him like he has spare to give away. You’re bleeding out in front of him and he holds you tighter. Holds you together.
“Do you still love me?”
You look at him, incredulous. “Of course I do,” and it comes out sharper than you intended. He doesn’t flinch. He exhales, like it’s a relief. You think it should feel like a life sentence.
“Do you know that I love you?”
“Yes,” you breathe, and you feel tears well up in your eyes again—your entire body is screaming to look away, to get away—to leave before his love swallows you whole, but you don’t. He’s rooted you to him. You’re surprised that it doesn’t hurt like you thought it would. Not in the ways that would really be damaging.
“Okay,” he whispers, cradling your head against his chest to tuck you under his chin, holding you tightly to him, “okay.”
You let go of his shirt for the first time and let your arms wrap around him, holding him tightly. You feel the tension in his muscles subside—like he was waiting (hoping) for you to hold him upright. He trembles slightly in your arms and you hold him tighter.
“Ken,” your whisper is soft against the fabric of his T-shirt, and he sucks in a breath at the familiar way you shorten his name, “can we go to bed?”
“Yes,” he says wetly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “let’s go to bed, my love.”
this fic belongs to me (@b-writes-things). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.
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as a bi person, the bisexual flag brings me infinite joy and always puts a smile on my face, however as a person who has a Passion for Graphic Design, that undersaturated shade of purple infuriates me when it's used digitally
like, on an actual flag - which was its original purpose - it looks great!
those look fine! lovely, even! with the semi-transparent fabric, the way it catches the sunlight, it looks beautiful!
but now look at how it looks digitally
the pink and blue are so vibrant compared to the sad, lonely lavender!
and let's look at this statement from Michael Page, the creator of the bi flag:
(sidenote: he created this flag in 1998, so if his takes on bisexuality is different from yours, it's okay to notice that! a lot has changed since the 90s when it comes to lived experiences and the way we describe them. but, it's also important to respect his thoughts about this and the way he presented them, even if today, we'd probably not say that bi people "blend unnoticeably into both the gay/lesbian and straight communities.")
so in pantone colors, the pink is 226 C, the blue is 286 C, and the purple of the flag is 258 C.
but...here's the deal
Michael talks here about how the key to understanding the symbolism is to know that the purple blends into both the pink and blue. and on a physical flag, I think you can see that!
but digitally, it absolutely does not blend. it clashes badly, and looks oddly separate from the other two colors.
which got me wondering...what purple do you get if you actually blend 226 C and 286 C?
oh! oh, my god.
look at that! look at how nicely it fits between those colors!
look at it next to the original color scheme! look at how much more vibrant the purple is!
and friends. this is just blending through rgb! you get even more purple variations when you use other color spaces!
let's compare all of them:
(top: original, lab. middle: lrgb, lch. bottom: rgb, hsl)
look at all of the different purple options you can get just by combining these two colors!
if you want almost too-vibrant saturation, you can go hsl, if you want something more relaxed that's closer to the original, you can go lab or lrgb. and if you want to split the difference, lch is bright and violet, while rgb is there with its saturated but darker purple.
anyway, I guess I don't really have a point here? this isn't so much an informational post as it is Me Getting Weird About Colors, but I think it is a useful lesson about how colors look very different on screens compared to how they look on objects in real life.
and sometimes, I think it's okay to compensate for that.
out of all of these, this is my favorite bi flag:
it's the one where the colors were blended in lab color space. for me, the lighter, softer purple is close enough to the original bi flag purple, while also feeling like a smoother blend of the blue and pink
but that's just me! and it might not even look the same to you, since every screen is different, because technology is a nightmare!
anyway, thank you for coming with me on this colorful journey! I will now retreat back to inkscape and make pained sounds about inkstitch gradients until something tangible pulls me back into reality
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Hey! Hey, Michael Sheen. Come here. I need to talk to you.
I need to talk to you about what the hell even is your face!!!
Explain yourself immediately. How can you just
what even are is do
are you a real-life angel because I am not sure it's humanly possible to make actual heart eyes
And yet here you are. OK. But wait, I'm upset and I have more.
Will you please just explain this to me because my brain has decided to permanently cease functioning and I can't
Excuse you sir
Did you just grab him by the hips and help him walk and THEN just leaned in when he scolded you and made all this in this here expression with your actual face and made me feel things
Without!!! Speaking!!! A. Single. Word!!!!
I am pretty certain you're breaking the UN Human Rights Declaration by doing this sort of acting and breaking our shriveled little shipper hearts.
Yes, you know exactly what you're doing. The notes probably said "fondly", and you went "Aziraphale looks at Crowley and sees the most inviting ox rib in existence" and don't you dare deny it. We see you.
Come answer for your crimes sir
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