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worriedvision · 7 months

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Your family consider you a failure - Wriothesley, Neuvillette

Okay so this is a very self-indulgent fic, basically reader had to drop out of university after they hit a real low with their health. A lot of mentions about being a quitter, and being a potential criminal and/or spoilt brat. It's a happy ending, although this is an angst plot. Wriothesley's one is longer than Neuvillette's...

Wriothesley:

When he asked when he would be meeting your parents, you were hesitant to take him. Your relationship with your family was shaky, and it didn't help that you still hadn't been able to 'pick yourself up'. It led to an argument, with Wriothesley talking about how lucky you were for having a family and you lashing out at him for trying to guilt you into taking him along for dinner. Your parents had heard of your relationship, and they were in favour of meeting the man. He was the Administrator, after all.

After some insistence, you finally invite him to meet your family. He fails to hide his excitement, asking what your family likes as he thinks of what teas he could take along as a gift, meanwhile you were preparing yourself for the family ripping your name apart and playing Cupid for another family member who accomplished more than you did.

"Oh, you must be Wriothesley!" Your mother greets your boyfriend, not you, at the door. "Please, come on in! We've been begging for our child to invite you over."

"Oh, I've been looking forward to this as well. It's nice to put a face to your family name."

Oh, our child is known for being a slacker with important things. Enough about them, I'll introduce you to everyone else!" Your mother giggles, Wriothesley just following in confusion at the sentence.

You stand outside for an extra minute, needing a moment to gather yourself. Unfortunately, your least favourite relative comes along.

"Come on, if you aren't careful I'm going to steal your boyfriend. He's a hot piece of action!"

Wriothesley didn't speak to you at the dinner table. In fact, he was silent. Staring at the table, he seems out of it.

"Oh, we have to tell you about (cousin)'s achievements. They are so gifted and talented!"

Oh crap, here we go. Your cousin brags about all of their degrees and qualifications, smirking at you whenever you'd make eye contact with them, and trying to impress Wriothesley. You were worried that your boyfriend was thinking about leaving you for one of your family members, especially with the jabs your mother made at the start of the meeting.

"_'s silent...Oh, sorry, I forgot you gave up." Your cousin chuckles. "I mean, failing to complete a degree and hiding behind health? Spoilt brat if you ask me." They continue. "Probably had to commit theft to keep their accommodation, how shameful."

"That's not true!" You plead, noting Wriothesleys shaking. "I've worked towards supporting myself."

"Oh, so you were lying about your health? Disgusting."

You hear a glass shatter in Wriothesleys direction, and upon looking over you gasp in horror. His hand had crushed the glass, now harmed by the glass.

"Is that what you think of people who can't get lots of qualifications? Well, let me tell you something." Wriothesley grumbles, hand still clenching as you try to calm him down. "I don't have degrees, nothing fancy. In fact, I have a criminal record, are you going to tell me I am a failure?"

"Well no, but-"

"In fact, I i think you are a failure of a human being if you are so close minded as to assume there is only one measure of intelligence." Wriothesley stands up, slamming his hands down on the table. You hold his unharmed hand, but this only makes him continue. "I do spoil _, but I do that because I love them. I am proud of my partner for picking themselves up, and I am ashamed they have you as a family."

"Oh? Didn't mean to strike a nerve there. Are your family-"

"Come, my love, we're leaving." Wriothesley tuts, you run to catch up with him. You hear your family call for you, your cousin calling you a gold digger as you keep going.

Upon your return back at the Fortress of Meropede, Wriothesley turns around and holds you close.

"I'm sorry for forcing you,"

You shake your head, crying into his chest as the long wait for the elevator to reach your floor continues. "I should have told you."

"What? That you're human? I'm not perfect either." Wriothesley sighs. Hearing a drip on the floor, you pull away, looking down at his harmed hand.

"Let's get your hand sorted."

---

Neuvillette:

When you proposed to Neuvillette, he requested to ask your parents for approval. He knew that some people would be intimidated by him, and approval from your family would reassure him you wouldn't get affected by this. Figuring it would be a quick visit, you agree.

If only you remembered just how cruel your parents could be.

Your parents tore into you, disrespecting you for needing some time to recover after failing to succeed in your first plan. The implications are that you were a criminal and pointing out the irony of you dating the Ludex, adding in the possibility you gave him a 'bribe' to be innocent.

Neuvillette held your hand, running his thumb over the back of it, and you note the rain has started.

"I apologise, _, it appears I made a mistake in wishing to meet your family." He sighs, your parents furrowing their brows. "I won't request another meeting with your family, given their behaviour towards you. As your fiancé, I cannot accept this slander. I bid thee farewell."

Your boyfriend walks out, you following with a warm smile on your face as you realise you chose the best man you could.

#wriothesley x gender neutral reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley #gender neutral reader #angst #neuvillette x gender neutral reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette

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doobean · 7 months

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AN EASY A - NAGI SEISHIRO

synopsis: There's a problem student in your class and he just can't seem to understand that he needs to put in the effort. You've already given him three chances to make up his assignments - all of which he ignored. But what happens when he suggests another alternative during office hours?

contents: explicit content, afab!fem!reader, age gap (he's 22 and reader is 27), student-teacher (duh), reader kind of a tough professor lol, also a bully too ig, sex in teacher's office, masturbation (reader), power imbalance, nonconsensual video recording, vaginal sex, unprotected, creampie, breast/nipple play, dom?reader, switch!nagi, cunninglingus, cumming on face and inside, degradation, name calling (brat x 2, good boy x 1), nagi having a big dick, happy ending :) word count: 3.7K a/n: part 3 of my kinktober event :3 SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG LIFE TOOK OVER BUT I HOPE THIS MAKES UP FOR THE LOST TIME ;; I WILL MAKE THE LAST KINKTOBER FIC EXTRA SPICY TOO DONT WORRY FAM - also im super proud of myself for literally scraping the draft and rewrote this within a span of two days?? like wow the pressure is on.

There are some habits that never seem to change — even with age. You’ve seen it all, experienced it too, from emailing your teachers last minute about having to make up an exam worth over half of your course grade to faking a family death in order to get an extension, or — and this is more for students who are a bit too ‘brave’ — blaming the teachers for their inability to do their jobs. You knew what you would be getting into when you went into this job, from having to do the last minute panic pleas to now being on the receiving end of it. And you now actually feel sorry for having to bombard your past professors like that.

You release a deep breath from your nose and flick the red gel pen across a student’s exam, circling the large failing number by their name. “I’ll see you next year.” You try to sound less harsh, more on the sympathetic side, since you’re relatively still within the same age group as some of these students, but who wants to hear that? That they have to repeat a course and be stuck a graduation year behind? Absolutely no one.

You want to look away as you hand the student back his exam scores because you just know it’s going to end with tears and meaningless pleas but that would be unprofessional on your end. Instead, you give the student a small smile and a couple of pieces of candy from the glass bowl next to you.

“Sorry if it’s not much but it’s better than nothing?” God, you need to work on your pep talk. These students are basically adults, not elementary school kids.

“A-Are you sure I can’t do anything else to boost my grade?” The student starts to whimper and you have to tense your whole body from cringing at their quivering voice.

Ugh, it’s useless. Why bother begging if they haven’t bothered to study the material?

Still, you manage to whip up an emphatic frown and shake your head, voice sounding more motherly. “I’m sure it’ll be easier for you to understand next time.”

Another whine and then a final huff before the student storms out of your office. By the time the door shuts and their wails are out of ear shot, you slump back into your chair and groan loudly into your palms. Your body aches from being at your desk all day long — your mind is doing no better, having to deal with students’ cries and unwarranted trauma dumping. Seriously, when are they going to pay teachers more to deal with this type of stuff?

On the bright side of things, your office hours are officially over. Final grades will be up by tonight and you’ve completed most of your tasks with all but one student being a constant no show for the eternity of the semester but that responsibility doesn’t fall onto you. He and the handful of others can just show up again next year.

You spend some time debating your options, eating a nice, warm bowl of noodles sounds good for now but… you did spend nearly eight hours cooped up in your office and you are feeling a bit high energy right now, so stress relieving might be a good answer first.

“Now, where did I put that thing?” You reach down your desk, pulling up your purse and rummage through it looking for a very specific purple ‘massager’.

It’s super rare for you to ‘release’ stress while on campus grounds, this might be one of the few times, with others following the same patterns, but you feel the utter need to reward yourself after today’s events. It’ll only take you maybe ten minutes max, afterwards it’s dinner and then a quiet train ride home. Plus, not like you have a partner who can do this for you — you barely have time to take care of yourself, let alone be in a relationship or commit yourself to a random hook up. Sometimes, it’s just better to handle the situation yourself since it is your body.

A breathy sigh leaves your lips as you place the vibrating head against the soft cotton fabric of your panties, already soaked through by just the thought of de-stressing yourself. You throw your head back, with one hand steady with the magic wand and the other traveling up to your blouse, unbuttoning the top and allowing your black bra to be exposed in the room. As you increase the pressure from the vibrations, your free hand spills your breasts from its cups, your thumbs and digits immediately running over the sensitive nubs and plush flesh of your chest as you start to chase your high.

“M-Mhm—! Right there…” You roll your head to the side and shut your eyes, imagination fleeting to the thoughts of a male seated in between your legs, his tongue desperate and latching to your overwhelmed clit and folds while your thighs keep his shoulders in place.

You think it’s so unfair that your other friends have already settled down with partners of their own. When holidays come around the corner, when you finally catch a break from all the whining and fake wolf cries, you just have to hear your friends gush about how romantic their partners are to them. You secretly hate winter because of it. All those talks about Christmas gifts, their New Year’s couples resolutions, their stupid fancy ski trips that cost close to thousands of dollars, and then top it off for Valentine’s Day. Summer is more bearable, only because of the lack of romantic holidays, but you still get bitter from seeing their beach photos and international trips.

You change the position of your magic wand, facing it closer and pressing it harder down your clit, nearly drawing blood from your lips as you suppress back a frantic moan — a moan that’s a mix of both pleasure and frustration.

Fuck the students. Fuck your friends. And fuck this job.

“H-Haah—! Oh my god…” Your hips buckle feverishly, body quaking in your seat as you start to feel a familiar coil tightening in your stomach and a rush down below. A build up of tears start pooling at the corners of your eyes as your vision starts to grow hazy. Your heart heaves forward, about to burst out of your chest, the imaginary man just about to finish you off—

Creak.

Your eyes immediately pop open and the color drains from your face at the squealing sound from the door. You don’t have enough time to cover yourself up when you realize that a student is standing by the entrance, wearing an equally shocked expression on his face. A tousle of white shaggy hair, large gray eyes, appearing at a staggering height with—your gaze trail to his hands and nearly faint from the sight—his phone.

The sound of the door creaking again snaps you out of the phase and your arms fly over your chest, the words stuck in your throat and your vibrator falling to the floor.

Shit, what should you ask first? Has he been recording you this whole time? When did he even show up? You’re positive that you were the only one left in the academic building, so what is going on?

“Um,” The male has the audacity to walk in the room, his gaze fixated on everything but you. “Are office hours still open?”

What. The. Fuck.

You blink once, twice, and, when the student is still standing there, confirming your thoughts that he isn’t an awful mirage sent down by the Lord himself, you feel yourself internally shrinking.

“I-Is that the first thing you want to ask me?” You stifle back a laugh, or at least you think it’s a laugh. Maybe even a few waterworks for later. “Just who are you?”

But then it hits you. The black and blue duffle bag he has by his side had his name engraved on it. You don’t need to take a closer to recognize the national team’s logo and you certainly don’t need a Google search to realize that Nagi fucking Seishiro, a soccer prodigy and your apparent student for the semester, might’ve just recorded you masturbating in your office.

You manage to find an old jacket from one of the drawers at your desk and throw it on before pointing a harsh finger at the man. “Delete it, now.”

“Will I get an A?” Nagi is surprisingly blunt and, now looking back, this might honestly be the first time you’ve ever talked to him out of the whole semester. He seems to catch your perplexed look, shooting you a pair of creased brows back as he explains, “All of my other courses were remote because of training and football games… You were the only professor that denied it.”

You huff, seemingly annoyed that he thinks he can be an exception to your course rules. “I don’t hand out favoritism to just anyone and,” You glare at the phone in his hand, sneering right back at his uncaring facial expression. “I’m definitely not going to pass you if you’re threatening to black mail me.”

“Maybe we can help each other out?” Nagi offers, maybe a bit too fast and too eager.

You cautiously sink back in your seat, eyes narrowing at his suggestion. “What are you implying, Nagi?” The male shuffles awkwardly in place and your gaze flicks down, eyes widening for the nth time today and an audible gasp slips out. “You can’t be serious.”

“I need to pass and you—” Nagi clears his throat and motions to your slick covered vibrator, which is still very much on and buzzing away on the wooden floor boards near his feet. “You didn’t finish.” He rakes his fingers through his hair and adjusts the semi-hard length through his sweats with his other before finishing his offer. “I’ll delete the video, help you, and you’ll give me an A?” Nagi lamely suggests.

You want to scream, dig yourself a ditch large enough to fit you and the rest of however much pride you had left, and wither away. You’ve had students coming to you with plenty of other excuses, much more tamed than whatever situation you’ve found yourself in. And, regardless how much shitty this actually is, it doesn’t get rid of the fact that: one — you’re still sexually frustrated from having your orgasm ruined by this oversized, lazy fucker, two — you literally just got this job a year ago and getting fired for masturbating on campus might not look so great on your record, and three — if Nagi is true to his words, maybe you both can just forget about it the next day.

“You don’t get the control, I do.” You rise from your seat, allowing the jacket to fall from your frame. Your gaze hardens on the male subject in front of you as you bend down to reach for your toy, turning it off and putting it away in a nearby drawer that’s most likely filled with other student’s graded assignments.

Whatever, they’ll probably cry more fluids on it when they get their results back anyway.

Nagi tenses when you reach over to touch his arms, feeling up his toned biceps and rest of his upper body underneath the black hoodie, and he doesn’t dare to move unless you tell him to. You let out a scoff, feeling satisfied that he’s already willing to compromise so quickly under short notice. With a light tug on his sleeve, you drag him closer to your desk and settle yourself on top of it. You hike up your pencil skirt to your upper thighs and spread your legs wide enough for the width of his shoulders.

“On your knees, brat.”

He silently obliges, bending down on one knee and his hands find home on your inner thighs. You resist the urge to squirm under his touch, still feeling rather sensitive from your earlier chase and not wanting to give him any ounce of satisfaction. Without any audible exchanges, he allows you to direct his head closer to the heat of your sex, the combination of your increasing wetness and the hot puffs from his breath makes your stomach twist in anticipation.

With a quick swipe, his fingers brush aside your panties to the crease of your thighs and lean in, giving a few experimental licks to your slicked cover folds before burying the rest of his face in. Your reaction is instant. Your fingers claw their way deep into his shoulder blades, thighs threatening to squeeze the living life out of him, but Nagi’s grip is even more threatening. He stays rigid, palms glued to your thighs and keeping them in place as his tongue flicks against the stiff nub — drawing lazy circles.

Your mouth betrays your character as he suddenly decides to insert two digits, scissoring their way into your velvety walls. Nagi grunts in response at just how lewd you sound right now.

“Soaking wet…” He observes with careful eyes at your sex before looking up, a playful smirk flashes across his face when he notices the flush in your cheeks. With another twirl from his fingers, combined with the slow swirls from his tongue, your head rolls back as the torrent seems to be relentless.

With the next extra pumps, you cum hard with a shudder, vicing your thighs against his head. You can feel the leak of fluids slide out of your folds, and Nagi pushes his face inward, making sure he slid his tongue against that sweet spot of yours again. It blinds you with a final surge of pleasure, and you cry out as your orgasm shakes you to the core, nails biting into his shoulders.

You’ve never experienced an orgasm that intense before, even with the usage of your vibrator — hell, you can’t even remember when’s the last time a man has made you reach that high. Bright colors cloud your vision as you tumble through what seems like an endless bliss. Your body goes slack, back now flushed against the office desk, but Nagi’s body is still tense, his muscles twitching as he gets to his feet and lifts your legs off his shoulders.

“Hey,” Nagi slurs, wiping away your slick with the back of his hand. “We’re not done here.”

“W-What are you talking about—ah!”

Your vision is just beginning to clear up when you find yourself trapped between Nagi’s arms. He’s hovering above you, a certain dark look casts over his gray hues as he bores into your own. You swallow hard, heart beating faster when you look down to see his sweats already laid around his thighs and his cock springs free, head spilling with heavy amounts of pre. Nagi’s length twitches at the sounds of your moans and the male takes that as a sign of approval.

“What?” He leans forward, his bangs brushing against your forehead. “You’ve never seen a penis before?”

“Don’t get smart with me, brat.” You spit back, immediately tearing your gaze away from his rather impressive size. Might be the biggest you’ve ever seen in person outside from those awful porn videos online.

If you can find the energy to, you might’ve laughed at his lame attempt to have the upper hand, but Nagi doesn’t waste his time. He closes the distance, smashing his lips against yours, tongue already dragging its way down your throat. You choke back but recover quickly, hands flying to his locks, grabbing fistfuls, and rocking your hips against his hardened appendage. A sinful groan slips from his lips and lifts one of your thighs up, your ankle resting on his shoulder while he wraps the other around his waist.

You part your lips when he breaks away from the kiss, a thin trail of saliva connecting you two, and a whine spills from you as Nagi begins sliding his cock in between your folds. He sucks in his teeth, breath hitching sharply at the sight.

“Wanna put it in so bad—” He shudders seeing your slick engulfing his length. “Can I—Can I please put it in?” His monotone voice now replaced with a shaky resolve, almost as if he’s seeking for your next stage of approval and pleasure.

You reach up and cup his cheeks in your hands, eyes softening at his glassy ones. “Promise to delete that video and you might get a chance, Nagi.”

“Sei,” The male breathes out.

You tilt your head. “Huh?”

Nagi leans into your touch, nuzzling his cheeks into your palms. “Want you to call me Sei… Can you do that?”

“Sei…” You whisper out, suppressing back a laugh when you see the towering male tensing at the sound of his name. The twitching from his cock brushes against your clit making you squirm. “Sei, make me cum around that cock of yours.”

A cry escapes from the both of you when he slides in, inching bit by bit and holding your waist with both hands as leverage. You can’t do anything but throw your head back, sounds leaving your hoarse throat at the sheer size from him. Your hands can only reach his thighs, nails leaving their crescent marks on his skin as Nagi bottoms out inside of you with a long, agonizing stroke. Nagi takes his time, building a slow but steady rhythm, staring down at you with intense gray eyes and making sure the thickness of his cock stretches your walls as he continues. You suddenly feel grateful that you came earlier, the extra slick and foreplay made the insertion easier because you’re certain without it there’s no guarantee that you would’ve been able to handle this mind numbing fucking.

After a few more experimental strokes, Nagi finds a comfortable pace. You’re now starting to get used to him and it feels so, so good that you’re finding everything in your power to spread your legs as far open as they would go. Sensing your struggle, Nagi lifts one hand to push your thigh back even further, and you let out a yelp, whining when you feel him brushing against that sweet spot inside of you again.

A warm rushing sensation starts building in your stomach again and you feel as if you’re about to jump off a cliff. Your walls clamp down around his cock, wails starting to bounce off the walls and legs shaking without any means of control. You’re absolutely floored by the way Nagi’s able to make your body react this much under his touch. It’s only your first time having sex, yet it feels like he’d been making love with you for a lifetime.

Your eyes fly shut as the feeling of his callous thumbs make their way onto your swollen clit, rubbing and tapping away. Flames are riding your nerves, you can’t hold back any sort of resistance in your voice as he picks up the pace, hips slamming into yours and sounds of sex filling the air. Nagi moves swiftly and punishingly, holding your hips still and not allowing you any room to move around as his cock tears against that spot that had tears finally spilling down your flushed face.

“Sei,” You choke out a sob, throwing a hand over your mouth to try and suppress some of the noise. Though, you and him both know it’s a futile effort.

The build up of pleasure is so binding that you’re beginning to lose sense of time and place, feeling only the desperate and feral thrusts from your student. Your second orgasm fades slowly, leaving you in a pool of ecstasy, but that doesn’t stop Nagi.

Still hard and pumping, his grip on your hips only tighten and he grunts out a lustful moan. “Feels good, right? Cumming all over me?”

You look up to him, tears of pleasure disorienting your vision, and in a state where you’re too incoherent to speak — pleading only with your doe eyes.

Nagi understood immediately. He slows down his pace, leaning forward, making sure the head of his cock kisses the inside of your cervix before bending down to place one on your own gaping lips.

“Such a good boy, aren’t you?” You manage out.

He groans at the pet name and peppers your face and neck with wet kisses, lifting your leg with one hand so that he can slowly stroke back and forth inside.

One of your hands reaches for your chest, fondling and toying with your nipples while your other hand reaches for the back of his head, gripping his white locks and pulling him down for another feverish kiss. Your lips remain sealed and pressed together in a battle of tongues as he rocks inside of you, sending you yet another orgasm as he moans into your mouth.

“H-Haah—I’m close…” His hips buck wildly. “Gonna cum inside of this pretty pussy…”

Nagi finally comes undone inside of you, his whole body shuddering as coats of white paint the insides of your velvety walls. A heavy pant from him catches your ears as he pulls out slowly, eyes admiring the hot, white trail that travels down your thighs and onto your desk.

By now, you can barely keep your eyes open, both mind and body exhausted. You try to get up, only to find zero strength left in your limbs, but soon you feel a pair of toned biceps around your waist and Nagi pulls you into his firm, yet comforting chest.

You want to ask him something again, something regarding that video he took of you earlier, but you’re beginning to lose your train of thought as exhaustion creeps up. Your entire body aches and your pussy is still emptying his remaining orgasm. But, strangely enough, you find yourself not caring about it anymore.

A smile makes its way onto your features as you drift off to sleep, making you miss the fact that Nagi did delete the video shortly after and scribble a quick note next to your purse. It’ll be another hour before you have the chance to read it.

‘Don’t forget that A. XXX-XXX-0506 - Sei.’

KINKTOBER TAGLIST (PART III)

@milkistoshi @mareonyan @saenora @blissblossom @wowonamo

#doobean:kinktober23 #cw: power imbalance #cw: video recording #cw: age gap #bllk #blue lock #bllk smut #bllk x reader #nagi x reader #blue lock x reader #nagi seishiro #nagi seishiro smut #nagi seishiro x reader #blue lock x female reader #bllk x female reader #doobean writes

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nanawritesit · 2 years

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Obey Me! Demon Brothers Imagine: The Moment They Realize They’re In Love With You

Lucifer: When he finds himself constantly considering your opinion

Lucifer never needed to take anyone’s opinions into consideration. Well, he was concerned with Lord Diavolo’s plans for the Devildom, but when it came to his day to day life, he lived only for himself. He never changed his routine. That was how he liked it. But when you came along he found himself adjusting his schedule, listening to new records, going to new places, trying new foods… and it didn’t bother him. It actually made him happy to do the things that you liked. Now before he did anything, he’d think to himself, “what would Y/N think?” One night, you had wandered into his room while he was playing piano for a late night chat. While you were rambling on about this piano piece you liked, he was looking at you admirably when he started thinking about why he was so lost in your words in the first place. He realized then that the only way pride himself could care so much about someone else’s opinion, was if he was in love with them. The thought would catch him off guard for a moment, then he’d chuckle to himself. You stopped your rambling to ask him what was so funny. He pulled you into his lap and tilted your jaw up to look him in the eye.

“Nothing is funny about how in love I am with my human. I take you very seriously, my darling. I just found it amusing how long it took me to realize it for myself. Who would’ve thought that I could ever be so hopelessly in love?”

Mammon: When you defend him against others, even when he’s not around

He knew that eavesdropping was wrong. He knew that Lucifer despised it and reserved his worst punishment for it. He knew that you would be upset if you knew he was pressed up against the office door listening to your conversation. But he couldn’t help it! Diavolo and Lucifer had interrupted your study session and dragged you off to the office for some sort of important discussion, and the whole thing was just too damn suspicious. He could hear Lucifer going on and on about all the debts Mammon had racked up that week, all the tests he had failed, all the rules he had broken… Diavolo was just trying to explain to you that he was concerned about Mammon’s performance, and was hoping you could be a good example for him. You were respectful of Diavolo’s intentions, but you were pissed at the way Lucifer was talking about his younger brother. How could he call him worthless and compare him to scum so cruelly? You snapped and went off on him despite how much more powerful he was than you, fearlessly telling him that if he talked about your demon like that again, it would be the last time he’d speak the name Mammon. Mammon couldn’t hold back anymore after that. He burst open the doors of the office and ran in, taking you into his arms.

“MC, I love ya so much! No one ever sticks up for me! You’re my favorite person in the whole world!”

Leviathan: When you show up to his room in cosplay as an apology

You had broken one of his Ruri figurines, and you felt absolutely terrible. The thing was, he wasn’t even angry with you! He insisted that accidents happen and that it could be replaced. But you saw the way his lip quivered and how his hands trembled when he cleaned it up. You knew him too well to just brush it off as a mistake. You realized you couldn’t replace the figure, but you could make it up to him somehow! You immediately went to work on your cosplay as Ruri’s sidekick, then knocked on Levi’s door to surprise him. You announced that you were there to deliver an apology message from his dear friend Y/N. He was absolutely overwhelmed with appreciation at your kind gesture that he wasn’t even expecting, the smile on his face so big you thought it would break his face. How could you be so perfect, he thought to himself. Levi pulled you into the tightest embrace and buried his face into the crook of your neck, wanting to hide his blush and the small tears in his eyes.

“Oh my god MC, I love you so much. You’re so amazing, please stay with me forever.”

Satan: When he sees you care for a stray cat

You were walking back to the House of Lamentation from a shopping trip to the book store, when a little black cat had wandered over and pawed at your legs. You both knealt down and played with the cat for a while, rubbing its ears and stroking its back. You went to look at its tag and saw that it didn’t have an owner. You started vocalizing your concern for the poor kitty, worried that it wasn’t going to get dinner that night or have a warm place to sleep. You insisted that you had to sneak it into the House of Lamentation, just until you could find it a good home. The way you didn’t even hesitate to take the little kitty in was so admirable to Satan, especially when he considered Lucifer’s distaste for cats. Seeing you care for such a helpless creature out of the kindness of your own heart broke something inside of him. He’d stop right in his tracks and wait for you to turn around and look at him.

“You’re wonderful, you know that? You have such a good heart. I’m so in love with you it hurts.”

Asmodeus: When he can smell your perfume/ cologne in a crowd

Asmo was known for his intense shopping sprees that resembled an olympic sport. He lugged around carts full of his shopping bags and left no stone unturned in every single store. Naturally, you needed a break, and decided to go take a breather while he was distracted looking at some shoes. When he turned around to ask your opinion on one, he panicked upon not seeing you there. He immediately assumed the worst and bolted out of the store, calling for you and running around frantically. The mall was crowded, and everyone was moving so fast he couldn’t see anything clearly! Suddenly it hit him. Your scent. You were nowhere to be seen, but he could smell you in the middle of all these people. He followed the smell and found you passed out on a bench, sleeping peacefully despite all the noise around you. He giggled at how cute you looked and placed his sweater over you before sitting down next to you.

“Maybe I’ll take a break too MC. You have such good ideas, that’s one of the things I love about you. Did I just say that? I guess I did. I love you. I’ll make it more romantic when you wake up, I promise.”

Beelzebub: When you take care of him while he’s sick

He couldn’t help it, Hell’s Kitchen had a special on his absolute favorite burger and he was just so excited that he overate. His belly was so swollen and upset, and his fever was so high he couldn’t even get out of bed. After he didn’t come to breakfast, you showed up to his room and found him curled up in bed holding his stomach. After he told you what was wrong with him, you insisted that you both take the day off so you could take care of him. He initially protested, saying he had Fangol practice and student council after school, and there was no way Lucifer was going to allow it. You told him you would take care of Lucifer, and that there was no way he was going out in this condition. You put a cold towel on his forehead to help with the fever, and a heating pad over his tummy to aid in digestion. You had him drink plenty of water and get lots of rest, and when his tummy ache was gone, you told him to take a nice long nap. Once he was asleep, you made him a light soup and a cup of tea. When he woke up from his nap, groggy and half delirious from the fever, he caught a blurry image of you dunking a wash cloth in cold water while arguing on the phone with Lucifer. The tray of his meal was sitting over on his nightstand, and a humidifier was running in the corner. You had taken care of everything, making sure he wouldn’t worry about a single thing beyond getting better. He didn’t know what he would have done without you. You were the most caring person in the world to him without being obligated to. Why were you so worried about him? You didn’t even hesitate to miss all your commitments for the day just to help him. You must really love him. Probably just as much as he loved you, he thought. You hung up the phone and turned around to see him staring at you with a crooked smile. When you asked him what he was smiling about, he sat up and chuckled before answering.

“You, you’re so in love with me. It makes me happy, because I’m in love with you too. I know I’m kind of out of it from the fever, but I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

Belphegor: When he doesn’t mind sacrificing his sleep for you

The brothers were absolutely baffled when they saw the youngest demon rising early and staying up late to spend time with you. On one particular night, they burst into the attic expecting to find him asleep, only to find him awake, typing away on a computer while you were passed out on the floor next to him. You had been working particularly hard on a student council project for the festival, and practically collapsed on him from exhaustion. Belphie insisted that you get some rest, saying you deserved it and that he would finish the work you were doing. At the noise of the intrusion, you woke up to see him angrily shooing his brothers away, saying they were being too loud and would wake you up. When he turned around and saw you awake, he got worried, telling you to go back to sleep and that everything was taken care of. You laughed and apologized for making him miss his evening nap, to which he just tucked your hair behind your ear and smiled.

“No, I really don’t mind it at all. The others were surprised but I’m not sleepy. I just want you to get the rest you deserve. Because I… well, I love you. And I want to take care of you. That’s all there is to it.”

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lxtstrip · 18 days

Text

Homesick | C. Sturniolo

TW: weed/drugs mention

AN: first sturniolo fic — also don’t do drugs, smoke a joint (pack a bowl, rip a bong, eat an edible idc!) where/when legal and enjoy.

WC: 935

Pairing: Chris x Reader

“Stay in Boston.” Chris read with confusion from a crumpled note he found in his newly thrifted hoodie pocket. He didn’t think much of it, just some trash left by an artist in Los Angeles. Whether it was a photographer, videographer, songwriter, or maybe a failed sketch was anyone’s guess.

What he wasn’t aware of was the treacherous journey that hoodie had taken to get to him and its ties to the city he called home. The hoodie had gone through a family vacation, a boy’s high school career, moving into a college dorm, a relationship, many italian ice date nights, and a breakup. The hoodie signified an era of someone’s life; the same tagline as everything else you lay your eyes on at a thrift store.

He thought about everything he had ever known as the items were piling up in his newly found second hand collection. Donating his skates when he was 13, his mother cleaning out the garage of all their holiday things, and even down to his brothers piling clothes on the bed to list for sale online. He didn’t own much, just enough to keep him out of trouble, so the thought of someone having enough to give away was enough to make his head spin.

He kept the paper regardless of whether it was trash or not. Chris adored Boston and only associated positive memories with it. Fenway Park, Gillette Stadium and TD Garden were his go to places to hang with his friends, brothers, or even alone. He remembers frantically Googling ‘free things to do in Boston’ before dates and eventually dipping into his wallet after he couldn’t find anything good with pride. He was someone who would do anything to make anyone happy, whatever the cost, but he couldn’t apply that theory to himself.

When all was done and dusted for the day he decided to shut himself in his room and unwind. He ran his fingers down the spines of the books you gave him, reading the titles to himself, hearing your voice with each syllable. Empty promises of going to visit him came flooding back into his memory as soon as he saw your favorite book; tattered edges, taped spine, and a receipt paper bookmark. He shook himself out of it and went to his desk to pack a bowl.

With a swift flick of the lighter Chris pressed the glass to his lips and inhaled for a moment feeling the weight of the world lift off of his shoulders. He sat in his computer chair and looked around his room for signs of you - something, anything. He repeated the motion a few times and grabbed the torn piece of paper from his thrifting excursion.

“Stay in Boston.” Chris repeated to himself countless times before grabbing his phone. He knew your number by heart and as soon as he hit the call button an all-too-familiar ache came over him. He took another hit and exhaled when he heard your voicemail message play. He never thought he’d be here; alone, in his room, pining after a love lost.”

“Hey, it’s Chris…” he started. “I wish you were here. I’ve said it every day to myself while I’ve been out here. I know neither of us wanted this… I don’t think either of us knew what we wanted. I’ve been getting by on memories of stumbling to diners and stealing the mugs or skipping classes to go hang out at the park…” he took another hit and sighed. “What I’m trying to say is my heart will always have a space for you, my brain has always had one.”

You looked at your phone to see another voicemail from Chris. You shrugged it off thinking it was most likely another message he recorded at a party where he would preface it with whatever drug he was taking at the time; the west coast ruined him. As much as you hated to admit it you kept up with their videos and you locked in on Chris looking more gaunt every time.

You hadn’t answered a call from Chris in months and you never reached back out. You listened to his newest voice message as you recanted the first call since the split. He had just done a few lines of cocaine and he described it as feeling a sense of finally being able to focus to a greater extent. It shook you to your core that a once happy-go-lucky boy turned into… this. You couldn’t even begin to describe what you were feeling.

Chris often called to describe his high to you; cocaine, ayahuasca, benzos, acid, angel dust, salvia - the list went on. You were still his safe space and since he drew the conclusion you weren’t even listening to them he let his troubles go in the safe space of voicemails and dial tones.

Chris clutched the “Stay in Boston” note and thought about what it meant to the previous owner of the hoodie. Chris also thought about why this would fall into his lap and when it did. He slowly fell back into his nightly routine while he continued to contemplate that random piece of paper.

After a night of continuing keeping up his high, losing games, and melting his brain over three words Chris decided to head to bed. The second he was in bed it’s as if on cue he saw your name flash across his screen. It knocked his next breath out of him as he answered with a simple “Hello?”

“Chris…” you said followed by a shaky exhalation. “Please stay in Boston.”

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #tw: weed #tw: drugs #lmk if we need anymore tw’s friends!

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deus-ex-mona · 4 months

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let lipxlip sleepxsleep

Aizo: Great at dance performances due to his athleticism. The way his ponytail sways when he dances never fails to drive their Julieta wild!

Q: How would you say the phrase “Trick or Treat”?

Aizo: Trick or Treat… Give me some treats, or else I’m gonna play a trick on you.

[Argh! I tried to say it as cool as I could… but now I’m kinda embarrassed (laughs).]

Yujiro: A well-mannered boy who is especially good at singing. The way his dignified gaze peeks out from beneath his diagonally cut bangs is always sure to blow the reason out of their Julietas’ minds!

Q: How would you say the phrase “Trick or Treat”?

Yujiro: Trick or Treat! Will you give me treats? Or, perhaps, would you like me to play a trick on you?

[I’m so embarrassed… This is the first time that I’ve ever felt this embarrassed from saying “Trick or Treat” (blushes).]

Special Release! A Day in the Life of LIPxLIP

The super popular idols of LIPxLIP are High School students. Let’s take a look at a day’s schedule of these two exceptional student idols in this special release!

6am: Yujiro: Wakes up → Solo dance practice

7am: Aizo: Wakes up → Goes on a morning run

8am: They both go to school

8am-4pm: They attend classes at school

4pm: School ends → They head off for their lessons

5pm: Their lessons begin

6pm-10pm: Dance lessons, voice training, etc.

10pm: Their lessons end

10.30pm: They head home

11pm: They take their baths and review the scope of their upcoming interviews and such that are scheduled for the next day

12am: They go to bed

Yujiro x Aizo INTERVIEW

Their feelings for their Julieta always spurs them on

From the looks of your schedule, you guys are busy from the crack of dawn to late at dusk. How do you manage to cope with your school lives and your idol lives?

Aizo: Back when I first started High School, all I thought was “Ugh, school…”, but now, I’m thankful for the words of “You only have a single chance to enjoy your High School life.” that the President of our agency had said to us. Not gonna lie, it’s really hard to cope with school and our idol activities.

Yujiro: To be honest, when I first entered High School, there were times when I felt reluctant to go to school, thinking along the lines of “I’d much rather prioritise my work and lessons, so why do I have to go to school…?”. But now, I’m enjoying both school and our activities as LIPxLIP. I’m finding life to be very fulfilling at present.

Aizo: I can’t cut corners in both my school life and our activities as LIPxLIP, so I’m always giving it my all! I was totally bushed the day after the sports festival, though (laughs).

Yujiro: I was able to work in top condition the next day… or so I’d like to say, but I was still a little tired myself. I almost nodded off during our break at work. Aizo fell asleep though (laughs).

Aizo: Hey! You can’t say stuff like that!

The two of you live very busy lives as LIPxLIP. But just what spurs you guys on to work as hard as you do?

Yujiro: We owe it all to the support that our Julieta have shown us.

Aizo: We really want our Julieta to see us at our coolest after all!

By the way, how has school been for you these days?

Aizo: We play basketball during our lunch break with our classmates, and it’s a ton of fun! We are also thinking about playing soccer next time.

Yujiro: I think my grades aren’t bad at all. I’m striving to cope with both my High School life and my idol activities, but I wouldn’t be able to say that I’m coping if my test scores were bad, right? So, I’m doing perfectly well in that regard!

As for your idol activities, you guys have released Shin Jidai, your first collaboration song with your seniors, Full Throttle4 (FT4). What was the recording process like?

Yujiro: I was very nervous before the recording session because it was a collaboration song. However, despite still being nervous during the actual recording, I was able to learn a lot from YUI and RIO. It may be an exaggeration to say this, but I watched and studied the way they recorded without blinking a single time.

Aizo: I’m with Yujiro on this. YUI’s carefree high notes, RIO’s skillful and persuasive singing, the way they were both able to respond to the producer’s directions immediately, and the fact that they were able to sing in all kinds of patterns made me think that they’re what we should strive to achieve. But YUI usually eats nothing but super spicy food, so how he’s even able to sing such high notes in such a relaxed manner remains a complete mystery (laughs).

Yujiro: Aizo, if YUI reads this article, he’d definitely get mad at you (laughs).

Aizo: We’ll have to cut that bit out, then (laughs).

We’ll write the article with care (laughs). Shin Jidai sure has a different vibe from your usual songs as LIPxLIP, doesn’t it?

Yujiro: Our collaboration song, Shin Jidai, has ambitious lyrics and a rock soundtrack, which aren’t often heard in our previous songs, so I think that we were able to show our Julieta a completely new side of us.

Aizo: Since our Julieta loved the song too, I want to sing more rock songs in the future. So look forward to it!

I have high expectations for your future songs! By the way, speaking of FT4, when you were guest performers at their concert, Full Throttle4 LIVE 2022 RECEPTION PARTY, back in July, Aizo imitated DAI and Yujiro imitated MEGU. How did you guys feel about it?

Aizo: I never expected that I’d have to impersonate DAI right there on stage…

Yujiro: I was extreeeeemely surprised!

Aizo: Though, didn’t we unexpectedly manage to nail our impressions? (laughs)

You guys nailed them! I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw it…

Aizo: Right? I’m glad to hear that. Yujiro’s impression of MEGU almost made me laugh too (laughs).

Yujiro: MEGU’s unique in a good way (laughs).

It has been announced that LIPxLIP will be performing live at Special Sunny Party, which is set to be held in October. Please give an enthusiastic message to your fans who are waiting for the live to take place.

Aizo: We’re giving it our all in our lessons so that we’ll be able to bring the best possible smiles to your faces, Julieta. Please look forward to it!

Yujiro: Like Aizo said, we’re attending our lessons diligently so that you’ll be able to see us at our coolest. So look forward to our performance in October!

How will LIPxLIP celebrate Halloween? A Themed Q&A

Q1: What tricks would you prank each other with?

Aizo: I’d give Yujiro a bitter beverage while pretending that it’s cocoa. He’s prolly gonna be in a bad mood for the entire day (laughs), but I’m confident that my prank will be a success.

Yujiro: I’d prank Aizo with a wake up surprise. Maybe I’d have him quietly carried out to the middle of our school’s schoolyard while he’s asleep and wake him up there. Or perhaps I’ll get the help of YUI from FT4 and have Aizo wake up to a flashy performance by YUI (laughs).

Q2: If you were to release a song or a music video centred around Halloween, what would it be like?

Aizo: I’d want to don a cape or something and act like a vampire! I’d put on some fangs too.

Yujiro: Vampires are nice, aren’t they? I’d like to star in a music video that tells the story about idols who are only active at night… but in truth, they happen to be vampires.

Aizo: They’d be super mysterious idols for sure cuz they don’t do any work during the day.

Yujiro: What are your thoughts on making a Halloween-exclusive music video about the day in the life of “Vampire Idols LIPxLIP”, which starts with us waking up in the evening and going to bed in the morning?

Aizo: Let’s discuss it with the Pres and our Manager back at the office (laughs).

Q3: Is there anything you’d like to dress up in?

Aizo: I’d like to wear a kimono. To be honest, I’m a little interested in kumadori, the style of makeup that’s used in Kabuki.

Yujiro: You are? I can help you to get dressed up in that. As for me… I’m interested in the makeup and outfits of the female models who walk down the runway. I find myself thinking about how cool they are when I see the way their high heels clack as they strut their stuff, so I’d like to experience it for myself.

Aizo: I guess they are… But I’m not confident in my ability to walk in heels (laughs).

Q4: What kinds of treats would you give each other?

Aizo: I’d give Yujiro a treat with such a great impact that it’ll leave him stunned in surprise. Like a brightly coloured cake from overseas, maybe? I know he loves sweets and that he has probably eaten all kinds of them, but I wanna venture out in search of sweets that he has never eaten before and is curious about!

Yujiro: Aizo’s not really one for sweets, so I’d look for treats that even someone like him can indulge in. Like something coffee-flavoured or infused with matcha, for instance.

#yeah some stuff is prolly very questionably worded; may edit this later idk #ngl i appreciate animedia's commitment to bringing up ft4 literally everywhere and anywhere possible #no school just ft4 so trueeeeeeeeeee #pls correct me wherever necessary (it's late at the time of post scheduling so i may have missed something) thanks~~~~~~~#染BODY ONCE TOLD ME—#lxl tl things

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velnica · 4 months

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Homeward (Orpheus/Eurydice)

A ficlet about Eurydice, Sanson's Ancient self, and Orpheus, Guydelot's Ancient self.

He is here again, with his sweet melody that filled the night air like a thousand nightingales. It is obvious that he is here for me, though I do not know why he would, when he can have his fill of adoring audience with far more enthusiasm elsewhere. Yet for nigh a moon he had greeted me as I leave for home, leaning his tall frame against the stone wall outside the building. His is a striking form under the moonlight; a shining jewel to my tarnished brass.

"Good evening, Eurydice," he says, as per usual.

"Good evening, Orpheus," I reply back, like all of those other days. He smiles back, and nothing else is said; from here on the only sound left will be my footsteps, and a song that follows them until I round over yonder corner. So I walk down the stairs and along the pavement as is routine, but I fail to shake the feeling that something is different tonight.

I look up at the moon, seeking answers. Is it his looks? No, Orpheus has always looked the same; confident and bright, as is his right as one of Altima's protégé. Is it his smile? No, it is always gentle and sincere; a smile just for me, he'd said once, and I could not find the lie in those words.

I crane my ears back towards him when it hits me: Orpheus's melody has a different lilt, imperceptible perhaps to those who have not listened to it near nightly, but it is there—half a note deeper and half a breath slower, as if it is waiting for something to happen, something to rouse it back to its usual tempo.

The book against my chest feels inadequate to contain the sudden swell of heat that blooms within. It's an absurd proposition, that someone like Orpheus could be waiting for someone like me; Eurydice; a plain-faced clerk with far too serious a furrow between my brows and minuscule talent for nothing else except recording history.

And yet...

I stop at the far end of the path, where the pavement's patterns meld to a different design. He is still leaning against the pillar; playing, waiting. The wind takes that exact moment to change, and with it, so do I.

"Your melody is different tonight, perchance you can explain its intricacies as I walk home?" I ask, before blushing several shades deep. By the Star, that sounded far too bold—

Orpheus's melody suddenly shifts, this time rising up to a trill, akin to a flight of birds looping through the air. He near jogs to catch up, not breaking even a single note, then stops next to me.

"I've one better. Let me play you a new composition, and you may tell me your opinion of it."

"You know I'm no good critique. I know little and less about techniques," I confess. Instead of chastisement, Orpheus just grins.

"Pah, I've no shortage of people raring to tell me that I ought to use a different scale for more sophistication or some such; no, I'd like you to describe to me what you feel when you hear it, just as you have always done."

I colour even more. It is such a simple ask, and I've always opined on his songs—often unprompted—when he barges into my resting spot at lunch; yet tonight it feels like my answer will forever change the course of... of...

Orpheus waits, still with that handsome grin on his face. His beautiful turquoise eyes shine from behind the mask, and I am drawn ever closer as if pulled by an invisible string. The heat returns to my chest and before I can make a fool of myself, I nod.

His grin bursts into stars. "Come then, let us begin," he says as he lifts his harp and starts walking, in sync with his new melody.

I fall into step with him and listen to this new song, to Orpheus's voice, to the plucking of strings against his fingertips and I let myself feel. The melody tugs at the corner of my lips and before I realise it, I am grinning wide, heart light and aflutter.

I look up at the sky again and send up a wish—to the Star and the Moon, may this feeling never, ever fade.

Continued in Invitation.

#ahhhhhhhhhhhh #screaming incoherently #I just had to write this one down #orpheus x eurydice #sanson smyth #guydelot thildonnet #guydesan #bard boys #ancient bard boys #ffxiv #my gposes #my fic writing

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tgrailwar-zero · 10 months

Text

As KUKULKAN worked on breaking down the loose bricks, CONSTANTINE and PRETENDER kept an eye out.

PRETENDER: "Sure, nothing wrong with a bit of caution."

You watched as several twinkling faeries disappeared into the darkness.

Following suit, the walls crumbled, resulting in another path.

The three Servants stepped into a wide room, looking around.

KUKULKAN: "Look! A sword."

She pointed at a weapon, stabbed into the rock- cracks splintering around the point of impact. It was a blade of deep crimson with black trimming.

The blade was dull, the red-hot sheen mottled by dust and cobwebs forming on the odd curses and indentations on the blade, but seemed to have a certain heat radiating off of it. Reaching a hand towards it, CONSTANTINE drew it back with a wince, as if burned.

CONSTANTINE: "It's like there's some sort of magecraft preventing me from using it. My hand gets too close, and it feels like my fingers are are about to burn off."

He squinted, looking closer at the strange blade, finding some engraving on it.

Regnum caelorum et gehenna.

CONSTANTINE: "...'The kingdom of heaven and hell'..."

KUKULKAN: "That said 'Blade's Tomb', right? Perhaps this is the 'blade' that they were speaking of?"

CONSTANTINE: "Perhaps. Though I wonder who this belonged to. Perhaps someone who fought in the 'Origin War'?"

Reviewing the facts, it seemed like there were three wars, at least. A 'Lunar Grail War' that went wrong, the 'Origin War' where you first arrived, and this current 'Solar Grail War' that you were a part of.

PRETENDER: "Not sure, I suppose the only answers lay deeper. You know, I never thought of myself as the type who did well in dark spaces like this, but being part of a group makes it a bit more manageable."

With a spectacular success, you note something close to the sword- off to the side, hidden a bit. KUKULKAN seemed to spot it as well, stepping over and picking it up. It seemed to be a small, circular object- and luckily perfectly in-tact, undamaged by any sort of reckless rummaging.

When it was picked up, a holographic image flickered to life- a recording. The woman on the recording seemed... familiar. She looked like CASTER- though her gaze was a bit less derisive. More tired. Stressed. And unlike how CASTER seemed unflappable, this 'CASTER' seemed to be just as aware of the pains of the world as anyone else. She seemed... scared.

CASTER(?): [ Saber, I assume that if you've found this blade, you've recovered your memories. I don't know how- maybe though that 'Imperial Cheat' that you call a 'skill'. And I can also assume that you're very, very angry with me. But listen… ]

CASTER(?): [ We were never going to agree on how to handle the situation we're in, so I'm taking things into my own hands. I barely managed to convince that Nameless Servant. So I played dirty. Perhaps, if you pick up this blade again, your first instinct will be to go for my neck and put me to task. Or whatever 'me' is left, I suppose. But… ugh, well… ]

CASTER(?): [ …I'm desperate, okay? You weren't there when it first arrived. Didn't see what it did to the world. I did. If you were left to your own devices, you'd grab your sword and keep fighting and breaking yourself over and over again to no avail, all while my Darling could do nothing but sit and watch. You'd lose. You'd die. You'd fail. There's no winning this as Heroic Spirits. Not as we are. Not as I am. ]

CASTER(?): [ I can get this to work. I swear I can. Even if all of my will is corroded in the process, if I can just keep that 'intent'- I can do it. So please, Saber- and you know I don't say 'please' a lot. If you're back- find me. Give me a chance. You two gave me a chance before- saving the life of one less-than-perfect girl like myself. I just need one more, and I won't let anyone down. ]

CASTER(?): [ …I'll make his wish come true, okay? ]

With that, the image flickered out.

#thgw story #thgw: chapter 5 #main post

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youphoriaot7 · 8 months

Text

Wait, um...crack theory that's starting to feel less and less crack by the second? (Or maybe I'm just convincing myself.)

What if this ["this" being the note, the corpse, the message in blood] was all done by Cellbit's minime?

This actually plays into something I was thinking about the other day, which is that the Federation knows exactly what they're doing. And...you know, I hesitate to say this. Because while it may have been an incredibly confusing day, it still felt like a win, and I don't want to take that away.

But the more and more I think about it, the more sense it makes for the Federation to have...at least planned for the A0 project to get stolen, if not pointed the islanders towards it.

I was backwatching Cellbit's October 15th vod and I finally got to the conversation between him and the guard—who I still really think is Antoine, and that does play into this, but I think it works without too so *shrug*—but I just...

The guard asked him what he knew about Project A0, so Cellbit responded, "I know that you're striving to achieve perfection—you've been analyzing everything on the island, you've been taking information, you've been giving tasks to make people busy and analyze their behavior...and creat[ing] something using a bunch of water and energy." (The guard's response was "it's a bit vague, but yes—you're on the right path.")

From Baghera, we know The Federation was doing DNA testing. Which is yet another way of analyzing people (and, in this case, hybrids and(?) animals). So, clearly, they've been planning for this for a while. Plus, they've been giving the islanders these tasks to, as Cellbit pointed out, evaluate and analyze their behavior.

But why would they be analyzing the behavior of the islanders? Is it strictly because the island is an ExperimentTM and they're the only humans the Feds have access to? (Implying that the workers aren't, in fact, humans, but that's a whole other kettle of fish.) Or is it something else?

Do we really know what this player data truly is, or how it manifests lore-wise? Because we know about those three (four?) books Fit found at that outpost, but who's to say that's all of it? It certainly wasn't everyone on the island—just some of the new players. Is it possible that data could manifests as memories; somewhat similar to what Fit and/or Pierre have done? (I know Pierre's has robotic connotations to it, but you can see what I'm getting at.)

Cellbit brought up a good point earlier at the A0 event: what are these things made of? Because, like, meta-wise, they're a custom mob that can be easily reskinned, just like a player model. No big deal. But canon-wise? What the hell can take the shape of various people without prior programming/precursory knowledge?

Additionally: the way Antoine and Cucuthree talked at the end of his stream earlier today makes me think about the fact that these minimes are clearly called a "failed Federation experiment" by multiple people in multiple places—the one that comes to mind is the Twitter post for the event. The Duck even mentioned in the second cutscene: "Luckily, they're harmless, so you have nothing to worry about!" Luckily implies that at one time...they weren't so harmless.

Plus, Cellbit hasn't exactly been...the nicest to his minime, which was also a warning given out by the Duck—and he gave it a knife. Didn't Bagi say it looked like a stab wound?

Before I stretch this way too far, the point is: There's too much in that note that no one except for Cellbit knows. Which means there are only a couple of options here. Either:

1) It's Cell, somehow. [Whether a sleepwalking/off-camera situation or what.] Not really too keen on this option. Makes my stomach all tense and churny. (/lh)

2) The Federation has records of his memories, somehow. [There have been plenty of opportunities for them to get these—for example, we still don't know what happened to Cellbit when he got kidnapped. And we know that they were experimenting with Project A0 around this time, likely having done something with Felps.]

2.5) The Federation has records of his memories, and has put it together with their other knowledge and technology to create these...clones. [Remember how people were speculating they might have to fight armies of themselves? Maybe that wasn't so far off. And, well. You're telling me a clone of Cellbit wouldn't try to fight psychologically?]

Anyway, I put way too much time into this, so um. Yeah. I, uh...I really hope I'm wrong.

#qsmp #qsmp theory #qsmp cellbit #the federation are evil #qsmp cucurucho #ev;a0 #ev;murder mystery

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let-me-lyric · 2 months

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Ok so this is def gonna be some sort of FOB blog now. My hyperfixation has returned babyyy (and I really hope this one sticks around for a while).

Anyway.

I think we need to give more love to American Beauty/American Psycho. Like I know on Spotify that it’s technically their most popular album but tbf we can probably all agree that that’s because of Centuries. There’s also Uma Thurman which is pretty popular (for good reason, it’s a BANGER) but the rest of the album deserves some love too.

Irresistible is lowkey my strut song, I love it so much.

The title track (AB/AP but I ain’t writing allat) took me a bit to get into but the bridge especially is actually such a good song? Currently playing it on repeat which is what prompted me to write this entire thing out.

Centuries is iconic and I love it I really do, it was how I found out about FOB and it deserves all the love it gets.

The Kids Aren’t Alright is honestly not really my fave but idk bro the lyrics really hit.

Uma Thurman gets me so hyped every time I hear it, I LOVE IT!

Jet Pack Blues is once more not as high energy as I usually like but they popped off with the lyrics “she’s singing ‘baby come home’ in a melody of tears while the rhythm of the rain keeps time”??? How did such a line get brainstormed and where do I get some of that absolute skill???

Novocaine is such an angry, gritty song and I don’t know what else I can say about it. Def one of my faves on the album but this is also lowkey my favorite album (lowkey, it’s not like I can just pick ONE 😥) so that tracks.

Fourth of July is ofc sad but it’s almost kinda cute if that makes sense? Like it makes me think of a cute romance that didn’t end so well. Not exactly the best vibes to bring to a Fourth of July part but you best believe I ABSOLUTELY will be adding it to the playlist.

Favorite Record is similar, but it almost feels like a more… homemade(?) sound. Softer might be a better word. Like the background instrument are kinda toned down or something. It expresses such a similar meaning in such a different way IDK

Immortals feels like the earlier part of a relationship that you know is technically doomed to fail but you really don’t want to let go of. All of the time references really cement that idea for me. There’s more I was going to say but I forgot it so.

Twin Skeleton’s (Hotel In NYC). Now what do I even say about this one? Honestly, I’ve run out of things to say right now but let’s just say that if I heard this one in concert I would probably die. S tier. No further notes.

Also this is maybe an important disclaimer: I have zero experience with love and I don’t intend to get any (aromantic babyyy 😍). So my analysis might be a bit inaccurate but who’s doing research for smth like this anyway?

TL;DR: y’all are SLEEPING on AB/AP, but also every album is equally good in its own way (altho I’m ngl I could never bring myself to listen to evening out with your girlfriend but someday I will, promise).

…yeah. I think it’s clear how not normal I am about this band.

#fall out boy #fob #american beauty/american psycho #ab/ap #fall out boy album #don’t mind me I’m just being silly #and a total fangirl #guys I LOVE hyperfixating #😍

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hrodvitnon · 4 months

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*Near the end of the mission- the Titans have pulled off the impossible. They found Gigan, Abraxas bested him in combat, got from him the necessary failsafe they knew he had, and now they were trying to escape. Unfortunately- one of the groups was trapped. Godzilla, Rodan, Abraxas, Barb, and Tiamat were stuck in a room that had caught fire- likely from one of Abraxas's lightning attacks. The door was blocked by debris from the other side- and Godzilla banged on the door to get it to open while the fires licked at their backsides.*

Rodan: We're all gonna die, we're all gonna die, we're all gonna die, we're all gonna die, we're all gonna die, we're all gonna die...

Godzilla, Abraxas, and Tiamat: WOULD YOU QUIT IT?!

Rodan: IT'S TRUE! THIS WAS AN AWFUL IDEA! WHY DID I LET MYSELF BE TALKED INTO THIS??? God I'll never get to see the Sun again- feel the wind rushing past me in flight- never *mate* with anyone again! This is the end...

Godzilla: STOP BEING A DRAMA QUEEN AND HELP ME ALREADY!

Rodan: It's curtain call- requiem's playing- fat lady singing... Quick- I gotta get some stuff off my chest, guys.

Tiamat: Fucks sake.

Rodan: Abraxas- Vivienne- San- whatever the fuck you go by- I love you. Despite all the snipping and teasing and rudeness- we go together great and I love being around you and I really really really wanted to have more time with you.

Rodan: Barb- I was just being an asshole when I called you a bug that one time. I'm sorry- you looked really sad when I said it and I felt like I couldn't say sorry because that would make my tough guy masquerade come crumbling down and everyone would see me for the glorified hatchling I was- putting up a front and deflecting everything with humor and wit so I didn't have to feel things.

Rodan: Tiamat- you don't deserve all the shit people say about you behind your back. Yeah, you're kind of a slut; but that's cool- y'know? You don't give a shit and I think that's really respectable and I wish I could be like you and not have such a fragile ego. You're also funny and fun to be around- and I feel like no one ever tells you that, y'know?

Rodan: And Godzilla- I've always sorta thought you were hot.

Godzilla: ...what-

Rodan: FUCK, your roar, your body, DID I MENTION HOW GOOD YOU LOOK IN THE PINK?? I got on your ass for it, I know, I'm sorry- but god, you look good. You're also just real quiet and sweet when you wanna be and super calm most of the time and JESUS CHRIST, YOUR VOICE-

Barb: Uh- Rodan?

Rodan: -I tell ya, if you ever showed interest I would've bent over. In. A. Heartbeat. But... I never knew how to tell you this. You're just really intimidating all the time and whenever I talk to you I feel like you tune me out and never really listen as you just have that stone-cold look all the time and y'know me: Rodan, King of The Skies who needs nobody but himself to keep him company. But you seem like a cool guy... and I wanted to be better friends with you before...

Mothra: What the fuck.

Rodan: what-

*The rubble had been cleared and the door was open. On the other side was Dagon, Shimo, Mothra, Behemoth, and Kong; and they were all staring at Rodan with agape maws- along with everyone else.*

Rodan: ...shit.

Mothra: Got one for me in there?

Rodan: You guys just leave me here- I'll be dying of-

Godzilla/Abraxas/Tiamat/Barb: Absolutely not!

*Godzilla grabs Rodan and throws him over his shoulder as the gang runs down the now open hall, reunited with their friends.*

Oh, Rodan, you drama queen.

Dagon: Honestly, this is going much better than I expected, but how did you get the fail safe from Gigan?

Abraxas: Classified.

*five minutes earlier*

Abraxas: Give me the fail safe or I'll never let you record me being carved open like a turkey again.

Gigan: Oh, sweetheart, you'll have to do better than that.

Abraxas:

Abraxas: Hey, you know all those grotesque leather family tree things you have hung up in that hallway, like Clive Barker Bayeux Tapestries From Hell? The ones your followers made out of their skin and gave to you as offerings that will be added to with every generation?

Gigan: ...you didn't.

Abraxas: I did.

Gigan: No.

Abraxas: It was easy.

Gigan: You MONSTER, THE AMOUNT OF HISTORY IN THOSE TAPESTRIES! THE BLOOD AND SWEAT AND TEARS THAT WENT INTO FLAYING AND TANNING THEM!

Abraxas: And now they're all tilted.

Gigan: THAT FUCKING HALLWAY IS GOING TO GIVE ME SUCH A GODDAMN HEADACHE, YOU CARRION SPAWN FROM THE DARKEST PIT OF EVIL!!

#frostbite814 #abraxasverse #monarch shenanigans

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ccfever · 6 days

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I'm happy it was upgraded. I think it was the right call even if it was slightly too late. but with the Mabrey thing it really looked like she was not getting down with the antics. Even when she was bowled over at the end, that's the shit she would be visibly upset about and would struggle to keep herself in check. Like I said, I could have just been looking for anything to help my brain not implode. I guess I'm just hoping the tide is shifting even in the smallest way. Maybe some players are starting to see shit isn't exactly copacetic. I love a hard won game but is that really all that's going on here

if it helps, i saw caitlin smiling and talking with mabrey early in the game lol. i remember because seeing it really made me happy, it seems like everyone just isn’t very fond of her these days.

the fact of the matter is, and her track record shows, that for better or worse this is just the kind of player carter is. there is no obligation for any player in the W to like cc, or to be thankful like others are saying, hell they can hate her as much as they do now and they’re well within their rights to do that. however, it is the league’s responsibility to dole out punishment for foul play, and they failed to do that yesterday. these foul plays compromise the safety of players, and i don’t know about y’all, but that seems like the top priority, no?

after taking some time with it, i came to the conclusion that everything else is just noise. anyone can feel the way they want to feel. no one has to be grateful. they can be angry and that’s fine. everyone has their own plethora of reasons and we can’t police people’s emotions and perspectives.

however when their actions translate to potential harm to others, that’s when you step in and intervene. the league did a dogshit job with that, especially since they already had precedent that said it’s more likely to happen than not.

like i said, the one thing i really do pray and hope for these days is just caitlin’s health. i don’t want a promising career to become a what if due to injury. it would break my heart.

yeah that’s all i got. i’m going to watch the game tomorrow.... live blog and hopefully stay out of twitter lmao. it’s just basketball. i need to keep reminding myself that.

#📮

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iteration-wing · 2 months

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Exploration Log: 16020

[Location: Uncharted]

[External Temperature: 115.3°C]

[Thermal Protection: Critical: 11%]

The coordinates broadcasted by the beacon were the only lead I had, following them was my only choice. The indicated location was not too far, a little over 500 units, I walked further to find the ship when I first awoke, what was the harm in seeing where they were leading me? There would have been no harm, were it not for the warning my Exosuit chimed out to me as I drew closer to the marked position: INCOMING STORM. Well, I was too far away from the ship's location to turn back, I had to press forwards, the ambient temperature was already rising and the drain on my life support was increasing rapidly. A fear began to gnaw at me at that point.

The external temperature had risen above 100°C when the structure appeared before me, I almost believed the heat haze was playing tricks on my eyes, but here it was, right at the designated coordinates. If the circumstances had been better, I might have played it more cautiously; assessed the situation, checked for threats, but with my thermal protection dropping below 30%, there was no time for caution. I broke into a run, ignored the uncomfortable warmth that was building within my suit. It wouldn't have been long before the hazard protections failed, and I would surely perish soon after.

Thankfully, there was no lock on the door, and I near enough fell over myself hurrying inside. An alert from my Exosuit has reassured me that my thermal protection is stabilising; this structure, whatever it is, is temperature controlled and something is keeping it powered. But... There's nobody else here. I'm still alone.

The coordinates were marking an active holo-archive terminal here, most of the data is corrupted beyond all hope of salvaging, but one file remained, a recording. Whoever left the message had been stranded from their ship, their visor damaged, the recording was just in case. They'd also left something in the fabricator that "Might be of some use..."

A hermetic seal. The very same component I need to repair my ship. Once this storm passes, and my thermal protection has recharged, I can return and continue my repairs. Maybe I'll be able to make some sense of all this...

#no man's sky

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caffeinatedowlbear · 4 months

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the hours of becoming: January (1 of 1)

Brief intro

What this is about: an attempt to chronicle my writing efforts.

Why: both for my own records (because I'm a stats nerd), and to add some transparency to the writing process (because I feel that a lot of writers despair at their own perceived slow pace and lack of progress when exposed to others' highlight reels).

What's with the title: it refers to a quote from Grit by Angela Duckworth:

Nobody wants to show you the hours and hours of becoming. They’d rather show you the highlight of what they’ve become.

Personally, I don't mind showing those hours. Writing can be lonely, especially when it feels like you're the only one struggling, while everyone else is knocking out NaNo-worthy wordcounts in one sitting.

(For full disclosure, these updates will cover exclusively my creative writing, which is non-commercial; whatever writing I do for clients comes under the heading of 'work'.)

So here we go.

Weeks 1-5

I might do weekly reports in the coming months, but January is always a slow writing month for me, both by necessity and by design. This year was no exception, with a lot of work and family care packed into what was a tough month following a tough year.

Week 1 was designated to decompressing from the holidays and family care. Week 1 writing summary: none.

Week 2 featured a really bad sinus infection that put me out of commission for the duration. Week 2 writing summary: none.

Week 3 had a tight schedule of commitments, but I made a point of showing up to my (usually) weekly writing stream, because I realized that failing to do so would mean neglecting the one appointment with myself that I had that week. I hadn't written for two weeks, and it showed. My brain was unwieldy, and every word felt like I was chiseling it out of bedrock. Still, I persevered, and got around 2,000 words of a draft down during a 3-hour stretch. That was all the writing done that week. Week 3 writing summary: 3 hours, 2,000 words (draft).

Week 4 was, basically, week 3 with a vengeance, with the only thing that kept me going being the knowledge of a two-day break by the seaside coming up on Sunday. I showed up for the writing stream, during which I edited rather than drafted. On Sunday evening, a few hours into my break, I was finally able to sit myself down to jot down a 'primer' of the Borderlands series plot, for a friend who can't play the games, but wants to read my fic set in that universe. It proved unexpectedly fun, and the c. 3k words I put down on it was probably the first bit of writing I actually enjoyed this year. Week 4 writing summary: 2 hours, 2,000 words (edit) + 2 hours, 3.3k words (writing-adjacent)

Week 5, which strayed into February, saw me leaning into my excitement for the Borderlands primer, which had morphed into a unauthorized biography of Handsome Jack (with an occasional comment from the man himself; the fictional character, that is, not actually Dameon Clarke). I wrote more of it on my seaside break (which had turned out to be more of a working vacation, because f*** me), and then on the weekly stream. I also found myself very excited about recording snippets of my own writing as the universe's most basic podfic, so that's something I might end up doing more of. Week 5 writing summary: 3.5 hours, c. 4k words (writing-adjacent) + a few hours of podficcing myself.

January writing summary: 12 hours spent on writing and writing-adjacent pursuits, resulting in 2,000 words of draft, another 2,000 words edited, and 2/3 of the Very Unauthorized (But Heavily Annotated) Biography of Handsome Jack (7.5k words and counting). Curious about my excitement re: podfics, which is worth exploring further.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #the hours of becoming

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familyabolisher · 1 year

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re: annihilation im glad im not the only one who disliked it lol! ive struggled thru the second book as well bc people keep telling me the third is the best but. we'll see. id be curious abt ur thoughts & if you have similar critiques (lack of interiority for the mc for one, a lack of clarity on Whats Going On but not in a fun way imo but in a way that makes me really unsure what the Point of it all is, & (book 2) just. the most tedious mommy issues ive ever had to read thru) or if its something else entirely. no pressure tho! i just like hearing ur opinions on things.

tbh my immensely pedestrian answer is that i just couldn’t get on with the style at all—it felt very clumsy and, like, amateurish. i got the sense that vandermeer wanted to narrate The Horrors in a quotidian, somewhat clinical tone that established a discordance around an effort to record and empirically tackle something that resisted the boundaries of human language and communication, and i think a more skilled writer could have pulled that off to great effect; however, as it was, he neither leant far enough into that voice that the discordance could fully emerge & exert a significant enough narrative force to make the piece compelling, nor relaxed it enough to allow his language to play around with the lurid, macabre, paranatural setting.

like, for example, i’ve just gone to a random page to give you some sense of what i mean.

This was really the only thing I discovered in him after his return: a deep and unending solitude, as if he had been granted a gift that he didn’t know what to do with. A gift that was poison to him and eventually killed him. But would it have killed me? That was the question that crept into my mind even as I stared into his eyes those last few times, willing myself to know his thoughts and failing. As I labored at my increasingly repetitive job, in a sterile lab, I kept thinking about Area X, and how I would never know what it was like without going there. No one could really tell me, and no account could possibly be a substitute. So several months after my husband died, I volunteered for an Area X expedition. A spouse of a former expedition member had never signed up before. I think they accepted me in part because they wanted to see if that connection might make a difference. I think they accepted me as an experiment. But then again, maybe from the start they expected me to sign up.

this is like … the first time we get a real, direct account of the biologist’s backstory. it’s like a speedrun of heterosexual our wives under the sea (also a bad book btw lol) and is supposed to pack a pretty hefty emotional punch, but it’s just … well, i mean. “a gift that was poison to him and eventually killed him.” like, the extract falls back on cliches; the prose lands in a very ‘safe’ register and feels a little afraid to push anywhere significantly outside of that. this is pretty representative of (what i read of) the whole book, tbh—and it stings especially when you have things like a mysterious tunnel-tower seemingly made of flesh that only the narrator can see that’s spawning fungi spelling out sentences as other characters in the novel start to die … like, that’s good, and that’s just really not being communicated on the page in any compelling manner.

it felt as though vandermeer had established this fascinating world and then just failed to communicate any of it to any memorable standard. also, the pacing was all over the place, lol—like, take your time with it a little more, spend some time on setting and description! or if you want to lean into that clipped, clinical account, maybe experiment a little more with the texture that that could lend; like, journals, reports, the kind of temporal weirdness that those can generate (as is common in the gothic novel, for instance) … like, there were just a lot of ins where vandermeer could have negotiated a more interesting piece of work than what i was reading.

it just felt very, like—the word coming to mind for me is ‘timid.’ like the text found its own concepts a little too unwieldy and pared itself down into a very meek prose rather than rising to the challenge that its scaffolding presented. and as a result, i was just, like, bored and irritated trying to read it. i’m told that the film is very different so i might give that a go at some point, but i really couldn’t push through to the end of the book, lmao. maybe it’s worth reading for like the last 70 pages, but i’ll never know. sad! well there’s other genre fiction

#ask

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 8 months

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So imposter syndrome is a thing and I need to give myself a pep talk. Like. Now.

And if anyone else is dealing with it needs one, then I'm sharing it. This is pretty personal, but I don't like the thought of anyone dealing with this because I know how utterly miserable it is, and absolutely no one deserves it.

So I just want to take a minute (or an hour, or several) to talk about this because I realized during the past decade (or longer), when I wasn't letting anyone read any of my writing whatsoever, that imposter syndrome is a lying fucking thundercunt, and that it hurts so many creators, and that it shouldn't be allowed to exist at all.

I got burned out constantly when I was publishing on fanfiction.net back in the day, and another site I can't remember the name of for original work that doesn't exist anymore.

Would get stuck in a rut on everything I wrote and never finish anything.

Good or bad feedback, didn't matter. It always devolved into, "This is shit, and I am shit, and I shouldn't be shoveling this shit to other people," and I'd try to just ignore that and write and...nothing would come out. Or what did come out, I felt like it wasn't ever good enough.

I'd read over what I had already written and just cringe. Cancel a project entirely and trash it because thinking about it made me want to vomit.

The same way you might cringe hearing your own voice on a recording, or see an unflattering photograph of yourself and second guess everything about what you see in the mirror.

This always led slap into a writer's block, which for me also tends to lead toward depression and general self-loathing because I don't feel like me when I'm not writing.

Same thing has happened on and off with most of my hobbies through the years. I started getting deeply into culinary arts when I was sixteen, wanted to learn more and try new recipes out daily, and messing something up would just destroy me. I started playing guitar at thirteen, played daily through most of high school, and went through a few stints that lasted for literal years where just looking at a guitar made me physically sick because I felt like I had hit a wall that I couldn't get past.

I guess because writing has been with me for the longest, it was what helped me the most. I was writing silly little "horror" short stories and Pokémon fanfiction as early as six years old. Writing is ingrained into me to the point that I feel like a different person entirely when I'm not doing it. I feel like I don't know myself.

And that feeling of being inadequate when I was actively writing, I realized, didn't actually start until I began letting other people read what I was writing regularly. Largely when I started posting it online. That was when it went from being my joy to being my dread.

Dread that if I didn't finish a chapter or a story quickly enough, people would stop reading.

Fear of making even one single typo that someone might point out.

Fear of being insulted or berated.

Of not being good enough.

Of failing.

I realized during my extensive haitus from writing that I never had that fear when I was a child. When I was writing for me. Writing what I wanted to. What I enjoyed, what made me happy. That at some point, writing had changed from a form of self-love into people-pleasing.

I spent a few years not writing at all, and gradually started again. A short story here or there when the mood struck instead of trying to force it out. That made the mood strike more and more often.

I eventually bit the bullet and read over some of my old work that I would cringe over, and it made me smile instead. Still made me cringe a little, but instead of that resulting in a need to pull into a shell and stop entirely, it turned into a desire to improve.

It clicked that it was because the only audience I had was myself, and I could do whatever the hell I wanted and just have a good time with it. No worries, no deadlines, no one to impress, just creating what I wanted to and enjoying it.

It's not fool-proof, but when the feeling starts to flare up, the following is a rough inner monologue of how I try to address it.

"Look self, who cares if you're a talentless hack or not? If you like doing the thing, do the thing. If it only brings you joy when other people care you're doing the thing, or you only do the thing when you're hoping it could even potentially impress other people? Then you're not enjoying the thing, you're enjoying the attention, or even just the idea of attention. Take the attention out of the entire equation, and just do the goddamned thing."

Art is passion in physical form. Passion stems from happiness. That happiness stems from you. From you, looking at what you've created, before anyone else has laid eyes on it, and smiling. That moment when you finish your creation, the feeling of fulfillment in knowing that you created something that wouldn't otherwise exist if you hadn't taken the time and energy to do so. That one moment before any potential second guessing or anxiety can rear its head in. That moment, that comes from you and only you, free of any influence from the outside world, is happiness.

Basically, the old saying, "dance like no one's watching?" It applies to everything. EVERYTHING that imposter syndrome could butt its disgusting lying filthy head in on. Sing, play [instrument of choice] like no one's listening. Paint and draw and sculpt and mold and create like no one else but you is ever going to see the finished product. Write like no one else is reading. Enjoy it for what it gives you first and foremost. Extend that moment of happiness and enjoy it, because you did something no one but you could have done, you created something that no one but you could have created.

After that, if other people enjoy it, great! It's always nice to share happiness!

If they don't like it, or if they pressure you to do better or work faster or harder than you're capable of doing in your present state?

If they take your peace and mold it into pain?

Then they can take a flying fuck at a rolling donut.

It's your passion. It's your love. Not theirs.

If they don't like it, they don't have to look.

If you were kind enough to share your happiness with them, and they're miserable enough to stomp on it in any way, shape, or form, then that's their problem, not yours.

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