#and i think the sadness people were expecting was present. the sadness and fragility we would have seen if he cried on the beach like most | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thefaiao · 1 year

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Went to a funeral today. It was my mom’s aunt. I didn’t really know her before she died, which was yesterday. Actually, I did meet her once before. At another funeral, my grandmother’s, four months ago. My grandma passed away at 96, after struggling a lot with health condition and the overall fragility of old age. You trip the wrong way, and you are out of commission for a year, which might as well be half if not all of your remaining time in this world. It’s depressing, and she didn’t try to hide that at times she was tired of living, but held on out of a type of duty. It’s not easy to understand what goes on in the mind of someone that old. We struggle to understand how brains of people our age can be wired differently, as we are our only true control group. And even then, wen can trick ourselves, foggy memories, regrets, and so on, will warp our vision. At the end of the day I still feel depressed could better summarize it. She looked peaceful in death, like she was younger. She was buried in a vertical cemetery, many rows and columns in each floor, extending up thirteen or so floors. The tombs had their names written on them in ready-made metal letters, which had a gold tint to them. I was sad to see her go, as much as I expected it, but I truly get overwhelmed when I go into a cemetery. All the death we hide from our daily lives is concentrated here, the definitive end of so many lives. People who die at twenty five, or thirty years of age. It’s easy to think about how these people could easily have been my friends, or me, but they didn’t get the chance. They died to something unpredictable, or maybe everyone could see it coming but no-one could do anything about it. Or maybe they could, but just didn’t have the energy to, or the forethought. The end is the same anyway. They died, so now they aren’t present anymore, all they can do is be dead. Today I went with a different mood, since I didn’t know my great-aunt properly. I noticed how the room was really small, and despite there being a wooden board covering the door, a camera hung onto that same board. I noticed that even though there was food and drink, the water jug was made of plastic, and the jar with cheap store brand cookies, had a crack on it, and was hard to open. Everyone was sad, as her death was sudden. A heart attack as she woke up, even though she was previously healthy. I noticed that whenever this is the case, of sudden death, the person is usually a very hard-line principled person, for better or worse. Usually they sustain the family in some way, or give them guidance with a firm hand. Maybe at random they relax, and all the emotion they hold back come at once, and take them with them. Most of the time, it’s someone who is deeply loved and appreciate for that, especially if they are old. Many people showed up to her funeral to say goodbye. Her husband was crying, as they had been together almost seventy years. And they loved each other. It is easy to imagine myself in his place, but hard to imagine how much sorrow he must feel. While I was there I noticed more things. I noticed that the casket was veneered particle-board, with cut-and-paste patterns on the rims. When there was a bend in the geometry of the casket, the pattern was broken. The metal details were golden plastic, and all the parts of the casket were mass-produced. The flowers were real, as were the people who brought them. I also noticed we had to pay for parking in the place of ceremony, and it was just as expensive as places in the city. I noticed they asked the same price restaurants ask to buy drinks, or a coffee, if we wanted those. While everyone were coming to terms with what had happened, I feel I could only stare. I didn’t want to touch her because I don’t think I earned that, as I was only accompanying my mom. Her coffin looked plastic, and in turn she looked like a toy. Whenever we die, we become an object. And when we enter a casket, we become an altar. We are pressured to cut corners, because we have no money, because we have no time, and we are so small, and we only get smaller. So in death, we look like toys that couldn’t keep going, we exchanged all the parts of the ceremony that we could, so it could even happen. A door opened in the back of the room, and the employees quickly cut everything short, and took her to the car. When we got to her cemetery, I was again overcome with the emotion of all the lives of strangers that were registered there. Just a date, sometimes a face, and a phrase form loved ones. Sometimes flowers, but there were also flowers that were dry, they looked so small. In this horizontal cemetery, the rows and columns were also present, but with no pre-made lettering. The names were written on cement by hand, usually by a worker, before a cover was later built into the graves. So many names, from 2018-2022, had no covers. Sometimes a message accompanied the names, written by a relative. Some people could afford more unique graves, which were usually for the whole family. I can’t help but think if this is all we can be now. We can live beautiful lives, and help so many people, only to die and be buried in mass-produced coffins, have respects paid to us in an affordable place, because money dictates our lives. That the death of someone we love is bundled with a mountain of expenses. It’s easy to say we should be happy we lived at all, and think about all the moments we treasured between our struggles. But maybe we only get used to this because we can’t imagine a better option. Funerals are not only sad. In the middle of sobs I could see smiles, even from my great-aunt’s husband. They are complex, as are the places we are buried. Mass-production and repetition isn’t bad on its own. But when it’s there to cut corners, I can’t help but feel we are being robbed of something higher, and rare, which we don’t always experience. I get home and my dog is having a seizure, and my brother is drunk. Shortly after my dog has two other seizures. Life and death are both unrelenting.

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androideql · 1 year

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Bit of an open letter because I need to vent but I don't wanna be an asshole to the people I see doing this. I genuinely just think they're a tad ignorant, if willfully in some cases. At this point it feels a little personal, even if it isn't, but the reality is that I know for a fact that I'm not alone in feeling like this, and that this specific attitude is dogshit to a lot of people who won't say anything because it's impossible to be listened to here by some of these supposed mental health advocates. Not generalising, but some of ya'll are fucking rude.

So let me start by saying that the schizoid traits aren't kicking my ass today, but people's encroaching expectations absolutely are. Like, the boredom, and the split, and the inability to do shit, and the lack of wanting to do do anything, and the wondering if it's even worth it - that's bad enough. Then I start getting bombarded with stuff that's encouraging towards people with similar feelings but that are coming from a different place, experiences that (no matter how well-meaningly they're presented) I cannot relate to, and then some people insist I just have to try harder and keep my mouth shut because my point of view would be discouraging to others. Which means that I cannot talk about my experiences without someone labelling me as some kind of doomer. All of that kind of sucks. I didn't even ask to be a part of the conversation and you already vetoed me. Sure, we can make our own posts, that's not a problem. The problem started you guys preemptively insulted people like and telling us that we're wrong and that we can be like everyone else if we try hard enough. While I can't speak for everyone here, the reality is that they can't expect me to change my whole personality because the fact that some things DO NOT GET BETTER and in fact might get WORSE WITH AGE makes them uncomfortable, even when it's blatantly obvious that it's not their case and that it's just my experience. Why are you so defensive? I'm probably more fragile than you (likely the reason why I'm reflexively dissociated all the time actually.)

Look, I'm not gonna pretend I know what's going on in your head, but if you're so for mental-health advocacy, could you try to avoid friendly fire?

But no, sure, let's make fun of how miserable I must be because of my attitude, even though I wasn't even feeling strongly at all about any of it until you decided to call me a loser for things that were never in my hands to control, why not. Like bro, I'm not even sad, not even angry. Those are strong words, mate. I just think you're an annoying lump of fuck and I don't wanna hear you say another thing ever again. I get that you feel annoyed at the "sad fucks" who don't get better. We're not precisely ecstatic about it either. But the point is: how are you helping? Do you really want to help? Or do you stop at major depression and anything a little more obscure than that is something you can and will punch down to?

Do you hear yourself calling us crazy, lazy, and stupid, or does all the psychology lingo make you feel so smart about it that you don't want to?

#android talking #vent

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sigmadolos · 1 year

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@nonhumen said: “ what do you really think of life ?” (from doa dazai. bonus if they're both drunk)

drunken (honest) confessions

It wasn’t the brightest idea really. Sigma wasn’t one to often get tipsy let alone drunk. But a stressful day on top of surprise appearances of some, and, well, one drink had ended up becoming more than one. Especially when he’d ended up showing off some of his skills for Dazai. (Whether or not he actually CARED was another matter, but Dazai had at least seemed interested in watching him work, in the twist of a wrist and twirl of fingers as he mixed drinks with theatrics. Some had smoke, some had fire, others were chemical reactions to change colors. And Sigma had gained a greater insight into both their preferences for drinks as they each drank.)

And then? Well. Sigma wasn’t actually QUITE sure when drink making had ended up with them back in his quarters on the couch with a couple drinks on the table. But that didn’t particularly matter as far as he was concerned. They were both here and god it felt good to not be memorizing thousands of patrons or worrying about this or that. Even with present company, who probably WASN’T the best to be drunk around but to hell with it tonight.

“ What do I really think of life? “ Sigma repeats the question, more for the sake of remember to respond in the right language than anything else. He sinks his head against Dazai’s shoulder as he ponders it. Such a heavy question, or maybe it isn’t. But his mind swirls it around like wine in a glass, contemplating it. What does he think about life

“ I think it is hard. “ He admits, choppy hair fanning around him as he remains pressed against his shoulder. Sigma was no stranger to it, he knew the ugliest sides of it ore than most. And though he sings a song of appreciation for life, it isn’t the same as thinking life is EASY. It wasn’t that. Even his casino it wasn’t that.

“ Όλα είναι πιο όμορφα επειδή είμαστε καταδικασμένοι.. “ ( Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. )

He mumbles the quote without expectation of it being understood - none of the angels spoke his tongue as far as he knew after all. The angel remains like that, against the shoulder of another for a few moments before he lifts his head. Lips part to drain the last of the contents of his drink before he slides his hand into Dazai’s and pulls him upwards (with a small whine of effort) to pull him towards the far wall of the living room section. And there he peels back the curtains to show all the dazzling stars and colors of the dark skies.

Why did he do that? Sigma doesn’t think much on that fact, only that he grips Dazai’s hand so the other drunken man follows him in the display and drunken response. He stares out at all the stars with a captivated expression, despite the fact he can see this any time and as often as he desired. Something about this felt like it should be reserved for the gods alone. Not something as flawed and insignificant as him.

“ Life is painful. It hurts. Everyone gets hurt by it in one form or another. But because of that, I can appreciate everything a bit more. The world, the universe. It’s all so pretty and impossible, and yet its right here. Out of all the possibilities, this is here. WE are here. “ He smiles slightly, a smile distant and far away despite his presence here. Something older that’s sings in the pages of history. “ Life hurts, and it’s sad. No one can deny this. But for that, it makes the happiness all the sweeter and brighter. Because I have hurt, I cherish my moments of happiness and the people i care about all the more because I know how fragile those can be. I enjoy everything I can to the most. “ He exhales, warm breath fogging the cool glass before he looks towards Dazai.

“ It’s like that saying. I would have rather loved and lost than never felt love. Except for life. I would rather hurt and bleed in the cruelty of life to have moments of joy than never experience it.” He pauses - the days before he was taken in were rarely mentioned and much of the extent of cruelty and Sigma’s suffering remained hidden in the past even for the likes of Dazai. “ I have, actually. But I’ve also experienced the beauty and joys of life. Kind or cruel, I want life. “ Drunken as he might be, his words carried the weight of truthfulness to them, of resolution.

“ That’s...That’s my thoughts on life. “ He concludes, leaning his back against the glass.

#nonhumen #this got unexpectedly long #he really just let it spill out #for all his happy appearance he knows its hard #like he DEFINITELY knows #but would choose it every time #also yes he is still holding hand and 100% forgot #he does tend to do that #on the occasions he gets drunk more seeks out just leaning on shoulders or holding hands #ic || the angel of the aerial casino #nonhumen || swept by you in the rush of notos winds

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faeriegutz · 2 years

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IGNORE THIS PLS

The last thing you expected to see when you opened your front door late at night was Keqing, fighting back her tears and losing horribly.

She was trembling, her hair hanging in her face and her normally pristine clothes wrinkled and messy. You thought you heard a small sniffle, but you weren’t sure.

The scene presented before you made no sense. Keqing was the collected one. Even though she was often stressed and sleep deprived, she always took her job as the Yuheng very seriously and handled everything with grace. Your brain couldn't connect the sniffling girl you saw in front of you to the powerful one you saw every day. Until now.

“Keqing?” you spoke softly. You felt almost as if being too loud would cause her to completely break down.

“Can I come in?” she whispered, her voice thick with tears.

You shifted ever so slightly, giving her the space to squeeze past you into the house. Once you saw that she had made it inside, you quickly shut the door. The last thing she would want was the people of Liyue seeing her so distressed. She quietly slipped off her shoes and set herself on your messy couch.

“Keqing?” you repeated, as you had nothing else to say. You were still stunned and staring at her like an idiot which, in hindsight, probably wasn't the best move. It was just so weird seeing her in such distress. She rarely showed emotion in the first place, much less any type of sadness.

You walked towards her, your footsteps silent. You couldn’t really explain your need to be so quiet around her at this moment. She just felt so fragile, like a glass ornament. Everything needed to be slow and deliberate. You sat down, trying not to shift your weight too much.

That was when she started really crying. At first, you didn’t even notice as you sat next to her. But, soon enough, silvery tears started flowing down her cheeks. She was so quiet about it, you could tell she had spent many nights silently sobbing in her room. But soon enough, her cries became louder, the sound echoing into your very core as she softly pressed her body against yours.

You wrapped her arms around her and squeezed her tightly.

Suddenly, she withdrew from you and sat back up, wiping her tears with the heel of her palm.

“Keqing, what’s wrong?” you hesitated, looking at her.

She wasn’t one to share anything about her private life, and even in a situation like this she wasn’t likely to. So you were understandably taken aback when she started to speak.

“I don’t know.” she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” you barked. You didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but you could definitely tell she was lying. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to-“ you started.

“It’s okay.” she sniffed.

“Can you please tell me what’s going on with you?” you said, trying a softer approach.

“I’ve been feeling awful lately. I haven’t slept in a week, thinking about festivals and zoning and complaints about who knows what. But, I can’t bring myself to do them all. I just sit in my office all day, watching the papers pile and pile. I can’t force myself to get up and just start.”

Keqing started to sniffle again as more tears started to leak from her eyes.

“I shouldn’t be Yuheng if I can’t handle the job. I thought I had everything under control, but I suppose I don’t anymore.”

“Keqing..”

She smiled bitterly. “I was warned that serving as one of the Qixing would be taxing, and if I can’t handle it anymore, I’m no longer suited for the position.”

“Keqing, you won’t be branded as a failure for taking a break once in a while.” you sighed.

“I have been told that much too often, but what about all I’ve fought for? For the past few months, I’ve been trying to prove that we humans can take charge of our futures and be responsible for Liyue. Having someone else do my job alongside me would go against everything I’ve said.” she said, wiping a tear away with the back of her hand quite aggressively.

“ Keqing, being independent doesn’t mean you need to refuse all help. You’re overworked, and even though your job carries many responsibilities, it shouldn’t be taking this much out of you. You need to rest.”

“I-” she started to cry again, “I can’t fail.”

“You won’t. But to make sure of that, you need a break. Hire an assistant or two, just someone to help you deal with all of this work you need to do.”

“If I do, we will never speak of this again.” she said rather sharply for someone who was in the middle of crying. “Deal. But I want you to know you can always come to me if you need anything.”

“Thank you for your kindness. It means a lot to me.”

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dolugecat · 3 years

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On some Japanese social issues I had learned about at uni and abroad):

(Rb ok!)

Legit had an epiphany about the true hidden meaning of the last arc of Mob Psycho 100. It’s hella projection but for real there is nothing neurotypical about Mob or Mob Psycho. I do not wish to enforce my interpretation on others (ironic bc I do that all the time but this is a serious social theory). There are some interesting and very sad social issues in Japan that the west really doesn’t understand but would I think help people understand a lot of context behind not only Mob Psycho, but also a lot of other anime. I learned this at my shitty university (prestigious but horrific) and while studying abroad in Japan and talking with Japanese peers. Get ready here we go (and tw for bullying and darker things):

Unfortunately in East Asian education systems, bullying can be extremely intense. Growing up I assumed it was over exaggerated extremely in anime for drama but it really can be so horrific. From what I’ve heard, there is often a single kid or so who is just shit on by everyone else, even the teacher. Mogami land *is* the reality of some Japanese kids. I’ve read that in Korea, this social punching bag sometimes is just the darkest skinned person (yayyy colorism /angry) and or someone who does not fit in. I mean, we have that in America too, but maybe not as common for the bullying to be as focused on one misfit rather than several. These kids just can’t escape the stigma too, kids from other schools find out they were a major victim at their old school and it starts anew. Thus there is so much stigma and incentive to join in on bullying so you aren’t the one. Sadly, this also ofc leads to higher suicide rates. That’s where the “shoe on building roof” anime trope comes in, bc somehow taking off shoes is relayed to death (I forgot why sorry)

There is a difference in how intense in general high school vs college is too. In the West, commonly college is the more intense curriculum and is harder than high school, but in Japan it’s usually the opposite. Grind suuuupppeeerrrr hard for entrance exams (huge standardized tests that determines what college you can qualify to) bc unlike the ACT or SAT here, that test is by far the most important factor for college admission. Then chill and relax a bit in college. Can’t relate. Name and prestige is very critical for job application, more important than here. That’s why planning out your future is sooo much more intense for Japanese high schoolers than in America, and why there is sooo much more pressure to excel in high school than here. Japanese school years and holidays are done different than ours, I’d suggest looking it up.

Social prestige of going to an American high school or college is nuts. Like whyyy do you value our shitty education, Japan’s is much higher quality (it’s bc we neo colonized them). Being able to speak English is very, very highly valued and any association with Americans make you cooler. From my experience, some Japanese students got very excited to practice speaking English with us, and their biggest issues with learning it is pronunciation, lmao. Wasai english is unique slang that is indeed English words but it’s kinda different and it’s kinda jarring to remember lol. So, Teru having parents that are working overseas isn’t too uncommon, idk about leaving him absolutely alone, but I did have a ex-friend who just came from Japan in middle school who’s situation probably wasn’t too far off from that. Empty wealth with no love, it’s no wonder those kind of people can end up being huge bullies (minori?)

I did a presentation on 引きこもり(hikikomori) for which means “shut in”, (like Serizawa) and it’s fucked up. It’s a social phenomena where according to some Japanese researchers a mix of undisciplined parenting, guilt/not living up to expectations, and hopelessness makes an alarming amount of youth/ young adults literally never go out side their house/room. Often a parent is “enabling” the behavior by supporting them, but idk the articles seemed a bit victim-blaming to me when I read it, but I don’t think I should make a judgement too hard, not my place. I will say I do suspect and believe I read something to support that ASD might play a role in hikikomoris (there is pitiful resources for autistic people in Asia, much much less support than even here, to the point I don’t think most know it exists). Like come on, with the other points I laid out my personal opinion as an Asian American with autism is that it really seems it’s unknowing ableism against autistic classmates, but I didn’t grow up in Asia so I don’t want to say.

Mental health in general is tragically quite abysmal in Japan, and with it being so hyper competitive and brutal work culture, it’s no surprise birth rate in Japan is so low; some Japanese young adults say it seems unethical to bring a life to such hostile world. Suicide rate is of the highest in the world. It’s fucked, I’ve interacted with some of the locals in Tokyo and they were so nice, but the business men just looked dead inside, it’s so sad.

Relationships between child and parent is also strained bc of this intense work and school culture. Quality time is too scarce when you gotta work so much. And the pressure from parents to do well in education or else you might end up socially stigmatized is rough. Bc your job is who you are, it’s hyper capitalism (thanks us for making them do this)

With autism being so unknown, support for parents in raising autistic kids is almost nonexistent. What happens if the “darker” side of ASD shows up in kids? I used to be a menace when I had meltdowns, I felt so bad but really just became so indiscriminately violent. See where this is going? Legit, I think ESP is a sort of metaphor for neurodivergance to ONE. There is so much stigma around it, and even less way for kids to understand why they are different than the others. My Korean family can’t admit we all got ASD, too much fear and internalized shame.

I got finally diagnosed with ASD as an adult and I’ll tell ya, I relate too much to Mob hurting Ritsu. I felt so bad, but also not in control, I knew what I was doing but not how to stop. Luckily, is was blessed in that my hyperfixations involved science and logic, so I did well at school. Sadly, our boy Mob just don’t got the passion or ability to do well at school. His kanji is very bad, even to point of not being confident he wrote a kanji (世) they learn when they are 9, in elementary school (thanks @katyatalks). Him being a bit berated by his parents for having bad grades and bending spoons seems harsh to Westerners I think, but IMO it’s pretty tame from what I’ve seen of some Asian parents (I get to say that lmao). Ofc, however the shaming is very real and Mob just agreeing with them about how weird and stupid he thinks he is so sad. There is even more pressure for the eldest to be better than here, I feel from some interactions. Nonetheless, it’s implied Mob is quite emotionally detached from his parents, even though he loves them, which also adds to his emotional complex. Combined with originally fragile self esteem and feelings of worthlessness, we got one emotionally stunted boy. However, contrary to common belief people with ASD are sometimes hyper empathic and experience emotions very intensely. We are prone to having “meltdowns” which if not assisted with can be quite violent if very intense. For me, my worse meltdowns as a kid came from when I didn’t understand why I wasn’t getting what I wanted, it seemed selfish and cruel of me but I couldn’t control it. I wanted to be a good kid, so why did hit my moms leg at target when she refused to buy me Pokémon toys? I couldn’t come up with a good reason for why my mind just commanded my body to do bad things, just a single thought was controlling me, I want I want I want I want I want ____. Which I argue could be what ???% represents… bc well…. Yeah….. hmm….. not in control of self (mob unconscious), selfish (not actually, I’ve forgave myself but my “normal” kid self was so ashamed), destructive, hurt family, wanting to stop but can’t, that’s kind of…. Too relatable.

But legit, since realizing my new HC, I’ve started to think of the last chapter of mp100 when I “explode” and it helps me feel better and I do gain “control” a bit easier. I don’t feel so bad anymore either, Mob!

#mp100 #mob psycho 100 #my post #mp100 headcanons #welcome to my hc #asd #autism #actually autistic #kageyama shigeo #mob #mp100 meta #Japanese society #japanese culture #meta #mp100 analysis

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cynettic · 3 years

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Stay with Me pt.3

Summary - You manage to escape from Scaramouche, if only for a moment before you realize there’s no escape. It only takes until you’re sitting back in your regular spot that you know what you need to do.

Pairings - Kitsune!Reader x Yan!Scaramouche

Warnings - Suggestive content, mentions of death, swearing, slight gore / blood

A/N - Its really hard to make this depressing while I’m vibing to Rasputin. Like no joke- I have it on one of the 1 hour playlists :D

Here you’ll find - pt.1 and pt.2

He’d left a key.

Scaramouche didnt make mistakes, not while he had you captive in the vicinity of his bedroom. He didnt have room for mistakes, not when you were watching his every movement while he was in your line of sight.

Sure, he mightve killed a person or two in front of you, but those were necessary mistakes. There was a sign on the door, it specified not to enter. You’d understand that, right?

Thats what he thought at least, lulling himself into belief after belief that you’d be there waiting for him every time. That you’d welcome him with open arms, even if there were chains ensnaring your wrists. That you’d accept your fate at his hands and submit yourself to him.

The Balladeer was a fool.

He’d kept you there for too long, and while you searched for an easy way to escape, time sent your head spinning. Into a spiral that begged only for the wind against your face, back laying on dirt with the familiar chirping up birds waking you up in the morning.

You wanted to go outside.

And when push comes to shove, you had to risk a little more to make it happen. Lure him into bed with kisses while your hands unbuttoned his vest. But what he believed to be alluring contacts was just your way of finding the keys hidden in the back pocket of his shorts.

It wasnt hard to find the one to your cuffs while he was asleep, cuddled in your chest with both arms around your waist as if to get you to stay put. You took the key, hiding them back in his clothing and hoping he didnt notice.

He didnt say anything the next day.

You werent going to wait any longer.

“Oh for fucks sake, why won't the goddamn door open?”

The room was left in tatters behind you, a little gift for Scaramouche once he got back. Turns out a pair of chains can smash up a lot of things, and rage can be used as a great source of strength when contained for such a long time.

But you’d done more than throw the blankets around, cut up the drawers and smash open the windows. Because your fists had bled red when you punched through the glass, puncturing your skin. Your knuckles were an ugly red, bruising already.

Ah, Scaramouche deserved a much better gift.

Gruesome as it was, you rubbed your knuckles against the pale walls. Till the blood stopped coming, till there was a nice little message for the boy which you held so dearly to your heart.

‘Balladeer.’

The first time you’d found out about him being a harbinger he’d told you not to call him by that name. You weren’t someone he associated with by work, you were a treasure to him. That’s why you continued to call him as he pleased, although the temptation always arose.

You were no longer his.

Shoving the door with your hand again, palm fiddling with the handle and groaning when it hardly budged. “Stupid,” you grumbled when the knob began to loosen. Backing up, you charged with your shoulder to the door, full force as the momentum broke the hinges. The door fell down with you along with it.

It was expected, you’d been stuck in the room for a long time, and thats considering you’d sat on the ground for decades. Your body was slight numb, muscles sore and unused for so long.

“You a-arent supposed to leave your room!”

A young man stood in the hallway along with a woman who looked relatively the same age. The two were wearing uniforms, flinching when you stood up from the debris and off the door. “Excuse me?” You asked, voice unnecessarily icy and stern. But you couldnt care less, you were going to get out of this house, damn anyone who stood in your way.

They both continued to shake when you walked towards them, staggering from side to side. The woman stepped up in front of the man, presenting a brave face. “If you leave the mansion, the harbinger will kill us all!”

“Well then I expect you should be on your way then. Actually…” you gestured to the maze of hallways. “You can lead the way.”

“What…?”

Your hand went limp to your side, an exasperated looking momentarily crossing your face before you sighed. “Im not staying trapped in that room, I’m sorry if that ruins your life, but frankly you're not the one stuck in there are you?” You took an extra step just to intimidate them, eyes wide to make the appearance of crazy. “It would be a great help if you showed me where he hid my vision too.”

“We can show you to the door…” The man began, “But the whereabouts of your vision are unknown, he wouldnt tell us something like that.”

A gift bestowed from the gods, a piece to help me thrive with my ambitions and pursue my goals.

Gone.

You really wished you’d taken to clawing out Scaramouche’s face instead, but you’d take what you got. Right now your main priority was getting out of this place, even if it meant leaving a piece of you behind.

“Door.” Your voice was raspy and there was a terrible feeling that crawled up to your throat, but you didnt have time to be emotional. “Show me where the door is… please.”

The conflict in their eyes dissipates by the time they lead you along, mumbling words between themselves. You didnt bother to try eavesdropping, you were so, so tired. You wanted to go home.

Anywhere. Anywhere but here.

It took a few minutes until you were standing in front of a grand door, almost twice the size of you and just as wide. You then began to notice the decorational plants and furniture that filled the empty space, there wasn't an inch of dust. Even though you could tell none of it was used.

“Hurry,” the man warned when you paused. “I dont know when our master is coming back, but if its soon, we’ll all be screwed.”

You couldnt feel your head as you numbly nodded, hand clenching the knob and flinging the set of doors open. “Thank you,” you merely mumbled, taking your first step out of the house in what felt like forever.

The days after that were a blur, the area around Scaramouche’s house were nothing but void. Empty and filled with forests and vast plains. You knew he didnt like people or socializing in general, but to this extent?

Your only option was to run.

Let your feet take you somewhere, anywhere. It was a constant pattern of running and taking breaks, leaning on a tree and gasping in a few breaths before you were again scurrying through the forest.

And yet you felt better than you’d felt in past months that you’d been stuck with Scaramouche.

Food became any boar you came across, the claws you’d spent so long hiding with Scaramouche coming to unleash a wrath beyond your comprehension. Till the animal was cut to shreds and no meat was left even to eat. You’d slaughtered it, without intention to eat or benefit for it, you’d killed it just to kill.

“I’m sorry,” you’d sobbed into the ground where you’d buried the harmless animal. Forehead pressed into the dirt as you pleaded for forgiveness to whatever archons would accept it. You couldn't even remember what archons you were supposed to pray to. “Forgive me- forgive me…”

But eventually you found your way around to somewhere you knew. Territory of Inazuma where you could find your way back, back home.

Where was home?

You’d been on the run from the vision hunt decree, abandoning your post for the Kitsune Saiguu for such a thing. Even now that you could return without a vision and as no threat under the decree…

You’d sacrificed everything for your vision.

Where were you to go now…?

Rain patted down, the trees providing only a slight cover as stray drops fell into your matted dirty hair. You didnt mind, it hid the tears that slid down your lifeless face, feet taking you into the far meadows of your hometown. Till you plopped down underneath a tree, knees curled to your chest and arms hugging them close. You were crying.

You were home.

____________________

“Awh,” a ginger haired murmured, elbow resting on the cool wood of the tabletop. “Is little Mouchie sad? I heard your kitty cat escaped~”

A death wish, even fatui that idly minded themselves around the bar knew it. Sipping cold drinks and swirling their cups, the soft chatter was nothing but a distraction from the main course of events. That being the smaller Harbinger who sat sulking in his seat, hunched over with a drink in hand. He’d drank far more than what was on the counter, but everytime he finished a glass, he’d smash it on the ground, watching the fragile glass shatter into pieces.

“I dont have a cat,'' was his only response, tone daring Childe to pursue further. To give him a reason to start throwing the glass in his face instead.

And Childe was an idiot when it came to challenging someone.

“No cat?” The rest of the drink in the taller harbinger’s glass was gone when he threw his head back. “Hmmm, I cant think of what else could’ve had you so enraptured in returning home then~!”

Scaramouche didnt respond, uneven bangs shadowing the bags under his eyes. “Stronger,” he said instead, elbow on the counter and hand outstretched for something. When there was no movement from the man managing the wine, the harbinger looked up. “I need something stronger to drink,” he repeated, voice seething.

“Of c-course!”

The glass was nestled in Scaramouche’s palm in no time, fingers curling around the circular form to down it in seconds. The drink merely slid down his throat in one movement, alcohol burning his senses. It didn’t matter, he was numbed by the growing rage inside of him.

Finally, he turned to the ginger haired boy, eyes hazily dancing along the counter till it reached his fingertips. Up his hand and along his arm, till Scaramouche was staring right into Childe’s eyes. “They escaped,” he admitted softly. “But it’s alright, because I sent something that’ll bring them back.”

Childe paused, raising his drink up away from his lips to pose a question. Hesitation danced along his features before he brought the glass back, he’d rather not provoke the shorter male any further. Wasn’t like he could interfere anyway.

____________________

“That… that…”

It was preposterous, having returned to that same spot for a day or two and heading back to the hometown you’d once lived in. The one Scaramouche had lived in. There shouldn’t have been an issue, you were solely gathering supplies for the sake of it, ambition driving you to travel far far away.

Out of Inazuma.

It was your new beginning, convincing yourself that you didn't need a vision. Finding some sort of purpose before Scaramouche shattered the vision and your life along with it. You’d seen how people had reacted when it had been ingrained in the statue, neutralized and broken. They lost hope, purpose and aspirations for anything new.

It’s not like the Raiden Shogun took my vision.

But you’d taken that fact for granted, expecting some sort of new start without Scaramouche. A victory, getting away from him just for a split second and getting out of Inazuma altogether, you’d never see him again.

Until you got his message.

“How the hell…” You crushed the note until it was just crumbled paper in your hand, slowly leaning on the stone wall. “Piece of shit… what kind of person even…”

Not only did he manage to find you, but without making his presence known, he’d tugged at your one weakness with an ease that had you down on your knees.

You threw the paper to the ground, deliberate as you stared past the alleyway. Pensive as you considered your options. Damn, what options did you even have? You’d been an idiot to underestimate Scaramouche, he wasn’t a child, you knew that… but archons he seemed like one when he was with you. Shown you a vulnerability he wanted only you to see. But maybe that had been part of his plan all along, until all you believed was his soft demeanor.

He may act like a child, but he’s a harbinger.

You stared down at the crumbled piece of paper in disgust.

Not only that, but he has no regard for human life.

Either way, you’d lived decades more than him. You could face him, you would present yourself to him just as he expected you to. Even when everything in you rejected the idea, sobbed at the thought of returning to that house, those chains. Being locked up and confined only for the purpose of coddling a small boy, a selfish boy, a cruel boy.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

You’d figure out a way, and this time you wouldn’t rule out the option of his death.

———————

Oh darling Y/n, how have you been?

I hope this letter reaches you rather soon, we both have much to discuss, no? About me, about you, and much more. You see, I’ve taken up quite a distaste to your little friends. Stone statues in Inazuma as small as Kitsunes truly hold no purpose, what will they do, come back to life? Haha, I should think not. I’ve already arranged to have them demolished, who knows what kind of material they might possess. Ah, and of course I’d show you the finishing product, unless you’re willing to come and have a chat with me once more? Under the Sakura tree like we used to, you’ve waited years, I believe you can wait for me?

I hope this letter reaches you in best interests. I’m always looking out for you after all.

Sincerely, your Balladeer

——————

It was raining.

Beautiful weather as you lay sitting there, feet crossed and tucked in the same you’d often do. After all, there was no need to fear the vision hunt decree or the Raiden Shogun. Let them come, let them take care of you before Scaramouche did.

You werent cold, not when the cold drops dampened your clothing, slipping down the length of your spine and drenching your face. Despite having lived in a luxury residency for such a long time, this was where you were most comfortable, enduring whatever the weather had for you, taking it with a smile. Because you were waiting…

The Kitsune Saiguu was a distant memory.

You were waiting for Scaramouche, the young boy that often bound into the field in lengthy strides, childlike wonder in his eyes. The one who’d cried when the other kids pushed him away, the one that just wanted to be praised. You’d held him in your arms, and now, even knowing the results, you wouldnt have done differently.

He was just a boy.

Just a boy when he joined the fatui, looking for praise that he was given. He created chaos and bellowed orders with a cruelty that was highly looked upon. Told that he was doing well, so he continued to do so.

He’s just a boy.

You wished you’d held him in your arms, if not only for a tad longer. Shield him away from the wrongness of the world, if only for one last time.

Banishing away your hatred for him was hard.

But you found it under the tree, rain soon dimming down to a clouded cold breeze that swept through the meadow. You’d hated him while stuck in the mansion, but you could now see it from a larger point of view. What he did was wrong of course, but you could remember him so vividly now. His small form giggling, tiny arms around your neck.

“Play with me!”

Was it your fault?

For not holding him tighter? For trying to rectify his bad doings and teach him what was wrong and right? Maybe if your grip was firmer, if you’d spoken to him about the warmth he’d given you that day when playing cards...

“Lazy ass.”

Burying down that pile of worry and insecurities, you took a deep breath in to relax. The edge of your lip perked up, only slightly. “Still terrible with your social skills arent you?”

Slowly securing a dry space under the three with you, Scaramouche sat down. His features were the same ones you’d grown accustomed to at his mansion. Rich clothes, sharp eyes, and the baby face that refused to go away. His movements were soft as he pulled out a deck of cards. The two of you didnt speak as he distributed them between you both. It was tense… no, it felt too much like the warmth form long ago to be tense. You only wished the situation to be different.

“I love you.”

But you could only offer a bitter smile to his words. “I love my vision,” you replied. “I love the Kitsune Saiguu, and I love my friends.”

His touch was gentle when his fingers came to gently cradle your cheek. Holding your face dearly as he peered into your eyes, his were soft. Different from the cruelty he held within, the hatred that burned and destruction that seeked to explode.

You saw a little boy.

Your hand came to press his hand further against your cheek, till you slid his palm to your lips. He appeared so calm when you pressed the first kiss, lips tracing the lines along his palm with all the care in the world.

But you needed to change your view, see him as the man he now was. As the man he had become.

“I love you,” he repeated, and you let go of his hand. It fell limp by his side, cards all but forgotten. There was a much more pressing matter at hand, because you truly needed to see him as he was.

It was necessary if you planned to kill him.

#genshin impact #genshin impact hc #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact oneshots #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #kitsune reader #yandere scaramouche #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #reader x scaramouche #scaramouche angst #writing #angst

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iceeckos12 · 3 years

Text

A time travel au. angst and h/c. inspired by this post

Warnings: jon’s very low self-esteem

“What do you think of him?” Jon suddenly asks, staring blankly at the wall of the breakroom.

Tim pauses in the middle of chewing his sandwich to give him a long, considering look.

He’s mostly decided to suspend his disbelief until further notice, simply to keep from losing his mind. What else is one supposed to do when future versions of Jon and Martin, who are also apparently dating, tell you that your workplace is currently involved in a plot to end the world? Ideally he would’ve processed one big revelation at a time, but apparently they don’t have time for that, so goodbye grip on reality, it was nice knowing you. I’ll hit the restart button as soon as things start making sense again.

Tim wipes his hand across his mouth, swallows, and asks, “You mean Jon II?”

Jon rolls his eyes, like Tim’s being obtuse on purpose just to annoy him. “Yes, I mean...him. Me. Jon II.” Then his nose wrinkles amusingly, the same way it always does whenever he says the moniker. He’s hated it since the beginning, but it was a battle he quickly lost, what with all three of his assistants opposing him.

Normally, Tim wouldn’t have thought twice about shrugging and answering, but...Jon’s been uncharacteristically quiet lately. Oh sure, he’d blushed up a storm upon learning that his future self and Martin were dating, and he’d expressed his own misgivings at the beginning, but...since then he’s been eerily, silently watchful. In Tim’s experience, when presented with this sort of puzzle Jon generally buries himself in research, and doesn’t emerge until he’s good and ready to do so.

There’s something else on his mind.

So Tim puts down his sandwich and gives himself a moment to think carefully through his response. “I mean...he’s a lot like you, obviously. But he seems…” What’s a polite way to say, the trauma and the boyfriend seems to have made him a little more easygoing? He certainly smiles more freely than he ever has, which...honestly, makes Tim want to cry sometimes. How horrible, that so much abject cruelty had just made him more kind. “...tired. A little less high-strung?”

“I see,” Jon says, turning his mulish gaze to his curry, dragging his spoon through the thick sauce.

Tim waits a beat longer, but when nothing else seems forthcoming he prompts, “Why do you ask?”

Jon’s reaction is only to press his lips into a thin, tight line. Tim knows this mood; he’s weighing how insecure he’ll look if he says whatever’s actually bothering him out loud, versus how much he wants someone else to hear it. Pushing him now will only make him clam up, so Tim just waits.

Tim’s patience is rewarded when Jon blurts, “But you like him. You...you all do.”

“Yes,” Tim says slowly, because it’s true. Martin’s so enamoured with a Jon that actually likes him that he keeps bringing him tea just to get another glimpse of that gentle, thankful smile, just to strike up another conversation about nothing. Sasha has decided that he’s the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to her, and insists on consulting him whenever she reads a new true statement.

Tim’s personally a little unnerved by the awful, sad way future Jon looks at him sometimes, or the way he flinches back whenever someone tries to touch him without warning. But he’d taken Tim aside and quietly explained everything he knew about what happened to Danny, so.

Oh, Tim thinks, feeling like an idiot for not realizing it sooner. Jon may be an old hand at fooling others with his grumpy persona, but Tim knows that he’s just using it to hide his massive inferiority complex. “Wait, are you jealous?”

Jon ducks his head, and his ears darken. Gotcha, Tim thinks.

“Jon, you know that that’s still you, right?” he explains gently, quietly relieved that it’s not something more complicated. “We like him just as much as we like you, because you’re the same person.”

“But he’s not the same, is he?” Jon protests. “Look at the scars on his neck, on his hand. And he has panic attacks, and he flinches at loud noises, and, and—”

He breaks off, biting down hard on his lip, threading a hand through his hair.

Tim stares at him, feeling off-kilter, like he missed a step coming down the stairs. That doesn’t sound like jealousy. “...Jon?”

Jon shakes his head, his breath escaping him in thready, devastated gasps.

He can’t tell what’s going on in Jon’s head, and it’s starting to scare him. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Jon just sits there for a moment long, tugging at his hair, staring sightlessly at the middle distance. Tim gently untangles his fingers, giving him something a little more solid to hold onto.

“You all like him,” he says at last. “You all...he’s so kind, and he’s funny, and you like him, because someone hurt him first. He’s different—we’re different—because someone cut our throat and burned our hand, and you like him better.”

Tim’s horrified. “Jon—”

“Should I accept that?” he continues, the words flooding from him like a dam finally exploding in a shower of groaning wood and weathered stone. “Do I—how do I carry on knowing that I could be the person I want to become, if only I give myself to monstrosity, if only I let myself be hurt like that?”

“Of course we’re not going to let that happen to you!” Tim interrupts, voice higher and more frightened than he meant it to be. He’s applying duct tape to a raging river. He has no fucking idea how to fix this. “You don’t deserve—”

“Don’t I?” Jon demands, whirling on him, eyes flashing. “Don’t I deserve to be happy? Or am I unworthy of even this kind of improvement? Am I doomed to be like this forever?” Tears well in his eyes, spill over. “Don’t I deserve it?”

And then he slowly, inevitably, dissolves into tears, his slim shoulders shaking as he curls over and buries his face in his elbow. Tim drapes an arm across his back, angling his body so he can gently tuck Jon’s head against his shoulder. He doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to do. Even if Jon were in any shape to hear it, he has no idea how to fix this.

Tim could tell him that he and Martin and Sasha all think that he’s fine the way he is, and it’s the stress of an apparently eldritch job that’s causing him to push people away, but he doubts Jon would believe it. Words mean nothing when actions have been screaming something entirely different all this time, and Jon’s always been more observant than they give him credit for.

“Oh, Jon,” he whispers when the tears finally start to slow, dropping a kiss onto silver and black hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you felt that way.”

Jon pulls away and shrugs, averting his reddened eyes. Tim squeezes his elbow to prevent him from retreating entirely. They sit like that for a moment, Jon going very still and very tense under Tim’s hand, settling into the vulnerability like an open wound.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says finally, sniffing heavily. He’s aiming for his usual brusque, dry tone, but his voice is shaking, and he’s not fooling anyone. “That was unprofessional of me.”

Before Tim can stop himself, an incredulous laugh rips out of him. “Jon,” he says quickly, “We’re well beyond professional. You know that, right? You don’t have to hide from me.”

Jon flushes. “Yes, well—it was unfair for me to put this on you, as your fr—as…” His expression goes all fragile and uncertain, and Tim’s heart aches.

“It’s not unfair,” Tim corrects gently. “As your friend,” and here he pauses for emphasis, “I want to know when you’re feeling like this.”

“Oh,” Jon murmurs, then straightens and scrubs the teartracks from his cheeks. “Oh.”

Tim nods reassuringly, takes a deep breath, and makes an educated guess. “I know you’re scared, Jon. We all are. This place is...horrible, and seeing what you went through is...terrifying. I can’t imagine how that must be for you.” He lets his eyes flicker up. Jon’s still watching him, rapt, and good, good. I haven’t lost him. “I won’t deny that he’s getting along with Sasha and Martin quite well, but...but that’s not because of what he—you—went through. It’s because….right now, you’re pushing people away because you’re scared, but he’s already done that. He knows that pushing people away just means you end up alone. It doesn’t mean he’s a better person, just that he’s a little wiser.”

“But how can you be sure?” Jon asks, leaning forward, eyes big and desperate.

“I mean, I wouldn’t have become your friend if I didn’t like you,” Tim admits unashamedly.

His bold honesty is rewarded by Jon flushing and ducking his head.

“But even so,” he continues, sobering, “Even if you were the worst person on the planet—and you’re not—you wouldn’t deserve to be hurt like that, no matter what the outcome. Does that make sense?”

Jon looks thoughtful as he says, “I—yes. Yes, that makes sense.”

He can tell though, that Jon doesn’t quite believe him. That’s okay—honestly, it’s what he was expecting. Tim’s been running headfirst into the wall that is Jon’s terrible self-esteem for as long as they’ve been friends. This problem is going to take more than one half-assed pep talk.

That’s okay, though. Jon’s worth the effort.

#tma #my writing #iceeckos12 writes

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skiyoosmi · 3 years

Text

to the stars above | z.

featuring. zhongli (genshin impact)

genre. fluff, angst, smut, ancient-liyue!au

word count. 5.4k

marga's notes. aAAAa look look, it's my first commission!! school has kept me really occupied for like the past month but after pulling a few all-nighters, i've finally finished my responsibilities along with this little baby! once again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you to my bubs @ramannnn for trusting me with this one <33

Nobody knows when the world began, how it came to be and why it continues to be. Even I, whose mind is filled with nothing but wonder for it, have no idea. One thing I am quite sure of... is how mine did.

It all started with him— a man of many titles, different identities yet at the end of the day, all these monikers are the same; it's all him. He adored Liyue more than anything else, knew it like the back of his hand. He went where the winds lead him, stayed where the moon shines upon him, stood where the golden sun kissed his skin. He found serenity in the walks he travels as he goes about his day, the sceneries his eyes take in and the calm sounds the nature resonates for him. And as if it was fate decided upon by the Celestia, it led him to me. Suddenly, my little world that used to be nothing became everything... quickly and all at once.

An exasperated sigh escapes from my lips, frustration and disappointment filling my whole being as I stare at the blank parchment paper I held in my hands. Another day was again wasted with no progress, I thought, mentally beating myself up for not being productive enough. Before I could further drown myself into such pessimistic ideas, I snap out of it and let my eyes cherish the view that lies ahead of me. Though I feel a little guilty for taking Vermeer's place, I can only whisper an apology with little to no sincerity. Because truly, nothing can beat the picturesque landscape of Luhua Pool— the crystal clear waters that would most probably reflect my face like a mirror if I were to ever look at it, the ruins that ignited the spark of curiosity within me, wondering about the pasts it holds and the stillness and feeling of peace it gives me as I sit in this cliff. Feeling somewhat a bit better, I place my things on top of the old bag I bring no matter where I go. There's always a better day for writing, I tell myself as a form of consolation, bringing my slim arms up to begin stretching. I've been sitting on this log for quite a long time now, after all.

"It seems like you are in a bit of a dilemma," a deep voice comments from behind me. Out of surprise, I lightly jump and turn my head towards the stranger. Right at that moment, it felt as if all the air circulating inside my body had been depleted. Captivating was an understatement as to how he appeared before me. With the sunlight striking his face and accenting his unique features further, he stood with his hands behind him, head tilted as he looked at me with interest, all while keeping his dignified posture.

"Oh, hello. I am afraid so, yes," I respond, or rather, mutter under my breath since I was not really used to having sudden encounters with other people, nor am I fond of it. I tend to keep to myself, finding it much more peaceful than having to tend to others' overbearing expectations and demands which is partly the reason why I chose to live in the outskirts, far from the center of Liyue that contrasts my comfortable abode, "I apologize. I failed to realize that somebody other than Vermeer liked to stay here," I told him, arching my eyebrows a little when he let out a breathy chuckle.

"Oh, you have no need for such formal apologies. I do not always go here, at least probably not as often as the man you call Vermeer. I was simply taking a walk and I think I got carried away by Liyue's view and eventually, my feet led me here," he explains, a hint of sheepishness present in his tone, "and I guess I'll have to thank my feet for that."

Because it led me to you, interesting one. For many years, it will remain unspoken, kept by the strange man to himself and unveiled once his heart gives up from the resistance he upholds.

For the following hours of lounging around Luhua Pool, I learned a lot about the stranger— he calls himself "Morax," and like the god of Liyue, he enjoyed history and is extremely knowledgeable about it, aspiring to know and understand everything of the world, he often brews tea, even going as far as inviting me once I am free from any form of work. Just as he shared facts about himself, I did too.

"So, Cheng, you said you have a bit of a dilemma?" he inquires, slightly angling his head towards the direction of the side I'm sitting on. I nod my head up and down, mouth forming into a small pout of disappointment as I remember that today has not been that progressive.

"Yes. I am trying to write a novel, you see. Something that will leave an impact on this world so that even if I may pass, I will still live on the memories of people," I tell him, an ambitious expression present on my face. He hums, eyes going over the terraces that make up the current view we have and the two huge statues standing by the ruins, "Why so?"

I pause for a moment to think of a reply, "I guess I just do not want to let someone alone in this cold world. Wouldn't that be too cruel and sad, to just leave them with nothing?"

If I'm able to write words that will provide comfort to my readers, then maybe... just maybe the world will be less lonely... even for just a little bit. At least, that's what I thought as silence consumed us, the sun setting as if to remind us that finally, another day is nearing its end. Now, what will tomorrow bring?

"Well then, I do hope I will be able to read at least some of your works at least once," he speaks as he stands up, lightly dusting away his clothes, "It certainly has been a pleasure to be your company, Cheng."

As he walks down the slope of the hill, his somewhat broad back facing me, I call out, "Will you be back?"

He stops and turns, a soft smile is plastered on his face as he responds, "Only time will tell."

But time was no friend of mine. At least that's what I have come to realize as many days passed without him returning to this place. Though maybe it's only because it almost felt as if time slowed down and I was only eager to see him again, something I have scolded myself to— what a fragile heart do I have to already seek a stranger's presence? That is what others call love at first sight, a devilish portion of my mind whispered cheekily within me and I gasped in disbelief, "Absolutely not," I lightly slap both of my cheeks, "I'm just too coped up in my own world. I probably need to go see more people."

That thought remains a simple yearning though because once again, I find myself lounging around the same spot in Luhua, a quiet hope ignited within me, fulfilled when I hear the familiar voice he adorns as he speaks, "You're here."

I release a sound that is between a giggle and a breathy chuckle, "And I see your feet had led you here once more?"

"They were curious, or should I say... I was," he explains as he takes a seat beside me, his posture remaining solid despite the uncomfortable position.

"Of what?" I ask.

"Of you," he simply replies, unaware of the sudden yet unsurprising effect it had on my heart that was already beating rapidly with just his mere presence. I try not to be so showy of it though, too embarrassed to even think of how fast I became fond of him.

But it was no wonder. After all, he himself was an interesting one; from the way he carries himself, the way he speaks, and the way he's just him... all and every action hold so much dignity that it just leaves me almost breathless and in awe every single time my eyes finds their way to his figure— and to think that this was just our second meeting? My mother would most probably let out the most shameless giggle as I tell her these thoughts, pushing me and teasing me like a normal person in their teens would. I shake my head to get out of these thoughts, listening to Morax as he tells another wonderful tale, almost making me think that he lived it himself with how he knew it, going over even with the smallest details.

"You know, Morax, you have such a good memory to remember all of those things despite simply hearing about it," I suddenly speak up in the midst of the silence that engulfed us while he tries to think of the next story to tell, "I hope I can stay in them too... in your memories, I mean. I know I am far from being the most interesting person but for some reason, I wish for that."

He pauses, eyes trailing slowly towards me, beyond my knowledge, before he lets out a somber smile. You already are, is another one of him that becomes an afterthought.

I heaved out a sigh before shaking my head again, "Ah! Why do I keep having such lonely thoughts? Forget about that. Please do not mind me, alright? I think I really need to stop being stuck in the mountains."

I pick up my small bag and shuffle inside it, letting out a quiet sound of 'aha!' as a sort of celebration when I successfully got a small book out, "Here."

He blinked his eyes in confusion, wondering what it was I handed to him so I spoke in delight, "You told me you wanted to read at least one of my works so, here. I am warning you though, it is not like the ones that sell best in the bookstores. It might bore you, or weird you out like what others say."

"What others say?"

"They say it's too unrealistic, too impossible... but I believe otherwise. We live in a world where gods and adepti watch over us. What makes my story impossible then?" I ponder, him still being confused.

"What is it about anyway?" He asks, having no idea of what the context my book had.

"It's about an archon who began living as a simple man in Liyue."

Our meetings became more frequent after that and eventually, we got comfortable with even just the presence of each other, having no need for long talks and such, but just peace. Today, like any other day, Morax was just reading the book I gave him, while I was thinking of what my next story would be about. Occasionally, he looks at me with an odd expression that is almost equivalent to astonishment, as if I have done something so great that it made him look at me that way.

"What made you think of this plot?" he asks all of a sudden, not forgetting to put a piece of paper that served as a bookmark on the page where he stopped just in case he accidentally closed it.

I hum, thinking about my answer to his question, "Hmm. Truth to be told, it was just a mere wonder for me. Archons and the adepti, although not entirely immortal, live so much longer than an average human does, watching over us as we go about our daily lives, waiting for sudden wars to break out and then fight the enemies that attack us. Growing up, those were the things that all the people around me told me. So I began to wonder, do they ever get tired? Is it not too taxing to keep on doing that? What if... they just lived with us, among the crowds? Because I think it is too lonely wherever they are. Would it not be better if they were with us, rather than above us, so they could at least have memories to live by?"

Morax does not give a response, or rather, he finds it difficult to find one. Still, it does not stop the affection that spreads within him. He does not say it out loud, but for someone who prefers to be alone, Cheng was full of empathy. And somehow, that did wonders to Morax's heart.

"Now that I think about it, I kind of actually want to address my books to them now," I hum once more, "It would be like a message for them: Do not be too lonely even if we pass. Because of your help, through these stories, we can show you that we lived a good life."

I huff as soon as I finish my sentence, "Although one of those who read it said that was impossible, because according to them, why would archons give up their power to live a life where there is only simplicity?"

Morax let out a sound that made it look as if he got offended himself, "Archons can do that, can they not?"

"I know! That was what I was saying to them. Anyway, I am not forcing them to like what I wrote. It's just a story, after all. It can do no harm," I shrug, beginning to fix my belongings as the sun began to set, "I should go now, Morax. It is still quite a long walk to my home."

"I want to live a good life too," he suddenly tells me, making me halt and turn to him in confusion, "With you. The good life and memories you shall tell in your stories, can I be part of them too?"

The universe does not stop for anyone, nor does time— science will consistently proclaim this fact matter what timeline we shall live in. No matter how much someone begs to the Celestia to grant their wish of controlling, or stopping time, no one will be able to do such things. But somehow, it seems like when it comes to him, everything is possible as I feel my world stop at his words, just like the way it also began when I met him. And as if planets were colliding with each other, I suddenly felt my heart crash upon him and as if out of instinct, I let go of the truth.

"Of course. It would be the greatest thing to have you."

Life was strange in its own way. That is what I have come to realize in this simple life of mine.

Despite the fact that the "me" of the previous year has never even thought about putting my whole being on my sleeve, it is pleasingly odd how right now, I find myself in this kind of situation with the man who swept me right under my feet and claimed my heart as his.

“You're cold," I whisper amidst the silence of the night in my abode, my index tracing the ears of the man who had me sitting right on his lap, the shorter strands of his silky hair tucked behind them. So, so alluring.

He takes hold of my wrist, planting a soft kiss on its side, all while maintaining eye contact as he quietly drawls, "Then I suppose you can keep me warm tonight. Will you?"

As if in a trance, I nod my head, letting him take the lead as he laid me down, back against the soft mattress, him following on top with his arms supporting his build. With arising confidence, I circle my arms around him and pull him down, bringing our lips together, a sigh of relief escaping both of our mouths as if to say, "Finally."

I wonder if he thinks the same way as I do— that this was Celestia in its own way. I felt like I could do anything as long as it was with him. The kiss felt like the power we once suppressed from each other became a supernova that changed our world's course all of a sudden. But despite the tension and heat we both emitted at the moment, there is a warmth that engulfs me the same time he fully wraps his arms around me.

I am here. I will always be here.

No noise disturbs the peace we have created, only the quiet sound of crickets reach our ears but even that fails to distract him from what he's doing. He gently tugs on the sash that keeps my coat tied. Nimble fingers explore the remains of my clothing, loosening all until I am set free from them.

His eyes raked over my body, an expression of awe plastered on his face for so long that it made me somewhat conscious. Because as he unravels his to me, I am enlightened by the fact that my figure is nothing worth comparing to his — not even close. A hint of sweat glints from his skin due to the moonlight, making him look even more ethereal. But who was I to complain?

So instead, I look down, fiddling a little with my fingers as I feel my cheeks heat up. How is it that I only realize now what kind of situation we are currently in? Before I further drown in such shameless thoughts, he lifts my head up by the chin, an amused look on his usually-gentle face, "Are you feeling shy, beloved?"

I meekly nodded, to which he lets out a soft laugh and whispers, "Don't be. You are the epitome of beauty itself. If you don't believe me, allow me to show you nothing but truth tonight, I swear under the moon and all these stars."

He dips down and captures my lips in a kiss once again with more passion, if it was still even possible.

"You are made for me, as I'm made for you," he proclaims as he thrusts inside me after minutes of preparation, soft pants and groans following his statements. I can only whimper in response, pain evident in my tone at first with my hands lightly clawing at his back. I pray to the heavens above that they don't leave awful marks after this.

He halts and utters an apology, thumb caressing the bone of my cheeks while he waits for me to adjust. He scans my face after a few seconds, relief flashing in his eyes when I nod for him to continue.

"I... b..." I try to speak out but the pleasure overwrites any sensical thought that goes through my mind. He slows down a little, looking over my face and smiles, urging me to talk.

"Stay with me, beloved. We still have all night," he tells me, encouraging me to voice what has been on my mind.

"I... I belong to you, always have and always will..." I manage to croak out, voice quite hoarse due to the sounds that I let out previously. Perhaps pleased with what I have proclaimed, he begins going even deeper and at the same moment, I begin falling deeper.

"Yes, yes, you do," he repeats like a mantra, his voice sounding more and more desperate to reach his high. I cry out with him, creating a harmony that even the best bards shall be ashamed.

It was a long night— the longest yet most beautiful night I have ever had in this simple life of mine. And in that moment, as we reach the stars together, I knew right there and then that this man is someone who will be etched in my heart for as long as I live, deep into its roots— for him, it shall beat and it shall love.

You, who are reading this, most probably have had enough of these teeth-rotting praises I kept on writing. But what can I do except to apologize? These words are the only ones that can flow out of my mind and mouth to show how magnificent it was to be loved by him.

Well, nothing significant really changed. He was still the same gentleman I met, if anything, more gentle. Just like in the beginning, he made my heart flutter every chance he gets, no matter how many years have already passed.

We built a dynasty together.

But maybe I should have known that ours were also bound to crumble like the ones that have long existed even way before us.

Days, months and years went on, I realized that he was actually the opposite of me— unlike me who was clearly not parallel with time, he held it right on the palms of his hand. I was not blind, nor was I a fool, I can clearly see how he looks like he has not aged a day, all while I was here, maturing more and more each second that passed by, the amount of signs of me aging increasing significantly.

Morax. Knowledgeable of history as if he lived it himself. Time. All these thoughts eventually congest my mind as realization dawns upon me. He was not merely a man named after the god himself— Morax was him, he was Morax.

"How appalling," I mutter with a hint of sadness and dismay in my tone. I stood in front of the mirror, fingers hovering over my face, wrinkles appearing as I scrunch it. A pair of firm arms snake its way around my lean waist, chin resting on one of my shoulders as he hums his words, "What has got your beautiful mind occupied, my beloved?"

Taking hold of his arms, I turn my body around to face him, a somewhat melancholic smile etched on my face as I look up at his much taller frame, "You are a sight to behold, even to this day." He arches one eyebrow out of amusement and curiosity, wondering why I suddenly started pouring him compliments. After all, my shyness prevents me from consistently doing so. Nonetheless, I continue speaking, "I wish... I could be with you even when everything changes into a whole new world."

I lifted a hand up to cup his cheeks and began rubbing it lovingly, a lone tear finally dropping from my eye as soon as I closed it, "but I cannot, I do not have the ability to do so... I am but a mere mortal, after all."

His eyes widen as he finally discerns my actions and concerns, immediately opening his mouth in hopes of consoling me but I beat him into speaking, "It's alright, Morax. I have been putting the pieces together for a while now. I am in no way angry. I just..." I pause, gulping hard before my lips start to quiver, "... I cannot imagine how lonely it must have been. And now... I think about it and I... I do not want to leave you alone again."

My cries eventually start becoming louder, something that is very new to the both of us, seeing as I have always been composed. Love can change a person into a whole new being. I remember a book I have read once and at the moment, I can only agree. Maybe it was the way my heart clenches at the mere thought of him walking alone, or the way I can imagine us taking our last breaths together yet I know that will never happen— but either way, it was painful.

He whispers sweet nothings to my ears, placing light kisses on my temple as he leads us to the bedroom to rest once my tears have finally ceased and I have calmed down. His hold on me gets tighter every time I let out a small hiccup due to crying, almost as if he was telling me that he was feeling the same pain as I was.

Hours pass by as we lay in silence. My tears have long dried up but we remain coped up in each other's arms.

"Would it not be interesting if you bear the name Zhongli?" I ask him in a somewhat croaky voice.

He peers down and tilts his head, "Now where did that thought come from?"

I shrug, or at least try to, and look up at the ceiling as we shift our positions to lay on our back, hands finding one another and intertwining, "Hmm... nowhere. Just a name I wanted to give you in case that you are needing a new one."

"Oh? How come it would be interesting then?"

I look at him with a comforting yet sad smile.

"Because it means it's time to leave, to go somewhere far away... and unfortunately, I will have to leave soon."

He furrowed his eyebrows together, "Do not say that. Who knows? Maybe you will be able to live a hundred years by my side. Besides, I think it sounds lonely. I do not think I would want to get reminded of the fact that you are not here with me."

I hum, "But if you bear the name I gave you, wouldn't it feel like I never went away? That no matter where your feet take you, no matter how far you go, I am and will always be with you, just as I have vowed."

The wooden door leading to my writing room slowly slides open and Morax's head peers in, an adorable smile plastered on his face, "You have been quite busy these days, beloved. I do not wish to disturb you but I am starting to long for your presence."

I let out a shameless giggle, "Alright, alright. Just let me write down a few more words while I still have ideas to input."

He peeks on the parchment paper out of curiosity, taken aback when he finds his name on it, "You are writing about us?"

I nod proudly, "My last piece."

"... But why?"

I smile and approach him, taking his hand and placing my forehead against his after he lowers his head down to my level, "I told you, did I not? I do not wish to leave the person I love with nothing. So that you will not be lonely, my words will be with you. I will be with you, always..."

"... and to tell the gods... to tell you, that I loved every second of my life with you— that it was, indeed, a good life."

"Who are you, young man? Are you my son?" I speak with a very hoarse voice, squinting my eyes at the figure in front of me, as if my poor vision will allow me to do that.

I hear a melancholic yet gentle sigh come from him before he takes my rough hands and looks afar, "Don't mind me. I'm just someone who vowed to be with you for as long as time lets us."

"Oh.... really? That’s quite endearing," I hum, "Well, may I know your name?"

"This… I think I may just have an idea to whom this book is for," Paimon trails off, looking over at the traveler who was in the same trance as her, "Paimon thinks we should let the strange person we saw a while ago give this directly to Zhongli!"

Lumine nods, turning around and starting to run towards the direction they were at previously, recalling the person named Cheng who gave them the novel they just finished reading. They were unique, dressed in layers of robes and it was almost as if they lived in the old times of Liyue. Even the way they talked and moved screamed ancient.

Just as they turned the corner, a woman near the Liuli Pavilion called them over, "Traveler! Here!" As they approach, Lumine cranes her neck to look around the area but to no avail, the strange person was long gone.

"Are you two alright?" the woman asks, much to their confusion, "I saw you talking to literal air awhile ago and I was worried you have eaten something strange."

The pair looks at each other in surprise before Paimon replies, "You didn't see anyone? Like a person dressed in the strangest attire? They dressed really anciently!"

The door of the Liuli Pavilion opens and there goes Zhongli, a calm expression morphing to an awkward one when he realizes he barged into an ongoing conversation. He apologizes for the disturbance and despite the curiosity he had upon overhearing bits of Paimon's statements, he starts his walk back to Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. At least not until he hears Paimon call his name, "Zhongli! Wait! A person named Cheng. Do you know them?"

He abruptly stops and turns to the two, eyes wide for a second before it returns to his usual demeanor, "How... how do you know of them?"

"We met them," Paimon says, as if it was the simplest thing to do, "Well, honestly, we don't know because we were apparently speaking to nothing but air! It's so odd!"

He stays still, honestly having no idea of what response he should give them because he himself found it hard to believe.

"Well anyway, they asked us to give you this nov— wait, where is it? It was just in your hands a while ago, Traveler!"

In the midst of the loud chaos made by the two in the middle of Liyue, he thinks he knows what to do and where to go now.

It was the day of the Rite of Parting, an event where he's supposed to be taking part of, even just a part of the audience. But he finds himself hanging around the Wanwen Bookhouse, eyes scanning the shelves until it stops at a familiar name engraved on the cover of a book.

"Oh! Greetings, Mr. Zhongli! I see you took a liking to a very great and romantic novel," Jifang comments as she sees the book in his hands.

He looks at her, "Is it really great?"

She gasps in delight, "Yes, indeed! Almost all of the Liyue folks have enjoyed this story! You can say it is a classic, especially for readers! Cheng definitely outdid themselves with this one! Such a mysterious person yet equally amazing. Imagine? Being able to make such a beautiful love story with Morax? They don’t mention the present name they gave Morax though, such a shame. Maybe it was due to old age, they wrote it until the last moments of their life after all. Anyway, I have to get back to work but enjoy reading that masterpiece!"

He feels his heart swell in pride upon knowing his lover had his wish come true. His nimble fingers carefully open the pages of the book and hours later, as he sat inside the Funeral Parlor after taking the novel home, he finds himself absorbing each and every word Cheng have written, the loneliness sitting idly inside him subsiding little by little.

I found solace in the countless cups of tea you brew whenever I encounter distress with my works, the endless stories you tell with a smile so beautiful that not even the most heavenly scenery can vanquish, but most of them all, the feeling of your hand intertwining with mine, providing me with serenity no one else has ever done before. Under the moonlit night of Liyue, I remember your wistful amber eyes, staring deep into my soul as you proclaim your love and desire for me. How foolish was it of me to think that I could live this life without even experiencing such warmth and intimacy?

It is a banality, really — how I wish to become a well-known writer with unique tales and yet the story I am telling is something so common to folks that they have most probably heard similar ones before. But I guess this is what it means to love and to be loved. Everything is like a cycle that just keeps on being repeated, yet we never get tired of it, of the feelings it brings. So, thank you, Morax. Words will never be sufficient to show how grateful I am to you for showing me a whole new world but I suppose this is still a way for me to give back to you.

With this little book of mine, I hope my heart reaches yours regardless of how many eras may have passed before and after us. So, my beloved, do not be too lonely without me. Even if you find yourself longing for my presence, just open this and my heart shall be with you.

This belongs to you, it always will.

And I do, as well.

#genshin impact #zhongli #genshin x oc #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #zhongli x oc #zhongli x reader #genshin headcanons #zhongli headcanons #genshin scenarios #genshin fic #genshin fluff #genshin smut #zhongli smut #zhongli imagines

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tu-sugar-mami · 3 years

Text

Tales of the side of the road: Day #1)

You're an overworked, sleep deprived, tired barista at a pretty strange coffee shop. You don't really complain, since the payment is good and you have a lot of free time, with the shop being pretty much empty and customers walking in only once in a while. The place is big, well equipped, somehow there's wifi, and you love doing what you do even if sometimes you wish you could go home. You could say the building is placed in the middle of nowhere, in a road connecting two barely populated and pretty hidden towns. The only other building anywhere in a few miles is the convenience store, an old and beaten up OxxO across the street, the cashier doesn't speak much though.

The owner is a bit... how to say it? Cryptic, to put it slightly, but that doesn't bother you at all, you barely see them, and now that you think of it perhaps the only time you spoke to them is when you were hired.

You've seen your fair share of weird stuff in three years of working here, and you even made friends with the local cult, although with a rocky start when they tried to sacrifice you to their deity. It turned out for the best, since you gained regulars that always came in with the freshest gossip. And yes, you may have gotten a small curse because of the first encounter, but hey, being occasionally possessed by a dark goddess do come handy when one of the diverse side effects is super strength and you have to lift heavy boxes of ingredients for the drinks. Because, let me tell you, the drinks you make are not regular stuff.

You specialize in a very complex form of beverages, with basic color code names, but with a flawless, delicious, magnificent taste. At least to those who are meant for.

You see, customers here are very unique, and many have tried to eat you several times before you made it clear that you were not on the menu. They learned to not underestimate your skills manouvering a broom.

Anyway, today is a specially slow day. Not even Gary —a cultist of the highest ranks, who loves his double shot 'blue' coffee— has passed by yet and you can't help but wonder what or who held him back. Though your inquiry doesn't last long, when you hear voices outside and the approach of hurried steps.

It's almost nightfall and it starts to get chilly when you get ready for yet another endless night shift. You find it odd that other people aside from Gary would swing by the shop at this hour, but well, it is your job to serve them after all, and so you tighten your apron and ready your notepad.

Like i've said before you've seen a lot of not so ordinary stuff, and when an uncommonly tall —and absolutely gorgeous— lady along with three younger, shorter women wearing at least 10 layers of cozy clothes walk in you're absolutely unfazed and instead welcome them with the brightest smile you can muster.

"Hi! Welcome to Itsy Bitchy Spider, home of the best coffee in all 24 miles around. What can i get for you today?" You say, bringing the women's attention to you.

The tall lady seems a little thrown off by your warm welcoming. Or by the weird name of the franchise, or perhaps because she wasn't expecting a fragile-looking human to be behind the counter, who knows, but she usher one of the younger girls —a brunette one, who wears a creepy but charming smile peeking from under a thick scarf— towards the counter and clears her throat. "Hello, yes, my daughter got into a little bit of a situation earlier and she has to clean herself up. We're on our way to a very important meeting and she has to be presentable."

It's only now when you notice that said daughter has bloodied clothes, and when she lifts her head you can see that there's blood dripping from her chin too. But again, not the weirdest.

"Sure ma'am," You say with a smile, wich has her giving you a curious look. "the bathroom is on that black door over there." You point and the girl goes on her way, almost skipping. Kind of adorable, you think, like a small child would be, except much older and dangerous. "So, is the cult holding a meeting? That'd explain why Gary hasn't come by." You say casually. The woman is about to answer when another uh, you suppose is a daughter too, suddenly points at the pastries countertop.

"What's that?" A redhead girl asks. She looks excited and genuinely curious about a colorful piece of a cake. You don't make them, and honestly you don't want to know what's in them, but you know they're suitable for any kind of customer that walks in, so you pull out a piece and arrange it on a plate, decorating it with red syrup, the red syrup.

"Try it, it's on the house." You wink at her while sliding the plate towards her and she looks at you like you just handed her a priceless jewel.

"Really?" She says, but is more a formality since she's already pulling the plate closer. "Look Bela! Look what i got!"

"No, Daniela you shouldn't eat that. Your tummy will hurt, you know this." The tall lady says as she grabs the plate and pull it out of Daniela's grasp, which is easy given her height. "We're sorry, but we can't take this. We have a very strict diet." She hands the plate back to you.

You smile and gently take the plate away, aware of the sad puppy eyes the redhead is giving you. You discreetly, almost as if it wasn't your intention, you put the plate within her reach and keep talking. You pretend not to notice when the girl sneakily grabs the plate and runs back to her sister to share her prize.

"Ma'am, i assure you it is perfectly safe. You're not from around here, are you? Well, let me get you acquainted with the place." Not wasting any time you quickly prepare a concoction of 'red' coffee and top it with regular whipped cream while the lady's gaze is fixed on every move. "Here, try this."

"Try what?" The dark haired girl has returned from the bathroom all freshened up and looks curiously to the tall glass you slide on the counter. "Oooh, that looks nice!"

"It is nice. It's one of the house's specials. We call it 'red coffee' though it's up to you discover if you like it."

"Cassandra, i don't think we should..." The lady seems hesitant, but when you rise the glass as close as you can to her face and she takes a whiff you can clearly see her pupils dilate. "What... is that?" She asks, breathless, as if she's just found something she craved for so long and didn't even know it.

You smirk, knowing that you guessed correctly about what would work on her. "Why don't you take a sip and find out?"

"Mother, i think you should give it a try." The blonde girl, the one who hadn't said a word since she first entered says. You notice that there's some cake frosting right on the corner of her smiling lips.

"Perhaps i should listen to you, Bela. Let's see, shall we?" The mother takes the glass from your hand, tiny in comparasion to hers, and she guides the brim of the cup to her red lips. She cautiously takes a sip and as soon as the liquid touches her tongue and she tastes, the drink is downed in seconds.

"So, what's the veredict? You like it?" You say as you put the lid on the last of another three cups of the same drink that you finished making while the cup on the lady's hand was being emptied, ready to hand over to the girls.

"It's exquisite..." She says, and you can see the awe on her face. "How?"

"Well, that's a secret, isn't it? You can come by whenever you like, we're open all day, every day." You look behind the four women and spot a grumpy looking man wearing sunglasses and a hat just outside in the parking lot. Odd when there's no sunlight to protect his eyes from, but you don't judge. "Looks like someone is looking for you." You point past them to the guy.

And sure enough:

"Alcina! Where the fuck are you? Miranda is waiting for us, we're late!"

The annoyed expression on the lady's —Alcina, now you know— face almost make you laugh, but you don't want to be disrespectful and instead you just cough a little. "Looks like we have to part ways." She says, putting the glass on the counter delicately. Her eyes are glued to your own and you can see fire in them. "For now."

The lady turns around and walks away with determination and elegance in her stride and behind her the daughters follow with the grace of young gazelles. One of them, the blonde girl turns her head enough to see you over her shoulder and waves goodbye. You wave back.

"Have a safe trip!" You say. Much, much later you'll call this 'day one', when Alcina first entered your life, but for now:

Alcina... The name feels sweet like honey in your mouth and you smile. You can't wait to see her again.

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@thejennystuttle here it is the first one i finished. I got carried away, srry. Hope u like it?

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If you love my work, buy me a coffee?

#alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #re8 #re8 village #my fic #lady d #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #alcina x reader

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ethernetchord · 3 years

Text

lets talk: popular iwwv criticism

(disclaimer: i know criticism is subjective and thats why im doing this, i wanna look at some common points made against iwwv and dissect them just a little bit in the opposite direction. also none of this is directed at any individual- it’s all based on the general talking points i’ve seen surrounding the book.)

SPOILER WARNING !!

lack of exploration into james and oliver (+ gay characters feel performative)

i’ve seen loads of people say that oliver and james’ relationship felt very performative, a way of including the queer romnce which clearly is very important to the plot but not actually giving it any space in the novel, nor developing it to the same extent which meredith/oliver was.

oliver and meredith had a very strictly physical relationship and while he did love her, he wasn’t in love with her the way he was with james. the juxtaposition in the way that oliver/james is delivered and the way meredith/oliver is delivered is, i believe, far too repetitive to not be intentional. i actually realised upon re-reading how much focus there really is on meredith’s sexuality, even in subtleties in the book. meredith and oliver get more blatant sex scenes, get more physical parts because oliver was (to an extent) using his attraction to meredith to distract himself from his infatuation with james.

we also have to remember that oliver and james didn’t get their real moment of honesty about their relationship till extremely late into the book. i’d honestly see it as more ‘performative’ to then after or in the middle of kind lear throwing in some wild sex scene between the two. it wouldn't have fit.

“why didn’t james and oliver get together earlier then >:(((“ because the slow burn between them, the subtext, the subtle-ness, the yearning, they were all crucial to the decision which oliver made at the end. the fact that they burned so bright for each other but (oliver particularly) were so desperately repressed, that was what made this such a tragic romance. yes its tiring to read stories about queer people being repressed, yes its tiring to see the bury your gays trope. but like oliver says, it goes beyond gender.

if oliver’s second love interest was a girl, and treated this way, we’d be a lot more on board with these tropes- but the fact that james is a man, and this therefor becomes a queer relationship, makes it feel performative. i can’t convince you of anything- but i like to believe that their relationship being treated like this not only makes it so much more “heart wrenching because why! why couldn’t it work out, why couldn’t it be better!” - not because its a queer relationship but because they were soulmates.

alexander wasn’t performative. not in the slightest, rio just didn’t make being gay his entire identity. same goes for colin. just because they’re queer doesn’t mean it needs to be the only thing about them. this isn’t a lgbt novel- characters dont have to be gay just for plot. they can just be gay.

i’ve also seen people complain about not just making oliver bisexual. guys. did you read the book? he was bisexual. he was emotionally and physically attracted to both meredith and james. guys that’s literally what bisexual means.

i'm totally on board with the coming out scenes! and realisation of feelings and all that stuff- but again, not an lgbt centric novel and also- these were things oliver probably did and realised far before this book. remember that its set in 4th year, at an art school. he knew he was fruity ok. not every queer character in every queer book have to have these grandious coming out scenes or realisations. the lack there of doesn’t equal performance.

the ending was rushed and bad

believe what you will, but i don’t think james is dead. there’s a little too much ambiguity in that ending, in the extract he leaves oliver, in the “his body was never found.” so if your main quarrel with the ending is that “bury your gays” situation- please know there’s a chance- and that giving it that chance opens up so much more discussion and reader response.

yes, the ending is sad. but it’s not rushed. “but that is how a tragedy like ours or king lears breaks your heart- by making you believe the ending might still be happy until the very last second.” doing king lear, doing macbeth, doing romeo and juliet, the plays are chosen not only for reader convenience (they’re plays readers will most likely be familiar with) but also because they all, so very deeply, foreshadow a “bad” ending. killing james, makes sense. as much as people don’t want to hear it, from an authorial perspective- from the reader’s perspective and as a human being it makes sense. why do keep arguing that he “should’ve stayed alive for oliver” or that “if he really loved oliver he wouldn’t have done it” - why are we limiting a character’s entire existence down to their love interest. yes, they were best friends, yes they were set up as lovers but that doesn’t mean that that would be enough to keep james around. james was a fragile character- he was always checking with oliver if he had upset him, he was always worried, overthinking, james wasn’t strong minded- and he was suffering. the only person he had left to depend on was in prison, he was plagued with the guilt of causing the death of a classmate and letting oliver take the blame, if he did kill himself, it sure as hell doesn’t have any reason to sound forced.

“its not nearly as good as the secret history!!!!”

to be honest here buds, why the fuck do we keep comparing them so insistently. they are not the same book. iwwv wasn’t trying to be tsh 2.0, yes there are similarities because hey! guess what! books in similar genres tend to do that! always comparing it tsh when they have different motives, different plots and vastly different execution makes no sense. the only reason that they are compared is because tumblrtm dark academics like to group the two together. and yea- makes sense, but stop trying to belittle iwwv because it isn't as grandiose as tsh, because it’s a little more literal, because it’s not as intertextual as tsh. half the people saying iwwv isn’t as good as tsh are practically just subtly going “shakespeare isn’t as complicated as ancient greek huehue” stop forcing the two together and let them be separately appreciated.

the characters were flat/archetypes/etc

sigh. okay.

these characters are actors. this book shows us their transition from themselves entirely into a conjunction of the roles they’ve played and the stereotypes they’ve portrayed.

“we were so easily manipulated - confusion made a masterpiece of us.”

“for us, everything was a performance”

“imagine having all your own thoughts and feelings tangled up with all the thoughts and feelings of a whole other person. it can be hard, sometimes, to sort out which is which.”

“far too many times i had asked myself whether art was imitating life or if it was the other way around”

“it’s easier now to be romeo, or macbeth, or brutus, or edmund. someone else.”

are you seeing it now? this focus on their archetypes, this focus on the character they are; the way they see themselves not merely as human but as a walking concoction of every character they have turned into and out of. they depend on their archetypes to give them meaning. rio uses these archetypes to remind us of the submersion of her characters. they weren’t flat, their intentional lack of dimension due to their pasts is what makes them so intricate. furthermore, there's an evident subversion- the tyrant becomes a victim, the hero becomes a villain (they all become villains really), the ingenue becomes corrupted. like mentioned before, i think we forget ourselves easily reading this book but there is a great deal of emphasis on this being their last year- which is so important. the damage has been done and a lot of the issues people have with the content (or lack thereof) in this book has to do with the fact that it’s all things that would have occurred in books focusing on previous years at delletcher.

“it didn't live up to expectation” (also leading on from read tsh to this and being ‘disappointed’)

i cant argue this because its entirely subjective. whatever expectation was created for you, i cannot know that and appropriately respond however- if you liked the secret history and understood the secret history then there's a good chance you also liked and understood this book- even if not to the same extent but you must be able to recognize the authorial approach and its significance. i think a lot of ppl read iwwv (and a lot of “dark academia” texts and films) and hope to be able to romanticize the aesthetic or the concepts and then are disappointed when they are presented with mildly unlikeable and overwhelmingly human characters who aren’t easy to romanticize.

a great majority of these books are criticisms of the very culture you’re trying to romanticize, and the only time you’re willing to admit that is when boasting about the ‘self-awareness’ of the people indulging in them, and then a moment later complain about those same qualities because they don’t serve this idealized expectation.

bad rep for arts/liberal arts/ humanities students as being pretentious/cultish

as a humanities student with a great love for eng lit- all of these things are indeed pretentious and cultish. not all the time and not always and not every person- but it is a common theme. academia is overwhelmingly obsessive and extremely white-washed. people become so fast to believe that they are indulging in finer arts and are therefore a higher standard of person. academia is problematic. and the recent influx of people interested in it is good, very good because hopefully, we’ll be more diverse, more open-minded, more accepting. that's what i hope at least. if you know, as an individual, that you’re not a pretentious academic who places themselves above non-academics then that's wonderful- but there are dangers and negative sides to academia that need to be understood so that we can see to not perpetuating them.

i cant refute all points, mostly because there's a lot of good and well-explained criticism because no book is perfect. and my intentions are not to belittle anyone's opinion. these are merely opposing arguments, food for thought and to be fair- a critical look into why not everything is always going to be what we expect of it and why every ‘problem’ can be assessed.

#iwwv #if we were villains #iwwv critism #book review #tsh #dark academia #fanart

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chihomichannel · 3 years

Text

of candy wrappers and unprecedented endings

| pairing: choso x reader | genre: angst & fluff | warnings: mention of death; sad things blended with happy things | word count: 2330 words | a/n: hi! this is clem! this is the 3rd and final part of “bittersweet lollipops” so read the first two parts before this but it can also be read as is. this wasn’t my first plan for the 3rd part and i had actually written a lot when i realized that i don’t want it to be the 3rd part lol. so i rewritten this today and here it is! hope you guys like it!

◄ previous |

icon used

Time has always been the limit for humans. We were born and raised, thrown into the world and built our lives only for everything you’ve worked hard for to be left behind once death came right by your door. And for sorcerers like you, death has always been just a step behind, ready to take you once it was your time. But in your case, you miraculously lived long enough to know you would die with no regrets.

Feeling the hand clung onto yours, your eyes woke from its slumber. Your eyes were met with the bright sunshine that illuminated the whole room, the white of the ceiling shining brighter than ever. Your head turned to your side to see Choso sitting asleep by your bed, his hand on top of yours while the other held your family scrapbook. The page was open, showing a picture of your family at its early stages. It was you and Choso both holding onto your newborn with your friends by your sides. You remembered it was your first born’s first birthday and you smiled at the vivid memory that crossed your mind.

You thought back to that day when everyone was present, celebrating and just pure happiness. You remembered Megumi tackling Yuuji when he was about to feed your baby he didn’t know your daughter could not eat. You remembered Panda with your baby lying on its stomach and Inumaki shoving toys to your daughter to amuse it. You remember Gojo arriving late with a bag full of sweets to which Choso took eagerly. You remembered Nobara continuously flaunting her outfit. You remembered Maki and Nanami just being there. And you remembered looking at everyone, just taking in that moment and storing it inside your treasured memories. You remembered the atmosphere, the calm and the chaos in the house. The hot rays of the sun shielded by the window pane. You remembered that moment and longed to return to that day.

Blinking, you were snapped back to reality. You took note that the atmosphere was the same as that day. You smiled, eyes tired even though you only just woke up. You glanced at Choso’s hands that clung onto yours, it was tight but he held you as if you were fragile glass. You knew he’s worried and so you moved your hand and intertwined it with his. Choso stirred awake, licking his dried lips as he leaned up from his position “Hey” he said, his voice cracking slightly. He looked tired, the look in his eyes told you they’ve lived for so long. They’ve seen so much yet his face was still the same. His body looked the same, everything looked the same. His youthful face hid the hundreds of years he’s lived.

He smiled- oh his smile. His smile is something you never got over. When you first knew Choso, you would have never guessed that he could be so expressive. With his indifferent mien, even at the start of your relationship, you would always be so surprised to see another expression on his face. You loved it especially when he has this confused, wondering face. You always found it so cute. You found everything he does cute. It scared you just how much you’re in love him. But you could never imagine nor wish for a better life because the life you have with Choso by your side is a life you would never bargain anything for. You are content and you are in love. You didn’t even realize it but Choso became your life. The little world and family you’ve built with him, it’s yours and his. No life was better than this.

“Morning” Choso scooted his seat closer to your bed, he had his elbows on the soft mattress, taking your hand to his lips. “It’s afternoon, silly” You weakly told him, softly chuckling. You felt him smile in your hands and you gazed at him adoringly “I see you’ve been looking at the scrapbook again”

“Yeah” Choso pulled away from your hands and flipped the scrapbook to the next page “I guess I fell asleep while doing so” He mused. He stopped and you looked at the page to see a picture of you and him decades ago. It was a selfie when you two eloped that one fateful night. The two of you never planned for a wedding nor did you think you would ever get married. It was never a thought in your mind but during that night, Choso looked so beautiful. Even with his mouthful of tacos you grabbed on the way to Panda’s birthday, something about the night with the streetlights and the swarm of people highlighted Choso in your eyes. And at the bus stop, just as you were about to get on it, you pulled Choso into a halt and waited until the crowd got on the bus before you spoke “Will you marry me?”

You both skipped on Panda’s birthday and got married. It was a decisive decision but no doubt the best you’ve ever made. A year later after that, your daughter was born and you swore, Choso had never glowed brighter. Your heart felt soft whenever you see your daughter and husband bonding. And the sight of your daughter cuddled up against Choso made you feel so thankful that these beautiful people are part of your life. Because of them, life was so much brighter.

You and Choso bore four more children after that. To say that life is noisy is an understandment but the noise made you happy anyway (albeit stressed). You stopped at baby number 5, with your eldest being 15 at the time. As expected, your daughter became a sorcerer, proving to be much stronger than either of you with a cursed technique she invented on her own. Your second didn’t follow onto the jujutsu society and made a life of his own outside the dangers of your reality. Your third inherited Choso’s blood manipulation and was almost bought by the Kamo clan but of course, you and Choso shielded your child away from the mess that is clan families. Your fourth also became a jujutsu sorcerer and your youngest inherited your cursed technique. All in all, your children now had lives of their own with all of them being fully fledged adults.

With a sigh, you yawned, reaching out for the scrapbook and putting it on your lap. You flipped to the next page and a grin etched on your face. You giggled, motioning to Choso the scrapbook. It was you and Choso all those years ago before you were married. It was that day out when Choso kissed you on the ferris wheel. It was when you two were sitting on the sea wall when he secretly snapped a picture of you looking the other way. A glint flashed through Choso’s eyes, his lips mirroring your grin. Choso traced the design by the photo, it was a bunch of lollipop wrappers you two had been eating when you were designing this specific page. He remembered you chastising him for almost emptying the packet of lollipops. Chuckling, he turned to look at you to see you looking at him so lovingly “I love you” you told him and Choso felt his chest tighten. It was a wonder how you still had so much effect on him when you had literally spend your lifetime together “And I love you”

Choso examined the wrinkles in your eyes when you smiled. Your once smooth skin was now wrinkled out of old age. Your once vibrant hair is now a dull white. Both your eyes now have a cataract that clouded your sight. And your lips remain chapped no matter how many times you apply a lip balm. But even with all these things you’ve obtained as you aged, you still looked so darn beautiful. It was no secret that his never changing youth made you insecure. You wished he could age up with you but realized that was selfish and so you brushed off these thoughts. What you didn’t know is that Choso also wished the same. He wished he could grow old with you and get wrinkly together.

It was cruel how he couldn’t age with you. If you thought about it, he’s actually more than a century older than you yet here you are, minutes away from letting go. Choso clutched your hands, his eyes shaking as you breathed frailly. He breathed out your name, tears brimming in his eyes. He let out a whimper when you called his name, hiding in the cold of your hands “Choso” You repeated, feeling a pang on your chest. You leaned forward to embrace him, trapping him in your arms resulting in Choso to lean on your shoulder, letting out a quiet cry.

You cooed, kissing his temple before hiding your face in his hair, his locks drying the tears that fell on your cheeks. “Don’t go” He cried, his voice muffled “Not you too” His voice cracked causing your arms to tighten around him “Choso, Choso” With that, Choso looked you in the eyes.

“Please never be alone-” You paused, composing yourself. Choso held your cheeks as you continued “-find someone-” “I could never love someone else other than you” Choso said committedly. You gave him a look before you continued “-please, please don’t blame yourself” You held his cheeks, giving him a soft smile as you plead “And please don’t be sad”

You broke, Choso catching your tears with his mouth. Planting kisses on your face, Choso savored you in. The both of you could feel it. It was the worst feeling ever. But thinking back to your life, it was never short of happiness. Choso was the pill that gave you the energy to live your fullest. He was the reason you found a purpose in life and became a mother of five. He was the reason you ever felt true happiness. And thinking back to all those memories, you can confidently say that you left this world with no regrets.

๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ ⋆ ࣪. ˖ ࣪⭑ ˖ ࣪ ٬ ุ๋ ⸱ ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ ⋆ ࣪. ˖ ࣪⭑ ˖ ࣪ ๋࣭

A snowflake fell on Choso’s nose causing it to twitch at the contact. It was cold and Choso stood in the midst of the crowd, unmoving as stone. He sighed, a cloud forming in front of his mouth. Yuuji had called him to meet him in the plaza in front of the huge clock that stood tall in the middle of the park. Choso scanned his surroundings and took note of the large crowd that flocked together at night. It was the night before Christmas eve and Choso was alone. His children all had their own families to tend to. The original plan was to celebrate at his home but plans tend to change and Choso ended up alone. If not for Yuuji, he would probably be asleep by now.

“Choso!” Hearing someone call out his name, Choso turned to see his brother and his friend, Megumi, heading his way. Yuuji’s pink hair is now white, his smile now has wrinkles on them. It was the same with Megumi and Choso remembered he couldn’t age. It made him sigh, wanting nothing but age together with the people he cares about. It bothered him so much, especially with his eldest child looking much older than him. It was unfair, Choso wailed to the gods.

Choso let them pull him wherever, going along with the flow. But even with the boisterous laughs of his brother and the chatter that filled his ears, he felt alone. He was surrounded by people yet he felt so cold. Sighing for the umpteenth time that day, Choso going along wherever his companions went.

This didn’t go unnoticed by Yuuji. He was worried about his brother which is why he called him in the first place. His legs hurt from old age but if it means his brother would feel better, he would go out in the cold to walk with him. Megumi already went home and Yuuji is walking Choso home. He noted the faraway look Choso held. Yuuji felt sad at the sight. He remembered how Choso shined when you were still alive. But the Choso walking beside him now was nothing but the shell left of his body. His eyes held no soul, that is until Choso’s eyes landed on the ferris wheel.

It was the same ferris wheel as back then. Like before, it flickered in different lights, switching its color as it rotated. Choso held a cry, feeling a lump in his throat. You. Oh, you. He is so in love with you still. He saw that yellow pod, though unsure if it was the one, his heart ached at the memory of you. His heart always aches every second of the day. You, he thought of you. He felt the linger of your touch on his skin, your breath as you laughed against him. He felt your kisses and the love you felt for him. The clutch of your fingers as you held onto him. He felt you.

He breathed in the cold air, taking his eyes off the ferris wheel into the night sky. The jet black sky was painted with the white of the snowflakes that fell. One dropped on his cheek and rolled down the same time a tear fell down from his hollow eyes. A breath left his throat, a smoke coming out of his mouth. He will find you, he is determined to find you. No matter how long it takes. No matter what millennia he meets you again. He will be there and you would be in his arms again. He will tell you the stories he’s lived and live another lifetime with you. No matter how many lifetimes, what matters is he’s with you.

Another set of tears run down his cheeks. He misses you but he will live on. He will live on.

He will live on.

tag list: @lawlesshedgehog

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#choso #choso+x+reader #choso imagine #choso headcanons #choso x reader #choso x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk headcanons #jjk manga spoilers #jjk #jjkdaily

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capt-spooki3 · 3 years

Text

Technoblade Needs Some Comfort

Warnings: angst, but you could say fluff too

Characters: c!Technoblade, c!Philza

After the Doomsday war, Tommy's betrayal was finally sinking in for Technoblade, so Phil called on Y/n to see if they could offer some assistance...

2k words

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The snow was relentless as you traveled through the howling wind. Your hood pulled up with your head down as you held your cloak as tight to yourself as you could to keep the snow out. You glanced your eyes up to see the gentle glow from the cottage windows through the thick snow.

You were in L’manburg, looking out at the rubble left along with everyone else when Philza whispered to you. He told you Tommy has switched sides, he needed you back at the cottage. Now. And that was enough for you, he didn’t need to tell you twice. Techno could not have been taking this well.

He hid things well most of the time, but on the times it was just you, him, and Phil either sitting by the fire or watching the northern lights from the front yard, he would open up. He was so much more fragile and gentle and hurt than anyone could guess.

You picked up your pace, trying to run as well as you could through the snow as it was ankle deep and ever growing. It is a relief when your foot meets the solidness of the wooden step, you climb up the steps and reach your hand out to knock on the door. With the sound of the snow rushing past you, you couldn’t even hear the knock and for a moment you considered knocking again.

Just as you shake your head to get off some of the snow, Phil opens up the door and from the look on his face you know it is going to be a rough night. You slip in really quick as to not let any extra snow in and flipped off your hood to look around the room. Techo sat on the ground in front of the fireplace, just focused on the fire with Phil’s jacket on his shoulders and braided hair a mess. As you start taking off your cloak, quickly dampening as the warm air melts the snow, you turn to Phil and speak as soft and quiet as you can.

“Has he spoken since you got back?” Phil sighed and fluffed his hair and looked at Techno.

“Yeah, when we got back, but he shut down quite fast after. It’s been about an hour, he’s just been sittin’ there.” He shook his head a bit, grimacing as he was clearly mentally cursing Tommy for what he did. “He’s already destroyed Tommy’s old room below, did that before we even left for L’manburg.” His voice quieted a lot upon saying the name, not wanting to upset Techno anymore.

You sigh and fix your hair a little, it was roughed up from having your hood on. “Alright let me put this downstairs and then-”

“You know what, I can,” Phil said as he took your cloak from you and looked at you with concern “He..He needs you right now, mate.” The two of you exchanged a brief hug, a whispered good luck and I’ll be upstairs if you need me, and Philza was gone on his own little mission. You slipped off your boots to set by the door while just watching Techno, you swore you could see him shaking. Maybe even a stray sniffle.

Quietly, you approached him and placed a hand gently on his upper back. He jumped upon the contact and toward you with a sickening glare and glassy eyes. You brought your hand up quick upon his reaction and shifted back to give him a little space in case he needed it. It didn’t take long for his expression to soften and the tension in his body to ease as he dropped his shoulder and let out the breath he had been apparently holding. He stared at you for a moment before his gaze dropped and he looked down at a cup in his hands, facing the fire. You could hardly hear as he mumbled a ‘sorry’ and just by the hurt and defeat in his voice, it broke your heart.

You knelt down beside him, putting your hand on his back again and rubbing slowly to possibly provide him some comfort. The two of you just sat there for a couple of minutes, you watched him while he stared at the dancing flames and kept a mental note of how he would furrow his brows or scrunch up his face for a moment, sometimes making him close his eyes tight. Of all the times for the voices to be bothering him, now was definitely the worst.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You were met with silence. “I can just sit here with you if that would help too.” Nothing. “I can get some medicine if your head is-” He reached over and grabbed your free hand, holding it. He was shaking, you could feel it.

“I trusted him...I thought he would be like you and Phil.” His voice was raspy and thick with emotion, you have never seen him look or sound this broken before. What you would give to make everything right for him at that moment.

“I gave him my axe, I-I showed him everything,” His hand tightened on yours. “I would have protected him from the world if I needed to, I was so ready to.” He tensed up, shoulders shaking ever so slightly.

“Techno..” You whispered leaning forward a little to see if you could see his face.

He turned to you, tears going down his cheeks and pure anger built up on his features. “AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID!?! HE WENT BACK TO THEM- TO THE PEOPLE THAT EXILED HIM! HE LEFT THE BEST CHANCE HE HAD, HE LEFT...he...he left me.” The anger melted into angst as he took shaky gasps from his crying.

“Oh...oh Techno. I know and I am so sorry.” Hearing that from you seemed to do it for him. He shifted to turn towards you, his arms wrapped around you as he let out a choked sob. You held him there, whispering soft words of its okay and I’m here. His head was pressed to the crook of your neck, after his cries had calmed you even felt him nuzzle you as he hugged you tighter. It was so hard to see him this way, such a strong figure turned so vulnerable and broken. Slowly, you took his braid and slowly undid it for him. He was a mess from the battle and if anything it was bound to bring a little comfort. You heard all the stories, or well rumors, that Wilbur used to play with and braid the great blood god’s hair. As you sat there, gently running one hand through his hair and keeping an embrace on him with the other, you hummed a soft song. The lyrics were far from the mind at the moment, but the tune somehow found itself ever present.

All considering, it was quiet for a while. Neither of you knew how much time actually passed, but after some time, Techno speaks. He grasped the back of your shirt just lightly as he mumbled out the words.

“Y/n… are you using me too? Just like everyone else, are you and Phil… am I just a weapon to both of you as well?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Well what else am I supposed to believe, after everything- what else do you expect of me Y/n? How am I sure I can fully trust you two? You could be keeping so much from me that I don’t-”

He stopped talking when you took both your hands and pushed on his shoulders to push him away. He looked at you with a bit of confusion through his sadness. You just stared at him with a bit of hurt and disbelief.

“Technoblade.”

Techno looked down at the ground, not wanting to meet your eyes any more as he let out a shaky breath. “Look I don’t WANT to say it or even think it, but Y/n do you know how many times I’ve been thrown aside and betrayed before? At this point, I really wouldn’t expect much else from you an-”

You cupped his face in your hands and made him lift up his head to look at you again. He looked at you briefly but continued to avert his gaze.

“Please look at me.” You got a displeased hum from him. “Technoblade.” You warned softly but firmly and with a soft huff, he looked at you. You just stared at him for a moment, taking him in. His eyes looked a little less clouded as he looked at you attentively. He was always active in wanting to listen to what someone else has to say, especially in a heartfelt situation. It doesn’t happen much for him so he really makes sure to pay attention when it does.

“I would give the world to you. Just as you would fight the world for Phil and I, we would fight off the world for you. Techno, you two are all I have. I don’t have anyone else. I would give my life for you if the chance came that I needed to.” You bunched up your shoulders a little, feeling a lump rise in your throat. The intensity of his sadness all night was finally affecting you as your eyes started to burn. You weren’t alone though as you could see the tears welling up in his own eyes, transfixed on you and your words.

“I’ll never understand what has happened to you and I won’t pretend to, but listen to me. Please try to trust me when I say I would never use you like that. You’re a person just like me and I will forever treat you as such. I care about you more than the world itself.” A tar finally escaped and ran down your cheek, but not soon after you felt tears wet your hands as they got in the way of going down his face. You wiped them away and gave him a little smile in which you were surprised when he returned it, but gosh was it a relief to see.

“Do you… do you mean it? That.. Do you promise you won’t leave? Will you be here by my side?” He practically begged for the reassurance, wanting and needing to hear it from you again.

“I promise you, I will be here.”

“As will I, mate. I’m not going anywhere.” Both of you turn to look toward the ladder and see Phil standing there, watching the two of you. You feel a few more tears hit your hands as Techno takes a shuddery breath.

Phil laughs a little and seems to wipe away a tear from his cheek before walking over and sitting with the two of you. You let go of Techno’s cheeks, after wiping the tears from them, before Techno reached over to hug Phil in which he returned it with one arm and extended his other to you with a smile. The three of you sat together in this embrace, safe and warm.

It felt like a family. The true sense of safety and security. It was real and it was genuine.

The night ran on as you three sat in front of the fireplace, talking. Enjoying the company of each other to the fullest. No one realized how much time slipped away from you till you glanced to the window to see the soft orange of the sky as the sun made it’s daily entrance in a show of colors.

Techno was exhausted and no one could blame him, even though it was morning he went to lay down. He informed you both to wake him at noon, though you and Phil agreed to let him rest longer.

Nothing was fixed that night. Techno was still deeply hurt by Tommy’s actions and no one expected those feelings to disappear after a night of talking and crying, but it was the first step to healing. One step that you all made together and promised to finish the journey as one.

After all, you were your own little family. Yeah… family.

#dsmp fanfic #techno fanfic #techno #technoblade #philza #techno x reader #angst/comfort #mcyt x you #mcyt x reader

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 years

Text

Letter 13: 🦇 Legendary 🦇

A letter arrives in the mail. The paper it is written on is fragile, stained with the passage of time and a giving off a musty odor. Tightly knit script resembling calligraphy floats across each line. The letter seems relatively normal, if not ancient—were it not for the suspicious red blotch in the bottom righthand cornor... until you bring the paper to your nose and catch the distinctly sweet, fresh aroma of tomato juice.

A strange talisman comes with the letter. It’s a strange mishmash of string, cloth, feathers, and small gemstones. In truth, it looks more like an object used to cursed someone rather than an object to ward off evil. The only reason you can tell what it is is because of a small card attached to it describing its origins. It seems to be a souvenier from a distant country in Twisted Wonderland.

***Chapter 2, 4, and 5 spoilers!***

Salutations, Ramshackle Youth.

You are the one Malleus calls his friend, are you not? The one that resides in that decrepit dorm on the edge of campus. I hope that this letter finds you well. After all~ Any friend of Malleus’s is a friend of mine.

If I recall correctly, you have been looking out for him since day 1. It was you and your Heartslabyul friends that uncovered the stampede plot and warned us of it. Because of that, we were able to secure the area and ensure the safety of our prince. To think that a human without magic went out of their way to protect a powerful fairy prince... Now that is unlike anything I have ever witnessed in my entire lifespan.

I am told that you also keep Malleus company on long, lonely nights. Sharing both walks and conversation by midnight. That is a luxury that Malleus cannot often afford. Many are too terrified of his power or beholden to the gap in their social standing to dare approach him. He often sulks and pouts abput it, you know. Despite how he looks, he can have his moments of weakness as well. How wonderful that you seem to recognize that.

I became curious to scope out just what kind of person is able to so easily befriend Malleus. A gallant, selfless soul that looks past appearances and titles... It is an archetype that often appears in the storybooks and legends, but seldom seen in real life. People—humans, fae—can be twisted creatures. Morals grey, dubious. Not always with the best of intentions in mind. I would know. I have witnessed much of their cruelty in my time—and so, I held a some amount of caution as I approached Ramshackle dorm, Malleus’s holiday card in hand.

Perhaps my worries were for nothing. You seemed genuinely surprised that Malleus regarded you as a close companion. There was no scheme in mind to take advantage of his prestige—it was evident in your eyes, the way they lit up when I presented his card to you. I realized... you care every bit for Malleus as much as we in Diasomnia do. (You cannot forgive a guardian like myself for fretting over his “children”, can you?)

It appears that you, too, have become comfortable with calling Malleus your friend. He is, sadly, used to being forgotten. A footnote in the margins at best, the one always left out of events and gatherings. It was you that remembered him, and offered an outstreched hand.

You should have seen the smile upon his face when he spoke of your invitation to VDC. He treated those tickets you gifted him like precious gems, and insisted that we all attend the perfotmance. And what a stellar performance it was. It is a shame that I was not able to join you, but... I am happy to see Malleus happy as well. That sight is every bit as dazzling as the dances set upon that stage.

Malleus is grown by now. I trust that he knows what he is doing when he decided to call you his friend. I will not interfere with his relations—I shall bolster them. Indeed, it would do him some good to socialize more rather than be sad and mopey in his chambers.

In the stories, they often tell tales of knights slaying fearsome dragons. They are tales as old as time itself, even back in my day. But... if you were those knights, I feel that you would flip the script and befriend the dragons instead. It is, perhaps, not the expected outcome, but one that will still go down in the history books—an accomplishment for the ages, a feat of great bravery.

... Surely, you have it within you to become something truly legendary.

Come drop by Diasomnia for dinner sometime! I’ll introduce you to the whole family—and I would be more than happy to cook a lovely meal for you.

Cordially,

🦇 Lilia Vanrouge 🦇

#Lilia Vanrouge #twisted wonderland anni #twst anni #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #spoilets #twst anniversary #twisted wonderland anniversary #magic mystery letters

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firstfullmoon · 4 years

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what are some quotes that are so visceral they feel like a gut punch to you?

“A man's heart is a wretched, wretched thing. It isn't like a mother's womb. It won't bleed. It won't stretch to make room for you.”

— Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns

“At the trial of God, we will ask: why did you allow all this? And the answer will be an echo: why did you allow all this?”

— Ilya Kaminsky, “A City Like a Guillotine Shivers on Its Way to the Neck”

“I want someone to tell me what to wear in the morning. I want someone to tell me what to wear every morning. I want someone to tell me what to eat, what to like, what to hate, what to rage about, what to listen to, what band to like, what to buy tickets for, what to joke about, what not to joke about. I want someone to tell me what to believe in, who to vote for, and who to love, and how to tell them. I just think I want someone to tell me how to live my life, Father, because so far I think I’ve been getting it wrong.”

— Phoebe Waller-Bridge, from Fleabag

“Les femmes de notre famille, nous sommes engluées dans la colère J’ai été en colère contre ma mère Tout comme tu es en colère contre moi Et tout comme ma mère fut en colère contre sa mère Il faut casser le fil.”

(The women in our family are all stuck in anger I have been angry at my mother As you are angry with me And as my mother was angry at her mother The thread must be broken.)

— Wajdi Mouawad, Incendies

“I know what I want: an ugly, clean woman with large breasts, who tells me: what’s all this about making things up? I won’t have any dramas, come here immediately!—And she gives me a warm bath, dresses me in a white linen nightdress, braids my hair and puts me to bed, very cross, saying: well what do you want? you run wild, eating at odd times, you could get sick, stop making up tragedies, you think you’re such a big deal, drink this mug of hot broth. She lifts my head up with her hand, covers me with a big sheet, brushes a few strands of hair off my forehead, already white and fresh, and tells me before I fall asleep warmly: you’ll see how in no time your face is going to fill out, forget those harebrained ideas and be a good girl. Someone who takes me in like a humble dog, who opens the door for me, brushes me, feeds me, loves me severely like a dog, that’s all I want, like a dog, a child.”

“I can feel myself holding a child, thought Joana. Sleep, my child, sleep, I tell you. The child is warm and I am sad. But it is the sadness of happiness, this appeasement and sufficiency that leave the face placid, faraway. And when my child touches me he doesn’t rob me of my thoughts as others do. But later, when I give him milk with these fragile, beautiful breasts, my child will grow from my force and crush me with his life. He will distance himself from me and I will be the useless old mother. I won’t feel cheated. But defeated merely and I will say: I don’t know a thing, I am able to give birth to a child and I don’t know a thing. God will receive my humility and will say: I was able to give birth to the universe and I don’t know a thing.”

— Clarice Lispector, Near to the Wild Heart

“I know that my phrases are crude, I write them with too much love, and that love makes up for their faults, but too much love is bad for the work.”

“I’m restless and harsh and despairing. Although I do have love inside me. I just don’t know how to use love. Sometimes it tears at my flesh.”

“But when winter comes I give and give and give. The excess of me starts to hurt and when I’m excessive I have to give of myself.”

— Clarice Lispector, Água Viva

“And that was what I felt when reading your book: that solitude.” “Imagine the solitude of the person who wrote it.”

— Clarice Lispector, from an interview

“suppose the body did this to us, made us afraid of love—”

— Louise Glück, “Crater Lake”

“When I put my hands on your body, on your flesh, I feel the history of that body. Not just the beginning of its forming in that distant lake, but all the way beyond its ending. I feel the warmth and texture and simultaneously I see the flesh unwrap from the layers of fat and disappear. I see the fat disappear from the muscle. I see the muscle disappearing from around the organs and detaching itself from the bones. I see the organs gradually fade into transparency, leaving a gleaming skeleton, gleaming like ivory that slowly resolves until it becomes dust. I am consumed in the sense of your weight, the way your flesh occupies momentary space, the fullness of it beneath my palms. I am amazed at how perfectly your body fits to the curves of my hands. If I could attach our blood vessels so we could become each other I would. If I could attach our blood vessels in order to anchor you to the earth, to this present time, I would. If I could open up your body and slip inside your skin and look out your eyes and forever have my lips fused with yours, I would. It makes me weep to feel the history of your flesh beneath my hands in a time of so much loss. It makes me weep to feel the movement of your flesh beneath my palms as you twist and turn over to one side to create a series of gestures, to reach up around my neck, to draw me nearer. All these memories will be lost in time like tears in the rain.”

— David Wojnarowicz, from The Half-Life

“A child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort.”

— Gillian Flynn, Sharp Objects

“and cain said, There’s an idea I can’t get out of my head, What’s that, said abraham, There must have been innocent people in sodom and in the other cities that were burned, If so, the lord would have kept the promise he made to make to save their lives, What about the children, said cain, surely the children were innocent, Oh my god, murmured abraham and his voice was like a groan, Yes, your god perhaps, but not theirs.”

— José Saramago, Cain

“I’d like to jet-ski / straight out of this life because right now I am / way attached to real things like for instance / people how they are all so tender how they / love to just go walk around and someof them are / wearing pink now and it hurts me and they / bathe their dogs”

— Heather Christle, “This Is Not The Body I Asked For”

“The idea of deserving love. And then watching love being given to people who did nothing to deserve it.”

— Anaïs Nin, from her journal

“And he cries and cries, cries for everything he has been, for everything he might have been, for every old hurt, for every old happiness, cries for the shame and joy of finally getting to be a child, with all of a child’s whims and wants and insecurities, for the privilege of behaving badly and being forgiven, for the luxury of tendernesses, of fondnesses, of being served a meal and being made to eat it, for the ability, at last, at last, of believing a parent’s reassurances, of believing that to someone he is special despite all his mistakes and hatefulness, because of all his mistakes and hatefulness.”

— Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life

“The veals are the children of cows, are calves. They are locked in boxes the size of themselves. A body-box, like a coffin, but alive, like a home. The children, the veal, they stand very still because tenderness depends of how little the world touches you. To stay tender, the weight of your life cannot lean on your bones.”

“Sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you've been ruined.”

— Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous

“I know we’ve just met but I feel like maybe / you’d feed me and tuck me into your big bed / and only touch me as you covered me with the comforter.”

— Kim Addonizio, “Party”

“The body has no thoughts. The body soaks up love like a paper towel

and is still dry.”

— Kim Addonizio, “Body And Soul”

“I don’t know how God can bear / seeing everything at once: the falling bodies, the monuments and burnings, / the lovers pacing the floors of how many locked hearts.”

— Kim Addonizio, “The Numbers”

“I keep wishing for you, keep shutting up my eyes and looking toward the sky, asking with all my might for you, and yet you do not come. I thought of you, until the world grew rounder than it sometimes is, and I broke several dishes.”

— Emily Dickinson, from a letter to Minnie Holland

“The unknowness of my needs frightens me. I do not know how huge they are, or how high they are, I only know that they are not being met.”

— Jeanette Winterson, Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit

“I used to be a hopeless romantic. I am still a hopeless romantic. I used to believe that love was the highest value. I still believe that love is the highest value. I don’t expect to be happy. I don’t imagine that I will find love, whatever that means, or that if I do find it, it will make me happy. I don’t think of love as the answer or the solution. I think of love as a force of nature - as strong as the sun, as necessary, as impersonal, as gigantic, as impossible, as scorching as it is warming, as drought-making as it is life-giving. And when it burns out, the planet dies.”

“As for myself, I am splintered by great waves. I am coloured glass from a church window long since shattered. I find pieces of myself everywhere, and I cut myself handling them.”

— Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping

“I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED GENOCIDE TO STOP I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED AFFIRMATIVE ACTION AND REACTION I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED MUSIC OUT THE WINDOWS I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED NOBODY THIRST AND NOBODY NOBODY COLD I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED I WANTED JUSTICE UNDER MY NOSE”

— June Jordan, “Intifada Incantation: Poem 38 for b.b.L.”

“Maybe when I wake up in the middle of the night I should go downstairs dump the refrigerator contents on the floor and stand there in the middle of the spilled milk and the wasted butter spread beneath my dirty feet writing poems writing poems maybe I just need to love myself myself and anyway I’m working on it”

— June Jordan, “Free Flight”

“It’s not that I gave away my keys. / The problem is nobody wants to steal me or my / house.”

— June Jordan, “Onesided Dialog”

“What reconciles me to my own death more than anything else is the image of a place: a place where your bones and mine are buried, thrown, uncovered, together. They are strewn there pell-mell. One of your ribs leans against my skull. A metacarpal of my left hand lies inside your pelvis. (Against my broken ribs your breast like a flower.) The hundred bones of our feet are scattered like gravel. It is strange that this image of our proximity, concerning as it does mere phosphate of calcium, should bestow a sense of peace. Yet it does. With you I can imagine a place where to be phosphate of calcium is enough.”

— John Berger, And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief As Photos

“I wept and wept. I had come to believe that if I really wanted something badly enough, the very act of my wanting it was an assurance that I would not get it.”

— Audre Lorde, from “Zami: A New Spelling of my Name”

“You kiss the back of my legs and I want to cry. / Only the sun has come this close, only the sun.”

— Shauna Barbosa, “GPS”

“It has to be perfect. It has to be irreproachable in every way. (...) To make up for it. To make up for the fact that it’s me.”

— Suzanne Rivecca

“I hope it’s love. I’m trying really hard to make it love. I said no more severity. I said it severely and slept through all my appointments. I clawed my way into the light but the light is just as scary. I’d rather quit. I’d rather be sad.”

— Richard Siken, Self-Portrait Against Red Wallpaper

“We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero's shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.”

— Richard Siken, “Snow And Dirty Rain”

“Love, for you, / is larger than the usual romantic love. It's like a religion. It's / terrifying. No one / will ever want to sleep with you.”

— Richard Siken, “Litany In Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out”

“The hardest thing still remains. It remains the hardest, to bear all the tenderness and only to gaze on.”

— Ilse Achinger, “Mirrorstory”

“i killed a plant once because i gave it too much water. lord, i worry that love is violence.”

— José Olivarez, “Getting Ready to Say I Love You to My Dad, It Rains”

“Mother says there are locked rooms inside all women; kitchen of lust, bedroom of grief, bathroom of apathy. Sometimes the men - they come with keys, and sometimes, the men - they come with hammers.”

— Warsan Shire, “The House”

“I’ll take care of you. / It’s rotten work. / Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

— Euripides, Orestes, tr. Anne Carson

“We have this deep sadness between us and it spells so habitual I can’t tell it from love.”

— Anne Carson, The Beauty of the Husband

“There is no question I am someone starving. There is no question I am making this journey to find out what that appetite is.”

— Anne Carson, Plainwater: Essays

“I wish I could peel all my sadness in one long strip off my skin & toss it in a bucket. No one would have to carry it. It would just sit there & be punished. It would just sit there & think about everything it’s done.”

— Chen Chen, “Elegy For My Sadness”

“There is too much or not enough room in my stomach for everything we will do to each other.“

— Adriana Cloud, “Bento Body”

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