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xoxo-sarah · 2 years

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Difficult

↝a/n: okay I love robin,,, I know this isn't mcyt related but I just love her too much. Also I do not condone cheating, readers boyfriend is a douche who makes it impossible to break up with him.

↝pairing: Robin Buckley x fem!reader

↝ Warning: closeted!reader, reader is cheating on her douchebag boyfriend with Robin, think of the boyfriend as the usual jackass from the 80's, not proofread, kinda suggestive but not really???, slight season 4 spoilers,

↝⎙ 8.7.22

The soft sheets draped over your naked bodies, the memories of last night and this morning fresh in your brain and on your skin.

Robin positioned herself to tower over your slightly at your side, brushing her soft hands across your bare stomach. Your eyes searched hers for what felt like a lifetime. Noticing her mouth moving, but no words coming out, you moved your hand from twirling her hair, to grazing against her shoulder, down her arm. "What is it?"

Her hand abruptly stopped, staring into your eyes with hesitation clear in her own irises. "I've been thinking,"

"uh oh." You teased, getting a small roll of her eyes as she sat up more, removing her hand.

"I'm serious. I think you should go back to him."

You sat in disbelief, your eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"I'm serious, Y/n. You need to go back to him, this isn't right and you know it. We shouldn't have started this- this is such a bad idea. We're gonna get in trouble-"

You followed her lead as she sat up, watching as she bent over to gather her discarded clothes. "Of course I know it, Robin. I blame myself everyday but you make me forget about him. Make me forget about all the shit he's put me through. He's a fucking douchebag that won't let me break up with him." You just stared at her face, knowing her thoughts were racing in that pretty little noggin of her's.

"Y/n-"

"Robin, Baby, Please don't do this. Don't make me do it."

She kneeled on the side of the bed, her pants on along with her bra, shirt dangling from her limp hand. "Why does it have to be difficult?" Her voice was so low, you weren't sure if she even wanted you to hear it. "He's a cunt. Such a fucking cunt."

Humming, you brought a hand up to graze against her facial features.

A few minutes passed with just silence, her body half on the bed, your fingers gently making their own way across her sun-kissed skin, connecting each freckle like it was the sky and they were the stars; connecting any constellation. "If he figures us out-" Robin closed her eyes, exhaling before falling sideways on the bed.

"Just get Vecna to get his ass."

"Stop, that wound is still pretty new." Her attempt at joking around, had more truth in it than either of you would like to admit. "If he finds us out, we're dead. He's a psycho, he'll gut us, Y/n. I'm serious. He'll make a fool of us in the process. Oh my God, he'll tell the whole town with his loud blabber mouth-" cutting her rambling off, you kissed down her neck softly, bumping your nose against faint, fading purple marks. She sighed, trying to let those thoughts float away, out of her mind and out of the slightly ajar window.

"Let's just forget about him, atleast for tonight. He doesn't exist right now, or the rest of the night, okay?"

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [!I don't give permission!]

#Robin Buckley #robin buckley angst #robin buckley fluff #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #stranger things seasong 4 #stranger things imagine #Stranger things x reader #stranger things angst #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley smut #robin buckley x fem!reader #i love robin #📼#robin buckley fanfic #stranger things x reader #xoxo-sarah 🩷

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fotibrit · 9 months

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"EDITH (Even Death Isn't Too Heavy)"

In a fit of boredom, I wrote the first chapter of this prompt. Please let me know if its worth continuing writing this one :)) (1700 words below the "continue reading" , youve been warned !!)

When Tony died, everything was supposed to stand still. The grass, somehow, would sense the shift and would freeze over to pay respect. The clouds shouldn’t show their face at all, unless to rain on the horrible, horrible world that now stopped turning in the wake of such a tragedy.

Everything was supposed to stand still. The world should stop.

But it doesn't. It seemed everything moved at double-speed, with Mister Stark gone. Of course, there was a world to clean up. Half the people on Earth had appeared in thin air, and entire cities needed to be turned into hospitals. Mass confusion reigned. Everyone turned to the avengers for answers, and nobody noticed the body of the man who had saved the world, whisked away in a black bag.

That's all he was. A body in a bag. Everything, everything that Tony Stark ever was and ever would be, was within that bag. The bag that Peter would never see again.

There were parties. Spider-Man was asked to a dinner at city hall, a “Celebration of Life Revived”. They asked, should he accept, that he give a speech. The city missed the vigilante, he was told. People were concerned, not having seen the web-slinger soaring through the skies after the battle. They wanted to see him, admire him, thank him for everyone he had saved.

They even offered transportation.

There was no need. He couldn’t attend. He would be at a lake house, on the outskirts of New York. He had a funeral to attend. The “Life Revived” would have to make do without him.

Peter tried to avoid anything to do with Tony Stark for the months after his death. He was tired, far too tired to deal with the fallout of his mentor's death. There was paperwork to be sorted, meetings with SHIELD, interviews requested, and there was the small issue of Tony’s workshops. Nobody wanted to step foot in any of them, let alone clean them up. This wouldn’t be an issue. They could stay, collect dust, become an ancient artefact. Peter was willing to turn a blind eye, forget that the rooms ever existed, distract his mind as every crumbled up bag of chips on the lab floor became a relic of a better world in which Tony Stark lived.

It doesn't matter. See if Peter cares. It's not like anyone would use Tony’s lab again. Tony’s dead.

Dead, and never coming back. His voice fades from Peter’s memory as Peter stands, frozen, in front of the lab door.

Unfortunately, Peter may not care if Tony’s workshop turns to dust, but SHIELD certainly does, and nobody has the energy to fight that battle with them at the moment. Valuable work needed to be preserved, some things needed to be guarded under lock and key, a few things would go to a museum, per Tony’s will.

So, Pepper asked Peter to clean it out. “Just glance over everything. See if anything stands out. God knows I don’t understand his little language, but if he wrote ‘weapon’ in big red letters on anything, burn it before SHIELD sees it, yeah? Or translate it to ‘high tech prosthesis’. He would have loved that.”

Peter was the only one for the job. There had been a few days in which everyone panicked, thinking nobody would be able to preserve Tony’s work. He had insisted on using his personal language in his notes, a language Peter privately dubbed “Teaspool” after failing to find a way to pronounce “TSPL” (or, Tony Stark’s Private Language”). Even some of Tony’s codes used symbols known only to Tony’s brain and computer.

And Peters. Tony had taught Peter Teaspool. This fact had been private for years, with Tony preferring to keep the depths to which he trusted the boy private, and the boy following his mentor’s lead and keeping quiet. When it was first discovered that much of Tony’s work was unreadable to an English speaker, Peter had debated revealing his ability to understand the language. He ultimately decided that he wouldn’t reveal himself, he would maintain his last secret with his late mentor, but Morgan had other ideas.

She showed up at his bedside one day. He was always in bed. Peter Parker, drowning in grief and blankets, was very easy to find.

“Mommy is crying because she can’t read Daddy’s books. Can you read them to her?”

Peter agreed to step foot in the lab, but not much else. It’s true that he learned to read Teaspool over the years, but that doesn't mean he’s willing to spend months translating everything for SHIELD.

He’s not sure he’s even willing to spend minutes.

The door handle is cold, far colder than it ever was when Stark was alive, or at least it seemed as much to Peter. That might, in retrospect, have something to do with the fact that Peter had laid in bed, warm and comfortable and utterly numb to the world, for the last few weeks. Everything felt colder.

He wouldn’t wait to go back to bed.

The room was cold too, and creepily silent. Completely devoid of the whirring, the music, the laughter and called out nicknames that typically greeted Peter when he walked through this door.

That nickname would never come again. He had already had his last. It wasn’t enough.

“FRIDAY?” Peter spoke into the silence, more for his own comfort than a pressing need for the AI. He needed to know someone else, even a robot, was somewhere closeby. His voice cracked from misuse. It wasn’t that Mister Stark’s death had caused him to go mute. It was more like that very things were worth speaking for, in a world devoid of his father figure.

Speaking only made his life better. Peter didn’t need his life to be better. He needed his life to not be his own.

“Hello, Peter.” The AI responded. Even she sounded cold. Everything was cold, now.

“Can you… play music? Anything? Please?” The room was haunted. Peter was sure of it. He had known it back when he frequented this lab for the express purpose of bothering Mister Stark while he worked. The lab was haunted by the spirits of projects that Mister Stark forgot about, Peter used to say. The half-built gadgets lined the walls, staring at the pair of humans working on another gadget, which would (in turn) be dejected as well. “This lab is a haunted graveyard. I’m surprised the electricity hasn’t revolted against you!”

Mister Stark had laughed, back then. If only Peter had known how right he would be. It wasn’t electricity, per se, that killed Stark, but Doctor Strange said it was the magical equivalent. It looked like sparks had coursed through the mechanics veins as he lied, waiting for death.

The machines won in the end.

Music started playing. Classical. Something happy. Far too happy, for this room. Still, it was better than nothing.

Peter’s bare feet wandered over to the main table of the lab. He typically wore lab-appropriate footwear in this room, but then again, it’s not a lab anymore. It's a graveyard.

The table was piled with papers, no clear signs of an organisational system presenting themselves. Blueprints for designs that could change the world were filed with Peter’s own chemistry homework, all filed right on top of the desk in a haphazard pile.

This should be fun.

It felt wrong, somehow, to sit in the chair that was right next to the desk. Mister Stark was probably the last one to sit on it. Who was Peter to take that away from the universe? He dragged over another chair and began rooting through the pages.

—--------

Peter almost didn’t check the desk drawers. Tony never used them for anything more than snacks, and he didn’t know if he could bear finding a half- finished snack in there, knowing the inventor had opened it and would never finish the bag. Such a small thing, but the pressure in Peter’s chest had been building ever since he first started translating Tony’s handwriting, and he couldn’t take anything more.

But he checked anyway. Maybe part of him wanted to break. And break he certainly did.

A notebook. Bound in leather, stamped in the bottom left corner with Tony’s initials, a well used notebook had been pushed all the way to the back of the otherwise empty drawer. It was filled with a mix of english and symbols, and before Peter could start to translate, the english section caught his eye.

It was a diary. Or at least, a personal journal. The small english section described Tony’s difficulty with keeping “Mark Two” a secret from “Obie”, and was dated 2009.

As Peter flipped through the almost-full journal, the handwriting became more and more illegible, and more of the man's personal language took over the pages, until Peter hit the back cover.

So it started in 2009. Peter flipped to the last page, intending to find out exactly when Tony had given up on the journal, only to see his own name staring back at him from the last entry.

Or at least, it might as well be his name at this point.

“TO ROO” it said, in big bold english letters on the top of the page.

The following paragraph was written in the messiest handwriting yet, and in Teaspool. As such, it took over twenty minutes to decipher, and another twenty for Peter to read through the tears and disbelief.

Because what it was saying…

It couldn’t be.

“TO ROO

The wizard says there's only one option, so I’m in a corner here. I’m working on it, kid, but it’s looking like you will have to wait a while to see me after we get you back. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Just stay strong. I’ll be back soon. I can’t wait to see you again, kiddo. Trust me. I'll have to push through worlds to see you again, but even death isn’t too heavy.

P.S. Don't show the others. If they knew, I would be stuck. Keep it quiet. Wait for me.”

Three hours after Peter entered the lab, Morgan came looking for her brother at the request of her mom. Peter, notebook clutched in hand, murmured the phrase “even death isn’t too heavy” as he was led back to his bed.

#irondad and spiderson #peter parker #marvel mcu #avengers #iron man #tony stark #irondad #spider man #spiderson #the summary of one of my wips

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tvckerwash · 2 months

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Hi, I really enjoy your analysis of toaru, especially those about accel! I recently saw an opinion which bothers me a lot, but somehow makes a point, so I am not sure whether to take it seriously. I wonder what's your opinion: Kihara discovered accel's ability before nine, so he is the one who knows how accel behaves before his monstrous power comes to light, and might be the one closest to accel's "true nature". Is he then, as claimed by Kihara, the "selfish and considerate bastard who secretly puts himself above most"? Especially considering hc op, as someone claims, the problem could be solved instantly if he just comes out of prison, and he seems satisfied in gt 5(?). Does it mean he could tolerate sacrifices of innocents as long as his deep wishes of redemption are satisfied, even if it seems somewhat pretentious? I know it's a harsh opinion, but somehow I don't know what to respond, since I have trouble understanding accel's behaviours throughout hc op. Do you think it's overall selfish or maybe a consistency issue in terms of writing?

aww thank you! theres pretty much no toaru fandom here on tumblr dot com, and not many of the few people that exist are novel readers, so I kind of forget that half my toaru posts exist lol.

if I'm understanding your question correctly, I believe that the opinion you saw was probably made by someone who doesn't understand why accelerator has chosen to take the path he has in gt, and they also don't understand where the immature, over the top arrogance he possessed in ot came from.

his arrogance is not unfounded, and it stems from the fact that he is morally superior to the other members of the dark side that he's gone up against. accelerator is a character who cares very deeply about being good and righting his past wrongs, and he has never tolerated the 'trash' of the dark side dragging innocent or otherwise unrelated parties into dark side problems. saving last order in ot5, ditching index during the ac invasion arc and warning heaven canceler about hound dog, flexing on kakine in ot15 by protecting all the bystanders who got caught in their fight, rescuing the kids being held hostage in ot19, and working together with hamazura in nt1 to save fremea are just some of the many examples of accel's heroism shown throughout the series.

in regards to accel being in prison, I don't think all the problems in ac that occur because of the dark side would be fixed by him not being in prison. sure, it might help, but that doesn't take into account that he now has a responsibility as the board chairman to set a good example, and what kind of message would he be sending to the world if he put his foot down and dismantled the dark side without acknowledging his own previous involvement, and the crimes he committed? that would make him no better than the corrupt, amoral adults he despises, so no matter how much it pains him, he needs to sit back and have faith in others to do what he cannot because this isn't a battle he alone is fighting. with great power comes great responsibility.

#asks #eaststickfigure #toaru #toaru majutsu no index #toaru kagaku no railgun #accelerator #raildex #a certain magical index #not r/vb

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purpleisnotacolor · 1 year

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Tumblr cut off my tags (yes, there was MORE), So I'm continuing them here

What do I consider to be the darkest, tone-wise, parts of Ninjago?

Garmadon's whole thing.

Oh yeah baby, we need a ''keep reading''.

He was cursed as a child and his father believed it was turning Garmadon into a monster, (and in a way his dad was right), but what exactly his curse ever was he never knows. But it's something wrong with his mind/soul that no medicine was able to fix.

So Garm grows up believing he'll turn into a monster/turn evil. And then he finds a prophecy that says a BBEG will take over the world but be defeated, and he assumes (totally reasonably!!) he's the dark lord in question, so he just gives up on trying to be good and becomes evil out of nihilism. (the nihilism part is played for comedy, and the prophecy was also likely and ironically written by his father in an attempt to save him, we'll get to that)

To the point where he SELLS HIS SOUL (to a demon??) to try and gain advantage in this prophesized final battle. And the guy who's meant to defeat him is his SON, WHO IS LIKE 10 AT MOST WHEN THEY FIND OUT, AND 12 AT MOST WHEN THEY HAVE TO FIGHT (likely to the DEATH)

But his son SAVES him, he saves his life and his soul, he undoes the curse by some miracle... But in doing so now Garmadon is hit with all this delayed guilt for his actions (especially now that he's questioning if he was ever doomed to be evil) to the point where he...

He uuuh...

"Heroically sacrifices" himself (this show is rated TV-y7) and hurts his son deeply by doing so.

So deeply that his son's will is too weak to resist POSSESSION BY THE GHOST HE ACCIDENTALLY LET OUT OF HELL WHEN HE JUMPED IN. AND NOW LLOYD IS FORCED TO DELETE HELL WHILE GARMADON IS IN THERE TO DEFEAT THIS GHOST'S EVIL PLOT.

So he just CEASES TO EXIST. Until a crazy fanatic revives HALF OF HIS SOUL, ONLY THE EVIL HALF OF IT. AND HE FORGETS ALL HIS GOOD, AND LOSES ALL THE LOVE HE HAD FOR HIS SON (THE ONE CONSTANT THING HE HAD THROUGH ALL THIS)

GARMADON SUFFERS SO MUCH. In such messed up ways.

And to make it so so so so much worse?

In season 8 we (not him, he doesn't exist in any way when this happens) find out the monster his curse was turning him into was called an "Oni".

And Oni aren't all evil, We learn what Oni are from one, and she's helpful and kind. But his father thought they were, likely because he grew up with them, and they have a violent culture.

So now we have explicit confirmation that he could have chosen to be good this whole time.

(oh also, his wife left him about at the ''turned evil because of nihilism'' part).

---

And all of this is explicitly canon. The only part that's not canon is me acknowledging how messed up it is.

#my blorbo #lord garmadon #ninjago #sensei garmadon #master garmadon #sins of garmadon au #<- that is my AU where he never ''heroically sacrifices'' himself in season 4 #and lives up to season 8 (and longer don't worry) to learn about himself #and hecking HEAL #FROM ALL THAT NONSENSE I JUST DESCRIBED #what happens to him in canon legitimately makes me so sad

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nordickies · 1 year

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I'm usually quite a ghost on tumblr (pretty much anywhere, actually) but I was so glad to see your art pop up again on my dash and fav tags that I thought I should leave a little something in your askbox. I always loved your colours, so vivid and refreshing to my eyes, and also the way you draw and colour eyes and hair. I would be very bad at explaining why exactly, but yeah, it soothes this tired soul of mine to see your art 😌 Also, I don't know if I should ask for some art or not? I just thought of the message actually 😅 Plus, you already drew Norway a lot. Maybe people would like to see someone else. Hmm... What about your take on Faroe if you got any?

Oh my, I am also a shy ghost, so I know it takes a lot to go and leave a message to creators- This is so incredibly touching. Thank you!! Truly, I appreciate it. It means a lot to me!

To answer your question: Yes, I do have a take on our boy Føroyar… kind of. And on Åland too! They would be part of the Nordic family, and I have some ideas for them! They aren't that well-developed (I have my hands full reimagining the canon as it is), and I don't know are OCs really something people care about, so I have never talked about them in my blog. But I am always super excited to see other people's takes on these characters! They shift the family dynamic in such fun ways.

Greenland and Sápmi exist as well, but they don't interact with the family as much as these two. Denmark is Greenland's guardian by legality, but they live on the other side of the Arctic Circle. Sápmi is a close family friend, interacting with Norway, Sweden, and Finland. I have always adored @saltlakris's take on Sápmi!

Say halló to the Faroe Islands! He's Norway's and Iceland's half-brother (the other part comes from the Celts), but Denmark operates as his guardian. Growing up, he and Iceland were inseparable, and they're best friends to this day. Faroe is an overall kind and well-behaving kid, but he tests Denmark occasionally with his weirdness. Faroe likes to keep to himself, and others don't see him that often.

Much like Iceland, he's actually a daredevil and adrenaline seeker. He likes working at the Sea to provide for his people. He has more of an active approach to life in general and likes doing physical work. Faroe is relatively passive and known to be fair and reasonable. He's polite and can't seem to hold grudges against people, so sometimes he doesn't know how to stand his ground. He doesn't like to tattle and takes the blame just because he's non-confrontational. However, growing up with the rest of Western Nordics, Faroe can be very pigheaded. He's also moody, speaks loudly, and curses like a sailor. He's a bit slow in the sense that he's out of the loop with trends, and he's usually the last one to laugh at jokes. But when others interpret this as him being dumb, it infuriates him. He might not be book-smart, but he has invaluable practical wisdom. He's skilled and efficient. He still has a lot of maturing to do and should start taking some responsibility. Speaking of which, he's notoriously reckless. He's very relaxed and trusting, so he never locks his doors (which he forgets to do in Denmark's place). He also comes and goes as he pleases, rarely informing anyone in advance. If you're Faroe's friend, don't be surprised to see him standing in your living room unannounced. He's known to be always late, having the worst organizational skills, and he's terrible at calling people back. He doesn't want to cause problems, it's just the way he does things - living in the moment.

He has a heavy accent when talking with others, but he adorably speaks in an old-timey fashion that can sound retro to mainlanders (gøtudanskt). Besides the way he speaks, Faroe also acts old-fashioned, as he's well-mannered and thoughtful with other people. Faroe can also appear more traditional than the rest of the Nordics and values his customs. He lived with Denmark for a long time, almost losing his roots, so he's very protective of his practices and freedom nowadays. He still has his own room in Denmark's place, but he lives on his own most of the time. You'd think Faroe is outdoorsy, but his climate is unwelcoming and harsh on the next level. He has gotten used to it and loves his home, but he doesn't get to host garden parties. Charmingly, he gets excited over common natural sights, such as forests and lakes. While the climate might be unwelcoming, the people are the opposite - That's what he loves about his place, its small communal feel, and lovely people, and that's what he values more than anything.

Being in his late teens, Faroe is at that wonderful age when everything your parent does is embarrassing and annoying, and they just don't get you. He gets annoyed with Denmark all the time, so Faroe storms into his bedroom (softly closing the door), quietly punching the air and finally silently screaming into the pillow. Then he crawls back an hour later when he's called for dinner, acting all normal again. Faroe is such an easy kid that he often gets forgotten by Denmark, who focuses more on repairing his relationship with Iceland and Greenland. Faroe is totally happy to be left on his own. Who would want… attention… or validation from Denmark anyway? Faroe adores Norway and looks up to him, but Norway never seems to have time for him exclusively. Besides Iceland, he gets along nicely with Åland, a fellow seafarer nation. They're both self-governmental islands that get overshadowed by their more prominent family members, so they often exchange those "I know how you feel" looks at the dinner table.

The Faroe Islands and Iceland would consider each other best friends! Besides being related, they have pretty similar cultures and upbringings. They're both young, rural, and have a strange sense of fun - to others' their games and jokes just seem horrifying! Growing up, outsiders thought they were twins; that's how inseparable they were. Younger Iceland would devise harmless pranks and ways to be mischievous, and he'd drag the gullible Faroe with him. Poor Faroe always got the blame and lecturing. After Iceland's independence, their relationship started drifting, and Iceland is now making other friends. Sometimes Faroe gets upset by this, but he's too nervous to say anything. He's happy about his brother's success, but he can get quite lonely in his place. Occasionally he longs for those moments when the whole family lived under the same roof, though he would never admit it. Then he visits Denmark for one week, and all those thoughts are thrown out the window! The longer the distance between him and Denmark, the better!

Anyway, he's an adorable guy, and I am happy to finally introduce him in my Nationverse <3

#hws faroe islands #hws iceland #oc talk #my art

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unsaidcurses · 2 years

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can you please write smth with reader comforting marcus and being his support system after todays shit show.

i rly need it, i just want to forget todays race happened 😭😭😭

you don't have to go through this alone// m.a.

summary: marcus needs some comforting after monza and you're there to be his support system

pairing: marcus armstrong × reader

wordcount: 2.7k

warning: angst, graphic description of a breakdown, monza weekend (it's a tw itself basically), tiny bit of cursing

a/n: i swear he's cursed or it doesn't make sense + probably he can pass the curse because tumblr deleted half of this and I had to rewrite :D anyways, is this more dramatic and cheesy than it should have? yes do i care? not particularly

the “delete” button doesn’t exist in real life, right? because if it did, you would certainly have pressed it by now, for marcus’ sake.

it was monza weekend and you accompanied marcus. thank god you did because it had been a real shit couple of races for him, and just the thought of leave him alone dealing with them destroyed you.

he qualified pretty well, to be honest, ending p3, which meant he would start in decent positions both in the sprint and feature race.

it looked so good on friday, you were confident about it.

saturday came and the sprint race with it. you were watching in from the motorhome, nervousness eating you alive as you looked at him overtaking some cars. nothing too bad happened. but then the last three laps arrived and when jack and liam started pushing him for sixth place, marcus had little choice but to skip across the run-off area, keeping his position. you didn’t think much of it, since your main concern was to see him on the track and not in the wall, and you just continued watching the cars speeding around.

when he crossed the line, you were content and satisfied. he finished p6 gaining one position from where he started, which meant a couple of point to bring home. at some point you heard the commentators saying that someone got a 5 second penalty, therefore out of curiosity you asked a mechanics who got it, and your face dropped hearing his answer.

“it’s marcus. he went off track and gained advantage. 5 seconds will bring him back to tenth.”

you tried to rub off your sad expression when you saw him coming closer to the garage. you didn't know if he was aware of the penalty and you didn't want to worry or scary him off in case nobody told him yet.

you kept your eyes on him all the time, from when he spoke to his race engineer, who you assumed announced him what happened, to when he went patting every mechanics’ shoulders murmuring small apologies for his mistake. after he was done, he made his way towards the back of the motorhome, close to his driver room, where he knew you always awaited him.

he stood there in front of you with a disappointed expression on his face. the only thing you thought of doing in that moment was to circle his body with your arms, trying to comfort him a bit, to which he responded just with sliding one hand on the small of your back. it made you frown: he never hugged you like that, if you can even call that a hug.

“hey, hug me properly. you love my hugs.” you tried to cheer him up, looking up at him when you noticed how his eyes were fixed on the floor.

“i don’t love when i finish out of the points though.” the remark came out with a serious tone you hardly ever heard him use. you were almost scared that the usual “make jokes to lighten up the mood” wouldn’t work as it commonly did, so you gave one last try.

“and your hatred for bad races is bigger than your love for my hugs? is it so debilitating?”

“mh, i don’t know let me check.” he placed both arms around your shoulders, gently stroking them. although you couldn't see each other's faces, his action put a smile on both of them.

“i guess i love you a bit more.” he chuckled. you were glad he still had some optimism, after all the next day he would have a huge opportunity starting from second row.

“why don’t you go shower and then we can celebrate with felipe and have some fun?” you hinted at the championship winner, bringing marcus in his room by pulling his hand.

“of course, i’ll be back in a flash.”

sunday morning was a repeat of the previous day. in hitch's garage, watching your boyfriend's car race with headphones on, but starting from third today.

you were hopeful. marcus was determined to fight for the podium today, if not even for a win. he wanted to prove himself after the two awful years he had in f2 that he was meant to be there, that he was fast and talented, just extremely unlucky. you perfectly knew it was not an easy game, considering the two drivers who pressured him from the back yesterday were in front of him today, but a huge smile appeared on your face as you see jack in pole struggling when the lights went off, allowing the new zealander to overtake him on the inside.

not even five seconds since the race started and marcus was already in second place, not bad right? wrong.

six laps later, felipe passed marcus right before a huge incident that caused the deployment of a safety car. he slipped into third again, but regained the position as soon as the track was clear.

after a couple of laps, another incident took place and similarly as before, it resulted in a safety car.

hitech wasn’t particularly famous for making the most efficient pit stops on the grid, especially when it came to marcus’ car, so you hoped they didn’t mess up everything when you saw a silver car pulling in the pit lane. little did you know you didn’t have to worry about the pit itself, but about the way he got in. everything happened too fast, you didn’t understand if the engineer called him late or if he didn’t brake in time, the point is that the boy entered beyond the entry bollard, which caused him a ten second stop and go penalty.

you pulled your hands to your mouth in disbelief. each time he qualified high enough to compete for big points, something had to happen. It’s not like you wish anything bad to any driver, but sometimes the question “why always him?” passed through your mind. did he do something horrible in his past life to deserve this? was he a serial killer? judas? it’s not possible he was so unfortunate all the time with no explanation.

seeing his car getting on track, you didn't have time to rationalize your last thought as a red graphic with his car's number appeared on the screen.

another stop and go penalty for speeding in the pit lane.

“you can’t be real!” you couldn’t contain your shout, removing the headphone from your head and walking away from your spot. it’s absurd to throw away a race in less than 500 meters, yet it happened and clearly marcus was the victim, who else otherwise?

you were disappointed, as the whole garage was, after all, but you knew that none of that compared to what marcus was feeling, and you felt the world breaking in your hands realizing how devastating that could be. he was so positive that morning, only to get it snatched from his hands.

continuing watching the race was so painful, looking at him trying to gain as much ground as he could, but with his gap, you could consider that a wild-goose chase. the only thing that prevented him from being last was liam, who lost a lot of time after being hit by juri.

the race felt interminable, but eventually the checked flag brought an end to this disaster. marcus rushed out of the car, did the bare minimum he had to do publicly without even removing his helmet, like weighting himself and giving an apology to the team, and then left for his room basically running

“marcus, it’s me, can i come in?” you walked to the door and knocked on it, waiting for an answer that never came. you stood there some seconds and tried to lower the handle and then you realized: he locked himself in. you acknowledged the fact that he didn’t want to see, nor be seen from anybody, not even you, which explains why he purposely avoided the side of the garage where you usually were.

so you just waited there, with your forehead resting on the cold material of the door, counting minutes passing and watching all the mechanics moving around and leaving.

you heard a faint click, but at first it didn’t sink it was the key on the other side twisting in the lock. it did only when the solid object that was sustaining you wasn’t anymore, and you almost fell on the ground. you looked up to your boyfriend who had a blank expression on his face.

“can we go get lunch? i’m exhausted, i just want to eat and go to our room.” you wanted to check up on him and ask him if he was okay but he beat you to it by talking first. his face shifted to a pleading look, so you did not insist and just nodded as you walked toward the restaurant he found the other day in front of the hospitality.

not a word left marcus’ mouth during the meal. he didn’t even order, he just mumbled “the same” after you asked the waiter some dishes. some of his friends were with you and he didn’t laugh at their jokes, sometimes he smiled slightly but nothing more.

you slid your hand on his thigh, his eyes left his plate to meet yours and softened immediately, then he moved and placed his head on your shoulder. seeing him like this made you feel so powerless, you at least hoped that the contact could give him some comfort.

the lunch carried on and shortly after he finished his dishes, marcus tugged at your hand still on his leg as an indication to leave, therefore you said goodbye to everybody and headed to your hotel room.

as soon as he entered the room, the driver laid down on the bed. you observed him from the main door with his back turned to you, curling up with his legs close to his chest as to shield his body from all the thing that happened to him in the previous hours and shut them out of his existence.

your heart clenched at the sight. you didn’t know what to do, how to act. looking at the person you love knowing that they’re hurt, that their world is crumbling under their feet and not being able to stop it and protect them, it’s a nightmare.

you stepped closer to the bed and sat on the edge, brushing his hair with your hand in a soothing way.

“are you sure you don’t want to talk about the race?” the question came out as a whisper, not wanting to break the bubble you were in even more than you already did by just talking.

“what do I have to say about it? It was a shit show!” he answered turning briefly towards you, showing his defeated look, returning to his original position after finishing the sentence with an harsh tone. “and we can’t change how things went, it’s useless wasting time on it. just drop it, okay?”

“marcus-“ you called him passing on the other side of the bed to look at his face. “you don’t have to go through this alone.”

this was the last straw of keeping it together. he didn’t want to complain or bother you but when he realized you just wanted him to decompress and share his thoughts with you, he finally opened up.

"i'm tired of putting so much effort in this sport and always being walked all over. when i have the pace, i don’t have a good pit stop. when i have a good pit stop, i don’t have the qualification. and when i have the qualification, i mess up everything anyway!” he ranted sitting up. his hands were moving in the air and his eyes were darting in every direction.

“the fda dropped me, and i will lose my seat in formula 2 the end of the year.” listening him reviewing every single bad event he went through was a stab in the heart, and you really wanted to stop him and disagree with him, but he was unravelling everything he bottled up not only for months but probably years at this point, so you waited in silence listening to him.

“i left home when i was a fucking kid, i didn’t see my siblings grow up, i gave up time with my family, i give up time with you!" his voice progressively increased, breaking at the end of it.

“all of these sacrifices to just get a slap in the face."

he almost started rambling again, but it was clear he couldn't continue. his head fell in his hands, and hot tears escaped his eyes. he didn’t even have the strength to try to stop it, he just let everything go.

you immediately pulled him as close as humanly possible, his head naturally went in the crook of your neck, muffling some of the sobs of despair that left his parted lips. you hold him tight, as a way to tell him that you were there and he was not alone.

imagine how long and how much he held off to explode like this, to end in such an agonizing cry. with a lump in your throat, you whispered sweet nothings to his ear, hoping it would calm him down, and with some swinging back and forth, it did. after a good amount of time, his breath steadied, except for some hiccups sometimes.

there weren’t big words of comfort you could offer him, after unfolding years of frustration and disappointment. you just wanted to make him realize that the majority of the things he said were none of his fault and that he deserved his place.

“i’m so sorry you have to deal with all of this. I wish I had a magic wand to make all of this go away,” you let your hand wander through his hair, moving his head to look him in eyes. you meant every word, and you wanted to be sure he understood that. “but I do have time to listen. always. please don’t ever keep all of this to yourself, okay? you’re my boyfriend and best friend, helping you in any way I can is my top priority. we go through things together, and will work them out.”

the grey eyes turned teary once more, but from happiness this time. your words made him feel so supported and loved, he couldn’t find a better way to show you his gratitude than hugging you back, holding on to dear life, with your legs tangled together.

minutes passed and you slowly moved backwards, till you completely laid down on the mattress, marcus using your chest as a pillow while being wrapped safely around your arms as if you were the only thing who could protect him from all the atrocities the world may hold.

“i’m booking a flight for christchurch, okay? we can’t do much about the past, but you have ten free weeks ahead before the next race. spending some time with your family surely won’t hurt.” after meditating about how you could actively help him, you broke the silence.

“are you coming too, right?” he asked in a tiny voice, doubting you would let him down like the whole feeder series world did.

“of course, if you want me to.” you pulled the blanket over your bodies. “why don’t you rest a bit now, mh? you really need and deserve that.”

you felt him nodding subtly, a small yawn following. it wasn’t just for the play when he said he was exhausted, at the end of the day he still had an eventful feature race in the morning.

as you glanced at his face while caressing it continuously, you were met with a peaceful expression, finally. you let your cheek fall on the top of his head, letting your body relax at the thought of him sleeping.

except for the fact that he was still awake.

“thank you. for being my support system and choosing to be by my side every day. I couldn’t ask for anything better honestly. I love you.”

it was unusual for him to make this kind of confessions, wearing his heart on his sleeves, spilling what he felt deeply, but if he didn’t say it today, when was he supposed to?

“i love you too marcus. dearly.”

and with that you both doze off, with the awareness that you were there for each other no matter what, through thick and thin, whatever your lives offered you.

#marcus armstrong #marcus armstrong x reader #marcus armstrong imagine #f2 #f2 imagine #f2 x reader

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the-infinite-hole · 6 months

Text

hi my ~realistic~ narry/reader broken marriage thoughts turned into a 3k word fanfic about trying to reconnect with him.

you're in the shower but you don't do anything xD

tentatively tagging @caltverkeys because i probably wouldn't have thought about it for so long if they hadn't expressed interest in my initial thoughts. :)

not that i expect ANYONE to actually read all 3k words of this silliness lol.

(*i wouldn't normally post whole fics to tumblr except this one probably wouldn't exist WITHOUT tumblr.)

sooo here ya go

...

When you hear the faucet squeak to life and smell his soap beginning to waft down the stairs, you smile because you know it means he's had a good day— or, at the very least, that he hasn't had a bad one, which is sometimes all you really need.

Sometimes.

Saying his name quietly to yourself (you know he can't hear you over the din of the water, but you feel like saying it anyway), you creep up the stairs, heading toward the bathroom at the end of the hall. The door is half-open, and through the noise you think you can detect him muttering something to himself.

His muttering doesn't bother you, though; it never has: Thinking out loud is something he's always done, and anyway, it's actually quite nice to hear his voice— especially when he's been flat-out ignoring you in favour of his own pursuits, which lately he's been doing quite a bit.

For days and days now, your Narrator (actually, he's your husband; however, he just as often insists upon being addressed by his own chosen title) has been holed up in his dark, smoky little office, working on his very own video game: His 'parable' as he likes to call it. He's been building it privately on his computer for as long as you've known him, adding dialogue and settings and characters and concepts at what most people would describe as his leisure.

At first, you were charmed by the strength of his creative drive— however, having been married to him for as many years as you have, you now know first-hand that there isn't actually anything 'leisurely' about the way your husband works on his game.

How long has it been, you think, since he last had a job— real job; a job that actually made him real-life money? How long has it been since the two of you last went out to dinner together...? Or entertained company, or took a trip—?

...You shake your head as you step into the bathroom, banishing both the thoughts and the hard, sticky bitterness clinging to them like old barnacles.

Not right now.

He's already standing under the water when you arrive, hidden safely behind the curtain: A mere silhouette, although over the years you've grown sadly accustomed to him being somewhat of a shadow to you. He spends so much time holed up with his game in that little office of his that sometimes you worry you're going to forget what he even looks like.

His glasses (at least those haven't changed) are resting on the edge of the sink; his pants are balled up on the floor with his socks. His shirt is hooked on the doorknob, its sleeves hanging just low enough to brush up against the worn linoleum tile peeling up from the edges of the floor. Even over the soap, you can smell the sweat on it; see the coffee stains, too. It feels like a long time since you've seen him undressed, and maybe even longer than that since you've seen him without his glasses.

It's embarrassing— you certainly wouldn't admit it out loud— but the god's honest truth is that you can hardly even recall what colour his eyes are anymore.

You bite down on your lip as your stomach ties itself in knots. You've been married to him for longer than you haven't been, but all of a sudden— right here and right now— you feel nervous: Like you're intruding, or crossing a boundary.

...Like you shouldn't even be here.

He's probably busy, you scold yourself. Busy trying not to get soap in his eyes; busy thinking about his game. Busy spending time in his head with Stanley.

'Stanley' isn't real, though, and neither is the game, no matter how much your Narrator seems to wish they were. You don't resent his inclination to retreat into himself so much as you wish you understood it; you knew he was prone to bouts of depression when you married him, and you would never begrudge him his feelings. But to witness him running headlong into a set of digital arms when you've been there for him in real-life all along...

Shh, quit it. Not right now.

No, you think, it isn't the right time to indulge your own misplaced jealously and pent-up bitterness any more than it's the right time to contemplate your husband's chronic lack of employment or unwillingness to join you for dinner. You didn't trail him in here to scold him; you can do that any time. No, you came in here to...

...to...

...wait.

Wait, what did you come in here for, anyway...?

He coughs from behind the shower curtain, maybe to let you know he's detected you; maybe just because he smokes too much. The sharpness of the scent of his soap and the headiness of the humidity in the air are what coax you back to reality; you're still frightened, but before you know it, you're peeling your own clothes off and discarding them to the floor right alongside his anyhow.

Could this be it, you ask yourself—? The thing you came for? Joining your husband (or your 'Narrator', or whoever the hell he thinks he is these days) for a shower is something you haven't done in years. What could possibly be possessing you to do it tonight?

What do you think you're going to gain from it— do you really think it's going to help?

Now less-than-sure of yourself, you almost give up right then: Put on a towel and scurry out of the bathroom; maybe to go and make some tea, or even just pretend to go to bed. But then— then— you think better of retreating, because what does it really matter whether or not it 'helps'? Running away is something he does; something he does, in fact, that you loathe. What kind of message would it send to him, if you went and did the very same thing...?

Whatever precipitated that well-timed cough of his, he already knows you're here: Quite simply, you can feel it. You don't need to ask.

Goosebumps pepper your skin as your throat seems to close in on itself; without meaning to, necessarily, you start taking steps: First one; then two, and three, and then finally (it feels like it takes a lot longer than it does), you're standing at the edge of the bathtub with your hand on the curtain, trying not to breathe too fast.

Perhaps in spite of yourself, you shoot a quick glance back in the direction of the mirror, just to make sure you're still smiling. If you're here because you love him, you reason, then shouldn't you greet him as though you're happy to see him?

Next, you pull back the curtain, letting out a hot puff of steam; after that, you lift a foot, stepping high over the lip of the tub and into the shower. He isn't facing you, but the source of the water instead; he also isn't washing his hair or his face, or anything else, for that matter. He isn't moving or talking, and he certainly isn't singing to himself the way he used to when you first got married. Really, all he seems to be doing is standing there: Stiffly, beneath the water, like a pillar of something soluble— something that wishes it would melt.

You place a hand on his shoulder from behind, and his back tenses beneath your touch. Your smile fades before he's even had a chance to see it; your breath catches, and already you're terrified you've made an awful mistake.

"I'm sorry," you start...

But then, he turns around.

Nearly choking on your own words, you stop as quickly as you started: Again, it's been practically forever since you last law his eyes.

They're green.

A beautiful, sparkling emerald green; as bright and brilliant as ever, almost as if in direct and deliberate defiance of all the things that so often seem to conspire to take him away from you. They're so lovely (and so lovely on him) that you're ashamed to have so flagrantly forgotten them. Then again, you think, maybe you were meant to forget them: Maybe he wanted you to.

"Don't be sorry," he says. "I'm almost finished."

Calm and cordial (entirely too cordial, actually) his spoken words come near-devoid of any particular intonation— betraying very little of the pain or confusion swirling about behind those pretty eyes of his. It's been like that for a long time; again, you sorely miss the sound of his voice, but he just doesn't seem to have it in him to use it the way he once did.

Not unless he's narrating for Stanley, anyway.

"I wasn't waiting for you to be finished," you tell him— trying as best you can to tamp down both your long-standing bitterness and your hope, lest either of them get the better of you.

His eyes dart to the side, as if he doesn't know what to say. He doesn't try to hide himself from you, and hasn't since you joined him; however, you know that's less because he's comfortable and more because he simply doesn't give a shit— about the way he looks; about the way you feel about him. The Narrator hardly seems to care about anything anymore.

Shut up. You're here because you love him anyway, remember?

"...You aren't?" he asks, voice creaking like an old door as he places a single hand on the slick tile wall beside him and keeps on refusing to look up at you.

"I'm not," you promise... tentatively reaching back out toward him, only to stop just short of actually touching his chest.

"Then why are you—"

"I just wanted to—"

"Just wanted to what?"

Clearly off to a less-than-stellar start, you bite your lip again. "...Let's not interrupt each other," you suggest, as gently as you can. Your hand is still hanging there between the two of you, resting in the air like a spectre. His body is shielding it from the water, and therefore the rest of you, too. You shiver— cold, now, in spite of the steam.

"...I'm sorry," he says, only barely audible over the insistent pattering of the water. Venturing to lift his head, he looks first at your hand; then, eventually, up at your face.

If nothing else, you suppose, his apology is at least sincere.

"You don't need to be sorry," you tell him... and (for now, anyway) it's the truth.

"...I wasn't lying when I said I was nearly finished," he mutters, shoulders shifting as though he's about to try and move past you. In desperation (desperation you hope to god he can't sense), you let that floating hand of yours finally make its landing: A gentle one, in the very centre of his chest, warm little rivulets of water flowing over and around it.

"Wait," you plead... pressing the tips of your fingers insistently into his skin.

"What for?" he asks back, having apparently grown uncomfortable enough with your presence that it's actually beginning to annoy him. You try not to let your heart sink; how many of your fights with him have started out precisely this way—?

"...Do you remember our first apartment?" you ask him, irreverent and hopeful and still not to be deterred. "The one with the leaky toilet and the irritable landlord?"

He sighs, pursing his lips. "...I do remember," he admits, if reluctantly. "He was always complaining about—"

"The water bill!" you blurt out— unable to resist finishing for him as an entirely unintentional grin flashes across your face.

Apparently unmoved, your Narrator shifts his weight from leg to leg. "I thought we were going to quit interrupting each other," he huffs... averting his gaze yet again, this time in favour of staring intently down at the water swirling around his own feet and down into the drain.

You hate admitting it, even to yourself, but you miss when he used to stare at you.

"...I'm sorry," you say, kicking yourself internally because you should have known better than to get excited.

"Anyway," he goes on tersely, "we haven't needed to share showers to save water for years— and so unless you're here to deliver some sort of unfavourable news with regard to our financial situation, I quite frankly don't see any reason for you to have joined me."

You almost wish you'd gone ahead and interrupted him again. Nonetheless, you curl your toes hard into the ceramic beneath your feet; having come this far, you aren't giving up on him.

Not yet.

Not tonight.

"If I told you that I just wanted to join you," you start, "then would that be a good enough reason?" Gazing down at your own hand as it rests on his chest, it dawns on you that you don't exactly have a whole lot of room to criticize his reluctance to make eye contact.

Looking up, you catch his gaze and hold it— maybe for as long as you've held it in years.

It isn't easy, but it's worth the effort... isn't it?

Already flush from the steam, you can't quite tell whether his cheeks have gone red, or whether he's merely grown too warm. "I— w-well, I suppose it would be," he spits out, "but... but, well, I... I..."

Mindful of his having chided you for it earlier, you refrain from cutting in, giving him a moment to try and finish. Only when it becomes evident that he isn't going to finish do you dare to prompt him.

"You what?" you ask— emphatically, yes, but also kindly; more curious, now, than impatient.

Your thumb begins to stroke gently at a damp tuft of hair on his chest. It's familiar, but in a way that feels distant, too: Like something you're remembering from a whole other life.

He focuses his gaze somewhere behind you, then: Past the shower curtain, in the direction of the bathroom door. He could very well be thinking about pushing right past you and bolting though it; in fact, it's more likely than not that he is— but if he's thinking about running, he must also be thinking about not running in equal measure, because (it'll seem almost miraculous, when you look back on it later), he doesn't so much as move a muscle.

He does cough again— maybe just clearing his throat.

You don't stop stroking that little wet tuft on his chest.

"I... well, I suppose I thought you didn't want to," he reveals, as earnestly as it feels like he's revealed anything to you in years.

For a moment, you feel newly ashamed... but then, of course, you feel frustrated: He thinks you're the one who didn't want to be with him—?!

You're aren't the one who spends every waking moment holed up in an office with their pixilated boyfriend.

...No, you remind yourself: Now isn't the time to bring up Stanley.

"Of course I want to!" you tell him back, and once more, it's the truth: Again, you didn't join him in the shower to berate him; you joined him because you love him— you always have, and even through everything, you've never stopped. You don't think you ever will. "We're still married, aren't we?" you ask, as your feet shift forward and a nervous, playful little lilt infiltrates your tone.

He blushes. There's no question about it this time, steam or no steam. He's always been prone to it, and (for better or worse) you've always loved making him turn red.

"I— I... w-well—"

As careful as ever, you close the remainder of the distance between the two of you— snaking a trembling arm around his waist in the process. His back seems to straighten out, but he doesn't try to pull away; you look into his eyes, and (maybe because he doesn't have anywhere else to look), he stares back into yours.

You don't say anything to him, but you do smile: Not bold enough to expect, perhaps... but certainly brave enough to hope.

He pauses, drawing a breath.

"...Y-yes," he finally manages. "Yes— yes, of course we're still married; it's just that— th-that—"

In lieu of interrupting him with words, you take yet another chance... this time by tilting your head (once again, in a way you haven't done in years), and shutting him up with a kiss.

It always used to work before.

You close your eyes, partly because you're scared; but also partly because of the fine spray misting out from behind him. The water pelting his back trickles over and around your hand; he breaths in, lungs expanding against your body in a way you never quite realized until just this moment how very much you missed.

...Maybe he misses it too, because the next thing you know, he's kissing you back.

He's really, actually kissing you back.

It's been so long since he last put his arms around you that you almost flinch when he does. He tastes, as always, like his favourite cigarettes; his lips are exactly as warm as you remember them. More grateful than ever to be surrounded by water, your eyes fill with tears; you know you shouldn't cry, but your body doesn't seem to care.

The pipes, old and lime-encrusted, whine from above you. Droplets tap-tap-tap against the plastic shower curtain; the drain gurgles from under your feet; and— somehow, suddenly— you're quite positive that you can hear the far-off droning of someone's car alarm, blaring faintly from outside.

Your Narrator himself, however, doesn't make a sound. He doesn't move, either... except to part his lips, and pull you even closer to him.

...Maybe, you think sadly to yourself, he really does need 'Stanley' as much as he seems to believe he does. Maybe he's depressed; maybe he's angry— maybe he's been touched by something he hasn't yet gathered the courage to reveal to you, and it's eating him up from the inside-out. You still don't know, any more than you know how to pull him out of his head and back into real life.

Right here, though— right here, in this very moment, steeping together like human tea in the warm, fragrant steam— your Narrator seems just as content to need you as he does to need his office, or his computer, or his best digital friend.

A kiss in the shower might not seem like a lot to some people, no... but to you it's something: A lot of something, in what often feels like a sad and lonesome sea of even more nothing.

It may not be able to singularly mend everything that's wrong with him (or with your marriage, or with you yourself), no: But tonight, it feels like enough.

Maybe— for now; from him— 'enough' really is all you need.

#tsp #narrator x reader #tsp au #tsp fanfic #tsp narrator #saaaad

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kaeyachi · 1 year

Note

I saw your post about the Alberich surname and was curious about kaeya being half tayvatian! Can you explain that for me please? I miss and forget a lot of details and stuff in game, but I do genuinely love genshin lore related to khaenriah and kaeya! I also flip flop between kaeya being full khaenrian and being half whatever just because his star eye doesn't seem to be as pronounced as dainsleif for example. At least in game. (always zooming into his face to try and see the pretty star lol) Like I've seen the hc of his mom being sumeran and I think that's super cute! It could explain his darker skin tone compared to dainsleif and pierro? Or like idk the star trait has been deluted after many generations? Uh I've rambled a lot but I was just curious cuz I didn't know anything about him being half teyvatian!

IM SORRY I TOOK SO LONG *cries*

AND THEN I ACCIDENTALLY EXITED THE TUMBLR APP WHICH DELETED EVERYTHING I TYPED OUT 💔💔💔 THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE LONGER IM HEARTBROKEN

but anyway...THANK YOU FOR ASKING!

I think it would be better for me to come back to this after 3.5 that way I can confirm most of what I initially typed out, but heres a summary of what I've thought of

1. His name being the only one in the history of known Khaenri'ahns to originate from Hindu instead of Norse/Scandinavian

2. Due to the Hindu origin of the name, we can connect it to his constellation which is represented by a peacock- India's national bird as well as the representation for the Spantamad in the Akademiya.

3. Him being there for the 3.5 Archon quest in Sumeru as well as him getting a possible skin that is clearly half Sumeru and half Khaenri'ahn inspired

4. notes or letters from a member of the Alberich clan in Sumeru

5. Most known Khaenri'ahn characters have been pale-skinned (were unsure about Pierro due to dim lighting but even then, he and Kaeya might be related) with distinctly shaped four-pointed star pupils while Kaeya was designed differently (unsure if its because he's the first one released in-game, if its a diluted gene trait, or if it might be indicative that he is curseless)

6. Seemingly curseless or unnafected by the curse. Was even "blessed" by Celestia with a vision, which is already odd. He's still the only canonical Khaenriahn with one (clearly Celestia doesnt care whether you want a vision or not either)

If someone can elaborate please go ahead! I'm sure I've missed some!

***Additional notes mildly unrelated to this theory***

-The Alberich clan must have been known for their strategic thinking, war knowledge, and mind games if they were able to rise as the leaders for Khaenri'ah during the war. If I were a Sumeru scholar, I'd tap that too lmao

-Kaeya's name meaning "Monsoon flower" is oddly tragic yet fitting. The monsoon flowers thrive in the rainy season. Kaeya thrives during the rain as well. His main growth points and tragedies in life have happened in the rain. If it rains during the 3.5 archon quest i will scream and cry please note this.

- oddly enough i am more of a believer of the "Kaeya being frozen in time for 500 years" theory. Its possible! Olaf Katzlein got frozen for 300 after all! Some old Sumeran must have immigrated to Khaenri'ah prior to the Catalycism and got the Alberich started. Alberich clan being the smartest family in Khaenri'ah maybe?? hmm...

-Majority of teyvat suspiciously dont know that Khaenri'ahns are the hilichurls and the abyss order which means this might be forgotten history...which is weird because if its a supposedly slow acting curse then even in future generations there should still be slow-turning Khaenri'ahns right? If they purposely stopped repopulating then how did Kaeya come to exist? Pierro getting funky with whom??????? He has only been beside the Tsaritsa for the past hundred years... OH MY GOD WAIT CRACK THEORY TIME- Kaeya being the Tsaritsa and Pierro's son which explains the white streaks in his hair. No? Ok I'll stop lmao...unless?? NAH JK THIS AINT IT...or is it... JUST KIDDING I SWEAR-

That's all for now! Hope this helped others figure out the thought process behind the Half-Teyvatian Kaeya theory!

#kaeyachi asks #ive answered this finally!#IVE BEEN WANTING TO ANSWER IT FOR SO LONG #BUT MY JOB TOLD ME TO DIE FOR THEM AND I DID BECAUSE IM A MASOCHIST #kaeya #kaeya alberich #genshin impact #kaeya theory #khaenri'ah #what else do i tag here #sumeru???#i think i should wait for 3.5 before tagging sumeru #kaeya brainrot is still strong babes

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rosesfox · 1 year

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I've noticed how some people erase feyre (and elain along with the rest of the IC) completely from the picture as if she doesn't exist and behave like n*sta and her v.alks are the main characters of this series when talking about the crossover like the hcs about the bat boys having the snowball fights with G & E and G being nyx's favorite aunt & the valks & bryce being besties, g*yn helping bryce etc etc. I know people can like some characters more than others but some stans behave like N & G will be the center of everything and that annoys me. I also don't trust sjm with the way she hypes N up I won't be surprised if she made her the most prominent again. I didn't like how in acowar despite feyre and elain doing the real work N got the credit.

(a huge rant full of curses)

i was so annoyed when i saw a person theorizing the crossover and there was no mention of feyre. they are so delirious that they forget that feyre is the protagonist and she is the one who will help bryce. (btw bryce herself is totally fucked up after hosab but these bitches think she'll have time to sit down and make friendship bracelets with the big, epic valkyries, how sweet.)

YES! they ignore the whole canon. they make a million headcanons with uncles cassian, azriel, nesta and gwyn but never involve nyx's mother or real aunt. they act as if feyre doesn't exist, as if nesta is the main character, and as if the gwyn will replace elain in thw whole acotar. they are delusional as fuck.

these big delusions and others that make me sure the fandom doesn't actually like (or know) the canon, because they are nothing they talk about. acosf's fandom mostly falls in love with headcanons. see, they are not the center of everything and sjm never hinted that they would be, but even so we have several imbeciles who sell the story (on tiktok, on reddit, on tumblr) to others, as if nesta were the main character of acotar series, the wronged queen, as if gwynriel is a prominent couple full of drama and angst, when none of that is real. and also, the valkyries are not even half of what the fandom and fanarts sell.

gwyn will not replace elain. elain will continue to exist, she will have her book and her story, and she will always be nyx's aunt. there is no reality in which gwyn is going to be more important than elain to nyx. nesta will not overshadow feyre within the story. the ic will not turn into villains for nesta to come out as the good girl. she will not be the focus of the junction of the crossovers, because the main characters of sjm are feyre, aelin and bryce. these fuckers need to wake up.

and don't worry because sjm has already stated that feysand and feyre are the center of everything in acotar universe. 🥰

#pro feyre archeron #pro elain archeron #feyre archeron #elain archeron #anti nesta archeron #acosf #anti gw*nriel #anti gwyn stans #elriel #feysand

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whatudowhennooneseesyou · 7 months

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I need to throw away my 'anonymous' mask for this because I can't bear with the weight of it any more. Plus, it makes me feel like I have something to hide, while in reality, I am a 27-year-old adult with a lot of adult-like obsessions, and I honestly have nothing to hide. 🥲🫶 There, I said it...

First of all, the noona obsessed over Hyunjin from a while ago... that's me. And that happened after I read your readings about him (especially 18+) and some other answers to asks about him. Never have I ever thought I would think about him as a 'prey' because of our age gap. Well, now sounds like it's me, I am THE prey to his gorgeousness (is this even a word, though?). 😆😆 Prey to his whole existence, it I dare to say. 🥲🫶

Now to the main point... The BtoB Minhyuk obsession is also me. 🥲 You asked to spill tea why my Hyunjin obsession is dirtier, but actually, the moment I wrote that ask, I meant it the other way around. I kinda developed dirtier thoughts about Minhyuk in the start. Well, because Minhyuk is older than me, and I thought it sounded more logical to do so... BUT, after I wrote that ask, some things have changed. I saw the actual 'mommy Hyunjin' in the SKZ Code episode, and I was like.... OMG, this creature is gorgeous. Like... Please understand me when I say this, but Hyunjin has never looked so majestic while cross-dressing for the SKZ family concept. That short bob wig was a no-go for me. And while Minhyuk does look like a greek god type of creature, Hyunjin is just effortlessly ethereal. So, here's the deal... although I have imagined doing dirtier things with Minhyuk then I would with Hyunjin, after just a short while my head was like 'Nina, Hyunjin IS dirtier and sexier in bed, so Minhyuk probably wouldn't do half of those things to you. Everything you want screams HYUNJIN.' 🥹🥹

I have been writing poems and short paragraphs (imagine kinda things) for a while, but I actually sat down to write a smutty episode about what I imagine the night with Hyunjin to be like. 😆 I am embarrassed to talk about it, but it exists, lol... I hope I hid it somewhere safe (as I tend to write on paper, not in computer... What a crazy romantic person I am huh).

You were interested in what those 'dirty' details were, I believe. Well, actually, there is no heavy bdsm and nothing close to degradation or too much pain. When it comes to Hyunjin, the dirtiness of my thoughts lies in the dollification kink and some other fetishes of mine (hands, thighs...). that's it 🥲🥲🫶

Tumblr seems to be the only place I can share this all in though. 😅💛 Thank you for reading all this nonsense 🥲🥲🥲

P.S. If you're familiar with what Succubus and Incubus are, well, Hyunjin would make an excellent Incubus. I would not regret dying making love with him 😆🥹 I hope someone writes a good smut on that sometime 🥲🥲🫶

Hello @kimnina96 and it's so great to finally speak with you over the internet plane!!!

And you don't have anything to hide at 27 because I feel like most people will just accept your adult obsessions at your age, at least the mature ones will.

Hyunjin's presence is so powerful that I sometimes forget that I am older than him because he doesn't act his age but he's only 2 youngers than me which is nothing in Australian age.

So, yeah, we might be older than age but maybe not stronger in strength haha.

I definitely see what you mean in they have VERY different types of beauty, Minhyuk is a Sagittarius stellium so he looks like a centaur and has that masculine 'Michaelangelo' attraction because his body...omg it's like he was carved by marble itself.

Whereas Hyunjin's Pisces stellium gives him an otherworldly presence, especially when he has his long, dark hair because it adds to his 'supernatural' vibes.

You write poems? On paper? Ahh my heart! That's so beautiful and it's a dying art form, I feel that's such a beautiful hobby and I'd love to read one sometime if you ever feel comfortable with it.

Okay but like...Hyunjin being the doll or Hyunjin making you the doll? Because they would be beautiful and majestic in both ways.

There are so many dollification fics here with Hyunjin and *chefs kiss*, they are an EXPERIENCE TO READ AND SO ACCURATE!

Tumblr is a great place you can just release all your intrusive thoughts with very little consequences.

And he suits being an incubus so well and I'm sure I've read fics of Incubus!Hyunjin, particularly with this fit.

Artist of the month Hyunjin is such an underrated Hyunjin look that I hope we'll see again.

And I'm also jealous of how quickly Hyunjin's hair grows, the man must have Hercules strong hair with how quickly it grows after receiving a lot of damage of bleach.

#I would bleach my 2c curly hair once and double homicide #i just know my very dark brown hair wouldn't bounce back #shout out to hyunjins hair because it's a miracle #slumber party with ruby #answered ask #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #skz hard hours #stray kids hard hours

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sage-the-unwise · 1 year

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I wanna hear some thoughts on my pathetic baby loser failson (beloved) five pebbles

oh hell yeah i love hate love this guy and i have SO many thoughts

so, some fun hcs for starters (only one and a half of which pertain to him in canon, the others are just vague sketches of what his vibe is like):

he would like tame impala but only partially in a male manipulator way

if he were a smoker i think he'd vape and then switch to menthols (something tells me he'd be the kind of guy to start smoking because he thinks it looks cool)

hes transmasc coded. real he/they energy

his construction suffered pretty extreme budget cuts due to the political controversy surrounding his placement over the Anointed Citadel (there was a defund five pebbles campaign led by the spiritual leaders there lmao) and thus he is noticeably smaller than the other iterators

he'd be a pretty great poet, and would make a killing in clout off posting poetry to instagram if that existed in rain world lmao (if his iterator comrades appreciated it, he'd post poetry to one of their global message boards, but not many of them care for artistic pursuits. he'd get a temp ban for wasting space)

if you dug through enough pearls in garbage wastes you'd find the equivalent of amateur tumblr poetry from 2012, all written (and some partially scrambled) by pebs himself. before moon's collapse, NSH made it a project to get their hands on some of it so they could make fun of him by reading it aloud in vc. that never panned out

pebs and NSH would've collabed to produce shitty soundcloud rap, but they'd have a falling out over the duo's artistic direction and they'd split up. pebs would try to produce his own backing tracks, fail at it, and give up, and NSH would go on to make insane 120 bpm hyperpop you could mosh to and open for 100 gecs

and now for some sad character analysis:

i think pebs has like, very big feelings and not a great grip on how to handle them. he isn't maliciously selfish but he experiences his own pain as so all consuming that he forgets that his actions affect other people and simply follows his impulses without much thought. this obviously doesn't excuse his actions - he's harmed his friends in some very real, tangible and painful ways and they should hold him accountable for that (were i to write a 5p recovery arc he would definitely get taken to task by the others, who are also Messy. it would perhaps be a very dramatic fight, but i think if their heads were clear enough and moon had some means of communicating with them you could get a good approximation of what restorative justice might look like for a bunch of alien supercomputers).

it's also implied that he's like the baby of the group, or is at least younger, and therefore has had less time to get to know everyone else and establish himself as part of the local group's regular social dynamic, so i would imagine he has insecurities about that which might fuel his impulse to isolate when he feels Bad. which was, of course, disastrous on one particular occasion. i think he feels deep guilt over that and it's eating him (like the rot), but he has no idea how to express his remorse, or that the person he killed has been revived and can be talked to directly (if only via slugcat messenger). i've always read moon as someone who, in pursuit of being the group big sister/mom friend, learned to repress her feelings in order to preserve group cohesion at all costs. i think a conversation between the two of them would either be really explosively messy (timeline where moon learns to let herself feel things and be angry) or it would have the longest silences you've ever heard (timeline where moon does not learn to stop repressing her emotions). either way it would take a while for them to make peace with each other, but i think they could pull it off. neither of them want to spend the rest of eternity lonely and bitter.

#rain world #rainworld #rain world game #rw five pebbles #five pebbles #rw iterators #iterator #sorry that took me like 5000 years to answer i've been in trapped in a hole filled with various papers i have to write #and also im incredibly burnt out lmao #thanks for sending me an ask btw!! i've missed drafting silly hcs abt rain world :)#wisdom of the sage

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uselessdancedata · 2 months

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I’ve heard about that! That was crazy. Honestly ballet seems so made up, like if anyone was gonna make up a sport, it’d 100% be ballet. Also it shocks me how nobody actually knows how bad pointe is if you go on too early? Like the tumblr comp dance world seems to seriously be forgetting that fact since they don’t seem to know much about pointe. I wish my takes were cold takes if I’m being honest. Like normalise going en pointe at the right age 💔

oh ballet history always sounds SO made up, don't even get me started on the la fille mal gardee chicken orchestra rivalry thing

tbh! i don't know a whole lot about the dangers of going en pointe too early, at least from a medical perspective! i don't talk about it much because even though i've read and heard opinions from all over, i wouldn't say any of them are from reliable sources - no doctors or medical professionals etc. so feel free to tell me more about it, i'd like to know more :)

that said, i do think competitions and the culture around them are starting to erode the understanding of a child around age 11 as a beginner to real ballet. in competition culture an 11-year-old is likely already fluent en pointe, rehearsing and performing something like princess florine or swanhilda waltz, while in a classical ballet school an 11-year-old is going through the full process of learning the hand positions, arms, stretching, strengthening the feet, doing beginning pointe work etc. (i'm not familiar with other systems but i do know vaganova starts them halfway through the first year and by the end of the year they can do very basic centre work). i do understand that it's a necessary evil to start competition training very young nowadays, because i don't think there's a real way to stop comp dance moms and dance teachers from seeking the highest possible level at the youngest possible age.

however i think there are a lot of ways competitions could make a difference. first of all, yagp's repertoire divisions make absolutely no sense. swanhilda waltz should not be permitted en pointe for the pre-competitive division, at least in the adapted competition format we see it in today (the original is so much simpler and i assume that's what they originally were thinking of when they put it in the pc repertoire). i would love to see much simpler variations in the repertoire, like those from cipollino or the other soloist roles in fairy doll. (why is the principal variation so popular and all the others are nowhere to be seen? french doll is soo cute). or maybe they could make the pre-competitive division free from a repertoire list, like it used to be, but i think that might trigger a wave of 9-year-old odiles lmao.

the expectation for 12-year-olds to be en pointe is also not right given that yagp now starts their season in june, so a competing 12-year-old could easily only be 11, an age where they shouldn't be expected to be confident enough en pointe to do the junior repertoire variations. i know yagp technically doesn't mandate that all juniors be en pointe, but the way existing participants have been rewarded has absolutely set the expectations that they should be. i don't have any bright ideas for how they could fix this, but i think putting it in writing that dancers are permitted or even encouraged to dance demi pointe in the junior division would at least help, and then if they would start awarding these dancers on demi pointe, then that would help even more. i think it's very reasonable to expect competing 12-year-olds to be on demi, especially since half of them will still be 11 during the first competition of the season. yagp's brazil 2024 stage is in JUNE 2023. that's just silly.

also, while we're on the topic, someone has GOT to stop the royal ballet school from insisting on only putting their kids en pointe after age 12 "for health reasons" only to kick 90% of their girls out at age 15 and replacing them with YAGP kids who've been en pointe since 9. it's hypocritical and is just asinine coming from a school with as glorious of a reputation as the royal ballet school. it's so goofy how they have to brand their lower school and their upper school as two separate schools to get away with it. it's openly broadcasting that their lower school training isn't good enough to feed into the upper school, and it's just such a bad look. and of course, it also sends the message that for young ones, competition training >>> classical training. which leads back to putting your very small children en pointe.

i think there's a balance that can be struck here. i could be wrong on this - i'd like your opinion - but i don't think it's unreasonable to start kids en pointe at 11, since that's just a year off from the recommendation. especially if you're going through strict screening processes like all the old ballet schools do (presumably they choose those with strong enough feet and a toe structure that makes it easier to go en pointe). now if you start at 8 or something then i really can't agree with that. that's a little too far off imo.

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profictiontheatre · 9 months

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1, 3, 14, and 17 for the choose violence asks!

Ok I'm gonna put these under a read more just in case anyone doesn't wanna see negativity but OMG these kinda things are just fun sometimes I swear

Obviously, none of this is super serious so if any of these apply to your hcs/etc I'm not juuudging you....very much 👀

The character everyone gets wrong

Oh my god. Norman, Jim, Elder Price and Spongeboy all for very different reasons

Norman- Ok yes, he does murder people. but like. the amount of people who have acted like me being sympathetic to his character is some great evil is ridiculous because 1) it's not real life. nobody actually died 2) the fantasy of wanting to help a fellow hurting person via fiction doesn't say anything about someone other than they take a chance on the blorbos nobody else does

Jim Stark- This one's more of a pop culture pet peeve but Jim Stark is not some bad boy who just causes problems to be a nuisance to his parents. 'Rebel Without a Cause' doesn't refer to him being a rebel for no real reason, it's referring to how he seems to get himself into trouble whenever he tries to fit in and how no matter what, he seems to end up doing the wrong thing and digging his hole even deeper. The whole movie is a tragedy about what happens when we fail our youth and I wish more people knew that!! I wish I had known that sooner, I only watched it recently for film class and I was so surprised to relate to his character so much, I expected to hate him based on the pop culture legacy surrounding the film.

Elder Price- Yes he's an asshole in act 1. Yes him saying sorry doesn't make up for him being an asshole. Yes he still had a character arc. No Pricingham isn't abusive just because Price had to go through growing pains to break out of cult sheltering.

Spongebob- HE!!!!!!IS!!!!!!!!AN !!!!!!!! ADULT!!!!!!! THE WHOLE POINT OF THE FIRST MOVIE IS TO SAY IT'S OK TO BE CHILDISH AND EMBRACE YOURSELF AS AN ADULT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! If i see one more person saying spongebob is child coded and shipping him is problematic bc of that im gonna lose my marbles

3. Screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr

I don't really keep screenshots of bad takes bc it just feeds negativity imo (some people can handle keeping receipts and i bow to their strength bc I can't stand it). But award for the worst take award still probably goes to the South Park fandom for sheer audacity.

Shoutout to years, YEARS ago when I had a Scott Tenorman roleplay blog and I did some ship rps with a Cartman blog. For context they're half brothers, but also, Cartman literally killed Scott's parents and fed them to him in chili.

Do you wanna take a wild guess about which aspect of this ship antis harassed me about? (also I'm sorry for telling this story every chance I get but it's SO funny to me, and it was also my first real run in with antis lol)

14. That one thing you see in fics all the time

bro. bro. forgetting lube exists 😭 no elaboration necessary it takes me right out of the experience

17. There should be more of this type of fic/art

SELFSHIP CONTENT IN GENERAL!!!!!! Cringe culture is DEAD i want more people to ship with weird characters and the most obscure shit ever.

#ask game #tysm for asking!!!!!!#discourse #sorta #incest mention #incest cw #cannibalism cw #f/o tag: all american prophet #f/o tag: mama's boy #f/o tag: rhombus slacks #f/o tag: rebel without a cause

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afniel · 10 months

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I am a very smart man and today I made an announcement for a FFXIV event happening later in the day that I run (vaguely, I sorta organize it, it runs itself, this is an important detail in a bit), promptly forgot it existed, and then never showed up.

Of course that's just plain ADHD and having other stuff demanding my attention. I was talking to my partner and making a kind of kickass dinner and got really into both of those things and lost track of the time. But also it's just...way less stressful of an event? I've done other events. Some of them for years. I would pay money to get those years back because all I ever got out of it was gray hairs and anxiety and since it's been long enough and I don't care anymore so I feel like being honest, a fucking ungrateful group of attendees that no matter how long and hard I dragged their stupid event by its short 'n curlies across a gravel parking lot, 99% of them would conveniently forget I existed all the time forever because I wasn't a Popular RPer and the other event runners were, so fuck me for not being a cool kid I guess, I was just there to pester with questions about where the cool kids were when they couldn't make it. The 1% that didn't do this were great folks, but damn, man, literally all I ever wanted was someone to say, "hey man, thanks for putting all this work into this," and that happened zero times. Even when I publicly announced that I was stepping down. Not a single fuckin' peep. Whew. I don't miss that.

(Yeah, that's an ancient-ass vent that I've been sitting on for years and it shows. It took me this long to learn how to not give a shit if anyone knows I didn't like the treatment I got.)

But now? I set up an event that it literally doesn't even matter if I'm there, it'll function alright. People are chill and genuinely nice to be around. I don't feel invisible. I don't have to do math about it (scorekeeping was never my strong point and that was a big part of the prior thing). I don't have anxiety attacks before, during, and after it. Nobody starts drama. It's just...nice. I don't think I realized how nice until I looked at the clock and realized it was an hour and a half into the event and I was so unstressed about it that I hadn't even shown up. And even realizing that didn't stress me out, I just said, lmao, I seem to not be feeling it today, and that was fine.

Being fine in a totally normal way shouldn't feel like such a revelation, but damn, man. I do not have the energy to go into the hundred ways that certain people and events in FFXIV RP fucked me up, and also some of those people who fucked shit up are here on Tumblr and I don't need the attention, and some others of them who had their shit fucked up don't need their business aired and I can't really get into mine without doing that, but I'm actually pretty alright at this point. It's neat. I could get used to this.

#mostly I don't get into the FFXIV shit on this blog but honestly it was just plain mental health stuff and it was. Not good. Very not good #note me carefully not naming shit here but it was just not a good experience in hindsight or even in present sight at the time and I knew i #stuck it out for far longer than was healthy because...idk why I guess a sense of obligation #and feeling like well if I don't do it then someone else will have to do it and if it's suffering for me then it must be suffering for them #the actual moral of the story is if shit sucks hit the bricks! real winners quit! just walk away!#but I'm good now. I finally got the majority of the shit worked out and I have my motivation to do RP shit back and it's really quite nice #and if I feel like not doing shit I do not kick myself for 'missing out' or whatever the hell I was afraid of. I don't even remember #it feels very silly to look back on and go 'what was I even getting from any of that situation?' ulcers perhaps #the contrast between being Not Okay in the past and being Very Okay in the present was stark today and I felt like making words about it lo

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