#i hate losses less for how they make me feel and more for the stupid shit everyone makes me read after it !

[unclewaynemunson]

After Vecna is defeated and the world goes back to normal for good, Steve thinks he can get on with his life. And for a while that's exactly what happens: his scars heal and, against everything he would have ever expected, Eddie heals right beside him.

But a year later, his life gets turned upside down in a whole new way. He gets one more hit to the head. It's a stupid accident, really, something involving a broken lightbulb, an old stepladder and an unfortunate fall. He loses pretty much all his sight. His once expressive brown eyes become hollow shells, one staring right ahead and one turned sideways, but both equally useless.

At first, the darkness is scary. It's frustrating, to be robbed of one of the few things he could always rely on. He has to get to know the world around him in a whole new way. There are days when he hates it, days when he wants to stay in bed in his room forever. There are days when he wants to scream, even days when he wants to cut his own eyes out like Victor Creel did before him.

But slowly, little by little, he learns to live with it. He grows a new appreciation for beautiful music and good food, things that stimulate his other senses that he now relies more heavily on. He develops a sharp ear for people's voices and intonations to make up for the loss of seeing their facial expressions. Where he used to love seeing Robin's bright eyes and Dustin's excited smile, he now treasures the sound of Dustin's laughter and the scent of Robin's cologne.

The one thing he will never stop missing, though, is Eddie's face. The way his eyes light up when he smiles. The way his mouth curves into that mischievous grin that Steve once fell in love with. The way his fluffy curls cascade over his back. Those are the things he misses the most.

There's a lot that makes up for that loss: he can cling to Eddie's arm whenever he wants, without having to worry about people taking their affectionate touches the wrong way. He gets to rely on Eddie's helping hand and to bask in Eddie's scent. And, most importantly: he gets to listen to Eddie's voice all the time, when he describes what's happening around them in lively phrases and with passion in his voice like the true storyteller he is.

“Do you know that there's one thing you're always leaving out when you're describing things to me?” Steve asks him one day, when he feels Eddie's hands move through the air around them during his excited monologue about the orange cat that is currently visiting their garden, chasing after butterflies and going after its own tail in the flowerbeds.

“Huh?” Eddie sounds confused.

“You're always leaving out the most important part,” Steve continues. He lifts his hand and slowly moves it to find Eddie's face. He feels his curls underneath his fingertips, then slides them further over Eddie's features.

“What do you mean, Stevie?”

“You never mention how you look. Only what you see. But if I could see, I'd be looking at you, Eddie. I'd watch your face. I can still remember that curve of your mouth, that crease between your eyebrows...” He lets his hand linger on the places he mentions. “But it's all becoming less clear. I'll never see it again. I don't wanna lose that.”

Steve feels his hand getting covered by another one, lets his fingers be guided across Eddie's cheek.

“You won't,” Eddie tells him softly. “There's no way I'll let you lose that.”

Steve can already feel the change in temperature underneath his fingers before Eddie speaks.

“I'm blushing right now, Stevie. Cause of what you said. And...” He guides Steve's hand further down over the uneven skin of his scarred cheek. “I'm smiling. Just a little bit. Not that wide smile I have when I'm messing with you, but the smaller one, the one that's just for you.”

Eddie squeezes his hand before he lets go. A moment later, his lips brush softly against Steve's, something that's not quite a kiss. Steve can feel that Eddie is about to pull back before it becomes anything more, but he presses back into Eddie's space, chases his warm lips with his own, and wraps his arms around Eddie's body to pull him closer.

Kissing is best without looking anyway.

#don't mind me rambling about stranger things #i love all the deaf/hoh steve headcanons with all my heart but #have something a lil different i guess #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #blind!steve #stranger things #fanfic #fruity ficlet

[ladyannemarie5]

Funny how Geralt always stayed on the sidelines with Jaskier's conquests for fear of a broken heart and yet he got a front row seat to watch the bard fall in love with the prince.

Geralt would cut the bard off when he started talking about the virtues of whatever man or woman he spent the night with, but he had no choice but to listen to Jaskier when he told him how the prince learned his song, because the poet appealed to their "best friends" bond.

Geralt smiled inwardly when the bard left his conquest for the night alone to go order him a bath and wash his hair with special soaps and oils after the hunts. And then the witcher had to witness Jaskier leaving him to go order Radovid a bath because "his long blond hair has never been anything less than perfect and cannot be left uncared for, Geralt." 

Geralt always distracted the bard with a story of past hauntings with terrifying creatures every time Jaskier began to compose a love song for his conquest, but nothing could distract the poet when he began to talk about how beautiful and bright Radovid's eyes were and how he wanted to find the perfect words to describe them. 

Geralt faked annoyance every time Jaskier asked to sleep next to him at night insinuating that he was too cold for a little bard. Geralt feigned relief when Jaskier told him that he would no longer bother him with that because he now slept with Radovid and his arms and fur blanket were more than warm. 

Geralt kept as much emotional distance as possible from the bard who approached him in a tavern in Posada so he wouldn't have to deal with a broken heart from falling in love with a human. 

But absolutely no distance in the world prepares him when that night while they were camping alone, Jaskier lying next to him and looking up at the stars, turns to him and says softly "I'm not in love with you anymore, Geralt. You don't have to act cautious around me anymore."

And Geralt can't say anything. Because he simply can't. He must have misheard, maybe the kikimore from earlier hit him too hard or something because there's no way, no world where Jaskier was in love with him. There's no way he would have wasted his chance. 

Jaskier, oblivious to the witcher's stupor, continues "I know I made you uncomfortable with my affections for you, I tried hard not to throw myself at you if I'm honest, but Radovid... I've fallen so much in love with Radovid that I'm ready to let you go. I'm sorry it took me so long to give you and Yenna peace."

Geralt looks up at the stars in silence, not believing what he just heard. Jaskier is about to turn away when Geralt takes his hand. He says nothing, just a simple squeeze. Jaskier breathes a sigh of relief, the witcher doesn't hate him for that, he doesn't ask him to leave as he had feared. Geralt is also relieved that he is no longer burdened with the bard's feelings. 

Geralt allows himself to hold his hand one last time. He allows himself a small luxury, so that he can silently mourn the loss of his bard and curse his own stupidity. Tomorrow he will watch as the bard is reunited with the prince, tomorrow he will watch with a broken heart as they embrace and the prince spins Jaskier in his arms, before kissing him and swearing eternal love. Tomorrow Geralt's heart breaks completely. 

But just for today, just for that night, he allows himself to take Jaskier's hand, draw him into his arms and breathe freely the scent of the man he has been in love with for over two decades. Just for that one night, Geralt allows himself to be happy.

----

I really love to make me cry ^^

#Jaskier is confused for a while #But before they meet Radovid they meet Yennefer. #Yenn and Geralt kiss and Jaskier knows he made the right decision #Radovid and Jaskier decide to go away alone for a while #Yenn and Geralt try it for real this time #But Yenn finds out everything as usual #And when she motivates Geralt to fight for the bard #Jaskier announces that he has secretly married the prince #Ciri is done with her parents' drama #Jaskier is also her father of course #geraskier #radskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the witcher netflix #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #geralt x jaskier

[portaltothevoid]

Console the Griever - copia x gn!reader

Grief is a fickle thing. It hits everyone differently, some more-so than others. We all have to learn how to deal with it and sometimes, no matter how long it's been, we just need comfort and a safe space to feel. Reader is dealing with it being the first anniversary of the loss of a loved one and Copia steps up to be the one they can lean on.

warnings: grief, loss of loved ones mentioned (no descriptions), everything is kept as vague and broad as possible to fit many situations, emotional hurt/comfort

word count: 2.8k

ao3 link

You could feel your insides shaking, your leg constantly bouncing. The work day was almost over. Freedom was so close, even if the only thing you did with that freedom was stay secluded in your room drowning yourself in memories of things, of people, you could never get back. 

A notification popped up on your phone. One of your friends sent you a meme, most likely. That seemed to be the way you communicated lately, solely through memes. The energy to have a full conversation was nowhere to be found and you couldn’t be bothered to look for it. Your eyes fell on the date. 

Knots twisted in your stomach. All day you’ve tried to ignore it, but it was bound to catch up to you eventually. Scrunching your eyes shut, you focused on your breathing. This could wait until you got back to your safe haven – it had to. You took a stuttering deep breath as you organized papers on your desk. Biting your lip, you hoped these tasks could wait until Monday. Staying on track wasn’t an option today, no matter how much you wanted to. 

“Topolina, before you go, could you just email these idiote (idiots) and tell them we have a petting zoo for i bambini of the Ministry for educational purposes and not for ritual sacrifices.” Copia pinched the bridge of his nose as he returned to his desk after setting down the information you needed.

“Of course, Cardinal,” you said quietly, after a brief and quiet laugh left you.

“It’s Papa now, cara,” he solemnly corrected you. 

Great. Another slip up. Your shoulders slumped at your mistake. Couldn’t you just get it together? “Sorry, Papa, I keep forgetting…”

“Ah shit. So do I,” he chuckled as he wiggled his fingers at you, now covered in his white face paint. He wiped it on his black, designer tattered pants absentmindedly before he frowned, having spread the white paint elsewhere. A nostalgic sigh was pushed from his lungs. “I miss my white suit,” he muttered.

“Me too,” you mumbled.

“What was that, cara?”

“Uh, I said, I know you do,” you quickly spoke, covering your small slip up. Your only further response to him was a tightlipped smile. It was just pleasant enough and all you could manage. An angry email. That was your mission right now. Then freedom. You could write a brief angry email.

As you went on with your task, you missed how Copia’s brows furrowed in concern. He knew you’d been acting differently lately. He wanted to chalk it up to just an off day; everyone has them once in a while. Then you started to smile less, his stupid jokes and quips that would always make you giggle barely made you give him more than a “ha.” Something was going on, and even though you were his assistant, a close bond had formed between you both. He hated seeing you turn into a shell of your former self.

Once the email was sent, you felt the crushing weight of the shadows in your mind fighting their way to the surface. You needed to get back to your room. Your breathing started to quicken and your hands were shaking. “Email’s sent. I think that’s it for today, unless you need something else…” you trailed off, praying to Lucifer himself that he would allow you to go home for the day.

“No, no, that was it.”

“Okay, I’ll see you on Monday,” you responded quickly, gathering your things.

“You’re not going to be at dinner?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Um, no, I don’t think so… well, uh, maybe, I don’t know,” you rambled.

“Is everything alright, dolcezza?” You froze at this question. Dolcezza was a rare term of endearment. It carried more weight than the others. This wasn’t Papa asking you, it was Copia.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Your pitch rose, betraying you just enough to earn a raised eyebrow from him. You tried to make your voice sound happier, more even. “Everything’s okay. Just a long week. Case of the winter blues, you know how it goes…” When he didn’t respond right away, you finished making your way to the door. “Have a good weekend, Co– Papa.”

Keeping your head down, you rushed back to your room. With a pounding heart and a heaving chest, you breathed out a shaky sigh as your hand lingered on the now closed door. You threw your bag down at the foot of your bed before you fell backwards onto it, staring up at the ceiling. Dragging your eyes to the window, you noted the weather. Exactly the same as last year. 

The memories sucker-punched you the instant your mind made the connection. Tears rolled down your temples, and before long you were choking back sobs, not wanting the sound to carry to the nearby rooms. Bringing your hands to cover your face, you curled into the fetal position, where you let the wave of emotion, of pain ride its course. 

How had a year gone by already? How had several gone by? You were no stranger to loss, but it never gets easier. All you wanted was to just stop everything in the sense of responsibilities and duties and expectations. It was getting more and more tiring to hold it together in front of everyone. You were seconds away from breaking down today in front of your boss. Even before his… promotion… the two of you could have almost been considered friends, he had just experienced a multitude of losses himself and you couldn’t dump all of this onto him. He had enough to deal with and you certainly weren’t about to add anything to his already full plate. That being said, there were also the formalities that had to be respected. 

You had no idea how much time had passed since your sobs had quieted. A ding from your phone pulled you back into the present moment. Curiosity got the best of you to at least see what the notification was, despite planning to ignore it. A grimace pulled at your features as you saw it was from Copia. Ideas of what the text could contain raced through your mind; you forgot to do something important, he needed you to come in for a bit tomorrow, another email had to be sent, you really fucked who-knows-what up and you’d be reprimanded… Biting your lip in apprehension, you slide the notification open.

Papa Emeritus IV:  Are you sure you're alright dolcezza?? You really haven’t been yourself lately… I hope this isn’t too forward. I just worry about you topolina mia. I am free tonight if you need or want to talk about anything. –C

Well, that was certainly unexpected. You threw your phone on your pillows like it was a hot potato. A blush reddened your cheeks as your heartbeat sped up, finally not because of anxiety. 

He was just being nice. There was no need to read into this. With how much time you spent with him in his office, albeit in a work environment, of course he would know some of your mannerisms. He was incredibly smart. He didn’t get to where he was by being stupid. That being said… perhaps he would be the one to really be able to understand what you were going through. 

Over and over you read that text, your mind racing. Should you respond? What would you even say? Do you want to talk to him? Why is he being so insistent? 

Darkness fell over your room, so you got up to turn on a light, but that just turned into you pacing as you tried to decide what to do.

Again, you lost track of time ruminating in your own world. Your eyes widened when a soft knock at your door stopped you in your tracks. Taking a deep breath, you cautiously went to open the door.

Copia was waiting outside, chewing his lip nervously, as he held two plates of food. “I’m sorry I–” you both said at the same exact time. 

“Go ahead, Papa,” you nodded, encouraging him to go first. It still felt so strange to refer to him by his title.

“I, eh, I noticed you didn’t really have lunch and… you weren’t at dinner, so… I just wanted to bring you this. I promise I won’t bother you again. Well, until Monday. I guess it’s your job to be bothered by me, no?” he laughed nervously as he rambled.

He was here because he cared. So, you listened to the little voice in the back of your mind that was whispering to you how you were more than just an assistant to him.

“Th-thank you…” was all you could manage to say, in shock by the kind gesture.

“Have you been crying, carissima?” he whispered softly. Okay, and then with his use of carissima… That was a new term of endearment, which made your heart skip a beat.

“Is it that obvious?” you laughed humorlessly, but it died in your throat when you saw him regarding you with such concern. You stepped back, giving him room to enter. “I guess I could use some company if you want to have your dinner here… if you’re still free?”

“Certo, certo. For you? Always,” he said as he stepped inside. “I was, eh, hoping you’d say yes.” The shy smile he gave you melted your heart and you swore you saw the slight blush under some spots of his fading papal paint from the long day.

Although your apartment was on the smaller side, it was still large enough to have a kitchenette and a small seating area. One of the perks of having worked alongside senior clergy members for years. As you got some utensils and drinks from the fridge, Copia set the plates on your coffee table while settling down on the loveseat in the corner.

He smiled at you as you set down a couple juice boxes for him and some for yourself. “Before you say anything, I haven’t felt like going into town so I had to dip into the stash I save for you when I need to restock the minifridge in your office,” you chuckled. 

He just shook his head. “Everyone’s always hating on the juice boxes,” he playfully grumbled.

It didn’t hit you how hungry you were til you saw the plate of food in front of you and then when you realized he brought you your favorite. “Wait… how did… This wasn’t on the menu for tonight’s dinner, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t, but sometimes it’s worth it to take advantage of the perks of being Papa.”

He had literally gone out of his way to do this for you. Blinking back tears, you murmured a quiet thank you when you knew you weren’t going to start crying again from his kindness. “How has it been, now that you’re officially Papa?” you wondered in an attempt to keep the conversation light so you could actually enjoy your dinner.

“Eh, it’s pretty much the same as it’s been for the last couple of years. Well, as far as duties and things go, for me at least. They treat me with… a little more respect than before,” he shrugged. 

“I’m still not used to calling you Papa,” you admitted.

“Please, don’t,” he responded quickly. “When it’s just us, call me Copia. I don’t like… I don’t think there has to be such formality between us. We’ve, um, worked side by side long enough…”

“It’s nice to have a sense of normalcy?”

“Sì. Sometimes it just reminds of… what they did to get me here and…” he cleared his throat. “And I’d just prefer you use my name.”

You nodded, knowing he was referring to his own series of losses. Not wanting to encroach on heavy topics yet, you steered the conversation to movies you’ve seen recently, a book you thought he might like, et cetera.

Once you both had finished eating, Copia insisted that you stay put while he cleaned up. When he sat next to you again he turned and wondered, “Did that help you feel a little bit better, dolcezza? I really can’t stand to see you so… hurt.”

You nodded. “It did. It really helped get my mind off everything for just… a little bit. I can’t thank you enough, Copia. You… you have no idea how much this means.” Anxiously, you stared at your hands in your lap as you fidgeted. 

“This week… it’s the first anniversary of her passing, isn’t it?” he spoke with sincerity and a cautiousness as if you might break.

Biting your lip, you nodded again. “You remembered,” you stated.

“Of course, cara.” He took one of your hands in both of his. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here. I’m here for you, if you need me. You’re safe with me, always know that.”

The tears started to well up again. You couldn’t tell if the pressure in your chest was from the surmounting grief you tried to stuff down or from the gratitude of Copia trying to break through to you. “I can’t do that to you,” you shook your head, avoiding his mismatched eyes. “You have your own stuff to deal with. I can’t pile my shit on top of it…”

The hand on top of yours moved to cup your face as he turned your head so you could look at him. “If I couldn’t handle it, I wouldn’t be so insistent. I’m okay. Sure, some days are worse than others. That’s grief. It… it never goes away, but what changes is our ability to handle it and have space for it, to navigate it.”

As you looked into his eyes, you felt the dam break. Tears spilled over and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself be fully vulnerable in front of someone else. Without hesitation, he pulled you to him, cradling your head against his chest as his other arm wrapped around you, holding you close to him. This time, you weren’t solely sobbing from the crushing grief and memories of the past, but because finally you felt like you were able and that you wanted to share with someone everything that you had been keeping under lock and key. 

When you had calmed down enough to talk, you told him your story. You started with how you had lost one of your parents when you were young, how much it still bothered you, how you recently lost another close family member and the anniversaries were so close together. You shared with him how this week you just tried to keep your head above water. You were so afraid of disappointing him, but were too overwhelmed. He just listened. He took it all in stride as he soothingly rubbed your back to keep you calm and grounded. 

“So much of that I’ve… I’ve never told anyone,” you confessed.

“Do you feel better, lighter now?”

“I do. I didn’t realize how much I needed that. I… Just… Thank you, Copia. Thank you for listening, for insisting, for just… being here.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, carissima.” You couldn’t help but give him a quizzical look as you tilted your head to the side. “What’s that look for, hm? Do you honestly think I’ve thought of you as only my assistant? All this time?” His hand cupped the side of your face again with his thumb gently caressing your cheek.

“All this time?”

“Sì. You mean more to me than you know. I couldn’t stand to see you in so much…pain. I couldn’t… I didn’t want to keep my feelings to myself any more. I just hope–”

All inhibitions left you and you couldn’t stop yourself as your hand finally reached up for him to pull him close, stopping his words as your lips met his. The kiss was gentle, but the affection you both had, and could finally admit to both yourselves and one another, was unmistakable. When you parted, Copia couldn’t help but quietly laugh. “You feel the same, I take it?”

“I do. I mean, I have for quite some time now. It’s not just because of this moment…” you trailed off trying to find the right words. 

“We take things slow, then, sì? Even if just for tonight,” he smirked playfully. 

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped as you nuzzled your head into his chest while wrapping your arms around him, squeezing him tightly. The ache was still there, but it had dulled considerably thanks to Copia. The smile wouldn’t leave your face as your space for your grief having grown two sizes. You didn’t have to go through this alone. Not anymore. Neither did he for that matter, because when the time would come, you knew you could be just as strong and supportive for him as he was for you. And there was no one else you’d rather have by your side.

🖤🌹🖤

#copia #papa copia #copia x reader #copia x gn!reader #copia x gn reader #copia x gender neutral reader #copia comfort #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus 4 #papa emeritus iv x reader #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction

[bellewintersroe]

Charles Leclerc x SchumacherDaughter!

Lila is the youngest of the 3 Schumacher siblings, at 22 shes catching the attention of the public eye. With the new found popularity through Drive to Survive, social media has dubbed her the next ‘it’ girl despite her constant desire for privacy. When her love interest becomes more or less the most sought after man in F1, how will she cope with being the internets fascination? Both Charles and Lila have dealt with immense amounts of loss and trauma, so their mutual understanding for one another fuels their so called ‘friendship’.

Part 2 - no warnings! Filler chapter, slow burn/ start but will start to pick up soon.

From the first time I’d met Charles I knew I’d developed feelings almost instantly. I had always been the the type of girl who caught feelings quickly. Maybe that was a recipe for disaster, wearing my heart on my sleeve, but there wasn’t a single fibre of my body that could prevent it. Not being around the boy was helpful, but the one thing that fuelled the crush even further? Social media, of course.

I had always been private online. All my accounts were locked and I’d never planned on making them public out of the pure fear of gaining too much unwanted attention. That didn’t mean I couldn’t do a stalk however…

I’d find myself laying in bed until stupid hours in the morning for the following week after the Monaco GP, scrolling mindlessly through my searches. The majority of them were amusing- I didn’t seem to worry too much about gaining a hate train online, of course the trolls were there, but keeping as far out of the public eye as possible meant I was semi protected. User: Lila Schumacher sparks relationship rumours with Mercedes driver George Russell, despite him already being in a long term relationship with Carmen Montero Mundt.

I laughed at that one and all the responses telling the reporter to shut the hell up.

User: Charles today with Mick and Lila Schumacher. User: Lila Schumacher makes a rare appearance at the Monaco GP, 28.5.23. User: Lila Schumacher is so beautiful, like her mum, why don’t we see more of her? User: can anybody else see Lila Schumacher being with one of the drivers? Shes so gorgeous I wouldn’t be surprised. ——— > User: she looked to be talking with Charles, he looked v into her so maybe? ——— > User: no not Charles surely? I was thinking she’d be more with somebody like George or Lando.

——— > User: Lila and Charles Leclerc were talking at the Monaco GP, doesn’t mean they’re together but I’d DIE if he looked at me the way he looked at Lila- that’s all I’m saying…

I exited the app after that, deciding I’d read enough, I knew it was stupid to do, but part of me couldn’t help myself. I’d always been a nosy person. So when Mick invited me to come to the Spanish GP, I accepted his offer (much to his surprise). “You’re from Spain? Which part?” I asked Carlos Sainz, whom I’d engaged in a conversation with whilst attempting to find the Ferrari garages before the qualifying. He asked if I wanted leading back to Mercedes but I was trying to find Jean Todt, my God father and dads longtime close friend, so I got a tour from Mr Sainz instead. “Madrid, have you been?”

“Oh yeah, it’s beautiful there, I’ve been a few times…” my eyes glanced up from the floor, gaze landing heavily on the other Ferrari driver now stood in front of me. My breath hitched seeing the surprised looking boy.

“Lila! Hello!” Charles exclaimed, the exact same heart flutter I felt the other week in Monaco had returned. “Hi!” For some reason I was surprised he’d remembered my name, hearing him say it made me feel certain ways. He moved forwards, giving me a quick hug as I clamped my teeth down on my bottom lip so I wouldn’t grin so harshly. “How are you?” I asked. “I am good, I’m good. And you?” Charles was pink in the cheeks, brown eyes practically sparkling in the Spanish sun. He looked like Prince Charming or something out of a fairy tail, I found him intoxicating.

“Good, thank you.” I breathlessly spoke, “you have met Carlotto?” He then grinned as I snapped my attention back up to Carlos with a slight furrow of my brows. “Carlotto?”

“Lord Perceval.” I giggled out at the name now, turning back to Charles who was staring right back to Carlos with a wide eyed expression. “Lord Perceval? Is that a nickname, or?”

“No, no, no!” Charles laughed. “That’s my.. um that’s my middle name. Perceval.” Charles explained as I felt my cheeks beating up, hearing Carlos too giggling along. “Oh!” I exclaimed. “How posh.” I shrugged as he laughed slightly back to me with an uneasy, “yeah.”

“I better go find Jean anyway, has anybody seen him?”

“Oh, Jean? He’s in that way.” Charles pointed towards three different doors. I frowned in confusion. “Charles, show her, your directions are bad.” Carlos pointed out as I giggled nervously.

“It’s okay, I’ll try find him.”

“No, no, I’ll show you.” Charles insisted as I bit back a smile. “Thanks for getting me here anyway.” I thanked Carlos. “It’s ok.” The Spanish man politely smiled. “Chiedile un appuntamento.” Carlos then spoke to Charles as I glanced away, no clue what the hell they were speaking. Italian maybe? It wasn’t French and definitely wasn’t Spanish. When I did look up, Charles was staring back at Carlos wide eyes in a manner as though to say, shut the hell up. I pretended not to notice as Carlos giggled, patting me on the upper back before I began following Charles.

“I think he should be this way. I could be wrong.” Charles stumbled forwards, turning over his shoulder as I caught up besides him. “It’s okay, I don’t need him urgently, I just wanted to say hi.” And say hello to you.

“He is your god father, right?” Charles questioned as I nodded. “Yeah, he’s my dads friend.”

“Ah.” Charles nodded, and for a brief few seconds, I felt a little awkward. I was lost for words, dwelling in my nerves that had appeared now I was semi alone with Charles.

“I think I saw you earlier.” Charles then pointed out. “Oh yeah? Where?”

“Playing tennis at the hotel, I think it was you there? You looked good- at playing tennis I mean, but you did look good as well, merde, it might not have been you.” Charles stammered as I felt myself becoming somewhat breathless again, when he was nervous I felt this warm rush of excitement run through me, but it somehow made me feel nervous too. His compliment made me laugh, realising exactly what he was talking about.

“Yeah that was me, I was playing with another girl?” I tilted my head to look at the smiling boy. I hadn’t seen his smile falter once since seeing him again, I enjoyed the way it would lift up his eyes, the dimples forming in his cheeks and the way his teeth would poke through every now and then.

“Ah, yes it was you.” Charles shyly spoke. “Yeah, I’m not very good. I just like playing.” I grabbed at my blonde hair nervously. “I play too, I am bad.” Charles laughed out. “I’m sure you’re not that bad!” He responded with an uneasy noise.

“I just think you would beat me.” The fact he had noticed me earlier this morning had made me go all red in the face, I felt all giggly and weak in the knees.

“No way, I’m really bad. Trust me, I just play for fun.” I bashfully spoke, thanking him quickly as he opened the door for me. Jean wasn’t in sight ahead of me, so it gave me a little more time with Charles which I was thankful for.

“Me too.” He grinned as I offered him a smile in response, turning to my left to see Jean not too far ahead, sitting down and mid conversation. “Oh, there he is! Thank you for showing me around, I’d be lost without you and Carlos.” I joked, pausing to stand directly across from him now. “It’s ok, it gets confusing in here.” He shrugged as I nodded, going to turn around. “It was nice to see to see you again.” He quickly spoke, causing me to halt my movements and turn up once again. There was a slight height difference between us, I only stood at 5”3, and he was nearing 6 foot, I guessed?

“Yeah you too, if you see me playing tennis again feel free to say hi.” I giggled, shrugging nervously. “I will.” Charles laughed as I timidly broke eye contact, turning to go find Jean. “Oh!” Charles exclaimed again. I turned around.

“I was- we could play tennis maybe? If you would like to?” His words made my heart literally jump and I swear he could see the way my smile tugged up. I was nodding before I even replied, borderline too stunned and shy to speak.

“As long as you let me win you.” I managed to blurt out as he laughed once again, pulling out his phone. “I can probably do that… well you could do that.” He corrected, unlocking his phone and clicking on his phone book.

“Oh.” I perked, pulling out my phone, ensuring to clear any embarrassing messages from my notifications before allowing him to type his number in. It felt like a fever dream, no man had asked for my number before, it was always Snapchat or Instagram first- it felt slightly more… personal? I liked it.

“I will text you.” Charles nodded. “Okay, see you soon, Charles.”

“Bye, Lila…”

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc

[chvoswxtch]

Hi! For my first drink could I order an old fashioned with Frankie when he is jealous pls, idk why but I wanna see him in that situation 😏

hi nonnie!

one old fashioned with a bright green garnish coming right up. 😏

headcannon below the cut

frank castle & jealousy

in my humble opinion, frankie is absolutely the jealous type, but he's very quiet about it

it's not that he doesn't trust you, it's more so his own self-esteem issues and the hyperawareness of the baggage he carries around

frankie thinks you are literally the most beautiful thing to ever be crafted by the universe and he doesn't understand what you see in him or why you find him attractive

and despite how many times you tell him all of the many reasons you have for falling in love with him, and all the ways you show him just how handsome you find him, that green eyed monster still rears its ugly head

like when that coworker of yours that's always hitting on you, that he fucking hates, tells a joke and you laugh at it, frankie wants to know what the fuck is so funny and then he starts questioning if you think he is funny (even though you always laugh at his jokes, and when he says something you find funny that he doesn't really get but fuck it, it made you laugh)

he let you get the next round at the bar one time, but after seeing how the bartender openly flirted with you and the attention you got from the other patrons, frankie insisted on getting every round from then on out

but then he noticed that those assholes would just come up to your table when he got up, and it made his blood boil seeing how close they got to you, even if he could tell by your face that you were telling them you weren't interested

but frankie is quiet about his jealousy. he doesn't make a scene unless absolutely necessary

he doesn't rush up to the table and tell that stupid son of a bitch off, no he calmly walks up and stands behind him, glaring daggers into the back of his head until the idiot notices the look on your face and follows the path of your eyesight and finally notices his presence

he can't deny the smugness he feels seeing how their eyes go wide and watching them back away slowly with their tail tucked between their legs, holding their hands up in surrender, quickly scurrying away with a mumbled "sorry man, didn't know she was with you"

frankie gets lucky in that he doesn't have to say anything, he can just glare

when your goddamn coworker catches his piercing gaze from across the room, he suddenly stops laughing, and puts as much distance between himself and you as possible

when the bartender notices him stalking up behind you, placing his hand possessively on your waist and staring at him with murderous intent, the bartender's smile instantly drops and he's shoving your drinks forward and rushing to the other end of the bar

frankie only gets physical if someone can't take the hint or dares to put their hands on you

but whenever frankie is done scaring off your admirers and turns to look at you, his icy glare instantly melts into pools of shame as you stare back at him with a displeased quirk of your brow and a light smirk on your lips

as soon as he hears that warning tone laced within your sweet rendition of his name, he's quickly looking anywhere but at you like a child acting like they don't know what they're in trouble for

"frank." "what? just standin' here. that a crime?"

he knows you're never really upset with him by the way you giggle and shake your head, hands reaching out to grab him by his arms to pull him in closer towards you

"i don't know what you bother getting so worked up about, big guy. you're the one that gets to take me home."

frankie does know that, but he often wonders if the day would come that you decide you want someone else. someone less complicated that didn't carry the weight of a lifetime of trauma and loss on their shoulders. someone that didn't make a career of violence and bloodshed. someone that didn't come home to you bruised and broken. someone better than him

"i know, sweetheart. don't mean you gotta deal with their shit, though."

"i never have to. you always come to my rescue. my hero."

frankie always melts when you call him that, because he never thinks of himself as a hero, but you say it with such sincerity, it makes him believe it

and when you kiss him like you're the only two people in the room, he forgets what the hell he was jealous about in the first place

#frank castle #frank castle request #frank castle headcanon #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #court's 2k follower celebration #court's 2k friends celebration

[barcalover86]

End of beginning

A never-ending friendship

Book

Chapter three

"Y/n, it's not good. It's not good at all."

"What happened??"

When you saw the picture from Bia's phone, your heart shattered. It can't be.

"I hate these gossips. They don't even know the truth, and now they are assuming things"

What was truly happening, it was that some stupid people took pictures and videos of you and Gavi while you were giving each other's instas. It also captured a moment when he hugged you, seeing how big his smile was, even after Barca lost badly that night.

People were assuming that you were his crush, and that didn't make you happy.

You saw exactly the same day that he was texting a girl saying those 3 words (I love you) and if he would see the new gossip about him, which he will sooner or later, will make him angry. Really angry.

Like, let's be real. You would also feel the same way if you had a boyfriend and people were thinking that you are into some other boy.

"Bia, I feel so bad. I'm sure the girl hates me and maybe they'll break up because of me!"

"Don't overreact, maybe they won't see it."

"It's all over the Internet. It's kinda impossible not to see."

You sighed, thinking what could you do now to repair things.

"And to be honest with you, here it's not your fault at all. You didn't do anything to him."

"No, just randomly gave him my insta. How could I do this to some boy that has a girl at home!?"

You were utterly shocked by your action.

"But just give it a thought, y/n. He asked for your insta, and he seemed pretty.. in love when he was around-"

"Bia, stop! He isn't in love with me! How many times do I have to tell you that-"

"He wrote a girl that he loves her, I got it. But maybe you saw wrong??"

"How could I? He was literally right in front of me."

"Maybe you got all shy and-"

"I'm not stupid, ok? I know what I saw yesterday."

After a moment of silence, Bia speaks up.

"He still has your insta. Maybe he'll text you??"

You rolled your eyes.

"I'm sure that after today, he won't do it ever again. And I'm sure he won't look after me at Camp Nou."

"Y/n.. I still think you are overreacting everything. Let's see how things go. Slowly and natural. You are already lucky that you had the chance to stay this much with him. And people are just jealous of you. My girl is really pretty. "

"Thank you, Bia."

..................................................................................

Days have passed, and all you did was walk around new places from Barcelona. Every dinner you spend at your new friends' restaurant, and they also told you that you are overthinking too much.

Their encouraging helped you a lot, but you were still waiting for his text.

And it wasn't showing up.

Maybe you are right and he is mad at you.

Now, the El Clasico game had come, and you were all ready in your hotel room to start wach the game.

You were wearing Gavi's jersey. You thought that maybe it'll bring him good luck. Which after a loss, Barcelona needed.

And it really helped them.

Barca was winning already since the first half with 2-0. The game ended with another goal from Lewandowski and one from Vinicius.

So 3-1, was a great win.

You all celebrated, drinking champagne like it was new year's eve, but you couldn't care less more.

This night, you'll have fun.

At least it'll help go away the shame that was created at the game against Getafe.

But you drank way more than you should, and without being aware, you sent Gavi a photo of you in his jersey with a cup of champagne in your hands.

And then you fell asleep, waking up the next morning with the biggest headache ever.

And also with 2 missed messages from Pablo Gavi.

A photo and a text.

Fucking hell..

#fc barca #fc barcelona #football #pablo gavi #pablo gavira #pablo martín páez gavira #gavi #gavi imagine #gavi x reader #gavi x yn #gavi x you #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x you

[car1no-xx]

Pedri fluff where the reader is a player for Real Madrid womens team? 😈

Amor Fati (Pedri x RM fem!reader)

On a weekend trip to Madrid, Pedri runs into someone he rather wouldn't. Little did you two know fate had other plans.

Warnings: none

A/N: Hi beautiful anon, thank you for the request! I made this into a little enemies-to-lovers thing, hope you don't mind. Just a reminder my requests are open, and to submit any requests you'd like before I start studying for final exams for the next 3-ish weeks yuck

~~

The morning was gloomy and foggy, much to your dismay. You loathed training in this weather, preferring the sun to keep your energy up and keep you motivated during the long hours of practice. It was a Friday, and to lighten your mood given the abysmal weather, you decided to treat yourself to a cappuccino before practice, hoping it would get you through the next few hours before the weekend officially commenced. You didn't mind showing up to the coffee shop in your training uniform - the baristas knew who you were, and so did the regular customers. You were grateful to them for never asking for your signature or pictures, especially in the mornings when you were still groggy, the bags under your eyes much too dark for your liking.

You grabbed a seat by the window, looking outside at the lush trees that decorated the Madrid streets. You mindlessly touched the embroidered badge on your jacket; you couldn't believe this was your life. A fan of Los Blancos since you were ten, you jumped through hoops and hurdles to get to the women's team. Being a woman in football was already hard enough - to play for Madrid, even harder. Then, a rough voice interrupted your daydreaming. "Sí, con leche, porfa." Yes, with milk, please. What was that accent? Definitely not from Madrid, you thought to yourself.

"Didn't expect to find you here," the voice said to you. You turned your head, your eyes going dark with the realization of who was standing in front of you. La madre que me parió, you quietly cursed to yourself. The mother who bore me.

Pedri. Barca's gifted, almost coddled midfielder. If your eyes could roll any farther back in your head, they'd likely fall out. Couldn't you just drink your coffee in peace? The thought of speaking to anyone, not to mention Madrid's rival, soured your mood even more.

"I literally live here. The question is what you are doing here," you spat.

You couldn't deny he was objectively attractive - his neatly trimmed eyebrows complimenting his almost raven-colored dark hair. His dark brown eyes that had a little sparkle in them when he spoke. One problem: you knew he hated you. Found you arrogant, too smart-mouthed for your own good. The feeling was mutual.

"Oh, you live here, in the coffee shop?" He was mocking you. "I'm here for the weekend, for no reason in particular but wanted to see how this precious city of yours is faring after all those losses," he said nonchalantly, shrugging.

That cappuccino you held in your hand was about three seconds away from landing on the hair he probably spent hours carefully combing this morning. Incorrigible prick, you thought to yourself. "If you expect me to fall over my chair laughing, you're sorely mistaken," you said, waving a dismissive hand towards him, hoping he'd get the message. Instead, he pulled up a wooden chair and sat across from you.

Would it really be a waste of my four euros if this coffee ended up on his head right now?

"I don't expect anything from you. Well, actually, maybe just a bit more pep in your voice. Thought you'd be happy to see me, bonita," he smirked. "We had fun at that party, didn't we?" That party. The one where you drunkenly ended up making out with Pedri for a total of twenty seconds a year and a half ago, only to quickly leave without saying anything else to him. It meant nothing. Less than nothing.

"That was fun for you? That was just me drunkenly making stupid decisions."

"Nevertheless," he winked.

"Don't flatter yourself. I don't doubt you took another lady friend home that night."

"Jealous?" That smirk, you thought. Slapping him would definitely take that smirk off his face, but you weren't keen on being charged with battery today.

"Enjoy Madrid," you said, rolling your eyes. And with that, you got up and left the coffee shop.

~~

"What do you mean I'm still out for the next game?" You quietly raged at your coach the next day. Friday sucked, running into Pedri and all. Today was apparently even suckier.

"I'm sorry, y/n, but the physiotherapist still thinks you need time to recuperate."

One month you were out with a knee injury. One month too long. You understood it was normal for athletes to succumb to injuries now and then, especially with the demanding pressure put on your bodies, yet you couldn't help but feel terrible and utterly useless. More than anything, you wanted to play - even being benched was borderline an insult to you, your competitive nature always coming through and wanting to deliver your best with every match, every practice.

"I'm ready to play. I've been finishing the full practices, doing my exercises regularly. I'm ready," you said through gritted teeth, trying to keep your tears from seeping out. Don't let them see you cry. Don't show them any signs of weakness. No one wants a weepy player on their team with no bite, you thought to yourself. Perhaps a not-too-healthy way of thinking, but you knew the cutthroat nature of this sport, the constant comparing of female football players to the male ones. Miraculously, you managed to keep your forming tears at bay.

"I'm almost certain you will be ready to play the next game," your coach explained. Slowly nodding, you walked off the training pitch. If you were a cartoon character, you were sure steam would be coming out of your ears.

That night, you wanted to let loose, to drink away your anger and sadness. You told yourself a trip to the local bar with your girlfriends wasn't a bad idea, and so off you went. Despite your foul mood, you put on a navy blue high neck silk dress and strappy heels. The cut-outs on the side of the dress made your toned abs peek through. You felt confident, felt unstoppable.

Strutting up to the bar, you ordered tequila for yourself and your friends, looking forward to letting the alcohol take your mind someplace else other than the fact that you still couldn't play. Then, a light tap on your shoulder.

"Didn't think someone so cold could look so...inviting," the voice said close to the shell of your ear. Pedri. It was almost alarming how you managed to recognize his voice so quickly. You tried to ignore the tiny little butterflies his voice so close to you made you feel, how your stomach felt the same a year and a half ago when he kissed you in a drunken state. Feeling butterflies towards a Barcelona player? And such a cocky, smug one at that? Blasphemy.

"Pedri, por favor. Are you resorting to stalking me now?" You snarled.

"Bold of you to think you'd even be worth my time," he retorted. "Just funny how we keep bumping into each other, no? Fate trying to tell us something? Although fate doesn't know I'd never be with someone with that much arrogance."

"I'm the arrogant one? Please - you make some goals here and there and suddenly you're Barcelona's shining star and now you think you're God's greatest gift to mankind. Do me a favor, Pedri, eh? Go hit on someone else," you said as you turned around, pushing him away from you and wandering off back to your friends.

A shot of tequila in one hand, your friend's hand in the other, you stormed to the dance floor to try and salvage the night and your mood. Yet, you couldn't help but feel that Pedri's eyes were glued on you as you started moving on the dance floor, the alcohol overtaking your body. Although instead of dulling your emotions, the alcohol and music only heightened them. You started thinking - no, overthinking - about your work, your health, everything, on the dance floor. "I need some air," you called out to your friend.

Sitting on the sidewalk outside of the bar, your emotions started to overtake you. You couldn't hold back your tears, and yet you didn't fully understand why.

"Pasa algo?" Did something happen?

You didn't need a second glance to know who was speaking. You only shook your head. Pedri sat down next to you on the sidewalk, silent, and handed you a napkin he had in his pocket. Then, "Ordinarily, I'd say something to rile you up. But I don't like seeing anyone like this."

You were a bit shocked at his cordiality. "It's fine, don't worry about it."

He paused, then slowly moved his right hand to lightly rest on yours. His touch was soft, gentle. You hardly expected it from him, given your constant bickering and slight animosity anytime you saw each other, save for the one takeout session. You turned your face to look at him, and instead of the usual mockery in his brown eyes, you saw...was it understanding? Yearning? Empathy? You couldn't quite put your finger on it.

"It's obviously something if you're on the sidewalk crying. Dime." Tell me.

"I just...sometimes I don't know why I play. What I do this for. This goddamned injury, it just makes me feel so useless, so helpless," you sighed, your fingers running through your hair. He nodded.

He chose his words carefully before proceeding. "I know the feeling. The uselessness, the anger, the eagerness to get back on the pitch. But maybe these things happen for a reason. To make us...stronger? Although I know it doesn't feel like it now." He paused, then said, "If you need someone to talk to-"

"I'm surprised at your offer, given that you've made it clear that you hate me."

A faint smile tugged at his lips. He gently rested his hand on your knee and looked into your eyes. It felt like a lifetime before he said, "Maybe I don't hate you, after all. Maybe I've enjoyed our banter, but really all I've wanted to do was kiss you again. And I haven't admitted it to myself until now." His hand carefully moved from your knee, gently cupping your face, seeking your approval. For the first time, you didn't want to swat his hand away. Carefully, you leaned in and kissed him, your lips softly meeting each other before deepening the kiss just a bit.

As you slowly pulled away, you said, "You know, instead of sassy remarks, you could just ask me out."

"You've got yourself a deal," he smiled as he put his arm around you and pulled you in, your head resting on his shoulder.

You weren't sure how long the two of you stayed like that. You thought to yourself that maybe coincidentally running into each other wasn't too bad. And that maybe, just maybe, fate wasn't such a bad thing, either, after all.

#pedri x reader #pedri fluff #pedri fanfic #football fanfic #pedri #pedri imagine #pedri x y/n #enemies to lovers #pedri x you #pedro gonzalez #footballer fanfiction

[beevean]

"NFCV's portrayal of Dracula is a masterpiece, it finally gave depth to the character! His sorrow is sympathetic, he's not just an evil guy for evil guy's sake! He's deep, nuanced!"

Is he? Is he, though?

The more I think about Dracula (the games one obv), the more it angers me how the show treated him. In its best seasons, to boot.

Because yes, they certainly put a lot of focus on his grief, and took care to humanize him. And that's the issue.

The idea, on paper, is wonderful. Dracula is a monster moved by human emotions. He's a danger to the entirety of mankind, God's direct enemy, but at his core, he's a man bereft for the loss of his wives.

The very first episode nailed it! He makes an utterly terrifying entrance in Targoviste, as a pillar of fire threatening the people to move out in a year lest they face his wrath. They don't believe him. He keeps his word. He does not hold back.

And he caps it off with this chilling, yet tragic speech:

Kill everything you see. Kill them all. And once Targoviste has been made into a graveyard for my love, go forth into the country. Go now. Go to all the cities of Wallachia: Arges! Severin! Gresit! Chilia! Enisara! Go now and kill. Kill for my love! Kill for the only true love I ever knew. Kill for the endless lifetime of hate before me.

This is Dracula. This is the Devil himself who is absolutely destroyed by the loss of his love, knows that he will never be able to move on, and by all the forces of Hell, he will make everyone feel his misery.

Season 2, by all means, should have capitalized on this. Imagine the great contrast it would be: one scene shows Dracula, in his firey form, sending his forces, the Night Creatures that he forced Hector and Isaac to make all night, to raze an entire village to ashes... and the next, he retreats to his quarters to slump in his chair, speaking in a soft and broken voice, and suddenly, he is a man again. It would show his duality so well.

But the show simply forgot the first part.

The entirety of the plot in S2 is that Dracula has stopped being a villain. This is the crux of the conflict! Dracula spends his entire time moping in his chair, and he's so Depressed™ that he literally loses control of his forces... which allows Carmilla to more or less replace him.

There you have it: Dracula's entire arc in S2.

Dracula gets nothing but "humanizing" moments. He speaks civilly to Carmilla after she makes a fool out of him. He commiserates to Isaac about how no one is his friend anymore, taking care to sit by his side like they're buddies. He doesn't care about anything anymore, thus allowing Carmilla to run amok and play Hector and Isaac like recorders (I would say "like a fiddle" but that would imply talent). His plan gets described, multiple times, including by his own son, as nothing more than a suicide mission that will accidentally take down everyone with him. Most importantly, Dracula is painted as being simply a shortsighted fool, who lied to Hector to hire him and then he's surprised that he's distancing himself, who never thought ahead when it cames to blood perserves, who really, why didn't he just turn Lisa into a vampire, is he stupid?

(he's literally doing a :( face. i cannot make this shit up)

Once again: his death scene, which is at its core him being taken down by his own emotions, is brilliant in a vacuum. But in context, it breaks down spectacularly: Dracula has done nothing but feel sorry for himself for 7 episodes now. Where is the guy who made guts and man-eating demons fall from the sky? This is such a blatant attempt to defang (hehe) an iconic antagonist for the sake of 1) propping up an OC, and 2) because we are such good writers and we will fix the shallow games by giving Humanity to our antagonists, to the point where they're not even So Bad After All! (also 3) because woobiefying the dilf will make our horny fans happy)

But like. You can show Dracula's humanity without painting him as such a sad meow meow.

It is said that there was a deplorable incident. Those who did it, those who saw it, those who didn't stop it, the one who created the world, all are equally guilty.

The pain of loss  Distorted overflowing resentment Unquenchable sorrow  The claws of a trembling fist pierce the palm  Becoming a bloody hammer of violence

Gaining what was lost A power as big as sadness A person who rebels against the creator of an existence that will never be lost

One page has the narration describing Dracula's "unquenchable sorrow" that turns his fist into a "bloody hammer of violence"...

"Please, I beg of you, I’m human too!"

"My nourishment is human life and mistakes. I will disappear when humans perish…"

And the next one will have Dracula severely punish his General for daring to question him in his cruel plan for revenge.

And he'll still show some vulnerability to Isaac, but apparently he was okay with him killing Hector and bringing his head back.

And then there's the ending of SoTN, where Dracula finally asks Lisa forgiveness, but not after nearly killing his son and even swearing to wipe away his "vulgar blood" in Japanese. And then there are the implications, most obvious in Grimoire of Souls, that even Dracula has grown tired of being forced to come back over and over, but shows no sign of remorse.

[...]

It may not be shown in depth as NFCV does, but even if more is left to imagination, the games do a much better job at walking the line between "Dracula is the Devil incarnate, a spiteful monster who only desires death and destruction" and "Dracula is the former shell of a man who was broken by grief and cannot let go of his pain".

So yeah. I'm not impressed by the show trying too hard to make me cry for its ineffective, pathetic, pitiful version of Dracula.

#anti netflixvania #i'll also leave los fans to confirm that that series did “tragic dracula” better than nfcv did #having these thoughts swirling in my head because i'm self conscious about how i write him lmao #Youtube

[randomwriteronline]

Pohatu looks at him. If he could cry, he would.

The specific words are lost, but he remembers they are spoken in a baffled tone, more desperate than bitter. He remembers he is, literally, between a rock and a hard place - three walls of rock to be specific, and with his only escape blocked by the Toa of Stone who cornered him to get answers out of him.

A silly idea, he would scoff - to go and ask for information to the one who hates to speak. But Pohatu is not stupid, he knows that, and he must have figured it was his best shot, and he was right.

He is good at singling out the weak links, after all.

He remembers his eyes. He remembers his questions growing more frantic. He remembers him growing angrier by the second.

He remembers how he yells in his face with one last furious sob.

He remembers how he runs off, faster than he can keep track of him.

That's the last he sees of him.

He remembers going back to Tahu. He remembers telling him. He remembers his brother groaning angrily, deciding to cut their losses. It's not like the Order will just leave one of them to die here, anyways. They'll get him. He remembers not being comforted by the thought. He remembers (recognizes only now that he's older and wiser, because back then he was too caught up in wondering what if it were me defecting instead of him? Would he still say that? Would I be just as expendable? to recognize his brother's feelings) Tahu not being comforted by it either.

He remembers answering to the rest of his only somewhat worried siblings that Pohatu found something to keep himself busy, that's all, and will simply join them later - a lie, another one in a long line.

He remembers asking himself briefly, anxiously, just before the long sleep could ensnare him, if Pohatu would be alright.

If he would find a way out of that death trap.

If they would ever see him again.

Then his head hurts worse than Karzhani and he squeezes his eyes harder with a suffering whimper, turning to his side, reaching out as best as he can to touch his temple - there is a dent there, he's sure of it, as large as a boulder, and his skull hurts so, so badly - only for a hand to still his palm.

"Hold on, hold on," says a voice that sounds like Jaller, even though that's idiotic because they lost their younger Toa siblings earlier, when they dove in the waters to escape the Rahkshi.

Some kind of heat presses against his wound: he hisses, but it hurts less than it already did. It's almost soothing.

When he opens his eyes he is laying on the ground. Noticeably, earth-ground. Not rock-ground, or protodermis ground. Lewa is holding his hand. Jaller is, indeed, right next to him, tending to the dent in his head, working to make the metal malleable enough to pull it back into shape. Kongu seems to be doing something similar to Onua, who is not conscious yet. Nuparu is trying to work on the cave more, raising the ceiling, widening the space, and Gali is telling him to rest because he looks exhausted. He insists he can do it. Hahli tells him to shut up and that she'll handle the rest. The sound of water being pulled into the air and pressurized enough to carve through the walls clues him on the fact that yes, he did hear something like waves earlier. There must be an opening onto the sea close by. Or a hidden passageway into deeper waters. Tahu's voice reaches him from impossibly far away. He is asking if he's alright. He hisses back some kind of affirmation.

Once the pain ebbs enough for him to be able to sit up without feeling like disassembling himself, Onua is almost awake too.

He can see the small pool from which his younger sister is drawing her element from here, although it's fairly dark. Once the stream is allowed to stop, the surface remains troubled.

Where is his sword? Ah - there.

A large splash.

Hewkii emerges from the pool with a grunting cry, beaching himself onto the wet ground hard; tightly secured in his arms Takanuva, maskless, breathes long and harsh through his mouth, sputtering as air fills his lungs once more.

His bruised wrists tremble as he holds onto his brother of Stone.

#bionicle #pohatu #kopaka #tahu #onua #lewa #gali #jaller #hahli #nuparu #kongu #hewkii #takanuva #random writing #orpiment au #jumping forward briefly - there will be two chapters tat explain how we get here later #this one wasnt planned btw. it physically walked out of my brain by itself and i had no say on that #anyways i am back to begging yall for fucking feedback

[honeysuckle-venom]

So. I actually started a lot of lifestyle changes about a month ago, shortly after getting my MRI results and checking in with my therapist a bit. I felt 95% sure the hepatologist would tell me I needed to lose weight, and I knew that if I hadn't started at least a little bit on that path before seeing her I would be even more triggered by being told that. Once I did, unsurprisingly, get told that on Monday I further cemented some of those changes and got a bit stricter about certain things, but in general this has been in the works for a little over a month.

I'm basically dieting, I guess, except I'm trying to be healthy about it and make "lifestyle changes" instead of like going on paleo or whatever. The thing is, I don't believe in dieting. I detest diet culture, I hate moralizing about food and fatphobia and all of that bullshit. I love the anti-diet and fat liberation movements, and while I never fully recovered from my eating disorder, that lense helped me more than any other form of treatment ever has. I am, generally speaking, morally opposed to a lot of what I'm doing right now. But I also need to do it, because I don't want to risk tumor growth and complications or surgery. And I know going into it with this specific motivation and attitude is different than just deciding to diet because I think I need to be skinny to be pretty or whatever, that I'm doing something medically necessary and not actually betraying my values, but it doesn't always feel that way, and that struggle is very hard.

I also don't know how to talk about what I'm doing without using diet culture terms and concepts at times. But I need to be able to talk about this whole experience on my blog, because it's kind of taking over my life atm. So I will do my best to warn for things and I will ALWAYS at the very least use the tag "weight loss cw" on all posts related to this, because I don't want to be irresponsible or trigger people, but I also need to be able to talk about my life.

So. Below this is where I really start talking about what I'm doing and how it feels. Warning for some diet culture language, discussion of restricting certain foods, exercise, food journaling, nutritionists, intentional weight loss, and other related topics. No numbers, but this is potentially more triggering than posts related to my food issues have been in the past because I do discuss specific behaviors.

So. For the past month I've been attempting to lose weight. The current strategies I've employed include: exercising every day, keeping track of what I eat in a food journal, and cutting out a lot of "unhealthy" foods. I hate even saying that, I believe that all foods have a place in a healthy diet (and also that health isn't a moral obligation but that's a separate though related issue). But! I am doing a specific thing and don't have better language to talk about it! Saying "less nutritionally dense foods" just sounds stupid so, whatever. "Unhealthy" or "less healthy" it is for now. The biggest change is I'm not eating refined carbs 90% of the time. There's room for a little bit of them but not much. I'm trying to get a lot of protein, fiber, and healthy fats. Lots of vegetables and legumes and whole grains and whatnot. The good news for me is that I actually already really like a lot of those foods. Lentils are one of my favorite foods of all time, I like all beans, I like most vegetables, I like farro and brown rice, I like carrots and hummus, I like all fruits except grapefruits, etc. I enjoy the foods I do get to eat. So that's nice. But even though I ate all of those things before, these days it's all I eat pretty much. I used to also eat potato chips and m&m's and things like that. But I got rid of all of that stuff and haven't had it in over a month.

I'm also exercising every day. So far it's been primarily on my exercise bike that I have at home, because it has a desk attached and I can distract myself on my computer while I bike, because I HATE exercise. I just hate it. I hate being gross and sweaty and feeling like my heart's pounding and I can't breathe, but that's the fucking point lol. My muscles hurt and sweat drips down my face and it's just miserable. But as of today my dad and I have joined the local community center, which has a pool. Swimming is the one form of exercise I like. You don't feel how sweaty you are because you're in the water, your joints don't hurt, you can pretend to be a mermaid. It's so much better. So that's really good news. Hopefully I'll swim a few times a week and use the bike on the other days, and that will make everything more pleasant and also use more muscles than just my legs on the bike.

The thing is, it's actually not that hard to eat this way? My brain is obsessed with food rules, and has been since I was literally in preschool. I have always had various rules around food. Adjusting those rules to be more permissive is incredibly difficult, but adjusting them to be stricter? Not hard. I'm not tempted to "fall off the wagon" or whatever, because those foods have entered a space in my brain called "forbidden" and so I can't even imagine eating them without an alarm blaring in my head. And that's dangerous. The thing that is hard about what I'm doing is I know I'm in relapse zone, but I don't know how to not fucking be there when I'm trying to lose weight. I'm spending hours and hours each day obsessing about food and exercise, planning what to eat next, researching nutrition information and vegan recipes, etc etc etc. It sucks. I get trapped in these awful spirals and it's just all-encompassing. I've managed to avoid the worst behaviors: I haven't looked up fitspo even though I've had strong urges to do so, I mostly manage to avoid counting calories, and I don't let myself look at the scale. My therapist takes my weight once a week but I don't look. I'm trying to keep things on the healthier side, to not just full on relapse. But it's really, really fucking difficult to do both at the same time. I don't know how to find the balance yet.

The good news is that I found a nutritionist who I think shares a lot of my values and is willing to support me with weight loss, which I was worried wouldn't be possible. Bc all the anti-diet folks don't do weight loss at all, and all the weight loss people are...evil? Yeah, evil. But I really feel the need for professional support, even more than just my therapist, and so I didn't know what to do. But I think I found someone. I haven't met with her yet, but I've gotten in touch and hopefully we'll find a time for next week and I'll be able to update with how she is. Because this is really hard, and trying to balance the physical and mental without falling off a cliff is proving impossible without a lot of help. I have good help from my therapist, but if I could have some additional support it would be a good thing. So fingers crossed for that.

#my post #text post #weight loss cw

[ramonag-if]

I just had to tell you. The way you write family angst? Akin to how our old pal Da Vinci wields a paintbrush. Masterfully.

When Ahlf died? I was gutted. Genuinely. I'd been watching him and MC interact, holding out hope that they'd one day get to form a... warmer father-child relationship. Then he died. MC watched him die. I watched him die. I MC was so devastated, I MC called Crown's name stupid (Sorry, Crown. You too, Irus). Let it be noted that I'd been playing the shy/sincere MC till then. I was so gutted, MC moped/angsted all the way to the temple, while I sat there internally blubbering over the loss of MC's grumpy, emotionally unavailable, father.

(In case it hasn't been made clear yet, I also have father issues in the spades).

(Also, MC recovered their shy/sincere nature eventually. And became absolutely besotted with Irus. He obviously already knew, but still. Don't tell him that.)

(You can bet that I MC took all the chances to mourn/blubber over Ahlf whenever the chance came up, though. Those chances did come up frequently enough, now that I think about it. That moment when MC goes through Ahlf's box of letters in his room at Ellie's castle, mourning him and whatnot. Thanks for that, by the way. Really. I'm glad you didn't gloss over the persisting, subtle ache that comes with loss, which so many stories seem to do.)

Then, Salyra. Mama. MC had thought she was dead. I was convinced she was dead. So, seeing her alive and well and with a whole new husband and child to boot was. Wow.

By then, I had already fully immersed into the story. And while I don't see MC as myself, rather as an odd extension of my soul that I'm watching like some omniscient being who has nothing better to do with their time, I was, well.

Gutted. Again. And MC, too.

I MC's been going back and forth between being uncertain or bitterly angry for a while now. And Maybe accidentally gave Rana a Mean Look while still reeling over how Salyra was alive, with a new family.

When Salyra protected Rana from MC's Big Bad Stare and gave MC a disappointed look? Wow. Delicious scene. MC damn near imploded into a very sad confetti of abandonment and bitterness anger, but I really have to admit. That was peak writing and character interaction right there.

The best thing? None of the characters were demonized for all the things they'd done wrong. Not Ahlf, not Salyra, not MC. They were so human, in their actions and reactions and emotions and tears. You can hate them, you can love them, you can feel nothing about them, but they weren't just characters with an 'MC's parents: kind of really bad at it' label tacked on. They were characters made human, fleshed out and alive and raw.

Which is why it makes it hurt so much more. Makes all the family angst hurt so, so much more.

And I'm all for that, obviously.

Ah, and a special mention! The scene where MC just hugs Irus for comfort after another showdown with Salyra? Spectacular. Outstanding. Covering your arm with gold star stickers as we speak. I have to admit, I damn near melted at that scene. They're so cute. God.

Aaand after that long, long spiel that was definitely just 90% rambling, I'm bringing whatever this mess is to a close. So, Ra; (can I call you that? It sounds cool) thank you for bringing this story into existence, and for sharing it with us all. It was a lovely, beautiful experience, and I'm excited to see what lies ahead in this bloody wild ride you're taking us all on. You're awesome. Once again, thank you!!

Ah, thank you so much! 😭💖 Your message just made me smile like a fool! I don't think I'm anywhere near Da Vinci levels in writing family angst, so it means a lot to me that you enjoyed what I've written so far.

I felt really bad at the way Ahlf died, but his death had been planned long before Chapter 1 had been written. His death was supposed to be less dramatic than the way he went, but as I do try to remind readers, I'm a pantser opposed to a planner when writing so I rarely stick to my chapter outlines and will usually just go with my gut 😅 Ahlf's death really set the tone for the rest of the game, so I'm glad you enjoyed all the small moments to simply mourn his death. I knew that I was going into IF the way I normally write books - emotions are valued over branching/plot points.

Salyra was never going to be this complicated. She wasn't going to be married with another child either 😅 I obviously ignored plans and went right ahead into Angst Central, because I kept questioning Salyra as a mother and the person she would have become in the absence of Ahlf and the MC and suddenly, she was very complicated and brought a lot of baggage.

It was definitely important to showcase that it isn't all good and bad with Ahlf and Salyra. I know neither of them is perfect - no parent is perfect though they are quite far from that bar of being good parents 😬 You'll always get the choice to feel as you feel and the characters will always respond to your MC's choices. I do prefer the emotional development of the characters to the external factors, so glad you're feeling it too!

I actually enjoyed the scene where the MC cries into the ROs shoulder opposed to the hug. But that's just me, being an emotional wreck of a person when playing IF 😅

Please feel free to call me whatever you want 😋 I am quite liking Ra because Ra is my favourite Egyptian god and from my many nicknames over the years, I've never been called Ra before 😂

Thank you again for your support and kind words! I really do appreciate it 💖 It really makes writing the game worthwhile and pushes me to continue writing it.

#crown of exile #answered asks #thank you so much #💖 #salyra #ahlf #princeirus

[hawkinsp0st]

the Party is watching a movie in the basement, they don’t really know what’s going on with vecna so they’re all pretty on edge but trying to get some rest. max, lucas, dustin & el have all fallen asleep, so it just leaves mike & will sitting next to each other on the couch.

it’s a slasher film, it came out when they were kids and they’ve seen it before. will likes it because of the shitty special effects that he can giggle about with mike, and also because of the cute boy in the lead role, playing alongside a scream-queen as his girlfriend.

but all good things must come to an end, because will knows what happens in the penultimate scene: the Cute Boy finds his way into a utility closet, accidentally locking himself away with the murderer. he doesn’t make it out, leaving only the Final Girl, who goes on to defeat the monster at last.

normally, at this part, mike just laughs a little at the clearly-fake blood splattered across the wall behind the killer. but not this time.

instead, mike goes unusually quiet when the Final Girl walks in and sees her boyfriend’s body. will even snickers and points out how the girl’s acting seems so forced, to try and bring mike back into the moment, but mike’s still zoned out and looking vaguely sad.

will pauses the movie. “hey, mike. everything okay?” he’s very quiet, not wanting to disturb their sleeping friends.

“yeah, um…” mike looks at the floor and then back at the screen. “yeah. just… do you ever hate growing up?”

will lets out a nervous laugh. “yeah, i mean… of course i do. i miss the days when we’d just sit in here and…” and play dnd and nintendo and laugh and there was no one else in my little world but us, he thinks. “yeah.” will takes a risk, scoots closer to mike, ostensibly for listening purposes, but will knows he’s holding the ulterior motive of simply being close.

“it’s just… when we watched shit like this before, i was fine. i never thought twice about ‘oh, how is that person’s family going to feel when they find out he got murdered?’ but i’m watching it now and it’s like…” mike puts his head in his hands for a moment, and then looks at will. “we’ve been in danger, will. it hits close to home, you know?”

will does know. in fact, that’s why he likes horror movies—there’s an odd comfort in suffering with a (fictional) stranger. it makes him feel less alone.

will frowns, seeing mike in distress. he thinks for a moment before putting a hand on mike’s shoulder. “yeah, it’s… difficult to think about. to say the least. what we’ve been through.” he’s quick to correct himself, worried about coming off too, well, them-focused while mike’s just trying to work through his emotions. “this Party, and el, i mean.”

mike nods. he still looks troubled, but the tension in his back and shoulders appears to dissipate at the contact from will, and he relaxes. will notices, but he thinks it’s… probably nothing. he pulls his arm back carefully.

“i think what got me,” mike explains, seeming hesitant. “i think what got me was… that guy in the movie… he didn’t get to say goodbye.”

will’s heart clenches. god, they’ve been through far too much loss, all of them.

mike’s eyes are shiny as he continues. “you know what i mean?” will nods. “like, he was out there in the woods with his girlfriend, and things were a little tense, and i feel like there are so many things he didn’t get to say to her. i don’t think they ever said ‘i love you.’”

will is finding words, swallowing down painful memories of watching mike tell el he loves her, when mike presses on. “this is so stupid, i’m sorry.”

“no, mike. you’re right. it’s… extremely tough to process. what you’re feeling is more than okay.”

“i just don’t know how to…” mike seems to swallow back tears, and will thinks he might cry himself, seeing mike like this. “it sounds so dumb, but i don’t know how to prevent that happening to me. and sometimes i feel like…” mike’s eyes flicker to will’s lips, then his neck. whoa, will thinks, focus. mike needs you. “sometimes i feel like it’s already happened.”

oh, will thinks, a twinge of guilt appearing at the disappointment he feels, when he should just concentrate on being there for mike, no strings attached. “oh. this is about el,” will states simply, leaving it open if mike wants to elaborate but not pushing. he thinks mike is likely just processing the emotions around his recent breakup.

it’s almost like mike didn’t hear him because he just says, “will. when’s the last time you felt… him? vecna?” will feels an intense chill go up his spine and into the base of his neck, and not the good kind of chill, the one he gets when mike casually holds the door for him or smiles at him in a way that makes him melt. no, right now it’s not that kind, at all.

“mike, i… it’s different now. i don’t know how to explain it. it’s like a dull ache instead of that sharp feeling—like he’s always here. like he’s always…” will instinctively reaches his left hand to touch the back of his neck, before realizing that it’s not one of those times and vecna isn’t here right now and can he just calm down for once, and putting his hand down.

mike looks petrified and a little frantic, like he’s trying to convey something urgent. “will.”

“mike,” will replies, part of him suddenly knowing what mike is trying to say, that same part of him wanting to stop it before it becomes real—before it gets laid out right here in the basement with everyone snoring around them—that mike loves him. it’s too dangerous, will thinks. i’d break. “this is about el.”

mike hardly breaks eye contact as he raises his hand to the spot on the back of will’s neck that will had been holding onto in fear just moments ago. mike holds his hand there, gently pressing his fingers against the warm skin.

“no.”

#oops #byler #byler fanfic #byler ficlet #duffers

[antimonyandthyme]

Athy Athy pls Mark searching photos from their times in RBR together to post and realising that Seb was in love with him!! maybe having crisis over that!! and maybe regretting to see it so late ('good job Webber, now what') and Seb definitely moved on, he is happy and content with /Lewis/Charles/George/goddamnit even Fernando/ and you are here with heart broken without your knowledge 😵‍💫 or maybe not?

Anon anon anon this is something I want to write so badly totally stemming from when Mark was unhinged on Insta and picked very specific photos for Seb’s retirement which left all of us going Mark Webbah what goes on!!!

Fair warning this doesn’t necessarily have a happy ending anon!

It’s such a big thing, Seb retiring. Such a loss for the sport. Mark knows Seb’s gonna try to make it less of a big thing, and he knows he’ll say silly things like I won’t be remembered, so Mark’s going to go out of his way to make it clear he will be. And he goes through the dozens of photos of them together when they were in RBR to pick a special one. And it turns out it takes infinitely longer than expected, because every one is a special one. Its all got some story behind it. Its all got so much history behind it. That one where they jumped into the river together. That one where they rode in a rickshaw together. The one where they were forced to make up. The one where Mark left.

Mark ends up spending an hour scrolling through photos with something unnamed building up in his chest. It takes him awhile to identify it.

Oh, he’s furious. That’s what it is.

Sometimes you don’t realize what you’ve got when it’s right in front of your face. Since when had Seb looked at him like that? Since a long, long, long time apparently. Even in 2013, where they were meant to hate and tear each other apart. He looks at a couple more photos before the feeling erupts through him and he drops his head in his hands.

What’s he to do now? Show up to where Seb is at the paddock, where he’s looking happier and lighter and freer than he’s ever looked, at the thought of finally being able to leave to be with his family and spend time seeing his children grow up? What will he say? Leave everything to be with me, Seb, now that I’m no longer an idiot and have realized you’ve been in love with me all this time and I’ve been in love with you just the same? No, in this he can be selfless. He can pick one stupid photo for his stupid Instagram and let this whole thing lie.

(He can’t.)

“And you tell me this now,” Seb says, quiet in a way that is so unlike him. “Now, when I’m married, and have children, and am leaving, you tell me this now?”

Anon I don’t know how this is ends.

#athy texts #fanfic #rpf #martian #uh oh uh oh uh oh!

[shipsgaysfordays]

Get it on, Wish, Heart, Dream, Lovesick, Hate, Beloved, Darling

This is likely going to be a first chapter, I think given this and the last story I wrote (Outside of Madness) I may just be really into the fake dating trope rn.

 They/them pronouns for Sirius.

Using all the prompts listed above from @wolfstarmicrofic

“Do you even have a heart?” Sirius said, rolling their eyes until they landed on the boy across from them. 

“Well Padfoot, we are playing cards, there’s about a 25% chance that I have at least one heart in my hand right now,” Moony spoke matter of factly, gesturing with his cards in his hands. 

“Not what I mean,” Sirius took a sip from their witches brew, mourning the last 4 losses. 

“Then I have no idea what you are referring to mate,” Remus grinned, that sly devilish grin that only comes from a winning streak in cards. 

“What are you talking about, Pads?” James asked, reminding Sirius that them and Remus are not alone. 

Sirius put their hands through their hair, “I don’t think I even know anymore,” their eyes stayed on Remus. Remus didn’t look back, all he saw were the cards. The numbers, the black and red, the spades, the clubs, the diamonds, the hearts, the chance of victory. 

“Well that’s nothing new,” Peter joked. 

A few cards are put down, some groups of kings, I’m fucked, some groups of aces, I’m dead–no coming back from this, and a tiny group of red 3’s added to the pile. 

“How about we make this round just a bit more interesting,” Peter says. 

“What are you suggesting, Wormy?” James almost regrets asking, Peter’s pranks are almost always some sort of embarrassing psychological torture, they love him but damn can the boy be a prick. Then again, he’s almost always at the end of the rest of their jokes.

“The winner and the biggest loser have to pretend they’re dating until valentine's day,” Peter takes a big sip of his beer, which gets almost immediately spit out as Sirius shakes him. 

“No, no, no, no!” Sirius shouts, “look I know we all play some sick jokes on each other sometimes, but we’re not ruining my chances of getting a date this valentines.” 

“Sounds like a chicken to me, what do you think Moony,” Peter turned to Remus, who was as bright red as the pigment on the cards he stared at. 

Remus blinked, “What did you say again Wormtail?” 

“You think Sirius’ being a cowardly little lion about this fake dating shit?” 

“Yeah…sure I guess, I mean it’s not really a dream for me either though. No offense, but we all know I’m going to be the winner, and I’m sorry but the idea of kissing one of you lads doesn’t really pique my fancy,” Remus picked at his sweater threads. Sirius really hates this idea that much, the boy thought, they’re really that disgusted with dating me, I mean it makes sense, but…I thought we might have something. I wish we did.

“And I thought we had some Gryffindors on our hands Wormy,” James leans his head on his fist, staring at the friends around him, “are we in or not?” 

Sirius stared at Remus for a moment, trying to will him to look up at them, to understand. This isn’t how this is supposed to happen. 

“OH, ohhhhhhh, what if the winner has to wear some t shirt, like Remus’ Beloved?” Peter smirks.

“Oh I’m in this now, I don’t think you understand how much I need that shirt, Wormy. I’m playing to win–I mean loose,” James says, glancing back at Sirius. 

Sirius sighs, “No, no, I forfeit,” and with that they got up and left the room, slamming the door. This isn’t just some joke, some stupid prank. This is fucking serious, they’re screwing me over. If I could just speak with James and Pete…just explain a few things to them.

Sirius stomped out haughty, down the steps to the common room, where next they were unsure until setting their eyes on a girl. 

…

“Get it on, get it on!” Peter chants as James pulls over his newly won shirt. 

The two boys proceed to stare at Remus expectantly, his new shirt still in his hands. 

“I hate you all,” Remus says, which he always says but it feels just a bit less like a joke this time.

“You know you love us, but you gotta put the shirt on, them’s the rules,” James smiles. 

After a minute of continued stillness and silence, an exacerbated Peter says, “Get. It. ON. Or I swear I’ll put it on you myself.”

Remus slips on the shirt James’ Darling written across his chest, his eyes light up for a moment and quickly he pulls a sweater on top of it, “Never specified that I couldn’t just cover it,” Remus grins from ear to ear, turning and leaving to the library with a spring in his step. Getting out of the room before any of the other boys could criticize him or change their random rules.

As soon as Remus is out of earshot, James turns back to Peter.

“And now we wait for the two idiots to realize how lovesick they are for each other,” James smiles. 

“Pleasure doing business with you Prongs,” Peter shakes his hand.

#wolfstar #Wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #fake dating

[lossie92]

I haven’t been feeling well and my energy is zapped, so no writing or art is happening, but I talked with @kooriicolada and @wisiaden today about this post and our talk reminded me of one of my WIPs.

In this AU Izuna died, but Madara didn’t go crazy. Tobirama feels guilty for killing Izuna, because in his loneliness he considered him to be a friend. The below is a conversation Madara and Tobirama have at one point to address Izuna and their feelings regarding his death.

Hope you enjoy this random snippet 😶

-

"But..." Tobirama cut himself off, unsure how to continue. None of what Madara was saying or doing made any sense. "I... Don't you—? I killed Izuna, I... Why aren't you, I don’t know, angry?"

Madara was silent for a long time before he responded. "I was. At the beginning." He smiled a bit, the expression rueful. "It was easy to be angry, easier still to hate you. A man I never met who killed my last brother... Of course I resented you for it."

"Then why—?"

"Because it's stupid to hate someone for trying to survive," Madara answered. "My brother, may his soul rest in peace, was trying to kill you, you know. Whatever your feelings on the matter... I doubt he shared them. He hated the Senju and wanted to see you dead, simple as that. I, on the other hand... 

“Well, it's not that simple for me. My friendship with your brother… It made me look at your clan and see people instead of enemies. I don't hate them and, over time, I stopped hating you too. You're not to blame for this, Tobirama. You didn't cause the war that took Izuna away. I'm grieved that he died and I'll mourn his loss for the rest of my life, but that's not your fault, not entirely at least. You were just the blade that cut him down. Nothing more."

Tobirama could only stare. That was… It didn’t make sense. None of it made any fucking sense. Still, it felt good to hear Madara say it. His words felt like an absolution that Tobirama didn’t think he deserved, yet craved all the same. 

"I… I'm… I just—" To his horror he realised he was crying and couldn't stop. "I'm sorry, so s-sorry… I didn't— it was not supposed to happen. I'm… h-he wasn't meant t-to—"

He couldn't continue. His voice refused to cooperate with him further and he choked on a sob, feeling stupid for breaking down like this. 

What right did he have to cry over Izuna? None. Izuna wouldn’t want his tears or his grief; would have likely ridiculed him for this show of weakness. As Madara had said, the man had hated him and had wanted him dead. It was logical to assume he would find Tobirama’s sadness over his passing disgusting, which, ironically enough, only made him cry harder. 

What an idiot he was. Missing someone who wouldn’t have cared less about him. He knew it wasn't something he should feel. If anything, he should be relieved. But he couldn't find it in himself to feel that. 

Izuna had been a constant in his life for years. It took his sudden death for Tobirama to realise he had come to consider the Uchiha heir a friend of sorts and the pain of that realisation, of knowing he had lost someone again and that if things were different they might have been friends in truth— It hurt to think about, plain and simple. Tobirama had always thought that the war was pointless and senseless, and just about the stupidest thing in the world, but it didn't hit him until he actually killed someone he had come to care about in whatever twisted, grotesque way it was just how terribly he had wanted it to stop. That the end came too late for Izuna was hardly fair. In fact, it was an unimaginably cruel thing. 

He flinched at the touch of Madara’s hand at his back, surprised that the other man was willing to touch him and grateful for it in equal measure. It was strange to feel the warmth and the solid weight of that palm as Madara began to move his hand up and down in gentle, sure strokes, offering support that Tobirama surely didn’t deserve.

When Madara spoke after a moment, his voice was quiet, but the words he spoke were no less powerful for it.

"Every single person who kept this conflict going is culpable for Izuna's death," he said. "You, me, Hashirama, the elders of our clans, the Daimyo… Everyone. And I would be a fool to blame you more for it than the others. Especially when I know you regret it so much and so honestly. 

He paused and then added, tone softening. “No matter how stupid I think it is… I appreciate your apology and your grief, Tobirama. I accept it too and, for what’s worth, I forgive you. But don’t blame yourself for this anymore. You too are a victim of circumstance here. Just like we all are. It is of no use to hold onto these feelings when you cannot change what happened either. All it will do is keep you from moving forward with your life and it’s not worth it. Izuna, for all that I love him, isn’t worth your sadness or grief or the tears you shed for him.”

#mdtb #madatobi #tobirama #madara #izuna #wip #work in progress #tw grieving #angst as per usual #will i ever write sth more upbeat? #doubtful #but one can hope lol #naruto #naruto founders #naruto fanfiction #lossie writes

[alostlittleriverlotus]

being constantly projected onto as if I'm not even a person makes me so delusional. It's one reason why I especially hate the narc abuse folks. It genuinely makes me dissociate, delusional, and struggle to feel real or have a sense of reality. And dissociation+delusion is NOT a fun time. Like everyone in my life typically projects onto me anyway, but it's why that stupid narc abuse and any kind of ableism towards PDs pisses me off especially not. I am sent into a spiral of the same unpleasant terrifying loss of self and the world around me feelings that I get if I fight with my abusive parents. I start to lose touch with anyone around me as if they aren't real, I can't see myself as a person, I feel I am only made up of what other people make me, and it is so terrifying and dangerous.

But even just my own friends projecting into me makes me so upset. I don't want your emotions and your trauma projected into me. It makes me feel even less than normal, feel more apathetic than before, feel my emotions become even more muted and diluted. People begin to feel like puppets surrounding me. Quit projecting your trauma and emotions onto me, I don't like emotions anyway. This was mostly inspired from me telling my friend I was upset and then them saying I made them feel incapable cause of intrusive thoughts, something all the shitty people in their life do. And they know that hurts me since I am especially always being the good force in their life. All I did was get upset about our roleplays and change my mind then I'm treated as if I was putting them down. I hate how much my reactions of being so muted in emotions and changing my mind and being upset leads to others projecting onto me trauma of their abusers. Especially when I have worked so hard to stop being abusive and not be toxic and to undo the shitty things I've said to them before.

I'm not abusive for existing. My friend especially knows this as they're my safe person, but it hurt. I cannot express my emotions without being lumped in cause of their thoughts telling them and reacting that way. And I get so tired of dealing with it. Partly cause I will never be able to be relied on for help again since it's directly linked with my trauma from losing my friends. I hate being projected onto. I hate me existing being turned into only what others perceive me as. My emotions, my existence is a trigger for other people even my safe person. And living with that fucking hurts. And it makes me mad too. I want to be living, I want to be real, I want to feel like a person, but I am constantly treated as if I am not.

My friend and I are fine, we talked it out and it wasn't a big deal. It was one thing and I called them out for it right away. But the hurt is still there. I work so hard to be good for them, to provide the positivity and love that they need since they're surrounded by people who disrespect them and belittle them and then me being unhappy about something leads to them getting defensive and reacting just hurts.

My entire life even as a kid, I was projected onto. By my parents, my brothers, my "friends" and shallow relationships. I was autistic and treated as if I wasn't even really a person. Punished for things I never understood, demonized in my most important years, treated as an outlet for people's emotions and if I didn't respond perfectly, I was an awful abusive selfish person. I feel so little like my own person. And I hate it. Especially now with how I'm embracing my apathy, my antisociality, my schizoid stuff and reclaiming the way I react, allowing myself to be what is natural instead of desperately playing up who I am for the sake of acceptance. I'm pretty meh to it overall from other people aside from narc abuse folks triggering delusions and dissociation in me. But coming from my safe person, it hurts. I'm endlessly patient cause I know they're still healing, but it still hurts. It makes me want to hide away my feelings and lie, but then that just causes more problems. Again, my friend and I are fine, I'm just spilling emotions. And getting out the way I feel about myself and how I'm treated by others. For my friend's family, I am just the abusive controlling friend that steals them away from them. For my parents, I am the weird not quite right entitled brat. So few people actually see me unmasked and by that I mean, only MA. So to have them project onto me when they know it's triggering for me and hurts me is a reminder. It's more her trauma than actual projection, but it still makes me feel hollow and unreal. And for such a person like me with such a fragile grip on reality, that is so damaging.

#delusional #dissociation #projection #actually narcissistic #actually antisocial #actually schizoid #alexithymia #actually autistic #personality disorders #personal rambles #actually histrionic #actually borderline #traumatized #unreal #feeling unreal #hurt #safe person #cptsd #antisocial #narcissistic #schizoid #semiverbal #semispeaking