#im terribly sorry about the quality of the last two but i did what i could

[yeonghosins]

tutor!haechan catching reader at a party after canceling a session because they're "sick" and lets say he doesnt take it lightly...

this is so late bc writer block sucks i hate her!!! but enjoy (however short it is. im so sorry)

WORD COUNT !! 1k ish

WARNINGS !! uh uh uh uh uh minor coercion??? idefk, SMUT (DOY) dick sucking/face fucking/all around oral tomfoolery, y/n being kind of stupid, donghyuck being so so sexy and so hot and you should totally read this

he’s here. he’s not supposed to be here. you texted him that you couldn’t come to your session today, that you were sick and bedridden and could barely walk two steps without your head spinning. and now he’s here, at a party you’re supposedly not attending, barely a room’s space between the two of you. 

you were just about to take your third shot when he, your wretched reminder of just how terrible you were doing in your psychology class, donghyuck, sauntered right through the front door.

your fucking tutor.

you’ve been avoiding him all night, but as you walk over to the drinks table to mix another awful tasting jaeger-coke, you catch his gaze. and he squints. 

the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as he registers the fact you’re standing feet from him, scantily-clad and very clearly not sick. he tilts his head, still squinting, as if he were trying to get a closer look at you. and then he starts walking. 

you’d be a fucking loser to run in the other direction, so you stand your ground, gulping down half the bittersweet brown contents of your solo cup as he practically prowls in your direction. he’s got a stupid smirk on his face, his eyebrows raised as he steps closer and you wish you could wipe that expression clean off of him. 

“how’s that fever of yours?” are the first words he speaks as he leans against the wall. 

you’re speechless. the words you want to say can barely form in your brain.

“gosh, y’know, i was really worried about you,” he mocks, crossing his arms over his chest as he revels in your shock. “but i’m glad you’re all better now.”

“donghyuck, i—“

“did those help you get out of bed?” he interrupts. you don’t know what he’s referring to until he points at your feet, at your six-inch stilettos. you wish he’d just let you fall into a ravine. 

“donghyuck—“ you start, but again, he interrupts.

“it’s okay, y’know,” he smiles, shrugging. “i don’t really care. i just hate that you had to lie to me about it. i was sad you’d be missing our quality time together, but i guess the universe had other plans, huh?”

you’re silent. how do you even go about making up for something like this?

he pushes himself off the wall, and takes a step closer to you. “i want you to pay me back.”

you’re stunned. “pay you back? wha—“

“for lying to me,” he says, plucking your solo cup out of your hand. “i hate liars.”

you watch as he downs the remainder of your drink, the muscles at his neck contracting as he swallows. “you’ve gotta do something for me.”

a twinge of excitement runs up your spine at his words. you’d be a liar if you said you weren’t incredibly attracted to your tutor. since the first day, since your professor had assigned her best student to assist you in your studies, you’d always thought he was, well, for lack of a better term, hot as all hell. then, of course, he opened his mouth, and you barely had it in yourself to make it through the entire session. was he charismatic? incredibly. was he also arrogant? quite a bit. you never knew if you wanted to punch him or jump his bones.

“anything,” you quietly respond with, and his eyes darken. he smiles a bit wider, stepping even closer to you.

“anything?” he chuckles, his eyelids lowering as his gaze travels to your lips. he wets his own with a swipe of his tongue, deep in thought.

you nod. “anything.”

the last thing you see before he tugs on your arm and leads you into a room was a smirk on his face.

“fuck,” he practically whines, his hand woven deep in your hair as he pistons his hips into your mouth with vigor. you grip onto his waist, tightly, fighting back the urge to gag as the tip of his dick continuously hits against the back of your throat. 

you look up at him, through your eyelashes and god, isn’t he a sight. brows furrowed, head throwing back erratically as he whines and moans for the life of him in the midst of the throes of pleasure, sweat on his forehead and down his neck. if he weren’t fucking the living daylights out of your face, you’d be all over him. 

“your mouth feels so fucking good,” he moans again, gripping tighter at your hair. you’d complain if it didn’t make you rub your thighs together. “fuck, i’m gonna—“ is all he’s able to get out before you feel a warm liquid fill your throat. the way he moans when he comes his second to heavenly, and a part of you wishes he’d stay in your mouth for a second longer when you feel him pull out. 

“swallow it,” he says between laboured breaths. he wipes the sweat off his brow, and the look he gives you is demeaning—as if he isn’t watching you swallow his own release. “tongue,” he orders, and you stick yours out for him. 

he smiles, and almost laughs, before he digs his thumb into your mouth and presses the rest of his fingers under your chin forcefully. he shakes your head around that way, for a moment, amused at how he’s got you now. practically a toy. all because you lied to miss a tutoring session. 

“up on the bed, doll,” he orders, sucking your own spit and the remainder of his release on his thumb. 

as he watches you crawl, your face as pathetic as ever, with tear-run mascara and glossy, swollen lips, he makes a mental goal to ensure that you never want to miss a session with him ever again.

nct hard hours are always open!

#nct smut #nct #nct dream smut #nct dream #nct dream x reader #haechan smut #haechan x reader #lee haechan smut #donghyuck #lee donghyuck #lee donghyuck smut #haechan hard hours #yeonghosins hard hours

[bentosandbox]

hoshi headcannons GIMMIE [pwease im starving]

woah how did you know i had some (more) bubbling in my head recently after reading the mh collab (not that she appears in it :( but…yato does) also perfect timing since hoshi module Y is about to drop just dropped on EN

read it NOW!!!!

ok so . shes basically like an old salaryman to me just look at that bow (salute emoji) and with all the salarymen traits that come with that like terrible work life balance(well they are all office workers so. all have this but shes like, THE salaryman you know) nomikai addict (kind of real) and a super yes-man except..nobody dares to even make her do something she wouldn't do herself, and not out of fear(well maybe a little for some) but out of respect (probably saved every officer at least once), and being a senior (since she's been with the lgd since day 0) she could technically treat people like they're beneath her (true) but instead she goes super formal-mode the gapmoe(?) is so endearing its like . suddenly thought of the mc from vinland saga whos like ^_^ im so harmless i wont harm anyone (havent not caught up with it for very long though idk if it's still like that)

she likes to (Module X spoilers I guess) idk roleplay being a pushover??? in that story she tl;dr comes to the rescue of a colleague who is like 'ty oni-sis but you should just leave me here 🥹 and she's like (tanks like a champ getting her ID card cracked in the process module.jpg) and goes 'haha sorry that request is a bit too hard why not i uhh help you apply for a bonus instead' it was here i was like ok hoshichen (in that order) is dead to me she would never yaoitop chen !!!!!!!!!!!!!! basically could be left.jpg but is right.png most of the time

she's old… but how old?? I guess touhou type of old…? the other two are like kids to her at times, maybe sometimes she does an old man act to get them to stop quarrelling like sitting at the window and with a coffee and reading something and telling them 'ok im just going to sit here until you two sort it out ok take your time' (they instantly stop)

her and chen: i think i mentioned this somewhere before but chen = wuxia protag hoshi = her mentor (in some capacities since technically wei was her [absent] mentor) she has all the qualities you would want except like in standard mentor fashion, a little conservative (i really do like this…flaw? because to be content with how the LGD operates, it makes you wonder how things were like before…)

her and swire… i like to think sometimes swire brings That Day up and hoshi is just ^_^ i see! and then after chen is gone maybe swire has some difficulty cleaning up the mess and at times takes out the badge to have a 'what would mysterious officer x do' moment and one time hoshi catches her doing that and uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh omg forgot what i wanted to write here

her and lin: man…………….they didn't seem that hot in ch7 but man the potential interactions of an ex-underworld lackey and current underworld heir where is my food hg where are the ingredients i will cook the food myself but i need the ingredients to start with that one interaction was not enough

(quick spoiler warning for monhun collab) basically only the el gatos and rathalos got isekaid so the village is all higashinese and not like a MH village so you get sprinkles of higashi lore

i bring monhun collab up because yato and noir used to be an assassins but they quit da life and yato mentions 'killing your own kind', talks about her last hit she flaked out on but that that another assassin simply killed the mother and daughter duo she was supposed to kill so i was like damn what if hoshiguma also…?? (they are all oni and we all know she's ex-yakuza) or what if… she was the one that had to do yato's job, the hoshi/yato yaoi would be UNREAL but i dont think HG has the guts

also she and yato are ace because uhhhhhh i said so my rhodes my rules no joke i had wanted to do a hoshiguma dating sim for this year's april fools (with a bunch of other ops too but she would be the 'main' route even though there's no 'good' end) but then uhhh time issue anyway don't forget to set the LGD trio's voices to cantonese

#bentoask #Anonymous #bentotexto #because this one got long

[missnight0wl]

(originally, I was gonna screenshot some Wikipedia articles but Tumblr killed the quality so I'm just gonna copy-paste paragraphs, I'll still link the articles https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boeotian_muses https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mneme https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aoede_(mythology) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Melete https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arche_(mythology) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thelxino%C3%AB ) https://at.tumblr.com/missnight0wl/really-sorry-that-im-bothering-you-still-no/upp56bmc1w2m Hmmmm... "In Greek mythology, Mneme was one of the three original Boeotian muses, along with her sisters Aoede and Melete before Arche and Thelxinoë were identified, increasing the number to five"

Hmmmm... You know what else there is 3 of? Cursed students that were used by R before us and that had terrible fates. HYPOTHETICALLY what if those 3 muses are supposed to represent Duncan, Olivia and Jacob. And those 3 muses each have an artefact that will have to be linked with our trio somehow! So ofc Olivia=Mneme=crown because memory! But what about the other 2? "In Greek mythology, Melete was one of the three original Boeotian muses before the Nine Olympian Muses were founded. Her sisters were Aoede and Mneme. She was the muse of thought and meditation. Melete literally means "ponder" and "contemplation" in Greek."

I am linking Melete with Duncan because I can see Duncan sitting alone in the prefect bathroom at night wondering why Jacob did what he did. Why he abandoned him and let R slip away by taking the blame "In Greek mythology, Aoede was one of the three original Boeotian muses, which later grew to five before the Nine Olympian Muses were named. Her sisters were Melete and Mneme. She was the muse of voice and song."

And then we have Aoede! I see her being similar to Jacob because Jacob was desperately trying to tell Dumbledore and the teachers or ANYONE who would listen about the cursed vault and the danger. He also caused the most commotion when it came to the vaults. So Jacob gets the muse of voice! Also Melete and Mneme both start with M and Aoede starts with an A. Jacob is more of a main character than Duncan and Olivia and it's cool that his muse starts with a different letter but maybe that's completely unrelated But I'm not done yet. There are 2 more muses! Archē and Thelxinoë.

"Archē in ancient Greek religion was the muse of origins and beginnings." "This was not the first time that a student looked for the vaults. The last student to have tried was a Gryffindor named Patricia Rakepick, but her claims were dismissed due to a lack of evidence." -Harry potter wiki, Jacob's page, Hogwarts years (1974–1980) Patricia=muse So true.

Also Archē and Aoede both start with A just sayin

"In Greek mythology, Thelxinoë (English translation: "mind charming") was a name attributed to three individuals.

Thelxinoë, one of the sirens. Also known as Thelxiope or Thelxiepia.

Thelxinoë, one of the four later recognized muses in Greek tradition. Her sisters Aoede, Arche and Melete and they were regarded as daughters of Zeus by Plusia. She was linked with the charming of the mind as a Muse. The moon of Jupiter Thelxinoe is named after her.

Thelxinoë, one of Semele's attendants.

Thelxinoëa, also Thelxionoea or Thelxineia, one of the so-called Praxidicae (the other two were Alacomenia and Aulis), daughters of King Ogyges of Boeotia."

...If someone came up to me and told me that I would be comparing Peregrine to a muse earlier today, I would've shipped that someone to the local mental hospital. Sigh.

ONE LAST THING You know what ELSE we have 3 off that aren't the original Boeotian muses?

3 jewellery items that don't have a meaning yet and haven't been expanded upon!

Here I would suggest that these pieces of jewellery are required to open some sort of vault or puzzle and you need all 3 and they are scattered around the globe. Like the amulet being in Japan The crown in Greece And the necklace (maybe in Britain but it's very possible that it's from somewhere else) But the more I think about it, the more bitter I become because JC will NEVER do this. They would never explore the other countries that these objects originate from in meaningful ways. JC will never give us the plot twist of this command here "PereginePetrificusTotalusOnStudent01_CrownOfMneme" actually being a student from a different school! Greek wizarding school?? YASSS.

And I don't blame JC. I know they can't really do it even if they wanted to. I am just upset because the POTENTIAL--

Anyways, here's a meme to lighten the mood

*collapses* This took me atleast 2 hours

Sorry for the late reply!

First of all, I’m not gonna disprove anything. This is actually a very interesting observation! And I think that logic doesn’t have much to do with anything here. We know so little about this story that a lot is a matter of interpretation.

In general, I really like the comparison to the Forgotten Trio. However… I’d personally switch Jacob and Duncan. Like, I think we can all agree that Olivia is pretty obvious. But here’s what I’m thinking about the boys.

While I see where you’re coming from with your reasoning, I’m not quite sure if Jacob was this vocal about the Cursed Vaults. In fact, I feel like you might be mixing him up with Rakepick. Because she was the one who indeed said:

But I don’t recall anything like that about Jacob. He might’ve been way more secretive. For example, he wrote in one of his notebooks:

There’s also that one quote by Madam Rosmerta (Y3) that always comes to my mind when I think of the original Jacob:

In my opinion, Jacob fits pretty well as “the muse of thought and meditation”.

What about Duncan then? Well, I admit it’s gonna be a bigger reach. And I don’t want to say that Duncan is a bard singing a song about Jacob, but… he kind of is. Notice that a lot of what we know about Jacob, his relationship with Duncan and R comes from Duncan himself. I know that Jam City neglected his role terribly later on, but when we met him in Y5? That was really something! So yeah, I’d say that Duncan is “the muse of voice and song”.

By the way, if you look at it that way, it even makes sense why JC reduced Duncan’s role. I mean, doesn’t it sound possible that they made this decision because otherwise, Duncan would have to tell us eventually more about what happened? He'd have to sing his song?

Rakepick and Peregrine are assigned surprisingly well, seriously. So, I don’t have much to add.

And I really like the idea of three objects! Also, in this place, I want to mention the comment by @indigobackfire who suggested that perhaps the Crown of Mneme is necessary to properly break the curse on the Sunken Vault. You know, since it was all about reliving your worst memories and whatnot.

Of course, it’d mean that we have to go back to this Vault. Could it still be connected to other pieces of jewellery, though? Maybe… Because when I read that the number of Boeotian muses was increased to FIVE, I immediately thought: “Hey, there are five Cursed Vaults!”. So… perhaps there were only three Cursed Vaults originally? Or there are two more objects we don’t know about? There might be some connection here too.

Either way, while I agree with you that JC probably won’t do much about all of that, at least in terms of different schools, I actually wouldn’t be surprised if it was a part of the original story. Because that Japanese plotline had to come from somewhere. So, who knows if there wasn’t more? Hell, maybe even Castelobruxo was supposed to be more meaningful?

#long post #hogwarts mystery #hphm #hphm spoilers #hphm datamine #hphm jacob #duncan ashe #olivia green #patricia rakepick #hphm peregrine #cursed vaults #jam city #ask #thedoodlecat

[neondvcks]

Fjord/Jester + kisses.

#critical role #credit #critteredit #criticalroleedit #fjorester #t: mine #t: critical role #otp: you are not icarus #fjplus #the third time i recycle this gifset and there is an ACTUAL KISS NOW!! #im terribly sorry about the quality of the last two but i did what i could #i don't have my usual colouring or base prep action but its close enough

[dokoni-mo]

Nights Like These || All for One x F!Reader

Summary: You were his favorite.

SFW // not fluff but not angst

Word Count: 2802

WARNINGS: obsessive behavior, toxic behavior/mindsets, manipulation, possessive behavior, all for one is evil as usual, fear tactics, some sensual touching, kisses, mentions of death if you squint, swearing, age gap relationship of you squint, but reader is depicted to be in their late 20s, also the fact I also didn't proofread this one lmao (pls forgive me I was working on this at like 3 am).

A/N: This takes place before AFO became the potato man. This is my take on how he would be like in a "relationship". If you want some PRIME AFO content, however, AND ARE THE AGE OF 18 OR OVER, go check out @nonobadcat 's story A Hypnotic Nightmare. It's one of my favs atm (also, badcat, if you're reading this, i haven't forgotten about the fanart! i've just had a lot on my plate bc of the end of school. im terribly sorry if it seemed like i left you hanging).

~~

You hated armored black vans.

Ever since meeting him you knew exactly what they meant.

They would come to you when you least expected it, and often when you really didn't want them to. You could be anywhere in the world, and one would always find a way to roll up next to you. If you tried to outwalk them, they would just drive faster. If you pretended to ignore them, they would cut you off in your tracks.

Persistent little shits.

Just like him.

This time, it was late into the night when one rolled up next to you. You hadn't seen one in some days beforehand, and was relishing in that fact when the dread-vehicle rumbled up next to you. You had just gotten done doing some late-night grocery shopping for yourself, looking decent but in no way perfect. Sighing through your nose, you gave the tinted windows of the van the glare of your life, trying in vain attempt to get it to just piss off.

Even though that tactic never worked before, it would never stop you from trying.

The van pulled up to the curb next to you and slowed to a stop. Seeing as there was no way you could run or try to ignore it now, you stopped in your tracks, clenching your plastic grocery bags tighter. A moment later, the van rolled it's driver's side window down, revealing the driver to you. You didn't recognize this one; it wasn't one in his normal rotation.

You wondered if he killed one of the other ones, and this one was the replacement.

Looking into the eyes of the driver, you shot him another glare, your face morphing into a frown. This didn't seem to phase the man, however, since he just stared back at you with a blank expression.

You knew you weren't that threatening, but, come on. At least show something.

"What is it?" you questioned the man, your voice firm and serious. Although you already knew the answer to that, you prayed to whoever was listening that it would be a different answer this time.

"He wants to see you."

No dice.

You let out another sigh through your nose, this time more frustrated and annoyed than the last one.

"I just saw him the other day," you tried to bargain, "and I have ice cream in here. Can it wait until tomorrow?"

The driver shook his head, "Sorry, miss. He wants you now."

Your face assumed a deeper frown. It wasn't often that these drivers made it known to you how persistent he was being in seeing you. This made a lump form in the bottom of your stomach. What did he want this time? Another date? Quality time? Or just to remind you of who you belonged to?

You hoped it was one of the former two.

Looking from side to side nervously, you swallowed the lump in your throat before speaking again, "Can I at least put my groceries in my apartment first?"

The driver shook his head, "We can get someone to do it for you, miss. But we need to leave. Now."

Damn, this driver really meant business.

Finally admitting defeat, you slowly took a few steps towards the van, watching as the large, jet-black doors rolled itself open for you. Leaning down, you set your bags on the clean, vacuumed floor of the van, ducking down and pushing yourself inside next. The driver watched you in the rear-view mirror, making sure that you sat down and buckled your seatbelt. Once you were safe in the backseat, he shut the door to the van and pulled out into the street again, driving noticeably careful.

A soft sense of dread washing over you, you leaned up against the van door and planted your elbow on the armrest, resting your chin in your palm. Not feeling up for friendly chat with the man driving you, you fixated your gaze out the window, watching as the neon lights of Japan rushed by you.

You wondered which location you would be at today.

He seemed to have spots everywhere across the world.

You hoped it was the Tokyo one. That one had your favorite food and view.

Hugging yourself closer to the door, you tried to ignore the dread winding up in your stomach. You tried your best to just focus on how pretty the lights looked at night, but couldn't help but have your mind linger back to the racing thoughts that plagued your head.

You wished your friend had never introduced you to his stupid fucking cult. He would deny over and over that it was a cult, but it was a cult. You had been quirkless for so long, and content being so all your life. But, when your friend told you about the man she met that could give you your very own quirk, you would be lying if you said you weren't intrigued.

Biggest mistake of your entire fucking life.

~~

Alas to you, the driver didn't take you to the Tokyo location. It ended up being the Osaka location. You felt rather disappointed by this.

The driver was at least nice enough to help you out of the car and escort you into the hands of your body guards for the night. The guards quickly surrounded you, almost suffocating you by how close they were. After relaying the message that you had arrived, the guards practically drug you into the tall, looming building.

You wondered when the next time you could go outside would be.

Going through the doors, you were greeted with the familiar sight of clean, shiny marble floors, your feet clacking against them as they always did. Everything about the building was ornate but simple, reminding you of some fancy hotel.

It was so fucking obnoxious.

Only one dude and occasionally yourself lived here. And not even full time.

It make you frown.

Eventually, the guards and yourself made your way to the elevators. When one eventually came down (it didn't take long because you were most likely some of the only people in the building), all of you packed in the elevator like a fucking clown car. You were shoulder-to-shoulder with the much taller guards, suffocating on their cologne.

The dead silence in the elevator made you wanna puke.

~~

The guards left you once you were at the door.

You were now all alone in the hallway, the tall, dark, looming door before you. Your fingertips were trembling, yet you didn't know if it was out of fear or anticipation.

He probably already knew you were here. Why did you even have to go through this step? Just for his sick kicks?

Most likely.

You didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

You swallowed and closed your eyes, taking a few deep breaths in and out of your nose. You had to give yourself a pep talk before you could lift up your hand, curling your knuckles to knock on the door.

You stopped before you could knock even once. If there was any time to run, this is it. If you could just-

No. It's impossible.

God how you knew it was impossible.

No matter where you went, no matter what you did, he seemed to always know.

You've seen him angry before. It ran shivers down your spine and made you contemplate whether or not there was an afterlife or not.

You didn't want to know how he was like when he was pissed off. Especially if it was directed towards you.

And, you knew, trying to get away from him was a sure as fuck way to royally piss him off.

Taking in one last deep breath, you put on your brave face and knocked on the door, feeling your dread become almost overwhelming in your gut.

You wet your lips before you spoke.

"It's me."

...

Silence.

Your head perked up at the nothingness that greeted you back. Was he not here anymore? Did he leave for a different place without telling you?

You opened your mouth to say something again, but quickly shut it again.

Could you... leave? Go home?

This was definitely a first.

As soon as your excitement welled up, however, you were quickly shot down again from the deep voice behind the door.

"Come in."

Fuck.

Squaring your shoulders and putting on your bravest face, you gingerly opened the door and stepped through, leaning your back against the wood as you shut it again.

Why did you do this to yourself? So willingly walk into the lion's den?

It didn't take you long to remember.

Fear.

Looking inside the room, the lighting was moody to say the least. Barely anything was turned on, and it was so deafeningly quiet, sans the sounds of the city below and the hum of the AC.

Scanning the room with your eyes, you felt your stomach do a flip when you landed on the man of the hour.

The man who had taken over your life for the past three years.

Him.

Shigaraki. Or, as he was known by everyone who wasn't you, All for One.

Probably the most feared man in Japan. Hell, the world even.

Christ on a fucking bike.

He was seated on the couch that faced the door, his usual sly smirk on his face. One of his legs was crossed over the other, and he seemed to had shed his black coat long ago. His crimson eyes bore right into the very fiber of your being, right into your very soul. His presence was so fucking overwhelming it made you feel like you couldn't breathe. The amount of power that dripped off that man was uncanny.

It always made you wonder what he wanted with quirkless little you.

Unable to maintain eye contact with him for any longer, you dropped your gaze to the floor, your back still pressed against the door. Even though you couldn't see him anymore, you could feel his eyes on you, raking up and down your body.

You prayed that this night went by quickly.

"You're late, little one." He said to you, making your shoulders tense up.

"I..." you began, your nervousness painfully obvious as you brushed your hair behind your ear, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be."

All for One let out a hum, and you could practically fucking feel his smirk grow bigger from across the room.

You wondered if he knew that you were only half telling the truth, or if he was just that delusional.

After a moment, he spoke again.

"Come into the light, darling. Let me get a good look at you."

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you hesitated for a brief second, your fingertips twitching against the wood of the door. Seeing no possible way out, you decided it was best to just do what he said. Pushing yourself off the door, you took small, timid steps into the light, keeping your gaze down on the floor. Awkwardly trying to figure out what you should do with your hands, you decided on clasping them in front of you, picking at the skin around your nails.

You could really feel his eyes on you now.

He looked you over for what felt like an eternity before he said something else, making your eyes flicker back up to him.

"There's no need to be shy, my dear," he said, sensing how nervous you were, "There's nothing to be concerned about. You know I would never harm you."

You wanted to snort out a laugh, but decided against it. Yes, he had never hurt you before, but you doubted it was out of his realm of capability.

Not knowing what to respond with, you simply just nodded, turning your attention back to your hands.

Shigaraki continued to stare at you for a good long while, his red eyes lingering on your cute face and nervous eyes.

Fucking hell you were just too adorable.

After a good second, All for One lifted up his hand, making you look up at him. He was holding his palm out to you, his usual smirk on his face.

"Come here." He said.

Shit, he was getting serious tonight.

Your cheeks tinting a faint pink, you forced your feet to raise up and make you walk across the room. Once you were close enough, you put your hand into his, watching it as it was nearly swallowed by the sheer size of his palm. Knowing exactly what he wanted, you slipped yourself in between his long, thick legs and sat back into his lap. Your side was nuzzled into the crook of his armpit, his strong arm wrapping itself around your waist to keep you in place. Just like he liked, you rested your head against All for One's shoulder, gently lying your hands across his broad chest. This seemed to please him greatly, since he put his other hand on your lower thigh, gently rubbing circles into the side of your knee with his thumb.

You must really be fucking insane.

Gently, Shigaraki pressed a gentle kiss into your hair, mumbling out a quiet good girl in the process.

You couldn't stop the pink dust from spreading across your cheeks.

"How was your day today, darling?" He asked you, the rumble of his voice in his chest loud in your ears.

You hummed before speaking.

"It was okay..." you said, feeling the hand on your side gently stroking up and down.

"You had a lot to do, didn't you?" He asked, making you glance up at him.

Of course he fucking knew about your goddamned errands and job.

"Yeah..." you said, "I was expecting to go back home and chill the rest of the night, but..."

Shigaraki let out a chuckle at this. You didn't have to finish your thought for him to know what you meant.

"Oh, I'm sorry, little one." He said, pressing another kiss to your temple, "I know you must be tired."

You nodded in response, maybe a bit too eagerly.

"I just couldn't bear another second without you, darling." He continued, tracing circles on your thigh this his pointer and middle finger, "I just had to have my special girl with me tonight."

You shifted your weight in his lap, looking up at him, "Did something happen?"

Shigaraki chuckled at this, reaching up and brushing the hair out of your face, "Let's just say I had some... family issues tonight, my dear."

Family?

Shigaraki had family?

This was definitely a first.

You couldn't help but to be nosy.

"Family?" you asked.

"Oh, nothing for you to be concerned about, my sweet girl." He said, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

"You never told me you had family." You pressed, not wanting to let the subject go.

"You never needed to know, small one. Besides, it would be too dangerous for you to meet them anyhow."

"Dangerous?"

"There's a possibly they would try to take you from me."

"I highly doubt you would let that happen."

He chuckled, "As clever as always, my darling."

"What are their names?"

"Let's move on from his, my love."

"But I-"

"Are you hungry, dear? I can have someone fetch you something."

"Shigaraki, I just-"

"I said no."

A shiver went down your spine and you were quick to shut your mouth. You knew what that tone meant. It meant shut up or you get a punishment.

You always just chose to shut up.

Seemingly pleased at your compliance, Shigaraki assumed his usual smirk again and planted a kiss on your cheek, rubbing more small circles into your side.

"Have I told you how radiant you look tonight, my dear?" He asked you.

Not feeling in the mood to talk anymore, you just shook your head no.

"You always look gorgeous to me, my dear. Every single piece of you."

Pulling you closer to his chest, he lifted up your chin and looked deep into your eyes.

"My special girl. My favorite."

Closing the distance between the two of you, All for One pressed his lips to yours, stealing your breath away. His kisses were always just like him: strong, confident, and dominating.

Kissing Shigaraki always filled you with a whirling of emotions. Perhaps it was because you were tired that night, or perhaps it was because of the air, but you allowed yourself to fully enjoy his kiss. The feeling of his hands on you, the feeling of how small he made you feel, the feeling of his power radiating off his skin...

He always had this affect on you. When you were apart from him, you found it hard to love him.

But, when you were together...

you found it hard to stop.

#all for one x reader #afo x reader #mha afo #bnha afo #bnha x you #bnha x reader #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x y/n

[tiens-letters]

upon autumns day, where you and I met. upon autumns day where I remember all of what we were before youve passed. and upon autumns day would I have ever so slowly let go of that pain of the past

zhongli (angst)

@albeidoof its somewhere here hehehe

Time was a luxury. A treasure each and everything holds.

Yet time is a curse as well. It covets, devours and leaves. which humanity neglects to cherish until the heart ceases its steady rythmn, only then do they regret of the wasted minutes, hours and seconds.

Beneath the flow of the rushing waves of things that have come and gone. Only on this particular day would he sit beneath a certain tree. The rough bark brushing up against his back as leaves fell effortlessly to the ground, as if it were ready to let go of from the branches that gave birth to it, only to return once again to the waiting soil.

It was a sunny afternoon, clear of any clouds and only clear unblemished blue, a good time to enjoy a warm cup of tea yet there was no energy in his bones to even move from where he was.

He felt exhausted. Desultory even.

Gone were the halcyon days of the past, and now the present time of the vivid reality he had to face.

Morax, rex lapis, the geo archon. Names that weighted more than one could carry, memories that shackled his soul that lived for a thousand years on end, all but a stain that could never be washed away.

The breeze slowly danced in, playing with his hair softly, kissing his skin and welcoming him. It carried a hint of aromatic essence only he would know belongs to.

You.

He tried to desperately recount the days after youve left the face of the earth and yet he could not remember or did his mind not allow him to as if he did, it would bring him terrible and heavy consequences for an answer, one sane mind would never want to know.

Sighing, he sat back and recalled back the memories of you instead. When you were alive, warm and breathing in his arms. He remembers the way your eyes would shine brightly whenever he would be around, or the small sound of delight you would make when you have finished another one of the many interesting blends of tea youve done over the course of a week of mixing different flowers and tea leaves. Youve made up quite the fortune with this as your little hobby bloomed into a fully run business known across teyvat.

"Zhongli." he froze, youve never called him by his name ever since youve started getting close, it made him feal uneasy as he turned to look at you who stood by the doorway, a neutral look on your face.

"y-yes?" nervousness clawed at him as he racked his brain to what he couldve done for you to call his name like that, he couldnt think of any.

"I came back from the market and I heard youve made quite the generous payment. Why is that, I wonder?" he's done it again, that spending habit of his

"The price was reasonable for such a fine ceramic tea set, I dont seem to find why it shouldnt reflect its quality?" you sighed as you pointed towards the glass cupboard behind him

"You bought the same exact set a week ago, Zhongli. Thats why." having to realize his mistake after looking over the two identical set that on the shelf, he turned to apologize but only to see you missing from the doorway. Footsteps can be heard from the floorboards above him. You were upset.

After minutes of pacing in the living room, he finally mustered the courage to climb the stairs and enter your shared bedroom. A figure already under the sheets as the warm glow of the lamp illuminated your delicate features. The mattress sunk as he sat beside you, fingers brushing away the stray hair that fell on your face.

"Im still mad at you Zhongli." his hand flinched slightly at the way you called him

"I apologize. I seem to not have learned my lesson again. I would gladly return the set tomorrow."

"Its no use, they dont accept refunds." you replied without sparing a glance at him

"What can I do for you to forgive me then?"

"Just go to sleep, Zhongli." groaning you reached for the switch to shut the lamp off but a gentle grip stopped you, forcing you to look at his gloomy expression. Perhaps you went too far this time.

"Please stop calling me in that way. I dont like it." he whispers, drawing your palm to his lips, leaving small kisses upon it. He sure does know his way around your heart, no wonder why you could not stay mad at him.

"Just be mindful next time." you cursed yourself for being weak to his charms.

"I will." yet something was missing "Then can you call me as you did before?"

"Zhongli?" you could see the slight grimace in his face as you teased him

"Stop it." he kissed you without warning "Call me as you did before."

However, his lips didnt stop as they began to travel. From your cheeks to you forehead and then to your neck. Oh dear, he wasnt having any of your teasing.

"A-li." you giggled beneath him as he finally stopped and met your gaze

"Thats better."

He still remembers the faint smile that graced your lips whenever he would wake up next to you tangled in the same sheets. The softness of your skin on his calloused touch. Your lips melting his and your voice lulling his raging mind to peace.

Then everything changed when you drew blood that spilled from those lips he's kissed for a thousand times, painting a morbid image on the sheets. Anger and despair boiled inside of him once he learned of the secret youve kept. Zhongli was a calm and collected man all of the time except when he was with you.

Having to witness him at such a point felt as if his own spear was being driven right through his very chest. He held you in an arms width away, the panic and pain in his eyes increasing over the minute as he begged for you to explain why youve decided to lie about the flowers that bloomed in your lungs, the sickness youve inherited from your deceased mother, whose fate you soon would follow. You didnt want him to find out, not in this way.

He couldve done anything if he knew from the start but alas, you wanted to be cruel, thinking it was for the best. Until your symptoms persisted, a heavy reminder of the remaining distance of the string you have to walk on to reach the end. The heavy feeling in your chest started to worsen as cherry sweet liquid poured from your mouth.

Soon the once pristine sheets were stained in haunting crimson shades as you heaved and he watched in agony. If only he had the ability of what he once had back then, if only he could plant the seeds of the flowers from yours to his then he would, if only he hadnt met you one autumn evening

" please dont look at me like that. " you told him, cold hands caressing his cheeks, catching the streams of salty warm beads that fell freely from your darling's amber eyes.

"Im sorry. Im so sorry..." the last thing you wanted to see was this man to cry. The last thing you wanted to see was to see him relive the past tragic memories you promised to bring him out of

" my disease has nothing to do with you. In the end it was mine alone to handle. oh, you are far from that so please dont you ever blame yourself."

"How can I not? If I havent fallen so deep then you would experienced so much more in life, you couldve been happier if you met someone else. Yet you chose me and I couldnt give you anything, I--. " the words knotted up as he began to shake, hands holding yours as knuckles turned to white

You slapped him.

With all the strength youve gathered in that fading body of yours. The sound cutting the grieving sounds that spilled from him, soul and flesh alike.

"A-li, look at me. Do I look like someone whose unsatisfied with what youve given me? Did my smile ever fade when Im with you? Did your affections ever lack? Answer me." his watery gaze met yours, a torrent of emotions swimming in them

"No. Never." a soft smile was carved unto your lips

"My dear, youve given me all Ive ever wanted in this life and I regret nothing of it."

To him, you were the flower that bloomed at the highest peak of the mountain he's never reached and yet its petals voluntarily detached and fell down, making him the happiest as one thing he's admired was untouchable and now, lay softly in the palm of his hands. To cherish and to protect.

But of course, all things are evanescent.

The familiar feeling of soreness that wasnt supposed to be there rose, ebbed and flowed through his throat. He knew it all too well, it was after he woke from his week long slumber did he feel it along with what his ancient beating heart felt.

"You collapsed." the worried words of the qixing echoed in his head. He frantically got up but as soon as his feet touched the floor did his legs give out underneath him, what use was he in this sorry state. He was helped up and sat back on the edge of the bed.

He wanted to ask many things yet was unable to.

Ningguang spoke as if you were still breathing and was visiting her minutes ago with another one of your tea blends. "Dont worry and rest first, go to jueyun karst after. They will be waiting."

To where the adepti resides, who as well, favored you, that one soul among thousands of others. One to which they shared a few good memories with was allowed to slumber there in peace.

Zhongli found himself waking up to the sun setting in the horizon. Just like how youve gone and resurfaced back into his memories. It was time.

He stood up from where he sat, gloved hands brushing any dirt that clung to him as he made his way to where you slept.

The red bean that was planted by himself still remained, a token of his love for you. Picking one bead and placing it inside the hollow dice he brought along, completing another one of the similar handicraft he's made every visit.

The sun finally died and the moon began its reign. The small wisps of light gathered around before him, forming a blurry image.

It was then he felt at ease, he saw you smiling at him with all there is in the world. Your light seemed to dim a little, hinting the blessing the adepti gave was slowly diminishing. Soon your visits would cease and you were sure that by the end of the power spent, he wouldve let go of the torment that plagued him.

"A-li. Have you been well?" he knew what you meant

"Im letting go slowly my dear. Perhaps in time, I would learn breathe easily once again."

Longest yet lol. Hope yall liked it ehehe

#genshin impact #genshin impact angst #genshin impact x reader #zhongli #zhonglixreader #genshin impact drabbles #zhongli angst #morax

[sylvie-writes]

Fighting For You

word count: 1530

request: Hi! Hello! Hey! I saw part of your conversation with the girl that is dating a cop and I was wondering if she’s okay with it of course, if you could use the “I’m fighting to come home to you” thing in a Steve x Reader thing?

a/n: this is part 1 of (undetermined) of me trying to finish requests that have been sent in ages ago. IM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT AND THE QUALITY. it’s been hard to write but hopefully these will do. this was originally at 100 words, so i added some random subplot to bring up the count and I tried to make it relevant to the story. anyways, this isn’t proofread much so please excuse any mistakes.

It had been weeks of radio silence that often left your mind pacing while you tried to go through the day. Everything was gonna be fine.

Those five words became a mantra for the time being since Steve left and while he had warned you that no communication was a possibility on this mission, you still couldn’t help but feel anxious that something had gone wrong. Steve was never one to give up. 

It was a solo mission meaning Natasha, who you trusted to babysit Steve, was currently not with him. Instead she was playing babysitter for you and had now lured you into a personal “mission” at the orphanage. The redhead had recently divulged the secret that every Thursday afternoon when she disappeared for hours on end that she wasn’t out for a workout regime, but instead visiting the angels who so badly needed some adoration.

That night Steve left for his mission, Natasha had taken you out to dinner and a few drinks led to cries of sorrow and laughter. Tears pricked at her eyes and your own, when Natasha revealed that she didn’t want these kids to have an experience such as her years as an orphan. Somehow your conversation of the awful nachos on the bar counter had transferred into what your friend did when she disappeared midweek. When the words spilled from her mouth and she immediately apologized for oversharing, you were quick to reassure her with a fast and unexpected hug that almost knocked over the unsuspecting coffee mugs that had been sitting between you both. The mugs were empty from trying to sober you both up but they seemed to be doing nothing but getting in the way. Natasha never really opened up to you about her past despite almost knowing her longer than Steve, so this little exchange was a milestone in your friendship. 

Since that crazy dinner, you have been spending your Thursdays with the kids and Nat, putting on a fake smile that would turn genuine just at the sight of the children getting excited to see you. It took your mind off Steve, albeit for a few hours, but that was better than none. The kids always seemed to know what to say to cheer you up and you did the same for them. 

Last visit, you and Nat were given the privilege of speaking with the teens and this week you were given the opportunity to visit the little ones. More specifically, it was arts and crafts day and only seconds after walking in the door were you elbow deep in macaroni noodles and colorful string. 

About ten kids clobbered to sit around Nat as she demonstrated the making of macaroni noodles when you noticed a young girl in the corner and a social worker crouched on the ground with her, a lollipop in hand to coax the child. You could see the fear in the young girl's eyes as she clutched the tattered blanket to her chest. Those sweet brown eyes were so sparkly you were sure you would’ve remembered her which drew you to the conclusion that she was new. 

You directed two other children to Nat who was currently playing art teacher as you slowly approached the scene in the corner. The social worker looked up at you with a hopeful smile and held out his arms as if saying “all yours.” He handed you the lollipop and quickly explained that she was new before dashing off to help another worker. 

“Hey girly, what’s your name?”

You opted to sit criss cross on the floor, showing the girl that you planned on staying. She didn’t speak but instead turned to the wall. Silence filled the corner and you decided to speak up once more. 

“My name is (y/n), and I come here with my friend Nat. Today we were invited to make macaroni necklaces with you! Do you like crafts?” 

Some progress was made when you said Nat’s name and pointed her out to the child who had now turned to see what you were talking about. She softly shook her head when asked about arts and crafts and you gave a soft smile. Her hand quickly reached up to brush back a strand of short, black hair and you noticed the bracelet on her hand. It was a simple multi colored beaded bracelet that spelt out “VERA✿”

You reached out to grab her wrist and she complied, placing his arm in your hand. 

“Wow, this is so pretty! Did you make this, Vera?” She nodded her head and quietly began to speak. At this you internally jumped around with joy at such progress. 

“I like to make bracelets. My mommy used to make them with me, but then she left. Now I’m all alone.”

Her happy tone had turned dismal and a few tears crawled out of her eyes. Words never seemed to mean much to you, but her story made you choke back a sob. It seemed that the young girl hadn’t intended to spill the information, but she did, and now she was vulnerable. 

“Oh Vera, I understand it’s no fun to be alone,” You squeezed her hand lovingly and offered a comforting smile, “My friend, Steve, he had to leave a few weeks ago and I feel lonely, just like you, but you know what?”

She cocked her head at your question.

“I have other friends who take care of me and don’t make me feel lonely. So Vera, why don’t we go out and make necklaces. We can go make some friends who will always be for you, hon!”

She was apprehensive to agree but slowly stood and dragged behind you. Nat saw you come over and waved you and Vera to come join the little boy beside her who looked in need of a friend.

-

Macaroni necklaces were a success and so was getting Vera to socialize. She made friends with the little boy, Liam, and the two were the chattiest out of the whole bunch. In fact, they both talked so much they tuckered themselves out that you and Nat brought them back to their sleeping quarters with the rest of the children. Natasha stood in the hallway as Vera led you to her cot and proudly showed off her teddy bear that sat in the middle. From a distance Nat could see Vera placing her macaroni necklace around your neck as you crouched down. Vera stood back and proudly eyed her creation before giving you a tight hug.

“Don’t worry, your friend will come back.” This statement caused you to be taken aback and luckily Vera was too busy climbing into bed to notice your shocked expression.  “You told me you will come back and you are my friend, so I think he will too.”  Vera continued as she pulled her teddy bear close and you covered her scrawny shoulders with the same fleece blanket that was once used as a makeshift shield. Walking out the darkened room, Vera’s words left you wondering if Steve would ever really come back. 

-

As you and Nat drove home, all thoughts of Steve had momentarily dissipated leaving you with a second of bliss. 

Not even a moment after your laughter ceased at Nat’s story of Liam trying to eat raw noodles, the ringer designated for Steve rang and your shaky hand voluntarily went to answer.

“Steve?”

“Hey, love,” Steve’s voice came out in a hushed whisper but a rough chuckle tumbled out with it, “You sound surprised to be hearing from me?”

“I thought something had happened to you. I-”

You were at a loss of words and Steve seemed to know this. 

“(y/n), I’m fighting to come home for you. Never doubt that.”

His words seemed so sweet yet cringe so you could help but make a joke, “Wow, I didn’t know you were a motivational speaker on the side.”

Steve’s familiar laugh came through the receiver, “See, that is another reason I want to come home, so I can listen to your terrible jokes!”

Playfully offended you added, “Hey! They aren’t as bad as yours. I mean dad jokes, c’mon you can do better than that Rogers.”

“Yeah, yeah. We can settle this debate when I see you tonight.” You could practically hear the smirk in Steve’s voice because he knew darn well that he had just shocked you with this revelation of information. Your silence confirmed this for Captain and he proudly continued on.

“Well, I gotta finish cleaning up here, so I’ll see you for dinner, doll. Love you!”

All you could do was return the affection before hanging up and allowing the enormous smile to finally take over your face as it had been waiting to do so for so long. 

“So, what should I wear?” Natasha took her eyes off the road and looked at you with a cheesy grin of her own. For a majority of the ride home, the two of you babbled about Steve like middle school girls on a first date.

Steve never failed to keep a promise to you and he wasn’t planning to do so now.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader

[pfreadsandwrites]

congratulations on 100+ followers!!🥺❤️✨ bless you and your quality content ahhhh and thats a really good list of prompts there i actually had trouble picking one... but, since im truly a sucker for angst at heart, can i please have a number 15 with Kakashi?👀 please hurt me lmao thank you, and congrats once again!❤️

100 follower celebration

Yes, i used this mangacap. 

Anyway, ahh @enchantedpendant, I’m so sorry I’ve kept you waiting so long for this! I know you expressed excitement over me writing something angsty way back when I first began the celebration event and ugh I’m just sorry it’s taken so long. And thank you for your support as well. You’ve been so amazing and encouraging right from the start and I’m so grateful :) I really hope you like this... if ‘like’ is the correct word.

Oh - also, to the anon that also requested this exact prompt (great minds think alike, huh?) I’m planning on writing a different version for you! But yours is the penultimate or last one so I’m hoping this’ll tide you over in the meantime! 

This is my first piece after being unable to write for a while - forgive me if it’s rusty. I worked hard on this but I also struggled to all hell with it. It’s a circular-ish/montage-y piece. And I could have made it short, focusing on the scene itself, but I wanted this to have an emotional impact, ya know? I hope it worked! Please let me know what you think. Or if there are any mistakes.

warnings: character death, angst, miscarriage, sad feels all around, female reader, mild violence and sex mentions but nothing explicit, 2.9k

taglist: @madaras-housewife @datblobbyfish @praisingkuroosbedhead @allthingskakashi @enchantedpendant @ibukiirisha @cinam00n @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @tachibrii @drunkenfists

15. “Don’t die on me - please.”

Why did it always feel too soon, each time he let you go?

You remember it, the first time it happened. 

How could you not? Little, insignificant, as it might have been to some - to him, if he could convince himself - to you, it was momentous. Lasting only a second, where his calloused fingers had brushed against yours, softer than his, yes, but no less enduring. The normally aloof eye, the only one he seemed to show without hesitation, was intent, the obsidian endless in its depth. 

But - out of courtesy to him, or some kind of self-preservation - you’d paid it no mind. Or kept up that pretence, anyway. You found your footing as quickly as you’d lost it, stumbling away from his support no matter how reluctant you were to do so. The gratitude you’d muttered was enough and it seemed like you’d made the right choice; when that quietly shrewd eye of his turned away from you and his strong hands let you go in the same movement. He never let you bask in your own clumsiness, but that somehow made you feel worse. His nonchalance was excruciating. As if he hadn’t just saved you and made it look effortless. As if his touch alone hadn’t frozen you in place. 

As if it never happened at all. 

(It never should have happened at all.)

But still, you remember it. The moon’s luminosity the perfect backdrop, illuminating that wild silver hair as he turned away from you. 

(It was all so disgustingly poetic.)

It took longer than it should have for you to turn away in kind. But you did. Eventually. You made the awkward trek back to camp before him, the internal rambling of your self-berating your only company. It grew louder each time you looked back, stealing little glances against your own will.

It was so loud that you didn’t notice much else.

Not even Kakashi stealing glances back at you, for instance. 

***

Why did your breath hitch,  even when the air had never been more tranquil?

You remember. 

How he always did that, you still don’t know. Perfect timing, though you never appreciated just how perfect until he was gone again. 

(You should have learnt to count your blessings.)

Without a trace, and so quickly, unceremoniously, that the entire encounter might well have been a mirage. It still might have been.

(Maybe it’d been better that way.)

 You’d had enough. You didn’t think it through much further, and your desperation triumphed over your cautiousness as you sought out the bar exit. The mission, against all odds, was a success. And, against all better judgement, you were dragged along to the accompanying celebration. The atmosphere should have been infectious, you should have smiled more, you should have enjoyed yourself. 

Then again, you couldn’t find much to celebrate. Mistakes - your mistakes - had piled up. Your team completed the mission despite you, not because of you. The liability, not the heroine. 

(In hindsight, would it really have been so terrible if things ended for you there?)

You’d exhaled dramatically as you made your escape, a feeble attempt to expel all the guilt and shame you’d retained, or tried to retain, up until now. 

You still remember the lilt of his voice, smooth and somehow jovial, but never losing that gravelly undertone, as you walked around the corner. How could you ever forget it? No matter how lax he sounded, or tried to sound, the severity lurking underneath always cut you deep.

Are you alright, he’d asked, already knowing the answer. With that signature one-eyed smile, he pretended to believe your response. And you pretended, in turn, that his smile didn’t have had the effect on you it did. 

You didn’t exchange that many words as he walked you home, but somehow, it was enough. Though he was always careful with what he revealed, it was enough. He understood - much more than he let on, you suspected - but it was enough.

You didn’t hate yourself quite as much anymore, and - well, it wasn’t too much of a stretch - it didn’t seem like he hated you either. Something in the way his hand squeezed your shoulder, lingering for a moment, just before he saw you off. Was he reluctant to let go? 

Maybe. 

You slept better that night. 

You’d find out later, that, miraculously, Kakashi did too. 

***

Why did you feel so secure, sharing in all that suffering?

You remember.

(Why had you been so stupid?)

You’d almost dropped your flowers, when you saw him standing there, facing the memorial stone. It shouldn’t have been shocking; you’d heard gossip, in passing, about how much time he spent here. You’d also heard, in passing, how late he tended to be. Putting two and two together, you never held the latter against him. 

You understood, after all. You'd understood all the more as your eyes bore into his back. Something in the way he curled and uncurled his fists, the way he sighed, the way his straightened back gradually hunched. 

As far back as you could recall, your attitude to graveyards was… ambivalent. You’d avoid them whenever you could, not out of any tendency to be spooked or anything like that. You just couldn’t bring yourself to leave. It was peaceful, to be immersed somewhere so solemn, with such dense air - but the gravity of it also chained your feet there like an anchor. You knew each time you were there, regardless of your own volition, wouldn’t be the last. So if anyone were to empathise with this particular way he chose to punish himself, it was you.

(And now you would take it on twofold in his stead. What a joke.) 

“You don’t often come here,” he’d said quietly, matter-of-factly. Devoid of judgement, though he didn’t bother to face you. 

“No. I probably don’t spend as much time here as I should…,” your voice trailed off, and found new confidence, when you watched him stare at that stone. Hopelessly. You didn’t know all the details. But you didn’t need to. All you knew that it was simultaneously frustrating and pitiful. “And you probably spend too much.”

This time, he glanced back over his shoulder. You couldn’t exactly see through his mask, but he seemed… amused? “How do you figure that?”

“Call it a hunch.”

He chuckled, satisfied, and stepped back to give you room. “Then, I guess we balance each other out.”

“What a pair we are.” 

“Right. Well, I better-“

You still don’t know why you decided to grab his wrist that day, when he turned to leave. You still don’t know why you couldn’t bring yourself to let go, either. 

You still don’t know why Kakashi decided to stay. 

***

Why did you flit so rapidly from anger to elation, and why was it always because of him?

You remember.

In hindsight, it had been your fault. 

(What the fuck else was new?)

Retreat. Get out of here. It had been a simple order. But it had felt impossible, when the enemy appeared from behind, jutsu blaring, its raw power visible, that disgusting snarl on its wielders’ face - aiming for him.

You didn't think. You couldn’t think. You leapt in front of the attack within seconds, and your plan ended there. 

The same couldn’t be said for your captain. With his signature finesse, with a rare scowl - you couldn't tell who it was aimed at - you were moved away, and the enemy deflected, in the same movement. 

The battle had come to an end shortly after, through no fault of your own. It took all you had, but you bit your tongue as he scolded you, in front of your comrades, quietly healing your wound. 

You had acted for his sake. 

(How futile.)

Apparently, that meant nothing to him, not even worthy of acknowledgement. It wasn’t like you had expected gratitude - but for a man known for his stoicism to blow up, and because of you - it made you livid in turn. 

The journey back had been silent, seemingly just so you could bask in your own shame. 

So, when you were back in the sanctuary of your home, nursing your injury, your failure, and your pride - you hadn’t expected to hear a knock.

Nor had you expected him. Headband missing, brow furrowed and glaring at you in that way you couldn’t understand, much less accept. You’d made a mistake - of disobeying orders, of recklessness, of caring - but why the hell did he care in turn? 

“What?” You had hissed, unable to contain the outrage of his interruption of your little haven. Not that it made it any easier to look at him. “You’re here to admonish me again?”

“What the hell was that?” He growled in turn. “You disobeyed my orders and almost got yourself killed.”

“I-,” your voice shook, tears pricked your eyes - he was right, even if it pained you to admit it, but it wasn’t fair. The space between you had shrunk. He was so close now that you saw the rise and fall of his broad chest beneath his vest - apparently just as outraged as you. You had never seen him like this before. “Why are you so mad at me? I was just trying to - I thought-”

“Am I supposed to factor in every one of your impulses? Why did you do that?”

You remember how you heard his heartbeat, pounding - pounding just as loud as yours was. And it depleted your inhibitions. “Because - because you were in danger, you asshole!”

You remember how he had gently grabbed your injured wrist, just as you were about to shove him. You’d anticipated his reflexes, but you couldn’t have anticipated his expression, when you finally met his gaze. You remember how swiftly he’d pulled down his mask, but you couldn’t have anticipated just how breathtaking he’d be, either. Nor how it could feel when he kissed you - finally.

When Kakashi moved to pull away, of course, of course, you moved to pull him right back. 

 ***

Why did you always let him leave?

You remember.

(If you knew how it would end, you never would have let him. Better still, maybe you never should have let him enter in the first place.)

Safe.

You’d never felt so safe. 

When he’d appear and reappear at your apartment - the window, never the door, despite your half-hearted protests - waving with that stupid, adorable, one-eyed smile. He knew you’d saunter over, sliding it open with a matching grin, every time without fail. 

(You always did. That much, you did.)

When he’d laugh, when you told him about your mishaps. You’d laugh at his in kind - though it didn’t suit you, and you replaced it with your usual sympathetic ear. When you’d accompany him to the memorial stone, and pull him way just at the right time. When he’d pull you away, too. 

(What a fool.)

When he’d unmask himself around you, and you pretended not to notice, like it didn’t floor you. When you watched him struggle to decide whether he was relieved or offended. When he kissed you, in that indescribable way that wavered between tentative and determined, soft and powerful, usually choosing the perfect time to flit to the latter, making your knees buckle in the process.

(What a fool.)

When he’d undress you, and no matter how desperate he’d seem, how he always paused to take you in. When he’d move in you, filling your heart and body so much that you thought you might burst. When he’d hold you just that little bit closer, tighter, longer every time.

(What a fool.)

Even when he’d leave, sometimes after you’d fallen asleep, sometimes before - sometimes in the morning - when he’d leave for a day, a week, a month - you felt safe.

Because you knew, in the deep recesses of your heart, that each time you saw him wouldn’t be the last.

(What a fucking fool.)

You remember the first time he said it. Quietly, earnestly, unceremoniously. 

“I love you,” Kakashi had murmured into your ear one night, when he was so, so sure you were sleeping. 

***

Why did you ever dare think you had any cause for optimism?

You remember.

The two lines, glaring upwards and through you, from that unremarkable little piece of plastic. They’d ran parallel - you thought it apt, just like your trepidation and your excitement. The lines would never meet, though. 

(How apt.) 

You’d been happy. That was what had shocked you most, save only for the very fact of you being in this situation in the first place. But behind the fear, there it was. A little glow, a nucleus of hope and future nascent deep in your centre, spread through your heart and speckled to your fingertips, your face, your smile - that paired flawlessly with the little bundle of meaning, the combination of you and him budding in your belly. 

(Buds drop off before blooming all the time.)

You thought it’d be easy. 

(How stupid.)

You thought you could share it all with him right away. 

(You wished.)

But there was a part of you that faltered, when he’d show up at your window in that deceptively lax way. The words stuck in your throat, whenever he asked you if you were alright. The ease of his question didn’t match the weight of the truth. It almost felt… cruel. 

Maybe his fears would eclipse yours, and all that euphoria you’d harboured would dissolve. Maybe he’d be angry, though you suspected that even if he were, it’d be short lived. Maybe you’d end up keeping him from his duty. 

(Maybe you were just a coward.)

Regardless, your hands would float to your stomach whenever they weren’t occupied. Regardless, your mind would conjure up a future, remiss of your own will, an idyllic scene of a child, a marriage, something so sickly sentimental that you wanted to scold yourself. Regardless, it gave you hope.

It was enough, you’d decided. You'd get over it, face him and your fears, because what was waiting on the other side was so good that you’d forget that you had any in the first place. You’d do it. 

You’d tell Kakashi the next time you saw him. 

***

Why did it always feel too soon, each time he let you go?

You remember it, the last time it happens.

How could you not? The moon’s luminosity the perfect backdrop, incandescent, illuminating that wild silver hair, that crimson eye, that tired eye. His blood gleams under its splendour, under the green light that emanates fruitlessly from your delicate, shaking fingers. Softer than his, but no less enduring. 

It’s all so disgustingly poetic.

He refuses to scream, or shout - just whisper your name, in that restrained, ever-abiding tone. It’s never made you want to scream out more in his turn. You would have done anything to absorb it all in its stead. 

“What are you doing here?” he demands, as if he has the energy to. As if you can answer. As if you don’t see the wounds, the bloodshot-eyes, that compliance of his own mortality. His hand - the one that you were stupid enough to trust in, to think was strong - clenches around yours, calloused, then weakens, loosening its grip. He follows it with another impossible, familiar order. “Get out of here.”

“Shut up. Don’t die on me - please,” you beg, coughing up your words in between the sobs that spill forth, onto his face. The ache, the deep, sharp cramp in your hips, the agonising spark that spreads throughout your lower body, and you repeat your futile mantra two-fold.  

(It hurts. It hurts so much.)

“Y/N, I- I’m sorry,” he begins, moving to use his dwindling force to brush away your healing fingers, “it’s too late for that. Just get somewhere safe. Please.” 

“Shut up,” you repeat. You gasp hoarsely, reinforcing your grip. The pain deepens, in the pit of your throat, your heart, and in your womb, amalgamating together inextricably in some hellish concoction just for you and you alone. “Shut up.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. His eyes lid, and suddenly that scar never seems so cutting. It’s all so obvious. He just looks so tired, so… resigned. As if he’s been waiting for this. “I love you.”

“I love you too. So you can’t-”

“It’s over. You know it as well as I do.” 

Somewhere, somewhere deep down, you always knew. You knew, but never wanted to admit it. He’d made his peace with dying, long before you ever met, and you can’t hold him back any longer. It almost feels… cruel. 

(Not as cruel as him.)

His hand drops, dropping with a graceless thud against your damp thigh. “Y-you’re covered in blood. That’s all mine…?”

“Yes,” you lie, voice as thick as the mixture of blood and tears that stain both you and him. “Don’t worry about me.”

He stops - and you almost think he’s going to call you out, like he’s done so many times before. 

(You wish he would.)

You’ve never been able to dupe him. But instead, his eyes crinkle at the corners.

(You love him. You love him so much.)

He smiles that hidden smile, one last time. 

His fingers that fight with yours give up, one last time.

He whispers your name, one last time. 

Why did it always feel too soon, each time Kakashi let you go?

#kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake #kakashi #hatake kakashi #naruto #kakashi imagines #kakashi fanfiction #pfwrites #next up is the Yamato one eeeek #i ain't never written yamato in my life send help #WHY DOES MY STUFF NEVER SHOW IN TAGS??

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

Ive never really understood the hype surrounding Taylor Swift - I mean, I like some of her songs, but im not big on modern pop music so generally she just doesn’t really click for me. But I find it interesting that theres quite a few of Beatles/Swift blogs - like, they should have very little in common given that they’re from completely different eras and all, but somehow people seem to find a lot of semblance between the two. << and thats not me shitting on any of these blogs btw! Hope I don’t come off as rude or condescending there <3

Anyway, I was just wondering what got you into Taylor Swift? (I think ive read your post on how you got into the Beatles)

Hi, anon! Don't worry, I don't think you're rude or condescending! I agree they don't have too much in common and I don't really like their music for the same reasons.* I do have a playlist of Paul songs that have similar vibes to Taylor songs but it's mostly lyric-based. (Also the Beatles For Sale songs actually have quite the Taylor-tinge because Paul and John were not immune to Country Music)

I saw @stewy say once that a possible reason there are a good handful of us Swiftie-Beatle People on here is the appeal of a vast discography, which I agree with. If you have an artist/group with 200ish songs, it's just really fun to really dive into their work and explore all the facets. I also think: we're talking about the most popular band of all time and one of the highest-selling artists of the 21st century. They have a lot of fans so there's bound to be overlap, regardless of musical differences.

Moving on to your question: Getting into Taylor was an extremely personal experience for me and so my explanation is probably going to be kind of long so I'll put it under a read more.

It was spring-summer 2014, I was 15. I had heard the more popular songs of hers starting with Love Story and enjoyed pretty much all of them (I always found her hopelessly romantic point of view fascinating) but before I got a Spotify account in 2013 it was difficult in general for me to really get into an artists' entire discography so most of her songs had flown under my radar.

At the time, I was in this very weird sort of codependent online friendship with this girl who was basically my first real best friend and my first more or less crush. She was very depressed and I was very much in an I Could Fix Her™ mood, except that I obviously couldn't fix her and it made me feel like I wasn't enough and she had begun pulling more and more away from me and not replying to my messages and it was simply driving me insane. I consider it the saddest period in my life.

at some point during this period, I started trying to connect with other people (all online, I didn't know how to talk seriously to anyone IRL) and explaining the issues I'd been having, and one of the people who brought me joy and whom I actually felt not drained talking to was a huge swiftie. And IDK the fact that she loved Taylor and the fact that talking to her made my life better (and also the fact that I liked all the Taylor songs I knew at that point) just made me decide to give her a listen. And I think that whole "large discography discovery" phenomenon really helped me at the time (funny, because her discography has doubled since then). It gave me something new to focus on; there were just so many songs to discover, all telling such rich stories. I also have always loved bridges, they are almost always my favourite part of a song. And Taylor, god-bless her, loves them too and always puts her ALL in them. Like pretty much every bridge of hers brings the song to the next level, and even a lot of her songs I don't adore tend to have great bridges (Stay Stay Stay and Paper Rings come to mind). I think one of her most underrated qualities is how good she is at song structure and really building up an entire musical journey with a song. She also almost always adds cool ad-libs in her second and third choruses to keep the songs interesting and dynamic (or at least since she's gone pop). Anyways, back to the story: Then Taylor announced 1989 as her next album and released Shake It Off, and it was just like this great happy thing for me to look forward to, when I had very little keeping me going. The era was promoting a lot of happiness which in hindsight was slightly fabricated and it was just a really great thing for me to latch onto.

At the same time I was coming to realize that I was gonna have to pull away completely from my friend and all those break-up songs just… Hit, y'know? Like, some people seem to think Taylor's a one-trick pony because she likes to write break-up songs but to me, break-ups are just like this moment where you as a human can potentially feel every single emotion, and Taylor's songs have covered every facet of the concept. Here are some songs I remember from that period, that all meant a lot to me at the time because they explained my own pain to me so well:

Haunted, for the absolute terror you feel in the first moments you realize someone is probably gonna leave you. Come on, come on / Don't leave me like this / I thought I had you figured out / Something's gone terribly wrong / You're all I wanted.

I Almost Do, for the inner turmoil you feel when you know you have to stay away from someone for your own good but you really, really have to resist just running back to that person. We've made quite a mess, Babe / It's probably better off this way / And I confess, Babe / In my dreams you're touching my face / And asking me if I wanna try again / With you / And I almost do.

Last Kiss, for that absolute sadness that comes simply with remembering everything that was good and not comprehending how it could've possibly ended. I still remember / The look on your face / Lit through the darkness / At 1:58 / Words that you whispered / For just us to know / You told me you loved me / So why did you go / Away?

Forever and Always, for that feeling of desperately wanting to hold on to what you still have but at the same time realizing it probably isn't going to last and having no idea how to fix it, plus feeling like the other person doesn't even care. So here's to everything / Coming down to nothing / Here's to silence / That cuts me to the core / Where is this going? / Thought I knew for a minute / But I don't anymore.

Dear John, my all-time favourite song, for that moment you find clarity and realize that you deserved better and that you were headed in an extremely dark direction because of this other person. [DISCLAIMER: my friend did NOT abuse me nor did we have some inappropriate age difference. But the way she would ignore me and her general moodiness really affected my own mental health and self-worth problems] You paint me a blue sky / And go back and turn it to rain / And I lived in your chess games / But you changed the rules every day / Wondering which version of you I might get on the phone / Tonight / Well I stopped picking up / And this song is to let you know why.

(She's covered more aspects of break-ups in other songs [cheating, divorce, feeling awkward around your ex amongst others], these are just the ones I remember being really important to me when I was first getting into her)

She really helped me feel a lot less alone during one of my loneliest periods and I really can't thank her enough for that. Soon after this, I started crushing on a girl in my class and Taylor's love songs started to take on a new meaning for me as well.

What's crazy to me is, when she went on hiatus for a few years, a part of me thought maybe I'd grown out of her and no longer had much in common with her, but when reputation came out I was pulled right back into my love for her as a person and musician and then when Lover came out I found that she was still explaining feelings to me better than I ever could (specifically with the songs The Archer and Cornelia Street). And now with folklore and evermore she's simply absolutely perfected her story-telling and I find myself deeply moved even by the songs I don't directly relate to. I feel like she has this amazing ability to find the absolute truth in the specific. I've never had a summer romance with someone who already had a girlfriend and mostly wanted to go back to her, and yet the bridge of august feels so real to me, y'know?

Back when we were still changin' for the better Wanting was enough For me, it was enough To live for the hope of it all Cancel plans just in case you'd call And say, "Meet me behind the mall" So much for summer love and saying "us" 'Cause you weren't mine to lose

It's hard to explain but looking at this, like it's so much more than the story it's telling. It's talking about how when you're young you really need so little to feel satisfied; how sometimes the idea of someone maybe spending time with you is better than actually doing things with other people; and how if someone using you without much thought can make you feel like you're not even entitled to grieve what you lost. Sorry. I'll stop. Don't want to go insane.

So, all of this is very personal and unique to me, but I think really the main thing that draws me to her is how vulnerable and honest she is about emotions, how eloquently she can explain the pain of being alive to me. Some people think she isn't the strongest singer, but I think, much like John actually, one of her greatest assets is how good she is at projecting emotion. The song happiness is a song I think has some lyrically weak moments but her vocal performance on it is so raw and devastating that every single line works even when, looking at it on paper, it feels like it shouldn't.

Hope this rambling made sense to you, lmao?? I love talking about Taylor though so thanks for the ask! Also very open to giving song recs if you do want to check her out more but I won't unless solicited to lmao *Sort of off-topic but I do think there's a relation between my fascination with the Beatles' history and my love for a great break-up song. I like pain I guess :)

#ask #anon #taylor #mine

[dasibom]

haven't read it but heard mostly very positive things about a little life, would be interested in why u think it's bad? (if u want ofc)

ofc i love talking abt how much i hate this book. i answered a similar ask on my old blog so i'm just gonna copy paste (with a little editing):

content and trigger warnings for rape, csa, suicide, self harm and abuse. both for the book and this post.

i have so, so many problems with this book. lets start with... the gay stuff. here’s an bit from a goodreads review (link) by Michael Flick, which says it better than i could. the whole review is worth a read, too.

“Some believe that this is “The Great Gay Novel.” That couldn’t be more wrong. There are only two recognizable gay men in this work, JB and Caleb. A creative queen and a violent, probably psychopathic, sadist. All the other “possibilities” are pedophiles (categorically not gay—that’s a sickness, an evil, that has nothing to do with being gay) or so hopelessly confused (and impotent) that you can’t know what they are (JB and Willem). The take on gay men here is antediluvian—a dangerous and discredited brand of heteronormative delusion in which all gay men, no matter the glittering surface of their lives, are fated only to die a lonely, miserable death. Caleb dies an excruciating death (so we’re told) from pancreatic cancer. JB, the witty, flamboyant, unstable, creative queen is merely a plot point. His happiness, told but not shown, at the bitter end doesn’t mean anything more than that. He’s a device to wring one more regret from you, one more sorrow. You can be assured that he, too, will die an ignoble death just beyond this novel’s last page. And you won’t be troubled or offended or titillated by the gay sex (or really any sex) here because there isn’t any: it’s the sex that dare not speak its name. All this is because the author knows absolutely nothing about gay men other than the most superficial stereotypes and doesn’t have the imagination to venture deeper than that. She can’t even imagine that a man (Willem) doesn’t need a woman to quench his sexual needs—he has a solution readily at hand.

other than this, i remember this book having lesbophopic language but i don’t own a copy and i'm not gonna search the internet for that.

basically the whole book is just pure torture porn. so many bad and traumatising things happen to the main character it feels unrealistic and i think the only reason it happens is because the characters life has to be miserable. that's the whole point of the book to me. there is no reason to so graphically include a ton of this stuff in a book other than shock value. some of this graphic stuff includes very extreme descriptions of self harm (mostly cutting but also other stuff), suicide (including possible methods), physical and sexual abuse (part of it when the main character is a child), violence and medical trauma. i’m afraid that there is a real danger to this book teaching people how to hurt themselves (or even stuff like where to hide the tools they do it with) and i can’t imagine what an actively suicidal person might get out of this book. it really, really concerns me. i’m afraid this book teaches people to not get help, to not go to therapy and get help if they’ve been traumatised and/or are struggling with living. i've been traumatised in childhood and i can imagine what someone younger than i am, someone more impressionable, could get out of this book. like seriously some very fucked up ideas, i felt like the whole thing about being traumatised, and the constant self harming and suicide attempts were presented in almost a romanticised way. obviously my opinion here isn't like objective, or something, cause i'm a person trying to recover and deal w childhood trauma, which still affects me every day, in several ways, and realistically, it will never stop affecting me, but the point is that although it was terrible and it fucking sucks, it doesn't mean i will have a life with no quality and will forever be unhappy and unable to cope. and this book so clearly disagrees with it. the fact that the main character is traumatised and that horrible things happened to him as a child feels like a death sentence when it doesn't have to be.

^ lmao a point i also wanted to bring up in this section is that not all of the shit that happens to the main character needed to happen because it's fiction and it's a made up story, like after some point when i was reading it and seriously messed up shit just kept happening and it kept on going i thought like... why? it servers absolutely no purpose after some point. reading a rape scene after rape scene stopped having an affect on me eventually and... that's not very good, is it? like, i'm trying to say, this is fiction, it doesn't need to go that far? at some point, a very early point at that, it was enough to get the message across that hey, what happens to this character is bad and fucked up, it didn't need to go on.

the whole book is also full of people enabling the main character to hurt himself over and over again and do nothing. every character is there to some way hurt the main character and people praise this book for being such a great tale about friendship. it is so pretentious and again, just pure torture porn. the book so clearly seem to think therapy and reaching out to people for help it bullshit!

i’m not saying you can’t write or discuss the themes that are present in this book but i just don’t think this is the way to do it. probably a therapist specialising in trauma should consult with the writer and someone should make sure the description of self harm and suicide will not harm anyone. i think there are guidelines made for that by people working in the field and i just feel like something like that would be of benefit here. like, i don't know, i don't have a solution, i'm just saying this is not it.

also, here is a link to the author literally saying she does not believe in trigger warnings. and i think those would have been extremely beneficial to have at the start of this book and i certainly would not have read it if it was for them. that would have saved me from so much triggering content that i did not want to read and i wish badly that i did not read. it seems clear to me the author does not have any idea how traumatic things can work, or at least that is what i think based on what she says. here is a link to an interview in which she says she does not believe in talk therapy. there, a point about a persons autonomy to end their own life is brought up which is a topic but if that’s what she wants to talk about then it should be done in clear terms and not with the only message “therapy doesn’t work if you’ve suffered enough trauma.” at least that’s how the whole thing seemed to me. like of course a persons own choice to end their life is a discussion i do think is worth having, but... that did not come across in the book.

lastly, here are some links i have saved about this book which i think point out excellent things if anyone wants to read more:

https://www.reddit.com/r/books/comments/a0e1yi/convince_me_a_little_life_is_a_good_book_please/

http://post45.org/2016/06/im-so-sorry-a-little-life-and-the-socialism-of-the-rich/

https://cannonballread.com/2016/07/narfna-a-little-life/

& you're welcome to ask me to clarify something or just discuss, this is a little bit of a mess cause i copy pasted that old answer and edited it a bit to hopefully word things better but like. idk if much of it makes sense

#i rly hope this is like readable and understable lol #asks

[just-the-mage]

A Return From Dark Waters, Part II

Continued from Part I, found here!

(Written by myself & @iris-ymir​)

Iris listened to Evangeline’s story. On some level, she felt the woman’s pain, when the other was talking about her nightmares. Iris had her own. Always the same... being strapped onto a hospital bed, while slowly losing herself. But she was not dead after all? This simple sentence gave her hope she did not know she had. She would still have time to fix a couple of things. The greatest mistake she ever made... but one could not start with such a leap. Every journey started with a small step. And for Iris? That small step would be Evangeline. What the two had in the past was gone with the wind... but it was never meant to be, anyways. With Eva’s arms wrapped tightly around her body.. a little bit too tight, Iris wanted to back away. Yet she did not. She swallowed hard, trying to keep the urge to leap away on tight reins. Breaking the embrace now would shatter Evangeline like a crystal vase, dropped off the table and onto the hard, cold marble flooring. So Iris endured the tight embrace, even though it took all of her self control, her body tense against Eva’s form. “So... Irene, huh?” Irene... Another self? Like the shrimp? If this was not a bad enough joke on its own.. now possibly having two of these leeches in her head... but this one actually using the name of her lousy mother? That...that was a joke so bad it kind of ended up being good in a twisted sort of way. Iris broke the embrace carefully, without making any overt movements. She moved like Evangeline was a startled kitten she was trying to calm down.

The pale viera pushed the plug into the hole in the bottom of the pool, and walked up to the shower stand, turning it on. As the warm, clean water started to fill the pool slowly, Iris made her way back to the miserable kitten that was Evangeline, and took a seat next to her, leaning back against the railing with a sigh. 

“Irene was mi mom. A heckin’ terrible mother at dat...she died in Limsa Lominsa a good fifteen summers back. Found ‘er from da sea... raped and murdered.. Fockin’ unsuspectin’ fool... Burned ‘er corpse miself. Tha wind from da sea scattered 'er damn ashes by tha mornin’ light...” Without looking at Evangeline, Iris reached her arm over the railing, picking up a bath bomb, and flipping it into a slowly filling pool. The scent of hibiscus and steam soon filled the air. 

“Ya dun sound too damn okai wid ‘er bein’ gone though. I would fockin’ lie, if I said dis wont disturb tha livin’ shite outta mi... This whole frickin’ scene.“

Evangeline could tell Iris didn’t want this. That she was uncomfortable with this. And yet...she stayed. She didn’t jump away, break the embrace...she didn’t run. Eva felt the thinner woman’s muscles tense against her, entirely unable to relax. Evangeline was about to let her go when Iris slowly and carefully extricated herself from Eva’s muscular arms. She turned on the shower again, plugging the bath, and began to fill it back up with warm water.

She’s trying. She’s really trying.

Eva thought, surprise tickling at the hollow feeling in her chest. Iris...this was unlike her. The voice was the same, though. Her eyes...undoubtedly...were the same. This was Iris...or at least, the Iris that Evangeline had known. Perhaps Silke had gotten through to her after all. Eva tried to harden her heart to the fact that Silke and Iris...that the two of them would inevitably end up together. If Iris could change...be more kind...like she was doing here...Silke would be with her. Evangeline’s breaths deepened as she tried to calm herself. Feeling the warm water tickle at her toes helped. Something to focus on other than her feelings.

“I’m sorry to hear about your mother...regardless of her quality it’s not something you should’ve had to experience. The more I hear about gods-damned Limsa Lominsa the more I want to march on it with a battalion of soldiers and wipe the blasted place off the map.” She intoned, probably sounding a bit harsher than she had meant.

”Ya dun sound too damn okai wid ‘er bein’ gone though.” 

Iris was right...it wasn’t hard to read Eva given her tear-streaked face. She was trying to suppress the sobs, but couldn’t seem to find a way to. 

“Y-you’re right...it’s...it’s a-awfully disturbing...and I’m s-sorry...but I do m-miss her...I don’t k-know if she was your mo-mother...though. I….I….I know...it’s not f-fair to you...to want her b-back...but she was m-my friend…” Evangeline heard a sharp intake of breath, seemingly from far off in the distance, and realized that she had done it. Probably preparing herself to burst into tears again. Because that’s what today needed. More tears. She didn’t know why she was telling Iris all of this...might be that she had been trying to help...as much as she could. But Eva had held this all inside of her for too long to contain it anymore.

“Sh-she was my...f-friend...and I d-don’t have any other f-friends...a-and I don’t know how...b-but she took the nightmares away...I di-didn’t dream them...for three wonderful nights...and I’m scared...to sleep again...b-because I know they’ll be b-back…” She covered her face with her hands, feeling the water rise around her feet. She closed her eyes and tried to contain herself, but it was the scent of hibiscus that cut the last string on that violin. She curled into herself further, tighter, her arms wrapped around her knees, and she buried her face in her thighs. She shuddered, wracked with sobs. She figured Iris would probably leave soon. Most everyone usually did. Evangeline was too broken...too hurt. Too much of a mess. Too much of a burden. Now that Iris was back...she probably had things she wanted to do. A life she wanted to live.

And now that the deal was most definitely off...Iris had nothing left to gain from Evangeline’s presence. Eva waited for the sound of retreating footsteps. Expectantly. And as she did, she felt herself whisper something. Under her breath...more to herself than anything else. She hoped Iris would hear it. And she didn’t want Iris to hear it.

“I d-don’t...want t-to be...alone…again..”

As Evangeline broke into tears again, Iris stood up, taking an empty bucket and a luffa that were resting on the edge of the pool, and walked to the shower stand, filling the bucket up. In a way, Iris saw herself in the crying woman... She had felt the same after she got left alone in Limsa Lominsa. She despised her mother, but still, the lonely, sleepless nights on the streets had been horrifying. Iris had not cried a single tear for her mother back then, but she had cried for the feeling of loneliness. Just as Evangeline did now. And the root of the sorrow? Irene. Iris’ mother... Evangeline’s.. friend? The thought was disturbing, and Iris did not want to think about it. It couldn’t be.  Irene Ymir was long gone. This... this had to be someone wearing the mask. An echo of a person once lived. Deep down, Iris wished the name was just a coincidence. A simple name her subconscious had picked up from somewhere. Yes. That had to be the case. Irene was dead. As the pool filled up, Iris closed the shower, picked up the bucket and made her way into the spot next to Evangeline. She reached out for a beautiful, purple bottle of soap, and poured some of it into the bucket, stirring it with the luffa. “...Fockin’ ‘ell, Evangelin’...”, she sighed out the words, while dipping the luffa onto the bucket, and proceed to wash Eva’s back and shoulders, now that the woman was curled up into herself. “...Stop yer heckin’ bawling, okai? Who tha devil said yer alone? Im ‘ere... Ya like it or not. And for yer... Irene? If whut yer sayin’ is true... If she truly is like tha shrimp, she’ll heckin pop out sooner or later. But until dat ‘appens, yer stuck wid mi!”, suddenly Iris bursted into an almost inaudible giggle.

“Shiteberries, Im heckin’ back Ya’ll!! Dey could not keep mi! No... Dey could not keep Iris... Ya ‘ear ye motherfockers?! Tha cat’s on da table, and dere’s nothin’ ya can do about it!”, she looked up to the corner of a ceiling, with a wide grin on her messy, black lips. With her bad teeth, the look resembled something from a horror story. Iris returned back to her work, now scrubbing the soot off of Evangeline’s arms and chest, as much as she could with the woman still curled up like a caterpillar. 

“...Waaait, wait... Ya slept together? Dont tell mi ya focked wid this Irene... Because dat.. Dat would be waay too weird. For a sleepin’ though... I guess ya can sleep in mi room... I ‘ave quite a wide bed. Soo, as long as ye stay on yer heckin’ side... yer free to join mi. I can't take awai yer frickin’ nightmares, but guess I can be dere if ya ‘appen to wake up for dem. ‘Aight?” Not only that, but Iris felt like she also needed someone to sleep with her. During her time floating in the sea of deep emptiness, she had from time to time had visions... like fragments of dreams, breaking through the black veil... yet always the image had shattered in front of her eyes, like a twisted mirror, sending her back into the black.

This felt different. When she had embraced Eva just a moment ago, the woman had felt real.. alive. But still, somewhere deep inside, Iris was afraid of sleeping. What if this was yet another trick? What if she woke up only to find herself floating.. drowning once again? 

“...Now I need ya to... never goin’ ba-ack... lean back a bit, so I can wash tha rest of ye... Yer not gonna crawl yer fockin’ cadaver into mi bed like dat, sister... Ohh no... Not gonna ‘appen!”, pale viera dipped the luffa into the soap water again, while intently staring at her hand and fingers. She blinked couple of times... it was a peculiar, slow blink, her left eye barely closing at all, and the eyelid moving on a small delay compared to the right. “Now... Feel mi... tell mi about dis frickin’ Irene of yers... I need to be sure o’ sumthin’...”

“W-wait...you’re staying? R-really?” Evangeline lifted her head to try to look at Iris, who was now behind Eva, scrubbing at her back and shoulders. Eva couldn’t believe it. She had been sure...absolutely sure...that Iris would have flown the coop, as it were. But maybe...something really had changed in Iris. She assumed she flushed at the mention of her sleeping with Irene...but couldn’t feel it the same way she usually could.

“We...slept in the same bed. No sex...no need to worry about that particular situation. She was just...comforting. That’s all.”

I guess ya can sleep in mi room… 

Evangeline blinked, looking into Iris’ eyes. Was she...sincere? She looked it. If she was...this was the kindest thing Iris had ever even thought of doing for her. Maybe...maybe it was possible. Maybe they could be friends, after all. Maybe Iris, under all of her deception...her difficulties...was a good person. She shook her head in an attempt to free her face of the incredulous look it must be wearing.

Evangeline slowly started to unfurl herself, spreading out at first, and then collapsing back into the water with a splash as Iris moved away from Eva’s back. She lay on her back, half-floating in the still-rising water, and stared at the ceiling. She felt the tension finally start to leach out of her. The grime and dirt floated away from her, one with the ripples in the water that exuded from Eva as she moved slowly in the calm surface of the bath.

“I...would love...to sleep in your room. Th...thank you. That’s really nice of you.” Eva could feel herself calming down, her desperate fear fading for now.

“As for Irene...she was a spellcaster...made little dancing lights. Even healed the burn on your arm, from that boiling water. She said she grew up in Gridania...and didn’t seem acquainted with much in the way of etiquette. She ate with her hands, and didn’t seem to understand talking with people very well. She was sweet, though...kind and caring. She tried to make people feel better. I don’t think Lord Blacksoul particularly appreciated it...but I think he has cornered the market on being the grumpiest old man I’ve ever met. She was always talking about how this house has such dark memories...and she would talk to the paintings. Ask them questions about the house’s past. But the strangest thing about her...was her eyes. They seemed dead...soulless. Which was such a difference from how she acted. Her eyes were how I could tell it wasn’t you in there...almost immediately.” Evangeline sniffled, but she was fairly certain the tears were over for the night. She didn’t think she had any left in her. She finally relaxed fully, and let Iris wash her, enjoying the feeling quietly.

“We-I was going to grab some food from the kitchen...after the bath. Would you like to join me? I think there’s some leftover pie still...that should help with the taste in your mouth.”

“Well, where tha heck I would go? I kinda live ‘ere, ‘aight? ...Okai, cloose yer eyes... I'm gonna get dat face o’ yers... Fockin’ ‘ell, where ‘ave ya been? Did ya crawl through a frickin’ big Bertha or sumthin’..?”, Iris carefully wiped the soot off Evangeline’s face, using small, circlular motions. As she had got all the mess off, she threw the luffa back into the bucket, and sat down next to Evangeline. 

“...Ya can do tha rest by yerself, Cinnabun, yer a big gal...” She was a spellcaster? This little fact had been bugging Iris from the moment Evangeline had mentioned it. How was that even possible? Iris never had any gift for magic. She had once seen a highlander woman lighting a cigarette with a flame cast on her fingertip, and had tried to copy the trick without any success at all. Magic had always been something so far out of her reach. Almost like her whole being was rejecting it. And now Evangeline was telling her this person using her body could cast magic? That was ridiculous... It was... unfair? Am affront, even! Eva had been wrong. The woman was a warrior. Maybe it had been some lousy trick that Eva saw as magic. Yes. That had to be the case. It was not any more magic than Iris was the Archbishop.

One thing was certain, though. This Irene was not the Irene Iris had known. Nor an echo of her. So it was just a coincidence... 

“So... Blacksoul is still kickin’ and as grumpy an arse as ever...”, Iris cupped her palms, using them to drink some water, swished, and spat it back into the pool. “‘Ow ‘bout Gramps? For ‘ow long I ‘ave been gone aniway?” A lonely thought crossed her mind, cutting like a glowing hot knife. “...And... Silke? An archmage somewhere, married to sum good-for-nothin’ lad? Nice teeeny little tower and all dat shite?” Iris tried to laugh, but it got stuck somewhere on the way, breaking out as a frustrated sigh. She had no idea for how long she had been under. It had felt like a couple of summers, but it was hard to keep track of time in the pitch darkness... She thought she had also fallen asleep a couple of times, so it was impossible to tell. Evangeline looked quite the same. But being a viera, that meant nothing. “Pie though! Pie sounds frickin’ fantastic! ...And a cup o’ coffee.. and a heckin’ Coffin nail.. Dis head-ache is killin’ mi!“

Evangeline immersed her hair in the water, and rinsed her face, as well as the rest of her body. That...would probably do it. No more grime...finally. She drew her hair forth from the pool, a mass of dark red sloughing off water as it pulled away from the surface of the bath. She smiled slightly at the nickname Iris had given her so long ago. A part of her had missed it...that one, specifically. Something about it fit perfectly. Though she certainly wasn’t going to complain about the sweet nicknames Irene had been giving her. She hoped she would be able to hear those again, someday.

“I’ve been making something. I’m hoping that Lord Blacksoul will find it useful...a gate for the front walkway. It feels a bit absurd to me that there wasn’t one here before...it’s the most basic level of security. Closing the gate and locking it is the easiest way to prevent the vast majority of intruders from wandering onto the premises. It won’t stop everyone, but it’s a step in the right direction as far as basic safety is concerned.”

Eva seemed to have righted herself mood-wise. Best to distract herself in the interest of preventing any further breakdowns. Irene may be gone now...but hopefully she would return at some point. And for now...this was a new version of Iris that Eva was enjoying quite a bit. Something had certainly changed...Eva wasn’t entirely sure what had transpired while Iris was locked away in her mind, but maybe it, as well as Silke, had given Iris the push she needed.

“Arsene? He’s fine…” Evangeline trailed off as she saw Iris’ face drop, mentioning Silke. Assuming that Silke was...married off? How long did she think she’d been gone?

“Iris...you haven’t been gone nearly as long as you seem to think. It’s been about four days since you were...lost to us. A lot has transpired, sure...but it hasn’t been months. And no-one has gone and gotten married...nothing quite so ridiculous.” Evangeline grimaced slightly at the mention of Silke’s name. The woman had done no wrong, but Eva couldn’t help but feel a twinge of resentment bite at her. That little green jealousy monster whipped its tail at Eva’s insides...just once. Just enough for her to struggle. But she held it back and quickly corrected her expression.

“As for Silke...we will have to write her. Both she and Lord Blacksoul have departed from Ishgarde, for fairly different reasons. Silke’s studies called for her to take a semester abroad, and it seems Lord Blacksoul was wanting for some...front-line experience. I can’t understand it...but who am I to stand in the way of men and the stupid things they choose to do?” Evangeline sighed, and finished rinsing her body off. She stood up and moved to fetch herself a towel to dry herself with.

“I don’t know if you remember it, but we participated in a rather disastrous dinner party. Someone named Asagi...her daughter...and Silke were invited here. The entire night was a mess, and I’m honestly surprised neither Arsene nor Varg had a heart attack at some point during the party.” The towel she dried herself with was still a bit scandalous for her to be wrapped in, but at this point she was too tired to care. Eva wrapped another towel around her hair and ears.

“That was when I brought Irene to Silke...and Silke was able to pull you out for just a moment.” Evangeline tried desperately not to think about that night...the feelings she had struggled with...and the heartbreak she had to endure. She closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath and willing her hastily reassembled heart not to shatter again in the middle of the damned bathroom. 

“She requested communication should your condition change. You can write her the letter tomorrow if you’d like...and I’ll see that it’s posted.” Evangeline offered Iris a towel.

“Let’s get that pie, shall we? And coffee…” She trailed off, wondering if she should mention the cigarettes. It would be healthier for Iris to go without them...and Eva rather disliked the smell regardless. After thinking for a second, she concluded that they weren’t nearly close enough, and handed off the towel, moving towards the door, and some food, at last.

As Eva mentioned Iris had only been away for some days, the pale viera could do nothing but stare at her companion, like one had just told her the sky is green and seas are made of rolanberry jelly. 

“...Excuse me? Fockin’... f-four days? D-Dat can't be... It can't..” she shook her head in disbelief, while getting up from the bath, and reaching for a towel. 

“...I... I was in dat frickin’ bottomless ocean for... at least..t-two summers... Dat d-doesn’t make any sense! ...Yer not fockin’ wid mi, Cinnabun, ‘aight?” Nothing made sense to Iris... This feeling was too much for her mind to process properly. How can one be gone for such a long time, while for others, it had been only days? 

‘Am I heckin’ losin’ it..?’ 

She thought to herself, while wrapping the towel lazily around her hips. ‘Madness is not a state of mind...’, a voice in Iris’ head.. a foreign voice of a woman. It echoed from the back of her mind, where a creature was sitting like a canine. A mess of red hair fell in loose curls on her pale shoulders. She had pointy ears, and eyes like those of a corpse. Blood red tearlines ran down on her cheeks, and her black lips were curled up into a wide smile. The most conspicuous feature, though, was a thick, red, fox-like tail, coiling around her legs.

“Irene...”, the word escaped from Iris’ lips, after she had been staring into distance for a while. 

‘...A mind of your mind... our fates entwined...’, answered the voice in a soft tone. Iris closed her eyes, tilting her head to side. The movement was twitching, resembling a person who’s having a dream. As she opened her eyes, they were, once again, the dead eyes of Irene. In the next blink though, she was gone, like a whisper in the wind. 

“...Uhh.. So dat really ‘appened? Tha night when Silke was ‘ere..? I thought it was a heckin’ dream.. I’ll need to write sumthin’ for ‘er... Damn... Not a state of mind... Pie though... Just a whisper away... P-Pie sounds like a frickin’ splendid idea! And coffee... Fockin’ ‘ell Evangeline... Can ya please get mi a damn cig? Mi ‘ead is killin’ mi...” Holding her head, Iris trailed past Evangeline to the door, pushing it open into the dark hallway. Somewhere in the darkness she could feel the creature... For a moment, viera thought she saw a dancing orb of flame, lingering around the windows near the door, only to soon realize, it was just the glowing hint of the street lights on the walkway. She turned to Evangeline, standing with her on the doorway. “Yer fox is still ‘ere, by tha way...” Pale viera stepped into the hallway, as her eyes had started to adjust into the darkness. Why had no one lit the lanterns anyway? The place was like a grave. 

“...Never goin’ back..”, she whispered to herself, while feeling her way with her fingertips. She could hear Evangeline’s steps right behind her.

Evangeline stopped dead in her tracks. 

“Did you say two summers in a bottomless ocean? That’s...that’s so horrible.” Things were starting to piece themselves together now. Eva had been wondering how or why Iris had changed so much in just a few days...wondering what had happened to her. Wondering why she had seemed just a bit more unhinged than usual. Even through the haze of Eva’s despair, it was a bit obvious. If she had been trapped...imprisoned in her own thoughts for two summers...Evangeline could think of few things more mentally traumatising than that. Eva’s heart plummeted when she realized how awful she had been to Iris. Iris, who had been...drowning? At the bottom of an ocean...for years. And Evangeline had been concerned with her own stupid feelings. Her stupid dreams of a stupid relationship that wasn’t ever going to happen in the first place. Poor Iris...she needed some support right now.  Evangeline hoped she could provide it. She moved closer to Iris, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, when she heard Iris speak.

Irene... Iris was looking through Evangeline, eyes vacant, directed at something that could have been behind the tall, muscular viera...or something that could be a thousand malms away. Eva was ashamed of it...but her heart leapt at the mention of Irene’s name. Eva kept her focus on Iris, though. The woman needed help from her...not another treatise on how she wanted to see Irene again. Before Eva could open her mouth to say something, Iris closed her eyes and spasmed, eliciting a jump from Eva. “Iris? Are you okay?”

She got closer to the waifish girl, eyes radiating concern as she tried to understand what was happening. Iris’ eyes snapped open, revealing Irene...just a hint of her. Irene’s eyes were truly unmistakable...although Evangeline thought she had imagined it for a moment, as the eyes flicked again. When she reopened them, they were back to Iris’ deep purple pools, filled still with life and fire that she continued to deny was present there. Evangeline shook her head, trying to clear her perspective. Taking another look over the pale woman, she nodded numbly at Iris, who had started talking about Silke again. What did this mean? Did she want Irene back so desperately that she was seeing things? Constructing that gate must have taken more out of her than she had thought...there was no way that Irene could be making herself known again. If she was even still there. Iris had hardly ever switched with the first ‘other’...what evidence did Eva have that it wouldn’t be the same with Irene? She was being too hopeful.

Iris wandered past Eva, who let her hand fall away without any resistance. The spindly figure was holding her head...best to get her something to eat. Some actual water too, maybe. Perhaps she was dehydrated. She followed after, trying not to intrude too far into Iris’ space. She wasn’t sure if her presence was helping, or hurting. Best to be careful for now...she didn’t want to upset Iris if she could avoid it. Iris turned to her, throwing a few words over her shoulder as if they were the peel to a banana.

Yer fox is still ‘ere, by tha way… 

Eva’s heart, which had just started to settle down, felt as if it were about to try and climb out of her chest and up her throat. This was confirmation. It was real. Irene was still there...and Eva had probably seen her eyes for just a moment too. A valve opened in her body somewhere and relief flooded throughout every inch of her. She could feel her body relaxing...as long as Irene would come back...for sure...Eva could wait. She would absolutely wait...and she would do her best for Iris, too. She hurried after the retreating figure, following her into the kitchen, and busied herself with starting the coffee brewing. Sweeping around the kitchen like a seasoned housewife, she fetched a plate, and smoothly slid a slice of pie onto it, filled a glass with water, and presented both to Iris, who Eva quickly noticed had taken a seat at the table, still rubbing her forehead.

“There...maybe this will help a bit. Oh!” Eva spun on her heel, almost floating to the silverware drawer, and wrapping her fingers around a clean fork, which she placed delicately next to the pie.

“The coffee should be ready soon...and…” Evangeline grimaced. She didn’t feel comfortable enabling it...but she didn’t want to cause any unnecessary friction with Iris. 

“Where do you keep your cigarettes? I can fetch one for you…”

To be continued..

#ffxiv #evangeline cross #iris ymir #the coils of d'espair; irene #viera #rava viera #veena viera #drama #writing #rp #mateus rp #crystal rp #ffxiv rp #long post #i had a blast writing this #there are still going to be probably 2-3 more parts #and this isnt even the tip of the iceberg

[filthyjanuary]

I've never seen an episode of supernatural all I see is what's on your blog and each and every day I become more confused about the writing of the show and why people enjoy it :l

okay well first off i am SO sorry you have to see me like this jknbuvgyuhjn i cannot believe im spnblogging in 2020 like im 15 again but things happen i guess.

second of all, the thing to know about supernatural is.... i think, for general audiences, it is an average-to-good show. it's not Bad. It's not Beloved and/or Acclaimed. objectively, i think is also probably the most balanced view of the show and is also probably what the cw and/or people who worked on the show see it as. it lasted 15 years because it consistently pulled in reliable numbers for the cw and grabbed a lot of demographics. like i know the tumblr bubble skews perceptions but, people of all ages, genders, sexualities watched and enjoyed supernatural, yes even to the very end. most people are also not looking at supernatural with the hyperfocused lens that tumblr is and that’s like... okay. those fans aren’t any less relevant or important. if only tumblr was watching supernatural, i promise it would’ve been cancelled like at least 7 years ago.

the spn *fandom* is interesting because like one, no one is watching the same fucking show. like we all watched the same episodes but like this fandom cant even agree on like...basic facets of canon, let alone digging into complex meta. people’s views of characters actions and motivations skew wildly. things one side of the fandom considers nearly canon are like essentially viewed as ooc on other sides of the fandom. you love and hate all the characters and everyone is always about to start swinging on everyone else. you have to simultaneously juggle the ideas that the writers — and for the record this show has had four showrunners and like a billion individual writers who all see and interpret it slightly differently — are brilliant and the writers legitimately are both stupid and bad at their jobs. you have to turn your brain off in terms of continuity because they retcon their own lore every 15 seconds. this isn’t even getting into the ship wars, the boundary crossing, the weird invasiveness , etc., etc., etc. supernatural’s writing is sometimes incredible, sometimes terrible, but generally pretty average, but it had a charm (ESPECIALLY IN SEASONS 1-3) that reeled you in, even if you hated the genre.

when a show is on this long, i think the fans (rightly so) will look back and dig in and get nitpicky on things they wish were covered with more care. things that the show obviously did not decide to write with the intention of addressing/grappling with later on. case in point: dean’s drinking habits. with the exception of like... season 7 where they DO address it, dean drinks a lot as a feature of his character with little to no consequence. he doesn’t get drunk. he’s always driving. it might as well be water. the writers don’t intend for that to be more than just a facet of what makes him a rough and tough action hero even though logically, he should be drunk all the time. even w/ interviews w/ the cast/crew, it’s clear the writers don’t think the fans will care and/or notice a lot of things. they do, because well, they’re invested. the fandom extrapolates because that’s what fandom does, but i really don’t think the writers connect those dots because dean’s drinking /isn’t/ a problem until they need it to be. because spn has gone on so long, it has more instances of things like this than other shows, and our cultural contexts have also evolved a lot along the way from 2005 to 2020. so again, there’s a lot to work with. i don’t really think that’s so much a reflection of the quality of the show than it is a reflection of how long it’s been on and the way society has changed since then. dean not knowing what myspace is is funny for two completely different reasons in 2005 and in 2020, for example.

my own personal opinion is, there’s a lot to enjoy about supernatural. seasons 1-5 are legitimately good tv. for all their flaws, they have a very clear aesthetic and tell a story that is well-structured and relatively coherent in terms of themes and continuity. they set up complex characters and relationships and everyone’s motivations make sense and that arc wraps on a tragic but ultimately narratively consistent and thus fulfilling point. of course, there’s stuff i personally like and dislike but separating my emotions from it, it’s very good. i think if anything, i would recommend anyone watch those five seasons and then decide whether they want to continue or not. if you don’t, you’ll end on a note that feels complete. it’s what i’m doing w/ my friend elaine, currently, actually. if she decides she wants to continue after 5, we’ll do that, but for now we’re just vibing in season 1. after that point, i think if you decide you care enough about the characters to push through wildly inconsistent writing, there’s stuff to enjoy in seasons 6-15, but the quality and particularly the consistency dips and this is also where the retconning really starts to...intensify. it’s also where the mythos of supernatural grows bigger than the show itself, which i think was always supernatural’s downfall. the crew started caring more about the whims of the fandom and frankly the fandom became more of the story than the show, and that’s how you get people piecing together what supernatural is based on out of context gifsets that skew perceptions wildly and get Supernatural Fandom™ which... frankly, in my opinion, changed fandom culture as a whole for the worse, like yes it’s a huge, powerful and often memeable behemoth but also... the way it changed creator-fan interactions is something we’re going to be unpacking for a long time. i think had the writers tuned out fandom wars and internet yelling and strived to tell a story that made sense and was well constructed to /them/, we wouldn’t be here and seasons 6-15 could’ve found a way to be as beloved as the first third of the show. i’m personally of the opinion that being a fan of something, for better or for worse, does not entitle you to part of it’s creative process. it doesn’t become a collaboration, and the door is always there if you get to the point where you want to leave. i think supernatural getting too caught up in its own fandom and balancing all these conflicting interests is ultimately what made the last 10 seasons, and particularly the back third of the show oftentimes flounder. the finale chaos, in my opinion, happened because they tried to please everyone by keeping too many things vague so people would have room to play in their own sandboxes and round out the story the way they wanted to see it and thus ultimately, a lot of things were left in the air and so for many people, the closure they were hoping for just wasn’t there.

i dont know how this became a long and scattered collection of thoughts but tldr, people enjoy supernatural because at the end of the day, it’s an enjoyable show and i think the more you stew in a fandom bubble, there’s more to get worked up about. which is fine. i like that fandom engages in complex conversations that the show won’t grapple with, but that’s not for everyone and i don’t think the fact that we have these conversations is necessarily an indictment of the show’s overall quality.

#asks #spn #long post #** #Anonymous #for the record #i liked the finale and i watched the show for 10 years of my life on and off because sam and dean winchester are two of the most interestin #interesting* characters and also have the most interesting dynamic i've ever see #seen*

[docholligay]

DEFINITELY AU TO MY UNIVERSE

This is based on the idea @rhiorhino came up with in her ask of having Pharah and Tracer live together after something happens to Emily and Mercy. I worked on this A LOT A LOT, so I hope you enjoy! its not at all perfect but I think it’s good! 3,300 words. 

Tracer and Pharah had been opposites from the first day they had met, and while they had grown warm to each other, they certainly had not grown any more like each other. Tracer was impulsive and quick, going in with her whole self, a tiny firework of a human being, exploding and lighting the entire sky in one moment. Pharah was thoughtful and measured, tracing out the steps in her mind, a clear line from one to the other, carefully lighting each corner like a candle. 

So it made a certain amount of sense that when Emily MacNair, who would have been Oxton, was murdered, Tracer immediately and quickly lost her mind. Emily had not even been laid to rest when Tracer skipped the country in pursuit of her murderer, and anyone who got in the way discovered that Tracer was sunshine, and the sun is more than capable of killing without mercy. They said she beat Widowmaker to death with the butt of her rifle. Tracer would only say that probably did happen, but truthfully she didn’t remember a thing. It was hard to argue against that point, when she returned to London and descended into what a physician had called “brief reactive psychosis.” It was difficult to charge her for the death of someone wanted dead or alive by several countries, in any case. Born under a lucky star. 

It was four months after that, with Tracer finally more or less in touch with reality and functional, that Overwatch continued its disastrous year. 

Perhaps it had been that there was no one to blame, no villain to pursue, that it was just one terrible moment. An accident. There had been the terrible accident, and Pharah had held Mercy, and Mercy had died, and that was all there was to it. Who could she hate? And so, perhaps it was these things, but perhaps it was that different quality to Pharah herself, that she did not explode into loud and keening grief. 

She buried her wife, exactly according to her religious wishes, and calmly laid a hand on her coffin before it was laid into the grave. She went back home, and cleaned and folded and scrubbed the floor, lined up the shoes at the front door in a neat line, and went to bed. She went to work, and redid the filing cabinet, and wrote a detailed schedule on the board, and shined her shoes. She carefully settled Mercy’s affairs, and mostly remembered not to bring up a cup of coffee in the morning. And, repeat.  Fareeha Amari was doing very well, by most standards. 

Even Tracer, in that first month, as people told her how unwavering Pharah had been in all this, had grumbled “Right, because Fareeha’s bloody fucking perfect and don’t I know it.” 

 People had mostly stopped asking questions with concerned faces, three months later. Anyone looking at her would have seen how stable and steady she was.

“Bit worried about Fareeha.” Tracer had said, leaning against Winston as they watched TV in his living room. 

Tracer had given up on living alone, sold her house to her cousin, and decided, simply, that she was going to live with Winston for the rest of her life. It was more than big enough for three, if it came to it, hope never leaving her even as she grieved, and it made the most sense to have herself there. She loved Winston, and he loved her, and Tracer was a bit frightened of her own recently-discovered fragility. He’d welcomed her happily. 

“Did she say something?” He snuggled her in a little closer. 

“No, and that’s part of it,” She sat up, gazing over the top of the TV back into her own mind, “she hasn’t snapped at me, or teased at me, in months. I spent all morning doing things I know drive her absolutely mad. It’s like she’s not even there, Win.” 

Winston shifted uncomfortably. “She knows you’re--well--she’s trying to--” 

Tracer sighed aggressively. “Win, it’s been months now. Not even on medication now, Doc’s really quite happy with me, and no one sniping at me did it in the first place. Don’t treat me like--”

“I’m sorry,” he touched her back softly, “I’m just,” he gave a sheepish laugh, “Myself, all the time.” 

Tracer shook her head. “She comes in, same time every day, she puts away her papers, she cleans something, always, she tidies up my desk, as well, without a word, ‘ardly. She does her work, ‘as a three pound meal deal for lunch, same time every day,, works out, and I ‘appen to know she goes to the Tesco every night, same time every day, gets a ready meal, goes ‘ome, cleans and organizes something, again, eats it, and goes to bed.” 

“Lena, how do you know that?” 

She tossed her hands in the air. “I followed ‘er, obviously! Multiple times!”

“We have to get you a constructive hobby.” 

“And she didn’t even notice I was bloody fucking following her. Fareeha.” Tracer gave a little frown and flopped back against Winston. ‘She’s ‘orribly depressed, Win. I know it.” she closed her eyes, 

“I don’t want ‘er to live this way. Or not live, right? Or worse, I don’t want to wake up one morning and find,” her eyes popped back open, gesturing wildly, “Commander Fareeha Amari, precise and disciplined in every way, ‘as done a very precise and disciplined job of offing ‘erself.” 

“You don’t think--” 

“I do think!” She jumped back up again, a creature in constant emotion. “She’s so bloody logical, to the point of being stupid, and she’ll, “ Tracer drew her hand widely across the air, slipping into a terrible Egyptian accent, “find it most reasonable that I will never find happiness again, and my lack of passion makes me a liability, and so, I will make sure not to leave a mess.” She snapped her fingers and jumped toward Winston, eyes locked. “That COULD happen, Win, I can bloody well see it in me mind’s eye!” 

“Lena--” 

“Know what she bought at Tesco, Win? Bangers and mash, a ready meal from Tesco for one. Of bangers and mash.” 

Winston put his hand on her back, and drew her into his shoulder. He said nothing. What was there to say? Tracer was right, of course, and he felt terrible not having noticed. But Pharah was so good at being stoic, at keeping herself straight, at convincing the world that she had always simply been this way, and he had forgotten how her speech had lost some of its formality, how she had laughed easier, how she had teased. How she had been happy. 

It was easy to ignore Pharah’s coping, because it was not drinking too much, or getting into fights, or hallucinating, but her absolute sense of control and order that guided her through difficulty. 

“Also, she isn’t eating enough,” Tracer shook her head, “She’s lost ‘alf stone, at least. Maybe more like a stone, really.” 

“What should we do?” He said softly. 

“Well,” she rocked back to sit on her heels, running a hand through her hair, “We ‘ave to ‘ave her come live ‘ere, with us. Break her out of it all, right?” She grinned. “Bunch of the sadsack bachelor types, that’s us. We can ‘elp ‘er, Win, I know we can.” 

Winston had no idea how Tracer was going to get Pharah to agree to this. He wasn’t sure if she knew how she was going to. But Tracer believed she would, and she could, and that it itself made him believe. 

____

It wasn’t nearly so hard as Tracer had thought it was going to be. It took only two weeks of wheedling and begging and claiming that she and Win couldn’t possibly afford the place without her, being everything that had happened. It would be a proper favor to them, if Pharah would come and live with them. Besides, wasn’t Pharah so good at all the things she wasn’t? She’d be so much more help to running the house than Tracer was, after all. 

Pharah was scrubbing the office floor, as she did every single Thursday, when she finally broke. A person could only avoid Tracer’s attempts at something she truly wanted for so long. 

“If you and Winston need money, I will give you money.” She did not look up at Tracer. Back and forth across the boards. Check carefully for a scratch the needs filling. RInse the brush. Repeat. “I have little need for extra income.” 

Tracer sighed heavily. She kept trying to give Pharah a graceful way to accept, and Pharah kept throwing it back in her face. It was aggravating to keep inventing new disasters for her and Winston to be having, particularly given that they were doing quite well, all told. 

She thought of the solution, and hated it just as quickly. Tracer had worked hard. The odds of any sort of relapse were exceedingly rare. She had just now gotten to the point where it seemed like people weren’t whispering about it behind her back at the greengrocers, that her reputation was beginning to shine up near to normal again. Life was full of bloody fucking sacrifice, wasn’t it? 

She knelt in front of Pharah. “Fareeha.” 

“What?” Rinse out the brush. 

“Win’s taken care of me, so much, over and over and--” It stuck in her throat, and she hated every inch of it, “I worry I might be too much for ‘im, if it ‘appens again, and ‘e’ll try to do it ‘imself, all over again. You know how Win is, about these things, and I thought, if you were there, you could reason with ‘im. Day by day. Might be best to send me off, but ‘e won’t, but, you know ‘e trusts your judgment.” 

Pharah looked up at Tracer. “I doubt I could convince Winston of this.” 

Tracer’s fists balled at her side. Pharah had always said Tracer had a way of working a person’s last nerve, but she wasn’t giving herself enough credit. 

“But,” Pharah continued, putting the brush in the bucket, “he is also unlikely to see an early sign. I would notice.” 

Tracer smiled and nodded. 

Sure you would, Fareeha, as my general early signs are jot off to Paris and kill someone, which I think Win might also pick up on, but all right. 

She sighed. “I will rent the apartment, until you feel secure. I will also pay rent at Winston’s, to assist.” 

On some other day, Tracer might have tried to tell Pharah that she could always buy another apartment, and it might be better for her to do that. But it was enough to know that Pharah would move out her things, even if every single box of Mercy’s scattered notes was going to the wide expanse of leftover warehouse they used as a storage unit in the back of Winston’s place. She had Emily’s things there as well, and was only beginning to realize she needed to begin to sort through them, so what could she possibly say? 

“Thank you.” was what she chose. 

_____

A new living arrangement is always difficult, even without the added difficulty of a person not realizing the are going through a certain amount of emotional trauma. Pharah had been living with she and Winston for six weeks now, and while they had managed to put her weight back on, and she had even managed a smile or two, Pharah still lived her life within the lines of her planner with rigidity and focus. She never looked up. 

She never spoke Angela’s name. 

Tracer began to spend the night in Pharah’s room, chatting to her about her day, asking questions that would almost certainly go unanswered. She had liked it, when she was struggling, and people had talked to her. Parvati had once recounted an entire night at the pub as a one woman play, and Tracer had managed to laugh, and so she knew there was some medicine in it. Whatever Pharah might think. 

So Tracer threw herself against Pharah’s brick wall, and she fell down, and she got up again. 

Until a Friday night on the sixth week. It was Shabbat, and Pharah had remembered it was Shabbat, because someone had greeted someone else in the grocery store as she got her three pound lunch. Tracer had noticed her quiet sternness, even more pronounced than usual, as they went through the store together, as they stopped for flowers, as someone had asked Tracer if she was planning to pop by the pub this week. 

Pharah said nothing, but Tracer was undeterred. 

“I do not entirely understand why you are in my room.” Pharah turned onto her side and shut her eyes. “Again.”

“I slept with me dad for something like two years after Mum died,” she scoffed and shook her head, “I know that sounds all sort of funny, least, the looks people ‘ave given me make me think so. 

But it wasn’t--just ‘aving each other, right there, as we were scared to lose each other, and--and well, it felt a bit lonely, and a bit cold. ‘Ard to explain, but there was something very comforting in it.” 

She laughed a little, chewing at the end of her nail. “Truth is, I only needed for so long, but somehow I knew ‘e needed it longer. To ‘ave me at ‘and, right? To know I’s safe? So I stayed there, a while longer.” 

Tracer looked over to Pharah, whose back remained turned to her, silent and still in the dim glow of moonlight, outlining her shoulder like a headstone. 

“We did mend, Dad and me.” Tracer shifted under her blanket. “Took time, but we did mend.” 

Pharah lay staring at the wall, jaw set in a hard line, arm tucked firmly under the single pillow she used. She said nothing. There was nothing to say, just more of Tracer’s rambling in the darkness. 

“There’s nothing in you that’s broken, Fareeha,” she said it with such confidence that for a moment, Pharah nearly believed it to be true, “rather, not forever. I know because there’s nothing that can be mended in me. There’ll be scars, of course, but,” she giggle and shrugged at the ceiling, “Isn’t as if you and don’t ‘ave plenty as it stands.” 

“You do not understand.” Pharah’s voice came like a command in the night. 

Tracer swallowed hard as the anger built up in her. Pharah was hurting and Pharah had a hard time with things, and Pharah did not mean to make it sound like the way she’d loved Emily wasn’t as strong, and she was going to pop Fareeha Amari in the face right FUCKING now. 

And she sat up to do it. 

But before she could, Pharah pushed herself up to her side. “You, maybe, will mend. You do not understand,” she turned to face Tracer, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, steam rising from a kettle, “because you are the sort of person people love. They remember you, they--they cherish seeing you, you make them laugh. You are the sort of person who has romances, a woman talks about you at brunch with her friends, and everyone says,” she began a very poor imitation of the East End, “well isn’t that Lena so very cheerful and what, right?” 

There is--” They were nearly nose to nose to now, but Pharah had the floor, and Tracer sat quietly even as her brown eyes glowed with fire. “There is nothing of that, for me. That is for people like you!” She slapped the bed in frustration. “And you will never, ever understand me, because you are some...Turkish rug, or a carved chair, and people notice you in a room, and they love you! Plenty want you in their homes.” 

Tracer moved to say something, but found the anger had left her, and she was filled instead with a deep and unyielding sorrow for all they had both lost, and all Pharah had learned she could lose. Tears slipped down her face, only to find Pharah’s had matched them. 

Pharah tapped her chest.”I am--a broom. A filing cabinet. I am useful, and needed, and diligent. I am necessary, and valued. But I am not loved. Except by her.” 

They sat in the terrible London quiet, the one that shouldn’t be real but had made itself known in the long, cold, sharp blades of that night. Both them looked down at the small expanse of cotton between them. 

“I love you. Course I do.” Lena’s voice was soft, but it did not waver. Then, quick firework that she was, her head popped up and she grinned, “Fuck’s sake Fareeha, why do you think I lay in here next to you every night and tell you stories,  me own ‘ealth?” 

It was her sunshine, always her sunshine, that broke the darkness, and even Pharah had to offer a weak huff of what had to pass for laughter now. 

“I’m scared, as well. I miss Em every single day. I wonder what might become of me, sounds a bit dramatic, but that’s how I think of it.” She rested a hand on Pharah’s knee, “You ain’t the only one with plenty to take on. We’re soldiers, right? It’s ‘ard. And me ‘aving me,” she touched the place where her CA rested, “and Ang, well, she did know me best, ‘ard to say if this friend of ‘ers will ‘ave a mind for it. Just--a bit of an ask, innit? For me, as well.”

Pharah put her hand on Tracer’s. “You will find love again. It is very hard to know you, and not love you a little.” 

“Fareeha,” she waggled her eyebrows, “is this you proposing? Flattered I am, but--” 

In one smooth movement, Pharah swept up the pillow and batted Tracer in the face with it. She fell to the mattress in a flurry of bubbling laughter, and Pharah was forced into a smile. 

“Well,” Tracer’s voice was peppy as she folded her hands and grinned up at Pharah, “I think, that when you’re ready, there’ll be someone wonderful, you know Fareeha there are women who go just mad for closet organizational systems and all that, proper filing, I don’t think you’re ‘ard to match at all, and besides all that, Ang was never any of that, but she saw, well she saw what I see, in you.” 

Pharah shook her head a moment, and waved it off almost out of habit. 

Tracer caught her eye, made sure she saw the genuine truth and belief in it. “You ‘ave a good heart, and a more tender spirit than you let on. Ang always said so, even when I didn’t believe it, that everything you do is a kind of love. That you’re terribly loving. She saw that, in you. She--” 

Pharah turned away and pinched the bridge of her nose, tripping over her words.  “Let’s please not speak of her more. Tonight.” 

“Course,” Tracer nodded, “Sometimes I can’t talk about Em, neither.” Tracer reached gently, carefully, and rubbed at Pharah’s shoulder. “You always ‘ave an ‘ome with me, and Win, ‘ere, if you want it. We love you, Fareeha. We love you ever so much.” 

Knowing it was true, and knowing that it could not possibly repair the deep chasm in her heart, the one that cried her name when the wind blew, Fareeha Amari forgot herself, unmade, in an instant, every lesson she had taught herself about how to be in this world. She began to cry. No, to sob, choked breaths flashing the memory of Mercy’s broken body, her smile under their wedding chuppah, a thousand small touches and loving words falling on her like rain. 

Tracer held her. Tracer held her, and whispered that it was all right, and that she wasn’t a filing cabinet, until they both fell asleep.

#april showers writing

[archives-gyllenhaal-stories]

extraordinary merry christmas 🎄  (part 1: jg) 

summary: your boyfriend jake has been busy all month organizing parties for his production company and already promoting his play in london. he comes home to his place almost entirely decorated by you, thanks to your extreme boredom and to the fact you two can’t facetime 24/7. he wishes nothing more than to spend quality time with you on this special day!

warnings: christmas (with no mentions of religion besides the name!), extremely sweet fluff like call your dentist you might have a cavity, curse words, jake being the man of my dreams.

word count: 1227

notes: i’m writing this with a terrible headache, so i didn’t proof read it before posting! i was listening to some holiday songs by glee and i had muse, so why not share it with you guys? enjoy some fluff, wrapped in fairy lights and ornaments! happy holidays to all! if you don’t celebrate christmas, well, happy eat all the sweets & food! i love you all! if you are alone on this special day, drop in my IMs, we’ll chat!

“I just landed!” Jake’s voice resonated in the room, from your phone that you set up nearby while you were playing with the box of ornaments. 

“Jake, you’re basically screaming!” You laughed, looking down at the screen to see his zoomed in face, middle aged dad style. “Think about the people around you.” You shook your head playfully. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I want them to know I missed my girl and that I can’t wait to be home!” Jake answered, after he lowered his voice a little bit when he, too, noticed that he was disturbing the crowd. 

“You’re too much.” You poked your tongue out and presented two different ornaments to the screen. “Your favorite?” 

While you were decorating, and while he was spending some time in his Londonian hotel room in between press sessions, you made him participate in the decoration of the house and even in the color of the frosting for the cookies. He absolutely loved it. It felt as if he was right next to you, letting your inner perfectionist interior designer shine while he gave you tips once in a while about the color scheme. “I love the silver one.” 

You nodded and set the golden one aside. “You’re on a silver roll this year. We’re running out of decorations in that color!” And of space to put the ones you already had, but that was another story. 

“Silver is pretty.” He cleared his throat, not without you noticing his attempt at changing the subject. “Some stores are still open at this hour. Do you want me to get something?” 

You made a weird little face, causing him to giggle when he saw it, as you looked over his place. It was one of those open and free New Yorker lofts, but with all the decorations and food and presents, it looked like it was about to explode. “Nah, thanks, love. I think I’m good!” 

“Alrighty. I’ll be there soon. I love you so much, star sprinkled sugar cookie!” He said, using a cute and endearing voice. 

Even though you were not in public with him, you were blushing. If, three years ago, someone would have told you this man, who was invited on a blind date as an attempt to finally find you a partner, was such a softie, you would have never believed it. “Jake, stop, please! I’m ashamed.” You hid your face in your hands. 

“Fucking cute. Okay, my Uber is here. I’m on my way!”

*~*~* 

You waited for Jake leaning against the armrest of the couch. You wore one of the ugly Christmas sweaters his sister Maggie always bought him for Christmas with a pair of leggings, and the comfiest slippers you could find around. As time went by, you started to snack on the gingerbread cookies you baked with his assistance. It should not be this long… Every now and then, your phone would light up as he sent you photos of where he was. The restaurant of your first date, the park that was not filled with tourists where you hosted all of your summer picnics, the crossroad where you two almost died when he decided to make out with you out of nowhere… Until you saw the last picture: it was the entrance of your apartment block.

Jake’s phone died before he could call you and warn you of his arrival. Instead, he decided to sprint up the stairs all the way to your floor and rush his key into the door, slamming it open. “Fucking finally.” He said, dropping his heavy bags to the ground, closing the door with his foot and running to bring your face in a loving kiss, tongues and teeth mixing up. “My girl. I missed you so much.” 

You set the platter on the couch and replied to his kiss with just as much intensity. It felt like a Christmas miracle that he was here in front of you, in the flesh and not in a screen. “I missed you too!” You mumbled against his lips and stopped him as you felt him pushing you down on the couch. As much as this would have been nice, you did not want to smash your creations. “Hey, be careful!” You said and moved for him to see the cookies. 

He frowned of confusion when you pushed him away, but he got even more excited at the view of the sweets. “They look delicious, my love!” 

*~*~* 

You spent hours catching up and hearing about his stories in London. He promised to take you there, next time. He promised to show you around all the landmarks, to let you attend the rehearsals and to introduce you to Annaleigh. He was so tired, you could tell by his dark under eyes, but he was glowing with joy and pride. And you swore you could feel yourself falling even more in love with him.

“I’m rambling so much, I’m sorry, Y/N. I think it’s the sugar high from all the cookies and pies.” He looked down at the coffee table, filled with dirty dishes and remaining pieces of pie crusts. 

You pressed your hand against his cheek, grinning at him. “It’s okay! What has gotten to you? You only talk so much when you’re tired.” 

Jake leaned in your touch and smiled tenderly back at you. “I have something to tell you.” 

You felt your heart racing, and your mind started to worry, forcing terrible thoughts on you.

He cut you off before you started to panic when he slid off the couch to get on his knee. He pulled out of his back pocket a turquoise box. You could recognize it from miles away. It was from Tiffany’s, where he bought you all the jewelry that reminded him of you and your style. 

“I look like shit and I’m being delusional from all the sweets, but there’s no better time to do it than now.” He started his speech with a disclaimer that made you laugh, which proceeded in calming you down a bit. “You’ve made my life tremendously better over the past years. When I first saw you, I had this crazy feeling that I never wanted to lose you, that I always wanted to be by your sides. My sister said I was being a psychopath, but I knew I was in love.” 

Your jaw slowly dropped open when the ring inside the box was revealed. It was a beautiful silver ring with diamonds surrounding a small sapphire. You looked up into his eyes, they matched the color of the gemstone. 

“We met in September, three years ago. And ever since, it’s been my favorite month of the year. Because I got to discover the most exquisite creature on this planet.” 

Tears were pooling in your eyes and your vision was so blurry, you could not see that he was crying too. But you could hear it at the way his voice broke. “Yes, yes, yes! Please, yes!” 

You made him laugh at the way you accepted his request, before he even said it. “I didn’t even ask you yet!” He exclaimed and wiped some of your tears with his thumb, before he finally popped the question. “Y/N, you are the love of my life. And I want to spend my life loving you. Will you marry me?”

#one shot: extraordinary merry christmas #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal x you #jake gyllenhaal

[faunusrights]

OFFAL HUNT REMASTERED LIVEBLOG // CHAPTER 19

IN THIS EPISODE OF MURPHY IS SCREAMING, CONSTANTLY, TRAPPED IN THEIR PERFECT NIGHTMARE:

Glynda was saying: “I know we aren’t friends. I know we aren’t partners. I know you’re a criminal. But—I think I can trust you. I think I have to trust you, even if you’ve done awful things before.”

EVERYTHING GOES WRONG BUT LIKE SOMEHOW WORSE THAN EVER? LIKE A WHOLE NEW BRAND OF LOW. LIKE CINDER’S GOT A PICKAXE AND THE CENTRE OF THE PLANET CALLS FOR AID.

IT’S BEEN A WHILE HUH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! but dw offal hunt, like the rising of the sun, the arrival of winter, and the eventual downfall of capitalism, always returns. so lets go.

(i just quickly reread chapter 18 liveblog to remember what happened and Ah Yes I Remember Now. The Suppressed Memories)

The place was emptier without Glynda. Quieter.

/gunshot oh we’re in danger right out of the gate huh? we got some yearning right out here? right now? how quickly the turn do tables.

Cinder appraised her work, holding the beige coat up to the light and squinting.

man i forgot. i FORGET. how much i just love cinder in this fic. sometimes she kinda zones to the back of my mind where she sits waiting for me to start thinking about her again, but now i remember that this cinder is Peaque. look at her GO, minding her own BUSINESS. im proud of her. does she know i love her.

It didn’t take long to don her new, fire-proofed clothes.

in another world, in a more comical plot, she used asbestos. it didnt go well.

The subtle warmth of the Dust teased tension from Cinder’s stiff muscles, even as she marvelled at the strangeness of her own bedroom’s space. It seemed bigger now than it had the last two nights.

h

She chose not to dwell on it.

h

i choose to dwell on it! ME!!!! I CHOOSE TO DWELL ON IT. HEY CINDER WHAT THIS GAY SHIT. hello. ma’am. can we look deeper into this. i, for one, would like to, and i, for one, think its of value to think abt this. that said, small segue

Quietly, Cinder murmured, “I didn’t freak out.”

THE FACT SHE SAYS IT ALOUD LIKE EM AND MERC CAN HEEEEEEAR HEEEEEEEER i am. INFATUATED with this family. cant wait for the 100k spinoff thats basically an elongated beach episode where they go to like. alton towers. or butlins. six flags??? thats a thing in america right??? anyway. beach episode. call me. (wink wink nudge nudge push push shove shove)

 We had to stop back in because Merc left his favorite binder, and it was 2 in the morning, so it was easier to crash here for the night than mess with the ship’s autopilot.

them,,, THEM!!!! mercury is just a son and childe. thast it. he canot change this. i love these kids so much i am SHAKING THE MONITOR RN!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAA

Stuck here in one of the homes they’d shared, Cinder missed them terribly. Missed the sound of their voices and the easy comfort of their presence. Finding the time to contact them had been difficult, between managing Glynda and Hati both, but Glynda was gone, and she’d sent Hati onwards to Atlas. She remembered her call with Emerald, before arriving in Umbraroot; she knew it had not soothed her or her fears.

im sorry was this chapter targeted at me, specifically, as a human being on planet earth? GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE THIS FAMILY!!!!!!!!! THIS WONKY OLD BANDAGED UP FAMILY UNIT!!!!!!!!!!!!! i thrive every time they are mentioned on the page. it is a blessing. my succulents grow stronger each time they show up.

“No,” Cinder argued softly, “I had to. Mercury, you deserve to hear it from me as well. I am sorry. And I am promising you: I’ll come back.”

For a long, heart-wrenching moment, he was completely quiet. It was good that Cinder was alone in the apartment; laying herself bare like this would be unbearable with an audience.

GODDDDDDDDDDD AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

i am OBSESSED WITH THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM GOING TO BE THINKING ABOUT THIS UNTIL I D I E. of all thing the remaster does better than og, this is just. SPEEDING AHEAD. this whole CONFLICT this whole MESS just makes everything so much RICHER its like when u splash some wine in yr fancy food or stick some cinnamon on yr favourite desserts u dont NEED TO but it adds that lil SOMETHING,,, that little KICK that just ties the flavour profile together and in this case ofgughugguhu it just GIVES SO MUCH. im making SNOW ANGELS in the WORDS on the PAGE.

“Mercury. If I could prove it to you, I would. But you have to—trust me. For just a while longer.”

“It’s getting harder,” he said. He didn’t sound like he was lying just to hurt her. That wasn’t spite. That was honest anger. And it made her feel like dirt.

im less picking these for specific instances of like, things i want to say, but more just because bits of this r rly just so /chef kiss. cinder has these.... endearingly (take that whichever way u like) human qualities in OG to rly make u realise she had ties to add to her #Doubt but the remaster is just AMPING it up and u FEEL IT and ive never been more SYMPATHETIC to a round-faced sinnamon bun of assholery and fire id DIE for cinder fall and this is a fact PUT IT ON MY GRAVESTONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Is there anything you need?” What was this? Cinder could barely focus on her words. It felt like... “Anything? At all?”

“We’re fine.”

“Mercury, wait please—” She was losing him. “I think—”

“Just hurry up.”

The line went dead.

this place is not a place of honor.................. no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here........................ nothing valued is here................ IM DYING

Cinder began to type out her response, and that was when the nausea really kicked in. 

[...] 

She recognized this now.

Glynda.

stress stress stress stress STRESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

There shouldn’t be anybody. Cinder had done everything in her power to cut Glynda from people who would interfere. To isolate her. Make it easier to bring her to Atlas, to the frozen north, to her mother and the machine…

Cinder’s esophagus quivered; furiously, she shut her eyes and thought of nothing.

god cinder don’t remind me that you’re an asshole and dipshit and also a moron im trying to be NICE and CARE ABT YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! STOP REMINDING ME YOU’RE A PIECE OF SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

FOR FIVE MINUTES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The front door clicked open.

Cinder couldn’t have said how much time had passed, only that it had passed slowly. What she did know was that it was Glynda returning, the sensation of boils bursting wafting off her soul. It crawled over Cinder’s flesh. She curled in on herself.

There were mites under every nailbed. Salt in her weeping mouth.

offal hunt’s brilliant use of this horror aspect is something i have tried previously to emulate and here’s a fact, take it from me: that shit is HARD. offal hunt consistently able to whack those real nasty, really Disgusting vibes on the head EVERY TIME is a work of art. i mean, kc and diesel do not fuck around, and therefore i am NOT surprised, but it’s only when u try this shit yourself that you realise: this is hard! this is difficult! it’s a huge testament to how GOOD this fic is in every way. also this whole fucking body horror aspect is something i didnt know this fic needed, but it did, and here we are. 

Thickly: “Things were going okay. If you hadn’t gotten nasty, I might have smoothed things over. I could have fixed things with my son.”

with my son

with my son

with my son

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I CANT TAKE IT EVERY TIME ITS TOO MUCH FOR TO BEAR I CANNOT HANDLE IT I CANNOT STAND IT ITS LIKE BEING SHOT JUST DIRECTLY IN MY DICK

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

im like sweating rn

Glynda said, “I’m scared.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

I SAID IM SWEATING

Glynda asked, “Are you lying to me?”

And Cinder said, “What?”

“About me. About Witches. About Ozpin—” Cinder’s guts went sour. “—About anything. I need to know if I can trust you.”

I SAID I! AM! S W E A T I N G

“I know you’ve lied to people. Hurt people.”

Adrenaline and the image of her kids’ faces behind her eyes made a potent, sick cocktail. “—Not. Now.”

so lets like double back to when i said hey was this chapter written to target me specifically and as it turns out, yes. yes it was. yes it was and as MUCH AS I AM LIVING FOR THIS MOMENT THIS SWEET BUILDUP THE EXPLOSION AND THE CRATER IT ALL LEAVES BEHIND

I

AM

so this next bit is like. i cant really quote one section but as i was saying in Vague DMs, this whole bit feels like wading through mud. usually if you say something consumes energy to Read it’s in a Bad Way when yr bored but this is more like. you Feel cinder all over everything feels so sluggish and it’s like dragging your own corpse around as you try and leave and you’re TIRED and your LEGS HURT and you’re kinda thinking god what if i just fell face down for just a moment of my LIFE.

The putrid weight of Glynda’s soul filled the room until there was no space left for her.

it’s like being trapped in a sauna, like getting stuck in a humid waiting room. where do you GO. what do you DO. god this whole section is fantastic and offal hunt NEVER fails to fucking nail the Vibes but reading it is HARD. i literally keep having to stop and breathe like ive been holding my breath. jesus h christ.

a small intermission for a mood:

“Get fucked.”

back to regularly scheduled hell

Out of the bedroom. Down the hall. The walls were sweating with heat. She tasted smoke. 

i love that i just said how i feel like im trapped in a sauna and it turns out: thats because me and cinder both, baybee!!!! hahahaha help

Glynda’s soul chewed her to the marrow. “Move, Glynda.” 

cinder being hunted at the start of this fic: teehee! im running away! now im gonna getcha! heehee! arent i clever :) cinder being hunted now: this uh. this blows, actually,

Cinder’s pulse roared in her ears. Her hands twitched. She smelled Ochre Brown’s round face melting off. His wide smile shattered with each of his teeth, going black and popping like corn.

this chapter is probably my favourite so far for this blending of so many elements. i cant even begin to like. THINK STRAIGHT about how all of this is tying together. the lore. the THEMATICS. like i said this character rly is just Rich with what og lacked and oh is it RICH. im gonna read this chapter in future and see so much that i know ive already missed. holy shit.

“Ms. Fall,” she said. “The White Fang requires your presence immediately.”

NOT NOW

Cinder stood there looking at it for a moment. Her thoughts were slow. Copper-tinged. Something small and indulgent whispered to her through the blood-fog.

It was obvious enough what would happen if she got into this car. The driver would take her to a secluded place, where she would be ambushed by a squadron of battle-hungry White Fang grunts.

They’d try to take her down. And she was a killer, wasn’t she? Ochre Brown wailed in her ears with every thump of her runaway heart. Her hands itched for action; her teeth, for blood.

She’d burn them black.

never mind! you are already dead,

She thought about Glynda. About her saying that if there was trouble with the Fang, she wanted to come. That she would fight for Cinder.

She thought of Glynda’s question: What aren’t you telling me about Ochre Brown?

Yeah, fuck that.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!! WHAT A CLIFFHANGER!!!!!!!!!! WHAT A MOMENT!!!!!!!!!!!!! MORE MOMENTOUSLY: WHAT A CHAPTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

this is EASILY my favourite chapter so far. EASILY. everything about this was peak offal. the relationships. the dynamics. the dialogue. the vibes. the Grossness. the fighting. the EVERYTHING. this is some other level and its BITCHIN. PEAK. that said im now very tired. im going to have a cup of tea and Consider Things for a few hours. brb.

#liveblog #rwby #offal hunt

[sastrugie]

my christmas break starts this friday as well! what’s up with your coworker? have her test results come back? is she doing okay?

alright, so my fav topics include:

- the russian revolution, as already stated :D

- the cold war (mostly from the east european point of view)

- the tudors

- victorian era england

i also really love peaky blinders (the show) and i occasionally enjoy reading about how different gangs operated back in those days but i don’t know much lmao

also, monarchy is just such a terrible system but i completely get your interest in the people! for example, i also adore reading and learning about the tudors and the romanovs but only as a part of history and not because i’m such a big fan of the monarchy? lmao if that makes sense.

and like, i lowkey get why the bolsheviks thought they needed to assassinate the whole family but it’s also really sketchy, dude ://

i think i like britain’s history just because it’s so rich and influential, but like we simply can’t ignore the fucked up shit they’ve done through the centuries. so again, i enjoy it but mostly because i love judging them for their actions lmao

and to answer your question, i don’t really know if i have many historical favs? i feel like i enjoy way too many problematic people lmao. nevertheless, the ones i’m most interested in atm are: lenin (shockers), anne boleyn, anne bonny, malcolm x - this list shifts constantly depending on my mood though.

oh shush you, i’m sure your style is bombing based on everything i just read :)

lmao i actually do that sometimes, but mostly in my mother tongue! but i also just love shakespearean insults in english, those are impeccable

and merci beaucoup! good luck with russian; maybe you’ll be able teach me a few phrases in the future :D

ooh what are you studying atm? if you don’t mind sharing, that is.

and me, i’d like to become a psychologist some day, so that’s pretty far from history as well haha but i never want the enthusiasm to die ever and i’m really loving how the two of us can just scream to each other about history in every single ask/answer :D

thank you so much for these beautiful recommendations, i’ll definitely check them out!!

here are some of mine:

books:

- maria stuart by stefan zweig (german author, so it shouldn’t be too hard for you to find it!!)

- red crosses by sasha filipenko (fiction about the stalinist regime)

- the age of light by whitney scharer (historical fiction again lmao; tells the story of photographers lee miller and man ray’s romance in the 30s with little snippets into wwii through lee’s pov; the writing was stunning)

- sapiens by yuval noah harari (basically the history of mankind; so informative and enjoyable, i adored it)

- the real peaky blinders by carl chinn (what the title says, really; the actual gangs of birmingham and their not so shiny careers)

these are the best ones i read in 2020 but i’ll let you know if i remember any of my other reads!!

i also haven’t read any actual books about the 1917 revolution because i haven’t really had the chance to go to the library yet and i’ve been busy doing my research on the internet haha (it’s a fairly new hyperfixation of mine, to be frank). however, i’ll hit you up if i find anything worthwhile <3

documentaries:

- the russian revolution (the title speaks for itself lmao)

- genius of the modern world (3-part docuseries about marx, nietzsche and freud)

- world war ii in colour (lmao just a classic, innit)

- secrets of great british castles

- the last tzars (tho i’m pretty sure you’re quite familiar with this one haha)

- forbidden history

- secrets of the six wives

- anything by lucy worsley, tbh

these are all off the top of my head but again, i’ll let you know if i remember any more!!

oml i apologise for the long message and i hope your week is going well :D

dont apologize for long messages! <3 im always happy to talk to you 

sadly her test was positive UGH which means i have to get myself tested too (today) and if the worst case happens: i´ll have to spend christmas alone in my student flat bc then i obviously cant go home to my family (my grandparents live there..) so yeah, today 14:20 o clock... i have the test :( cross your fingers for me pls huhuhu

thats cool that we have the russian revolution and vicxtorian era as common interest ^^ i read a book recently its called “the ordeal” and its a triology written by alexej tolstoi during the times of the revolution. its a story about two sister and their love interests during the war times and its really good!!! 

oh i barely know anything about the tudors! pls hmu

ah yes.. the cold war... i have to admit im rather interested in the music and sociology of the cold war times but the political stuff is super interesting too! esp as you said from an east european view, so we can talk about that too!

yep. monarchy sucks! i understanbd from like a logical point of view why they shot them all, but the human side of me thinks its just cruel.. i mean yeah tsar nicholas wasnt a good politician but he wasnt a bad person either. but yeah, a difficult topic.. tbh he´s the only romanov im really interested in (i really dislike his wife alexandra tho lmao) hbu? 

leninnn :D i kinda excpected that! i havent really read much about him but he seems to be an interesting person! and who is anne boyd? malcom X yes! im really interested into the civil rights movement as well. I really like martin luther king jr.

englands history really fascinates me, and i honestly cant tell you why... but it is what is is hahhaa! nand duuudeeee omg they fucked so many shit up.. the british are a funny nation. but honestly none is unproblematic and every nation screwed up big time once:D judging is really important when youre intereste din history! like im interested in king george and queen mary but not solely for political reasons, more actually for their personal lives and victorian times and how they were as a couple, but i know... they did bad stuff too!

omg teach me some shakespearean insults pls! i only know a few victorian ones! and a bit of sixties slang :D 

im gonna reblog this and add some russian phrases bc my russian keyboard in on my phone :) but i use duolingo so the sentences are ... really weird lmao

im studying physical geography in Erlangen right now and am in my 7th semester.) im actually writing my bachelor thesis rn UGHHHHHHH

ohhhhh psychology is cool!! im really intersted in it, sadly i cant ever be one bc i suffer from poor mental health too much myself, in fact i have an appointment my therapist in a few minutes haha BUT i think youre super trustworthy and nice and easy to talk to so these are really good qualities for a therapist <3<3<3<3

AHHHHHHHHHHH THANKS!! 

i already read sapiens! its so good! and i know maria stuart by schiller haha but oml i love stefan zweig so imma add it on my list

ok and i will watch ALL of these (except the last tsars bc yeah i already saw it! and liked it ... kinda .. i didnt like the actor they chose for nicky, he didnt remind me of him at all)

i have alot of historical fiction books to recomment too: 

if you like ww2 “a time to live and a time to die”

ww1: “all quiet on the western front”

russian revolution and war time “the ordeal”

“intrige” by robert harris is also good (france 1896)

oh and documentary wise:

they shall not grow old is a coloured ww1 docu!

thank you so much for everything again i love talking to you :) have a nice day <3 (sorry for typos i was in a hurry)

#r #anon #secret santa #nice ppl