#//this got long so i'm putting it under the cut

[originalaccountname]

Uhh i just finish stormbringer and i didnt quite understood Rimlaine relationship im sorry if this comes off as annoying its just that i read some of your analysis and you explain thing very good, thanks in advance 💗

Their relationship is complicated and contradictory. Ultimately, their lack of communication (both in talking and listening) dug a hole so deep between them that they both had to die before it was fixed.

I'm gonna attempt a timeline to break it down, so you can see what happened. This got way too long despite my best efforts so I'm putting it under a cut:

At an undisclosed time, Rimbaud, a spy/special agent working for France, goes to defeat a mad scientist and ability user, Pan. Pan had created a sort of puppet, named Black No12, who could manipulate gravity and obeyed him blindly. Rimbaud managed to cut the link between them, and Black No12 turned against and killed his creator and master.

Rimbaud took Black No12 under his wing as a fellow spy for France. He trained him and made him his partner. He gave him a name, his name from before he changed his identity to become a spy: Paul Verlaine.

Rimbaud wanted the formerly brainwashed person he found to be independent. Despite his origins, Rimbaud wanted Verlaine to feel human. He was his friend and wanted him to be happy.

Verlaine, on the other hand, was haunted by not being or feeling human. He felt lonely and isolated, and Rimbaud pushing so hard to make him feel human only rubbed salt in the wound. But he didn't tell Rimbaud any of that.

Rimbaud gave Verlaine the hat right before their operation in Japan to retrieve project Arahabaki. The hat had a special ability alloy woven into it meant to make sure no outside instructions could be used to brainwash him again. That was Rimbaud trying to guaranty Verlaine complete agency, one step closer to making him human. This was only a grim reminder of what he was to Verlaine. After the lukewarm reception of his gift, Rimbaud starts to feel permanently cold.

When they got (what they thought was) the artificial human from Project Arahabaki out of the lab, Verlaine was taken by the Bungou Stray Dogs curse of seeing yourself in other people and wanting to save them to save yourself. Verlaine told Rimbaud he was taking the child and going into hiding to raise him as a normal human being, to protect the child from the same pain he felt. Rimbaud, who hadn't realized how his dear friend suffered, still didn't understand and tried to reason with Verlaine that they couldn't possibly turn their backs to their home, and that the child would still be with them in France.

This poor communication resulted in Verlaine feeling trapped and choosing to shoot his only friend in the back. They fought and Rimbaud got the upper hand before he got surrounded by the lab's guards and desperately tried to use Arahabaki to defeat them too. This ended in the Suribachi incident and his loss of memory. Verlaine still had enough strength to stop Arahabaki/Chuuya's rampage before vanishing who knows where.

Fast forward 8 years, Fifteen happens, with Rimbaud, now permanently cold, who got some of his memories back. Rimbaud wants to know more than anything what happened to his partner and friend all those years ago, and is even willing to kill Chuuya (and Dazai) for it. As he dies, he remembers what happened that night while they were escaping, and how Verlaine chose to shoot him in the back over Chuuya. He tells Chuuya that he was probably human all along, and to live no matter what, before vanishing into thin air.

One year later, and Verlaine has found Chuuya and decided to try again to take him so they can be lonely together. He's trying to both isolate and protect Chuuya in a twisted sense of responsibility and kinship (and the power of projection). When Verlaine finally loses himself to Guivre, he manages to tell Chuuya about how he stopped Arahabaki 9 years ago in Suribachi so Chuuya could do it to him now. Chuuya understands from this that Verlaine might have felt lonely and oh so bitter about the world, that he might have hated his existence, but he had found friendship in Rimbaud and wished to save the world in his name. One person had been worth it, so he couldn't just destroy it all.

After the fight is over, Verlaine is dying from Guivre's energy having been depleted by Chuuya's efforts. As he dies, Rimbaud appears: Rimbaud has created a singularity with his own ability at the time of his death, maintaining his mind alive in his subspace by absorbing himself as his ability on loop. He's like the Old Boss was in Fifteen, just a puppet, not a human... but he's still Rimbaud. And Rimbaud wanted his friend to live and be happy.

Rimbaud apologizes for not understanding Verlaine's struggle with humanity and incidentally handling it badly. Then, he passed on his ability, now a singularity, onto Verlaine to replace Guivre as his source of life: a lot less powerful, but enough to keep him going. Rimbaud tells him he's glad Verlaine was born because he got to meet him, and disappears for good.

Verlaine realized then, way too late, that he really cared about Rimbaud. Rimbaud spent a whole year as something that wasn't human just for the chance of seeing Verlaine again and apologize to him. That got to Verlaine too. Since then, he's been hiding in the Port Mafia's basement, uncaring of the world, and mourning his friend and the friendship he passed by without knowing.

In the shortest, in-novel words possible:

#i got sad about the tragic frenchmen again #if i had the strength i would make a comic about that last goodbye scene because it's so good and i can see it all #and hey! while making this i understood a bit more what happened in that scene too! #keep asking me to explain stuff it forces me to reread and think about the text too #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd meta #bsd analysis #bsd timeline #<- it counts #storm bringer #stormbringer #bsd stormbringer #bsd storm bringer #bsd paul verlaine #bsd verlaine #bsd arthur #bsd arthur rimbaud #rimlaine #ask answered #apparently i talk sometimes

[spaceshipkat]

here, have a collection of clegan fic recs!! not every author will be tagged because i'm not aware of their blogs as they aren't linked in the fics' notes/ao3 author profile. if you're an author of one of these fics and you see this post, let me know so i can tag you!

naturally this got long so under a cut it goes!

Touching by FreeLove/smallMar

"Gale wonders, not for the first time, when it was that Bucky started affecting him so. When was the first time his stomach dropped at the sight of Bucky’s smile? When did he start feeling the emptiness of the rack next to his when Bucky is on a late night out? When was the first time he felt his skin tingle under the casual, friendly touch of Bucky’s fingers? He doesn’t have an answer. All he knows is that one day, from his bunk, he looked up at Bucky, silhouetted in the early morning Texan sun, gazing out of a window in their barracks, the light streaming down his naked torso, and the sight took his breath away." January 1943, six months from deployment to Europe. At Kearney Airfield, Nebraska, Gale's feelings for John threaten to break him, until he finds that they're not as unrequited as he thought.

it just published a day or two ago, but goddddd this one!!! absolutely filled with yearning and angst set in a pre-canon setting. can't recommend it enough.

I'll be coming home, wait for me by FreeLove/smallMar

“What got you so riled up with the Brits earlier, Buck?” John asks suddenly, and Gale’s breath hitches. Either the walk has sobered Bucky up, or he was never as intoxicated as he was trying to appear. “You noticed?” Gale shoots back, genuinely surprised. His blood had been boiling, it’s true, but he didn’t think he’d let it on. “Of course I noticed, you’re my best friend. And your fists were so tight you looked ready to punch those guys yourself,” Bucky says easily, and something moves in Gale’s chest, something fond and warm that he instinctively wants to hold close and cherish. “We’re losing our boys up there and that prick acted like we’re not fighting for him, too,” he replies, and though it’s the truth, it’s not the whole truth. “Hm. Somehow it seemed about more than that.” After a night at the pub, something stirs inside Gale that he's unwilling to put a name to. But as time goes by, it becomes increasingly difficult to ignore.

i've reread this one a frankly embarrassing number of times, but the getting together is just so! lovely! and i lovelovelove the dive into Gale's headspace throughout episode 2.

One of your Girls by @soliloquy-dawn

“What good are you over there? I want you here.” They’ve done this numerous times before, back in flight school. Bucky cosied up to his side in bed, the scruff on his cheek scraping over Gale’s collarbone. It only happened when the nights were cold, and Bucky was sloshed. Plausible deniability. In what Gale does now, they would be hard-pressed to find deniability of any kind. Both of them eagerly ignore that Bucky is not drunk enough, and that the woefully public nature of their surroundings in no way resembles the safety of their shared room back in Texas. Climbing into the cot, Gale tries to temper his rapidly beating heart. Bucky will find a way to snug close enough to plaster his ear to his chest. He will hear it, but won’t comment—skirting the line, never to cross it. Or, Gale is jealous of Bucky's girls.

the fic i read just before deciding i'd try my hand at writing clegan fic myself. but oh my god the yearning in this!!!! "Because you're mine. You should be mine."?????? like fuck me i am but a simple bisexual dealing with mota brainrot!!!!

in our bedroom after the war by @stereobone

After the war, Bucky and Gale reunite to fix up a house. They end up finding a life together.

look i've been a fan of stereobone from their good omens days, so seeing them write mota fic? dream come true. and when that mota fic fucking wrecks me? so much the better.

Obligate Mutualism by bowhuntress

"They had a strained conversation after mail call, all those months ago, walking slowly across the barren, muddy ground, and John wouldn’t look at him when he told him he was afraid that people would only ever know the person he was becoming. Gale could see it hanging over him, then: the spectre of the person John thought so diminished and so unworthy of being known. The person he was so afraid of becoming. And Gale thought, back then ‘what kind of person would not want to know every aspect of him? What kind of person would not love every version of this man?’" Or: Gale, through it all.

this is another one i've reread an ungodly number of times. i just LOVE seeing the details of the Stalag Luft III and watching how Gale and John keep each other going. it's just SO fucking touching, and the reunion back at Thorpe Abbotts? fuck me.

Breathe Me In (Exhale Slow) by @johnslittlespoon

Gale’s boot taps restlessly, knees bent to half–hunch over them, only his lower back leaning against the wall of the plane. He picks at the skin of baby–soft lips, staring out to the edge of the wing with glazed over eyes, and John’s heart twists. He can think of a hundred and one ways to distract him, but not a single word of reassurance. He’s not good at that sort of thing; that’s Gale’s area of expertise. He feels useless. “Here,” he murmurs, holding out his cigarette.

it's a fucking shotgunning first kiss fic. on a b-17. obviously i have to recommend this one. do yourself a favor and go read it.

dear john by @forasecondtherewedwon

The Regensburg-Schweinfurt mission changes John. What Gale can't say aloud, he puts in the letters he writes to John in his head.

six words: "Thank you again for my bicycle." Why does this one line fuck me up so very much? idk man! it just does!!

bomber’s moon by @ww2yaoi

Gale goes with John to London. Somebody should have told them there was a war on.

the confession!!!! on the bronze lions!!!!!!! ahem. look, it's a gorgeous fic with some excellent smut and Gale and John are so fucking sweet for each other. do yourself a favor and read it.

back home where you're from, that's the measure of a man by wolfhalls

Something sharp and possessive flares up in him, and it must be written all over his face judging by the way John’s mouth curls up at the corners. “We should—” Gale begins. Since he met John, he has become familiar with the distinct difference between should and whatever ends up happening anyway. (or: Gale falls in love. It's a shame there's a war on.)

the very first clegan fic i read naturally needs to be included. the author has John and Gale's voices down so perfectly, and the established relationship is so lovely. the absolute sweetness between John and Gale is just [chef's kiss]

flak-happy, fancy-free by mercess (aka yours truly)

The war is over, but some questions remain about where Gale and John go from here. ----- Gale’s not sure who he’ll be without the war, without the Hundredth, without a B-17. But he knows he won’t be Buck without Bucky. Won’t be himself without John. Perhaps that’s why John tried to slip away unnoticed tonight, why he came out here and tucked himself into the copilot’s seat. An attempt to sever a limb, one he knows he can’t take home with him. They’ll hang up their dog tags, box up their flight jackets, try to forget the rumble of a nine-cylinder engine and the buzz of a voice in your ear and a blue, blue sky. Gale doesn’t know how to tell John that a life without him would be like never feeling the sunlight again.

idk man, i'm just really proud of this one. set during episode 9, it features John and Gale finally doing something about their feelings. and yes, i've reread my own fic an ungodly number of times and i've been guaranteed that it fucks readers up as much as it fucked me up. (don't worry, there's a happy ending. i can't write anything else.)

i'm also working on another fic from John's POV, so y'know, keep an eye out for that if you like my writing!

this is by no means an exhaustive list (it's not even all the fics i have bookmarked) but it's long enough, so i'll leave it here! i'm sure i'll be making another one of these posts before long.

#masters of the air #mota #clegan #clegan fic #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #mota fic #fic recs #mota fic recs #my writing #long post

[gwen-chanaeo]

Banter

—In which, A teenage couple grows together and took their habit of lighthearted fighting to their married days.

—warning(s) : Small bl0ody injury

The class sweat drops as they gaped at the firey power couple, once again at each other's necks for such a small matter such as Katsuki accidentally cutting his finger while preparing dinner for the class.

Him holding the wrist of the hand with his bleeding finger in front of you as you roughly put a bandaid on it after washing it.

Shouting at his carelessness as he denied it with the same tone. But even with the loud interaction, all of class 1-A could see the genuine care and appreciation from both parties under their tough exteriors.

"Sometimes i wonder how they're even together...romantically.." Kaminari mumbles under his breath as he looked back to Sero who was playing with his nintendo switch in hand.

"What're you talking about? They literally look the part of a married couple." Mina snickered in unison with the class at her quiet words, loud enough for the class to hear but not loud enough for the two hot-heads to overhear.

"I told you i'm fine! I'm not a damn child!" He shouted as he turned around to continue chopping the onions but was stopped by you who smacked his shoulder, causing him to grunt at the sudden sting as he spun his head with an irk mark on his head.

"The hell was that for??!" He yelled as he rubbed his stinging shoulder.

"That's for being an impatient klutz! How many times do i have to tell you to handle knives carefully??" You scolded as you gripped his collar in your fists.

"But i was! It wasn't that serious! Jeez." He scoffed at your tough-love. Not making a move to remove your hands on his collar.

His remark irked you even more as you pushed him roughly. Only for him to not even budge as he blinked down at you.

"..."

Your eye twitched.

He felt slightly nervous at that expression. Wracking his brain for what he could have possibly done to upset you this time.

"At least pretend to stumble back dammit! You make me look like a wuss!!" You exclaimed, cursing the fact that your push wasn't strong enough to make him step back with embarrassment.

You weren't weak. You were decent when it came to strength. It was just the fact that his body was too hardy and it was embarrassing that he made you look like a wimp.

That seemed to dawn on him as he scoffed. "Hah?.."

You gave him a stern look, he stared back.

"Sounds like a you problem." He spoke with a shit-eating grin causing another banter to break out as you both went back to preparing dinner while shouting at each other.

The class could only watch in amusement.

Sero whistled in mirth. "It's like a free reality show." The class snickers in unison once more.

—Many years pass

Most of the class made it as pro heroes in their respective ranks.

Some chose a different path than most.

Some found love, formed a family, and even got married.

Some of those people were you and him.

Walking with your arms linked together, towards a long-awaited class 1-A reunion.

Your formed class greeted you two as you opened the door and entered.

You both returned their greetings in your own ways.

Immediately the class noticed how much the both of you have grown and matured. You two were much tamer compared to your primes.

Or so they thought..

"Perhaps we spoke too soon.." Izuku sweatdrops at the scene before them.

The couple shouting at each other once more, this time about Bakugo having too much to drink.

"That's your 6th cup! Give it a break!" You scolded as you confiscated his cup causing him to perk up as he reached for it back with a groan.

"C'mon, It's just spiked punch! It's barely enough to even get me tipsy!" He rebutted as you scoffed at his muscular figure pressing himself onto your body in order to reach for his confiscated cup.

"I said no and that's final! You said you were driving us back home, so act like a responsible adult for once!" You continue reprimanding him as he got irked by your choice of words.

"Hah?? You trying to say i'm childish??" He took comical offense to that as you clicked your tounge and pushed him back.

But unlike all those years ago. He actually pretended to stumble back. Rather exaggeratedly as he threw himself to the ground with a grunt causing the class and you to look at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

You were the first to recover.

"The hell was that?! I barely even pushed you!" You exclaimed, looking like you were trying not to laugh as you bent down to check on your husband.

"What? Was that not good enough for you? Wanna retake it, hahh??" He argued back, but his face mirrored yours.

Biting back both of your laughter as he let you help him up, watching as you brushed off the dust that got onto his suit with pursed lips.

He smirked with pride. Successfully pleasing you once more.

"You're such an idiot. I swear." You shook your head in amusement as you rested your hands ln his shoulders.

Your own shoulders shaking as you struggled to keep yourself together. Letting out a snicker as your husband grinned at you with his chest puffing up with pride.

The rest of the class also chuckled at the two's sweet interaction. Happy that they were still as close as ever before going to mind their own business and enjoying the reunion party.

—Bonus :

Jirou looked at her boyfriend. He looked back at her cluelessly.

"What is it, babe?" He asked with an oblivious smile.

She sighed in dissapointment as he perked up at this. Seeing her start to walk away.

"H-Hey i can do that too! I can be sweet! I can be stupidly sweet!" Kaminari went after her as he rambled on about how he could treat her right as Jirou only hid a small content smile from this yellow-haired himbo.

#bakugou katsuki #x reader #reader insert #mha bakugou #mha x reader #mha bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #g/n reader #Spotify

[wosoluver]

Healers got to date protectors - Headcanons

Misa x physio!reader

How she asked you to be her girlfriend.

"Okay, this kinda feels like 'how I met your mother'" adjusting yourself on the couch.

"So, it was after our fifth date I think. My memory is not the best.

We had planned on going to dinner but everything went wrong."

that day...

"Okay amor, I'm almost ready, I promise." you told her, feeling bad for making her wait so long.

"It's not your fault they chose to do a last minute staff meeting."

"I know but still. I always take so long."

"I want you to feel your prettiest tonight."

"Okay then..."

As soon as you were done, you headed for the restaurant.

"Good evening, do you have a reservation?"

"Yes, it's under Maria Isabel Rodriguez."

The lady took a sec to check everything.

"I'm sorry, but your table has been taken. We unfortunately only allow a delay up to twenty minutes."

"What? Why?" Misa started to confront the woman.

"It's okay, thank you." you said pulling her outside with you. "I know you really wanted to go here, but we can come another night. How about we go to that restaurant down the street you really like?"

"No." she said very moody all of the sudden. She had a temper but it wasn't like her to act like this. At least not with you.

"Okay, what if we go home and I cook us something?"

"Yeah sure, let's go."

Getting into her apartment you took your shoes off, rolled up your sleeves and pulled your hair up. Moving straight to the kitchen.

"I'll help you." she said washing her hands. Moving to cut the vegetables you had put on the counter. You could feel how tense she was. When she was done, she came to stand behind you, by the

stove. You immediately relaxed your weight on her, as she put her hands on your waist. And stayed like that for a little bit.

"Almost ready, can you set up the table, please?"

"Of course, I'll get the wine too."

As she was getting the glasses, one slipped out of her grip, falling and breaking in a thousand pieces.

"Fuck! I can't do anything right! Fucking shit!" she whispered yelled under her breath,but you had heard. By know you thought all this stress must have came from training.

"Leave it there, we can clean after dinner. And we can share the wine glass."

She looked defeated.

After dinner, she washed the dishes, while you made sure to properly clean and dispose of the glass.

"How about a bath? I could use one to relax." in truth she needed it way more than you, but this was your way of getting her to agree.

"Go ahead, I'll be there in a second."

You turned the water on, as you removed your makeup. When you were done, the bath was almost full. So you turned the water off, and got in.

Misa came in not too long after, getting into the bath, sitting behind you. Once again providing warmth and support, with her arms around you.

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry, everything went wrong today."

"Did it?"

"It's just that my plans were frustrated." you understood where she was coming from. Only giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. And she kissed your temple.

"It was supposed to be special date." you paid close attention to her. "I wanted to ask you something." you gently turned to face her.

"What?"

"Can you be my girlfriend? I mean, do you want to be my girlfriend?"

"So this is what got you so stressed out hm?"

"You deserved the best... romantic dinner, a bouquet and- fuck! The bouquet, I forgot it in the backseat of the car!" she mentally slapped herself.

"Well, every night I'm with you is the best. We cooked dinner, we shared a bottle of wine and now we are ending it with a warm bath."

Misa cracked a small smile. You did always love the simplest things.

"You are all I could've asked for. Thank you."

"Yes."

"Yes what?" forgetting for a second about her initial question.

"Yes, I want to be your girlfriend."

back to now...

"It was so cute of her, to have planned all that. But I really didn't mind. It was quite romantic to me."

You patted Miles' head as he looked completely at peace.

You were so concentrated by telling him that story that you didn't see your girlfriend come back from grocery shopping.

"Having fun, gossiping together?"

"Amor, you scared the shit out of me."

"Miles was so interested in the story, he didn't even hear me come in." he had created the habit of running to the door when realizing one of us had arrived.

"Well, someone needed to fill him in. Right baby?" Petting him once again.

"You're a good boy, keeping mommy company, while I'm away." Misa said this time, spoiling him with lots of love and a treat she had gotten him, sitting with you two on the couch.

You all asked for more Miles, so 🫡🩷 And I felt with the last one we had made a big jump from them being friends to moving in together soon.

#woso x reader #misa rodriguez #misa rodriguez x reader #real madrid femenino

[magpie-lu-aside]

So. About that shadow crystal and the Master Sword. (All art belongs to @linkeduniverse and JoJo!)

I want to discuss this part because I find Four, Wind, and Legends reactions interesting, specifically because it was those three who had the argument over Twi in the first place. An argument that all three of them seem to not want to bring up again at all.

I've seen some posts saying that Four and Twilight are gonna have a talk about it (and I'm sure they will) but I'm wondering if they're gonna have a talk about the argument again too. (post got long, if you want to read more its under the cut)

(takes place in sunset pt 11)

So here's the thing about The Argument™. Four and Legend are the ones to have an opinion on the crystal itself, with Wind being more concerned about Twilight's status at that moment and wondering if the blood (not the crystal) is what could corrupt him. Wind seems to be almost unconcerned about the crystal which is why I think he was excited about the transformation rather than concerned (Four) and.... Whatever Legend is doing (I'll get back to that).

Legend and Wind also almost immediately put the argument behind them. They ran to find a great fairy fountain....

... And have interacted past this point. And I think that's because overall they agree on this, both of them have trust in the Master Sword to nullify whatever corrupting power the crystal could theoretically have.

But Four and Legend on the other hand? They have not talked to each other one on one since then.

Before this, they teased each other, Four trusted him to work on Wilds sword, and they seemed fine to be in each others space and just talk and conspire a little bit. But now? They barely even speak to each other even within the group. In fact when they do interact in a group both seem... not fully annoyed but not really laughing at each others jokes either.

Also despite the fact Legend was on the team to work on Wild's sword in the beginning, he didn't show up in the towns blacksmith to help either. And while its very easily argued he did that to stay with Twilight, based on this reaction,

He was asked or at least knew they were doing it. He was also fine spoiling the surprise to Wild despite it being mainly Fours gift (and symbol of forgiveness). He refused to join either way, and I think it could both be because he wanted to be by Twilight and also because he just... Didn't really want to interact with Four.

Now to bring it back to Legends reaction to the transformation (told you it'd come back). I don't think Legend particularly likes the crystal (who can blame him really) and I think he's with Four on not really liking the magic, so unlike Wind who's excited to see it hes still a little.. Iffy on the magic itself. And I think that still can cause tension, but that's more of a red herring to the real thing that's causing strife... And that's the Master Sword itself.

Legend and Four didn't argue over the crystal. They argued about the Master Sword. I think the shadow crystal was just the tipping point to get them talking about the Sword and make Four oppose it in some way. Four has always been indifferent to the sword, not really willing to wield it and has been absent from discussing it. But after that? I think with Four and Legend being on opposing sides, along with Time and Sky (whole other discussion I cant delve into cuz good god this post is long enough as is) is leading me into thinking that the next arc is going to delve more into that strife. And its going to be harder to overcome than Twilight being injured.

tl;dr I think Four and Legend still have beef after sunset pt 11 and its going to boil over on them and its their inability to discuss the Master Sword like normal peoples fault.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu legend #lu four #lu wind #lu twilight #linked universe theory #sorry if this doesnt read well. i dont often theory post #but i havent really seen anyone discuss the fall out with four and legend #and i wanted to because it rots my head sometimes

[somethingsomethingwords]

Good evening *said sliding down a ramp*! Here's another fic. It started as a study of shadows and light, then it got derailed. As always thanks for reading. Enjoy 💜

When Fernando raises his eyes to the window, he is surprised to see it is already late at night, his watch reading at 00:30.

The moon shines, yellowish and full, creating a path of bright squares and dark lines.

The desktop in front of him is starting to become blurrier and blurrier, and he definitely needs a break.

He raises his arms, stretching and hearing the pops of his back. He stands up, deciding for a reinvigorating midnight snack, when he remembers he is supposed to have company.

The screen on the desk in front of his own is still on, but from his position he can't see anyone looking at it.

It is only when he walks around the table that he solves the mystery of his missing companion: Lance is sleeping sitting at the desk, face on his bent arms and soft breaths leaving his slightly parted lips.

The bright artificial light gives him a white hue, ghostly pale. It only serves to highlight the bags under his eyes.

He's pushing himself too hard, Fernando thinks, feeling worried seeing the toll the season is taking on his teammate.

Sighing slightly, he reaches for Lance's shoulder. He wants to lightly shake him, but in the exact moment he touches the other, Lance flinches away, waking up and looking around, searching for the disturbance.

When his eyes land on Fernando, he relaxes a fraction, before diverging them and starting staring at the screen, not saying anything.

"Lance, is late. Let's go home" he says softly, not wanting to disturb the quietness of the room.

"It's ok, you can go. I'll just stay for a couple more minutes" Lance tries to smile, but Nando can see it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Lance, we came together, remember?"

They didn't. They are strict about trying to keep their private lives separated from their professional ones.

But Lance seems so tired Nando isn't sure he can drive back home. And with the silence stretching, with Lance trying to figure out why he doesn't remember it, Fernando is sure it is the right call.

"We... did...not?"

Fernando is actually going to pick him up, put him on his shoulder and carry him to the car.

"No, we didn't, but you thinking about it this long tells me you shouldn't drive"

Lance has the audacity to look annoyed, before sighing and admitting defeat.

"Yeah, fair enough. But I still need to analyse the data from the last race. I'll call an Uber" he says, before turning to his computer and seemingly starting ignoring Fernando.

I love this man, and arguing will lead to nothing, Fernando has to remind himself.

From the look of it, Lance wouldn't stay awake for long. So Fernando simply leaves him alone to retrieve a water bottle from the adjacent kitchen, forgoing his snack.

When he comes back, he can see Lance's head slowly losing its battle against gravity, lowering and then rising up, each time deeper and slower than the previous one.

He waits until he is once again in front of the Canadian, leaning back against the desk, then taps Lance's cheek with the cold bottle.

Lance flinches again, but he doesn't seem to have the energy to look angry or even annoyed. He simply takes the bottle and drinks a little bit, before giving it back while offering a small smile.

Fernando takes it, and waits. Still as a statue, he can see Lance looking up at him from time to time.

Lance could be patient, but nothing compares to Nando's psychological warfare methods. If he put his mind to it, he could wait until next year.

"I know you think I can't do it. But I have to. So just, please, leave. I'm enough of a pathetic show already, there is no need for an audience"

Lance's words cut deep, fast and cold, straight to Nando's heart.

"Lance, I'm the first one who believes in you. But won't solve anything on a Tuesday morning at one a.m."

"There is no more time, Nando. I've done anything I could think of, and nothing changed. I feel like I'm just wasting time and resources here. I need to get better, to do better. If not, then all I've done, the sacrifices and the things lost and the time spent would have been for nothing. I need this to work" he is basically vomiting the words, rubbing his eyes in the vain hope the tears he can feel filling his eyes don't actually leave them.

Fernando feels like he can't do anything for his lover. He can't promise him a better car, a better strategy, a better season. He can see his partner being crushed by the pressure put on his shoulders, and he starts searching for some kind of sign of when it had started.

He knows how people talk about Lance, what they say and think, but it never seemed to bother the younger man. He starts wondering how he had been so blind to not realise their words had chipped a hole in Lance's armour.

Anyway, the damage is already done. He can only pick Lance up, and support him while his shield is under maintenance, lending his own.

"Lance, it's not going to work right now. You are tired, we both are. Let's just go home, and tomorrow we start fixing this"

Lance has a moment of hesitation.

"What if there is nothing to fix. The car is ok, the tires are ok. You have good results. What if I'm the problem, and I cannot be fixed?"

Enough is enough.

Fernando takes the face of the man he loves in his hands, forcing Lance to look at him, his grip firm but still gentle.

"Lance, listen to me. The car is shit. We know it, Mike knows it, the mechanics and the engineers, even the waiters know it. I have results because I see a problem and hammer at it so hard until it goes away. You are not the problem. Doing what we do, is difficult. Training, travelling, racing. It never stops. We keep going but is hard. So just stop, for tonight. Tomorrow we start again, but for now, let's just rest"

Fernando knows it's over when he feels Lance's head falling against his chest.

He won, but at what cost?

They stay like this, Fernando caressing Lance's hair while the younger man just breathes, trying to hide his quiet sobs and the light tremble of his shoulders.

When his watch starts vibrating, reminding him time is real, Nando gently pushes the other up, wiping the tears away.

"Let's go home" he repeats, and helps Lance get up.

With their hands intertwined, Fernando leads them outside, not turning around, sure of Lance following him, close behind.

They'll be back tomorrow, so they can leave Lance's car for the night.

Once in Fernando's car, the ride is quiet, neither needing any more words, just needing each other.

They fall asleep pressed against each other, united in a mess of fears and tiredness and love, because no matter what will happen tomorrow, or the day after, they are sure they will continue to have each other's backs.

So, when they get home, and start settling for the night, it's no brainer that Lance attaches himself to Nando's body, in need of being reassured through touch and presence. Fernando is more than happy to comply, the need in him to provide and protect finally calmed when Lance is in his arms, watching the boy falling asleep, calmer and more settled, with just the light of the moon to illuminate half his face, and for the first time, he looks real and solid and alive.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, not able to limit his affection anymore.

#fernando alonso #lance stroll #strollonso #grumpy cat boy x besotted old man #will i ever write something where lance is not sleepy #probably not #if you see the Orpheus and Eurydice's reference no you don't #it's just there to make me cry don't worry about it #also insecure lance for the win #and reassuring Nando because why not

[mirohtron]

the door was ajar.

this was a bad roof to be on. abandoned. dusty. a rotting satellite dish swayed precariously over the edge.

the hero sat with their back to the brick-laid railing of the fire exit. their split knuckles curled around the neck of a beer bottle as they took a swig. the skin on their cheekbone was cut. their eyebrow was split. there were bruises on their arms. the sight made the villain's chest pound, yes, but what really suffocated them was the look of defeat in the hero's eyes eyes. the resignation. the detachment. as dull as the corpse that was this abandoned building.

they thought they'd arrived unnoticed, but the hero's lips popped off the mouth of the bottle and they held it in their direction. of course the hero had noticed them. the villain would've noticed their presence, too, in any room; would've felt the air shift around the shape of their body, making space for something larger and more meaningful than anything the eye was made to see.

the villain walked over. stooped down with awkward, unsure limbs. no clue where to put their hands. they took the beer bottle. it was cold. they took a swig and tried not to think of the remnants of warmth from the hero's lips on the mouth of it. they'd have to wash their trousers. they'd heard word that detergent was of better quality across the sea.

if the villain listened close enough, they could hear the hero's breath come in and out. they watched their chest rise and fall. tried to match their breathing. the pounding of their heart got in the way.

they set the bottle down between them. the hero's fingers twitched for it, but they didn't immediately pick it up. they chewed on their split knuckles.

purely on instinct, the villain mumbled, "bad habit."

the hero merely acknowledged it with a noise. an uh-huh that was still stuck in their throat. if they noticed that the villain's voice was tender with care, they didn't say anything. still, their leg began to bounce. their breath came out in harsher, more audible inhales and exhales. their eyes seemed to be looking at some faraway thing.

"think about it." the hero's words were badly enunciated. "it's been a year. plus three of us not fuckin' mentioning it. four years of us. four years of—" the hero stopped short, words collapsing inward like an imploding building. they swallowed thickly, spit out bitten-off skin as an excuse.

for as long as they'd known each other (which wasn't that long at all, looking back—just from the moment they'd started existing up until this point), the hero had never quiet gotten that shaking under control. down went the words. up rushed the adrenaline. and the fear that tagged along with it.

their eyes were as big as marbles. as glassy as them, too. their jaw was locked shut, the muscle in it jumping. the villain ached to slot their palm against the curve of their neck. to feel the pulse there. to feel it calm down or quicken or do whatever, because the hero's pain was as much theirs as it was the villain's.

it was better to not voice that.

the hero closed their eyes, and out came the tears. they took in a steadying breath. "you're so fucking agonizing."

"i'm sorry."

the hero took a swig. wrung their bleeding fingers. "you could've pushed me away."

"I tried."

"you could've pushed harder."

"that would've been cruel."

"this is kinder?"

they couldn't meet the hero's eyes.

they'd always imagined it to be the other way around. the villain was cruel. sometimes inhumane. right in the cavity of their chest, past the bones and sinew, nauseatingly disgusting. they'd been human, once, but now they'd been rearranged into something worse.

the hero had been brighter. hopeful. loving. they had the capacity to love disgusting things, like this disgusting city and its disgusting citizens and its disgusting criminals. they'd been rearranged into something worse, too, by the villain's hand, far too slowly to catch onto it until it was too late.

sorry wouldn't fix it. leaving wouldn't fix it, either. but staying would be worse.

it would've been kinder to push them away. but the villain was selfish, had always been selfish, lit people up like matchsticks to feel their soft warmth for just a little bit.

the hero's cheeks were properly wet, now. flushed. their hair was unmade. their cape still carried stains from fights that had happened days ago. the soles of their boots were blackened and peeling. it would only get worse with the villain in the city.

"look at me."

the villain cast their gaze up.

the hero's eyes were glassy. their nose was red. the pulse in their neck jumped in time with the beat of their heart.

they should've pushed them away.

the villain slotted their palm against the curve of their neck. the hero sobbed once at their touch, then swallowed the rest of the pain down. they were better than the villain in that sense. they didn't crawl to affection the same way the villain did, like moths to streetlamps. they didn't ask, selfishly, if they were still loved, because they knew that it would hurt the other person. knew that it wasn't worth it.

the villain reached out with selfish fingers.

"do you still love me?"

the hero sobbed.

"miserably."

the villain got up, holding that admission close to their chest, and left.

even with an ocean between them, word of the hero's mental breakdown reached them like poison.

#hero x villain #ya i posted this a couple days ago but it was unedited akd i hadnt read it after finishing it and i knew it wouldve been ass #sorry💔 #villain x hero #heroes and villains #spilled ink #writeblr #writers on tumblr #hero x villain community #villain #villains #hero #heroes #kyles.writing

[r3dblccd]

TAG PEOPLE YOU'D LIKE TO KNOW BETTER!

tagged by: @irrwicht

tagging: @formorethananame, @luneblush, @temporalobjects, @weedzkiller, @r4bidog, @hishedonism, @mxldito, @ovilis, @vienrose, @unavernales, @dozenrozez, @frxgmcnts, @finalsurvivorgrp, @caelcstis, @dcrkfcngs

favorite color(s): Red, purple, but I like all colors

favorite flavor(s): I have a huge sweet tooth, so I'd say chocolate and also fruity flavors like bananas and strawberries.

favorite music: Honestly, I think I can say that I listen mostly everything. I've come to the conclusion that I don't really care about the genre, if I like a song, I like it and that's about it. And that's why my playlist is a mess, especially when I put it on shuffle lmao

favorite movie(s): It's so hard to pick, there are so many good ones! But I recently watched Tokyo Godfathers, that one automatically jumped in my top favourites. I also really liked Grave of Fireflies (even though it's quite a heavy movie), Spirited Away, Princess Mononoke, The Handmaiden (let's go lesbians, let's go), Perfect Blue, Everything Everywhere All At Once, The Jigsaw franchise (and honestly, I think the 10th movie might be my favourite), The Fear Street Trilogy, Coraline, What We Do In The Shadows, Train To Busan

Honorable mentions: I think Gremlins is starting to grow on me, especially the second movie because I love that the production team didn't take it all too seriously, I do like when some movies are self-aware how silly they actually are. Also shoutout to The Sadness. Am I ever going to watch that movie ever again? Probably not, it was a very disturbing movie. But this is not your usual zombie movie, if I can even call it a zombie movie, which surprised me? Like, it definitely does have those elements of the apocalyptic zombie genre but turned it completely over its head by making the infected actually aware of the things they're doing but not being able to stop it. Again, it is a disturbing movie, it's not for everybody. I personally don't see myself watching it twice. Plus, finding out that the director has said something like that he wanted to focus more on the "fun and the gore" other than anything else in a Q&A did sound quite sussy to me given the heavy topics and the ways the movie could be interpreted. Idk, as philology and literature major it just keeps getting confirmed to me that most, if not all works of art, no matter in what form, have something to say and they deeply reflect the time in which they were created, and there's always the subjectivity of the viewer who interprets it in their own way (like hell, even the superheroes in movies these days most likely take a whole lot of inspiration from Greek mythology, if you really think about it). Some people have mentioned that the director might have answered the way that he did as to not stir up controversy since it was at a festival, but I can't say for sure, I wasn't there to see the interview myself and this is already getting really long so I will stop now, you can make your own conclusions.

favorite series: Courage the cowardly dog, The Scooby-Doo franchise, Are You Afraid Of The Dark (I'm talking about the 90's series, I haven't watched the 2019 revival). Do I remember anything from them? Kind of, it's been a very long time since I've watched them. I kind of want to rewatch them because of it. But they sparked my interest in all things spooky when I was a kid so I feel like they deserve a place here. Some of my other favourites include: The Untamed, Serial Experiments Lain, Steins;Gate, Semantic Error, Another, My Roommate is a Detective, Wellington Paranormal, What We Do In The Shadows, Hellbound and Sweet Home (I do recommend reading the webtoons of those two, though), Death Parade, The Silent Sea, Color Rush, Squid Game, My Beautiful Man, Good Omens, Our Flag Means Death, Alice on Borderland, My Name, Yellowjackets, Theatre of Darkness: Yamishibai

last song: Ruler Of My Heart by BL8M & Rubyeye & Unknown (Till The End) by AKUGETSU (Alien Stage OSTs) (tw for blood and a bit of gory imagery in the MVs for anyone who wants to check them out). Also can I also just talk about the 1st Anniversary Remixes of those two songs too!!! (here and here, audio only). Just *cheff's kiss*, I love those songs so much, I want to eat them. The story all these animations is quite interesting, the animations themselves are very well done too. How can I describe it. The story kind of takes that deadly game trope (like, let's say in the Hunger Games and Alice in Borderland), but make it about people being forced to be in a singing competition against each other to survive and they are being judged by aliens. From what I know, I could be wrong, the main way of storytelling is through the MVs on the VIVINOS YT channel so it does require a bit to analyze (there is a bit of a additional info on the official website and on the wiki, I'm sure), so if any of that sound interest you, I would recommend checking it out

last series: Choco Milk Shake

last movie: The Cat Returns

currently reading: So Long, And Thank for All The Fish from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy books. I'm so happy of how much progress I've done on reading those books compiled in one huge book, I'm halfway through the series now. And honestly I want to read it for as long as I can because I really enjoy it, it's so fun, I love the absurd situation the main characters fall into while the big question of the meaning of life, the Universe and everything looms over them. This would definitely go in one of my top books I've read I'm sure.

And I also have to mention the webtoons that I'm reading because I love them very much too: Hand Jumper, The Blind Prince, Lore Olympus, Zombie X Slasher (I don't know in what kind of direction this one would go, but so far so good!), Everything is Fine, Flawed Almighty, Homesick (I love love LOVE this one! The art style and everything is great), Never Ending Darling (I know that it's gonna end in like 2 days officially once the last episode is available to read for free, but damn, what a ride this was. The concept of this webtoon is terrifying), Omniscient Reader, My S-Class Hunters, ZOMGAN (also quite an interesting and honestly refreshing way of making a story about zombies), Nocturne and The Guy Upstairs

And special highlight to: There Are No Demons. This webtoon? An absolute nightmare fuel. I find it very interesting that the artist Nemo Nullus makes 3D models first and then draws over them. I wasn't so sure how to feel like it when I first saw it, this was the first time I've seen anything like it on webtoon, but I quickly grew to like this art style, the kind of weird realism and uncanny valley really add to the stories. And the stories themselves are very scary because these are things that could actually happen, and have most likely happened in real life too, especially that first story with the stalker. This webtoon has made me feel things no other horror/thriller webtoon has made me feel, I feel like I want to crawl out of my own body when I'm reading it, really.

currently watching: Nothing in particular, just random YT videos. I do have some shows to catch up on that I already mentioned here.

currently working on: Mostly focusing on studying a bit more for my exam on monday. But once I'm done I'll be back to doing more stuff here, hopefully ❤️

#long post cw #//this got long so i'm putting it under the cut #//thought that since I started to ramble as usual might as well give a long list of my favourites lol #//no i'm being serious this turned very long like jesus christ when and how did this get so long jhbgggbfh #//so feel free to skip this #misc; ooc #misc; dash games

[tcfactory]

Please consider: Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu role-swap

[LiuJiu, 2300 words]

After the fire, Shen Jiu doesn't sit around, he's aiming straight for Cang Qiong. Wu Yanzi tempts him, but if he is to ever find out what happened to Qi-ge then he can't play around with rogue cultivators, so he ditches the man before Wu Yanzi could take him as a disciple.

He arrives to the sect at a year when they are not doing the disciple selection - the women at the Warm Red Pavilion say it's because the Sect Leader is busy monitoring his cursed head disciple and if the Sect Leader doesn't take part then the rest of the sect has to wait too - but he's tipped off that Bai Zhan is always open to those who are determined enough to climb the mountain and demand admittance.

So that's exactly what he does. The Peak Lord sets him against one of his junior disciples and tells him there are no rules, if he can beat them he's in. It's a test he's not supposed to win, to see his determination and his reaction to failure, as a malnourished slave boy should be no match to someone in good health who has two years of training under his belt. But Shen Jiu doesn't know this, he has come too far to give up now and unlike the scrappy, but well-fed farmer's son he's set up against, he fights dirty.

He sets the basis of his future nickname - The Rabid Wolf of Bai Zhan - that day when he claws the boy's eye out and forces him to yield. His rise among the disciples is almost as meteoric as Yue Qi's and people are on the lookout for when the upstart slave boy will plummet back to the earth, but he never does. When the year is up and the sect is abuzz that Lingxi caves are finally opening again because they are letting the cursed disciple out, he's there in the front row among the curious onlookers and throws himself in his Qi-ge's arms as soon as the other boy steps foot into the light again.

Shen Qingqiu grows up tall and willowy and unpredictable, an unconventional physical cultivator that bends with the wind, but never breaks. With Yue Qingyuan's support as an unshakeable mountain behind his back, he is untouchable. He never bothers to hide what he is, not his scars or his sharp edges or the slave brand burned into the meat of his shoulder, often bared to the world by his choice of outfit; he stands as testament that even the lowest wretches can claw their way up to stand among giants.

Liu Mingqu yields to his rich family and allows himself to be enrolled into Qing Jing. He is not as suited for spiritual cultivation and he has no head for arts, but he is still a prodigy and a really hard working one at that. He learns all there is to learn for a scholar and doesn't rest until he perfects them all - music, calligraphy, painting, poetry - and even if he's ever uninspired about pursuing them, the Peerless Beauty of Qing Jing is a competent teacher who stands head and shoulders over his peers. He masters his temper and his manners and takes to hiding his face behind a fan or sometimes a veil like his sister to discourage people from staring at him.

Their roles may be different, but their nature remains the same. Shen Jiu has always been more clever than he was strong and nothing changed about that now that he's essentially a spiritual cultivator playing at star athlete. He plants a bamboo forest on his mountain - for meditation and ambush practice, he says, but everyone knows he just needed a bubble of calm for himself in the endless war zone of Bai Zhan - and mercilessly beats any disciple who dares to damage the forest. In the serene calm of his little house he hoards books and maps and all the culture he can get his calloused hands on, always thirsty to know more, an endless pit his Qi-ge happily pours obscure knowledge into. He uses the standing feud between Bai Zhan and Qing Jing to spy on them, learn their cultivation methods by sight and listen to the senior disciples do ad hoc concerts, so he can practice music in the brothel or under a silencing array just behind his house.

It's during one of these trips when he discovers Liu Qingge behind the Qing Jing Peak Lord's manor, restlessly shuffling through the steps of a formal dance. Liu Qingge yearns to move, he yearns for the exertion of his wild youth, but there are only so many acceptable options for a scholar and as a cultivator he can't channel his restlessness into hunting or horse riding. That leaves dancing, but Liu Qingge is not a creative person. He sticks to the dances he half-remembers learning as a rich young master and maybe asks his sister for some more, but that's where his resourcefulness runs out on this venture.

Shen Qingqiu watches him go through the steps of the same dozen dances, swap to a few rounds of sword forms - perfectly executed and ethereal, an immortal beauty that earthbound Shen Qingqiu will never be able to replicate - and then swap back to the dances, increasingly frustrated and restless.

"If Peak Lord Qingge wants to learn some better dances, this shidi can introduce you to someone." Liu Qingge startles and almost turns him into a pincushion with a barrage of bamboo leaves.

"What do you want?!" They are secure in their respective positions, but they still don't like each other.

"Peace, shixiong. I'm just looking out for the sect. How would it reflect on me if I let my fellow Peak Lord work himself into a qi deviation and didn't step in?" Shen Qingqiu shrugs and smiles with an easy, predatory grace that makes Liu Qingge wish he had fangs to match the Wolf of Bai Zhan, but there's no malice in the offer. "Come now, shixiong. There's nobody else here. We don't need to do this stupid game of social posturing. Tell you what, as a sign of my goodwill I'm going to teach you a meditation technique to calm your qi after exercise, free of charge."

Almost everything with Shen Qingqiu is a transaction, so Liu Qingge knows better than to pass up the chance to get something from his shidi for free - and the meditation does help settle his roiling qi.

"What do you want in return, then?" It's almost terrifying how intensely Shen Qingqiu's eyes light up.

"That trick with the leaves - teach me how to do it."

Liu Qingge doesn't bother to point out that it's a spiritual technique. It's an unspoken secret that they would be better suited to each other's cultivation styles than that of their own peaks. Shen Qingqiu has a storm of razor sharp leaves dancing in the air before Liu Qingge is even done explaining.

He almost regrets agreeing when Shen Qingqiu takes him down to the brothel, but the women his shidi introduces him to are truly masters of dance - they were stars of an imperial dance troupe before their owner was executed for offending the Emperor and they were sold to the brothel. They take him to the back and teach him dances he could never have imagined, dances that make his heart soar and his blood rush hot in his veins, while Shen Qingqiu lightly dozes among the women in the main reception area, his very presence frightening all but the most unruly patrons into behaving.

Liu Qingge is an honest man and he knows, deep down, that he got much more out of this exchange than his shidi. He’s on the lookout to see how he could repay him, but Shen Qingqiu seems to want for nothing. What he can’t get on his own Yue Qingyuan gifts to him, doting relentlessly on his sharp-edged little brother. So when he hears that Shen Qingqiu is to set out to assist in a night hunt against a particularly dangerous demonic beast that made its way over the to the far shore of the sea, he hops to the opportunity to compile a scroll of all the unspoken rules and etiquette of the island, as well as a short history on the ninja clan that asked for their aid. It’s all information that Shen Qingqiu has no way of learning otherwise, but should ease his time on the hunt.

When he can’t find Shen Qingqiu at the bamboo house he goes looking for him and that’s when he finds the silencing array, that’s when he sees his shidi sitting with his guqin in a clearing, composing music. Liu Qingge’s mouth goes dry, his heart skips a beat - his shidi is like a vision from the heavens and for the first time since he started this scholarly lifestyle, Liu Qingge wants to paint. He wants to etch this scene in his heart and condense it into a poem.

He slinks away before his shidi can notice him and leaves the scroll in the bamboo house. In the three years Shen Qingqiu is gone, hunting that elusive monster that decimates one village after another, he becomes a man possessed - or more accurately, a tender hearted young maiden yearning for her first love. He paints picture after picture, sometimes of a wolf stalking among the bamboo, sometimes of Qingqiu with his guqin as the scene lives in his memory. Rarely he paints his shidi stretched out on a couch in the brothel, languid with feigned sleep and one eye opened a crack as he vigilantly watches over his sisters - he gifts one of those to the brothel, much to the ladies’ delight. He starts writing poetry, yearning, horrible poetry his sister mocks relentlessly, but slowly he finds his words and his latest attempts are almost good. He is the first to hound Zhangmen-shixiong for news on Shen shidi and learns every word of every letter by heart, no matter how short or impersonal the progress reports are.

Liu Qingge knows that his martial siblings are not blind to his obsession - he has caught Shang shidi muttering “bro, really?!” under his breath more than once. He’s not familiar with the expression, but he can understand the sentiment. Yue Qingyuan watches him with patient exasperation, but he knows that the man doesn’t disapprove from the mild comment about how Shen Jiu will need a new ceremonial robe for his return celebration because his old one is ten years out of fashion.

Embroidery is, technically, within the skill set of the Qing Jing Peak Lord. He hounds An Ding until someone supplies him with Shen Qingqiu’s measurements and the finest materials he can bully Shang shidi into acquiring - “That’s the same stuff demon royalty wears, try not to waste it, my contact had to go through the royal seamstress of the northern kingdom to get it in that color.” - and sets to work. Bai Zhan’s color is steel blue, but that never fit his shidi, so he picks greens instead to match his striking green eyes. He creates a design that accentuates the deceptive slimness of Qingqiu, then embroiders the robes with bamboo patterns and a wolf on the hunt and when they are done he crafts a matching fan - Shen shidi hides from nothing and nobody, but Liu Qingge thinks he might enjoy being a little mysterious.

He is daydreaming about his shidi during the next Peak Lord meeting when the Sect Leader breaks the news: the beast has finally been slain and Shen Qingqiu will be on the next ship back home. Liu Qingge stays barely long enough to not be impolite at the end of the meeting before he rushes off to finish the last touches on the robes. He wants to leave it all set out for his shidi in the bamboo house.

In his haste he misses the look Shang Qinghua and Yue Qingyuan exchange behind his back.

“So, about those arrangements we made…”

“Yes, please. Let’s get Xiao Jiu home before Liu-shidi pines himself into a qi deviation.”

“Yeah, he’s down bad isn’t he?”

“Are you certain your prince doesn’t mind? If you are in any danger, shidi…”

“No! It’s fine, I’m fine, he already agreed to it! In fact, my Xuebao likes your brother so much I’m almost a little jealous.”

“Really now?”

“Zhangmen-shixiong, please stop looking like you are plotting murder. It’s not like that. As the Mobei prince, he really doesn’t have a lot of friends. Of course he misses A-Jiu.”

“If you say so, shidi.”

Liu Qingge is all jitters when he walks down the path to the bamboo house. He can’t understand why because Shen Qingiu won’t be back for months, but he still feels like a maiden on her way to ask out her love on the first date.

He almost drops the package with the robes when he opens the door and finds Shen Qingqiu standing there in the sunlit room. His shidi is too solid, too real to be an apparition, his clothes worn from travel, his heavy pack still unpacked by the table. He stands with a letter in one hand - Qingge recognizes his sister’s wobbly, childish handwriting - and with Qingge’s notebook in which he wrote all his stumbling, horrible poetry in the other and Liu Qingge wishes nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Are those my new robes?” Shen Qingqiu asks, as if they have only met this morning, as if that was a reasonable thing to ask when Qingge’s heart is about to explode from nerves. He can only mutely nod at his shidi. “You know shixiong, I can see that you have put enormous effort into courting me. I would have loved it if it happened when I was here to experience it.”

Shen Qingqiu sets the notebook and the letter down and stalks up to Liu Qingge, his eyes sharp with an emotion he can’t interpret, but it makes Liu Qingge want to bare his throat to his teeth and be devoured.

“So, Liu-shixiong. Are you going to help me try on my new robes?”

#svsss #liu qingge #shen jiu #shen qingqiu #liujiu #tc writes #I'm tempted to draw something for this ngl #not putting this under readmore bc there was no good spot to cut it and it doesn't feel that long... #LQG going 0 to 100 in love like the nerd he is #Bai Zhan SQQ takes a more direct approach to protecting the sect #so of course he found out about Moshang #and beat Mobei's ass when they were still teens for treating hamster-shidi too rough so he got promoted to best friend status #that's just enough context for airplane to remember what he wrote about violent demon bonding #and clean up that no humans don't find physical violence directed at them sexy #mobei is a security risk to the sect but a calculated one #no other sect has a way to go to japan and back in five minutes so he can live for now #they are still pretty young here btw #Mingyuan is just old enough to write #she's old enough to bully her big brother for being a really bad poet though #tough crowd

[honorhearted]

@socialseasons​ | continued from (x)

John was dead. No matter how many times Ben read and re-read Gregory’s frantic, pleading words, he couldn’t quite wrap his head around them -- couldn’t fathom why the boy believed Francesca needed his help. The malaise was too strong, he’d claimed. She would write home with pleasantries, but refused their mother’s fervent plea to come home and rest. 

But what could he do, Ben wondered? After his departure, he’d promptly cut off all ties with Francesca. Her letters arrived for many months, and despite his yearnings to correspond and keep himself abreast of her life, he’d selfishly discarded them into the fire, not even giving in to the temptation of opening them and reading what laid inside. A little over a year later, the letters finally stopped, and despite the undeniable hole in his heart from the loss of her friendship, he’d deemed their separation for the best. She had a husband now. She would soon have a family...

And now Francesca had nothing. She had no one in that big, empty manor, and despite Ben’s distance and lack of connection to her plight, he couldn’t help but feel responsible. He should’ve been there. He should have never let her face all this alone.

It was this guilt that fueled him into accepting Gregory’s secret invitation. Weeks onboard a cramped ship gave way to a stormy, unpleasant arrival with a chilling sense of foreboding. The wind whipped pellets of rain into his face, and waterlogged his clothes within moments of being on land. It was fitting, Ben thought. He was surely being tested for intervening where he was not welcome -- he was surely being punished with this tragedy of his own making.

By the time Ben pounded on the double doors to Francesca’s manor -- or rather, her husband’s -- it was late afternoon and he was shaking from the chill. Impatient, he shifted between using the door knocker and his fist, banging on the thick oak surface until it opened and revealed a servant with a cautious, disapproving scowl.

“Lady Francesca,” Ben choked out, abruptly lowering his fist. “Please...I need to speak with her.”

He knew he must appear bedraggled and untrustworthy at best, and his suspicions were confirmed once the woman denied him entry. 

“I’m sorry, but her ladyship is not currently admitting any guests,” she said.

She moved to close the doors, but Ben was quick to lodge his foot in between the wooden slabs. “Please,” he begged, “I’ve come out all this way...”

“And I’m sure she’d appreciate that,” the woman coolly said, “but I’m afraid you-”

“I was sent for!” Ben furiously cut in. “Please, you must let me through!” When the woman yet again moved to shut the doors, he used all his body weight to barrel in across the threshold, the servant’s shrill cry rising above the din as Ben breathlessly shouted, “Frannie! Fran, it’s me... Please. You must come down here!”

“Sir, please!” the woman growled. “If you don’t leave right this instant, I will have you thrown out by force!”

The commotion finally seemed to rouse someone’s attention. A woman appeared at the top of the staircase, and both Ben and the servant stopped in their tracks, the former feeling as though an awl had punctured him right between the ribs. It was her... It couldn’t be, and yet it was. The weight of womanhood carved itself across Francesca’s features, soft and refined, yet grief had mellowed out some of the brightness in her smile and the sparkle in her eyes. She was no longer sweet and carefree -- she was no longer a child, naïve and at fate’s mercy.

Finally, something seemed to register in Francesca’s face, and then she came rushing down the steps to meet him, her arms flinging around his neck and holding on tight. Forgotten was their small audience, and Ben stooped to properly embrace her, a lump in his throat as he passed his fingers through her hair and closed his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he choked out. Please forgive me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

Words failed him in that moment -- after all, what could he say to a friend he’d so heinously abandoned? -- and pressing a kiss to her temple, he finally settled on asking what happened. Francesca went rigid against him, and her silence tore his heartstrings akin to knives as she lowered down to her proper height, her eyes scanning his face with clear confusion.

“Your husband,” Ben weakly explained. “Frannie, I didn’t know... Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You know exactly why. 

Pressing his lips inward, shame bled across his features and he swallowed, suddenly unable to return her gaze. “I...I don’t know what to say,” he finally admitted. It was true. He didn’t know what to say, and as tears filled his eyes, he was suddenly grateful to the rainwater masking his emotional turmoil. It was her -- it was really, truly her -- and somehow, it hurt nearly as much to have Francesca there with him as it did to be apart. Her hands were clasped in his own, and yet the weight of them didn’t feel real...couldn’t be real.

And then just like that, she pulled away from him. It was as though a curtain had been drawn, promptly closing off the warmth in her face as she reverted back to something colder, proper and guarded. Don’t hide from me, he wanted to plead, and yet he knew the sentiment was laughable. Had that not been what he, himself had done over the past four years? He’d once told Francesca she taught him not to run from his problems -- that he needed to face them -- and yet Ben was still running, even now.

While Francesca fussed over his wet clothes, he finally felt the chill in the significantly warmer foyer and shivered, guilt ribboning through him upon her question.

“I didn’t wish to be presumptuous,” he said, “so I do have an inn I can return to, should you prefer it. Caleb helped me with my last minute travels, so he’s presently staying there.” Wiping the rainwater from his face, Ben offered a feeble smile and quipped, “You know, all those years ago during your debut, you had quite the stunning entrance. I suppose I was well overdue.” In more ways than one.

Once Mary had left to prepare his room, Ben reached down and took hold of Francesca’s hand, his heart in his throat as he gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll stay,” he finally agreed. “For as long as you need me.”

#socialseasons #for everything a season #//wow this got insanely long and it's not even good lmao i'm so sorry #obviously no need to match #i put it under a cut to spare everyone lol #i guess not being able to write for 24+ hrs made me go overboard #long post tw

[crystalleoi]

i got a 7th gen ipod nano and. well. you know.

additional doodles

#inanimate insanity #oc: mepod nano 7 #oc: mephone8 #oc: mephonese #my art #sorry im ocposting in the main tag again (i'm not sorry. look at my devices boy) #I'VE BEEN HAVING SO MUCH FUN WITH THE IPOD it actually WORKS PROPERLY unlike the others i have! i've been using it nonstop since i got it #it's so teeny tiny... miniscule... actually the length of my index finger #i think i'll put these drawings on it. just for fun :) #the screen's based on one of the default wallpapers bc i think it looks cool hehe #anyway it's just a pic of some doodles under the cut #i felt like the image was a bit long so now it's like a little surprise when u click. more nanos!

[wereshrew-admirer]

......Regency Era AU 

Duvall came to Eastern Folly as a student, but though he comes from a good family the high society of Sangfielle paralleled the common folk in their disdain for the old dominion. struggling to keep his place among the nobles, he regularly took long walks in the countryside to avoid doing anything rash in response to the taunting of his peers. 

On one such walk in the spring he met a young farmer wandering far from home and restless despite the season’s usually bone-wearying work of plowing and planting. they’d been forbidden from working the fields until the crops emerged, having been caught the year prior attempting to plant unearthly seeds in the soil. 

The farmer had never met a nobleman and their suspicion of Duvall was no different from their hesitancy to trust any of his class. Duvall, well accustomed to hostility by now, found this a refreshing change from the sneering of his supposed peers. 

The farmer, for their part, was pleasantly surprised first when instead of taking offense Duvall shared in their complaints of the local ruling class, and second when he reacted with genuine (and even enthusiastic) interest when they mentioned their theories on unorthodox methods for increasing crop yield. 

The two formed a habit, unintentional at first, of meeting along the shore of the large lake to the west of town, laughing together until the suns hung low on the horizon. they became close that summer, but when the weather cooled and harvesting began the farmer was called back to work, their size and strength appreciated by their family even when their mind was not. 

Duvall continued his afternoon walks until the frosts fell over the land and chilled his feet, but his friend did not return. All winter he sat at his bedroom window looking out at the low hills surrounding Eastern Folly, dreaming of the day he might hear the farmer’s laughter and forget, if only briefly, the strict world in which he lived his daily life. 

He got his wish the following spring, before even the first of the year’s new leaves unfurled -he found his farmer working among a construction crew near the marketplace Duvall frequented. At first he was overjoyed, but when the farmer caught his eye and called to him from the scaffolding of a new building, Duvall realized at once that they were not alone, and that any number of his enemies might witness his association with this commoner and use it to their advantage. 

Still, his desire to speak to his friend was strong, and he managed to pass word to the farmer of a time and place for them to meet in private. 

The farmer, blind to Duvall’s concerns and new to both urban life in general and the vulgar stories passed among their new coworkers, misinterpreted this request and arrived at the proposed meeting place with expectations well beyond those Duvall had intended. 

Surprised but far from offended, Duvall found himself drawn into the farmer’s arms and an affair of the sort he’d thought only possible in the most frivolous of fictions. But unlike his clothes, the farmer was unable to strip from him the true reasons for his discretion. 

Duvall was a scholar. To access his studies he must remain in the good graces of his family, and to do so meant that though he was allowed to fly far from the nest, he was to remain a respected member of high society wherever he landed. And the farmer was far below his station in both class and temperament. To be seen together would ruin him. 

And so when they met, they did so in secret, and only with great caution on Duvall’s part.

This would prove disastrous for any love that may have grown between them when Duvall received a scholarship that took him far from Eastern Folly on such short notice that he was unable to find the time away from watchful eyes to inform the farmer of his departure. 

Though he tried to write, his letters were returned to him undelivered. In desperation he wrote to the farmer’s parents under the guise of a business owner seeking work owed, and to his horror, this was the only letter that received a response: his lover had been conscripted and was soon thereafter killed in battle. 

Years later, Duvall returned to Eastern Folly in time to see its change into Blackwick county, and established himself there as a humble professor. Finally tolerated by the local gentry, if only, he suspected, as a source of entertainment. Still, this afforded him the freedoms he had originally sought in his flight from Aldomina - to study as he saw fit, and to research first hand those subjects that caught his interest. 

And he was not altogether as lonely as he seemed - he made what he thought were genuine friends in a rival scholar whose humor was all that saved him from constant scandal, and in a lady who shared Duvall’s foreign tongue and whom would have faced similar trials if not for her cool demeanor that allowed insults to roll off of her like beads of water off a duck’s back (unlike Duvall, who continued to struggle to control himself when sufficiently frustrated well beyond the years of when such things are expected of young men). Others, too, were kind enough to him that he felt at ease in Blackwick, if not at home. 

Parties, unfortunately, were still an uncomfortable necessity to remain in good favor with the patrons he had managed to acquire on his own, and to satisfy his now-distant family who continued to send him financial support from time to time with the hope that he might someday marry and expand the reach of their line into the heartland. 

And so every few weeks he’d spend an evening suffering the ignorant questions of those attempting to stave off their own boredom. He was painfully aware that most attending these social events had no genuine interest in his research, and so when the gaggle of dull-witted gentry abandoned him for some new amusement, Duvall felt nothing but gratitude to the unfortunate newcomer whose mysterious origin drew their attention.

It was a general, he found out later, having “returned” to Blackwick after a successful campaign in the bloodfields absolutely dripping in awards and medals and tales of gloriously violent exploits. Duvall’s gratitude for the distraction they posed did not extend to his curiosity, as not much turned his stomach quicker than did the glorification of military men who stood on the backs of soldiers who had no choice but to die fighting under their heel - a sensitivity that he did his best to hide, lest someone inquire as to how he picked it up.  

It was this that kept Duvall far from the circles that grew around the general, though the rumors were impossible to escape: Chine should died when a bullet tore through his face and took one of his eyes, but he had fought on to lead his men to victory as if unaffected by pain or blood loss. The list of battles they’d won was long, and they had become well known for their ferocity and willingness to face death alongside his soldiers. It was said that the very sight of their snarling face sometimes inspired their foes to surrender - The tales of their exploits nearly bore Duvall to tears. 

The only interesting line of gossip was the officer’s mysterious background. They were said to have come from Eastern Folly, but no local house claimed them. They spoke with the local accent, though, and bore features similar to those whose lines ran deep as the mines in these mountains. 

More curious yet, he would not identify the benefactor that sponsored their commission. Claiming again that they had ties to the land of Blackwick itself. What might have been a controversy that ruined a lesser man, Chine thrived on it. Equally fearsome on the ballroom floor, it was said, as they were in battle. 

This set Duvall off laughing whenever he heard it and so his friend and rival Lye Lychen took to announcing dance partners as though they had stepped into a boxing ring with the general, assigning points to potential suitors as they struggled to catch Chine’s attention through the normal means of flattery and sex appeal and over-practiced wit. 

While this often successfully got his shoulders shaking, Duvall managed to not so much as glance in the general’s direction. Lye’s obvious exaggeration of the situation became something of a game between the two of them and the Lady Es. She acted as a referee, confirming the truth or lie of Mr. Lychen’s claims whenever Duvall called it, saving him from actually looking himself - which added to the challenge for Lye, who was determined to craft a story just extravagant enough to draw Duvall’s curiosity without being flagged as false. Lady Es, in all fairness, never contradicted Lye until Duvall asked for her word. 

But Blackwick was not populous enough for such a game to continue forever. It was inevitable that eventually Duvall would look upon the general by accident, on or off of the dance floor. It happened late one evening after Duvall had drunk just enough to doubt himself - across the room a large group of people shifted, opening just enough to reveal at their center the figure that Duvall had thus far avoided. 

And fate would have it that the general, in that moment, also glanced in his direction. Duvall was frozen in place, staring with eyes so wide that he was sure to draw attention by his expression alone -  there across the hall stood his farmer, rendered nearly unrecognizable by the scars that cut bright lines through their freckles and dug deep pits into their face, but alive. He half-stumbled forward only to realize that a sea of party goers still blocked the path between them, and then recognition seemed to spark in the general’s eye and instead of reflecting the intensity of joy that Duvall felt for the briefest, sweetest moment, their expression shifted into a cold glare that seemed to take the floor out from below Duvall’s feet. 

Lyke was near enough to catch him, exclaiming, “woa now, you alright buddy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost”

Duvall grasped his friend’s arm for dear life, staring at the space where his farmer had been a moment before, replaced now by the ever-shifting crowd, and grateful for it, too - for a moment more of that hateful glare would surely have sent him to his own grave. He shook his head as if to clear it, blinking up at Lye and forcing a grin that he knew wouldn’t fool the man for a second, “you know - i - i might have”

#chine/duvall #regency era au ???? #my writing #??? #did not mean to write more than a summary but here we are #long post under the cut #sorry for my ignorance i am but a STEM person who encountered the smallest bit of a genre and was swept away #i'd like to write this in less of a fake flowery tone someday but i've got so so many fic wips #why is it so easy to hoard story fragments?? #images i feel compelled to finish but stories i'll just write and write and write and put back on my shelf for later #(this isn't good writing but it is an idea i'm having a fun time ruminating on for some reason)

[kiksniko]

4, 5, 10 and 23 for the artist ask gaaame!

also i adore ur braces!dazai and teen skk art

hehehe thank you so much <3!!

4. favorite thing to draw

right now i'm kinda falling in love with coloring soo i guess pretty skies !

5. least favorite thing to draw

accurate anatomy,,, only because i'm studying how to do it and it's not really that fun hjbsdfn

10. how many different sketches do you usually have until your piece is finished

most of the time i have 2 sketches! i don't like reworking things too much since the piece could lose its fluidity :') but also that just depends on the piece. if i want something to be more polished and elaborate i'll have a LOT of thumbnails and then draft out the sketch several times before moving on to rendering. a good example of this is my most recent wip

i think i did like 3 sketches for this before i felt comfortable moving on to rendering HSDJNSD the price of being a perfectionist i guess

23. what's something you hope people notice when looking at your art

if my audience can actually feel the emotions i am trying to convey when they look at my art, then there's really nothing else better than that, right?

have a dazai for your troubles. i have too many of these things in my files

#QnA #ask game #i hope everyone knows not a day goes by where i havent drawn dazai at least twice JHSDBKFN #i call it my daily dazai warmup #also this one got pretty long so i'm gonna put it under a cut i hope you dont mind !!!

[everysongineverykey]

narrator and toriel exchanging tips on how to care for humans, especially stubborn and mischievous ones

it's ten at night and they're sitting (well, toriel is; the narrator can't "sit" anywhere perse) in toriel's new, sparse living room in her house on the surface as the crickets chirp outside and frisk sleeps soundly in the other room and it feels like the world's just sighed deeply, and everything's relaxing, and there are joke books and books on shrimp and snails lying around scattered on the table open to random pages and toriel chuckles and says, "my, your friend stanley sounds like quite the handful! although i find his dedication to the bucket admirable. it is good to have someone you can always rely on, no matter what others may do."

and the narrator scoffs and manages to pull off a very impressive verbal eye-roll, and says, "well, that'd be fine if anyone was actually trying to hurt him, but no one is! he's in no danger! he has absolutely no need to rely on a bucket!"

toriel frowns slightly. "did you not say, just a moment ago, that he was being... mind-controlled?"

"well- i mean- well, yes, in the past he was, before the story starts, but every single run starts him off at his desk, after the controls have been neutralized! he just has to walk down to the facility and turn them off for good! it's so unfathomably easy, and yet- and yet, he still manages to find ways to muck it up!"

halfway through, he remembers there's a child sleeping in the other room, and checks his tone, still adjusting to having to be conscious of the volume of his voice. it's a strange thing, being heard by real, feeling, speaking people.

fortunately, toriel doesn't seem to notice. unfortunately, her next question isn't easy to answer.

"has anything... undesirable ever happened to stanley under your watch?"

the narrator pauses, searching her unreadable face, thinking of something to say that won't totally ruin the atmosphere.

"oh, i do not mean to be rude!" toriel clarifies quickly, the perfect picture of motherly anxiety. "i only ask because... well... i have often found it... difficult raising humans in the past. i feel sometimes as if i will never... truly understand them."

this is a feeling the narrator knows all too well. "oh, i know exactly what you mean," he reassures her. "one time, stanley told me with a straight face that he genuinely believed a tractor was a bucket! and that nothing was a bucket! i swear, that obsession of his is getting the best of him!"

toriel is unable to contain her laughter, and the narrator congratulates himself on another Real Conversation Done Right. "why," he continues, "what've your humans gotten up to that's worried you?"

just like that, the mirth disappears from her face, and her features, though not having aged at all since her son died, suddenly look very worn.

it seems a long while before she replies, "every human child i have tried to raise leaves me and dies for it."

chirp, chirp, chirp. the cricket noise outside seems to grow louder in the oppressive silence that follows.

it's as if her sentence was scripted, edited for minimum length and maximum clarity, so if anyone asked she wouldn't have to explain it too deeply. if only the narrator had an instructional video on socializing he could watch to know what to say...

at a loss, he tries, "frisk's still here... aren't they?"

toriel smiles, and while the narrator isn't he best judge of monster facial expressions, he doesn't think they're usually supposed to look this sad.

"yes. frisk is still here. despite everything..."

she gives the child's bedroom door a long look, a look that carries too many emotions for the narrator to stuff into booths.

"despite everything," she continues, "frisk is still here. even after i fought them... even after i tried to trap them in the ruins forever... they chose to stay with me. but those seven children... they are not like your stanley. they cannot restart with the push of a button. they left. and they-"

she inhales suddenly and sharply, bringing a paw up to her face, and the narrator realizes she's about to cry.

the narrator is about to see someone cry in real life, for the first time ever. the thought shakes him, and he feels a sense of unease that he is sure fills the whole room.

(that's the problem with being everywhere at once- your emotions feel as omnipresent as your voice. it's not so bad, he thinks, when your only companion can't feel it, or speak to tell you it annoys him.)

she gives up on finishing the sentence, covering her eyes with her paw. she doesn't need to say any more. the rest is obvious: and they are never coming back.

to the narrator's surprise, she doesn't cry. not loudly, anyway. not in the sloppy, sob-ridden, theatrical way the narrator has only seen on television. no, she's just sitting there, paws rubbing her face, and from a distance you'd wonder if she was even crying.

suddenly, abruptly, she uncovers her eyes, which are now red and shiny and as glassy as stanley's, but they're shedding no tears. incredible, the narrator thinks. she can turn it off whenever she thinks it's her duty to be strong.

i wish i could feel as subtly as that, he thinks briefly before pushing the thought away.

"are you-" he starts tentatively.

"i am fine," she sniffs. "please, do not worry. i just... do not talk about this often. it is hard to-" she looks down, thumbing a page of one of the joke books. "-keep it all inside every day."

"but... you do?"

again that sad smile. what he wouldn't give for a happy one, like he's always dreamed of seeing. "yes. i do. i have no other choice. it is not something i can talk about with my friends, after all."

"i couldn't do that," the narrator says as softly as possible. "keep everything locked up like that. even if i did, my world would be affected if i felt too deeply about anything. the last time i started thinking in circles, the rooms started running in circles. if i kept something like that in all day..."

he trails off, deciding not to even imagine the effect one of his hypothetical breakdowns could possibly have on the game- and on stanley.

"fortunately," toriel murmurs, "nothing like that will happen if i spare my friends the burden of hearing a silly old woman cry over her past mistakes."

time passes. she's looking at the words in the joke book, but the narrator really doubts she's actually reading anything. based on his limited understanding of sapient beings other than himself, this is not right.

"if you'd like to talk about it," he offers, "i can do with something besides puns for a little bit."

she gives him a small smile in response, still not looking up. somehow, the narrator can tell it still isn't what a smile is supposed to look like- it doesn't quite reach her glassy eyes. he steels himself. alright. time to try a new maneuver.

"or, of course, we can keep reading from that book there. the one you're reading. i mean, i just felt, since you're so captivated by it..."

he recalls the comedy advice she's given him over the past hour, namely, please don't do anything you learned in that instructional video, and pushes on.

"...that you could use a tu-toriel!"

for a moment, her expression does not change- the narrator wonders briefly if all comedians' jokes are followed by a moment of silence to consider the quality of the joke- and then she does something that confuses him even further.

toriel scrunches up her face, covers her snout with her paws, and begins... crying? laughing? ...hyperventilating? he can't tell.

"i-i'm sorry," he stammers, "are- is that a laugh? are you crying? i'm truly sorry, i- i quite honestly can't tell."

at that, she doubles over, slapping her left paw on the table once very hard, and finally uncovers her mouth.

"oh, mister narrator!" she wheezes, "you truly have learned so much!"

...and, thank god, the narrator can see now that yes, she is laughing, and laughing hard at that- she crosses her arms over her stomach, giggling like it's the funniest thing she's heard in years.

and there's a smile on her face, a real smile. so this is what it's like to make someone smile, or laugh, the narrator thinks... he's always wondered. it feels nice, being the reason someone laughs. he can feel something bright rising up inside him... as if his very soul is glowing... it's almost as good as a perfect steam review.

(okay, maybe a little better.)

"yes," she sighs, calming down, "i have faith in you. your damaged sense of humour is, indeed... re-parable!"

the glowing something in the narrator grows two sizes, and whatever's been rising in him forces itself out... in the shape of an identical laugh. the sound's so ridiculous, it makes him laugh even more... if he had a body, he would make sure to slap his knee like they do in old human movies. that's always looked fun, he thinks.

her grin appears to grow at his reaction. it is nice, he thinks, to have some jokes besides your own to laugh at.

it takes them both a minute to calm down, but when they do, the silence is noticeably less heavy.

"i suppose," smiles toriel, "that stanley is not the humorous type?"

"no," the narrator replies, rather out of breath. "i told him bucket jokes for over an hour once. he didn't even flinch."

"do you think it is perhaps because you followed the rules of those instructional videos you mentioned?"

he sighs, but she can hear the smile in his voice. "oh, can you really blame me? they were the only point of reference i had. anyway, the jokes were funny! they were! i swear, i'll never understand him."

at that, toriel looks thoughtful. "they are confusing... are they not?"

the narrator's about to agree profusely, but then he recalls her question from earlier, the one that started them on this curious path in the first place...

he clears his non-throat, trying to adopt a more serious, yet not quite grave tone. god, he thinks, this is turning out to be harder than he ever expected.

"i..."

nothing comes to him. what could he possibly say?

i've lost stanley so many times, in so many ways, it's not funny? he never listens to me either, and he dies for it too? if you think YOU'VE failed as a guide, just wait until you hear about this incident with the staircase-

but some other part of him, the part that just saw a woman fall apart in seconds thinking of her regrets, rises up above these awful memories and steadies him, and for once, his worry doesn't expand to fill the whole space like a big balloon.

"yes?" toriel asks, searching the room for something to focus on in the absence of a real face and body.

"i think," he says, hoping it's obvious that he's not serious, "that humans are just about the weirdest damned creatures i've ever met. don't you?"

she stares into space for a moment, then fixes her eyes on the fireplace with a grin.

"you must admit, though, that they never cease to impress."

he laughs. "ha! 'impress' is one word for it. stanley once sword-fought an eldritch beast born from a bucket and WON!"

toriel giggles, clapping her paws. "i would love to meet this stanley of yours! he sounds like quite the character."

he's the MAIN character, the narrator thinks, and the best one i could ask for. he doesn't voice this thought.

suddenly, toriel's eyes light up. "in fact, i am certain he and frisk would get along splendidly! frisk would love their very own reassurance bucket!"

the thought makes the narrator chuckle and shudder in dread at the same time. "i'm sure they would. and that's why i don't know if that's such a good idea. didn't you say frisk fought the entire underground and won every time? i wouldn't want stanley getting strange ideas about rebellion or things like that-"

at that moment, the door to frisk's bedroom brushes open just a crack, making the narrator jump in his own metaphysical way.

the child still looks half asleep in their blue-and-pink striped jumper, one eye still squeezed shut and with a terrific case of bedhead as they lean on the doorway, and as they look around dazedly, the narrator reconciles their image with every stock photo of human children he's ever seen, and thinks: yeah, that checks out.

"mom?" frisk signs, their hands taking a minute to orient themselves, presumably out of tiredness. the narrator feels a tinge of guilt for waking them up. "i thought i heard you talking to someone..."

toriel blinks, seeming a little surprised, then moves quickly over to her sleepy child. "oh! oh, my, i am very sorry, my child... did we wake you?" she kneels down, smoothing their ruffled hair. "we will be quieter."

frisk looks past her, confused. "but... who are you talking to? i don't see anyone."

the awkwardness of having to interact with a child is just now hitting the narrator, he discovers as toriel attempts to explain the faceless, incorporeal, omnipotent, extradimensional being in their home.

"oh, no, my child, some things cannot be seen... mister narrator, would you say hello?"

oh. saying hello to a child. all right. this is fine. the narrator clears his head and says, "well, hello there, sport-o! smashing jumper you've got there! i hear you can cheat death. that affect your grades at all?"

toriel just stares. frisk fixates on one specific point on the floor, eyes wider than dinner plates at the sudden voice seemingly coming from nowhere.

really, thinks the narrator, he should be awarded for having no body and yet still somehow managing to very skillfully put his foot in his mouth.

(frisk's seen too much to be fazed, though. as far as they're concerned, a new person is a chance at friendship and some pie- both of which they receive in the hours after the narrator apologizes profusely.)

#undertale #the stanley parable #this got REALLY long whoof so i'm putting it under a cut lol #but do please read! it's very much a one-draft but i had maybe a bit too much fun with it #sorry lmao a full mini fic probably isn't what you were expecting but i saw this ask and got inspired💙

[dashiellqvverty]

this got away from me so it’s going under a cut but lately i’ve been thinking about how i wish black sails like. discussed colonial violence (and the hypocrisy surrounding it) in a more specific way.

because idk everytime flint and everyone talks about “england paints us as monsters etc etc” especially in the first seasons i find myself thinking... yes his points hold about like society needing someone to vilify, how he and other pirates were not allowed to exist in society due to perceived transgressions long before they became pirates, how what was done to thomas was violence in its own right... but also i feel like it sometimes carries the connotation of like “theyve turned us into monsters for nothing” even though we are SHOWN the brutality committed by many of the pirates. we see what they do to max, we see what characters like ned low do.

but of course the root of the hypocrisy and cruelty of england’s crusade against them is that england has done all of that and worse in the name of the crown. and for all they dance around this, with white pirates talking about how civilization is a prison and colonial rule keeps them in chains and blah blah blah but no one ever talks about colonial violence and the hypocrisy of it. bc without context, without it being characters we know and sympathize with, there is something dissonant about the pirates saying it is unjust to punish them for the things that they do. and it would be so, so easy to just say “look at england, doing the same things and acting like their hands are clean” but no one quite takes it to the finish line. sure miranda says that what ashe did to her, james, and thomas is crueler than anything they have done, and maybe thats true, but they only ever want to talk about the quiet violence that exists within polite society.

all the while we see a world that runs on slave labor, we eventually see storylines from the perspectives of enslaved characters to a certain degree, but never once do any of the pirates treat the violence of slavery and colonization as part of the case against england, or compare (or i guess contrast) it to their own actions in a way that i feel should be so, so obvious. i think the closest we get is max’s monolgoue about being a child and looking into the plantation house and ugliness being necessary for the beautiful parts of society to exist, or madi’s speech to rogers about how nothing could convince her to give up her war because of what colonial powers have done to her people but i just. feel like ultimately there is a larger connection missing (and of course it’s only the black characters who generally make these points at all). and maybe i look like the idiot here and actually its obvious and the whole point is that we’re supposed to make that connection in our minds. but i think that considering the amount of intense, profound, in-depth, and specific conversations that happen on the show, it feels very odd that this particular connection is never directly drawn.

#black sails #this has been in my drafts for a minute bc i wanted to make sure i got what i meant across #sorry its so long and rambling i wrote it down the other night bc i was like if i do not type all this up now ill forget what i want to say #anyway i was listening to a cool people who did cool stuff episode about pirates #and they made exactly this point about real life pirates and i was like oh yeah i have to post #r.txt #whenever i put things under a cut im like what if no one reads it :( #but this is like 500 words and looking at it i'm like i dont want this filling up my dash

[feywhimsy]

i'm looking more closely at my fc for leyla and tiefling head 6 is actually so close, even down the the lip shape... lowkey considering trying to figure out how to use it for half elf leyla too

so leyla was originally a tiefling at the start of the campaign she's from, also a druid. so i was like. what if i made tiefling leyla druid!

for reference, here is my favorite commission i've ever gotten of her, i feel like it really captures who she is as a person

her faceclaim is josefine frida petterson, here they are side by side:

to me these look so similar! i mean, i do still love half-elf leyla, so much. but i'm probably going to play tiefla soon. it feels so much like her! only problem: they don't have her subclass, and i'm not a huge fan of how druid runs. so i might play her as... something else..... a knowledge cleric or an ancients paladin might be fun.

anyways here are some of the gifs that helped me to decide what leyla looked like, and had a large impact on her mannerisms and movement at the table 💕

#i am struggling so hard not to start this run Right Now #leyla is definitely one of those characters that will be in my heart forever and ever #i could talk about her for HOURS #also i made her eyes solid black bc the solid white were. not actually solid white lmfao #ANYWAYS this post got long so i put it under a cut #i love her so much and i'm very emo over this head actually being perfect #i think it's why i love alfira so much.... it's the same head/hair as leyla fljkds #anyways. leyla! #i miss tief leyla so much in her actual campaign #it's a bit complicated but she got turned into a half-elf like her triplet sisters #but............. purble #moxie.txt