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#Another insert character

keets-writing-corner · 3 months

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Love how Lucifer just manhandles Adam during their 'fight' despite everyone else getting their asses kicked. Plus him effortlessly destroying him when Charlie's in danger is really sweet.

gawd me too anon me too

that was everything me to me. like everything. It was built up so well too

we spent the whole season building up alastor as this massive powerhouse, eldritch, nobody messes with him. Only one who tried picking a fight with him (Vox) got utterly humiliated and everyone else was clearly outclassed. Except for Lucifer where Alastor merely just went with annoying instead of power challenging. Like we got vibes okay yeah makes sense that the King of Hell isn't intimidated by anyone, even if it's alastor, but Alastor got TWO wtf moments in Dad Beat Dad one with Husk and one with defending the hotel

other than that, it was pretty much, nobody messes with him cuz he will mess you up

and he fights Adam evenly sorta for a bit before Adam pulls out the "I'm an angel which is stronger than any demon" card and alastor gets his ass handed to him.

Like what a way to set up how strong ADAM is, having him beat Alastor. And then no one else in the hotel is as strong as Alastor was, so everyone's struggling. Charlie at least gets one good hit in but her inexperience kicks her in the ass and then Lucifer just shows up and

like hot DAMN that was just one hit! He broke Adam's mask, the force was enough to send him FLYING across the roof top, and bounce so hard against the billboard he BROKE THE SKYLIGHT

That was just a "HANDS OFF MY BABY" warning too, like LOOK at that face, that's not a "fight me" face it's a "if you touch my baby again, I will screw you so bad your bones will need therapy and you never recover"

Lucifer not even .2 seconds later, just upon seeing Charlie

and then yeah, Lucifer was NOT taking the fight with Adam serious at all, like the dude was taunting him, mocking him, dodging all of his attacks, just shapeshifting like Adam was a joke LIKE LOOK AT THIS

Lucifer isn't even scared, he's just "oh there's a wall there"

His FACE IM DYING he's legit like "wowwww you just tried shoving me into a wall? really? didn't have any other ideas? Soooooo original of you. I will mock you now"

HIS HANDS ARE BEHIND HIS BACK HE FOR REAL SAID HE COULD TAKE ADAM WITH BOTH HANDS BEHIND HIS BACK

rewatching rn for the screenshots, he's legit just shapeshifting for the fun of it. 70% of the time nothing has happened, he's just dodging adam and shapeshifting while doing it, like he doesn't need to be doing that this is 100% mockery.

And then the iconic

like omgggg this is soooo satisfying and amazing to watch. Like the set up of Adam being powerful was great, and then we just get this absolute trolling from Lucifer cuz he really doesn't care about Adam

And listen the trolling is great and all, but when Adam makes the mistake of not heeding Lucifer's warning of messing with his baby, and then does it a second time

RIP Adam just getting one shot-ed like that but hnnnnnggggg we got to see Lucifer fully pissed and it was GREAT

And somehow my favorite part wasn't even watching Lucifer go absolute ham on Adam, it was that even at his absolute most rage fueled moment, snarling like a beast where he was going to and fully intended on making good on his threat about messing with his baby

just one shoulder touch from Charlie and he's immediately chill. Like it's instantaneous, like how much do you love someone to be able to be absolutely livid, about to incinerate someone levels of rage only to immediately be "o oki! No more violence!" the second that person touches you???

Ugh I love them so much! Like everything about that fight, but especially how Lucifer can just go from absolutely the most dangerous person in one second and then OWO SOFT the next just by looking at Charlie

oops this post got long... IMSORRYYYYY other than "More than Anything" and the phonecall with charlie this is one of the scenes I replay the most, I love them so much

Characters going absolutely feral over loved ones is just aasdfadffalklkmafdjalsg 👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀 good shit go౦ԁ sHit👌 thats ✔ some good👌👌shit right👌👌there👌👌👌 right✔there ✔✔if i do ƽaү so my self 💯 i say so 💯 thats what im talking about right there right there ʳᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ mMMMMᎷМ💯 👌👌 👌НO0О��OOOOOОଠଠOoooᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒ👌 👌👌 👌 💯 👌 👀 👀 👀 👌👌Good shit

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daistea · 7 days

Text

"𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜" - 𝙼𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

“Many think that the captain makes an effort to hide his emotions. He doesn’t. He’s an open book. It’s simply a very blank book, is all. There’s not much there to read.”

You knew what Cithis was getting at. You also knew there was more to read than what she thought, because Mithrun was your friend and you adored him and wanted to kiss his face with your face. Still, accepting that remained quite difficult.

(Learning a new language is always hard at first)

gn reader, implied to be a short lived race

5,000+ words :o

tw: minor description of violence and blood

Post-canon Mithrun, could be considered spoilers

An ink black eye flickered up and landed on your face. You knew it was there. You always knew when it was there. The light shiver that ran down your back was like a cold finger languidly tracing every bump of your spine.

You didn’t know whether you liked it or not.

But you accepted it, for the most part.

Mithrun’s gaze was devoid of light as you met it. It was only natural for his prosthetic eye to be glassy and lacking in life. Yet, his remaining eye was like that as well. Fleki liked to joke that the captain had ‘dead fish eyes’ and you could see what she meant sometimes. Most of the time, though, you considered his gaze to be more like an endless pit. An endless pit that you were always on the verge of falling into.

But you managed to keep your balance— for the most part.

It didn’t help that Mithrun stared. He stared, and stared, and stared. If you were in an especially combative mood, you’d meet his gaze and stare back. His good eye would start to flicker a little, like when a cat slowly shuts its eyes. You once heard that cats slow blink to signify that they love you. But Mithrun wasn’t a cat. He was an elf. An elf who had a habit of trying to consume you with his gaze alone.

It was one of the days when you couldn’t help but return his look. You glanced up from your plate of food, fork in your left hand and your other hand fiddling with a napkin. Ever since the dungeon, Mithrun had become more physically expressive. He had his elbow on the table and his cheek resting in his palm. As his sleeve fell down his forearm ever so slightly, you could see a hint of a pale scar.

“Don’t you ever get tired?” You couldn’t help but ask. The words were out of your mouth before you could stop to think about the consequences or implications.

Mithrun only blinked. A slow blink.

“No,” he answered simply. His voice wasn’t what one would call particularly deep or rumbling, but it was scratchy. When you heard him speak for the first time, you wondered if he had ever drank a glass of water in his life.

And the lack of inflection in his tone was something you eventually got used to. With a sharp ear, you could pick up the lilts at the end of his sentences when he asked a question. You recognized when he was annoyed, when the growl in his throat got more pronounced. You knew when he was sad, when emotion thickened every word. It was all subtle, learned. And you were good at learning.

For the most part.

“I don’t mean physically,” you replied, returning your attention to the food on your plate.

“Then?”

“I mean—” What did you mean? You weren’t quite sure. You were sure of the fact that you didn’t want this particular vegetable as part of your lunch. So you lifted your plate and absently scraped it off onto Mithrun’s. He didn’t react.

He did, though, slightly raise his brow. He shifted to sit up a little, moving his palm to his chin instead, eyes still lingering on you like petrichor after a rain shower. The slight tilt of his head told you that he was expecting an answer.

You forced the words to the tip of your tongue. It was rare for you to keep your thoughts to yourself, especially around Mithrun. As unreadable as he could be, the assurance that it was difficult to genuinely offend him was comforting. Except, this instance was different. If you openly acknowledged his habit of staring, that was too close for comfort to a much bigger acknowledgement. Mithrun’s heart, and yours, were closely guarded, surrounded by layers of walls. He’d knocked down a few of yours. You’ve knocked down several of his. But going any further was risky, at least in your opinion. The walls were bigger and more well guarded and seizing them might not produce anything good, anything worthwhile.

But his head was tilted and he was watching you. You felt as if you were on a stage with a spotlight shining down on you.

Might as well get it over with.

“Staring,” you said, “don’t you ever get tired of staring?”

His good eye blinked. You’ve seen Mithrun surprised or shocked before, and you knew he wasn’t. Then, that meant he was expecting that question. He was aware of his staring and was doing it on purpose.

“No, I don’t get tired of it,” Mithrun said as he sat up straight, elbow slipping off the table. He grabbed his fork and began poking at the food you had scraped off onto his plate. Peeking just barely through his hair were the chewed, jagged tips of his ears. They flickered. Elves really couldn’t hide their emotions well, their ears tended to give them away.

The fact that he was feeling anything made your heart flutter. If only you knew what it was. It couldn’t be embarrassment or shame, those didn’t exist within Mithrun. Then what? What else could someone be feeling when called out for their habit of excessive staring?

“I mean, I’d just like to know why,” you said without thinking, again. It was rare for either of you to feel as if you needed to fill the comfortable silence you often shared, but at that moment in particular your heart was clenching and something unpleasant passed through your abdomen. The question had crawled up your throat and slipped out of your mouth.

“Why I stare at you?” He asked. You were seventy five percent sure it was a question. But sometimes, Mithrun would simply state something, not asking at all, just echoing. You could usually tell the difference in the lift of his voice. Subtle, but there.

“Yeah,” you met his gaze. Ink black. You started to teeter on the edge of the dark pit again. “Do you stare at everybody like that?”

“Do you ever see me staring at other people like this?”

No. And Mithrun knew that you didn’t. The question was hypothetical, designed to draw the answer out of you.

You felt your jaw tighten as you stared down at your food. You’d missed something, a little morsel of a vegetable you didn’t like. You promptly scraped it off onto Mithrun’s plate before answering him. “I guess I don’t.”

“And?”

Fire flickered to life inside your chest. “And what?” You snapped your gaze back to his, “What do you want?”

His brow raised, “You’re the one who wanted something.”

“I want to know why you’re always staring!”

“Why do you think?”

You couldn’t help but groan, burying your face in your hand, “Mithrun, please just give me a straight answer. I can’t handle this right now.”

“Why not?”

Glancing up, you saw the corner of his mouth twitch ever so slightly. His ears flickered again. Was he enjoying this? As much as he could enjoy something, at least, which was more than before the dungeon.

That fire within you only grew taller and hotter and more destructive. The flames warmed your heart but also threatened to burn through your bones and muscles and ligaments and consume your body entirely. You didn’t know whether you wanted to smack Mithrun over the head, or grab the collar of his shirt and pull him close for a kiss.

Or both? Both were good.

You managed to resist the urge growing beneath your skin and instead shot him a weak glare, “Because— Because you’re not eating and it’s weird for me to be the only one eating right now, especially with you staring at me, watching me chew.”

Half true.

Mithrun’s nose wrinkled a little in thought. Slowly, he grabbed his fork and speared one of the unwanted vegetables you’d given him, finally eating. Relief flooded your body, until his gaze flickered back up to your face once more.

“Happy?” He asked before swallowing.

“Never,” you snarked back, “you’re still staring. Why?”

Did you want to know?

Another wall was crumbling and you were doing all you could to keep it from crushing you beneath bricks and emotions and emotional bricks. It was a mistake to ask that question, to even bring this subject up. You couldn’t go that far. You shouldn’t knock down those walls. You wouldn’t acknowledge the terrifying, unknown thing that had been growing between you and Mithrun ever since he’d decided to live.

You remembered that day. Celebrations surrounded you. Mithrun’s hand clenched the grass beneath him, the only betrayal of his feelings at the time. His knuckles turned white, but he finally let go as the realization, the emptiness, settled in; acceptance of the fact that he had nothing to live for anymore.

You remembered the relief when it all changed, when the listlessness disappeared. You remembered Senshi’s words. You remembered the sting of hot tears in the corners of your eyes as Mithrun smiled for the first time in forever.

It was a secret tucked inside your chest, kept close, chained up. But at night, when you stared at the ceiling with bright eyes and racing thoughts, you let the secret out just a little bit. You loved the captain like a desert dweller loved an oasis. You loved the captain like flowers loved rain. You loved the captain like—

“I can’t not stare at you,” Mithrun’s voice interrupted your thoughts. You crashed back down to Melini, to the restaurant and to him, shattering on the floor and making a complete mess.

“What?” Your voice was just as scratchy as his now. You grabbed your sweating glass of water and gulped it down.

Mithrun waited for you to finish before he continued, “I can’t not stare at you. It’s simply what I do. What I want.”

And he wanted so little.

The wall crumbled, and you internally cursed yourself before returning Mithrun’s gaze. “You don’t want that.”

“I want that.”

Was this really happening? Years of longing, of denial, of fear, all built up into one moment. And the moment was taking place in a dingy restaurant where you and Mithrun were surrounded by chattering people and the scrape of utensils on plates. Nearby, someone laughed. But it was as if cotton had been stuffed into your ears, your focus entirely on the elf sitting across from you— and his dead fish stare.

You began to consider your possibilities:

Option 1: Kiss him.

Option 2: Fake a heart attack to get out of this.

Option 3: Explain your fears about starting an official relationship with him.

Option two looked best.

You put a hand to your chest and coughed a little, “I-I think I’m—”

Mithrun rolled his good eye and stood up. The legs of his chair scraped across the ground as he loomed over the table, looking down at you. “Let’s go already, we have work to do.”

You scoffed, “I’m kind of busy having a heart attack here.”

“The heart attack excuse didn’t work when you wanted to get out of that dinner with the Canaries, and it won’t work now.”

He was right. He was always right. You hated that.

You stood up as well. Mithrun went to the front of the restaurant to pay. People used to cast him curious glances as he passed by, but very few did that anymore. The locals of Melini knew who Mithrun was and were generally used to his presence. Plus, the kingdom had become a melting pot of different races and cultures as of late. Seeing an elf wasn’t too surprising these days.

You watched the back of his head. He had a curl there. He’d always had that curl. Something in the back of your mind desperately urged you to wrap it around your finger.

Mithrun cast you a flat glance as he made for the front door. “Are you going to just stand there? Or are you coming?”

Your frown covered up the flutter of your heart. You followed, silent, grumpy, your right hand itching to take his left.

And as you followed him into the street, you noticed, just for half a second, that his fingers flexed, then curled into a fist before releasing.

This was bad. How could the people of Melini happily go about their lives as your world started to shift? How was the sun still shining? Why didn’t time stop for you as the growing thing between you and Mithrun got too large to ignore?

(Perhaps you were being too dramatic.)

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

The captain did not only stare. He touched.

It was weird, really, because he didn’t enjoy being touched. Mithrun would prefer to keep his personal space, you knew. The Canaries often invaded it and he said nothing to stop them, but you saw the twitch of his ear, the slight narrowing of his good eye. Lately, since he’d been learning how to be more expressive, he would sigh. It was that kind of sigh that told the listener precisely what he wanted, the kind of sigh that spoke a thousand words his lips refused to say. Those thousands of words usually consisted of ‘get away from me’ or ‘stop touching me.’

He never sighed with you.

But perhaps that was because you knew better than to invade his personal space. He had no qualms invading yours. He touched you. Often. At first, you noticed it too much. The feeling of Mithrun’s hand on the small of your back made your mind race with questions. Eventually, you got used to it and hardly noticed it anymore.

But that hyper awareness had returned since the staring conversation.

And also since the staring conversation, he touched you more than ever before.

Mithrun’s long fingers wrapped around your wrist. They were always cold, for some reason. He held up your wrist between your bodies, but he wasn’t looking at you. His attention was on something rustling through the forest. His other hand leaned against the rough bark of a tree. There was absolutely no reason for Mithrun to be holding your wrist right now, but you had a feeling he didn’t even notice what he was doing.

“Quiet,” he said in a low tone, casting you a glance, “there’s someone up ahead.”

“Someone?” You asked, “Not something?”

“Yes. Someone.”

Melini had many types of people. Most of them were good, interested in the future of the nation. Yet the existence of an entirely new country caught the attention of other types of people. The laws weren’t yet established, Laois didn’t really care about imposing taxes, and homes were still being built. While it had settled down as of late, criminals still flocked to the area.

Mithrun cast you another glance. His good eye, black, flickered up and down your body. The look only lasted for half a second, but it still made heat flare up in your abdomen.

“Stay here,” he commanded.

The heat disappeared as you sent him an incredulous stare, “Excuse me?”

“Stay here,” he echoed.

“No,” the argument escaped your lips quickly and harshly, “I’m going with you. There could be any number of people out here and I won’t let you face them alone.”

His eye narrowed slightly as he turned to fully face you, “There’s a chance I won’t even be fighting. They could simply be hikers.”

“Don’t lie to me, I know when you’re on edge.”

Another narrowed eye, another flicker of his ears. The chewed tips slowly lowered, pressing back against his head, barely visible through wavy locks of silver. You’ve always thought that when elves did that, they looked quite aerodynamic.

“Fine,” his voice was flatter than usual, “but stay close to me. I won’t allow you to be hurt.”

Mithrun released your wrist, but his fingers deftly slid down your skin, across your palm. A shiver ran through you as he tangled your fingers together. They were puzzle pieces fitting perfectly, created specifically to hold each other.

And Mithrun didn’t seem the slightest bit affected by the fact that he was now holding your hand. He simply turned and began trudging through the foliage of the forest, gently pulling you behind him. Did he have any idea what he’d done? Did his sharpened elf hearing notice the pumping of your heart? Would he even acknowledge it?

He held your hand tight, as if afraid you would slip away.

“They know we see them,” Mithrun murmured. Tension filled the air and threatened to suffocate you. It was the feeling of danger, and a tingling through your limbs that made your hairs stand to attention.

He pushed aside a thorn bush, not caring when the sharp tips pricked his skin or when they clung to his clothes like childish hands trying to desperately keep him from leaving. He slowed down a little so you could navigate the bushes more carefully. His fingers slipped away from yours, but he kept your hand, holding it up like a gentleman helping a lady out of a carriage.

The moment you escaped the bush, he interlocked your fingers once more.

Your mind raced as you followed him. Why was Mithrun holding your hand? What did it mean? Was he trying to acknowledge your relationship? Impossible. That was impossible. Mithrun surely didn’t want a relationship with you. There was something between you two, obviously, but it wasn’t anything either of you were ever going to do anything about. At least you thought as much. His desires weren’t just going to randomly appear again. And surely you weren’t special enough to cultivate anything new within him. No, Mithrun was just being—

The taut pull of a bow string filled the air. It happened too quickly. The whish of an arrow cutting through the atmosphere— it sliced the tension in half so smoothly, like butter. You only caught a glimpse of it as it came straight for your chest.

But it never hit you. You’d closed your eyes without realizing, but when you recognized an utter lack of pain, your eyes shot open to inspect the situation.

Mithrun still held your hand. Tight. A little too tight. You could see his jawline clenched, his ears pushed back. In front of you, only inches away from your chest, was the arrow. He’d caught it mid air. His hand was wrapped around the shaft and his knuckles were white as he gripped it.

Your heart didn’t just skip. It flipped, did an entire gymnastics routine, then promptly flopped onto the floor and passed out.

There were wasps in your stomach. Not butterflies. Wasps.

And Mithrun was angry. His chest rose and fell before he slipped his hand away from yours. You only caught a glimpse of his face as he turned away, but you could see the flicker of silver consuming the black; the crackle of a flame, the flip of a switch, a lightning strike in the distance.

He reared his arm back and promptly launched the arrow at something between the trees. A guttural noise erupted. It was thick with something, pain or blood or shock or fear. A tall-man stumbled out of hiding with the arrow lodged in the front of his neck, then he collapsed face down in the grass.

Silence.

Mithrun lowered his arm and stood up straight, staring at the body.

Your throat was strangled, but you managed to push the question out nonetheless. “Did you just… throw a goddamn arrow so hard that it went through a man’s neck?”

“Hm?” Mithrun sent you a glance, his eye widening just the slightest bit. But it returned to the black pit that you were seconds away from falling into. “Oh, yeah, I did.”

“Just now,” you pointed at the literal corpse laying in front of you, “you killed him.”

His brows furrowed, “Obviously.”

“Why?”

“He was going to kill you,” Mithrun looked at you as if the answer was clear and he was genuinely confused at your bewilderment. He lifted his hand, the left one, and held it out for you expectantly.

While your mind raced with questions and horror and a bit of admiration, you placed your hand in his. The air smelled like blood, metallic. Mithrun told you that he wouldn’t allow you to get hurt. He meant it. It felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of your lungs.

Maintaining eye contact, he leaned forward, pressing his dry lips to your knuckles. The forest, the chirping of birds, even the warmth of the sun overhead, faded into the background. All you knew at that moment were his cold fingers holding yours, the feeling of his lips on your skin, the lingering look he was giving you.

Damn.

His expression wasn’t blank this time. His good eye wasn’t lifeless. He looked at you through his lashes, his gaze glued to your face. Or perhaps not glued, but rather welded. He didn’t smile, he didn’t blush. But the intent was clear. His lips gently brushed across your knuckles for precisely four seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Your heart started to do its gymnastics routine again.

You could’ve lived beneath the spotlight of his gaze forever.

Yet soon enough, he dropped your hand and turned away. The tension dissipated like mist as he began walking, casually stepping over the corpse. “Let’s go. There’s been reports of a cockatrice nearby.”

Right. Monsters. Work.

You looked at the corpse and the blood soaking into the soft earth, drying to a darker color on the leaves and grass. You should’ve been horrified, but…

The fact that Mithrun was willing to kill for you only made you burn. Your knees were weak.

This was a desperate situation. This was a confusing situation. This was the kind of situation that required an expert.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

“Are you stupid?” Cithis asked.

Perhaps. You weren’t quite sure anymore.

You held a coffee mug tightly, wrapping both hands around it as you sent Cithis a pleading look. She returned your expression with something like boredom and disinterest. White braided hair fell over her bare shoulder. She sat across from you with one knee over the other and her hands politely clasped in her lap. While this elf woman was the picture of elegance, you knew what she really was. You knew how she could be.

Which was precisely why you’d come to her.

“I don’t understand,” you began explaining, feeling a ramble coming on, “he stares at me. He holds my hand. He gets furious if someone tries to hurt me. He looks at me sometimes with this face that almost makes me think he wants me. He—”

“I think you’re stupid,” Cithis interrupted casually, “Or in denial. You know precisely how the captain feels. Admit it already and stop wasting everybody’s time.”

You couldn’t help but scowl, “I don’t want to admit it.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” the words got caught in your throat and you had to forcefully shove them up and outwards, “Because it freaks me out. I don’t want to ruin the comfort between us. I don’t want Mithrun to one day get tired of me. I don’t want to… to die and leave him behind. He deserves better than that.”

Cithis only tilted her head, “Don’t you think he deserves to get what he wants? How often does the captain want something?”

Rarely. And you held the firm belief that when Mithrun wanted something, the world should bend its knee to meet that desire. Yet, this was different. Did he want you? Why? How? How can you be sure? Cithis seemed sure. How? Why?

Her stare was unamused. She looked at you as if you were a dead fly that landed in her food.

“I guess I just don’t want to assume,” you finally said with a heavy exhale.

“There’s no assumptions to be made here. He wants you. Everybody knows it.”

Your head shot up, “What?”

“Everybody knows it,” her eyes narrowed.

Nonsense. That couldn’t be true. You scoffed, “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Listen,” Cithis leaned forward in her chair, pinning you in place with topaz yellow eyes— or piss yellow, how you described her eyes usually changed depending on your mood. “Many think that the captain makes an effort to hide his emotions. He doesn’t. He’s an open book. It’s simply a very blank book, is all. There’s not much there to read.”

You shot Cithis a dark look. Her lips twitched into a smile that held not even a hint of humor.

“I’m aware,” you said, “however, that doesn’t mean I understand. Does he even know how to flirt? Does he know how a relationship would work with him in this state? Do I know how a relationship would work between us? Does he have any desire to be, you know, intimate? Does he—”

Cithis interrupted, “Honestly, I believe the captain would burn down the world just to keep you warm. But that’s just my observation.”

What?

“What?”

“Idiot,” she huffed, “he touches you every chance he gets as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t have his hands on you in some way. He stares at you like you’re a damn masterpiece—”

“He stares at me rather blankly, actually.”

“But he’s still staring.”

“Maybe I’ve always got food in my teeth or something on my face.”

“You know I don’t really enjoy doing this.” Cithis leaned back in her chair and twirled a lock of hair around her finger. Her piss yellow eyes narrowed, “It’s much more interesting to watch you and the captain silently orbit each other than it is to so dramatically reveal his feelings. Yet, I think it’s time you stop being foolish and give him what he wants. He’s developed this odd love language for you and I think you should start learning it.”

She was right. You hated it when Cithis was right.

But that was why you’d consulted her in the first place, because you knew she’d be right. Still, how annoying.

“Okay,” you threw your hands up, “What do I do? What’s the next step?”

She smiled softly, but her furrowed brows and pitying eyes made it clear that she was condescending you. You were a child trying to ask her why the sky was blue.

“Kiss him, obviously.”

Kiss him. Just kiss him. How simple. How elementary. The idea of kissing him definitely didn’t fill you with stinging wasps or anything.

All you could do was close your eyes to block out the sight of Cithis’s condescension. “Yeah. Kiss him. That’s– Yeah.”

“Now go,” she waved a dismissive, elegant hand, “off with you.”

Whatever. You shot her a glare before setting the warm coffee mug on the table in front of her. You’d been gripping it like a lifeline, and you hoped it left a ring on her nice table. Her lips parted in silent offense at the tiny act of revenge.

You left Cithis’s home. Were you assured? Yes. Were you going to kiss Mithrun? Probably not.

There was still so much to sort through, still so many concerns. Mithrun wanted you and, apparently, everybody knew it. He hadn’t even been trying to hide his feelings all this time. You accepted his staring and his touching and his willingness to do anything you asked as simple friendship.

Maybe you should kiss him.

Maybe you should—

“What’re you doing?”

A shout ripped from your throat. You couldn’t control yourself, you stumbled backward, putting up your hands as your heart jumped and your stomach churned. You knew who it was that had snuck up on you. He did this all the time.

“Mithrun,” you hissed, “stop teleporting to me, you know it drives me up a wall!”

Mithrun’s nose twitched ever so slightly. He was considering your words, just a little. Then he shook his head, “No. I don’t think I’ll stop.”

Right. Okay. So, he wasn’t willing to do anything you asked of him. Again, you could only wonder if he enjoyed this. Did Mithrun like getting on your nerves?

You two were standing outside of Cithis’s little house. She should’ve been in jail, really, but she and the other Canaries had been pardoned, sort of. It was really more like a house arrest. You knew that Cithis didn’t care enough to watch you and Mithrun out her window, but it was still unnerving to be so near her, knowing what she knew.

Now, you were the one grabbing him. You took his wrist, gently pulling him down the road. “Come on, we need to talk,” you said.

Mithrun’s good eye widened just a little as you led him through the streets of Melini. It was more crowded than usual. Merchants called out to passersby and people laughed and talked and lived their own little lives. And this was your life, now, pulling the man you adored through a crowd in a desperate attempt to find a quiet, private spot.

You still hadn’t decided whether or not to kiss him.

There was an alley nearby. It seemed relatively clean. You and Mithrun entered the alley and walked around the corner of a stone building before you released his wrist. Yet, immediately, he took your hand, unwilling to allow even a second of no contact between your bodies.

The words came flowing out of your mouth as if a dam had broken within you. “Your love language, I’m learning it.”

He only blinked, “What?”

“Physical touch,” you raised your other hand, wrapping it around his, “quality time,” you met his eye and considered the possibility of drifting in black ink forever, “acts of service.”

He blinked once more. “Oh. I see.”

Your brows furrowed, “Why were you near Cithis’s house anyway?”

“I was simply passing by when I saw you.”

“And your first response was to teleport to my side?”

His head tilted slightly, “Yes. It was.”

“Why?”

Now it was his turn to furrow his brows, “Why not? It’s what I wanted to do, so I did it.”

“And the staring,” you murmured, breathless, “the hand holding, the lingering touches… That’s what you want as well?”

You didn’t expect Mithrun to react strongly to this conversation, and his reaction fulfilled your expectations. He remained calm, but his gaze lingered strongly on yours. His other hand slowly raised and he cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing soft circles onto your skin. You couldn’t help but lean into the touch.

“Yes,” he answered, voice as scratchy and tired and level as ever, “that’s what I want.”

“Why?”

His composure broke just slightly. His eye narrowed and his lips quirked into a little frown. “Why wouldn’t I want to touch and stare at my partner?”

…What?

“Excuse me?” Your tone was thick with disbelief as your heart began to do flips. “Your partner?”

“Yes?” His brows furrowed and he blinked a few times as if confused, “My partner.”

“...Me?”

“Yeah.”

“But—” it was as if someone had punched you in the lungs, “Me?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m your partner?”

A sigh as he closed his eyes. “Yes. You’re my partner. You have been for the last year.”

“...Huh?”

His eyes opened to pin you in place, “Were you not aware that we’ve been dating for this long?”

“No!” You couldn’t help yell, “I wasn’t aware! I thought we were just good friends!”

Mithrun said your name, tilting his head with a hint of a smile on his lips. He was amused. How rare. You only wish it wasn’t at your expense. “I wouldn’t do these things with just a good friend.”

Alright. Cithis was right in calling you an idiot.

You felt like you were about to explode. You weren’t sure if that explosion would be from anger, embarrassment, or adoration. All three? You were going to self combust, then your flesh would fly everywhere and get on the walls and cause this huge, bloody mess. All that would be left of you were chunks. But if that happened, Mithrun wouldn’t be able to hold your hand anymore. He wouldn’t be able to stare. You weren’t about to take that away from him. The world needed to kneel and deliver him whatever he desired on a silver platter and you were not about to stop that from happening just because you exploded.

“I am in love with you,” you said matter-of-factly. It was pure word vomit.

“Yeah,” he remained calm, “I know.”

He knew. Of course he knew. You wanted so badly to smack him over the head.

“If you knew…” your voice was strangled as you resisted every urge to scream, “then why haven’t you ever kissed me?”

Mithrun shrugged. He shrugged.

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes!” You snapped.

“Alright.” He released your hand, then grabbed your face and gently pulled you closer. His lips met yours. You wanted to melt. You were basically a popsicle on a hot summer day, then. And you had no clue what to do with your hands.

The kiss was… chaste. And soft. You weren’t quite sure what you expected. Certainly not passion, not from Mithrun. But chaste? That wasn’t right either. It was kind of… laid back, as if he’d kissed you a million times before and this was just another to add to the pile.

That wouldn’t do.

You figured out what to do with your hands. One gripped the front of his shirt, balling your fingers up in the fabric. The other stretched around his neck and tangled into his hair. He made a small noise of surprise. Satisfaction flickered through your chest. Gently, but firmly, you pulled him closer to you. Your back hit the stone wall. Your chests brushed against each other. His left hand dropped from your cheek and found your waist as he dug his fingers in and suddenly yanked your body against his.

There. That was better.

Slowly, Mithrun deepened the kiss, tilting his head. His hand slid away from your cheek and found a resting place on the back of your neck. You were both breathing through your noses as you kissed and kissed and kissed and kissed.

Heat began to build up in your abdomen. Your entire body tingled. He pushed you further against the wall and let out a soft exhale before introducing a soft bite on your lower lip. Another flash of heat wracked you, leaving you breathless.

Finally, the need for oxygen dominated and Mithrun pulled back, but only a few inches. He rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes, letting out an exhale.

“I think… I like that,” he murmured, “We should do more of it.”

All you could do was nod weakly.

“Right. More,” you leaned in, pressing your lips against his, and it started all over again.

One might call it a new beginning. In reality, it was a continuation of what always was. You set aside your endless questions and kissed him. And kissed him. And kissed him some more.

You’d officially fallen off the edge. No more teetering, no more balance. You were gone, and you’d never hit the ground.

#ehehe #I take requests btw #rubs my dirty little raccoon hands together #will I ever write for another character? perhaps #x reader #reader insert #mithrun x reader #mithrun #mithrun of the house of kerensil #dungeon meshi #dunmeshi #delicious in dungeon #my writing #writing #dungeon meshi imagines #dungeon meshi x reader #gn reader

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farfromstrange · 2 months

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‘I love you in every universe’ | Matt Murdock x F!Mutant!Reader

Main Masterlist | Read Me On AO3

MINI-SERIES.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Female Mutant Reader (she/her pronouns)

Timeline: Set during Spider-Man: No Way Home

Warnings: ANGST with no happy ending, mentions of Major Character Death, mutant powers (mind-reading/control), grief, anger, canon typical violence, the multiverse

Summary: Spider-Man killed the love of your life. He died in your arms, and that night left you alone, bitter, and seething for revenge. At least, in your universe. By the time you were ready to face Peter Parker again, your world was already on fire; you would have done just about anything to ruin him. Until one wrong step lands you in Manhattan, New York—but it is not your universe. The second you see Matt Murdock standing right in front of you alive and well, the mangled pieces of your broken heart start raining down on you like daggers, and you come to the realization that a very real version of the man you once loved exists somewhere you were never destined to be, and you won’t be able to stay.

A/n: So, I rewatched No Way Home (The Extended Version), and I got this very angst-y idea. I hope this hasn’t been done before. There won’t be a happy ending, but it has been a while since I’ve written pure angst like this, so it feels fitting. Reader—you, in this case—gets the Wanda Maximoff treatment. It’s not a fully-fleshed out series because, for the time frame this is set in, it wouldn’t make any sense. Instead, I will tell this story in 3-4 parts (depending on final word count after editing). See it as a very long One-Shot separated to make it more readable. You’re welcome.

If you want to be tagged for this, don’t hesitate to let me know!

ONE. "I Bet On Losing Dogs"

TWO.

THREE.

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #angst with no happy ending #major character death #(but it’s in another universe does that count?)#spider man no way home #reader insert #charlie cox

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junosmindpalace · 1 month

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FOR YOU, FOREVER AGO

🎧 take a piece of my heart and make it all your own.

pairing: arthur morgan x gn!reader

wc: 1.7k

synopsis: arthur, and the notes he leaves in the books he gifts you. who could have figured love can transcend time?

content: established relationship, reading, reading and some more reading (together), soft and playful love, fluff with some angst at the end (arthur's death mentioned). reader is briefly said to be wearing a chemise.

a/n: i said i wouldn't write him again and here i am. writing him again. because this game has taken up so much of my writing headspace...

There’s an old saying that Arthur has heard retold in various different ways, and it went along the lines of “an idle mind is the devil’s playground.”

It derived from Proverbs 16:27: “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,” something he later found out upon overhearing the phrase from the Reverend’s mouth during one of his rare sermons. Arthur doesn’t believe much in any sort of sacred text, but he could, to an extent, believe in that phrase.

It’s a belief Dutch and Miss Grimshaw hold in especially high regard, and their incessant nagging to do away with him loitering about in the camp proved that. And while he agrees that it is necessary for everybody to do their part, Arthur spends much of his time out involving himself in all kinds of tough and weary business, and like anyone else, sometimes the enforcer needed a break.

Though it seemed so to quite many people, Arthur’s mind was not solely fixated on his life of crime. Like many other people he was a man of love, who enjoyed reveling in Mother Nature’s beauty, and memorializing its likeness in his journal in gorgeous detail, too. He enjoyed lingering in on conversations that took place around him; mundane things like about rumors and town happenings, though they weren’t always pleasant. And above all else, he enjoyed being around you.

Scare was the time to enjoy such leisure with your responsibilities, however. Often, he would return to camp well into the dead of night or during wind down time you had permitted for yourself (because Lord knows Grimshaw wouldn’t) to entertain your mind. Borrowing from the collections of books around camp was one of few forms of amusement you relied upon for some sort of satisfying stimulation.

Arthur couldn’t help but sometimes be jealous of this. To enjoy the leather cover of a book against his fingertips and the patches of sweetgrass and lavender enclosed around him like a makeshift bed was a luxury he could rarely afford. Yet still, he found ways to incorporate his own amusement to look forward to when he did have the off time to enjoy it.

The habit, at first, was a means of compensating for his long absences. It was almost his way of giving you a piece of his heart to hold to your chest, fill your mind, make your own with your wild imagination while he was away for sometimes frightening days at a time.

Arthur provided you with literature of all sorts, from dime novels to hardcover books, when he encountered them on his travels. Mythology retellings, exaggerated tales of the fictionalized Wild West, dramatic historical fiction with royalty, castles, and dragons, and the sort of philosophy books Dutch enjoys reading passages aloud from that critique civilization. Each one, though unique in content, held a message with consistent love that made your heart swell and your lips stretch into a pleasant smile at the intent behind them.

Couldn’t resist.

Thought you’d like this one.

All my love.

Thought of you.

For you to enjoy when I’m away.

To keep you preoccupied while I’m gone.

To make up for lost time.

It's late when Arthur finds time to enjoy the stories with you, propped up on his side in the while his other arm is draped loosely around your waist as you lay in the same position, holding the book the two of you were enamored with in one hand. The firelight illuminates the pages for him to read from over your shoulder, his fingers brushing over your stomach and arms absentmindedly as he immerses himself in the world along with you.

“This gentleman sure is a character.”

“Ain’t he?” you snicker, taking the comment as an indicator to turn to the next page. “Almost reminds me of someone.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he raises a brow at you, observing your expression with a tilt of his head.

“Nothin’ at all.” you hum innocently, pretending to fix your attention back onto the pages. He catches your bluff when he teasingly curls his arm around your waist and presses you closer against his chest, invoking a squeal of laughter from you as he ruffles your chemise.

“Just turn the page.” he chuckles with a slight shake of his head and a roll of his eyes, but when you meet his playful gaze with one of your own, any further teasing dies on his tongue as his breath becomes lodged at the sight of your glow in the firelight.

“Okay.” you tut with a raise of your brows, resituating yourself and leaning further into his grasp, to which he responds by hugging you closer.

When your time wasn't spent under the stars, it was in your tent. Accompanied in your shared bedroll was a book from a marketplace stand you had picked out together when scouting around town. One of Arthur’s hands holds it on his stomach with his fingers at the bottom, while his other holds your shoulder soothingly. You lay your head over his heart, listening to its steady pulsing, and following the small text with tired eyes to lull you to sleep.

Sometimes he read to you, when your eyes grew too heavy to look up at him, and your brain was too exhausted to form coherent enough thoughts, let alone conversation. He'd read with his free hand, voice gradually becoming husky with thick exhaustion of his own the more he read on.

“Why’d you stop?” you murmured to him as you lulled you head up to look at him, briefly slipping into fuller consciousness when taking note of the absence of his voice amidst the evening chill.

“Thought you’d fallen asleep,” he replied, rubbing a hand up and down the side of your arm before planting a kiss on your forehead. You only shook your head.

“A little more?”

Arthur peered outside through a crevice in his tent to the pitch black, redirecting his attention back to you with a sigh. “Alright. But only a little.”

Sometimes you read to him, when he returns to the campsite with his brain scrambled from the hat and madness of his travels, and longs, almost on autopilot, for your presence and an extended period of rest. With his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, legs tangled on your sides and head snug against your stomach, you propped up one of the books you had borrowed from Mary-Beth, a romance that you could always rely on to knock Arthur out, with one hand, while the other carefully threads through his locks of brown hair.

“That sounds like a nice place to live, don’t it? In a house with a white picket fence and a beautiful garden.” You had asked him quietly one of those nights, looking down at his still figure, who merely hummed in response against your stomach. “Maybe outta the country.”

“And go where?” he replied drowsily, peering up at you through small eyes.

“I don’t know…surprise me.” you teased, and Arthur chuckled.

“Maybe someday, sweetheart.” he placed a kiss on the fabric of your night wear, letting out a sigh as he adjusted himself against you again. “Maybe someday we’ll go somewhere real nice.”

Amidst ever changing lives—periods of transition and transformation and hard feelings and new hopes and dreams—you made sure to often revisit his little notes kept in between the first few pages of a book picked out with you in mind and written with all the care you had to offer to one another. Nights apart we’re spent tracing the loving words with your eyes, running a nail through the loopy font. It reminds you that you lay under the same stars, the both of you wishing to reunite sooner than later upon one of the billions that twinkled in the sky.

When Arthur had passed under the dying night sky, the menial, but important, declarations of love became lost to you.

Focusing on anything outside of survival seemed impossible afterward, and the grief was all too fresh and thought consuming. Most of the time was spent rebuilding your life to the best of your ability, something not quite what you had envisioned in hopeful late night conversations with Arthur, but more bare minimum. No beautiful porch with a nice garden, no homey furnishings. Only a simple bungalow with a creaky bed and a bag of few possessions you managed to snag in your abrupt departure.

At the bottom of the bag one day, you find something, no, many things, you had not laid your eyes upon since before the hope of a new dawn was extinguished within you.

It had been the first time you had felt an urge to be productive. For most of your days were spent in melancholy and anxious paralyzing thought that kept asking, what’s next?

You held them in your hands carefully, turning them over before opening them curiously, only to have your breath hitched when your eyes landed on the front.

Couldn’t resist.

You scrambled for another.

Thought you’d like this one.

Another, and then another. All of them until the reminders brought you to tears.

All my love.

Thought of you.

For you to enjoy while I’m away.

To keep you preoccupied while I’m gone.

To make up for lost time.

The rest of the night became dedicated to remembering all that you once had, and that you were once determined to have. Reading stories that always seemed as fantastical as your dreams of a sweeter life, perhaps where they even derived from. The inspiration and hope they fuelled gradually returned with each memory you recounted of your shared dream with Arthur.

He had given it to you in the end. Taken you some place nice, even if he wasn’t there himself to enjoy it with you. He’d given you a piece of his heart all those years ago, and you made it your own. Given you the resources—just enough money and a whole lot of love—to help you realize a life you always wanted. He was there; in the blooming flowers, in the magnificent dawn and dusk, in the pages of books you held carefully between your fingers. And you’d remind yourself of it every night with a trace of your fingers over his scrawled messages of adoration.

return to masterlist.

#i am slowly transitioning to writing more character fics #which you can find on my ao3 #so feel free to follow me there :)#im currently working on two (2) very lengthy rdr fics #one being centred around the women of rdr2 and another basically inserting adult jack into my own fictional 1910s world #with tati helping me a lot with #so look forward to that!#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan oneshot #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan angst #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 fluff #red dead redemption 2 oneshot #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 fluff #red dead redemption 2 angst #rdr2 oneshot

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umeji-writes · 4 months

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Why the manga Mairimashita! Iruma-kun is a masterpiece, part # (idk at this point)

Spoilers for the latest M!IK chapter (332) under the cut ♡

Okay, I was loving this art-focused arc already, as someone who after... several years (hi I'm old)... decided to learn illustration for good. But unholy shit I wasn't expecting an actual storytelling lesson from Nishi-sensei!!! I'm specifically referring to these two pages:

..........do you see what Nishi did????? See, I always found the characters in M!IK to be exceptionally alive, as if they had independent lives outside the pages we can read. Basically all named characters are consistent and three-dimentional, even if they appeared for a couple of chapters at most. And there are LOTS of them, I tried to compile a spreadsheet for personal use and we are well beyond 100 at this point (I'm not done yet). This is most likely Nishi's writing method. It fits: "when it comes to terror designing characters, what's important is the foundation. When, where, from whom, and from what was that terror were that character's motivations born? Without that, art doesn't live". See all the crumbs of information Nishi left along the chapters, in text or drawings, or in the Q&As. M!IK's characters are alive, like the Bowing Palome. Clearly this is not new when it comes to storytelling in general, and to manga specifically. As an example, there's a whole chapter dedicated to character design in Hirohiko Araki's Manga in Theory and Practice, The Craft of Creating Manga (most recommended read btw), that goes over the data to collect even before drawing a character. I imagine that's among a mangaka's best practices. But that's the point, Nishi actually follows the rules of the Golden Way*, and created a work which is nearly perfect from any point of view: the four fundamentals (characters, story, setting, and themes), and even rhythm, art, comedy... I'm in awe. I know I sound like a smitten fan, and I am at this point, but seriously, this manga is qualitatively great, and it's a pity it's so underrated. *The set of rules/tips Araki compiled, which if followed would lead to a manga being successful, according to him. I guess there are other sources as well out there, like illustration schools? But this what I can tell you, as an outsider :D

#mairimashita! iruma-kun is seriously underrated aaaaaaa #i wonder if bim is a sort of nishi self-insert #oh and i wrote “bim” not “beem” because it's an alternative spelling for bune #another demon from the ars goetia #who btw is able to move the dead so kinda relevant to the bowing palome?#it's funny how the wikipedia page for “list of demons in the ars goetia” looks more and more like a list of M!IK characters #i love it #m!ik #mairimashita! iruma kun #mairuma #iruma kun #welcome to demon school iruma kun #iruma #manga analysis #m!ik analysis #manga #anime and manga #thanks tumblr for reading my ramblings

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sillystringsimpsons · 1 day

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interactions hugely appreciated <33333

My self insert character/simpsona, sam adama

now... what if I used him to make selfships, except instead of wholesome loving relationships he engages in a spree of one night stands and abusive affairs. ..

just kidding! I obviously won't do that because I am a Normal Well Adjusted artist who isn't drawn to pain and suffering because of personal trauma :33

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samarecharm · 1 month

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i love makoto so much but fanon does her so much better (the good parts of the fandom) because in the game her character is so lack luster. they butchered her confidant it is so borning and not even about her. they made her a cop. A COP. they pushed this "canon waifu" role onto her (before sumire came along and did it Even Worse). and it SUCKS because SHE IS SO MUCH MORE!!! SHE IS SO MUCH BETTER!!!! SHE COULD'VE BEEN SO MUCH BETTER!!! the way i feel about canon makoto is the same way i feel about the canon ryuji events post komoshida where he's horribly mistreated and used purely as comic relief: i ignore them <3 my game now <3 never happened <3 my ocs <3

You are so right. I generally apply this to all characters in p5 bc the game does such a shit job of staying consistent with character arcs and personalities. Theres a desperate need to throw in perverse jokes at the expense of female characters and a need to show that the police (as a whole) are reliable people who are not influenced by things like money and power; only the BAD cops do that. Not to mention this obvious fatphobia and homophobia but i feel likes thats a given.

But back to Makoto. Shes a victim of bad writing just like everyone else. Ryuji during the kamoshida arc was fighting with self loathing and genuine anxiety, and aside from the like. One comment on Panthers outfit in the metaverse, hes more than well behaved. All of that is shelved as soon as Kamoshida is gone and replaced with him being weird comic relief (and the focus of alot of sexual jokes that were nonexistent in the beginning of the game). Anns arc about self love and empowerment is completely dropped as soon as the nasty bad guy is put away (so that its good to be weird about her w the Good Guys). Makoto loses her a chunk of her personality to be the mature waifu which is INSANE to me bc shes like. Not okay or normal at all 😭😭😭 she THINKS shes responsible and so does everyone else on her team, but its an act! She doesnt know shit! And she doesnt know that she doesnt know shit bc shes respectful and adults dont care about anything as long as u respect them!

Its very telling that for literally every single thief (and goro), you can see the exact moment the writers gave up on adding anything of worth to their characters outside of the social links. Its like they didnt know what to even do w the characters at their disposal after their main arcs were complete. No mention of friends hanging out without you, no mention of having group hangouts. Everyone is treated as a core, important member of the friend group DURING their arc, but outside of it, they are acquaintances at best. Theres nothing in the game that convinces you that these guys are legitimately friends who care for each other and do Friend Things. And i describe it like that bc there IS a game that treats them all as friends, and its strikers! Strikers/Scramble genuinely feels like the game p5 wanted to be; a road trip w your team where they stay up at night talking to each other and hanging out and doing things together that dont necessarily include you, the player. Its refreshing and lovely but it sucks that u get that kind of attention to detail in a ‘spinoff’ title

#chattin #i hesitate to use spinoff bc its a pretty big game #and theres an amazing plot with wonderful characterization #and their handling of jails and jail owners is LEAGUES better than the bs they tried to make up w palace users #and all the thieves feel like family. and not in the annoying fandom way; like #were family in the same way a family is forged and tended to. i love you. no one is left behind. no one is made to feel inferior another #its really good and honestly if u want more interactions between everyone i really recommend a playthrough #but yeah #p5 sucks #i love it but i love the version of it i made in my head LMAO #maybe p5r did a better job w the dialogue and some questionable scenes #(i wouldnt know. i didnt play it lol)#so maybe thats what people need to be using as a point of reference #but i only plyed p5 so this is what i have; a group of people who show up for meetings and then go about their life #and that kinda sucks. why make this wholly unique experience in which these teens can only relate to each other #make them bonded over their shared experience w this unbelievable world #and then not only make them NOT interact; but have the end be ‘okay by akira.’ and leave it at that #they just. didnt know what to do w anyone #they needed their girls to be waifubait and the boys to be an afterthought #they needed a buffet of older woman for pathetic men to fuck through their self insert #and they needed a story convoluted enough to keep people stuck trying to figure it out themselves #its bad. its so bad. its so fucking bad. but i have to be here. WE have to be here.#bc who else is going to take these characters out of hell and treat them right ??!!!

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pangyham · 3 months

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been thinking about the liyue gang and how id draw their physical builds so here are some thoughts i had for xy cy and gm in particular

- xingqiu, unsurprisingly, would be quite lanky. i like to think he has broad-ish shoulders, like a thin athlete's build? hes a long boy to me haha, long face, neck, limbs, fingers etc, so naturally hes stands (comparatively) tall at 5'6" or 5'7"

i like to think hes most physically attractive one and has that handsome princely and boyish charm to him because it adds a lot to his fuckass duality LOL

- chongyun is a lot like xiao imo! short stature but with muscular arms. he seems nimble and flexible because of his normal attack animations (which bears a lot of similarities to xiao's actually! this + the fact that chongyun's normal attacks create gusts of wind further reinforces my hc that xiao trains him). sometimes i watch high energy choreography vids on youtube and some dancers look incredibly light on their feet, almost like their body is inherently bouncy? and i imagine chongyun to have that agility to him. chongyun has a delicate face and aura and i let that bleed into my hcs for his fighting style and physical capabilities hahaha. hes kind of like a cat who's deceptively strong. as for height.. just a few inches taller than xiao, so perceptibly short at 5'4"

- ga ming my new beloved. pretty much similar to chongyun but more muscular and stronger just because he wields his claymore with ease. theres a noticeable weight different between cy and his claymore the way he lugs it up after he swings (or even other claymore users like razor who, on his last hit, bounces from impact). meanwhile ga ming literally slams his to the ground LOL. i love his movements though hes very swift and expressive and radiant.. if cy has delicate movements then ga ming's is fierce and (charmingly!) assertive

ga ming is wonderfully charismatic though, i know hes not well known in liyue harbor yet, but he seems like the type to gain a reputation from his friendliness. how could no one adore him hahaha. 5'5" for height! just between xy and xq

#tangy talks genshin #chongyun gets analyzed most my bad #this was super fun though #while thoughtful ; genshin chara designs will always look distinctly gacha and flashy so a lot of the designs kinda blur together in my hea #this is why i really like looking into their animations particuarly their normal attacks #i think it conveys their personalities really well! it's always something to look forward to when new characters release #i gravitate towards swords polearms and claymores most though because i like the act of swinging and slashing hah. it also requires a lot o #body movement and reflects a lot of irl martial arts fencing and other combat techniques #sword users are always really fun to watch because theyre inherently graceful hahah. i will admit it gets kinda repetitive #i think my favorite NA animation has to be albedo's.. very simple clean and refined. he stands elegantly and puts his arm behind his back o #his 2nd attack which ive been transfixed by since be first came out in 2020 LOL. i love albebo #wow these tags are long as hell #but anyway i actually have more thoughts on xq's physical appearance but its just me rambling about how i think hes funny as fuck #im a proponent of dashingly pretty princely xingqiu not necessarily because i want to bestow upon him desirable traits #but because i think its funny knowing hes just a bit of a loser under all that #hes well known (mr worldwide one might say) and the heir to a prestigious guild and chivalrous talented and prolific #but he writes self insert novels hates carrots had bad handwriting sings really bad #hes just a teenage boy #as always i will 100% have more to say about chongyun but ill save that for another post #ga ming on the other hand.. i dont have anything substantial to say but hes super fun to think about #hes such a likable character #wow these tags are LONG as fuck ill stop now.

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