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charcubed · 1 month

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I saw Challengers earlier today and I decided to start a running doc of some of my feral thoughts in an effort to not forget what's currently marinating in my brain after my first watch

I want this movie to get a long theatrical release/run because it deserves it, but that's unfortunate because I also NEED to have it accessible to me in my home ASAP so I can pull on all its threads and take screencaps. Alas.

EXTENSIVE SPOILERS BELOW

might add to this later as I remember things, idk

-The parallel of Art spitting his gum in Tashi’s hand and in Patrick’s hand… My jaw dropped soooo early on. Anyway they obviously both act as Art’s “coach” at different times in his life in different ways. (The jerking off teaching?? Scream???) Art craves their guidance and approval as a form of love (which is also directly responsible for his confidence issues) and initially likes to follow their leads in every situation

-The parallel of Tashi making out with both Art and Patrick up against cars… delicious

-Patrick’s car is his “bed” and it’s where he and Tashi fuck. Nice

-Wait now I’m sad because… lowkey Patrick is homeless because Art and Tashi are his home…………….

-The storm = Patrick and Tashi having sex = the reason why Art’s half of the giant poster/ad on the side of the building falls down so only Tashi’s side is left up. Iconic, loooove a good visual metaphor, especially shown nonlinearly

-The parallel of the forehead kisses??? Art and Patrick on the court at the start when they won the doubles, and Art and Tashi in the sad almost-sex scene towards the end??? I will throw up

-Disclaimer and reminder I’ve only seen this movie once and might reform any of these thoughts later BUT…

One of Art’s main things is, as he tells Patrick towards the start, not wanting to be “left out.” He loves and he wants both Patrick and Tashi (but he doesn’t fully want to acknowledge the extent of his want for Patrick for years, and that repression is part of his problems…). He gets “lit up” about the thought of them together not because he’s jealous of one of them but because he’s jealous of BOTH of them; he wants to know it all, he wants to be in the room, he wants to be with them both, he despairs at the thought of losing either of them (but, at the start, especially at the thought of losing or being of lesser importance to Patrick. Obviously he’s a fucking idiot as evidenced by how Patrick goes to see him FIRST at Stanford. Ugh). We see all of this at the start when Art wants to know if Tashi and Patrick fucked. We see this in Atlanta when he witnesses Tashi cheating on him with Patrick but doesn’t directly confront either of them about it; he only skates the edge of confronting it with Patrick in the sauna while also lashing out at him. Patrick tells Art at Stanford “it’s nice to see you so lit up about something, even if it’s my girlfriend” during the homoerotic churros scene because Patrick’s clocked all of this about Art, too. He clocks it further in Atlanta when he shows up to Art’s practice with Tashi and his mere presence makes Art hit the ball harder. It obviously all comes full circle; the cocktail of emotions that Patrick and Tashi being together gives Art coalesces again for him on the court in the Challengers match: Tashi’s threatened to leave him if he loses… and she’s maybe got one foot out the door with Patrick of all people, who Art already “lost” in the past as the love he’s been mourning for 13 years. But what’s important is that THIS time, unlike Atlanta, Art learns about Tashi cheating on him with Patrick not by accident but rather because Patrick actually tells him. Patrick understands the significance of how this will get Art lit up again and make him play the way he needs to for all of their sakes, and it’s fucked up, but… what this means is Patrick doesn’t leave Art out. He TELLS Art – and he tells him in a way only they understand while they’re on the court together again. Of course Art goes through several stages of emotions in response to that fucked up information… but ultimately that moment of honesty and realization between the boys is what Art needed and puts where all 3 of them stand into sharp relief, shedding a light on who they’ve all always been and what their individual needs are.

Art’s always wanted to play tennis, but that desire is framed around his relationships. Tennis is only something he truly enjoys or that fully makes him happy when he’s experiencing it through his connections to other people: he wants to impress, earn the approval of, or celebrate with those he loves who are watching (like his grandmother or Tashi) – which is partially why he wants Tashi to be his coach in the first place. And of course, tennis all began as something Art found joy in because he was always doing it with Patrick. It’s clear Patrick feels the same. At the start, neither of them cared much about winning for the sake of winning unless it was doubles because they competed as a team and that was “really fun” for them. With the singles competition, they kind of cared less about the wins at the start; Art assumed Patrick would win and didn’t care back then, and then Patrick was willing to let Art win so he could impress his family, and they were both fine with all of those sentiments. Tennis was first and foremost something they did with and for each other. As Patrick later tells Art in the sauna, “I miss playing with you” – and, of course, at that point he’s definitely not only talking about tennis. But in that final match, after so many years, Patrick and Art finally understand each other completely again. It’s like they’re in love (because they are and always have been), they go somewhere really beautiful together… etc. They finally reconnect on the court and feel that thrill as they become synchronized again, which is what tennis was always about for them.

And Tashi, who’s irrevocably connected to them both and whose primary love is and always has been the sport itself, gets what SHE’S always wanted: to “watch some good fucking tennis.” It’s why she pitted the boys against each other vying for her number at the start. Though she needs/wants both boys in different ways on an individual level, she doesn’t particularly need or want anyone to ~be in love with her~; she wants the men who are in love with her to entertain her and challenge her and give her a show. So that’s what she tries to accomplish again in the end by telling Art she’d leave him if he lost the Challengers match… but the missing piece in her making that threat – the element that would get Art truly fired up – was that she’d potentially leave Art for Patrick. That final piece of info, when Art finds out about the cheating, is what reconnects them in all of the above ways. Because it’s about all 3 of them and their triangular codependency. They’ve all been broken for 13 years because they all need each other and tennis to be fully functional. Split any of it apart and they just don’t work.

-Literally this is a film where from the moment of the injury they’re all constantly mourning. They all lose their greatest loves that day… Tashi essentially loses tennis, Art loses Patrick, and Patrick loses the two of them. Everything after that is just them being affected by how they’re all mired in various grief and feeling incomplete… until that synchronization at the match when they finally become whole again. Going from that bed scene that was breaking my heart to the final match was HEALING. Things are still fucked up and in progress, but they’re fucked up in a way they all understand, which gives them a path forward. This movie has a fiercely happy ending in that regard… and what I’m saying is that… after the match, once they communicate further, and much later down the line… Art and Patrick should go back to playing doubles and Tashi should coach them as as doubles team. God they’d eventually all be so happy I wanna CRY just thinking about them doing that. It would take them awhile to get there — because yeah, Tashi is living vicariously through Art’s career as an individual player and maybe if Art retired she’d then want to live through PATRICK’S career for awhile — but I think if they worked out their relationship then their tennis could come to reflect the needs of that relationship too, and doubles can still be “good fucking tennis” in its own satisfying right, y’know? I think they could get there and it would be a beautiful collective restart.

-I gotta say, I can't imagine Tashi pregnant. Wild to me. Sorry to their daughter. Oooo also... I think Patrick would be great with kids... when he gets to meet Lily and become "Uncle Patrick" they're gonna hit it off so fast. Help me

-*holds up Tashi watching them kiss after she orchestrated it* *holds up the Challengers match* It’s the same picture. Except the kisses were kisses whereas the match was actual sex. The moaning and grunting… I’m insane. Also Tashi’s “COME ON!!!!” is arguably the sole orgasm/climax we witness in the whole movie perhaps? Though you could argue the hug is too. In this essay I will, etc.

-Art begging for Tashi’s love/validation saying “Tell me it doesn’t matter if I win tomorrow” vs Art telling Patrick in the sauna “this is a game about winning the points that matter” / Patrick saying “I don’t matter?” AAAA oh my fucking Goddddddd I’m gonna die

-Thank you Luca Guadignino for your dedication to having Art and Patrick hold phallic drinks and food in each others’ presence. Specific shout out to Patrick at the beach party holding the beer bottle on his crotch

-Patrick = comfortable with who he is and secure in his bisexuality; honest and open Art = repressing his queerness and his overall desires Tashi = hiding who she is aka her dissatisfactions with life and the lengths she’ll go to because tennis is her true greatest love and always has been

COMPRESS, REPRESS... REPRESS, COMPRESS... AND THEN JUST SURRENDER, ONE TWO THREEEEE

-I need to rewatch to catch the dialogue because it was difficult for me to hear it over the music, but I think in the 3am Atlanta scene Tashi tells Patrick that Art’s grandmother had a stroke. IF that’s what she said (and if there’s no reason to believe it’s a lie Art told; like I said, I need to rewatch)… my immediate impression was that it’s a nod to Patrick being the voice of accuracy and prediction in this movie. Towards the beginning he tells Art (jokingly) that he hopes Art’s grandmother dies of a stroke, and that’s seemingly what literally comes to pass. He repeatedly clocks both Tashi and Art’s behaviors, describing them brashly to their faces (and to us as the audience), and he was right about his predictions. He’s the one who’s not repressed or unaware of who he is out of the 3 of them: when Tashi first asks if there’s something between him and Art, he looks away because he knows the answer is yes; he’s openly bi on dating apps; he tells Tashi he won’t be her lapdog unlike Art which we see later ends up becoming literal; he clocks how Tashi is hiding some of her true motivations when she seeks him out in the storm; and even from afar he predicts Art’s mindset about wanting to retire. For the most part, what Patrick does / says either seems to be or becomes truth. Hmmm, wait, as I’m typing this… something to look out for: the “I TOLD YA” shirt. Working theory: Tashi briefly wears it, she’s the voice of accuracy; then it blatantly switches over to Patrick and he wears it throughout the film and [waves to all of the above]

-Head in my hands thinking of how the word “love” is used in these tennis matches. Also something I need to make detailed note of when I rewatch

-Patrick grabbing Art’s thigh when they first watched Tashi play… oh my GOD

-Patrick pulling Art’s stool close and Art just smoothly sitting on it with no reaction… the way they kept looking at each others' lips... oh my G O D

-I just remembered Tashi referred to the boys being known as as “fire and ice.” What the fuck even.

-Tashi going to Patrick asking him to lose the match for Art… she’s literally like, "do this because I love tennis and if I lose Art then I lose the way I live tennis through him. Do this because if he loses this match he'll lose himself." And she's really like, "Do this because I know you’re in love with both of us." And Patrick is like, "A) fuck you because you know I’ll say yes precisely because I'm in love with both of you so how dare you ask this of me, and B) you’re kidding yourself if you think you don’t miss the challenge I give YOU simply by being myself because I don’t take your shit." Something something they're peers, you know

-Tbh for 13 years when Patrick gets his rare opportunities he’s @ both Art and Tashi like “you want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.” And the thing is that he’s RIGHT. He’s right! Art in particular doesn't want to admit it because he's trying to convince himself he outgrew being bisexual / outgrew Patrick but it's obviously bullshit

-Realizing some of the sounds in the soundtrack intentionally emulate the sounds of tennis balls and rackets???? MADNESS

#challengers #challengers movie #challengers 2024 #tashi duncan #art donaldson #patrick zweig #char writes things

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solivagantingrebel · 4 months

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Soap who falls in love hard and fast.

Soap who believes in love wholeheartedly to the point that he does everything he can to make any relationship he's in work even at his own expense. Soap who has to face disappointment at the end each time knowing he gave it his everything and it still didn't work out.

Soap who grapples with the reality that just because he does everything he can doesn't mean things were meant to be that way. Soap who slowly gets disillusioned by the notion of love. Soap who thinks that maybe they were right, maybe he did get hurt more because he wore his heart on his sleeve and dove into relationships with his bare chest like a lovesick eejit. Soap who decides that he needs to stop acting like one.

Soap who shoves his feelings aside to focus on other things in his life. Soap who focuses on building things that are tangible and long lasting. Soap who cherishes that his career, finance and family don't make his efforts loom wasted. Soap who convinces himself that it's enough. Soap who tries to convince himself that he's changed.

Soap who catches himself spiralling down that hard and fast pit again around a certain Lieutenant. Soap who panics and tries to ignore his feelings. Soap who deeply represses. Soap who keeps his distance. Soap who backs off when he's told to, gives space when Ghost needs it, doesn't flinch when he puts up walls thicker than steel between them.

Soap who digs through what's given to him anyway because he hasn't truly changed, his feelings have never disappeared. Soap who is terrified of finding himself at the start of the cycle he knows the end all too well of.

Soap who prays again after years of not doing so, to a God he hasn't spoken to in a while. Soap who is hoping and begging for things to be different this time. Soap who wants Ghost to be the exception to every experience he's had in his life so far.

Soap who tries to convince himself that if he can do things differently, things will end differently. Soap who can't help but be himself.

Soap who falls in love hard and fast.

Soap who gets addicted to his smile whenever he gets to see it. Soap who discreetly stifles his laughs at his dumb little jokes. Soap who sees how much he cares despite his reluctance to directly admit it. Soap who starts loving and trusting him regardless.

Soap who decides that, if he is meant to crash and burn from the start, loving Ghost wholeheartedly is a damn good reason to be a martyr anyway.

#i dont know if this makes sense but i #brainrot!#ghostsoap #ghoap #words #my writing #i was thinking about cycles & the existential crisis of. you can't help being yourself #yaknow #normal 5 am thoughts #theyre in love though does that count #my contribution for now before i finish the only angst piece #drabble

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slutforitoshi · 1 year

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sae itoshi - ring *:･ﾟ✧

ft. sae x f!reader, 18+ minors dni

cw: cheating/infidelity, fingering, unprotected sex, sae is mean, you will feel bad for rin but horny for sae

synopsis: you finally meet your future brother-in-law, and he is more than pleased to see you

wc: 2.04k

A/N: i wrote this right before my physio midterm hopefully there’s no typos oops

“sae that’s amazing!” his mother exclaimed in response to his news of him moving back to japan. a family dinner was called with some promise of a big announcement and this must have been it. you guessed sae wanted to tell his family before the media announced his relocation.

“what happened to mr. ‘I’m too good for japan,’” rin, your fiancee, sneered albeit jokingly. although you weren’t technically part of the family (yet), the itoshis insisted on having you over. this was the first time you’ve seen sae though. he was always abroad.

“well someone’s gotta humble you here,” sae rolled his eyes, reflecting the same energy back to his brother. you could see the resemblance. teal eyes, fair skin. all similar right down to their serious, deadpanned demeanor. the biggest difference was his hair, a light maroon color, swept up to reveal his forehead. you wondered if rin would ever style his similarly if you asked him…shit. he caught you looking for a little too long.

and he smirks. the heat rising to your cheeks does not make it any better and you quickly look away fiegning innocence. you try to make up excuses in your head, moreso to convince yourself than anyone else though. yeah, you were just looking because this was the first time you met him. it’s normal to be curious about someone new.

rin’s hands stir you from your thoughts, now settled on your own. the glimmering ring on your left hand, that you were prideful of, suddenly burned on your finger. like it was punishing you for your thoughts just minutes ago.

“so how long you guys been together?” sae asks pointedly at rin, although his eyes were fixed on you. you couldn’t look back directly, out of fear of the blush that might rise again.

“3 years? we’ve been engaged for about half a year though.”

“she’s pretty, i’d always known you had a good eye”, sae responds, still staring. it felt like a hole was being bored into your skull. and there was the blush you tried so hard to repress. he thinks you’re pretty. you suddenly felt like a schoolgirl, hearing that her crush might like her, too.

the conversation shifts away from you thankfully, giving you a second to finally breathe. calm down. that is his brother. you should not be feeling like this. your eyes betray you though, sneaking glances at sae. what was it about him that captivated you so much?

“hey, are you ok?” rin’s question jolts you back again, him noticing you haven’t really been present in current conversation. your surprise causes you to drop your spoonful of soup…right into your lap.

“oh my gosh,” you stumble over your words, embarrassed.

“it’s alright, do you want me to lend you a pair of pants?” his mom asks, so unaware of the sinful thoughts that were circling your head about her son (and not the one you’re engaged to).

“it’s okay!” you interject, “it’s only a small stain. it should come off with a bit of scrubbing”

you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom to clean up the mess. both on your pants and in your mind.

the faucet running quickly washes the stain and the thoughts away. you look down at your ring again. it’s beautiful, like your relationship. too beautiful to throw away over some silly thoughts. reassuring yourself, you focus back onto the spilled soup.

you hear the bathroom door handle turn, and you continue to scrub at the stain without looking up, assuming it’s just rin checking on you.

“hey,” a voice says. it’s not rin. his voice was more sultry, mature.

you look up and all the thoughts you’d work so hard to scrub away are crawling back.

“um hi…i was just about to go back out so you don’t have to-” your meek voice is cut off.

“does rin satisfy you?” he says bluntly. wow, right to the point huh.

“why is that any of your business?” you try to sound strong, but shift your gaze to the ground, scared that your composure might crumble if you look into those teal eyes.

“that’s not what it looks like to me,” sae says simply, stepping closer to you. your eyes stay fixed on the ground.

“you were practically begging me to fuck you through your pretty lashes. rin’s not the only one who has a good eye. who do you think trained him to read intentions?” he continues, seeing right through you.

“look, it doesn’t matter what I think. rin and I are engaged. i’m not throwing all that away for some stupid thoughts.” you stood firm, but the ring began to burn on your finger again.

“who said you had to throw it away? as long as you know how to keep secrets that is” he’s even closer to you now. one more step and he’d be able to touch you, and why did you not hate that?

you pursed your lips, unable to deny your attraction now. the ring was scalding against you, and a pit in your stomach began to grow. he took yet another step closer and now you can smell him. cologne. a deep scent, not too musky though…just how you liked it. your resolve was tearing at the seams.

“you better make your decision soon. not much longer until rin gets suspicious” sae half-cages you in, putting one arm past your waist to lean against the bathroom counter. you could easily go around the other side to exit, but as his cologne invades your surroundings, your thoughts surround you. and you lean in.

his hands move quickly to your sides, holding you tight now that you’ve made your decision. his strong arms hoist you up onto the counter where his hand once rested.

his lips were soft, but he kissed with such aggression which you happily reciprocated. your movements were driven by pure lust. desperation. when was the last time you felt like this? rin was a gentle lover most of the time, unless you pleaded with him to be a little rough.

“you better not be thinking of him right now. focus on me,” sae spat, as if reading your mind once again.

your pants were quickly pulled off, now damp in two places. his right hand was immediately in between, pulling the thin cloth to the side.

“you’re soaked,” he exasperates, and it was the first hint of a smile you’d seen all night. his lips were on you again, although you found it increasingly difficult to kiss back. not when his fingers were circling your clit at a fervent speed. then, they entered, earning a gasp from you.

“s-so full” you stutter at the sudden entry.

“you’re so fucking tight. How are you going to take my cock,” he mutters, mostly to himself. you could only respond in moans, not even caring if they could reach the dining table where the rest of the family sat. sae seemed to care though, clamping his free hand over your mouth so that only muted vibrations could escape.

two fingers became three, and you welcomed the stretch. sae had clearly done this before, being able to curl them to hit just the right gummy spot that took rin months to even find.

you could feel the coil in your stomach tighten. if he continued, you would surely reach your first orgasm of the night. he doesn’t give you that luxury though. you’re on a time crunch, remember?

he takes his palm off your mouth, and reaches down to fumble his belt buckle open. and then you’re met with his cock. you could understand why he was concerned about you being able to take it now.

you let out a small whine as his fingers left you, but it was quickly replaced with his thick girth. at least he was gentle with the entry. but he barely gives you a second to take it in before he started moving.

his hands now gripped your waist tightly on both sides, fucking you with such conviction. you felt like your were being used, and you relished in it.

“fuck. it’s not fair; rin keeping this perfect fuck toy to himself,” he muttered to himself again. he wasn’t as vocal as rin you noted, limiting himself to the occasional grunt or deep, breathy moan.

“s-sae”, it was difficult to get much words out.

“slow down you’re going to break me,” you utter, even though you knew he had no intention of doing so.

“break then. let everyone know what a fucking slut you are throwing yourself onto your fiancee’s brother,” he challenges you. his cruel words sent a chill down your spine, right into the heat where he currently thrusted in and out of.

the sounds of his rough pounding filled the room, complimented by your higher pitched moans. his right hand moved from your waist and placed itself at your clit, rubbing fast circles, earning even louder sounds from you.

“do I need to shut you up again,” he growled, but not stopping his ministrations. his thrusts became sporadic and irregular, a sign you knew as being close. you started clamping harder onto his cock, attempting to milk out every last drop.

“f-fuck, don’t stop doing that,” he recognizes your attempts, and any guilt that he could have about betraying his brother left his mind (not that he had much in the first place).

he quickly pulls out, spilling his seed all over your thighs and stomach. after catching his breath, he stands back and gives you another smirk, rather proud of the mess he made you into. as if on cue, your session is cut by a familiar voice.

“you good in there?” rin calls from outside. your eyes widen, panicked.

“i’m fine! just uh fixing up some makeup!” you called back, coming up with an excuse. you quickly take toilet paper, wiping up your body, frantically hiding any evidence. looking around, your eyes settle onto the bathtub.

“hide in there quick!” you whisper-shout, practically pushing sae behind the curtains.

you pull up your discarded pants, trying to ignore the pool that was still in between your legs you forgot to wipe up. you manage to button them right before rin turns the handle.

“what took you so long?” he comes up behind you, pressing a kiss onto your temple. you give a meek smile in return, hoping he couldn’t hear your hammering heart.

“oh the stain was harder to get out than I thought, and I wanted to touch up my makeup since it smeared a little” you lied.

“really? I didn’t notice.” he guides you out of the bathroom, and you let out a breath of relief thankful that he didn’t suspect anything.

“oh by the way have you seen sae? he said he was going to bring you some stain remover he had on him,” rin asks, and your breath hitches.

“o-oh yeah he stopped by. i got the stain out mostly by then so I told him I didn’t need it,” you hoped that sounded natural enough, “maybe he’s taking a call or something,” adding an alibi.

“yeah he must be busy with the new move,” rin concluded.

“let’s head back soon I’m a little tired”, you suggested, knowing dinner was about over anyways. it technically wasn’t a lie, you were tired (from being fucked like a whore).

“good thinking, the drive’s a bit long anyways.” he clasps his right hand around your left, and your attention is brought back to the ring which started to grow uncomfortably warm against your finger again.

~~~

“you coming to bed?” rin asks, already brushed up and ready for sleep.

“yeah just wanted to hang up some clothes”, you call back from the closet. as you put the hanger around the coat you wore for the night, you noticed a corner poke out of its pocket. you pulled the sheet out.

we’re not finished yet, i still need to make you cum XXX-XXX-XXXX

you rip up the paper until the text was no longer legible, discarding it in the nearest trashbin.

but not before the digits were seared into your head, just like the ring that has been searing your finger all night.

#blue lock #blue lock smut #bllk #bllk smut #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae smut #sae #sae smut #rin #rin itoshi #sae itoshi #sae itoshi smut #sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader

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morgan-the-lonely-brick · 8 months

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I have thoughts about the clip and especially about Fang and generally all of the scene so yeah, an analysis-like tangent full of spoilers below cut

Out of the entire crew, I think Fang and Frenchie (especially Fang) are literally the best people to recieve comfort from. It's double true for Izzy.

Not only do they have like. The least invasive and violent trauma out of the crew, but they're both very empathetic and want to help others in distress. Even when that person isn't a particular ray of sunshine... like Izzy.

It also makes sense for Fang to be the main comforter. He knows Izzy. He's known him for a long while. And he's known Blackbeard for a long while too.

Watching him from the beginning of the clip, he seems to be the first one to notice Izzy's not feeling great. Far before the others do!

This is the first we directly see Fang in the clip and yeah he looks surprised that they're throwing loot overboard - as you should be but... even more than that he looks ALARMED. He knows something's up.

After listening to Izzy for a few seconds he is completely sure something's up. He checks in with Frenchie to know if he's seeing it too. We don't know where Frenchie is looking, but I'd assume he reciprocates the look.

Izzy stops mid-sentence. That's not like him. The others will have noticed it too now. Sure enough, here's Jim, thoroughly confused and/or taken aback at least.

Fang protection mode ACTIVATE! His first thought is to ask how Izzy's doing (i am so soft for them oh my god-) and to touch him - reassure him. Ground him.

we then get a "I'm fine, unhand me" which Fang does, to give Izzy some space and checks in again with a "you really don't seem fine". He waits for Izzy's response. He wants to make SURE Izzy's okay, or rather, is patiently waiting for him to admit that he's not.

The others join in saying that they've noticed. They've noticed how destructive his relationship with Ed is. I can't even imagine what's running through Izzy's mind at this moment. Probably like a waterfall of emotion - shame and anger and sadness and everything is too much - he's soon to break. He's trying so hard to hold it back, but he can't. He can't, when the truth is being thrown directly at his face by his own crewmates.

Frenchie comments "he's cut off at least two more of your toes hasn't he?" and Izzy almost flinches at that sentence. He quivers. That's his breaking point. And I. have to stop a bit to look at the implications of this. Form this scene at least, I understood taht when Izzy fails to make the crew follow orders, he gets physically punished. As we heard earlier: "It is your job to f-" *he stops, he shakes slightly* he's thinking about the consequences of them not following his orders - more of his toes cut off. That's horrifying. I'd start crying too, jesus...

Fang knows it's his breaking point and goes back to comfort him - even forcing it a bit on him, because he knows Izzy will struggle, but needs it. God, does he need it. He's always pushing people away, but Fang won't let him this time. He won't let himself be pushed away, because he cares. And he wants to show Izzy that he cares. So he persists.

And after only a few seconds of a very feeble struggle, Izzy accepts it. He's been strong for so long. He's been brave and hurting and isolated and repressed for so. So long. And he needs to let go. And he does. He whimpers. He sounds like a puppy who's been kicked. And he is. He is a puppy. A puppy that's been severely hurt and doesn't WANT to be hurt anymore. (god, i am weak at the knees, someone call the ambulace, i think i'm dying)

Frenchie steps in as secondary comfort to show that Izzy's really not alone in this and that none of them actually hate him. Even if he thinks he deserves it. Not even Stede's former crew hate him. That's what Frenchie represents here - to me. Fang and frenchie together show him that love isn't meant to hurt so much. It's not meant to be like this. And they also ground him in that moment. Izzy looks at Frenchie several times as he whimpers, perhaps checking in - seeing if Frenchie leaves after seeing him weak. But he doesn't. He stayes and he waits for Izzy to be okay and I think that means the world to Izzy. It means the world to me too. Izzy deserves all the comfort by this point.

Also I want to throw Edward overboard.

11/10 i need Izzy to have more hugs

#boooo edward! booo!!!#how dare he #ofmd #ofmd spoilers #ofmd season 2 spoilers #ofmd 2 #izzy my baby my puppy <3 #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #whump #emotional whump #izzy hands #ofmd izzy

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scarletteye · 4 months

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More crazy/obsessed Scaramouche

Like I've said last post, ya'll really like it when these genshin men go feral. So here is another one of my fave crazy Scaramouche moments from my fic Blossom of the Divine on ao3.

Blossom of the Divine, Chapter 9

“Get your hands off me,” you hissed.

He withdrew his hand for a moment, visibly taken aback by your hostility. The gentleness in his eyes slowly died out, becoming replaced by dissatisfaction. It wasn’t long before his entire expression turned grim. That sudden change in his demeanor struck you with fear.

His gaze slowly slid to the side. He looked at Cyno from the corner of his eyes. The darkness in Scaramouche’s expression warned you to be very careful with how you treat this situation. “Oh? You’re awake as well.”

You gaze snapped onto Cyno. Your heartbeat was in your throat; manic and forceful. He was awake. He looked disoriented. Dizzy. There was a certain blankness to his glare that assured you that he wasn’t quite here yet.

“It’s almost funny,” Scaramouche said, now glancing at the Fatui agents that bowed down to him. His tone was full of repressed fury. “I don’t remember ordering you to bring him. I thought I made myself clear.”

His fingers slid onto your neck; gently and carefully as if to not startle you. You shivered under his touch. His hands were cold, yet soft. His fingers gently brushed against your bruised skin, tracing the darkened patterns that painted your neck - evidence of your struggle against a Fatui agent.

“I ordered them to bring you here unharmed. Only you,” his voice turned lower. “Yet it seems that my followers are too stupid to follow simple instructions. Not only did they bring this rat…” He glanced at Cyno. “But they also brought you to me bruised.”

Completely covered in cold sweat and with your heart maniacally beating in your throat, you were unable to come up with anything. No smart remark. No plan. Even if you held a thought, it got lost in your mind as soon as your gaze met Scaramouche’s.

“Who did this to you?” he asked calmly.

“Huh?” you breathed out.

“I asked: who did this to you?” he tried again, this time sounding more commanding.

You felt that the atmosphere was heavy; it was dense enough to be cut by a knife. You knew that every agent around you felt fear as he asked you that question, and you felt fear for them. Despite you not giving him an answer, he noticed you glance at the agents.

“Oh?”

You gulped. His fingers gently grazed your bruised neck, setting fire to your ears and turning them bright red. “There’s no reason for you to be so wary,” he dragged out his words. “You’re not in trouble.”

“The person who did this, however,” he continued, pressing his fingers against the bruise on your neck. You winced, holding your breath as he put pressure on your agitated skin. “I don’t exactly have an excuse for them.”

“I told you,” you squeezed the words out through your teeth, “to get your hands off me.”

You glared right back at him. Even though you were kneeling directly in his mercy, and even though your face was burning red from his touch, your eyes reflected a fire deep within you. Resentment.

Scaramouche tilted his head; his dark strands fell to one side. The corners of his lips twisted upwards. He stared down at you with amusement. He withdrew the hand from your neck, letting out a tch before taking a few steps forth. He faced his agents, leaving your side just long enough to give you space to breathe.

You quietly shivered. Strands of your hair got stuck to your face, and your panicked eyes searched for comfort in Cyno. He looked more awake with each passing minute. He carefully analyzed your surroundings, constantly keeping an eye on Scaramouche as if he feared being caught.

His scarlet eyes met your gaze, narrowing at you as he shook his head.

You raised your brows. You couldn’t understand what he was trying to tell you.

“Stand up,” Scaramouche ordered. The agents followed his instructions, keeping a brave face as they faced their superior. “All of you were there when she was captured. Surely one of you got to witness the moment that she was harmed.”

The agents were silent. Your heartbeat climbed to your ears, nearly deafening you as you recognized static on your skin.

“Need I repeat myself?” Scaramouche hissed. “You.” He called at a random agent. “Tell me what happened when you tried to retrieve her.”

“A battle broke out. Lord,” they quickly added. “But she… she was bruised before that. I think.”

“And who were the first agents to arrive on scene?” his cold gaze scoured the mass.

You tuned your head to look at Cyno again. He was trying to free his arms; his face contorted with pain. He grit his teeth, letting out a low breath before falling motionless. He couldn’t do anything. Not that you expected him to be able to escape in that state, but you still felt immeasurably cold as you watched him lower his head in shame.

You flinched as three agents stepped in front of you. They wore masks like everybody else, and their outfits were disfigured with bandages. Their skin glistened with sweat, and they kept their heads low, visibly scared of Scaramouche.

“Well?” Scaramouche appeared behind you, leaning down so that his lips reach your ear. His whisper filled your stomach with butterflies and sent your skin on fire. You turned tense. It was impossible to breathe with him so close to you. “Which one of them was it?”

Your eyes widened in horror. He was asking you to rat out the girl who gave you that bruise. You could almost feel him glaring at them from over your shoulder. You were unable to voice anything. What were you supposed to do? You didn’t want blood on your hands. He didn’t have to punish them. In fact, if he sent them after you, it was kind of his fault for putting you in harm’s way. For putting Cyno in harm’s way.

There was a constant chill in your spine and a constant storm in your stomach. You were unable to think. Unable to speak. Even if you wanted to tell him, you would never be able to recognize the agent. Even if you wanted to point out his hypocrisy, your voice would only tremble.

He grabbed your chin and slowly turned your head upwards, until your neck strained and until you stared directly at the ceiling. Scaramouche popped into your vision. His eyes were dim. You couldn’t miss the hurt in his voice, or the slight shift of his brows as he frowned at your silence. “You aren’t afraid to call them out, are you?”

“No. I… I just don’t know,” you whispered out.

His eyes turned wider; the tremble in your voice seemingly made him give up on pressuring you. “Don’t sound so worried,” he said. “They are just Dottore’s rats. He has plenty of them left.”

“I don’t know how they looked like,” you admitted. Your heart was manic. You didn’t want them to die. Even if they were Fatui. Even if they worked for Dottore. You didn’t want that kind of blood on your hands. “I’m telling you I don’t know,” you tried again. “She had a mask.”

“She,” Scaramouche repeated. He lowered your head, still keeping a firm grip on your chin as he let you look at the three agents. One of them was a male, the other two female. You couldn’t tell them apart. You knew one of them was Petrushka – the one that attacked you – and that one of them wielded Cryo.

To make matters worse, his hold on you hurt.

You glanced at Cyno, wishing to find some form of comfort in his presence. He glared at you, warning you to keep quiet.

Unfortunately, Scaramouche noticed the slight tilt of your head as your eyes searched for Cyno.

“Does your friend have a better idea?”

You gulped. Cyno glared right back at Scaramouche, unafraid of the fury in his tone.

“Maybe we can address the elephant in the room first, then,” Scaramouche said.

In return, Cyno’s scarlet eyes narrowed, as if he were threatening Scaramouche to stay away from him. It didn’t help in deescalating the situation. It only made Scaramouche’s anger more evident. His glare turned stone cold as he looked down at Cyno, as if he were speaking to a pile of garbage. “And who may you be?”

“Somebody who will end you if you don’t get your hands off her.”

Your eyes widened at Cyno’s words. You felt Scaramouche’s grip on your face tighten. “Really?” he whispered.

“Wait,” you blurted out. You trembled as you slowly raised your head. By the time you were able to see him, your neck hurt. His image was upside down to you, but you still saw his eyes glisten with fury. “We don’t have to do this. Really- I don’t care that I have a bruise-”

“I care,” Scaramouche coldly said. You were taken aback by his tone. “I gave them simple orders. I told them not to harm you. I just don’t understand why they couldn’t simply listen. And now they have to die.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you tried to reason with him.

“And what kind of an example would that set to the others, hm?” he leaned his face closer to yours, challenging you to speak back to him again. His eyes reflected the full force of his anger. The full force of his madness. “I mean. They were already trying to catch you before I gave them orders. They should know where their loyalties lie.”

Cyno interjected. “I told you to get your hands off her.”

Scaramouche’s eyes slowly shifted to Cyno. Your heart sunk as you saw the madness in his glare. The thirst for violence. “Fine. If you don’t want to point fingers at the useless agent who hurt you, then I suppose I’m left with no choice.” He let go of your chin, letting your head sink along with your heart. “I’ll just have to eradicate all of them.”

To your horror, he pointed at Cyno. “Put him with the rest.”

His minions immediately began acting out his orders.

“Wait!” you yelled out. Your heartbeat climbed up to your throat. “It’s not his fault. Please don’t-”

Scaramouche’s agents grabbed Cyno, hoisting him up by his arms; a yelp left his mouth as they dragged him closer to the other three hostages. They were holding him cruelly, holding his wounds as they threw him at the floor as if he were an animal.

“Stop!” you screamed.

Cyno hissed in pain, shutting his eyes tightly as he sunk lower to the ground. Scaramouche stepped forth, wiggling his fingers as he summoned Electro to his palm. A ball of purple energy sparked alive in his hold; its loud crackled made you gasp. It illuminated his purple hair, and painting his eyes with hatred as he looked down at Cyno’s wounded body.

“Stop, stop, stop!” you screamed. You bowed down; your forehead hit the floor. You did not care how desperate you looked. You didn’t even care that you were bowing to him. You didn’t want Cyno to die. “Please stop. Stop this,” you begged. “He has nothing to do with this. P-Petrushka! That was the name of the agent who choked me! I remember now. See? Please don’t harm Cyno. Please.”

The room fell strangely quiet. Even the crackles of Scaramouche’s powers ceased. All you could hear were your shallow breaths. You dared to look up from the floor; you dared to search for Scaramouche’s face.

His expression was stoic. Though, the moment he found your teary gaze, a quiet breath rolled from his lips. “Good girl.”

He reached his arm out towards one of the female agents, seemingly already knowing which one of them was named Petrushka. You caught Cyno’s expression as he stared at you; full of shock and disbelief.

Petrushka dropped to his knees, trembling as if she were standing in an icy storm. Sweat doused her skin. Even with the mask on her face, you could tell that she was terrified.

Electricity crackled around Scaramouche. You held your breath, as you watched him glow with purple. Lighting circled him, erupting from his arms, suffocating the air with static.

Electro flashed around him. Cyno ducked, falling as close to the floor as possible before thunder struck.

A loud boom shook the room. You gasped; electricity surged through the room, nearly taking you off your knees and blinding you as it exploded throughout. Sparks glimmered in the air, showering the floor like snow. A horrid silence enveloped you.

You dared to look at the female agent, finding only char and ashes in her spot. Scaramouche stretched his arm, clenching and unclenching his fingers as if he were just getting warmed up.

Your eyes frantically searched Cyno’s body. He breathed shallowly, full of panic much like yourself, but he was alive. Unharmed by the lighting like you begged of Scaramouche. He listened to you after all.

“Throw the rest of them behind bars,” Scaramouche ordered. “I don’t care what happens to them.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Bro casually kidnaps someone and then proceeds to kill anybody who put a scratch on that someone even though he told them to kidnap them for him.... Okay crazy guy <3 Whatever you want

As always you can read the fic on ao3 here.

Even with all of this tho i still feel as if Childe is crazier.

#ao3 writer #genshin fanfic #genshin impact #scara x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #yandere scaramouche

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yujeong · 7 months

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Pete and the act of crying: Part 1

So, a wonderful discussion yesterday with @wretchedamaranth made me have Pete thoughts (as if I needed an excuse to have Pete thoughts in the first place) and I would like to express them. This time, it's about Pete and how he cries in the show. One incredibly dumb argument against Build's acting by haters was that he wasn't good at crying, that his crying wasn't *believable*. I truly pity these people, because it shows they never understood the intricacies of Pete's character and it's a shame, because Build did such a phenomenal job portraying them. I would like to talk about them. My main point is that Pete cries like a person who hasn't cried in literal years.

Pete's first instance of crying is seen in episode 13, during his breakdown with Vegas, who lashes out at him and holds a knife to his throat, as seen above. Do you see that face? Do you see the pure pain and agony Pete is feeling? And because a picture isn't doing it justice at ALL, he it is in gif form:

DO YOU SEE THIS? DO YOU SEE THE QUIVERING OF HIS LIPS, HIS EYES SQUINTING, HIS BREATH BARELY BEING THERE? DO YOU SEE HIM FIXING HIS JAW, TRYING TO GULP, TRYING TO KEEP IT TOGETHER?

He's looking at Vegas dead in the eye while he's doing it, too. Like he should have known, he should have known this would happen, but why Vegas, why did you give me hope, why did you do this to me? It's so raw and the scene has barely started, I'll be here all day, okay. And then the scene keeps going, and Pete's face is pain personified and then we get his monologue about not being a person, about being nothing, and his face smooths out. That doesn't mean he's back in control, because it's the calm before the storm, before he grabs the knife out of Vegas hand and places it in his throat again.

I'm here staring in awe, because he's still not shed a tear, but he sniffs at some point before grabbing the knife as he's talking, as if there's snot to pull back up, as if he's actually managed to express his grief fully. But he can't do that, his body won't allow that, it doesn't know how, it's been too long. It's fucking perfect. Also, I love how the camera shakes as Pete is giving his monologue, thus subconsciously giving the message that Pete's pretty shaken up right now, if everything else wasn't making it obvious. And then he grabs the knife and the pain multiplies and his face breaks again, way more than before, but the CAMERA IS BLURRED, IT'S NOT SHOWN CLEARLY, not until they show Vegas crying actual tears and apologizing, not until showing Pete's bloody palm.

This is the face we see, after Vegas apologizes:

Now Pete is getting there, the tears are almost spilled, but he's still repressed in his expression of grief and it's glorious because Pete has never experienced these emotions before. Pete has always been passive in his suicidal ideation, he has always let things happen to him that may result in death (a.k.a. his mission for the sake of Porsche) but now he's in such agony that he takes action. And then the scene continues and oh? Are those tears my eyes are seeing?

We got them everybody. After Vegas says, "Don't leave me, I'm begging you," Pete sheds his first tear, and they continue to be shown when Vegas tells him to start over again and Pete is downright offended by the suggestion, as if Vegas means it in a way Pete would want, as if that's even fucking possible for them at all. It's such a spectacular choice editing wise, because I'm pretty confident in my belief that this is from a different take than the other ones before it, due to how suddenly they appear on Pete's face. It fits the scene and the character so well.

Pete is downright sobbing at this point and I'm obsessed with the fact that no more tears are spilled. You can see that throughout the rest of the scene, as well as this moment in which he's breaking down in Vegas' arms after he says he'll remove the handcuff indirectly, while directly asking Pete to promise him he won't leave him.

HOW DO PEOPLE SEE THIS AND THINK BUILD DOESN'T CRY WELL? LOOK AT HIM!!! LOOK AT HOW DEVASTATED HE IS, LOOK AT HOW CONFLICTED HE FEELS ABOUT WHAT HE'S ABOUT TO DO, LOOK AT THE PAIN!!! He doesn't NEED to sob and cry ugly, snotty tears for it to work because that's not who Pete IS. He's not Vegas, he doesn't even allow himself to grieve what he's losing here properly. Have you ever had an instance in which you feel like crying, and you want to cry, but you're so numb that the tears just aren't coming? You're trying to push it out, you're trying super hard to get to the point when you'll be able to break down and seek relief from this crashing feeling in your chest, but your eyes are as dry as the Sahara desert? Well, I feel that this is happening to Pete here, except he doesn't even know it's happening to him. I'm fucking obsessed with this scene, it's my second favorite VP moment after the pill kiss, and one of the main reasons is the one that made me make this post. It's so tragic and beautifully relatable and I love it so, so much. I wanted to analyze all of Pete's crying scenes, but it'll make the post larger than a fucking book at this point, so I'll touch upon the other ones in a different one.

#oh look at that #another Pete meta post by yours truly #How has it almost been a year since I've started this show and I still have so many thoughts about my boy?#Someone explain it to me I don't understand #Whoever criticized Build's acting deserves a boo from me personally #he was *the* best actor in the show and I'm tired of pretending that he wasn't #anyway expect another post about his crying scenes whenever I get the proper brainworms for it #kinnporche the series #vegaspete #pete phongsakorn saengtham

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dreamsofminnie · 11 months

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“Ethereal Paintings”

21~ Stage one denial☔️

Scaramouche x Reader Smau | Word Count: 1.2k

Pounding thumps on the front door were surprisingly nonstop for the past half an hour. Each 15 knocks were different paced every 5 minutes, as if there has been switching the knocker five times. You were glad the door didn’t allow voices to be heard from the other side, only vibrations directly placed on the door itself.

Many “No ones hommee..e…” and “No knocking plea..see.” were mumbled softly from your mouth.

Dinnertime might’ve been over by now. You couldn't tell with how you’ve been practically living on the floor in the main studio area right between the stairs towards your bedroom, and the front door, none which you had energy to get up and go to.

Luckily the kitchen counter was just several scoots away, set with a mini fridge, water boiler and a microwave.

“Refuse contact…don’t want it.”

You didn’t know when the knocks soon dispersed. But you knew they would be back the next day at the same hour.

illumi already gave up on boosting your mood and rather play with the paint brushes that dried up in your spiritless state.

Your large window wall was half covered by the thin blinds, forbidding the blinding and healthy rays of sunshine from entering anywhere near your already damaged and baggy eyes.

To be completely honest; you have only ever showered every two days or even further till you really needed it. Only because it was way too much work to take care of your needs…And all the way upstairs.

Denial was your resistance, the only way you wanted to live at the moment. And the powerlessness in your body is what the effect was.

Even forgetting those online classes you promised to attend, your mind, body and soul were in disarray.

The only routine you held was the mindless paintings you mass-produced over these weeks, as a non-functioning coping mechanism.

And the routine you did when the sky outside the glass walls were dimming, reach for your blanket and pillow, lay on the sofa bed and stare at the paintings for hours till your eyes shut on its own.

That was only day 2 of being exposed to Scaramouche’s crime against you.

The other days weren’t as end-of-the-world-health-threatening.

☔️☔️☔️☔️

Sharp taps on the black table were the only thing heard in the lonely room. The shaking of a leg bouncing up and down began soon after.

Impatient as he is, the impulsive actions he exhibits weren’t half his show of anxiety.

“Lilith” played on his phone clearly describing his inner turmoil with harsh lyrics.

Four grown men sat on the bed behind him in a row on the edge of his bed. Two sat on the floor, well.., one sat and the other was sprawled across the ground.

For the man Scaramouche, aka. Kabukimono, aka. the man who is curling himself into a ball of nerves, was sitting at his computer screen discarding every single A.I.-produced image he ever held—correcting a mistake he should’ve repressed a whole long ago.

A string of curses leaves his soured lips, his eyebrows furrowing even more than possible. “When did I fucking download these onto google drive?!? You bitch!! Prime fucking ass.”

“PFTT!!”

“When was the last time we ever saw i-give-no-fucks-Scara?”

“Just last year. What are you on Venti..” Albedo kicks the one spread across the floor with his criss-cross legs.

“Green tea crepe—cakes!~” Tighnari wanted to step on Venti’s head rolling across the floor, if only he was closer…

“I made that cake for Ayato but you just HAD to get your grubby hands on it.” Tighnari motioned Albedo to kick him again, or to use Venti as a seat instead of the hard floor.

“Mercy–!!!”

Sounds of constant clicking and idle chatter was keeping the room occupied as the only one working hard was deadly silent. Minus the vulgar curses at the poor computer.

Ayato flipped through pages of the stack of documents he fingered through. He was indeed busy but wouldn’t miss this rare one-in-a-lifetime redemption arc in his favorite drama show.

“Kazuha. What do you think about the health department?” He didn’t look up from the papers as Kazuha answered.

“Hm? I think they can do much better.” Kazuha has been assisting Ayato with some of his work since Ayato thought his ideals and views were quite insightful.

“Very good. But I meant health inspectors. There are ones who come to the boba shop and stay long for the knowledge of our traditional japanese cleaning facilities. And now I have 27 health check placks…”

Kazuha laughed at the ridiculousness at the entirety of it. “Maybe just hang them all up to drive away any other incoming health inspector.”

Ayato hummed at that suggestion in agreeance and scribbled onto the documents to save for later. Kazuha points out more points to add.

Kaveh, the one closest to Scara and helping him, leans back on one hand behind him as he scrolls though his phone mindlessly. “Remember to delete those off your twitter. Hmn now the account has no such purpose…best to get rid of it!”

“I know that!!! Shut up!”

“Hey, I'm trying to help!!”

“What help do you provide if you tell me things I am actively conscious of.” He swivels in his chair and violet eyes burn in unbridled anger and pain at Kaveh directly sitting behind him.

A beat of awkward and tense silence fills the dimly lit room.

“Scaramouche. We know you are panicking in trying to scrape up the pieces of your torn relationship—”

Ayato looks up from his papers and tries to catch his glare that only burned straight through Kaveh who avoided his gaze sweating profusely.

“—but that's why we have all managed time here to help you recuperate. And not once have you asked for help. What else would you rather us do here than try and reach to help you.”

Scaramouche darts his eyes to Ayato at the head of his bed. His teeth clenched together. They all knew Scaramouche had too much pride and ego for him to ask for help. Others have to actively put help in front of him for Scara to take it.

The chair swivels back to the desk, stiff and unmoving like the walls Scaramouche has once again built over and over.

His friends behind him internally sigh, they lost Scara to his obstinate personality once again.

“Then help me in another area.”

As unyielding defines his personality Scara doesn’t like his personal affairs meddled in the hands of others– “WHAT!?”

Those words shook everyone who stared at his back with mouths agape and eyes widened.

“Were the crepe cake poisonous??!? Did Scara-dookie ask for help?!?!” Venti jumped up from the floor in a scramble.

“Say that again. I dare you.”

Despite the usual venom, Scaramouche’s hands rested on either side of his drooped head, hiding any peeping views of his expressions.

“I dare you second.” Tighnari knocked Venti’s head at the thought of him thinking his cake could ever be poison, then turned to Scaramouche.

“You mean what to do with Y/n right? Since you got figured out.” They could see the tiniest of nods from his posture.

“Weelll, since she basically exposed your ass with a 5-foot diagram of every opposing thing you’ve ever done to offend her…..you have the slimmest chance of recovery.”

Scaramouche slammed his chair into the desk with how fast he turned around. The desperation and anguish in his face conquered any trace of fear or hesitance in confronting you.

Albedo smirked in attracting his full attention and determination. “But of course, you have much more chances when you have this much support from your friends.”

With everyone’s smiles on him, Scaramouche has never felt this much supportive feelings of warmth.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Synopsis{3}-> Scara decided to stop his a.i art creations when he realized that you are really his fav artist—as long as you were the one to teach him how to paint and draw. Facing multitudes of slip of the tongue from your friends; you figured out that he was your mortal nemesis; hatred brewed and twisted your view on him.

• give it up for Season 3 woooo

• sobssogb the smau is halfway done omngh😱

• proud but sad

//Taglist//

@akagism2 @pokidot @feiherp @kyouzki @rmiyuki @infe-risk0 @sakurapeach @bluebelony @kichiyoshi @mikctp @kur44pika @cupids-chamber @crucnhice @neigesprincess @scaramoo @gojoandelsalovechilde @childeslegstrap @sakiimeo @d4y-dr3am3r @m3gitsune @scarletttcroww @sashiette @beriiov @rizakari @xiaossocksniffer @lxry-chxn @bryai003 @eunchaeluvr @goj0h @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @sketcheeee @ozzierenato @ohmyfinggod @kiyomi-hoku @hutaosbootao @ynverse @featuredtofu @reinoodle @angeilix @yxcade

#genshin fic #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin smau #text fic #genshin impact smau #genshin screenshots #genshin x y/n #genshin scara #scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #scara x y/n #scaramouche x y/n #scara x reader #scaramouche x reader #scara x you #scaramouche x you #scaranation

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pip-n-chips · 5 months

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aa hello this is info about my DoL PC, currently unnamed but their nickname rn is pipsqueak!

it's all going under the cut because it's a lot, may add more to this in the future

nonbinary (they/them) and androgynous, has a vag, flat chest

cute small thing :) 5'0 tall. is often underestimated due to their looks (people think they're an easy target. sometimes the people are right, but that doesn't mean they won't try to put up a fight) not quite scrawny but not visibly strong either

often overestimates how strong they are but they eventually learn pack a mean punch! doesn't use weapons, but would consider brass knuckles if they ever got their hands on one. (note: they're not a skilled fighter by any means. they just do whatever it takes. a lot of the time they don't know when to quit)

very vocal with emotions like anger, but when talking about other genuine emotions, they find difficulty wording and understanding them. more expressive when it comes to people they really like or really hate

usually kind to strangers! you have to get on their bad side

hates hates HATES being seen as weak, often picks fights or tries to be in a position of control, but usually has it taken away anyway. they don't know how to act when control is taken away from them, sometimes they freeze, sometimes they lash out, etc...

tends to do drastic and impulsive things as a result, puts themself in harms way (physical/mentally/emotionally) a lot but wouldn't like... Injure themself directly? but they make a lot of stupid decisions

that being said, they ARE a sadist + masochist,,, so sometimes it's intentional. gives them a thrill

oh also. they bite! they love biting :) good defense, but mainly it's the oral fixation. they like to gnaw on things, they have a nail biting habit. would enjoy sucking stuff too, but most things people put in their mouth will be bitten if they're sober (likes lollipops :D)

sexually repressed, confused, the doctor is working on it though <3

seduction level is so low it's embarrassing LMAO they just Hope it works. doesn't flirt often though due to little interest or loss of words. gets excitable about certain topics though (example: violence)

inexperienced with sex. or er- consensual sex. if they're bested or unable to fight, they usually refuse to cooperate, or if they have to they're very very unhappy. oftentimes, if they're getting fucked, they hide their face because they don't want to be seen like that, also tries to suppress their moans. depends how well it works, but if they end up unable to hide it they make these cute gasps and whimpers <3 squeezes their eyes shut if they're being vocal like that, but tries to keep their eyes open to glare or look away

if they were to have consensual sex they'd have no idea what to fucking do. they don't do oral much because they're always biting, so they'd have no idea how to start and would be super awkward and unsure about it (same goes with other things) (someone would have to teach them hehe)

when they lose their virginity, it hits them HARD. they feel ruined. partially because they're (usually) an initiate at the temple and they feel impure (vague religious guilt eats away at them in the very back of their mind), but it also comes back to their whole thing about control. it's like they lost the one sign that they were doing well at surviving in this fucking town, and now they don't know what to do

has trouble with intimacy, but is an absolute sweetheart if they're broken out of their shell enough (or broken in general dskjfn)! sometimes they get shy,,,

SO FUCKING TOUCH STARVED. GOD. they like headpats/strokes (it makes them weak in the knees. do it when they're vulnerable and they'll lean into it). they also like getting gifts, it's one of their love languages (bribery DOES work on them- works the best if it's not outright stated though)

does... fine in school grades-wise. skips a lot during certain months due to work (or crime) (or they got kidnapped. again.) (etc) they do really wish they were better at it. they catch up a lot in the asylum

despite wanting to be their own person, they still bend to Bailey's will. they work hard for rent and exhaust themself and seethe in silence until they try to take Bailey on (and lose) they have complicated feelings about Bailey

jobs change a lot, but their main one atm is being an office temp! it exhausts them. pulls the fight out of them and they just seethe silently throughout the day. also they keep getting fucking stuck in things and people keep molesting them. they restrain themself

when they get more desperate and tired of it all, they start to do crime. it's what they enjoy the most, money-making wise lol

they try to stick to a schedule, they really do. they need consistent money, and they need education, but it all gets too much and too stale so, again, they get impulsive. the worse their mental health is the more spontaneous they are

ignores their feelings and trauma to power through most of the time, until they reach a breaking point

lies to look better ("i won that fight" "i'm doing well in this class" etc lol)

at school people think they're weird but most stay away due to their combat fame. people love to gang up on them or take advantage when they're trapped though, it's a rare treat :) god forbid they want a blowjob, though...

doesn't have many friends, can count them on one hand. doesn't mind being on their own, though (they do) (they won't admit it)

needs glasses but doesn't wear them (doesn't like 'em. insists they're fine without it), bad enough to give them headaches, but that's probably combined with the side effect from harper's meds. they take separate medication for their headaches

also i dont have an official reference sheet but here's a compilation of what they look like

the tank top and shorts is their default outfit but I'm working on making them wear cuter clothes hehe,,

edit: OH ALSO they have an in-character RP blog but I'm still getting a hang of how they talk, it's @frooty-punch

#dol pc #i guess thats the only tag id use for this post jshaoaja

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little-lily-w · 1 year

Text

Surgery part 5

<<Part 4 You asked for Part 6>>

A/N: My soul left my body

You obeyed with a shaky breath, walking directly to the slaughterhouse. His tilted head was enough of a command for you to move your hands back to the leather cuffs so he could adjust them, meanwhile your mind was trying to connect the dots of the reality you were in. Clearly, you not only surrendered but you also gave him the whole power which meant he would cut the rest of the required bruises and he’d do it fast and mercilessly for the simple sake of ending the game soon.

The amount of sweat in your forehead was increasing to the point that your eyebrows started failing at stopping it from getting into your eyes which every time it did, it made you let out a small whimper. If it wasn’t enough with you being restrained, now you struggled to follow his actions for a few blind seconds. Unnerving.

His hand moved up above your belly and you flinched hard. He disregarded it. Your reflexes were more of the same and in two hours he managed to read you like a map. As long as you didn’t try another stupid idea, you were going to be fine. He let out a light chuckle almost unwillingly. What could you even attempt to do like that? He had calculated every detail in such a clever way that he would have congratulated himself if it weren’t for the fact that this was also more of the same, more of Chishiya’s way of doing things.

“This”, he pointed at your top with his eyes. “It needs to go as well”.

You turned your head to the side, not wanting to listen to him anymore. Embarrassment and anger grew in your stomach. You resented him. And you were sure you were going to resent him even more after he finished, that, if you managed to survive. But you couldn’t play the ignoring game for too long because the feeling of his hand grabbing a fist of the fabric called you back to him.

“What are you doing?”, you asked him with disgust as you saw him place the knife underneath the top to start cutting it down in half. “Chishiya!”, you yelled at him, writhing as much as you could to show your annoyance. “What the fuck?!”, you continued once he pulled the piece of fabric off and you noticed his intention of making it two pieces.

“If I cut you through it, it’s gonna go to waste anyway. This way, it could serve as bandages. Unless, of course, you think it’s a good idea to… cut you through it”.

It was exasperating to hear him explain things like you were three and it was more annoying to see he wasn’t going to continue with the process unless you answered his stupid proposal.

“Do what you want with it. And fuck you, by the way”. You weren’t going to put up with his humiliation any longer.

Your answer surprised him, though, or better say he faked a surprise, arching his eyebrows and giving a step backwards with his hands up as if he was mockingly saying: Hey, I’m sorry. Once you rolled your eyes and sighed, he moved closer again, leaving the now two pieces of fabric next to you on the stretcher. He leaned down and moved the blade to your breast, making contact with the cold steel but you repressed the whimper, eyes fixed on the roof.

“You are not going to look at me?”, he let out and it sort of sounded like a dare. If he was looking to help increasing the amount of irritation you felt inside, he was clearly on the right path.

Your eyes look back into his and miraculously, they didn’t resemble the scared animal part of you.

“Are you enjoying this, Chishiya? You get off on having people feeling stupid before you?”

He chuckled ever so softly that the air from his nose tickled your breastbone. Your toes curled.

Then he slid the edge down the upper curve of your left breast, stopping once he reached the middle string of your bikini. You whined, pulling uselessly from the restrains as he moved to your other breast.

“No, I’m not”, he then replied. “If there was a way for us to come out alive without doing this, I’d choose it. I wouldn’t have to put up with the whining”.

Of course. The little shit wouldn’t choose it out of not inflicting pain on you but rather to lessen his unfortunate discomfort.

“As for your second question”, he paused to do the same exact cut on the other side. The blooddrops ran down to stain the bikini which successfully absorbed them. Your breathing became faster, muscles contracting hard to bear the burning. “People feeling stupid because I’m clever is just a reaction. I have no control over it so I can’t be accused of getting off on something that escapes my grip”.

You wanted to roll your eyes again but his fingers lay softly under your jaw before you did so. Not this time, little mouse. You looked at him with questioning annoyed eyes, clearly regretting your silly display of attitude a second later: “Why so intrigued about what gets me off?”

Chishiya tilted your jaw slightly upwards, exposing your neck and as soon as you realized what he was doing, you attempted to squirm again, your chin desperately making friction against his grip which became significantly firmer. “Sh”, he scolded you, as your breathing escalated again, this time hyperventilating without the help of his hand. You looked around the room, not really focusing on anything while your feet tried to kick air before he finally put an end to your futile attempts of escaping with a sudden strong pull from your chin to center your head again. “Calm down. It’ll hurt but I’m not going to kill you. It’s about trust, remember?” he used that exasperating tone again for explaining the last phrase.

“Chishiya, please…!”, you begged, panic about to take whole control over you if he wasn’t actually making it compete with the anger.

“Sh”, he hushed you again. “You need to stay very very still. Otherwise, it’ll go wrong.”

“How do you expect me to stay still?”, you sobbed, tears about to spill from your eyes.

“You’ll figure it out. Maybe by thinking about the answer to my question”, he smirked. It wasn’t the place and for sure not the right time to do so but he still had the nerve of smirking before sliding the blade down one side of your throat. What you didn’t quite catch was the fact that he was actually studying your neck dead seriously, in order to avoid crossing the path of your jugular. And because of that, as soon as your lips parted open to scream in pain, his hand flew to your mouth with no delicacy for you to growl into his palm so you kept your head still. The second cut was fucking harder for him. He didn’t make any gesture for you to realize about it, but the way your cervical trembled in anticipation after the pain you experienced before wasn’t offering a stable region. He huffed, letting go of your mouth without actually cutting, allowing you to breathe better. You looked at him in fear and bewilderment as he stood straight.

“You don’t want the taser gun but I can’t do it if you are trembling like this”.

“No!”, you hurried to say at the mention of the fucking gun. “I’m sorry. It just… It burns”, you let out as an excuse for your behavior.

The game voice sounded again announcing the time that was left in the countdown. Chishiya leaned down again over you, his hand barely coming in contact with the back of your head, getting in the space between it and the stretcher. You flinched as he moved closer and closer to your neck but him blowing cold air over the fresh wound wasn’t something you were prepared to react to. “And the answer?” he asked gently, blowing again, making you freeze.

A/N: Do I continue this or are we good?

#chishiya x reader #chishiya x you #chishiya fic #chishiya #chishiya fanfic #chishiya fanfiction #alice in borderland #alice in borderland 2 #aib #aib2

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redcr9ssnine · 3 months

Text

i do think kankris definition of "trigger" is pretty deeply distorted, i don't think he realizes it's a PTSD/mental health term. considering how anti-negativity beforus is, and also that highbloods are expected to constantly coddle anyone below them both in a systematic sense and in a social coddling silly sense while also being forced to repress any actual anger they may be feeling, i can see "trigger" meaning two different things on beforus (that parallel how they're seen in real life, which is the purpose of beforus in the first place)

Something that deeply deeply upsets a lowerblood troll and sends them into a tantrum that needs to be coddled, typically used in a sense of "oh don't trigger him, i don't want to deal with it." and seen as a sort of ridiculous oversensitivity towards something in lowbloods.

Something that sends a highblood into an improper explosion or negative mindset that can make them more probable to lash out or less likely to coddle those below them and do something violent instead. This is typically seen with more importance because the highbloods can actually do something about it beyond having a "Fit" but it also drastically effects their social credit; it is embarrassing and taboo to have a tantrum as a highblood.

I believe this is why Kankri brings up the slur discourse in regards to Mituna calling Meenah a wader despite it being a class based insult specifically punching upwards. In my interpretation at least, Kankri isn't so much telling Mituna off for hurting the feelings of Meenah, but is telling him off for not being MINDFUL of Meenahs feelings, which could have lead to an undesirable situation if she were triggered. It's his way of warning Mituna to watch his tongue around someone of power, and also why he gets so frustrated when Mituna absolutely refuses to listen.

I think he puts stake into both definitions. He cares for lowbloods who have triggers because he is constantly constantly being categorized as overly sensitive, whiney, and unpleasant for trying to communicate his needs. But due to the fact that he's a red blood and EVERYONES higher than him, he still sees them that way, and has a hard time relating to any of them or wanting to give them his sympathies. Again, Mituna for example, he cares a lot less about triggering Mituna because... Mituna is Mituna. He literally has no power to do anything about it TOWARDS Kankri, but also, Kankri still views him as higher and more privileged than he is, and gets deeply frustrated at Mitunas lack of social graces to keep himself safe, as well as Mitunas refusal to HIDE how disabled he is. He thinks it's pretty insulting that Mituna is implying that anyone cullable or disabled should be THAT incapable of taking care of themselves. (masked autism vs unmasked autism)

But I also think he cares a LOT about triggering highbloods specifically because it can directly impact his safety, and even if he himself has never experienced intense violence due to this (or at least if he has, it was very infrequent) he has constant visions of it through the signless and it fucking terrifies him. He cares a lot about not triggering anyone he thinks could drastically hurt him or impact his life in any way because he thinks if they're triggered they have the full right to do anything to him back in their emotional state. Which I believe is also a mindset encouraged on Beforus.

this is all just high edible ramblings. my point is i think beforus believes that highbloods should have their asses pat so they don't explode and kill everyone, and lowbloods should be placid and have everything done for them because theyre sooooo cute and sooooo helpless and soooooooo stupid. and while kankri doesnt agree with these mindsets he definitely interacts with the world through the lense of beforan politics, assuming everybody else does too. he thinks everybody has the same context that he does, and he doesn't understand that he actaully lacks a signifigant amount of knowledge and perspective

#ooc #[headcanon #((sorry this was initially going to be a small thing ab triggers nad became kankri analysis))

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stars-of-kyber · 19 days

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I would love to hear your opinion about S3 !!1

Ooooooh girl! I have so many feelings here... This might get long, beware

Overall, I enjoyed this first part quite well.

I like how faithful some moments are to the book, although Colin's book is tied with Ben's as my least favourite and it was the one which took me the longest to read. I liked the Proposal, bc that's a scene I really like from the book and Colin's journals. I also like the glimpse of Colin's repressed anger.

I feel like the show could have mixed the Whistledown issue more with this first part. I felt like it was very separate. First, we deal with the love story, and then we bring the whole LW x Queen thing. The book actually starts with Lady D announcing she'd offer a reward for the person who gave her LW's identity. It didn't bother me that much during the episodes, but when the 1st part ended, it kinda gave me a feeling of... completion? Yeah, okay, we had the issue, we worked it out, the couple is together, we'll have a pretty epilogue moment and then yay. I know it's not just that bc I read the books, but even so it gave me that feeling. I don't know if splitting in two was a good plot device here, because the cliffhanger is... not actually a cliffhanger? There's nothing that makes us hold our breaths wondering what's coming next but that little trailer in the end. If it was me (not a professional obvs) I would either not have split this at all, or end the first part with Colin finding out Pen was LW. THAT would have been a cliffhanger worth holding your breath.

Particularly (Please don't come at me for that people), I don't feel the chemistry between the two of them, which is a bit sad. They were there, staring at each other about to kiss and I didn't feel that OH MY GOD YES KISS! They fell a bit flat for me, chemistry-wise. But again, I felt the same with the two of them the previous seasons so no big surprise here.

The Kathony, tho. God I love them. I want more of them. I need it. (I honestly think they were kept away from this beginning due to managing their schedules with other projects) But we'll see them in the next part being horny lovebirds together.

I really REALLY liked the sideplots too! Unlike season two and that god-forsaken annoying Eloise x Theo thing and Cousin Jack side-plots, I actually enjoyed the stories that were going around. I liked the Moldriches; I had some good laughs with Portia struggling with her daughters and sex ed;

Kudos to Lord Debling. I really liked him as a character and his interest in Penelope was nice to watch.

OH MY GOD FRANNIE AND JOHN! SUCH BABIES I LOVE THEM SO MUCH! NETFLIX PLEASE DON'T DO THIS TO ME, MY POOR HEART CAN'T TAKE IT! DON'T MAKE ME LOVE JOHN JUST TO WATCH HIM DIE PAINFULLY! (Also please can we get a bit of a shout-out for our baby boy Michael in part 2? Thanks)

The most surprising of all, I actually LIKED the Eloise and Cressida side plot, which I was really not expecting. I like the way Cressida is presented, not an angel but also not super bad. And I love that she managed to give Eloise some very important call-outs and threw some truths in her face that she desperately needed to hear and no one else had done in the previous seasons (at least not so directly).

A little hurray to baby Greg and Hyacinth being the most adorable little pre-teens god they are so big, I can't! I love them so much.

Also, I had quite a lot of fun with Benedict, especially him being called out by Lady Tilly for the EXACT same reason he was having a laugh at Anthony last season. I absolutely loved that one. And I want to know what's the deal with Lady Danbury's bro.

I didn't particularly care for the music in it as a whole BUT I have to say this: I did NOT expect Pitbull's Give Me Everything would work SO DAMN WELL SERIOUSLY I LOVED IT! I saw it on the setlist and I was like Oh my god grab somebody sexy tell them hey! How is this going to work? And IT DID! I VIBED SO HARD WITH IT! Seriously did not see THAT ONE coming.

I have ticked off 9 of my bingo predictions! Unfortunately, as we know, Anthony's butt in ep 1 was not one of that (so so so sad) Colin being chased by a duck was neither, which makes me really upset BUT we still have another 4 eps to go 🦆 (I know, I know, let me dream, leave me be).

I'll be watching it again later today with my mum, maybe tomorrow again with my Frannie. (ADHD hyper fixation yeah I know).

As I said, it had its ups and downs but overall I liked it very much. I can't wait for the next part.

#asks #bridgerton #Season 3 Spoilers #Season 3 opinions #kathony #liliesofathony

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mangomonk · 7 months

Text

heart on/under your sleeve

↳ summary: his monk throws herself into one too many battles, but astarion, in his anger, doesn't realize that most of them are for him. (alternatively, astarion learns that he can't always hide his heart under barbed words, as much as he tries.) ↳ content: blood drinking, named tav, astarion is a little mean and very emotionally repressed, act 1 plot mentioned ↳ a/n: without shame, i love ur comments and reblogs so if you like this, please consider! cross posted on ao3

Entering the spider’s cavern under the Blighted Village had been an absolute and unnecessary failure, Astarion thought furiously as he scraped off the last of the spiderwebs entangled to his clothes. They had been lucky enough to have been mostly out of range for the spider matriarch’s poison sprays, though as he whirled around to glare at the party, the image of Xuan ducking to get closer to the spider matriarch flashed in his mind.

If he had fed recently, his blood would have been boiling.

“That was the most idiotic thing you could have done,” he snapped, rounding upon the monk. She was tearing the tattered sleeves off of her monk robes where the spider poison had made contact. The sight only made him angrier. “And that’s saying something after being dragged into all your little heroic quests for all these strangers.”

“I wanted to do good—” Xuan protested weakly, but Astarion barked out a sharp laugh.

“Good? Good?” He spat, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. The image of her running headlong into the battle — a battle to save strangers, no doubt — only spurred on his panicked fury. How could she be so foolish? To risk her life for some passerby on the road? Didn’t they have enough problems as it was? “At best, the only good you’ve done is been a carnal distraction to our impending death. A wonderful distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. If we don’t find a cure—”

He would have continued, but the silence from the others made him pause. And when there was no angry or sharp retort from Xuan, Astarion paused for a beat longer, turning fully now to look at her.

To his horror, the monk — his strong-willed, stubborn monk that rushed into battle with the most stoic of expressions — seemed to wilt a little as she turned her face downwards, her brow knitting together as she blinked rapidly at the ground. The fabric that she had been ripping hung limply in her hands.

He wanted to take her by the shoulders and give her a good shake. Didn’t she know it was folly, that it was pathetic, to have her heart so visible, he wanted to scream as he watched her expression crumple. Instead, Astarion stared at her, stricken and unsettled as his anger quickly melted into a growing unease.

Eventually, Karlach let out a disgusted sigh, breaking the thick silence.

“What?” He snarled, desperately barbing himself in his anger so he didn’t have to think too hard about the poignant hurt on her face. “Am I wrong? What good is it to blindly throw yourself into a pit of spiders? What if something happened to y—” Astarion cut himself off sharply from that thought to rapidly pivot. “What if something happened to us after you dragged us into your little heroics? Are you going to take responsibility for playing the hero?”

She let out a laugh, but it sounded a little wet. Something in Astarion’s chest seized uncomfortably. “You’re right,” she said, her voice forcibly airy as she cleared her throat. The residue of her hurt was clear enough on her face that Astarion had a difficult time looking directly at her. Not that she was looking at him anymore. “I’m sorry everyone for dragging you into all these tasks, I won’t ask that of anyone again,” she said. The worse part, Astarion realized, was that she meant it. “Um,” she began, rummaging through her pack, her face downturned away from him. “Here. For the book,” she said choppily, thrusting a purple stone into his hands. It took him a moment to recognize it as the amethyst she had picked up in the spider’s lair.

Astarion held it in his hands dumbly, his words caught in his throat and his anger rapidly waning. “Xuan— I—” he began as he reached out to her, not knowing where his words or his hands were going.

Fortunately — or rather, unfortunately — for him, it didn’t matter that he didn’t know where they were going, because before he could finish his sentence or touch her, she recoiled back, her expression finally shuttering close.

“I’ll head back to camp first.”

— — — — —

A soft rustling outside his tent. Astarion recognized those footfalls anywhere, but before he could speak up, a gentle rasp against one of the wooden poles holding up his tent. “Astarion?”

He surged to his feet so quickly that the unopened Book of Necromancy in his lap clattered to the ground with a thud. He carded a hand through his hair swiftly as he cleared his throat, “Yes?” The tent flap opened just enough for him to see her. “What can I do for you, darling?” Inwardly, he grimaced at the eagerness in his voice.

With her backlit by the campfire, it was difficult to see her face properly. “It’s been a few days,” she said quietly, still standing outside his tent.

A tremble of something akin to hope stirred in his chest. They hadn’t properly spoken in days now. It was starting to drive him a little mad. And though he had suspected that his long term plans of manipulating her into protection were over, he had spent the better parts of the past few nights wracking his brain on ways to salvage it. To save his plan, of course, was the only reason why he continued to think about it. Maybe they were still salvageable. Perhaps she was there for an apology, one that he wouldn’t mind giving if it meant that there was still a chance for him.

Astarion opened his mouth quickly, eagerly, when she continued, “You can feed on me tonight, if you’d like.”

Oh. So that was why she was here. He closed his mouth, ignoring the crumbling sense of disappointment. What reason was there for him to feel dismay? This was the best possible outcome, he told himself. He didn’t need to apologize or do anything to salvage their relationship or his plan and the foolish monk would still give him sustenance.

So why did he feel so wretched?

“Oh,” Astarion said glumly, before catching himself and drawing his posture straight. His delighted smirk came to him with more resistance than normal as he beckoned her in. “You already know that I’d love to if you’re offering.”

Xuan didn’t respond as she stepped into his tent carefully, closing the flap behind her. He watched as she settled quickly on the floor. Astarion followed, dropping to kneel next to her. She smelled intoxicating over the cheap jasmine scent of the rubbish soap she had bartered from the trader. He swallowed thickly as she swept her hair back from the nape of her neck. Though he had seen her do it countless times now, he still felt something deep within him warm and thrum.

Astarion leaned in before pausing, waiting for her to grasp at his shoulders or his arms to brace for the sting. Only, she sat perfectly still and stiff as he leaned closer, her hands still clasped tightly in her lap. He waited for a moment longer before she cleared her throat expectantly. “Is something wrong?”

Astarion blinked down at her, fangs still out as he tried to give a reassuring smirk though he knew she couldn’t see it anyways. Maybe it was more for him. “No, of course not, sweetheart.” Swallowing the feeling of unease, he closed the distance between them and pierced her skin.

He was careful this time to keep count of his gulps despite the haze that rapidly surrounded him at the taste of her blood. Even around his hunger and daze, he could feel how she stiffened in his hands and never quite relaxed. After the seventh gulp of her blood, Astarion drew back, licking at his lips. He raised his arms preemptively to bracket around her shoulders, expecting her to droop a little against him as she always did after the blood loss, but before he could properly hold her, she lurched to her feet stiffly, pale-faced and wobbling. “Darling? You’re going to hurt yourself—” he began, alarmed as he rose to his feet after her, his hand reaching out to support her.

But again, before he could properly touch her, Xuan flinched back from his hand. Astarion felt something in him twist violently as she took another staggering step backwards. He realized then, belatedly, that she wasn’t properly looking at him, her expression shuttered close. “Find me whenever you’re hungry,” she said, voice as formal and stiff as when he had first met her. The perfect image of an impartial monk.

“You’re not going to stay?” He blurted, disbelieving as he lurched after her. He felt as though she had clubbed him over the head. He knew he had upset her, but he figured… since she came to offer him her blood, that maybe it was all sorted out now. That they would return to before, when she would lean against him for a few wonderful moments to recover, when they’d talk about nothing in particular in low murmurs. Maybe steal a few kisses.

She paused outside his tent. “Is there any reason to?”

Astarion felt a little ill. So he fell back into the persona he knew best, letting his face relax and eyes go half-lidded in the way he knew made her blush. Only, she was still not quite looking at him. “Oh, I can think of several reasons to stay,” he purred. “Pleasure. Yours. Mine. Our collective ecstasy.” He was rambling now, though he was sure she wouldn’t be able to tell past the smooth honey of his words. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me?”

Finally, she looked at him. Astarion froze. She looked so terribly resigned, her shoulders set. “No, that’s not what I want,” she said softly, her voice distant as she looked away from him again. “And even if it was, you made it perfectly clear that it was a distraction. Good night, Astarion.”

For the first time ever since he’s gotten the tadpole in his brain, Astarion felt an emotion he knew too well. He felt miserable.

— — — — —

When he emerged from his tent the next morning, after a long night of trying not to repeat her words, Astarion was met with an unsettling silence. The others had already awoken, but they were milling around nervously. He frowned at the tension as he took a mental headcount. Their party that did most of the heavy lifting outside of camp seemed to be gone. “Where did the others go?” He asked, his question directed to Gale, who was putting salve on a new injury that had been keeping him at camp recently.

The wizard hesitated, seemingly not quite able to look him in the eye. “They left at dawn,” he said reluctantly. “Well, she was going to go by herself but Wyll caught her sneaking out,” Gale said pointedly, giving him as much of a glare as he was capable of. “The others insisted on going, in case you were wondering.”

“All of them?” Astarion pressed impatiently, looking around camp again. Xuan, Halsin, Wyll, and Karlach were indeed gone. He ignored the sharp twist of hurt in his gut at being left behind. Halsin? She took the bulking druid over him? He knew for a fact that the bear of a druid wouldn’t be able to sneak anywhere.

“She said something about monster hunter by a hag’s den—”

A cold jolt ran through Astarion as he stiffened. “Where is the hag’s den?” He demanded, already reaching for his pack and crossbow.

“You made it rather clear that you didn’t approve of activities unrelated to the tadpoles, spawn,” Lae’zel said from behind him.

To everyone’s surprise, he ignored Lae’zel’s jab as he towered over the wizard. “Where is the hag’s den?”

— — — — —

Astarion ran like he had never ran before. Past the Emerald Grove Environs, past the Blighted Village, straight to the Putrid Bogs. It was fortunate he didn’t need to breathe as a spawn because he was sure he would have collapsed on the ground by then.

When he rounded the bend of the Riverside Teahouse that Gale had marked on his map, the sight made his already-cold blood run colder.

“What’s wrong? Where are you hurt?” Astarion demanded as he neared the party, his eyes tracking over her limbs to make sure they were intact. Her face was deathly pale, a thin sheen of sweat across her brow. She was clutching at her stomach as she leaned heavily against Wyll. Astarion stared intently at where she was holding, but there didn’t seem to be any blood or gaping wound on her torso.

“Astarion? What are you doing here?”

“Give her to me,” Astarion snapped at Wyll, reaching forward to grasp at her shoulders carefully before the tiefling could argue. “Where are you hurt?” He asked again, running his hands carefully down her limbs again, just to make sure. “Was it an arrow?” She always left her left flank open — that’s where Astarion normally stood. Gods damn it, he cursed inwardly, taking in the cut on her cheek. He should’ve told the others to fill in her left flank.

She shied away from his grasp, but Astarion kept a firm hold on her. “Astarion, I’m fine,” she began unconvincingly.

He swallowed back his growing panic and bent at the waist, looping one arm swiftly under her knees, the other behind her back to carry her bridal-style. At his lift, she yelped in surprise, but before she could argue, Astarion moved forward, not bothering to see if the others were following. “Shadowheart can heal you back at camp.”

“Astarion, I’m fine. Put me down,” she demanded. When he didn’t pause, she continued. “I didn’t get hurt, I just… I just ate a bad apple.”

Astarion stopped mid-step. “A bad apple,” he repeated.

“Yeah, we found a few in the crates by the den and I…” she trailed off, clearly embarrassed.

“Non-vampires,” Astarion huffed under his breath, feeling his panic begin to ebb away slowly. He almost laughed at how ridiculous the situation was. “—always going around and eating the first thing they see.”

“My blood will be fine in a few hours if that’s why you came—”

A sharp twinge in his chest. He ignored it. “That’s not why I came.”

“So can you put me down now?”

Right. He was still carrying her against his chest. She was so wonderfully, terribly warm. It felt like he was holding the sun against his chest. But it wasn’t until he was holding her that he realized how terribly fragile she seemed. Dimly, he wished she was part-orc. If she was going to be such a stubborn monk and not use armor, how could she be so flimsy? “No, I don’t want to,” he said mulishly, resuming his walking.

“But I’m fine, really, nothing a little rest can’t fix up later—”

“Then rest now,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“I’m getting blood on your tunic.”

“A waste.”

To his satisfaction, she fell silent as he continued walking, though he could practically hear her unhappiness. “So why did you come, Astarion?”

Astarion thought he would never tire of hearing his name from her. After 200 years under Cazador, he had gotten too used to being referred to only as spawn or worse names. He kept his voice level as he trudged forward, careful not to step on any uneven parts of the path. “The wizard said you found a monster hunter.”

He felt her stiffen in his arms as she tried to straighten out of them. “He was looking for you. Sent by someone in Baldur’s Gate.”

Astarion ignored the chill that ran down his spine. “I know.”

She wriggled a little more, clearly trying to see his expression, but Astarion kept his attention forward steadfastly. “I didn’t say anything about you, if that’s why you came,” she said, almost indignantly. She was practically bristling in his arms. “I would never give you up.”

Astarion ignored the warmth that spread in his chest. “I know.”

She didn’t seem to hear him as she continued, her voice rising in anger. He would never admit it, but he was relieved to see that she was angry — even if it was at him — rather than that awful distant formality that’s been between them. “I would never,” she said again bitterly, working herself into a little tiff. “I know you see me as just a distraction, that you think that I’m just… just—”

“You always keep your left flank open.”

“I always keep my left flank open,” she parroted instantly, before pausing in clear disbelief. Then she bristled. “I always keep my left flank open? So now you have no faith in my fighting either—”

“You always keep your left flank open.” Astarion said again, swallowing thickly. To cover it up, he sighed, as if she was being unbearably daft. “That’s why I came.” She fell silent and Astarion found it unsettling enough that he continued onwards, his tone growing more dramatic the more nervous he grew. “Because who else is there to fill in your left flank? The gods know that with Halsin as hulking as he is, he’d probably stumble over his feet and crush you. I doubt he has the dexterity to fill in your left flank if the situation calls for it. ”

“And you think you’re the better option to fill it?”

Astarion’s irritation flared. “Of course,” he snapped sharply before forcing his shoulders to relax. He took a slow breath. “I guarantee you that none of our other companions have as keen a sense as to when you’re going to rashly throw yourself into the path of a goblin. No one else is paying nearly enough attention, of course.” She was silent again at this, and Astarion couldn’t help but continue as he began to work himself into an indignant sort of vexation. “Speaking of keeping your left flank open, you also really ought to not carry your heart so openly on your sleeve,” Astarion berated. “The wrong person might come by and use it against you and… and…”

“And?”

“And it’s unpleasant to see!” He blurted, chest heaving now. He clamped his mouth shut much too late, mortification coiling through his body. She also fell silent, his mismatched words undoubtedly playing through her head.

When she finally spoke up again, Astarion nearly dropped her. “You know, if you were concerned about me, you should have just said so from the start.”

He closed his eyes, willing for patience. “Was it not clear enough from the start? Anyone with two eyes would be concerned about a naive monk rushing headlong into battle,” he muttered irritably to the air.

Her voice turned solemn. “I can’t keep up with you, Astarion,” she said softly, sounding glum. “You do things like this that make me think that maybe, just maybe, you care for me. And then you go about with the most cutting words to say that I’m a distraction.”

She was already ignoring his lecture about not wearing her heart on her sleeve. Something deep in Astarion’s chest throbbed painfully, the ghost of a heartbeat. “Yes, well, it’s entirely possible you’re a distraction because I’ve grown to care for you,” he said stiffly. It’s perhaps the most honest he’s been with her and it’s an entirely uncomfortable feeling. It was an awful feeling, entirely disgusting, he thought. Astarion fought the urge to flee. “I’m putting you down now.”

“No, I don’t want to,” she said mulishly, parroting him earlier smugly. His chest tightened when he felt her tuck her head against his shoulder, her fingers grasping at the collar of his shirt. Astarion stilled instantly, any thoughts of putting her down quickly disarmed. If this was what he got for being honest, maybe he would consider it. At this proximity, he could smell that awful jasmine scent she seemed to love. He really needed to steal her some fragrance oils the next time they came across a trader. He started walking again, belatedly realizing that he had already lost the battle he had inadvertently started.

Gods, help me, he thought as he tightened his grasp around his little sun.

— — — — —

my masterlist

a/n: if u liked this, i would love to read ur thoughts tee hee it's always honestly a giant encouragement to write more when i read everyone's comments!

#astarion x tav #astarion x oc #astarion x original female character #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate astarion #astarion #bg3 tav #bg3 oc #named tav #baldur's gate 3 #my tav

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literallyjustanerd · 6 months

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Disparate Hearts (Herahsoka angst)

Ahsoka Tano deserves to be bisexual. That is all.

Summary: What she and Hera have, it’s not about feelings. It can’t be. Still, despite all her Jedi training in emotional repression, she can’t help how she feels when they’re together. The headrush she gets when she undresses Hera, or the catch in her throat when Hera laughs into the crook of her neck. Life is never easy in the Rebellion. Throw in some complicated feelings and a messy friends-with-benefits situation, and it's downright unbearable.

Word count: 2,628

Hera had come to her again last night. As always, Ahsoka had felt her before she’d seen her. Her presence blossoming in the Force at the edge of her awareness, a breeze on a summer’s day, bright, strong and clean, moments before the knock at her door. Still elbow-deep in wiring trying to repair her navicomputer, Ahsoka had opened the door with a flick of her wrist. Neither of them spoke as Hera crossed the cockpit, a familiar look in her eye. Ahsoka paused, then let go of her work. Hera had kneeled down beside Ahsoka, and the two of them locked eyes for only a fleeting, pregnant moment before Hera had leaned forward and pressed her mouth to Ahsoka’s.

Tonight, Ahsoka’s limbs feel like malfunctioning circuit boards. Heavy, stiff, lagging. Blood sluggish through her veins, yet restless and twitchy all the same. She shifts again, adjusting her meditation stance, but still she cannot get comfortable. The long journey to Hoth has left her drained, and knocked her sleep cycle out of rhythm. No matter how she tries, the peaceful fog of meditation eludes her. An exasperated sigh pinches her shoulders high. Master Obi-Wan would have reprimanded her for that, for allowing her frustration to overcome her to the point of physical expression.

Master Obi-Wan isn’t there.

Giving up for the night (or morning? She hasn’t yet adjusted her chronometers to Hoth’s time cycle) she rises on protesting legs and trudges to the kitchenette. She doesn’t know what she’s come for until she’s opening the cupboard door. At the back of her pantry, behind her waning rations, there’s a small, metal tin. A modest coating of dust obscures the planetary crest on its lid. Ahsoka leaves the dust undisturbed as she opens the tin and scoops out the tea leaves inside. Just enough left to brew a single cup.

They’ve never talked about it. Ahsoka thinks that might be for the best. She’s convinced herself of it, anyway. She would rather not entertain the nagging thought that things are just easier when she and Hera both pretend there’s nothing there to talk about at all. It’s easy enough to ignore, most of the time, with everything else they have to occupy them. Ahsoka turns her head down to the countertop to see two empty glasses, still with fingerprints and blood-dark droplets haunting the rims.

She looks away.

They had always been friends. Or as close to friends as their circumstances would allow, while Ahsoka was working under the Fulcrum alias and Hera had her hands full trying to run a rebel cell and raise two teenagers at the same time. They’d grown closer once Ahsoka had begun to shed the cocoon of her anonymity and join the fight more directly. Closer still after Lothal. Hell, Hera had asked Ahsoka to be with her when Jacen was born.

Steam billows upward to warm her breath as she pours the boiling water. From the corner of her eye, Ahsoka catches sight of a hickey on the ridge of her collarbone.

Closer. Too close? Not close enough.

Hoth is a miserable place for the rebellion to have moved. Ahsoka wraps both hands around the cup of tea, trying to stave off the chill that turns her fingers clumsy. The first sip goes down smooth, though she chokes on the memory it brings up. Gingerly, she reaches down to thumb away the dust on the tin, chest seizing with a dozen unbidden emotions at the words underneath.

Raada Farming Alliance.

There was a time, brief as it was, that Ahsoka drank this tea daily. Its deep, earthy flavour brings her gasping and thrashing back, nineteen years and a lifetime ago. A child, directionless and afraid, her days spent looking over her shoulder and reaching desperately at the past. Until she’d arrived on Raada, and a girl with a smart mouth and a defiantly gentle heart had dragged Ahsoka kicking and screaming back into life. Had slowly but surely turned Ahsoka Tano from a barely-surviving shell into someone who rose in the morning to stretch and make tea before starting the day.

The Empire had still come for them, of course. Raada had rotted from the inside out under its grip, and Kaeden had lost friends, family, along with her home. The evacuation had cost them dearly. Still, after Kaeden and her sister had been brought to Alderaan, she had found it in herself to send Ahsoka off with a parting gift - her favourite tea, grown on the farming planet before its soil had turned to sand and its people reduced to refugees.

“It won’t spoil, even if you forget about it,” she had said, as though she were speaking about something entirely different. Ahsoka didn’t know how she could keep talking at all through the electric shock where their hands touched. “It’s good now, but it only gets better with time.” Ahsoka knows now that she had wasted an opportunity that day. Like a thousand more in the months before their farewell. Kaeden’s words to her on the day she’d been rescued from the Imperial compound are seared into Ahsoka’s mind, even all these years later.

“I could kiss you.”

The stifling, paralysing fear she had felt in that moment was not new to her. She had felt it before, whenever Bariss had sat too close to her in lessons at the Temple. And she had felt it since, on the night Hera had first kissed her. Wine-drunk and feeling far younger than her years, the two of them swapping stories under the stars on Yavin IV. Hera’s eyes catching starlight, her fingers combing soft through grass. The feeling of want like great waves crashing against a cliff of can’t. Or shouldn’t.

But Hera had. She’d bridged that gap, and pulled Ahsoka across with her when she laced their fingers together and cupped a hand on her cheek. And like watching a comet dissolve into stardust, that fear had changed, turned to something greater. Something even more disorienting.

She had felt that before, as well. For a brief, beautiful moment all those years ago, Kaeden Larte, with her loud, singing laugh and hearthfire smile, had felt like that. She had felt like home.

And… Hera?

Ahsoka sips from her cup of bittersweet memories and lets her gaze wander to her bunk, eyes tracing the folds of the mussed, untidy sheets. She feels phantom breath on her neck, slow and even from sleep, and she steels herself against it. Her throat burns when she swallows down unsaid words, sticking like nettles in her throat. Whatever it is she and Hera have, it’s not about feelings. It can’t be. To break the silent pact the two of them have made now would be taboo.

Still, despite her Jedi training leaving her perfectly adept at emotional repression, she can’t help how she feels when they’re together. Can’t help the headrush she gets when she undresses Hera in her bunk, or the catch in her throat when Hera laughs into the crook of her neck.

She can’t help how she feels when she hears Hera sigh Kanan’s name as she reaches for Ahsoka in her sleep.

Stifling a groan, Ahsoka presses the heel of her hand to her temple. Even with the meagre warmth of the tea in her stomach, there’s no point trying to sleep, or even to train or meditate. Ahsoka throws on an overcoat, pulling the hood low over her montrals, and braces against the biting chill outside. Even through the hangar door, she can hear the wind howling like a swarm of Umbaran banshees, as unnerving as it is annoying. She’ll be glad when her business here is finished and she can get out as quickly as she’d arrived. It’s dark, the base lit only by the barest utility lighting. Just enough for the skeleton crew on night shift to work by. It reminds her of being aboard the Resolute, on the nights where her nightmares kept her from sleep and she would wander the halls aimlessly. At least back then, she would always eventually find her way to one clone trooper or another who was willing to indulge her with company and conversation, and not reprimand her for being out of her bunk past curfew. What she wouldn’t give right now, to find Rex on the bridge, or Fives and Echo in the armoury, or Kix in the medbay. Her memories begin to sour, as they always do when she lingers too long on the clones, and she looks quickly for something to fill the space.

Senator Organa is still expecting a report on her last operation. Hardly urgent, but it will suffice as a distraction. Her mind will be easily occupied enough trying to decide how much to divulge in her report, and which parts she will need to strategically leave out. The Hidden Path had to remain more than just a name, by necessity. Bail’s resources and connections were immeasurably helpful, but for now it’s still best if he doesn’t know all the details. Discretion is a virtue in these times.

Hera knew nothing of her activities outside of rebel command. Perhaps Ahsoka might feel guilty about that, if she wasn’t sure that Hera kept her just as far in the dark. It’s a given part of the strange, fragile dance they have fallen into. Both of them have secrets, neither knows the full extent of the other’s activities, yet they trust each other anyway. By choice, by ignoring every impulse to the contrary. By keeping themselves busy with things other than asking questions. It’s better this way, Ahsoka tries to remind herself. Better, safer to keep some distance. The thought rings just as hollow as it always does.

On the far side of the bleak, dim cavern, the makeshift comms centre stands, little more than a barely-insulated tent, some scrappy chairs and whatever long-range comm devices aren’t entirely broken down. Ahsoka expects it to be empty at this time, but to her surprise there is light leaking through the cracks in the tent. In the corner, bleary-eyed and hunched over a desk, Captain Alexsandr Kallus taps methodically at a datapad, blond hair falling in strands into his face, turned pale blue in the sickly neon light. In only a moment Ahsoka decides to enter anyway. She knows Kallus, in a roundabout way. Her successor as Fulcrum, an Empire defector. Not the kind who will bother her with questions or small talk. He doesn’t look up until Ahsoka sits at a few spaces down from him, the chair’s creaking protests bringing him out of his trance. “Workaholic,” Ahsoka smirks, with no real venom behind the word. The corner of Kallus’ mouth twitches, one eyebrow raising a half inch. As close to a smile as anyone could get from him. “Or,” he counters, “I’m the only one here willing to actually get anything done."

Nothing more is said. Nothing more needs to be said. Ahsoka sets up her own datapad and opens her unfinished report. They work in companionable silence for a time, and the quiet monotony gradually begins to ease the tension in Ahsoka’s chest. Soon enough, her mind feels closer to her own grasp once more. When Kallus rises, Ahsoka worries for a moment that she’s about to be left alone again, leaving space for her more unwise, tumultuous thoughts to claim her once more. But he returns only minutes later with two mugs of caf, setting one wordlessly down beside her before he returns to his desk. She gives her thanks in a simple nod, and drinks deeply, though she’s never liked the taste.

Passing on the Fulcrum name had never been in the plan. She had never intended it to become a legacy. But out of anyone, Ahsoka is glad that Kallus had been the one to take the mantle. She feels a certain kinship with the man. He understands the isolation that comes with the job, perhaps better than anyone else would. So many months, he had lived a half-life, feigning loyalty to the Empire. Ahsoka imagines he must know as well as any fugitive Jedi what it’s like to live without ever closing your eyes or taking a full breath

And, of course, it helps that Captain Kallus is just as much of a lonely, repressed bastard as she is.

The Empire and the Jedi Order aren’t so different in that way, she notes over another sip of acrid, burnt caf. Kallus had been through a long, arduous journey to make the transition from staunchly loyal Empire agent to fierce rebel. They had spoken about it only once, not long after he had finally made his escape. Ahsoka had shared, at least partially, her own experience in the Order, the questions she had come to ask, the contradictions and outdated doctrines she couldn’t justify in her mind. It seemed to resonate with Kallus. The greater mission always above the individual. The glorification of loyalty, the shunning of personal feelings. Whether by design or by happy coincidence, they kept their members too confused and ashamed of any new feelings to ever attempt to explore them.

She and Hera had been entangled for so long now. So many months of biting her tongue, snatching back her hand, wrenching her gaze away when all she wants to do is let it linger on Hera’s smile. So many months of second guesses and warring emotions. She wavers frenetically back and forth, sure in one moment that Hera feels nothing for her beyond camaraderie, and convinced in the next that she too can sense the presence of something deeper. For the past five minutes, Ahsoka’s fingers have been tapping out and erasing nonsense on her datapad, fidgeting idly while her mind wanders further astray. A familiar thought surfaces from the roiling depths: She should stop this. For her own good and Hera’s. It would be a mercy killing to the strange, unnatural thing growing between them. It would be simpler. Easier. She could make her peace with spending her nights with people like Kallus instead of entangled with a body that was too warm and too close and still out of reach despite digging fingernail-marks in her back. A promise, then. A resolve to turn Hera away the next time she appears, to resist the next time Ahsoka’s feet try to take her towards the Ghost. Perhaps this time, she’ll keep to her word.

Beside her, the sound of an incoming comm draws her attention. Kallus blinks down at his wrist a moment before his eyes drift back into focus and he answers, turning away from Ahsoka. Nonetheless, Ahsoka can still hear the tinny voice through his commlink, thickly accented and gravelly from sleep. “Kal? Darlin’, where’d you go? ‘S the middle of the night. I swear, if you’re kriffing working right now…" It takes a beat for Ahsoka to realise that the soft hum Kallus gives is a laugh. “I’m sorry, love. Couldn’t sleep.” “Well, we’re both up now. Come back to bed, yeah?” “Okay, okay. I’m on my way.”

Ahsoka recognises that voice. Captain Orrelios? Well. Seems she’s the only lonely, repressed bastard around here after all.

The transmission ends. Ahsoka pivots her gaze back to her datapad just in time for Kallus to look to her, giving a shrug and a somewhat apologetic smile before gathering his things and leaving her. The silence is heavier now, too heavy for her to bear for long. She doesn’t make it ten more minutes before she’s retreating back to her ship, questions circling her head that she wouldn’t dream of asking aloud.

Two days later, Hera finds her again. Ahsoka doesn’t hesitate a single moment before letting her in.

#herahsoka #hera x ahsoka #sw rebels #ahsoka tano #hera syndulla #sw rebels fic #drabble

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unlikely-course · 2 years

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Does anyone else ever think about how like the specter of Allison’s bisexuality haunts the show just as much and in the same sort of way as big, painful things that are shaping the narrative but are never directly seen, like say her and Patty’s childhoods or Chuck’s violence?

It’s most apparent to me in her talking about high school—like her only friends were devoted church girls! Swimming was very important to her but those girls “didn’t really like her” because she was “too competitive,” there’s something about that (ostracization, perceived aggression, actual aggression as a deferral of some other emotion). She liked Sam, and she also liked feeling like she was beating his girlfriend (but also anxiously assured herself that it wasn’t so awful because they weren’t friends). Like, it's not not a thing a straight girl would ever think, and certainly can’t be divorced from Allison’s insecurities, but still…when Sam tells Allison that he told Jenn, the first thing she says, the first thing we hear in that scene, is her saying “does she hate me?” Once again, it’s something that’s very Allison to say generally, but also…!

Then there’s everything about Kelly (another woman Allison talks to while she’s on a porch smoking), clearly admiring of her (among other, murkier things), bringing swimming back up again, bringing up paths not taken, precipitating Allison’s vicious self-recrimination in City Hall. Kevin punishing her for daring to pay Allison attention.

Do you ever think about the thing Patty says to Tammy in the “let it be hard” conversation, where she says “I have cable, okay? I know we’re all fine with everything now”? The way that communicates to me having lived a past that was so intensely hostile to Patty being queer that she had to reject it immediately and totally and not even so much as think about it…and then living through the world around her changing as though that pain had never happened to her, as though she’s the weird one for hanging on to what protected her. It's like double for Patty, too, Miss “Good Catholic repression takes time,” who fucking hates having her emotions seen or talking about them—MHI’s delivery of “it’s embarrassing” tears my heart out of my chest every goddamn time. And then how this scene is the first of a specific sequence—we go right from there into the sitcom scene with the band, how she can’t be in the band because she can’t be “one of the guys” (bonus rejection of even the suggestion of gayness in “you can’t have a girl in a band named Jenny McCarthy Tank Top”) but she can’t be seen fully as a woman either (calling her a “half-chick”). It’s important that this scene comes between the scene with Tammy and the tub scene, because when she realizes at the end that’s she falling in love with Allison, it’s not just about the terror of the new feelings, possibly jeopardizing their relationship, or her belief that Allison won’t return the feelings. It’s that being this way and feeling these things are impossible in this house, in this world that she’s lived in, and she has to go to this new world with Tammy to even feel this way at all.

Do you ever think about how Allison also lived in and stayed in that same old world? When Kevin starts the fire in the trashcan it’s his symbolic attempt to destroy her, but it’s also a little tour of things he’s already taken from her. He puts in three things that we see specifically. He puts in Allison’s purse (the money he stole from her) and we see at the end he burns her passport (identity, freedom of movement, dreams he specifically sabotaged and mocked her for, like going to Paris). But what’s the first thing he put in there? A coat! Warmth and comfort and safety. But it’s not just any coat: it’s her fucking. bisexual-colored. coat.

It’s immediately apparent in the show that Allison is so fucking hungry for any minute of consideration Patty will give her, any conversation, any touch or glance or laugh. She works so hard to make Patty like her. Part of this is because she’s been almost totally alone for like ten years and desperately needs any kind of human contact or support that actually sees her. Part of it is because she needs Patty to do things for her, to help her with her plan.

But also.

Also, Allison just fucking loves to talk to her. She thinks she’s funny, and cool, and confident—and as we will learn later, she’s still at that bar wishing this cool, confident girl would sit down and talk to her. What she wanted fifteen years ago she still wants now; it doesn’t go away no matter how many times she’s been rejected or she’s packed it up. It’s still there. She just wants more and more time with Patty because things come easier and feel better with her than with anyone else. Whatever nebulous, insurmountable thing lurked between her and other women her whole life, even before Kevin, just isn’t there, despite the fact that Patty invokes it specifically (“You’ve never had girlfriends, have you?” “I have you”). And the thing between Allison and other women is the thing that’s between her and everybody but also it’s not, it’s something else enormous and painful and awkward until she’s with Patty and it goes away, or maybe it changes, or maybe it just finally finds a space that it fits. Maybe it’s a starving thing that’s finally being fed.

At the end of 2x08 when Patty stands up on the step, I see her standing on the step in 1x07 in front of Tammy, with Tammy telling her it isn’t a big deal, Tammy telling her that if she was the right person, Patty would kiss her without thinking or worrying who could see. And I know now what the tub scene told me, that Allison is the right person, and I know that Patty would kiss her right now without thinking or caring what anyone thought. But I also remember how painful that was for her in 1x07.

When Patty goes down the stairs and takes that step towards Allison, I see her take that step towards Allison in 1x08 during the argument, when Allison could not finish that crucial sentence and Patty moved forward hopefully, and asked “What?” But Allison couldn’t answer then. She tried, as hard as she knew how, but she couldn’t get her head around it. She didn’t have the language to talk about what she was barely even aware of, much less understood. So in 2x08 Patty takes that step and that good long look at Allison and knows that she’s still not there yet, that she hasn’t really even begun to unpack that yet even though she’s been through so much and grown so much in other ways. And Patty’s not gonna press it, and she’s not going to tell Allison something Allison needs to figure out on her own. She’s not going to make Allison talk about this before she’s ready any more than Allison is going to make Patty stop eating burgers or move out of her house. When Allison says “I miss you,” and Patty says “I know,” well, she knows a lot of things now about how Allison feels because Allison has demonstrated that to her, and she’s decided she can handle waiting for Allison to be ready, because they have time. After all, they’re dying alone together.

#idk man I just think about this constantly #and how like in s1 Allison's whole plot is its own unreality and by association her relationship with Patty is also unreal #and that's like the only way it's possible #and s2 is about making them be able to be together in a way that is real #kcfh #kevin can f himself #kevin can fuck himself #kevin can f**k himself

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