#long-winded reflection

[resonancewitness]

an attempt of making sense of being a RPfan reconstructing an untold story

using this space as I intend to, to make sense of my own experience in writing

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, way back when neither ao3 nor the Journal of Transformative Works yet existed, a dear friend of mine wrote a PhD in Fanfiction Studies under the advisorship of the very one and only Henry Jenkins. 

The new notion that she was exploring in her work was the notion of “charactereme”, an invariant of a character description that makes the character easily recognisable. What makes a Snape? What makes a Hermione? She based her research on HP fandom, very strong and popular at that time.

As far as I understood her line of reasoning, the charactereme consists of the canon (books) core or expanded canon (books + movies + games + interviews by JKR) core, and of the fanon addenda, the conventional agreed info. Say, Snape’s title is the Master of Potions (canon), heretofore he has a Master’s degree and for that he would have had publications in peer-reviewed journals (fanon) (and from this we can infer that Hermione, being Hermione, probably read them). 

Other than that, the individual traits, experiences etc. can be brought in, inferred by any given fanfiction author on the basis of their preferences and personal experience. For example, we do not know if Snape can sing or play a musical instrument, this is not mentioned in canon as far as I remember. Abiding by the charactereme makes the specific rendition of a Snape-in-a-fanfic either “in character” or “out of character”. The non-mentioned accidental traits (like singing) can become the plot-driving devices in some fanfiction stories (for example, “The Phantom of Hogwarts”). 

In this particular fandom where I am currently in, the canon is still in the making, as well as fanon, as well as the individual reading-into in personal reconstructions of the untold story. I find it extremely fascinating, especially for myself to delineate the boundaries between canon, fanon and individual inferences. For me canon is first-person utterances and other performances of identity claims (taking into account that the narrators sometimes are unreliable, as in obfuscating or outright lying) and the unedited videos of not-playing-a-known-role, especially when something bursts through an established mask/ social or public persona; fanon is conventions on existing interpretations (non-washable candies + rumours that eventually got somewhat confirmed); the rest is individual readers’ inferences and preferences. 

As a writer, I can totally understand the urge to reconstruct the untold story in writing, inferring and reading-into the motivations and inner experiences of the protagonists that make certain actions, however odd they may seem, inevitable, the only ones possible in the situation. 

But here I am thinking also about the demarkation line between attempts at “unauthorised biography” — and true fanfiction, where we take the charactereme and put it in a “what-if” situation of somewhat different circumstances — and see how they, being themselves “in character”, would deal with it. 

And also I am thinking about the difference between “imaginary character fanfiction” and “still alive real people fanfiction”, which for me is mainly an “ethics of perception/ ethics of publication” issue. 

Am I capable in my mind to keep separating the “image of the protagonist(s)”, the characteremes that exist and keep developing in my mind along with the developing canon and fanon, from the fact that these protagonists are derived from real people whom I don’t know and most probably never will? 

Say, the Hermione Granger that I know and love is not exactly the same Hermione that JKR presented to us, but this makes no difference whatsoever, in the wider scope of things. I know that I read-into the image of Hermione something that would make her more relevant to my own personal experience; she would be a perfect mould for the “self-insertion of the author” (me). As my friend wrote in her PhD, self-insertion of the author is needed either to "be the protagonist" or to "be with the protagonist". Very good for me, isn’t it? I can take the charactereme of an invented character and play with it to satisfy my own needs, no harm done to anyone. "In writing this piece of fanfiction, no Hermione Grangers were harmed".

But reading-into the images of real people something that I want them to be to satisfy some of my internal need? What being aware of this means to me? Can I keep separating and allowing to co-exist my playing with their images with genuine respect to them as people? What inner stance I need to take to keep witnessing something precious, to keep reconstructing the untold story, to be touched and transported by it, sometimes in a form of creative writing of attempts at unauthorised biography excerpts, never to be published, — and still maintain mindful awareness of this being what I am doing, no more, no less?..

#long-winded reflection #this is canon in the making #fanfiction #rpf

[harleytudinous]

Dream going into the waters of night

THE SANDMAN | CHAPTER 2 IMPERFECT HOSTS

#the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #imperfect hosts #love his reflection #( ~*ᴗ*)~ take me too pls #i stared too long at his hair blown by the wind #everything is so beautiful #this is why i wish they stop making these beautiful scenes so dark

[hand-of-devotion]

I keep rotating certain aspects of the Evontra'vir-Ashton conversation and there's one specific thing I see other people taking away from it that is lacking a certain amount of nuance that stuck with me.

Specifically in regards to Ashton's views and how they parallel his fathers.

It should be obvious to everyone at this point that Ashton's stubborn hypocritical "refusal to the call" rooted in his anti divine/fate beliefs need some genuine reflection. They are important and they are aware of it but they don't want any of the hard to grapple with things associated. He needs to think about what it is he can actually do moving forward rather than getting caught up in what he feels he's owed.

However! One very important thing that I keep seeing others ignore or maybe just not even pick up on is THIS.

Efterin's entitlement came from his own zealots ego. The powers he believed he was promised an understanding and control over were NEVER his.

Ashton's entitlement towards the situation is rooted in what was done TO him. Those powers are in fact his. They have been there since he was a child due to a ritual he had no say in. That ritual physically altered his body and killed off nearly everyone in his entire village.

Which. Again. Just because they HAVE those powers doesn't mean they were ever guaranteed mastery over them. Certainly not without putting in effort. It has never been a "gift", even if part of them wishes it was. There is likely never going to be a reality in which the full-blown titan level abilities just ACTIVATE for him with full ease. Moving forward. He has a base level of info. Which he likely didn't find satisfying (but given the situation, there was never really a "satisfying" answer). Now they need to just. Look forward and inward. Make some changes if they want some changes.

But yeah. At the end of the day. Regardless of parallels and a real need for character reflection and growth. Saying that Ashton is "the same" as Efterin seems. Fairly reductive, all things considered.

#critical role spoilers #c3e74 #ashton greymoore #sorry if this seems so long winded. i am incapable of wording this any shorter. i have tried lmao #tldr: this isnt me saying ashton was in the right AT ALL bc theyre NOT but also this is NOT the same situation as efterin?? hello??? #tbf the jokes abt it are funny tho. like hes definitely a BIT like his father. at least in their tone. and also theres nothing funnier to m #-than the idea of characters having full emotional spiritual reflections in response to being told they sound like their shitty parent(s) #bc relatable. be fueled by the desire to be better than the fuck-ups before you <3 #edit: this is also! not directed to anyone on HERE. i've had variations of this in my drafts for like 2 days now #specifically bc of a weirdly hostile take i saw on twt lmao

[imminent-danger-came]

Here's a clip comp of all the times MK repeats the things the people around him say! Or at least all of the times I've noticed!

#SO WHEN I SAY MK FUNCTIONS AS A MIRROR #I ALSO MEAN THAT HE LIKE. REFLECTS THE THINGS PEOPLE SAY/DO TO HIM BACK #spent a lil too long on this video but that's okay #when don't I spend too long on something #Update for people invested in my fanfic adventures: my fic is currently at 1.3K! #I should finish up soon #It's a Red Son pov. And MK is NOT okay TM #But that's fine cause we have a Red Son #And he's surprisingly okay at comforting people #It takes place like. RIGHT after the s4 special ends at the beach party #MK and Red Son wind up at the suilian cave #And uh. Obviously things are in disrepair #There's gonna be a convo about the way MK's view of Monkey King has changed the same way Red Son's view of DBK has changed #Just like. Understanding how they actually are rather than the pedestal they originally put the two on you know? #I know myself so it'll probably end on a somber note #But more like. hurt/comfort then it's kinda sad/ominous at the end #I can't believe my first fic is a Red Son pov. Like idk who I thought it would be but I'm surprised it's Red Son #But Red Son is actually a BLAST to write #He's no nonsense but he has his own nonsense. It's great #lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk parallels #monkie kid #lmk MK #my videos

[steelycunt]

do you have already some ideas for pride au s? i need to know what is going on in that blender that ur brain is. do u see him with high waisted levi’s and crop tops??? is he a total doormat for smiths enjoyer r??? i need to know more

hi omg yes! yes i do! s' deal is slightly different to r's, in that r has no parallel/does not correspond to any character in the original film, so i'm basically inserting him as a figure into the narrative (although as irrelevant as this is, to me he is. closest to bill nighy's cliff if cliff was a young man in the eighties xx), whereas s more or less fills the position that mark fills in the film. but other than that he is completely free 4 me to characterise and i think he will be so fun honestly! from the thoughts ive had so far hes sort of a mess of a guy at least to begin with. he is kind of moving at a hundred miles and hour + throwing himself into organizing this thing but if you were to slow him down and put him under a microscope hes uhhh. quite lost + lonely in a way. i expect it will not take him very long to become quite embarrassingly gone for r i think he will consider him the best thing since. sliced bread within hours of meeting him he is imagining them both as the two maidens of pompeii its. a really poor performance from him. he thinks r’s accent is sooo sexy every time he talks s is twirling his hair like omggggg. say that again or please elaborate please tell me more…please…..

also i am looking forward to dressing him up in fun outfits again because he is first and foremost my barbie i am just not sure what yet! i am not as familiar with the eighties as i am with the seventies in a lot of ways so. the setting and everything that comes with that will be really fun to research xx although i am struggling to decide on s' music taste!! r lends himself very well to eighties music i think i could build him a record collection easily (including the smiths sad but true) whereas. s seemed to fit better in the seventies :-/ i am not sure what hes listening to in the eighties apart from seventies records he hasnt let go of yet!! and despite the much more glaring aspects of this fic i have yet to turn my attention to frankly. deciding what silly little songs s wants to listen to is currently one of my main priorities xx

#also in relation to s serving as the mark figure and any instance where the characters are directly reflecting a figure in the film #although for the purpose of the narrative they're inhabiting specific roles (e.g. leader/founder of lgsm / paddy considine's role of the #miner they have sort of. first contact with) they're in no way intended to inhabit or comment on or. reflect the characters of whichever #figure they correspond to in the film. if that makes sense. as in their actual characterisations are purely fictional + the only link they #have to the characters in the film is the fact that they are serving the same narrative role! other than that theyre completely fictional #and that is the only sense in which theyre based on the film characters (and therefore the real people the film characters are based on). #hopefully that makes sense but seeing as im like knee deep in research + interviews + articles + documentaries about this now i am #ever more #conscious of the fact that pride is based on real people and therefore just wanted to be. super clear that none of the characters in this #au would be based on the film's portrayal of those real people in terms of the way they are characterised! #they fulfil certain positions that reflect real events as required by the story but as characters they are. purely fictional :-) anyway #sorry for this long winded way of making a very simple comment hopefully i dont have to say the word narrative again but. yeah #if i do write this i wanted to b super clear about that right off the bat :-) s is going about things in a singularly s way #(<- pathetically and cuntily) #god this is. sooo sorry for how long every part of this post is anon this is so embarrassing. no one ever can accuse me of being concise #anon #telegram #pride au

[okthatsgreat]

i think i am physically incapable of making a serious dnd character. like i come up with a concept that is actually pretty horrifying and absolutely should have serious ramifications on the character that i am playing but then i rock up to the session and suddenly i have to be a comedian its a disease

#dnd #lee chat #ive made a creature that is basically somebodys reflection walking around not knowing that they have swapped places #and that the 'real' version of themselves has been removed to the mirror world that my pc came from #my pc is essentially doomed to walk around forever knowing that something is deeply wrong with them but not knowing what #objectively a fucked up concept right. well the first session i decided that it was going to mimic other peoples mannerisms and speech #but i. only remember the funny things the other pcs have said so at the moment my characters is a walking Best Of Highlights Reel #this applies to my dming btw. every npc has to have something pathetically funny about them or i will die #even if they are supposed to be the most serious person there #do my online players read these posts because in that case you know who im talking about <3 Leo <3 #ok long winded tags over el oh el!

[lunarruled]

#☾ dark side of the moon; reflection #☾ usually how Ky winds down after a long day #☾ her 'model' pose lol #☾ it looks like she's wearing the A necklace Adrienne got her! #☾ my pretty girl!

[not-so-childsplay]

What’s written in the image is also under the cut for those who can’t read it!

Me, writing out this reply and legit thinking about why the ninja are usually at least semi-chill while Ninjago gets destroyed: Thank you, stop it, I don't want the additional trauma, fuck off stop-- My brain: Yes but think about this, really THINK ABOUT IT

Like--- these guys never asked to be the ninja? Technically they all inherited their elements (and thusly their roles)??? And they're told to go stop evil b/c no one else is bothering to stand up/everyone else isn't strong enough to stand up They're barely adults, told to go save the world- and they're trying but at the same time, hundreds- thousands- fuck maybe millions die in each fight as part of the crossfire Imagine knowing somewhere in the back of your mind that you're responsible for tons upon tons of grief and death and destruction, and being barely an adult. Fuck's sake imagine being Lloyd, who's FUCKING TEN, and knowing somewhere deep down that you didn't save the day soon enough, that so many died because you couldn't beat the villain in time

Like no wonder these guys always at least semi-joke/brush off every world-ending threat once it's over (and they do legit try to help rebuild after some seasons)- if they stopped to think about it, the thought of all the innocents they harmed while trying to save the people would be crippling

But if they stopped to try to prevent every death in their fights, then they'd have no time to beat the big-bad and the world would go to sh!t anyway

Like--- these guys are trying. They're trying to save the world, save everyone. Because some big-bad decided to be a d!ck. But they get stuck with the blame of every death in a fight they couldn't win if they tried to save everyone. It's a lose-lose situation, wooooooooooooooooooooooooo

#death tw #[they say/go slow/and everything just stands so still/we say/go go/you're gonna see us rip into it: unspecified ninjago verse] #[worldbuilder: mun] #[writer’s needs: fanfic] #mass death tw #[we sing this song/longing for a place to call home: zane julien] #[it’s too late/it’s my fate/I can’t turn around/there’s no fear/in the mirror/to hold me down: jay walker] #[a change is due/a different view/we must go on: celexa dust] #[continue on this winding road/strengths within must start to show: robot!celexa verse] #[reflection in the candy glass: musings]

[rosehearrt]

tag revamp pt. 3.

#*♕ ‣ god save the queen — ( reflection. ) #*♕ ‣ born the second child; with a spirit running wild — ( leona-senpai. ) #*♕ ‣ tongue waxing lyrical of both beauty & battle cries — ( vil-senpai. ) #*♕ ‣ life is a long time not to change — ( idia-senpai. ) #*♕ ‣ like a crown he wore an outspoken soliloquy of dreams — ( malleus-senpai ) #*♕ ‣ a shapeshifting beast & a lesson in fluidity — ( lilia-senpai. ) #*♕ ‣ de lèvres peintes & de pistolets polis — ( rook-senpai. ) #*♕ ‣ an old soul with young eyes; a vintage heart; & a beautiful mind — ( trey ) #*♕ ‣ what a marvelously inspiring & terrible thing to live so close to madness — ( che’nya ) #*♕ ‣ to be rid of temptation is to yield to it — ( jamil ) #*♕ ‣ you will never find anyone as trusting or as kind — ( kalim. ) #*♕ ‣ aurora borealis green; & incandescently beautiful — ( silver. ) #*♕ ‣ he will do what it takes to survive — ( ruggie. ) #*♕ ‣ so dignified in your well pressed suit; so strategized all their eyes on you — ( azul. ) #*♕ ‣ a selfish little mirror; that follows when you leave — ( ortho. ) #*♕ ‣ dangerously unpredictable; damned if you do; bored if you don’t — ( floyd. ) #*♕ ‣ crooked grins; sly hands; & one dangerous voice — ( jade. ) #*♕ ‣ a loyalty which cannot be taught — ( sebek ) #*♕ ‣ tamer of the wild wind that blew with the lone wolf call — ( jack. ) #*♕ ‣ the look in your eyes; you’re willing to be trouble — ( ace. ) #*♕ ‣ your words can plant gardens or burn forests down — ( deuce. ) #*♕ ‣ filled with poison; blessed with beauty — ( epel. ) #*♕ ‣ it’s the living who haunt us — ( mother. ) #*♕ ‣ I call & you don’t come — ( father. ) #*♕ ‣ leaving stories & stars behind; chaos & beauty intertwines — ( yuu. ) #*♕ ‣ with fire in his veins & hurricane bones — ( grim. ) #*♕ ‣ pretty; mean; violent — ( housewardens. ) #*♕ ‣ & they will all agree that I’m a suffocator — ( heartslabyul. ) #*♕ ‣ medicine for melancholy — ( vorpal. ) #*♕ ‣ as fair as spring — ( hedgehogs. )

[prosebushpatch]

Swiftly coming to the alarming conclusion that if I’m to condense my manuscript into a 1,000 word synopsis, I’ll be whittling it down to less than 1% of its original size.

#rose and rambles #prosie's writing adventures #technically it can be up to 2 pages single space which i can totes work with BUT the suggested word count #is 500-1000 so im trying to see if i can stay in there #because my story is so long it's actually going to be working against me and i feel like i really need to prove that i can be brief #to validate how long the full manuscript is so 😬 #but also the plot points are so embedded in the story to make pay-off in the end worth it and the synopsis needs to reflect #the important points SO we'll see #actually i was doing research and apparently it was common to have two synopses one short and one long #and there was one thing someone mentioned where authors were expected to write a synopses that was up to four pages long for every 50 pages #WHICH WHAT #that does have the benefit of more details but its exhausting trying to write the 1000 word synopsis #i have like 2 and half drafts of one and those leave me so winded you know? #any back to finishing the 3rd draft #please imagine me trying to wrestle too many things into one suitcase #like a professor layton puzzle

[mollusken]

who are those dnd love clerics of yours? what are their backstories, anyway?

Hiii being a sloth as is my nature!!!!! But thanks for asking so I can talk about them! :] I truly wrote half of this out and tumblr deleted it so just know I’m been THRU it to hand u this essay... I hope u enjoy HERE’S THE SUMMARY:

(art by @camomills)

Seraphina was a cleric I originally played in a game about Gods dying. I made her to be someone who was unknowingly worshipping the wrong god. She ended up switching domains and later doing some introspection(/exploration) I realized she was much better suited to being a Love Cleric following Sune. Seraphina really worked hard to find herself and eventually built a convent where she would welcome other followers of Sune, teach esthetician courses, as well as hold sermons and discuss love and beauty as matters of philosophy and religion. She still struggles with letting people into her life in any meaningful way, and letting herself be truly vulnerable. That's where her story with Valentine really comes into play.

Valentine is a cleric of Sune whom, upon being born, was foretold to sacrifice herself for love. She really wants to fall in love very badly and knows it is her duty more or less to do so, but there's a part of her that's still running away.

The tragedy of her story is that she often gives herself away in little ways; by handing people this unending love and letting that mean she shrinks herself, or lets herself be hurt in the name of it. She's too busy trying to fight her destiny  -- that of a Big Magical romance -- that subconsciously she is fulfilling it with every step she takes.

I think it's a fun dynamic; to have a character that's more or less running from reflection but very open with her love, and one that's found her path but still has to let herself trust, and explore intimacy.

That's really what they boil down to: both being followers of Sune but imbuing different aspects, and having each other as foils. When Valentine comes to stay at Seraphina's convent the two really connect and learn a lot from each other as equals.

They’re narrative foils, they’re friends with benefits, they’re life long friends and partners and confidants, they’re both so sexy and smart and cute, and they’re impossible to color because Val is so gd neon pink lmfao. THATS THE SHORT OF IT IF YOU’VE ENJOYED THANK YOU FOR ASKING AFTER MY GIRLS 💚 And if you want every gory detail the Long is down below!!!

LONG VERSION Seraphina was a half-elf cleric I originally played in a game about Gods dying and being replaced. I made her to be someone who was unknowingly worshipping the wrong god, which I think was originally some war god. After they fell she found out her powers were from Milil, god of music, but later doing some introspection(/exploration) I realized she was much better suited to being a Love Cleric, and follow Sune. She would later on in life become a huge proponent of self love and expression.

She was a non-committal wreck with a hot streak and a lot of baggage to work through. Her elf mother was distant. She had impossible to meet standards and no recognition of her as an adult, being wholly unfamiliar with human life spans. And her sisters who served as her rivals her entire life in a bid for their mother's affection, and they lashed out at each other in any way possible. Elaborate social games, physical fights, competing achievements; Seraphina was usually invested in the latter due to her aptitude with magic, and less of the first due to being considerably younger than her sisters.

When she realized that what she believed didn’t match up to what she was teaching, and having a bad home life and finding herself struggling to keep up in an environment not suited for her, she lashed out. Both at fellow students the way she used to with her more hardy sisters, and at the convent leaders. Thus she managed to get herself banished and excommunicated.

So very much in survival mode at that point. She lived with a few colleagues as much as she could before moving on, strung along some upper class gentlemen to keep herself within her former social class, lied, stole, etc.

It really wasn't until after her real God fell and she lost her powers that she had to do any kind of introspection and realize that hey, maybe she was like. not dealing with her issues by ignoring them and falling headfirst into substances, and maybe she needed to start taking care of herself and correct her behaviour including lashing out at others, and unpack her upbringing and religious programming.

I left the game after her arc (unrelated) which I would add a bit of a rewrite to later because I honestly don't know if she'd ever forgive her family within their collective lifetimes, even if she did still come about saving them. Also smh I curse my past self sometimes because I gave her an old fiance that came to find her - past me got shy & asked the DM to pull it - but that was honestly the funniest fucking thing. It would've been so good. I'm hilarious relationship drama is the SPICE of D&D & I should’ve trusted my gut smh.

Seraphina really worked hard to find herself and eventually built a convent where she would welcome other followers of Sune, teach esthetician courses, as well as hold sermons and discuss love and beauty as matters of philosophy and religion. She still struggles with letting people into her life in any meaningful way, and letting herself be truly vulnerable with them. That's where her story with Valentine really comes into play.

Valentine is a cleric of Sune whom, upon being born, was foretold to sacrifice herself for love. She grew up very modestly and without parents, just an old nursery maid who housed a small orphanage in her village. She was always a fierce lover. Her childhood was pretty stable compared to Seraphina, and she had a supportive community. Nevertheless as a young woman she decided to head out on her own journey to fulfill her prophecy.

Val is emotional, a little headstrong, and imbued with romantic tendencies that means she'll stop to help anyone who looks in her direction. Her kindness is definitely taken advantage of, and she's susceptible to looking past people's flaws for their strengths, but that doesn’t mean she loves less or stops giving as kindly.

She really craves falling in love and meeting her soulmate -- and she knows it is her duty more or less to do so -- but there's a part of her that's still running away from her fate. A part that still believes she’s not enough, she’s not ready, she doesn’t know how to do so.

So she lets herself get sidetracked with whatever - and whoever - catches her attention. This is how she's ended up in all the different little adventures I've played her in.

The tragedy of her story is that she often gives herself away in little ways; by handing people this unending love and letting that mean she shrinks herself, or letting herself be hurt in the name of it. Even just the amount of time she will dedicate to helping others, no matter the outcome. Good or bad, big or small gestures, she gives.

She's too busy trying to fight her destiny -- which she interprets as some huge giving-her-life-for-a-lover moment or Star-Crossed-Fate-Sealed romance -- that subconsciously she is fulfilling it with every step she takes.

I think it's a fun dynamic; to have a character that's more or less running from reflection but very open with her love, and one that's found her path but still has to let herself trust, and explore intimacy.

That's really what they boil down to: both being followers of Sune but imbuing different aspects, and having each other as foils. When Valentine comes to stay at Seraphina's convent the two really connect and learn a lot from each other as equals.

Seraphina embodies the beauty and self love aspect of Sune, while lacking connection to intimacy (although part of that is her being aromantic & not inherently desiring of romance). Valentine on the other hand, embodies romantic love and compassion but can't really accept herself or love herself as she continues to shy away from her prophecy.

They have a physical/sexual relationship alongside this-- I imagine that being a very open topic/concept with Suneites and that develops more organically in a society that views it as beauty, as self-care, as affection and romance. And less controlled by social stigma.

Although Valentine has a hard time separating her romantic tendencies sometimes and has moments of limerence for Seraphina. They speak freely about it - eventually lol, who would I be if I didn't cause SOME drama - and that helps her work through it. They continue to be good friends until the end of their lives.

Valentine ends up staying at the convent longer than anywhere else she travels. I pictured her eventually moving on, still trying to find the end of her fate. But I think strings would pull her back to visit.

I haven't got to play Valentine for a campaign; she was made for one-shots, so that's why she's a bit more open-ended and her story is the way it is. And although I still think Seraphina's story has places it could go, I think I found a pretty happy ending for her. SO THERE YOU ARE LORE DROP x2!!!!!!! I’m sure I can drop even more in-depth shit if you’re curious about anything else.... I know I have Seraphina family developed and can run thru Val’s adventures..... Or Swannie stuff I have so much Swannie lore..... they both meet her at some point too it’s all connected so....... yk what 2 do 👀 Thank u for taking an interest in my girls and have a good fuckin day just for giving me an excuse to scream about something!!!! 💚 WAHOO

#i hope this answer reaches u well #answered #my ocs #valentine #seraphina #lore drop #THE WAY TUMBLR DELETED ME POURING MY GOD DAMNED HEART OUT ORIGINALLY BC I ACCIDENTALLY CTRL Y-ED #HAD TO REWRITE HALF SO IM SORRY FOR THE DELAY #does not help i am long winded #i wish id done some of seraphina's things Cleaner or like #given her more faith as a character or really understood how to play her/drive her narrative #& im not sure how others read her during the campaign i worry she was only mean or reactive or like badly represented #idk she still holds a piece of my heart and i think she deserves to figure out her shit and live contentedly no matter how long it takes her #n i appreciate her beginnings n tried to shape it into something nice #sera was also my first Real dnd character so i was kind of operating off Canon Lore which is cringe #still wish i knew how that campaign ended & i have no right to answers since we dont talk but also. dm hmu lol #HONESTLY sera has a lot in common with Adaine like her fam had bells RINGINGGGGGG in my head THEYRE THE SAME #it was SO validating to see my story abt family standards and wealth and ELVES and SISTERS echo there #OK EXTRA VAL LORE NOW #val is honestly prob a reflection of anne w an e being out & me reading the first book lol i love her #and after playing sera for a long time i swung the pendulum in the other direction pretty hard #very fun to have her hold fast to hope and wonder in a way that might sometimes be childish naivety #but that also be a blessing in some ways #and have her be very serious #i think she still wants to trust and believe in ppl so bad #esp since she thinks of her story as a Huge Sacrifice shes more willing to let herself be pushed aside and more willing to jump for ppl #ALSO ITS NOT ALL BAD IM NOT SAYING THAT but it goes either way and her self worth suffers for believing shes nothing more than her fate!!!!! #ITS ABT THE TRAGEDY!!!!!!! #shes very simple in a way but beautiful for it n has a lot to say #she also lovesssssss a badboy she falls in love so fast smh its bad

[witchembrace]

because i love you . — from Kairi to Sora ♡

the island is alit with sunlight ,  the heat radiating with a passion that cannot be explained .  a light breeze jostles the palm trees ,  creating a melody of its own that reaches the ears as a pleasant hum .  destiny island is beautiful today ,  and sora is relieved that for once ,  he has alone time with his close friend .  don't get him wrong ,  he enjoys riku's company all the same ,  but something about kairi sets her apart ,  and he hasn't quite figured it out just yet .  the boy watches as she approaches on a boat ,  the cerulean waves lapping at the bottom and creating pleasant ripples upon the ocean's surface .  he returns the greeting wave he receives with a wide ,  ecstatic grin ,  practically bouncing on his toes in excitement .  keeping a close eye as the girl approaches him ,  he feels something funny in his chest  — did he accidentally skip breakfast or something ?  he doesn't quite know ,  yet he has no time to figure it out right now .  kairi is here ,  and he can't keep her waiting for long.

brunet takes princess by the hand ,  palms colliding into one another as if they're meant to be there ;  a completed puzzle that no one knew needed solving until now .  sora feels that funny feeling again ,  but tries to brush it off as to not worry his companion .  as they walk along the shore ,  collecting pieces of seaglass and storing it in pouches ,  he wonders . . .  wonders why kairi agreed to spend time with him alone today ,  wonders why she's choosing him over hanging out with riku .  wonders why she still cares about him even after everything they've been through .  shaking his head ,  the thoughts scatter like storm clouds before they can fester in his mind for long .  he needs to stay focused .  he shouldn't be worrying over the little things right now .

it's when they've stopped collecting trinkets and begin sitting together on a rock that sora pops the question .  ' hey ,  kairi . . .  why did you decide to come with me today ?  usually ,  you spend more time with riku .  i'm just wonderin' ,  you don't gotta answer if you don't wanna . '

it's kairi's response that makes it all click in the boy's head ;  the softened tones that slip past her lips ,  the genuine smile that graces her face . . .  he realizes that the funny feeling he's been having is his heart skipping a beat ,  and he feels it .  he feels his pounding pulse quicken at her words ,  sees the girl's cheeks flush simultaneously to her rejoinder ,  hears that slight crack in her voice ,  as if she's slightly hesitant to admit the truth .

' because i love you . '

sora looks at kairi ,  truly looks at her ,  sees her for who she is .  her image is painted in an indescribable beauty ,  indigo hues sparkling in the iridescence of the summer sun .  she reminds him of a flower in that moment ;  a natural charm that only continues to heighten in allure as it grows .  everything falls into place for him ,  and he inches closer ,  reaching out to grasp at her hand once more .  he gently squeezes her palm ,  smiling softly at the girl in front of him with adoration glimmering in his ocean eyes .

' . . .  i love you ,  too . '  it's all he can say ,  all he can bring himself  to say , though he really does mean what he says .  he's still trying to process it all ,  still trying to wrap his mind around what this means for the two of them .  at last ,  he gathers the words up into his throat .  ' so . . .  what does this make us ?  i mean ,  i don't mind if we stay like this ,  or even become more than friends . . . '  he swallows .  ' i just wanna know what's going on ,  yanno ? '

#[ ic // reflections of misery ] #[ inbox // messages from afar ] #[ sora // a guiding light in the sky ] #[ sokai // you're as perfect as the wind & sky (@pompedia) ] #pompedia #(( sorry this is so long !!! feel free to turn it into a thread or leave it as is lol ))

[nyxaffixed]

What if Narinder accidentally marrried the Lamb

(I have no idea if this has been done already, but i cant stop thinking about this)

In lamb culture, gifting jewelry signifies a relationship between the gifter and the reciever. Depending on where the jewelry is worn, it signifies the type of relationship formed.

Gold given by family is to be strung on the horns, or woven into the wool on the head. These are more permanent and intricate, with larger pieces being passed down family lines. Marriages are usually sealed with a ceremonial exchange of this type of jewelry.

Close friends give things that will be worn on the hands and arms. Small tokens that can be swapped out when friendships come and go.

Tokens from those outside of friends and family are usually charms that can be affixed to staffs and clothing, or placed around the house to be admired from afar.

Those that have been slighted put the respective jewelry affixed to the end of robes and staffs, or tied to the ankles, to metaphorically and physically drag that person through the dirt.

Only lovers exchange jewelry for the neck, and each piece is symbolic. It is tradition to propose with a bell, of which the quality is reflective to the love of the giver. Higher quality bells chime the most beautifully, and have a unique sound.

When The Lamb was given their bell, it was flawless, for it had been handcrafted by a god. When the Red crown was fitted on their head, the marriage was sealed. The Lamb did not protest, for who were they to deny their god? They were executed, engaged, married, and resurrected all in the span of a few mintues; loving their sudden husband came just as quick.

The one who waits was not suprised by his vessel's unflinching devotion to him. He accepted the golden jewelry they showered him with, as offerings were expected. He humored their honeyed compliments and long winded ramblings; they fought harder and worked longer when he'd done so.

The one who waits was completely surprised, when upon their betrayal, he still felt devotion from them. The Lamb still loved their husband, even if Narinder had no idea they've been married for the past 250 years.

#wedding bells au #cult of the lamb #colt #colt lamb #narilamb #cult of the lamb narinder #au idea #i thought of this while thinking about the water tribe proposals #and thought it would be funny if narider has been accidentally married to the lamb for centuries

[whetstonefires]

One thing I don't think I've ever seen talked about is how post-apocalypse ideation is largely about homelessness.

Homelessness looms large in the American consciousness. Like, not that it's irrelevant elsewhere, but it's got a particular cultural place in the US that's reflected in Hollywood, and therefore relevant because what makes it into film and TV sets the terms of so many conversations.

We don't acknowledge it if we can help it, but I think most people know they're never more than a few very bad months from winding up there.

Even people who are sure it only happens to people who deserve it, who fuck up and put one foot in the morass of their own foolish volition. Even they know the quicksand is there, waiting to be walked into, and that the odds are stacked against ever climbing out on your own once you have. And that they, too, are capable of fucking up. Of trusting the wrong person. Of getting cancer incorrectly.

And those of us who know damn well we can't be sure we're safe even if we do everything right, we know it even better.

And in that sense it doesn't matter what the world would realistically look like after X kind of apocalypse, what people would do, how society would adapt. Because the anxiety that's being processed is about the reality that's in existence now.

About what if my world ends. And I lose access to the fruits of developed society, to clean clothes and new glasses and running water, to a safe place to sleep where I don't expect to be killed or robbed, or driven out by men with guns and dogs. To my home and work and family and everything I usually use to tell me who I am.

What if every man's hand is against me, and every meal is a small victory, and there's only my own dwindling strength between me and the long night?

Will I make it? Will I hold up under the strain? Will I retain my dignity? Will I be lucky? Will I be able to protect the people I love, in that world, the world where no one is protecting us anymore?

Is there a way to continue to live as a human person, when you're denied the prerogatives of one, and don't know if you'll ever get them back?

Putting this anxiety into the context of a massive apocalypse divorces this scenario from the burden of shame tied up in the idea of winding up in that sort of situation in the normal course of events, by having society vanish rather than expel you, personally, as a washout, and continue on around you.

It also allows you to rule out a priori the question of what resources might be offered but can't in an anticipatory context be counted on; shelters and programs and housed friends and family who may or may not help. And narrow the narrative to only the question of what you can survive, and often a fairy tale about surviving all of it and starting over.

Rehearsing for a loss in a mythologized format is a very normal anxiety processing behavior, and I think a lot of apocalypse scenario building is attached to the buried dread of that personal apocalypse. But I haven't seen that one make the list.

#hoc est meum #homelessness #apocalypse #post-apocalypse fiction

[cavityinmybrain]

its kinda cathartic to have moved back into my abusive parents house after having been out of it for so long (almost a whole year i believe, i moved back out of necessity), which sounds weird to say but hear me out.

even though my stepdad is still abusing me and my mom is continuing to enable it, i finally am able to recognize the cycle of abuse they've been putting me through nearly to a T. i have the words to describe whats happening to me. im able to see events that have happened in the past, even ones that are happening now, and im able to point out the bits and details of them and reflect. and while that doesn't make it perfect, i am still being abused obviously, it makes it feel almost better because i now know what i have to do in order to keep myself safe.

i'll go into more detail of this under the cut but it's going to have mentions of specific instances of abuse i have faced. i figured if reading my reflection on how i've been abused could help anyone, that it will find the people it'll help. please keep yourself safe and heed the trigger warning.

tw: emotional abuse mention (detailed), cycle of abuse talk (identifying the stages in a specific instance of abuse)

my stepdad emotionally abuses me. kinda obvious, i already stated that. my mom enables this abuse by turning a complete blind eye and denying it entirely, which in it of itself isn't specifically abuse but silence is violence. the fact that she allows my stepdad to do the things he does to me and she simply takes a passive role ("i wasn't there so i don't know what happened", "im not picking sides", "im not getting involved" etc etc.) means that she is also actively abusing me. that doesn't even mention the extreme amounts of gaslighting she uses against me to try to invalidate the experiences i have had at my stepdads hands.

yesterday brought all this to light for me because of a specific incident. i had been on the phone with my boyfriend, preparing to clean my "room" (a sectioned off area in our basement) when he had come downstairs to do laundry. as i was getting up to clean, my stepdad started speaking to me and said "after i get the dog poop, you're going to come help me and the boys (my brothers) pick up sticks." i replied, "no im not, im about to clean my room." he began to get agitated very quickly, and because i've experienced years of treatment similar to this i was also extremely agitated.

quick piece of context, my parents have kicked me out multiple times for long periods of time. every time i had been kicked out and came back, they basically denied having kicked out at all and tried to make it seem like i had left of my own accord. this is gaslighting. i just moved back into their house after about half a year of living in a group home and with my moms father and then my moms mother, all three of the places i stayed this time i believe caused me more problems than i had before. in total, being kicked out repeatedly by my parents has caused me noticeable trauma relating to my living situation. the fear of being kicked out follows me no matter where i go and live.

the next sentence my stepdad said during the sticks argument was, "it's things like this that'll get you living like you were before." while thats not a direct threat at my living situation, it is still a threat to kick me out. the statement directly implied that my not helping was going to result in kicking me out. i held it together until he had gotten upstairs again and i immediately burst into tears and started settling into a panic attack.

i texted my mom and asked her to come talk to me about something because i was in so much distress and had become so unregulated that i needed to ask for help. she got downstairs and through tears i explained to her what happened, the first thing she said was "why is your room so messy? i've been telling you to clean for three days." she then proceeded to say she would talk to him about it and went upstairs, and that was expected to be the end of it for her. i had the worst panic attack i've had in years after i was alone and on the phone with my boyfriend, he ended up providing the emotional compassion i needed in that moment. after i had calmed down from the brunt of the panic attack, i went upstairs to talk to my mom about the event. the only thing she said about it was, "stepdad didn't threaten to kick you out." she brushed it off completely, not even listening to me and physically walking away from me a few times. later that night, everything was "fine" between my stepdad and i and he tried showing me some funny videos on his phone. when i went inside from the attempted talking to my mom, i boiled over. i screamed something or the other, hit a wall, went downstairs, and then continued to kick the wall while yelling.

in this incident, i can point out the four cycles of abuse very easily. tensions building - he told me to help pick up sticks and i tried to explain i was about to do something else. incident - he threatens to kick me out and my mom enables it. reconciliation - mom telling me it wasn't as bad as i had perceived ("he didnt threaten to kick you out"). calm - everything is back to normal.

because of the years of abuse i have faced similar to this, i do something called reactive abuse. reactive abuse is when the victim of abuse gets pushed to a breaking point and they lash out during incidents of abuse, the abuser then uses this as leverage to say that the victim is actually the abuser. its a vicious and painful cycle, one that my parents have been putting me through for my entire life. if you get abused in a similar way and react similarly to me, i want you to know that you are not abusive. being pushed to such an unregulated state where you lash out is a sign of abuse being committed against you. its not your fault.

while this post didn't really have a solid point and was mostly me reflecting on my personal situation, i really hope someone gets something out of this. whether that be courage to label what their going through as abuse or the ability to think critically about their situation and start identifying their cycle of abuse. i hope anyone that has reached this point takes care of themselves, maybe do a couple acts of self care.

be kind to yourself.

#abuse mention #emotional abuse mention #abuse detailed mention #emotional abuse detailed mention #cycle of abuse #self reflection #ramble #bpd #abuse survivor #cptsd #cptsd vent #drink some water #tw abuse #tw emotional abuse #really long winded post but i hope someone reads this #im tired #c-ptsd #trauma #2/26/2023 #my personal shit #journal entry #journaling #mental health #mental wellness #emotional health #abuse awareness #gaslighting #parental abuse #reactive abuse #actually autistic

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

come rest your bones next to me ; satoru gojo, suguru geto

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most. 

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes. 

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks. 

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth. 

it’s beautiful. 

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded. 

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere. 

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again. 

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling. 

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

���oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.” 

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face. 

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips. 

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs. 

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!” 

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there. 

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot. 

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.” 

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word. 

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology. 

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown. 

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again. 

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it. 

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.” 

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?” 

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.” 

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.” 

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow. 

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice. 

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter. 

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself. 

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest. 

he hopes it never goes away.

#genuinely fucked up that suguru geto isnt in my kitchen rn </3 #i just think sugu is such a caretaker. makes u breakfast and peels ur satsumas w/o u even asking. bc it makes him happy :’3 hes so Mother #i think he lowkey gets just a little bit uncomfortable when u or gojo try to do the same for him… he likes doting on u #but obv he deserves to be pampered too!! just gotta ease him into it #and i think gojo has a hole in his heart where love should be. bc he wasnt given enough as a child #im not sure what to think when it comes to his parents (since we know literally nothing abt them) but... #the idea of him finding some comfort in the memory of his mom…. maybe not realizing that he misses her…..… i think its very sad. and good. #listened to ricky montgomery while writing this i think it mightve healed me #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo #gojo fluff #geto fluff #satosugu x reader #satosugu x you #satosugu x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #……… thats… a lot of tags.