#hellscape (affectionate)

[ironwoman359]

A story in 3 parts, featuring @cats-with-blogs

[canisonicscrewyou]

Sometimes I think about how I knew two(?) people in the dr who tumblr rpc in the mid 2010s who just. Collected bits and pieces of info of people being Vaguely Problematic for fun, on the off chance that they'd fuck up and they'd get to post it everywhere. And how I didn't realize this until like the third time one of them prodded me with questions about my writing on an archived blog from ~3 years prior as if that was a normal thing to grill someone about.

Anyways I definitely don't get horrifically anxious when engaging in fandom spaces nowadays. What are you talking about.

[makerofmadness]

hey so uh. I'm feeling like some nostalgia (for me) tonight so I think I'm gonna go through a tag on a mutual's blog and just reblog art of like my first ever blorbo from a fandom I was in at like 10-14 but despite the death of cringe culture I still feel scared of Judgement so. Idk heads up incoming Skeleton

[jynxeddraca]

Yup. It really sucks. And a lot of people will just tell you to go "find a new job" if you don't like your current benefits or "go back to school so you can get a better job with benefits" neither of which is easy in our economy right now.

Funnily enough, post-COVID - where fast food workers were considered essential (and expendable, cause they still didn't get sick time) - fast food places seem to be struggling to find people now. And for some reason people are surprised.

I think adults need summer vacation. Like let's just close down all our jobs for three months and play outside. Please. I'm so tired.

[insecurelad]

Opening up tumblr after being on twt all day feels like returning from war. I’m home again.

[just-a-silly-little-gay]

guess who saw rwrb and then immediately spent the next 5 hours devouring the book because they'd been procrastinating reading it ✌️

[jellykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Entry : 046 - Jinwoo x Fem! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

╰┈➤ ❝ [ All of Him ] ¡! ❞

His Hands

Long and slender fingers who would never dare to harm your precious body and only aims to ever pamper and care for you. His lingering touches would always feel slightly ticklish as it ghosts over your delicate skin. 

Jinwoo would never dare lift a heavy hand on you.

Hell, he would rather cut his limbs off than ever dare to imagine it.

His hands will never fail to caress your face, his thumb swiping affectionately across your fluffy cheek. 

Jinwoo would always offer his hand to you wherever you two may be. He just can’t get enough of you really.

And maybe it’s also because he has developed separation anxiety over the years of spending his time in the gates fighting wars against the monarchs and the beasts they have summoned to attempt making him submit to them.

So really, how could he not cherish you after spending almost decades being battered in a bloody hellscape? 

Jinwoo wants nothing more than to pamper and care for you with his hands.

Hands that have ended many but will always, always, be gentle for you and you only.

His Eyes

Oh his eyes, those charming grey eyes of his.

They would look at you like you’re the only existence that would ever matter in this godforsaken world.

His foes recognize him with the familiar blazing lilac in his eyes. Once they see that color, they know their existence will undoubtedly disappear from this world or maybe they will be turned into one of his abominations.

With everyone else, he was always a cold and stoic person, the warmth that he had once disappeared overtime with his growth as a player. Everyone around him would always be afraid of his eyes. They say that when they look at him it’s akin to staring directly at the abyss.

Hence why people would always avoid looking at him.

But with you?

With you, it’s different.

He wouldn’t have a hint of lilac in his eyes.

Lilac is the shadow monarch.

Grey is Sung Jinwoo.

Grey is your Jinwoo.

As long as you’re in his sight, everything is beautiful.

Though this world is littered by cruelty and unsightliness, Jinwoo forgets all of it the moment you are in view.

He looks at you as his goddess.

Everything that you are and will ever do is beautiful. There’s really nothing he could say or think to describe anything else.

So long as you are here, everything is seen through rose-colored lenses.

When Jinwoo looks at you, the emptiness and sadness in his weary heart would disappear in an instant. He wishes that he can just spend every waking moment by your side and overlooking you as you did usual menial activities. Everything that you do is extremely adorable to him after all.

He just can’t help it, he can’t help but love you. 

His Arms

Strong and firm, his arms have ended a lot of his foes brutally. But to you?

They're your safe haven.

When everything gets too cold, you can always count on Jinwoo to embrace you and share his warmth with you.

When the world becomes too overwhelming, you hide in his arms that doesn't question you and would immediately shelter you into safety.

Jinwoo would always cradle you into his loving arms.

He in fact loves it the most when you're tucked into his embrace. He gets to pamper you with so much affection.

Though he would always be mindful and make sure he doesnt squeeze you too much.

The strength of the shadow monarch isn't one to be trifled with.

So he, who loves you more than anything else in the world— Wishes nothing more than to make sure you are safe and sound in his embrace.

His Body

Tall, dark and handsome.

Jinwoo's frame is something he honed to perfection to complement his role as the shadow monarch.

He is powerful and imposing.

His figure sends a shiver on anyone's body the moment he is on sight.

Lanky may he be, but he is the perfect vessel for war. He trained himself to the absolute limits.

And his skin shows proof of it all.

Burn scars from the late monarch Antares.

Multiple and giant scars that prove his decades of war.

Oh but to you?

He uses it to care for you.

He'd use his exceptional strenght to carry gifts for you or carry all the luggage he has undoutebly forced you to accept during your many, many shopping sprees.

Honestly he does it so often that you completely forget that he is actually a man that ended monarchs and demons alike. In your eyes? He is just someone who enjoys being of service to you.

Jinwoo's towering figure would always make you feel extremely small, but not to the point he makes you feel afraid.

You know this man better than anything else, he also wishes to use himself as a shield for everything else that dares to try and harm you.

He'd always lift you up in his arms and pull your face into the crook of his neck.

When he does that, you know better than to lift your head up and dare to look at anywhere else. When Jinwoo does that, it means that he made quite the scene with someone who dared to disrespect you in front of his eyes.

You pretty eyes are only meant to see pretty things.

And Sung Jinwoo is dead set on making sure of that.

His Lips

Those sweet, pink and thin lips of his.

Lips that open to praise you like you're a precious flower.

Lips that could never get enough of you when he peppers you with loving pecks and kisses.

Jinwoo's normally empty and harsh words would morph into tender ones. As if he has a language made to be used for you only.

His kisses are feathery light, aiming to kiss every inch of you. From your forehead, to your cheeks, to the corners of your lips, to your collarbone and your delicate digits.

Jinwoo is never good with his words, but he makes up for it with his delicate pecks.

He will never go by 2 minutes without kissing you somewhere whether it was a gentle one or one where he's utterly frustrated with how cute you are that he can't help himself.

He'd be in a sour mood if he goes by a day without your kisses.

The first time it happened it was a complete hellday for his coworkers since he was exceptionally prissy that day.

So Jinwoo makes sure to shower you with loving pecks before he is off to work.

On his Knee

As the shadow monarch, he makes everyone around him grovel to the ground. His existence itself exudes regality that they'd instinctively be on their kness.

You're an exception though.

The same man who makes every being around him beg for mercy and ultimately lower themselves into nothing more than isignificant beings; the same man who has humbled the monarchs into nothing more than a pile of ashes and bones—

He will be down on one knee for you.

"Sarang, you know what this means, don't you?" He says in a tender voice when he lowered himself down to the ground.

In this paradise that he takes you to every once in a while, the secret garden he built himself by turning a dying island into a lush forest with flowers all around you both— Jinwoo is down on one knee in this very place that is for you and you only.

"I'm not good with words hahah, I might screw up the atmosphere with how flimsy and stupid I am with confessing my feelings," He chuckles softly, taking out a small velvet box and opening it to reveal a golden band with a gleaming gem on it. "But know that I will do anything for you."

"Do you want the world at your knees? I can do that. But knowing how kind and selfless you are, I know you wont let me do such a thing. Still, I want you to know that all that I am and all that I'll ever be is yours. I love you. More than anything in this world. I don't know how I can show you how completely and utterly devoted I am to you. If you want to use me as a bridge to get you to where you want to be, so be it. If you want to use me as the stepping stone to reach your dreams, then I'll let you use me however you want."

"Just know that I love you so much."

In those grey eyes you can see a blaze that will only be there when it's looking towards you, a fire that will only burn for you.

This man is willing to dance atop the flames if it means to make you happy.

Jinwoo would let himself burn for you.

"I don't really need anything fancy" You tearfully smile, extending a hand to him to which he gently takes. "I just want to spend my life with you and the next ones."

"Then we will." Jinwoo cooes as he slips the ring onto your finger and brings it up to his lips to kiss it, now murmuring against your soft skin "In every lifetime I'll find you, fall in love with you, and marry you. I want to be your husband and be the father to your children."

"Just as long as you're in my reach, I am capable of doing anything."

꒰ 🪼 A/N: We're so back now my precious guppies. I hope you guys like my new layout too since it's simpler and easier for our eyes now www. It's still my branding style so xDD!!! I just switched up a few elements here andStarting out slow and steady with a Jinwoo proposal fic because I love my hubby. ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[loverboykirstein]

Nanami/reader smut after he’s had long day of work and he needs reader to help him relax tehehe

hello mysterious anon (i know who you are...hehe)

i hope i did your request justice !!

the best kind of overtime // nanami kento

nanami x afab!reader

wc: 2580

mdni -> rough-ish sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation.... you get the vibe

***pulling your arms up, you let him yank it off you, worried he would rip the damn thing in half if he had to wait a millisecond longer. 

there was something about it, the primal desperation to take you, to claim you, and to do it as fast as he fucking could, that made you want him so. fucking. bad. 

hissing between your teeth as his sunk into the soft flesh of your neck, sucking bruise after bruise down to your chest. 

leaving broken blood vessels in the fat of one tit, hand palming the other, a near sadistic giggle simmer in his throat with your short sounds of muddled pain and pleasure, hands pulling on his once perfect hair. 

he pulled away for a painful moment in time, untying the bow on the waistband of your sweatpants, tugging them off without a word, too lost in desperation to care***

ᥫ᭡。

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

“hi baby,”.

your voice was buttery soft, a warm embrace against nanami’s red hot ears, scalding with the hatred he held for his job. 

a weathered sigh as he shut the door behind him, the bags under his eyes hidden by the lamplight illuminating the living room. 

you had gotten used to the lonely evenings, this time of year was always the worst, audits and reports and meetings, it seemed to be never ending for him. 

most nights, you fell asleep waiting, book in your hand as the pages fell limp, only kept warm by the gentle purrs of the kitty he had saved from the pouring rain a year ago, timid and cold by your apartment building. 

you would leave dinner out for him, knowing he worked so hard he often forgot to eat, only realizing how starving he was once the smell of your home cooked meals settled in his passageways. 

breakfast set in the fridge, a note always stuck on top, it was the least you could do for him. wrapped up tight and placed on the counter, his favorite cookie set on top of the coffee mug he would take to work each day, 5 of the same. 

“hi, darling,” his exhale heavy as he left his shoes at the door, hanging his suit jacket on the coat rack adjacent. 

“there’s dinner in the kitchen, but i can make you something else if you would li-”. 

gentle offering cut short, the man who didn’t know how to relax resting his head on your lap, arms wrapping around your waist. 

an affectionate man in private, always reserved in public, but he rarely collapsed into you so quickly even in the comfort of your home, always making sure you were tended to first. 

a sigh of relief brushed against the small gap of exposed skin of your hip, shirt bunched up under the man’s warm face. 

you had missed that warmth he always carried, amber and mahogany that soothed your airways like nothing you could ever imagine. 

the hum of worry still vibrated your chest, his near wordless urgency to have his skin against yours, yet his jaw was still taught with anger. 

“do you wanna talk about it?” your voice a sirens song to him, polar opposite of the yelling he had heard for days in the corporate hellscape he found himself trapped in. 

“i just-” he sighed as you began to run your fingers through his hair, nails grazing his scalp just enough to send a year’s worth of electricity down his spine. 

“i don’t understand why every. single. year. everyone’s lack of planning forces my need for urgency. it’s infuriating how i am always the one to blame. i don’t even know half these people, for crying out loud,”. 

it pissed you off beyond belief, that people would ever speak to him in such a way, that anyone could even be mad at him for anything. 

a few hard blinks to shove down your seething response, knowing better than to add fuel to that fire. 

you knew this season wouldn’t last for much longer, but it still broke you to know that he would have to go back to that, endless phone calls and reams of paper piled all over. 

“is there anything i can do for you? all you gotta do is ask baby, i don’t mind at all,”.

his arms around you grew tighter, and you felt his eyebrows pinch together against you. what is he thinking so hard about? 

“can i fuck you?” he nearly mumbled, catching you off guard. 

he was usually a little sweeter with it, even if it left you sobbing and all bruised up after, a giver at heart, after all. 

it was a silly question to you nonetheless, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up his arms, slacks that fit in all the right places, a dream for crying out loud. 

“quite the gentleman tonight i see,” you let out a small laugh, face heating up like a flustered teen. 

the thought of him just using you sent a flutter through your core, body craving him so so long. caught in the haze of reports, you had come to terms with the idea that he was probably just too tired to want anything of that nature. 

maybe i need to start testing his patience every once in a while… 

“if that’s alright, never  gonna make you do anything you don’t wan-”. 

“use me,”. 

like a dog freed from its leash, acting on instinct alone at the freedom granted. 

he was messy, he was greedy, he was starving. 

you had never seen him move with such haste, usually so goddamn calculated. 

sloppy kisses that bruised your lips, teeth hitting every once in a while as his tongue reintroduced itself to yours. 

hands all over, grabbing everything, anything he could with enough drive that you swore you would become one with the couch you had slept on more times than you could ever count. 

“off,” he tugged the hem of your shirt, wanting it as far away from your skin as possible, to see those pretty tits, the heavy rise and fall of your chest as you tried to catch any oxygen that remained above you. 

pulling your arms up, you let him yank it off you, worried he would rip the damn thing in half if he had to wait a millisecond longer. 

there was something about it, the primal desperation to take you, to claim you, and to do it as fast as he fucking could, that made you want him so. fucking. bad. 

hissing between your teeth as his sunk into the soft flesh of your neck, sucking bruise after bruise down to your chest. 

leaving broken blood vessels in the fat of one tit, hand palming the other, a near sadistic giggle simmer in his throat with your short sounds of muddled pain and pleasure, hands pulling on his once perfect hair. 

he pulled away for a painful moment in time, untying the bow on the waistband of your sweatpants, tugging them off without a word, too lost in desperation to care. 

a smirk and a huff out his nose at the sight of you under him, left in just the underwear he bought you, like you had a feeling this would happen. 

“you wanna be good f’me? hm?” his eyes were dark, blown out in something you hadn’t seen before, looming over you as he placed his hand on the armrest your head was pressed against. 

“depends,” you bit your bottom lip, the brat getting the better of you, unsure of where it had been hiding all this time.  

“don’t test me, doll,” his index and his thumb of his free hand on your chin, one last chance to submit without a fight. 

“or what,” you let your lips stay parted, taking his thumb on your tongue.

not giving him the chance to tell you to shut up, to catch him off his guard. 

you watched him as his jaw tensed, and you swore on your life you could hear his teeth crack. 

“you’re asking for it, aren’t you darling,”. 

playing with fire, you knew you shouldn’t, but good god you were mad at yourself for thinking he didn’t have a messy side, a desperate side. 

letting his thumb fall from the warmth of your mouth, you wanted to beg for him, but fuck it was just too much fun. 

always so calm and collected, now a flushed mess of a man, sanity fleeing out the cracked kitchen window. 

“it has been an awfully long time since you’ve fucked me, kento,” a bite at the end, rarely ever using anything but pet names. “can’t blame me for that,”. 

“excuse me?” fingers gripped your face, cupping your jaw as he pressed the fat of your cheeks into the sides of your teeth. 

a muffled “you’re excused,” barely slips past your lips, smushed together by his manicured fingers, giggles not helping your case. 

“you really wanna play this game, don’t you, doll,”. 

he seemed like he was scolding you, giving you one last chance to change your mind, to change your attitude. 

you couldn’t stop the case of giggles that made your face run hot, knowing you were pulling on the final thread of his restraint. 

you couldn’t help the throbbing of your cunt, dripping at the suffocating proximity, the heaviest tension you’d ever felt. 

“gonna fuck that attitude right out of you,”. his gritted teeth barely made his words comprehensible, missed as he flipped you over with the strength of sheer frustration moving each of his muscles. 

bent over the armrest, ass up face down, soaked through panties on full display. 

the only other sound besides the pounding heartbeat in your ears was the jingle of his belt coming undone, his slacks unzipped, the slap

of his cock against the base of his stomach. 

cold air hit your cunt with a shiver as he pulled the sticky cloth to the side. 

excitement fought against the wave of fear that materialized out of thin air, knowing the stretch of it all was nearly impossible even when he massaged you open with drooling lips and cum coated fingertips in the plush bedding draped over your shared mattress. 

you jumped at the sudden friction, his red tip leaking with need, coating himself in every drop you had to offer. the agonizing push and pull of his throbbing length against your puffy slit, whimpers slipping past your kiss-bitten lips. 

catching on your desperate hole every so often, almost giving in. 

trying your best to push back into him, to force his hand and fill you up, but you were near powerless with your entire body supported on the armrest, folded in two. 

eyes forced to see the details in the hardwood floor, blood rushing to your head at a rapid pace, all kinds of dizzy. 

“you know better than to act like that, honey,”. you could imagine his face, blown out eyes, spit covered lips, flushed cheeks and pinched brows. 

veins in his arms screaming for release, each blood vessel racing to feed the fire. 

with one hand planted firmly in the crevice where your hips tipped you over, bruising grip on whatever part of you he could grab, fingerprints embedded in your dna. 

you felt like your nerves were on fire, body hot enough to heat the entire room as you felt him press against your weeping cunt. 

the sting of the unprepped stretch was criminal, like he had somehow gotten even bigger in the few weeks you had been without his cock buried inside you. 

but god did he feel so heavenly, coaxing himself into you so slowly, breathing labored and hands clammy. 

it was downright unfair how heavy his length was, how many inches you took so greedily. 

“relax, my love,”. words a soft hum, despite the urge in his hips to split you open then and there. 

“s’ big, ken”. your voice a wobbly mess, a mix of too many things all at once. your fingertips buzzing with heat, blood sizzling your nervous system 

“wanna-” his sanity slipping, drooling at the way you sucked him off so well, even only halfway in. “wanna feel all ‘f ya, ‘kay pretty girl?”

a whiny ‘mhm’ from your parted lips, cut short by the plunge of his cock into your cervix knocking the wind right out of you. 

featherweight sparks shot down your body, spilling out into the floor, out of your lungs. 

his hips pressed firm into the fat of your ass, settling into the warmth your walls provided like it was the last thing he would ever feel. 

your insides pulsed around him, enveloping each filthy inch, stretched to a degree you never knew you could. 

a slow drag out as your needy cunt tried so hard to keep him in, a brutal slam back into your cervix, so full you swore you could feel him in your throat. 

nothing short of ruthless, fucked dumb in a matter of seconds, clit fluttering as it was left unattended. 

with perfect rhythm, angled at just the right spot, the fastest you had ever come to unraveling in your years spent together. 

“ f-fuckin so ‘mngh- tight f‘’me”. his voice a rattled mess, you could hear his slacked jaw and flustered heart. “like a- fuck like you were- when i took your- shit- virginity,”. 

you swore he laughed under his broken breath, the way you squeezed around him even tighter, a thread separating you from total climax. 

“ ‘so good, ngh- fuck m’ don’t s-stop please,”. 

less of a plea and more of a broken sob, suffocating him in your silky sweet cum, collecting at the base of his cock before you could truly comprehend it. 

vision nearly black, the only light the colored spots that shimmered in your vision, voice cracked and toes curled. 

legs weak, pace never faltering for a second, the only difference was the heaves of air he begged for, so incredibly focused on you you you. 

before your vision could restore itself, you felt him press somehow deeper into your bruised insides, free hand slithering its way to the base of your head, pulling you up by the roots of your hair. 

air supply cut short by your sudden change in angle, mouth agape and tears pin-pricking the corners of your eyes. 

“f-fuck you feel-” the strings of your sanity unraveling by the second, nearly pulsing around him. “-i could fuck ya forever,” 

strained too far to speak, maw stuck open as each ounce of pent up frustration spilled out of his swollen head. 

spilling out in puddles of pre-cum, adding even more slick to the mess dripping onto the couch. 

a mix of his thick cologne, sweat, anger, sex, and sin caught in your nearly shut airway, feeling it all settle in the base of your tummy and press against his fluid fucks. 

“where- where does my- fuck - pretty girl wan’ me?” 

you could feel his signal twitch, hips slowly stuttering as he tried to hold on long enough for a response, hoping you would force a decision upon him before he stuffed you full. 

“a-anywhere-” your words a humiliating stutter, barely heard over the lewd squelch of your pussy suffocating his cock. 

a ripcord pulled, hips yanked from their home against your ass, warm ropes of white painted across the arch in your back, not quite whimpers but not quite moans babbling past his lips. 

grip on your hair relaxed, letting you slowly collapse back down to earth, unable to catch your breath quick enough. 

he pulled you back a little, able to support yourself on your elbows, no longer engaging any part of your core to steady yourself. 

“do you need anything, my love?” he left his place behind you, crouching down to meet your flushed face and shaking hands. 

you shook your head no, mouth dry and trying your best not to let the pool of cum on your back drip down to the sofa, settling into the bliss of a fucked out brain, shut down for a moment of time. 

he used the inside of your shirt he had thrown out of the way to wipe you down, slow and gentle. a soft hum at his gentle touch, so different than his gritted teeth humps into you. 

“c’mon, i’m not done with you just yet, darling,”.

---------------------

hi! long time no see. I know this is a little shorter than usual, but maybe i'll do a part 2 one day.

as always, love you so much, thanks for stopping by!

 ᥫ᭡。

[itsabouttimex2]

Inky Clutches

“You were good today, weren’t you?”

The world suddenly snaps back to color, leaving you dazed and unsteady- just seconds ago you had been on the verge of the sleep, and now-

“Someone’s a tired little bug, aren’t they?” The curse’s hand prods and pokes at your cheek to trail a cold string of ink across it, prompting you to squeak and squirm away to escape the freezing touch.

“Stop stop stop!” You squeal in mild distress, writhing under your covers and scooting your back to the wooden bedrest. “Baba, stop!”

“My poor little Squiggle,” it lowly chuckles, pulling away the bedsheets. “Always so sleepy, aren’t you?” There’s always a strange note of warmth under their condescending tone, striking in its sincerity.

“I… I hadn’t meant to fall asleep,” you admit, looking away with a frown. “But you had been gone for so long…”

“Ahahahaha! What a cute pouty face! C’mon, drop that pout… be a good little ward and smile already,” it laughs, one hand pressing harshly down on your head, mussing your hair.

The curse is hardly apologetic for their lateness. But then, the Ink Curse never apologizes. They're cruel and wicked, only caring for how much misery they can spread to anyone caught inside this cursed scroll-

Except for you, that is.

It’s almost strange how doting the abomination can be, almost affectionate- though it’s unclear how much they actually care for you, given the frequent switching between treating you like their own child and treating you like a clingy little pet.

"I was busy,” it sighs, shifting to stand a good few feet taller than you. “You’re a big kid now, Y/N. You can look after yourself, can’t you?" The blobbish thing lightly scolds, as it reaches out to pat your head in a half-assed attempt to be comforting.

“But… if you want to act like a little baby, fine.”

You’re far too used to their antics by now. The constant taunting and belittling that comes naturally with the Ink Curse, the nicknames they call you- ‘Squiggle’ and ‘Inkblot’ are two of their gentler ones- it’s nothing new. But shows of physical affection are just rare enough to get you excited, prompting you to spring off the bed and reach out to be held.

The ink homunculus scoops you up with a huff, holding you close to their chest.

“…you’ve grown, Squiggle.”

It’s a quiet and sudden confession, as the curse buries their face against your shoulder with a sigh. For a change, you can’t hear the usual barely-restrained mockery. The teasing. The taunting.

The sort of thing it relishes in delivering to all the lost souls trapped in the confines of the cursed scroll.

But for you? There’s only a quiet grumble as cold arms wrap around you with an odd kind of gentleness in their grip.

“When did you get so tall?” They murmur against your hair, their voice a low grumble, but lacking all of the usual mockery.

But even in a moment as soft as this, there’s still a hint of condescension in their voice. The curse lets out another sigh, softer this time, and it pulls away to themselves, tilting your head from side to side as it studies you.

For an artificial being made entirely of ink and spite, the look in their eyes is downright warm.

“You were so small when we first met…”

Back when you first entered the scroll, you had been barely a toddler, not even old enough to speak in anything more than gurgles. Too young to have been counted as a “sinner”, the Ink Curse had instead taken you under it’s wing as a potential “heir” to one day assist it in punishing all those caught in the hellish recesses of this twisted artifact.

And in the years that had come and pass, you had grown in more ways than one. You’d grown older. Stronger. More self-reliant. You’d learned to read and write. Learned to control yourself, and in many ways, learned to control the ink hellscape around you.

…and the thought of you growing leads the Ink Curse to wonder if one day you’ll grow to long for a world you had been cast away from.

“Soon you'll be all grown up and leaving me behind, hm?"A clawed finger pokes your cheek, squishing the softness of your skin as it tips up your chin. “You'll forget all about old Inky, won't you? Find yourself a new Baba?"

“…you ask me this too much, Baba. You know that I can’t leave.”

“And yet, one day you will.” The curse bluntly retorts, expression turning cold in a flash.“One day you’ll grow up big and strong, and you’ll find your way back to the real world… and forget all about me.”

They play this “game” frequently- making you comfort them by insinuating that they have some deep-seated fear of you magically finding a way to escape this divine scroll of punishment.

“You’ll leave, and all those memories, all the things we shared together…”

As had come to be a norm, they were playing up the part of the overly-attached parent, and they were doing it well, voice growing just shaky enough to sound vulnerable, even managing to drop their smug smile for a minute.

“…you’ll forget all about them, and then all about me.”

“I- I would never! Baba, how could you say that I would-“

The curse is immediately flooded with a strange sense of satisfaction at your sudden and utterly panicked reaction, forcing down a gleeful grin.

“How could I say it?” They echo, suddenly growing colder in tone and slower in cadence. “Because you will. That’s how little children are- they grow up, and they forget all the things they once loved so dearly.”

“And I will be one of those things.”

The Ink Curse’s voice drops to a murmur as it continues, their cyan gaze locked on you. And even though you know by now that they’re just playing this cruel “game” once again, their words manage to send a chill down your spine.

“And you’ll forget my voice. Forget my face. Forget my love. You’ll forget everything about me. And then I’ll be nothing more than a little shadowy blob in the darkest corners of your mind.

As usual, tears bead up in your eyes at these harsh accusations, feeling shamed that your guardian would still believe you to have so little faith in them.

The abomination stares down at you as you begin to cry, a wicked sense of pleasure shooting through their pitch veins at the sight of your tears.

As cruel as it seems, the Ink Curse loves nothing more than putting your loyalty to the test- they love finding ways to make you reassure them time and time again that you won’t ever abandon them. And though they know that you’ll never do such a thing, they love to hear you say it over and over.

After all, it’s “just a game”. A little “make sure you still love me” test. Maybe you’re too empathetic. Too sensitive. Too naive.

You’re something that it counts as “frail”, though it wouldn’t be able to put a name to the trait.

And the curse uses that “weakness” frequently. Playing up how they “know” you will easily forget them, how you’re going to grow up and leave them in the dust, how you’ll eventually be consumed with the desire to escape from the hellish scroll and the “affectionate” curse within.

And you’ve never once failed to fall for it. Just as they had hoped. Each and every time, their plan has worked flawlessly.

This time, of course, is no different. You’re blinking back tears, on the verge of breaking down entirely, and the curse revels in every moment of it- the rush of power and joy that comes with the knowledge that you actually care about them.

That someone cares about them.

“Oh, my poor Squiggle… do you want me to take you to the swings again?”

The words are enough to make you jerk slightly, head lifting to stare at the curse with wet and wide eyes. It’s almost funny, how even in a moment as vulnerable as this, you’re still so eager and quick to respond to their hints of affection.

You had basically grown up in that little corner of the scroll, a little slice of history containing a quiet park, set on a cozy afternoon. Being “good” earned you visits there, a break from the monotony of traveling through the scroll and waiting for your guardian to finish punishing “sinners” as it found them before moving to the next section.

To be offered that trip again…

“Do you want a little break from all the heavy thinking?” It continues, shifting to hold you a little tighter. “A little break from being such a big, tough kid?”

(Kid. Are you a kid? You were at a stage between infant and toddler when you came, and it had been… how many years since then? How old were you?)

The curse watches carefully as you consider the offer. The promise of being taken outside for something as childish as a little swing session. It's a bribe like usual- a promise of something sweet in exchange for a little more manipulation of your emotions.

But they know how much you love the little park memory they set aside for you in the center of their little hell. And they know how effective it is at soothing your mood.

“…we can really… we’ll actually go back to that memory? Like we used to?”

The curse grins again, all traces of fake vulnerability gone from their expression. The tone of their voice is once again condescending, smug, and laced with a hint of mockery.

“Of course we can, Y/N. We’ll take a little trip to our old grounds, and I’ll try to forget all that cruel nonsense you were spouting.”

With a rictus grin, the ink demon offers you their pitch hand.

And, as always, you accept it.

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

Diavolo - "Sit In"

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

In which a certain prince of the Devildom is once again swamped with work, but luckily his little human lover has come to his rescue. Or; In which Prince Diavolo has his darling boyfriend [Name] warm his lap while he slaves away on his paperwork.

                                                                                                   

👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑

The maroon-haired demon prince sighs gloomily as he slumps against his document-cluttered desk. He had been working for what felt like an eternity. Truthfully, it had only really been an hour or two, but it felt like he had been sitting there forever; it was just so boring! He could be hanging out with his boyfriend right now, doing whatever it is that his cute little human felt like doing; but no Barbatos made him work.

“Ugh…”  

Diavolo groans; fidgeting with the fountain pen in his hands as he repeatedly taps on the desk; unknowingly creating a small pool of ink.

The poor demon desperately wants to leave the hellscape he's found himself in, but when he lifts his head to look at his butler, the man only smiles and shakes his head; gesturing with his hands to continue his work.

Abruptly; a knock sounded from behind the door. Diavolo shot upright in his chair; a relieved grin stretching across his lips. The door opens to reveal the very person he was just daydreaming about; his darling human lover: [Name].

The human boy peeks his head out from the partially opened door and looks from the seated demon to the butler who stands off to the side and back again. He raises a brow,–

“Oh. Are you busy right now, Dia?”  

The h/c-ette queries softly; ready to get out of the busy man's hair as soon as he's told to.

Barbatos eyes his lord in suspicion, knowing the prince will drop whatever he's doing without a thought if it means he can attend to his lover's needs. The black-to-teal-haired man clears his throat; garnering the attention of the intruding Human Male.

“Unfortunately; his majesty is very bus—”  

The poor steward was quickly cut off by his lord.

“Not at all! Well— actually I do have a few more papers to sign, but those can be done later! Now, what can I do for you, my treasure?”  

Diavolo interrupts; giving his darling a dazzling boyish grin as he does so.

[Name] giggles at the prince's antics; giving the butler an apologetic smile before entering the room and gently closing the door behind him. Traipsing quickly over to the burly demon's desk; the human happily simpered. He carefully planted his hands on the desktop, fingers splayed, as he leaned forward just a bit.

“Are you sure you're not busy? I wouldn't want to keep you from your work. You know if you finish everything now, you'll have more free time later.”  

The maroon-haired man chuckled at their concern; finding it cute that his little mortal lover was concerned about him. He scoots his chair back and away from his desk before patting his lap a few times, gesturing for them to have a seat. They, of course, comply; unceremoniously plopping their bottom onto the tops of his thick muscled thighs.

The demon wraps his arm around their waist; picking up his discarded pen and beginning to fill out the previously neglected paperwork. He chuckles softly as he feels you snuggle your head into his chest; leading him to give a gentle but affectionate squeeze to their soft thigh.

Diavolo lets out a pleased sigh; perhaps he should have you sit in his office while he works more often. Surely Barbatos wouldn't disagree, right?

👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑•♡•👑

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

This work was made by the spite garnered from this lovely little ask I received from a mystery anon, right here.

[avelera]

Parallels Between "Arcane" and "Puella Magi Madoka Magica"

Here it is, the meta I've been chewing over since Season 2 of "Arcane" was still in progress. I have been side-eying certain elements of Arcane since Act 1, wondering if the parallels with the anime "Puella Magi Madoka Magica" I was seeing were really there, and Act 3 confirmed it.

So to give a quick abstract of what I want to explore, here are the overarching similarities between these two genre-defining masterpieces of animation:

1 ) A time loop story in which one member of a partnership is repeatedly going back in time to save the other and prevent an apocalypse.

2 ) A system of magic that at first seems benign and is utilized to help humanity, only for its users to learn this magic isn't a blessing, it's a curse.

3 ) Resonance between their art and music. Both "Madoka" and "Arcane" are noteworthy for their visual artistic flare, which makes Madoka a likely inspiration for Arcane, in both the visual art and the music.

This is the short version. Now let's dive into more details on these resonances between the stories that I would argue are too similar to not be a homage on at least some level.

1 ) For those unfamiliar, "Puella Magi Madoka Magica" is eminently worth your time and the greatest subversion of the anime "magical girl" genre I've ever seen, which it accomplishes by taking many magical girl tropes to their natural, horrifying conclusion.

This essay is going to delve into a lot of spoilers for "Madoka" so if you haven't seen it yet, I highly recommend you stop reading now and go watch it. At 12 episodes of about 22 minutes each, it's an easy and magnificent watch.

For those familiar with Arcane and Madoka, let's dive right in.

In episode 11 of Madoka, we learn that the forbidding figure of Homura who has dogged the narrative and repeatedly prevented our protagonist, Madoka, from becoming a magical girl in a puzzling subversion of the genre finally reveals the truth: she is Madoka's best friend from a previous timeline. She has been resetting the universe, reliving the same few weeks in a Sisyphean hellscape trying to find a way to save Madoka from a coming apocalypse. She has navigated every eventuality but, tragically, with each one she feels herself becoming more unrecognizable to the person she loves.

Sound familliar?

Viktor = Homura Akemi

Jayce = Madoka Kaname

Both Wizard Viktor and Homura reveal the truth of the timeline loops they have suffered through. They do so in a visually otherworldly location, surrounded by images of their past failures, in a place that feels set out of time from the rest of the world. There, they give an impassioned explanation to their loved ones, Madoka and Jayce respectively, about the evil they are fighting to prevent, and how they have suffered through these time loops in order to try to save their loved one and themselves.

Though Wizard Viktor doesn't say this line directly about watching Jayce die over and over, it is heavily implied that each failure of a timeline where Jayce doesn't convince Viktor to set aside the Glorious Evolution ends here: with Jayce's assimilated corpse at the top of the Hexgates.

When Acts 1 & 2 first dropped, I began to suspect that we were looking at a time loop of some sort, but because of Jayce's appearance in 2.05/2.06 and his seeming foreknowledge of events, I had assumed that Jayce was the one who had traveled through time, making him the Homura of the story.

But once it's revealed in Act 3 that Viktor is the Homura of the story, a staggering number of parallels fall into place between Arcane and Madoka:

Homura in the first timeline is a sickly girl who is often shunned and ignored by others. As a result, when the warm, affectionate Madoka enters her life, Homura is immediately struck by her kindness. She will eventually swear her life to saving Madoka.

The visual parallels get quite striking there in some instances.

Both Homura and Viktor spending a great deal of time in the hospital and suffer from ill health, until magic cures their condition. Once they are no longer sick, they embark on the time loops to prevent the events certain events that both lead to disaster, and that are the events that gave them the power to overcome their poor health and time itself in the first place, in a self-replicating paradox.

Here, for example, is a side by side visual of both of them going back to earlier versions of their loved to try yet again to set events into motion that will eventually lead to their salvation. When they do so, they appear as a mysterious, forbidding figure with unknown magic at their disposal. Both at first terrify the person they love with their appearance, and at the same time, introduce the first hints of magic into their lives.

Viktor's time loops take place mostly off screen, while Homura's are shown as part of the main story, they both lead to the same conclusion.

Of course, you don't have to take my word for it that this the parallels between Homura/Madoka and Viktor/Jayce are a direct reference.

Once Jayce and Viktor, and Madoka and Homura respectively, overcome the challenges they face and find a way to use the magic that has damned them to find a solution that will save the world and prevent an apocalypse, both ascend to an astral plane of existence for one last reunion and embrace.

In a scene that is nearly goddamn identical in terms of tone, visuals, and blocking. Both are stripped down to just their essences, naked against the cosmos, and holding one another in an embrace brought about by their love for one another and acknowledgement of all they have done to save each other, over and over.

2 ) Similar magic systems - As striking as the character parallels are between Jayce and Viktor and Madoka and Homura, I don't think the resonance would be as strong if the underlying magic systems of the two stories weren't so similar.

In "Madoka" 1.11, Kyubey the magical creature who grants the girls their powers reveals the truth of the wishes they make, and how those wishes will always turn into a curse.

"All hopes are wishes for something other than the current reality, after all."

(Like defying gravity, perhaps?)

"And anything that doesn’t match reality is bound to create a distortion."

"So why is it surprising that these things always end in disaster? If they considered such a natural outcome to be a betrayal, they were wrong to have made a wish at all."

As Jayce says in Arcane 2.05, "Hextech isn't a miracle. It's a curse."

The fact the magic systems are so similar in their consequences is what lends weight to the fact that Viktor's off screen journey is so much like Homura's, in which he must travel back in time to thread the needle on the exact sequence of events that will both spare Jayce, allow Viktor and Jayce to meet so they can create Hextech which allows the paradox to happen at all, and spare the world the Machine Herald apocalypse (in which, ironically, magical science boy Viktor becomes a witch in his own right, tearing apart the world), and somehow get them to the other side.

In the end, like in Madoka, the only way to save the world is to become celestial beings that erase the curse of their magic, and themselves, from existence.

3 ) A similar artistic flare, in both visuals and music. Madoka and Arcane are highly artistic works that don't just rely on their strong stories to carry the day. They also have resonance in their superb art and music, that to me seem to be in conversation with each other.

For example, the song "Magia" from Madoka and "To Ashes and Blood" from Arcane (which is arguably Jayce's song) to my ears share what sounds like a striking resonance of a rock song juxtaposed with a primal chorus that invokes the wild forces of magic that the protagonists have unknowingly unleashed and must now face. You're welcome to disagree, and whether it was deliberate is very questionable, but I at least hear it.

Finally, I should at least give one nod to what I think are the visual resonances between the two shows as well, though I think the best way to really explore them is to watch "Madoka" and "Arcane" through. This is just one that stuck out to me.

Madoka Magica was noteworthy for its use of artistic flare, especially when exploring the witches. While the visual styles of the two shows are very different, there are moments like the one above where I saw similarities or at least inspiration.

The fact that both shows pushed the boundaries of animation not only indicates to me that they belong in the same category but also, that Arcane was certainly looking back at Madoka as one source of inspiration.

[axokoi]

desperately need all the dungeon meshi fans out there to see chilchuck being part the fucking meta of the hardest endgame event (with this iteration literally being in a fucking HELLSCAPE) from this stupid (affectionate) gacha game called arknights

it's so fucking surreal, i love it. wdym, this tiny man stands on TOP of the best units in the game. im pulling for him. (and the rest of the gang ofc)

[spineless-lobster]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64731505

I wrote a fic where Odysseus gets lost in a costco lmao everyone point and laugh at this doofus

If Odysseus had to guess, he would assume it had been about four hours.

Four hours wandering this labyrinthine hellscape that so many affectionately call ‘Costco.’ Four hours of running in damn circles and trying to swim through crowds of other impatient shoppers.

He could hear Penelope’s voice in his head now, her gentle tone calling him a fool with a laugh dancing on her lips. Telling him to swallow his pride and ask for assistance, but even the thought of giving in made his stomach turn and ego flare.

Title says it all, Odysseus (with this baby son Telemachus) gets lost in a costco.

[itsclydebitches]

Obsessed with Gale telling Tav how much he wants to do-the-do while they're lost in a shadow hellscape, covered in blood and grime from the last battle (that's a plus, apparently), and in full view of the rest of the party. Man doesn't even find some privacy or wipe the blood from his brow before gushing about all the porn he's read. What a freak (affectionate)

[minkdelovely]

velocity

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor x Lucifer ; RadioApple

tags/warnings: pining, fluff because where is it? i can’t find it, might be ooc but also i don’t care? let my boy miss his man a lot little? 🤭, not explicit but as a general rule MDNI 18+

word count: 1k

author’s note: a gift to @hazelfoureyes & @sugoi-writes but no one could be more surprised about this than me lol i was just absolutely overcome with need and… here we are? 🥲✨ chapter ten: part two is on its way, promise. this was very much a ‘struck by lightning’ moment — rare and cherished. i hope you enjoy and that this aids in the waiting 🙏🏻

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Slow.

That’s how it starts. So slow it doesn’t feel any different than the usual day-to-day.

Routine.

Safety in boundaries. Both sets and manages expectations. It’s slow here, too. Concealing itself as a begrudging task one could get out of. But doesn’t.

Consistency.

Knowing what to expect. This, unlike the others, is not slow. Though quick to some, it appears to all in its own time, and it’s not alone.

Familiarity.

Blurs the line. A line that was never quite solid from the start. This is slow. And noticeable.

Nerves.

Unpredictable. Some days it’s not too bad. Follow Routine, where it’s safe. Other days, the blur looms overhead. Brings discomfort. An itch under the skin that can only be relieved by another’s hand.

Touch.

Tests boundaries. Starts slow. A light hand to the shoulder. Grabbing of a wrist during a laugh. Longer eye contact. A different heat behind the taunts. The kindling of a new flame. There is no going back.

Desire.

Burns. This feels fast, due to the false sense of security brought on by Slow. There from the start, biding its time. Waiting to be found. Always with the intent to consume.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

It’s here that Alastor finds himself, fidgeting with a pen at his desk. Head in hand, mind wandering, and eyes glossed as he stares through the windows of his tower; the Hellscape he called home beyond the pane might as well have been covered in fog. What he was looking for was far beyond the city.

Would he be back today?

A question the demon found himself wondering often. Followed quickly with a correlating, hopeful squeeze in the chest. An ache that wouldn’t bother him as much as it did if it could be satiated by his own means.

Lucifer been gone for a couple weeks now. The halls of the hotel feeling barren in his absence. Hollow without his voice.

The angel had to leave the Pride Ring to perform his annual duties and make his rounds through the other circles of Hell. Places Alastor did not have the ability to venture to, being a sinner.

Agony.

This was new, and by far the worst development. It was slow, like many of the others, but seeped into the passage of time thick as syrup. Making it heavy. Seconds passing as if carrying the weight of the world. Because they were.

Missing someone was not something Alastor was accustomed to. Not suited for, even. He didn’t have the patience for it. The stamina. Roaming the halls kept his feet busy, but not much else. How many laps could he make through the hotel before an hour passed? It was a goalpost that kept moving as his anticipation turned to restlessness.

What purpose was there in having twenty-four hours in a day in the afterlife when time was a mortal construct? Did they count the hours in Heaven as well? Or was this a punishment tailored for the damned? It was positively infuriating, and Alastor planned to have a word with his king about it upon his return.

Even if just to lament the fact that time passing in solitude had never bothered him before. When Lucifer informed him of this upcoming trip, the Overlord hadn’t given it a second thought. If anything, he recalled quipping back about finally getting some breathing room.

His majesty was a generously affectionate creature in private. Alastor only pretended to be burdened by it. His flippant, exasperated demeanor being thrown in his face with spite as he now suffered the nights alone in bed. The evening chill maliciously soaking into the left side of his body without the barrier of Lucifer’s embrace.

Comfort.

Alastor was shocked to find himself craving it with a force akin to withdrawal. This was something he had been sufficiently providing on his own for much longer than he had ever received it from others. Subjected now to use Lucifer’s pillow to fill the vacancy of his arms. It was a poor substitute. The scent not strong enough, the weight too light. No breath. No heat. No reciprocating cling.

The pen in Alastor’s hand broke with a snap. Ink shining against the leather of his black gloves as it seeped in. Alastor couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than watch it settle in and dry. A stain that couldn’t be seen, but marred its host all the same. Fitting.

Why hadn’t he asked how long this would take? In his need to seem unfazed, he had trapped himself here in the liminal space of waiting with no end in sight. The relief of this misery known only to one of them. Without so much as a phone call for courtesy.

Does he miss me?

A lump formed in Alastor’s throat at the thought, a perturbed growl following close behind. Hand empty and paper blank, his anxiety settled in his chest. Heartbeat in his ears and pulsing against his ribs as he trudged back to their bedroom that might as well have been the gallows.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

In the late hours of the evening there’s movement in the room. Air punctured with the melody of soft, even breath joined by the shedding of clothes and boots falling to the floor with abandon. Bed dipping under the familiar body crawling in, the rustling of sheets as limbs entangle without conscious thought.

Close.

Solace, but not enough. Too much to make up for to be resolved with just an eagerly anticipated embrace.

Longing and adoration are pressed into skin through hungry kisses. Starting on the shoulder and chest before moving up the neck, the jaw, the face. A furrowed brow as consciousness returns to the slumbering demon, senses blooming with recognition at his angel’s long-awaited presence.

A proper kiss now as Alastor’s arms guide Lucifer to lay atop of him. Relieved moans and heavy sighs fill the small spaces between them as hands wander and knead and cling. Time finally on their side as they exchange saccharine apologies and heartsick complaints between the touch of fingers and lips. Basking in the sanctuary that can only be found here.

Slow.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r, @midorichoco, @raynerrold, @krak-jj, @tremendoushearttaco, @redfoxwritesstuff, @chibistar45, @kaylopolis, @cutiebimbo, @lousypotatoes, @rfox1998, @cosmiccandydreamer, @stardustandbrimstone, @cherry-cola-100, @wonderlandangelsposts, @catticora, @velvette3, @sailorsmouth, @reath-solia, @junieshohoho, @cxrsedwxrlds

**tag list darlings, if you only want to be tagged on alastor x reader in the future please let me know — my poll didn’t show me who chose what 🥺🙏🏻✨**

[kiwii-11]

update: getting to the end of avior and starlight’s story

i would like to propose the idea that starlight only lost their memories after getting pulled back into the trap, so for the five or so minutes that they were back in the real world, they were frantically trying to get back to avior but bc humans can’t rift, they were just panicking for minutes straight. they had one second of relief when they heard the rift back to the trap, but it was very momentary due to them losing their memories just as it happened.

they passed out for at least half an hour when they came back and avior the whole entire time was thinking ‘what the fuck did i just do?’ and cried over their unconscious body thinking that the rift was much too heavy of magic for one human to endure. he thinks that maybe he really hurt you more than he ever wanted, until he feels emotions of confusion waft from you when you begin to wake. you don’t look at him with familiarity, you scoot away and you stare at him in fear. you’re still alive, and he has only a minute to think of whether or not he tells you everything right then and there. he chooses the latter.

he feels you feel the same emotions you had felt about him when you first dropped into this hellscape. how you disliked him after every snarky comment, how you felt like he was just rude for no reason. he had to experience you emitting these emotions after having loved you for two years.

when he calls you ‘starlight’ for the first time after he pulls you back, he almost does a double take. his facade nearly falls. so he puts a mocking tone over it, despite missing how much your love for him used to pulse at the nickname. he knows you feel a bit confused at the name at first but you grow complicit after a few times. he wishes you weren’t complicit.

he prays to whatever god there is for him, that you regain your memories and that you don’t hate him when you find out. he wishes that there were some easier way to help you remember. he never read your memories when you were pulled back. he could already tell you didn’t remember him from the first look. you used to be so affectionate, always holding his hand or hugging him close. he wishes that in the time you choose to rest, that you would call on him to keep you company again. he wants nothing more than to kiss you so softly that his memories of your time together somehow cross into your memory.

but he rests elsewhere, holding himself just as he’s done for two years. he’s more alone than ever now; avior had surely thought that having you back here would make his heart stop yearning, but it’s made it even more aching. to have you even closer than just a glimpse, and not being able to tell you how much he loves you, or how much he had missed you, to not have you look at him with the same adoring gaze as before — that was so much more heartbreaking than the lonely times he endured before.