#here is my attempt at writing!

[gay-mooshrooms]

I fear to stain your clothes with blood/Stain them. I don't care

Chapter 1

Look.

Maybe Wilbur didn't love going to camp.

Maybe he would whine, and complain, and annoy the crap out of Phil and Techno on the 3-hour car ride.

But! 

That did not mean he hated it. 

Sure it was far from the most enjoyable experience in the world. 

But sue him, the kids gave him some small shred of hope for humanity that he was oh so desperately lacking. 

It also helped that Tommy adored Camp Essempi. He had practically grown up there, been tagging along every summer since he was 7 after Phil bought the place. 

So now Wilbur found himself in his dad's grey van, listening to The Artic Monkeys at a very unhealthy volume, while he could see Techno gesturing in the seat in front of him. 

If he had to guess, Tech was probably monologuing about some new book he read or what he was planning for the campers or something.

Wilbur didn't really care. 

Tommy was directly next to him, and his head was now resting on his shoulder, where it had been slowly creeping toward for the past hour, in spite of him claiming, "Fuck you Wil! I'm not tired at all bitch!"

They really needed to work on his swearing problem.

But that was for another day. 

Right now Wilbur had to worry about how to stay sane with 2 more hours left on this car trip.

He debated trying to read a book he brought but considering the last time he'd tried reading a book in the car they'd had to pull over so he could throw up, he decided not to risk it. 

Listen to Techno rant? Wilbur thinks he'd rather take the vomit at that point.

He eventually just decides to take the easy way out. 

Turning his music down slightly, he lays his head on top of Tommy's, stretching the blanket he'd been hogging across them both, and letting his eyes shut. 

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

By the time he woke up, they were only 30 minutes away from camp, and Tommy was still dead to the world. 

Techno had fallen asleep at this point too, his head lolling so his long hair fell over the edge of the car seat.

How he lived with it that long Wilbur would never know. 

He removed one of his earbuds and was met with the soft sound of Here Comes the Sun drifting from the radio, Phil humming along quietly. 

A few seconds later, his dad looked up and saw him awake. 

"Oh Wil!" Phil said, smiling, "Didn't see that you were up. We stopped at McDonald's about 15 minutes ago and got some fries for you, figured you'd be hungry."

Wilbur immediately brightened and maybe grabby hands at his father. 

"Gimme food," he said, with all the eloquence of a toddler. 

Phil chuckled and handed over the brown paper bag. 

"Save some for Tommy, you know he'll be starving when he wakes up, and who knows what that will entail."

Wilbur nodded solemnly, suddenly reminded of the last long car trip they'd taken. 

A few minutes into starting on the fries, he felt Tommy stir beside him. 

"Ugh, do I smell food?" Tommy asked, his voice slightly hoarse. 

"Always hungry never satisfied," said Wilbur, which was not entirely inaccurate. Tommy ate like a fiend. 

"Ey!" Tommy blurted out, his head immediately shooting up and his hands raising. "Just cus you're as small as a twig doesn't mean I have to be. Plus I heard Niki's running some of the sports stuff and I am NOT doing that on an empty stomach."

Wilbur had to give him that, Niki, one of his old camp friends and now first-year counselor, was one of the nicest people he'd ever met, but also incredibly badass. 

She'd been one of Techno's favorite campers, and he, in turn, had been her favorite counselor, which meant she was an expert in most combat-based camp stuff. 

She terrified Wilbur and Tommy alike. 

Techno too, but he would only admit that to her.

"Fine fine gremlin child take your food," huffed Wilbur, handing over the bag.

Tommy grinned evilly up at him and began shoveling the food into his mouth like an animal, a raccoon perhaps. Or maybe a possum. 

Wilbur couldn't help but grimace and turn his attention back towards his older brother and father, who, now that Techno had woken up too, were discussing camp setup. 

"Listen, Phil," one of Techno's quirks, he almost never called Phil dad. "We have more campers this year, we're gonna need to buy some more stuff."

Phil shook his head, "It'll be fine Tech. And if not, we'll go out and get stuff. And anyway, it's not so much supplies I'm worried about but space. I think we'll have to raid some of the unused cabins for cots. The last thing I wanna do is force kids to sleep on the floor, "said Phil, chuckling. 

"It would be good for them, " Wilbur chimed in, "Builds character."

Phil laughed. 

"C'mon Wil, let's not give them scoliosis too early on in the summer."

"As I just stated, character building."

"Wilbur I swear to god."

The last 20 minutes of the drive were spent bickering about random topics or singing along to Hamilton.

The latter was, of course, Wilbur's request. 

But Tommy joined in too. 

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

The sudden sound of crunching gravel alerted Wilbur to their imminent arrival at Essempi, a sound that bore equal parts joy and pain in his mind. 

It was at this point Tommy began bouncing off the walls, it was honestly a miracle he's lasted this long.

Usually about 2 hours in they had to stop for 15 minutes and just putter around a gas station.

Fortunately, Tommy had stayed up late last night with Wilbur, going over rules and his luggage over and over again to make sure he didn't forget anything. 

But once rested, Tommy's energy made a full recovery, and as soon as they had gotten their luggage out of the car he was full-on sprinting towards their cabin. 

Wilbur however, did not not follow so eagerly. 

Unlike Tommy, car trips didn't make him stir crazy, but rather tired, lethargic, and dead on his feet.

So, grumbling, he hoisted his backpack over his shoulders and grabbed his duffle, before trudging down the path behind his little brother. 

It didn't take long for his dad and Techno to catch up, his older brother giving him a small pat on his shoulder before moving past. 

Phil on the other hand, fell into stride alongside Wilbur and started humming Dear Theodosia, one of his favorites. 

"How are you feeling Wil?"

The words startled him, he hadn't exactly been expecting conversation. 

"Uh, fine?" he said, with a slight question in his tone. 

"I mean, a bit tired but nothing horrible."

Phil nodded, "OK. Just let us know if you need anything."

Wilbur couldn't help the small sigh that escaped him. 

He understood that his dad meant well. That he genuinely cared and wanted to help. But this was not what Wilbur needed. 

He never did well at the whole talking about your feelings thing. That was definitely Phil's department, and something he always encouraged in his kids. But somehow Wilbur never got the hand of that particular skill.

He didn't think any of them did really.

But he didn't say this, or anything remotely similar. 

Instead, he just nodded and said softly, "Alright, thanks dad."

Phil smiled, laid a hand on Wilbur's shoulder, gave a small squeeze, and then he was gone. 

Wilbur paused for a second, looking around at the slowly darkening sky, where the first glimpses of stars were visible.

He glanced at the trees, shaking in the slight breeze that was making him glad he wore a hoodie.

And finally, he looked back down the path, where beams of warm light could now be seen.

Wilbur took a deep inhale, readjusted his bag, and continued walking.

It was gonna be a long couple of months.

[tubbytarchia]

Missed drawing these two too

Bonuses

[tojisun]

john finds love again there, in the palms of his mistress. she is a lot younger, all bright-eyed with untamable dreams. she speaks and the words fall like honey; like nectar, or ambrosia, and john pulls away always starved — his mouth bubbling with froth, his eyes razor-sharp to try to find where else can he place his mouth, needy for even just a drop.

he waxes in her presence. she laughs and giggles, tiny trills of beautiful chimes. john never gets tired of the way she sounds; of the way music pulls from her throat, spilling into the canvas they've made on the bed, and permanently etching the vibrato on his heart until john feels like he is twenty-one again, getting his first tattoo on a drunken whim.

she makes him feel young.

she makes him feel old. she dances to songs that john doesn't recognize. the tempo in them is a lot faster, the lyrics packed with metaphors he can't understand, but she pulls him into her space anyways, moulding the two of them together, and he finds that he didn't even need to worry — they have a rhythm pulsing within them and she coaxes it out with such strong familiarity, he forgets that there are years he's spent, a lonely voyage, before her soul was even formed.

he is complete with her, and the admission feels wrong like a confession made from within the flesh of a church. he knows there is penance to be made — his wife, greying with him, had long since pulled away — but he also knows that when he chooses, when he is asked to recite the lord's prayer, there is only one person john would think about. there is only one name that would itch the tip of his tongue, begging to be sounded out.

that night, he pulls her close, breathing her in. she smells like dew and ozone, and sweet chamomile.

"do you want to run away with me?" he asks, only half-joking because john may not be an honest man but he knows she deserves an honest love, so he will forge it from the shards of his broken home and sand down his edges so she can melt into him softly.

but she huffs, pressing her cold nose on the cut of his jaw — but she huffs, finding peace in his chaos — and says, "i thought you'll never ask."

the better half of his soul, there, meeting him in between.

[hvezdnastreka]

WIP i'm probably never going to finish, because IT'S ANOTHER KLAUZURA SEASON BABYYYYY!!!!

^^(a black and white walk cycle animation of a girl, who's legs aren't drawn yet ) GET CONCEPT ARTED LOSER (This time we're making concepts for our own video game! :) )

[popponn]

a boyfriend package. [itoshi rin x reader]

summary: itoshi rin is good at soccer. itoshi rin is not good at jokes and cheering up, but for you, he tries anyway. (aka, you are stressed and rin is there.)

notes: this fic had so much thought but the main is "if you have itoshi rin on your side you could probably do anything". to everyone at uni and school, good luck. warning: other than minor curses, none. fluff, reader's gender unspecified, post canon au, reader is a student struggling against exams & essays.

“You are not done yet?”

You, a student who had probably resembled a zombie more at this point, lift your head up from the materials you were supposed to finish within two days. There were certainly other problems you were facing, however, you had no strength to gaze at them at the moment. Instead, you landed your eyes on your boyfriend, leaning against the doorway of your room with two cups of store-bought coffee. Which was hilarious—Itoshi Rin, a solid football career, an aloof reputation which was very true, and no educational deadline because of said football career.

Wait—does Itoshi Rin even drink coffee?

Your brain couldn’t really remember that piece of information.

It could curse out your very lovely and handsome Rin out of envy though. You wished him a very slow internet connection until your freedom next week.

Hearing how the voices in your head had started complete nonsense, you shook your head and returned your focus back to the wall of letters that didn’t seem to have an end in front of you. It would be better for you to save your words and thoughts for this seemingly unending hurdle, instead of using it to say things about the very kind Rin who bought you coffee.

Though, you did remember what one of his friends posted on Finestagram yesterday. A picture of a bunch of guys having fun outside. A hand around his shoulder in an act of friendliness and a very clear time that was spent pleasantly. Without pressure too, on top of that. Fuck—you tried not to cry—you are so jealous of them.

“Hey, did you hear me?”

Oh, right.

You forgot to reply to him.

“Not yet,” you smiled bitterly, “there are still some more left.”

Which was an understatement. Around two thick piles of papers awaited you.

As it was, Rin didn’t even bat an eyelash at your response nor to the faraway look you gave to the tower of books on your desk. He, however, did put a cup of coffee right beside your left hand. On that cup, a smiling mascot with a peanut shape said something about enjoying your time. You didn’t know if the correct choice to that was to bawl or to laugh like a madman.

You were half-asleep after eight hours of cramming and your brain felt like it was burning. In the end, even a tear or a chuckle was a bit beyond your capability at this point.

“…hey,” Rin said again, flatly. A hand awkwardly placed itself on one of your shoulders.

“You sure say a lot of ‘hey’ today,” you noted, leaning your head, slotting it on his stomach. His muscles were hard, but the proximity did comfort you. “…what is it though?”

“…if I drive, and you say ‘stop, deer’,” Rin began awkwardly, out of nowhere with a voice that trembled slightly as if he was under an incredible weight, “I will say ‘yes honey’.”

You stopped breathing at what he just said. No matter how scattered your brain was, you immediately snapped him a bewildered look. You knew you were on the verge of insanity, but Rin—

“What.”

You had been dating him for two years and more and Rin—as much as you love him—is definitely not a joke guy. Did he got possessed? Was it because he drank coffee?

As you ransacked your brain for an answer, you watched an explosion of red on Rin’s face reaching his neck. As that hue stayed on his face, unbudging, Rin’s face turned sour and darkened as he muttered some violating insults that seemed to be directed at Bachira and Otoya.

You raised an eyebrow at that. “Rin. What? Huh?” you repeated, trying to grasp the situation. “Who put you into this?”

You knew you were risking your study in what could end up being a prologue to two murder cases, but that joke was bad enough that it restarted your brain. You would risk a 4-hour delay because honestly what could make Itoshi Rin joke—

Oh.

As the silence between Rin and you stretched, you realized how he seemed to lose the courage to see you in the eye. A red face that was as bashful as it looked like a face belonging to a terrible stomachache patient, yet the comforting pressure Rin gave to your shoulder as he rubbed his thumb—suddenly, it was as clear as day.

This fine dumbass of yours was trying to cheer you up, it seemed.

You laughed out loud at that—perhaps a bit too high-pitched with too much wheezing. However, imagining Rin taking a page from his friends’ books—fuck you hate those words so much still right now but yet—just to cheer you up, it is adorable. And, Rin seemed to accept your ugly chortles as his eyes finally moved to you again.

“Did—” you wheezed again, your whole body still shaking as you pressed your chin to his hip. The smell of Rin’s detergent was your preferred fragrance, widening your smile even more, “—did Bachira and Otoya put you into this? Is that why you cussed them out?”

“Don’t come up with your own conclusion,” Rin scolded with a tone that spelled out relief and fondness.

“Then, what is it? Tell me—you just made a joke. A pun. That’s something,” you teased. In the back of your mind, a heavy static was still present, yet you really couldn’t mind their presence with Rin beside you like this.

Rin grunted and messed up your head, looking down at you with a look that was certainly too soft for his cold & cool guy brand. “Shut up. That’s none of your business.”

“Aw, come on! Tell me!” you protested. Rin shook you off as you started to try and pull his cheeks with your grubby hands. Walking away, he pulled a stool that he had left behind in your room after his tenth visit to your house many months ago.

“No,” Rin said curtly, leaving no room for protest as he tapped your laptop screen lightly. “Now get back to studying.”

At the reminder, it was your turn to wear a sour glum on your face. “Ugh.”

He glared half-heartedly at you. Bumping a knee against your chair slightly. “Don’t fucking say ‘ugh’.”

“But…” you wanted to say that you still wanted to tease him a bit more. You wanted to just do something with him a bit longer. Returning to the passage of curses meant that you couldn’t do that.

Rin looked at you for a moment. You couldn’t fathom what went through in his mind as you glanced at him. However, whatever it was, it pushed Rin to get his face closer to you.

Then, before you could even react to it, Rin pressed a light kiss on top of your forehead.

It was soundless in the way it was surprising. Your eyes were wide as Rin pulled away and returned to his previous position. This time, the red hue and his inability to look you in the eye returned. Looking towards anywhere but you, Rin perched his chin on top of his palm.

“Hurry up and study,” Rin ordered once again. “I will accompany you today, so stop whining.”

There was a prime chance for you to tease him about not practicing instead. Yet, for a solid 30 seconds, all your brain had become was a mush and an incoherent noise. Rin probably should take some responsibility and you should demand so—

Yet, you could only smile and return to your study. Hooking your ankle with one of Rin’s just so you could feel him close still.

“You owe me a kiss and a treat after this.”

��I bought you coffee already.”

“Oh, Rin—come on, I need motivation—”

“Fucking finish it first.”

Afterward, you pulled out a miracle by finishing everything within 3 hours and the rest was history.

[arttsuka]

I LOVE Teen Stan and Ford, it’s sad they don’t get drawn enough, so thank you so much!

Does Ford ever help Stan when he gets overstimulated? Or maybe when he has a rage response and suddenly starts crying and calls himself stupid?

Here's the other post with Ford

[worship-of-the-gods]

☀️ Blessed Apollo, spring is here! ☀️

I feel your rays beat against my skin and I worship you!

I see your light shinning through the blossoming trees and I worship you!

I sense your warmth as your light brightens the new day and I worship you!

Apollo! Your light is so bright and beautiful

It warms each inch of the cold earth,

It brings life to the once dead plants,

It brings joy to all who see it!

Apollo! I offer you cool water in thanks!

I offer you warm bread in thanks!

I offer you sweet incense in thanks!

I offer you soft music in thanks!

☀️ Praise Apollo and the coming of spring! ☀️

[conscydraws]

Order 38. Undelivered.

[oleander-neruim]

.

I don't know man I tried writing and got possessed by something

[seventh-district]

This Evening I Will Not Forget

“I jumped into the fray with the intention of helping you and next thing I know I’m standing there uselessly watching the first person I’ve dared to love in two fucking centuries take a warhammer to the stomach!”

He turned to face you as he emphasized his last few words, now standing all but frozen in the middle of the tent with his hands held out, gesturing toward your injury. You’re about to pipe up and insist that it wasn’t his fault, but the words dissipate before you can speak them as another part of his sentence echoes in your mind. You repeat them back to him in a disbelieving whisper.

“The first person you’ve dared to love?”

His tense, frustrated expression instantly falls flat.

“I didn’t say that.”

An injury and an argument lead to you revealing far more of yourself and your unspoken past to Astarion than you planned to.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Word Count: 3,292

Content Warnings: [injured Reader] (not graphically described, just mentions of bruising and pain) [mean/avoidant Astarion] [argument] [mentions of Reader's scars & non-specific allusion to their Tragic Backstory™] [vulnerability] [possibly (probably) OOC Astarion]

Author's Note: This is an excerpt from my fic An Evening I Will Not Forget, but can be read as a standalone one-shot. The only context I think you'll need is that this fic is written in the style of reliving memories, hence certain lines will mention Reader "looking back" on them.

“What's important is this evenin' I will not forget

Purple, blue, orange, red

These colors of feelin'

Give me love, I'll put my heart in it”

You’re lying on your back as cold, pale fingers press against your sensitive skin, pulling a small pained sound of protest from you.

“Sorry, sorry…”

Astarion retracts his hand, fingers curling into his palm. You reach out to catch hold of him before he can completely pull away, your voice tense with pain as you reassure him.

“No- no... don’t be. I know you’re just trying to help.”

You bring his hand back toward your exposed stomach, his fingers still coated in the healing salve he was attempting to apply. His hand hovers hesitantly over your bruised and broken skin.

“Yes, but- I’m not very good at it.”

Your thumb brushes across his wrist as you hold onto him, suspecting that if you let go he’d just retract his hand again.

“What do you mean? Of course you are.”

He shakes his head insistently.

“No. It seems like every time I try to help you, I just end up hurting you even more…”

Confusion is clear both in your voice and on your features.

“That’s not… that’s not true, Star.”

You tug lightly on his wrist to get his attention, your voice soft as you ask him a question.

“Is this about what happened today?”

He pulls his hand out of your loose hold and you let him, watching as he stands and begins pacing circles inside the tent.

“No, I’m in a bad mood because the weather isn’t quite to my liking- of course it’s about what happened today!”

The initial sarcasm in his voice gave way to frustration near the end. Not with you, but with himself.

Now that you’re observing this memory from his perspective as well, you can see the moment you sustained the injury playing over and over again in his mind, working him up further and further.

“I jumped into the fray with the intention of helping you and next thing I know I’m standing there uselessly watching the first person I’ve dared to love in two fucking centuries take a warhammer to the stomach!”

He turned to face you as he emphasized his last few words, now standing all but frozen in the middle of the tent with his hands held out, gesturing toward your injury. You’re about to pipe up and insist that it wasn’t his fault, but the words dissipate before you can speak them as another part of his sentence echoes in your mind. You repeat them back to him in a disbelieving whisper.

“The first person you’ve dared to love?”

His tense, frustrated expression instantly falls flat.

“I didn’t say that.”

Your eyes widen, nodding slowly.

“Yes you did.”

Nervous laughter escapes him as he takes a step back, distancing himself from you.

“No, no, you… you must have heard me wrong. I didn’t- I was talking about helping you, I didn’t say anything about love, what’s love got to do with this?”

You hate to push him, fearing he may bolt like a frightened deer if you double down, but you know what you heard. It wasn’t like the first time you heard him say it, slapping it on the end of a string of pick-up lines, the word obviously carrying no weight, no truth. No, this second time was different.

“I think it has more to do with it than you’re willing to admit, Astarion.”

He falters, one of very few times you’ve seen him truly caught off guard, truly speechless.

“Those are…” He searches for something to say that’ll cover up the truth that’d just spilled out of him. “...bold words for someone currently bedridden.”

You bark a laugh and it turns into a low groan at the pain it causes to flare in your lower ribs.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

If he’s being honest, even he’s hardly sure what he meant. He’s truly floundering here, for the first time in… forever.

“It means… it means that I can walk away from this conversation right now and there isn’t anything you can do about it.”

Stooping so low as to resort to childish threats, you can feel the embarrassment radiating off of him.

“Would you truly be so cruel as to do that to me right now? Walking away, leaving me vulnerable and confused just because you can’t handle the truth?”

You’re pushing your luck too far and you know it. Surprisingly, though, he takes one step toward you, moving away from the exit.

“Cruel?! If you think that me simply walking away from you counts as cruelty then you truly haven’t suffered enough.”

His words are suddenly laced with venom and they hit you harder than the barbarian’s warhammer did today, leaving a chill colder than ice in their wake.

He seems to actually hear what he said a moment later, the careless words ricocheting off of you and coming back to slam into his chest, nearly knocking him over and crushing him beneath the weight of his sudden regret.

A furious wave of heat and adrenaline courses through you as you bolt upright in the makeshift bed, ignoring the sharp pain that flares inside you in response to the sudden movement. Reaching down and grabbing at the tail of your shirt where it’s bunched up around your ribs, you hastily yank it up over your shoulders and head, tugging your arms out of the long sleeves and furiously tossing the garment directly at him.

“Suffered enough? You think I haven’t fucking suffered enough, Astarion? You don’t know the goddamned HALF of it! You’re not the only one in this tent that’s been abused, you know?! Oh wait- that’s right- you DON’T!”

Your voice cracks under the pressure of volume and emotion as fat, hot, angry tears roll down your cheeks against your will. Astarion stands there like a deer in the headlamps, your balled-up shirt having hit him softly in the chest and fallen anticlimactically to the ground. As his eyes rake over your heavily scarred arms, the angry purple markings showing no signs of lessening as they curl over your shoulders and disappear behind your back, it suddenly starts to make a lot more sense why you were so damned insistent that no one remove your clothes while treating your wounds earlier.

Shadowheart rips open the flap covering the tent’s exit, a very concerned looking Halsin ducking down behind her. Part of you is grateful that at least not everyone was currently at camp to witness your sudden breakdown, but even the sight of the two of them is enough to have you panicking. Pulling at the blanket gathered around your waist and shouting in an admittedly very childish, vulnerable voice, you demand they leave as you choke on your tears, hastily covering yourself up.

“GET OUT!”

Unsure of what to do, Shadowheart surveys the scene before her with a critical eye before sighing, seeming to understand that the best thing they can do right now is give you back your privacy. She knows that if you needed her, you would call. Turning to shoo away the concerned man behind her, she lowers the flap back down with a quiet murmur of “They’re… fine. Let’s give them some space.”

Astarion finally breaks free from where he’s been stood like a statue, slowly moving toward the exit as well with an unsure glance in your direction.

You bury your face into the fabric clutched in your hands, shouting into it in exasperation.

“NOT YOU!”

He freezes, no longer knowing what to do but wishing that the ground would simply open up and swallow him whole. Back under six feet of soil feels like where he deserves to be after what he just said to you.

He racks his brain for the right thing to say, coming up empty handed and eventually deciding that honesty might just be the best policy in this situation.

“I… I’m going to level with you. I have no idea what to do right now.”

In spite of it all, you laugh, a broken sound that cuts through your tears, causing you to cough, then the strain from coughing causes more tears to fall. Though he can’t admit it, Astarion knows right then and there that he never wants to hear or see you in such pain ever again.

“I… I’ll level with you, too.”

You pull the blanket away from your face, looking at him with watery, bloodshot eyes.

“...Neither do I.”

You glance down at the floor, attempting a deep breath and failing spectacularly as another broken sob escapes you. Dropping the fabric still held up against your chest, you press your hands down into the bedroll beneath you in an attempt to support your upper body and ease the pain radiating through your core.

Astarion takes one cautious step toward you, his unsteady voice the only thing filling the silence aside from your soft crying.

“I need… to apologize. For everything.”

You shake your head in disagreement and clear your throat.

“No, you don’t. You’ve been through a worse hell than I could ever even imagine. It’s… stupid of me to try and compete with you in that regard.”

He takes another step forward, insistent.

“That isn’t true. You have… clearly been through your own hell, and it was… stupid of me to assume you hadn’t. Even worse of me to try and downplay my avoidance by… holding my past over you like some sort of… like some sort of excuse.”

You shift your weight to the side in order to lift one hand, reaching out to grab at one of the small cloths stacked beside your bed. Astarion sees you struggling to reach them and rushes forward, closing what remained of the space he’d put between you as he lifted a cloth and handed it to you without a word.

You bring it to your face, pressing it to your eyes in a useless attempt to dry the tears that were still falling. Then, moving it down to blow your running nose into the cloth before you could make an even bigger mess of yourself than you already were. Finally able to breathe a bit better, you counter his point.

“Yeah, but- the thing is, I feel like you kinda have the right to do that, given all that you’ve survived. Of course you’d see the pain of walking away from a conversation as trivial when you compare it to… literally anything you’ve experienced.”

Now that he’s returned to your side, Astarion’s head angles to drag his gaze across your exposed back, finally seeing the full extent of your scarring as you lean forward a bit to toss the dirty cloth to the floor of the tent next to your shirt. Nausea swirls deep in the pit of his stomach as the upsetting sight of your marred skin burns itself into his memory.

“I believe… that’s called a double standard.”

You throw him a sad, confused look, and he explains.

“You’re trying to give me some sort of… free pass based on what I’ve been through, but I’ve never once seen you give yourself that same sort of leniency.”

“That’s… not the same thing.”

“I’m not saying we’ve been through the exact same thing, but…” He gestures vaguely to the entirety of you. “...clearly you’ve gone through something. If I get to lord my baggage over you then surely you’re permitted to do the same.”

Your tears begin to slow as you consider his words.

“I don’t… want to do that, though. Obviously. That’s why I haven’t told you. I don’t want you giving me special treatment because ‘poor pitiful me’ has gone through some shit. I don’t think that excuses any of my current behavior.”

The silence hangs in the air for a moment before he gently drives his point home.

“Yet you think it excuses mine?”

Hm.

“...okay. I guess you’ve got me there.”

You sigh, body beginning to feel heavier than lead as the sudden rush of emotion and adrenaline fades from you. You ease yourself back down, hissing at the pain as your bruised ribs and torn muscles protest the stretch and movement. Astarion wants to assist but truth be told he’s afraid to touch you. So, he watches on helplessly, still berating himself in the back of his mind for the role he feels he played in you sustaining today’s injuries to begin with.

Once you’re laid down and relaxing into the bedroll as much as you can, you make no effort to cover yourself up, not caring how long his eyes wander across your exposed skin. Silently, he tries to read the countless jagged lines and dots carved into you like they may eventually come together to paint him a picture of all that’s happened to you.

No picture anyone could paint would ever do the pain justice.

He settles himself down next to you as your tired eyes stare a hole in the ceiling of the tent.

“You do not have to accept my apology, but I will not rescind it. I do have the wherewithal to know that what I said was wrong. It was cruel. I…”

He exhales, the heavy sound full of the weight carried by a man that hasn’t been this honest with anyone in centuries.

“I…  tossed aside any consideration for how you may have felt, letting myself get lost in my own… stupid fears. It wasn’t right. It certainly wasn’t fair to you.”

Your head lolls to the side, appraising him with lidded eyes.

“You know… you’re surprisingly self-aware when you aren’t being a pompous ass.”

Your words draw a surprised laugh out of him and after a moment of consideration, he nods slowly in reluctant agreement.

“I’ve… had a lot of time to sit with myself and think. Eventually you get to know yourself pretty well.”

He looks down, idly picking at the loose threads on the edge of your well-worn bedroll.

“All of that self-awareness apparently doesn’t make me any kinder though, does it?”

It’s a rhetorical question but you answer it all the same.

“I still stand by my statement that you have good reason to be so… abrasive. Just being aware of those reasons doesn’t mean that they suddenly don’t affect you any more.”

Your hand raises from where it laid lifelessly beside you, reaching over for Astarion’s and pulling his anxious fingers away from attacking the weak points of your bedroll. You don’t release his hand once you direct him away from the loose threads, holding onto him as you continue to muse aloud.

“I think that a lot of us are just doing our best to not allow our past to affect our present, to varying degrees of success. Sometimes we fail. But- I believe all that truly matters at the end of the day is that we’re trying, though. … And, Astarion?”

“...yes?”

“I can tell that you’re trying.” You squeeze his hand. “And I accept your apology.”

You take a slow, deep breath, and listen as his voice comes out softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“Thank you.”

You nod your head in a silent “of course,” laying in thoughtful silence for a few moments before speaking.

“I… feel like I should apologize as well.”

Now it’s Astarion’s turn to be confused.

“What ever for?”

You weakly raise your other hand to gesture all around the room.

“Just… this. The scene I just made. Heaping all of this emotion onto you when you were obviously already struggling with how you felt about me in the first place.”

He doesn’t take long to respond.

“No, I don’t think you need to apologize for that. This… seems like it really needed to come out. I could never be upset with you for sharing it with me, regardless of the… unideal circumstances.”

He then seems to realize something.

“I hope you don’t regret it, though. Sharing this with me.”

You shake your head decisively and the motion causes your impending headache to flare.

“No. I don’t. I- uh- you were going to find out eventually with how… close we’ve been getting. I just couldn’t find the right time to tell you- or- well, show you, I guess.”

Your hand releases its hold on his, reaching up to carefully brush your fingertips across the mottled skin of your stomach. You raise your head up, angling it down to look down at the injury with a thoughtful gaze. Glancing over toward Astarion, you ask him another question.

“Can you hand me that salve from earlier? It never really… got fully applied.”

He immediately reaches behind him for the container, but holds it in his grasp as he stumbles over his words.

“I- I, uhm… wouldn’t mind trying again, if you want me to. If you don’t I’ll understand, though. Just… want you to know that the offer is still there.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, but you’re completely willing to let him do it.

“Oh… sure? You’re welcome to, I just… assumed you wouldn’t want to.”

He holds his other hand up and only then do you realize he never wiped the salve from his skin.

“These fingers are numb already anyways, might as well spare yours the same fate.”

You vaguely remember Shadowheart’s words as she passed Astarion the container earlier, cautioning him to not leave it for long on any skin he didn’t want to temporarily lose feeling in.

“But hey, at least we know that it works now, right?”

You give him a tired smile, appreciative of his efforts to lighten the mood.

“Mmm, I suppose so.”

You pull your hand away, exposing your injury to him once again.

“Have at me, then.”

With your permission, he sweeps a scoop of the healing and numbing mixture across your sensitive skin and you notice how feather-light he keeps his touch this time. Looking down to observe his work, you note how the messy mixture of the massive bruise’s dark colors stand in stark contrast to his pale white fingers that brush across it.

A thought slips out of your exhausted mind.

“Pretty…”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, unsure if he heard you correctly.

“Hmm?”

“The colors. They’re pretty. Purple, blue, even kinda orange…”

You look away from the bruise and up into his ruby eyes.

“...red.”

He’s silent for a moment, his hand pausing its gentle motion. Then he scoffs, looking away and internally dismissing your words as the ramblings of a tired mind.

“You’re talking nonsense, dear.”

Your filter has all but completely vanished, feeling almost drunk on your current mixture of exhaustion and relief after such a hell of a day. Sleep beckons you and your eyes fall closed as the pain in your ribs fades, on its way to being numbed out by the potent salve. A hazy thought surfaces, reminding you to give your thanks to Shadowheart when you next awake. For now though, you relax, no thought given to the words that slip from your lips.

“But you love my nonsense, don’t you…”

His heart feels like it jumps in his chest as he hears you so casually speak the word that he’s still reluctant to even think to himself, let alone say aloud. As he finishes massaging the salve into your skin and pulls his hand back, his eyes pass over the expansive unspoken history of pain evidently etched into your skin, up across your chest, over your shoulders and down your arms. He figures the least he can do is answer you honestly before sleep pulls you under.

“I… suppose I do.”

End Notes: If you'd like to read my commentary on this scene, you can find that in the end notes of Ch. 5 on AO3 - right here!

Header Image Source: x

[treasureplcnet]

also quite obsessed with karl being as detached from the story as he is. there's nothing that makes him have to be the detective that has to be involved, but he unknowingly dooms himself by agreeing to work with the KYAL cult. every other detective basically deals with elias head on except weissman, who only meets him right before he kills him. like he's right when he says "by my choices" because everything that leads him to being mixed up with the mannix cult is himself. it's the gambling debts and the choice to do the dirty work for an organisation he knows nothing about. he's the only one that doesn't encounter that body doing police work and it's specifically because he's told to cover it up. he gets himself into the mess and eventually fixes it but the fact that esther always dies in the doomed timelines and he's always too late even if he starts wanting to change things ("till this child. esther.") it just makes me very ill

[stylographic-blue-rhapsody]

I was deep in my drunk feelings when I made a joke post threatening to write about episode 5 symbolism and mizu, but then enough people said "where is the essay" so I am here to ramble as requested 

in ep 5, the tale told in the puppet show spliced with the flashback sequence of mizu’s marriage identifies mizu as not only the ronin, but also the bride and, with tragedy, the onryō. I would argue that mizu is also depicted (in a less linear fashion) as the phoenix itself, and will circle back to this thought later

mizu is first presented as the ronin, the warrior with a singular purpose. as the ronin’s lord is assassinated by the rival clan, mizu’s mother is killed in the house fire. the ronin swears his revenge, and dedicates his life to this cause. through his childhood and into his young adult life when he departs from swordfather, mizu is exclusively the ronin. he is not the onryō yet, demonstrated in his honorable unwillingness to harm the men who stab him and throw him out of the shop even after he insists that he wasn't looking for a fight in the first place

the ronin is only able to rest and put away his mission when he meets the bride, the lover. however, mizu’s bride is not literally another person she meets. the bride is not mama, or mikio, but the lover mizu discovers in herself, the one allowed to bloom in place of mizu-as-ronin. mizu’s growth into the bride from the ronin occurs over time, but solidifies in the moment when kai is gifted to her by mikio, paralleling the taming of her own distrust and expectations of being hurt. (side note, giving a nod to effective use of color: the bride puppet, dressed in reds and oranges, has matching coloring to the gifting scene, as it takes place in autumn)

mizu’s transformation into the onryō happens in two parts, beginning with the slaying of the bride and completing with the slaying of the ronin. the betrayal by mikio and mama kills the softness in mizu, kills the lover she has allowed herself to become. mizu-as-onryō retaliates by killing the ronin: the part of himself that hesitates before striking, that part that cares for honor. in not intervening in mama’s death and then murdering mikio in turn, mizu kills the ronin in himself, slaughtering it in retribution for the dead bride

mizu is both the bride and the ronin, peaceful lover and noble warrior, until he is not—he is the onryō, only the onryō. episode 5 opens with the narrator saying, “no one man can defeat an army, but one creature can.” only as the onryō, and not as the ronin or the bride, does mizu have the force of will and capacity for violence it takes to singlehandedly overcome boss hamata’s thousand claw army and protect the brothel

mizu’s identity and place in the world is a constant dialogue. he is too white to have a respectable place in japanese society, but is also seen by abijah (our stand-in for white british society) as filthy and corrupted. he is not perceived as enough of a man to walk through life wholly as one (madame kaji’s comments about his apparent lack of sexual desires, his bones breaking “like a woman’s” under fowler’s hands, his disregard for honor and recognition as a samurai). she is also not enough of a woman to exist peacefully as one with mikio (she is a swordsman, an accomplished rider, bad at domesticity; “what woman doesn’t want a husband?” mama chastises)

the moment when mikio rejects her completely following their spar is a particularly poignant narrative beat about tolerance of “the other” in gender presentation: mikio can accept her as a woman only until she bests him at manhood, at the sword, at violence. she is Other in that she is physically strong, a poor cook, able to wield a sword. these traits are all tolerable to mikio, also an outcast, so long as she is not so Other as to be a man. but her swordsmanship bests his, and bests his in the way the sun outshines a candle. it is too Other, and therefore she is not a woman. she is a monster to him, the onryō, even before she kills the bride and the ronin in herself

(( as an aside, this series does a very good job at discussing the oft-challenging relationship between race and gender (e.g. that it is difficult for mizu to live as a biracial man, but would be deadly for her to live as a biracial woman), and demonstrating how queerness of identity complicates that relationship even further—but that’s a topic for a different post ))

as the narrative has been building on this idea that mizu is both the ronin and the bride, the man and the woman, japanese and white, episode 5 concludes with the heartbreaking reveal that, although mizu is all of these things simultaneously, he has had these identities beaten out of him by tragedy and cruelty and his own self-loathing hand

but mizu does not stagnate as the monster. we return to the metaphor of steel: too pure and it becomes brittle, breaking under pressure. mizu is a sword, a weapon that he has forged for the sole purpose of revenge and blood, but he has excised too much of himself to successfully deliver on his goals—he is not the ronin or the bride, he is the onryō; she is not a woman or a man, she is the onryō; the onryō is nothing but pain and vengeance—and so it breaks

“perhaps a demon cannot make steel,” mizu says. “I am a bad artist” 

swordfather replies, “an artist gives all they have to the art, the whole. your strengths and deficiencies, your loves and shames. perhaps the people you collected… if you do not invite the whole, the demon takes two chairs, and your art will suffer”

to be reforged, mizu must not only acknowledge the impurities she has beaten out of her blade, out of herself, but lovingly, radically accept them and reincorporate them into the blade, into herself. he adds impure steel—the people he has collected, with their own dualities—to the sheared meteorite sword: the broken blade that fit so perfectly in taigen’s hand (the archetypal ronin, but a man seeking happiness over glory), the knife akemi tried to murder mizu with (the archetypal bride, but with ambition for greatness), the bell given to ringo and returned to mizu in broken trust (the man unable to hold a sword, but upholding samurai principles of honor and wisdom), the tongs that honed mizu’s smithcraft under swordfather’s guidance (the artisan, a blind man who sees more than most). to make of herself a blade strong enough to see her promises through, she must hold her monstrosity and honor and compassion and artistry in equal import

she is the onryō, and the ronin, and the bride, and all the people she has collected.

with this we finally come to mizu as the phoenix. mizu undergoes many cycles of death and rebirth, both in the main storyline and the flashbacks into her life leading up to the present. often, mizu is juxtaposed against literal flames—the burning of his childhood home, swordfather’s forge, the fire as he battles the giant in the infiltrated castle, the heart sutra forge of her own making, the climactic second confrontation with fowler. not every death/rebirth mizu undergoes is thematic to flame, of course. the fight with the four fangs, spliced with the rebirth ceremony of the town, for example, or the deaths of her ronin-self and bride-self, giving rise to the onryō

he is the phoenix, unable to truly die: every fatal combat he pulls back from the brink, reborn over and over in the wake of failure and setback. in episode 1, mizu prays for the gods to “let [him] die.” not to help him to face death unafraid, not to die with honor or victory, but to die at all. mizu has experienced death a thousand times over, but not once has it stuck

(( as a parting aside: the ronin’s rage at the phoenix clan for killing his lord parallels mizu’s self hatred of his mixed heritage (which he believes to be the thing that killed his mother), and so the ronin’s quest for revenge against the phoenix clan is mirrored in mizu’s quest to kill the white part of himself as best he can, by killing the white men who could be his father ))

mizu, the ronin. mizu, the bride. mizu, the onryō. mizu, the phoenix.

[gravityglitch-blog]

"Falling To You"

Uzi hadn't known what to expect when she had jumped into the pit at the heart of the old cathedral.

Maybe to fall for hours before being dashed to pieces in jagged darkness.

Tumbling out into the midst of outer space was the last thing on her mind.

Floating in stardust, a planet in fiery death throes before her, she wondered if any of this was real. It was nothing like what she'd heard of in school (though now she wished she'd paid more attention.) For one thing, she could breathe. She could still hear her heart thrumming away inside her. Wasn't space supposed to be an airless eternity where no one could hear you scream? To test her theory, Uzi shouted an expletive at the top of her voice, a word that would have made her dad blue-screen on the spot if he'd heard her. The sound echoed into the void, slowly fading away. Well then, not outer space as she knew it. Another cruel illusion of the Solver? She didn't have time to think about it, because another scream cut the silence. Some distance away, there was a burst of light, like a door opening and closing quickly.

And then N was there, spinning head over feet and struggling to steady himself. He was clutching a red canister to his chest as though life depended on it.

"N?!" His gaze locked on her at once, relief washing away the fear and confusion on his face. "Uzi!" "What are you doing here?" she demanded. "The whole point of this was so you could escape! Her words carried an edge of anger, but they didn't cut. She was too happy to see him.

She'd thought she would never see him again.

Wrestling with the canister in his arms, N answered, "I don't want to escape! I want you!" Finally she recognized what the object was: a fire extinguisher. He pulled the trigger and used the ensuing burst as a makeshift jet, extending his wings to help with power and direction, guiding himself towards her. The madness of the last few days crashed into her, releasing a peal of near-crazed giggling. "What are you even doing?" "I saw it in a movie once!" Uzi swiped her hands over her visor, hoping to hide the tears that had begun to glow in her eyes. "You were supposed to get away! You were supposed to be safe!" Gliding ever closer, N cried out, "I'm not losing you!" Uzi tried to kick and propel herself forward, as though she were swimming, but only managed to throw herself into a dizzying spiral.

The universe stopped whirling as soon as N got near enough to scoop her into his arms.

All of the barriers shielding her heart crumbled. She wrapped herself around him and began scattering kisses and heartfelt insults all over his face.

"You are so stupid!" (kiss) "So, so stupid!" (kiss) "Why?" (kiss) "Why did you do this?"

Tightening his embrace, making no effort to hide his own smile or tears, N said softly, "We made a promise, remember? No matter what, we would stick together." Uzi rested her forehead against his, letting her hands drift through his hair and over his shoulders to assure herself that he was real. Her question came out as a tired whisper. "What will happen now?" "It doesn't matter," N said, running his thumb along the edge of her cheek. "Whatever it is, we'll take it on...you and me."

[thengrace]

25 things I learned at 25.

Heartbreak really sucks, but it will teach you priceless lessons.

The best way to get over something is to feel it. Don't distract, don't try to intellectualize, we have to sit with all the hard feelings.

There is still time to make friends - the world doesn't end after you graduate college.

Make time to be still - this is one of the most important practices of Jesus and without it, we become restless, flustered, and irritable.

Pray unceasingly - this means in every breath, in every moment, God is always listening.

Pray about the small things, not just the big things. Because God is the God everything, not one thing is unimportant to Him.

It's okay if you are not experiencing things the same way others are - we are all different and there is no point in trying to make yourself feel the same way as other people do.

Sadness and heartbreak are not things that you get over in a couple weeks, or even a month. Be patient with the process of grief.

Heartbreak is a type of grief, grief of a life you had envisioned, a relationship you had enjoyed, a person that you had in your life.

People may not be in your life anymore, but there will always be pieces of them that stick with you.

God doesn't change - and that truth will ground you more than anything.

You deserve the same compassion and empathy that you show others.

Trust your intuition - if it doesn't feel good, if you feel like something is off, trust it. You know yourself best.

It's okay to struggle, stop putting this pressure upon yourself to be "perfect."

Putting yourself out there is so hard but it will be worth it in the end.

We must acknowledge the disappointments, the heartbreaks, how can you continue to run if you are bleeding?

God is close, even when you are doing anything you can to avoid facing Him, to avoid being honest with Him, God already knows your heart. And He still remains with you.

It's okay to make mistakes, it's okay to do things that you regret now, have compassion on the part of yourself that felt like that was the best option at the time.

Good people are still out there and you will know exactly who they are when you meet them. A good friend will never make you question your worth.

Make time for God, no matter what is going on in your life. The time we make for God will cause everything else to fall into place, but He must be the foundation.

Talk to God constantly - whether you are driving for 5 minutes, or whether you are stuck in traffic, God is found in every moment and He is the friend that we desperately need.

The waiting is painful but it's far better than short-term gratification.

Open up to people, be honest, be vulnerable, there is strength is letting our guard down with people who care about us.

Loneliness is so difficult, but the moment that we acknowledge it, it will become less heavy.

We need God so much, without Him, everything falls apart.

[magentasnail]

yknow what? I can't do this, it's time for turtle on a skateboard

drawctober 13 - turtle

[cheekinpermission]

Erin's Birthday Interview

Interviewer (I): Happy birthday, Erin! How are you this evening? Erin (E): I’m good, thanks. Are you here to interview me? I: That’s correct. I’ll start with the basics. How is your birthday going so far? E: Pretty well, actually. I didn’t expect this big of a turn out. I: That’s good to hear! Have you received any gifts? E: I have! Ace and Deuce worked together with Trey to bake me a peach cobbler. Kalim gave me a necklace and Vil got me a bunch of fancy soaps and skincare products. Riddle said I could spend an hour with the hedgehogs in Heartslabyul… under his supervision, of course. Ortho made me a music playlist and Grim gave me a can of tuna.  I: A can of tuna? E: Yeah, he gives everyone a can of tuna as a gift. I think he just gives people things he likes. I: I see. So, Erin, you don’t have any magic. E: Nope. I: You’re also from another world. What was it like for you when you first got here?  E: The first thing I saw when I woke up was a cat looking monster trying to take my clothes. Then, a masked man showed up to bring me into a room full of guys wearing black eyeliner and matching robes. I thought I was about to be sacrificed to a cult. I: A cult? You thought our orientation was part of a cult? E: It was the only thing that made sense at the time! I: Right… so, what is the world you’re like from? E: Next question. I: I- excuse me? E: Next question. I: Oh, alright. What is your family like? E: Pass.  I: Do you not want to talk about your home? E: Nope. There’s no point, is there?  I: I won’t pressure you. Let’s just get to some of the other questions, then. If you could pick any student to be your sibling, who would you choose?  E: I certainly don’t need any more siblings, but… I’ll go with Deuce.  I: Deuce, huh?  E: Yeah. Besides from the fact he’s someone I already consider a friend, I think he’d make a good brother. He treats his mother well, so I imagine he’d treat a sister the same way. Did you know he sends his mother flowers at least once a month? It’s adorable.  I: I’m sure Deuce will be pleased with your answer. Ace? Not as much. E: Sorry, Ace. You played yourself.

I: If you were to join any other dorm other than Ramshackle, which dorm would you choose?  E: Probably Pomefiore. I: Why Pomefiore?  E: I like the uniforms the best. Purple suits me well. I: Is that your only reason? E: Not at all. Epel is cool, and I get along well with Rook and Vil. I don’t really mind Vil’s high beauty standards because I have high standards, too. I want to look good AND feel good. 

I: Aren’t your closest friends in Heartslabyul? E: Heartslabyul would be my second choice, but the aesthetic is a bit much for me. Riddle is fine, but I wouldn’t want to live under him. I: Why not? E: Why not? I can name 810 reasons why not. Vil’s skincare regime or whatever is one thing, but Heartslabyul’s rules are a whole other beast. Do you have any idea how weird it is to walk into a room of dozens of dudes singing because a hedgehog sneezed?  I: It’s not for everyone, I suppose. Is there a dorm you wouldn’t want to join? E: Octavinelle. I would rather sit at the bottom of the fish tank than deal with Azul.  I: Care to elaborate? E: And ruin such a nice birthday celebration? No thanks!  I: Alright, then. I’ll leave you to your celebrations. Thank you for your time, Erin.  E: No problem. Good luck with your article.