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fumifooms · 3 months

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What if we were both magic prodigies and it otherized us in different ways and we devoted ourselves to protecting a family member who has general other goals & priorities. What if we both did self-sacrifical devotion in opposite ways.

What if we were dark mirrors of each other and where I've grown overcontrolling you've grown complacent. What if, bought as a servant into a pretty loving home, ownership and control is what love looks like to me, and to you neglected and lonely growing up, love is gratefully taking any scraps of it you’re lent.

By belonging to someone, even if she comes back injured or fails at finding Delgal, she feels like she belongs and is cherished, by owning someone he feels safe in them not leaving him.

She’s what’s tethering him do you see… And he’s the only thing giving her direction and purpose in her state. She needs a compass and he needs a support.

They’re both so out of it 😭 It’s the weirdly intense and unearned mutual trust and reliance on each other?? They’re each other’s weird little comfort codependent teddy bear. Or at least they were headed towards that before SHE DIED THEN HE DIED THEN THEY BOTH FORGOT ABOUT EACH OTHER AND NEVER MET EVER AGAIN. Though she’s also the guard attack hound keeping him safe… And vice versa he heals her and can rewrite her very being with just one wave of his hand. They’re both so so mentally and physically vulnerable both but they cling onto each other. They can’t perceive things accurately but despite it all someway somehow they stumble into something closer to resembling companionship just before they both die. Falin is just that kind and Thistle is just that lonely. Overworked. We both haven’t lived for ourselves in a very long time, haven’t we.

They both have a similar devotion to the people they love but again the difference is that Thistle starts overtsepping while Falin is self-effacing. The other difference between them is that people care about Falin <3 People have given up on Thistle long ago, and he has given people reasons to, while people refuse to give up on Falin. Yaad has a mini arc about it dw about it it’s ok he’s not all alone in the end 😭😭 He reached out for Marcille’s hand but they already all wanted to help him, they just had to be given the chance to, Yaad just had to be given the chance to, it’s okay I’m okay

Hey what if we learned to get in touch with our own identity and the world around us and living in the present again through being in the worst codependent situationship ever.

Falin and Thistle sitting in a tree, sucking on flowers together because they’re h-u-n-g-r-y 💕💕💕

I bet he’s only ever thought of flowers as useless ornaments. Weak weeds. But she shows him they’re tasty and useful and good and pretty in their own right too and deserve existing without proving their worth and waaa <33 Thistles…... Did you know thistles taste sweet if you remove the thorns and eat them?

"Even as a chimera, her kind nature remains" you can’t suppress her in the way that matters. You can’t soothe him in the way that matters. It’s doomed. You’re doomed. It’s all doomed. Save me.

#Spoilers #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #Thistle #falin touden #thistlin #OOOOH UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIP THAT SOMEHOW WORKS OUT SAVE ME #I need them to be traumabonded kittens to not separate post-canon #I’m seeing a raise in post-canon thistle content/interest which makes me v happy #Fumi rambles #Falin learning to disobey orders with Thistle is one of my fave things. EAT THAT CURRY GIRL!!!! Nvm that it’s gonna get you killed #It’s good for the character arc #Falin and thistle sitting on a web o-b-s-e-s-s-i-n-g <3 #This is somewhat of a tldr of my huge thistlin post. Plus some thoughts i had in discord or twitter #Keeping it for another day but tbh if you see their dynamic in canon as her thinking/having picked him as her mate it changes nothing #about her behavior which I find funny. Thistle accidentally claimed himself a parrot mate bc he’s bad with monsters confirmed #Ik my thing of them learning to relax and live in the present moment again is pretty fanon BUT IT’S WHAT KUI POINTED TOWARDS #With her calming him down from a panic attack and eating berries. With the baths for dandruffs. Etc. Thistle hasn’t socialized in a long #time and he wouldn’t if it wasn’t a tool he needed to interact with BUT it’s still socialization and it’s getting him in touch with his #surroundings again even if just a bit slowly but surely!! The Toudens have a superpower in reaching Thistle. Bless #How’s that one post go again. he refuses to develop he's part of the problem he maintains the cycle he's trapped in the cycle.#she's growing she's finding her place she escaped her original role she wants to help people she will never save him she will never save hi #Something something they have to abstract each other bc relationships with humans have always been too charged and unsafe #Only by seeing each other as more concept than person more object than peer can they truly be vulnerable #Like the fuckedupness lf their dynamic and state is WHY they’re so attached. Why their dynamic could be so raw and needy #The stars aligned in the worst way. Mission successfully faile #Tfw we both need to feel needed

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childrenofcain-if · 1 month

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legend say moles are where your lover had kissed you the most in your past life! how would the RO’s feel about an MC who says that softly and kisses them where their moles are? (eg: under their lip, on their hand) (i have a mole on my shoulder blade so i find that an adorable concept!!!)

C LACROIX

the air was thick with the smell of damp earth and something faintly metallic, the kind of scent that lingered just before a storm. C’s face, sharp and unforgiving, was tilted slightly toward the heavens, as if they could challenge the gods themselves to a duel. there was something tragic in the way they stood, their shoulders rigid with the weight of an expectation they could never quite escape, their posture a careful construction meant to keep the world at bay.

you had seen them like this before—brooding, simmering with an anger too vast to contain. they were always a contradiction, a child dressed in the trappings of a young adult, lost between the glory of their lineage and the wreckage of their own shortcomings. and now, as you approached, their eyes flickered with something close to desperation, though they would never let it fully manifest.

you noticed it first, the small, dark mole at the edge of their collarbone, just where their skin dipped into the hollow above their chest. it was a mark you hadn’t seen before, but the sight of it held your attention. a story your grandmother had once told you flickered at the edge of your memory, and before you knew it, the words were spilling from your lips.

“legend says moles are where your lover kissed you the most in your past life,” you say as a form of greeting, your voice low, like a secret meant only for C. your breath fanned against their skin, warm and soft, and you felt them tense, just slightly, beside you.

C’s transfers their gaze to you, like they were waking from a dream, and they looked at you with something you couldn’t quite name—something tender, and maybe a little afraid. their lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. instead, they just watched you, their gaze dark and searching, as if they were trying to decipher a language they didn’t know they spoke. the winter wind tried to creep into the thickness of their overcoat, but they didn’t even bother tightening it up.

without breaking eye contact, you raise your hand to pull the neckline of their long-sleeve sweater down. your lips lean in to meet their exposed collarbone, to that tiny, insignificant mark that suddenly felt like the center of the universe. you kissed it gently, reverently, as if it were a sacred thing. the moment your lips touched their skin, you felt them shudder, a breath escaping them like a sigh, like the release of something they hadn’t known they were holding on to.

the silence between you grew heavier, thick with the weight of things unspoken, things that had always been there but never acknowledged. at least not since the night of their confession. but there you were, hidden away from the rest of the campus, in a world where only you and C existed.

C’s hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, their touch achingly tender, as if you were something fragile, something precious. they pulled you closer, their forehead resting against yours, and for a moment, you just breathed together, your hearts beating in sync, the world forgotten.

“is that true?” they murmured, their voice so quiet it was almost swallowed by the darkness. “about the moles?”

you smiled, a small, secretive smile that they couldn’t see but could feel. “maybe,” you whispered back, your lips brushing against theirs as you spoke. “i like to think so.”

C didn’t respond with words. instead, they tilted their head slightly, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as soft and tentative as the one you had just given them. it was a kiss that held no demands, no expectations—just the simple, undeniable truth that, in this moment, you were theirs, and they were yours.

and when you finally pulled back, you saw it in the pale green of their eyes—the way they softened, the way the walls they kept so carefully constructed seemed to crumble all over again. they didn’t say it, didn’t have to, but you knew. knew that in this life, in every life, you had been marked by them, and they by you.

V NÆSHOLM

the chapel was quiet, the kind of quiet that made you feel like you had to hold your breath, like any sound might shatter the stillness. the dim light from the stained glass windows cast kaleidoscope shadows on the stone floor, coloring the cold gray with muted reds and blues. V was sitting in one of the back pews, their head bowed slightly, fingers clasped loosely around the small cross that always seemed to be in their hands. you wondered how long they had been there, lost in whatever prayer they whispered to the man on the cross.

you slid into the pew beside them, careful not to disturb the silence. V didn’t look at you, but you could feel the tension in their body, a tight coil of worry or doubt or something else entirely. it was strange, seeing them like this—so still, so pensive. you had always known V to be composed, always in control, but here, in this sacred space, it was like they were unraveling thread by thread.

your gaze drifted to the small mole just under their lip, barely noticeable unless you were close enough to see the details of their face. it was a mark you had never really thought about, but tonight, it drew you in, a tiny speck on the otherwise perfect canvas of their bronze skin.

“do you know what they say about moles?” you whispered, leaning closer, your voice a soft murmur that barely disturbed the air between you. V’s head tilted slightly, acknowledging you, but they didn’t speak, waiting for you to continue. “they say they’re where your lover kissed you the most in your past life.”

V blinked, their fingers tightening on the edges of the bench as if it could anchor them. “is that so?” their voice was soft, almost hesitant, like they weren’t sure what to make of what you’d just said.

“yeah,” you breathed, your words coming out on a sigh, and without really thinking, you leaned in and kissed the mole beneath their lip, your mouth barely brushing their skin. the gesture was simple, almost chaste, but it felt like it held the weight of a thousand promises.

V’s reaction was immediate but subtle—their breath caught, their hand trembling slightly as it moved to your arm, not to push you away, but to hold on. their eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, it was like the world stopped, like the silence in the chapel was no longer oppressive, but comforting, like a warm blanket wrapped around the both of you.

when they finally opened their eyes, there was something new in them, something soft and raw and maybe a little bit terrified.

“you shouldn’t… you shouldn’t do that,” they murmured, but there was no conviction in their voice, just a tremor that gave them away.

“why not?” you asked, your lips hovering near theirs, the question more a breath than a sound. “maybe it’s true.”

V’s grip on your arm tightened, and they looked away, their gaze fixed on the altar as if searching for answers in the flickering candlelight. “because…” they trailed off, their voice breaking, and you could see the conflict in them, the way their stony faith warred with something deeper, something more human. “because it makes it harder to... keep away from temptation.”

you smiled softly, a smile that V could feel more than see. “maybe purity isn’t about keeping away from temptation,” you whispered, your words brushing their lips like a prayer. “maybe it’s about knowing what’s worth giving in to.”

V didn’t reply, but the way they leaned back in to kiss you in that moment—hesitant, tender, as if they were afraid you might disappear—told you everything you needed to know. and when they finally pulled back, there was a tear slipping down their cheek, catching the light like a drop of liquid silver. you wiped it away with your thumb, and for the first time, V let you see them, all of them, without the shield of their faith or their fear.

and in that moment, you knew—this was a feeling that had been written into the stars long before you had names to give it.

W OSTENDORF

the night air was cool, drifting in through the half-open window, carrying with it the scent of pine and damp earth. you and W were lying on the old, worn-out sofa in their suite, the one that creaked whenever someone moved too suddenly, but right now, everything was still. the room was dark, save for the dim light of a solitary lamp that cast long shadows across the walls.

W’s head was resting against the back of the sofa, their eyes half-closed, their features softened by the quiet of the evening. There was something about the way the light played across their face, catching on the angular line of their jaw and the delicate curve of their pink lips, that made them seem almost ethereal. you noticed it then, just below the curve of their jaw, a small mole nestled in the hollow of their neck.

the words came to you unbidden, a soft murmur in the stillness. “legend says moles are where your lover kissed you the most in your past life.”

W’s eyes flickered open at the sound of your voice, a small crease forming between their brows. for a moment, they said nothing, just looked at you with that intense, sapphire gaze that always made you feel like they were seeing right through you. there was a weight to their silence, something sacred, and you wondered if you had overstepped, if maybe this was too much, too soon.

but then W’s expression softened, the tension in their features melting away like snow under the sun. they tilted their head slightly, giving you better access to that small, dark spot on their skin, their breath hitching ever so slightly as you leaned in closer.

you pressed your lips to the mole, a kiss so soft it was barely there, but you felt the way W’s body responded, the way their hand held the back of your neck, as if grounding themself in the reality of your touch. the scent of their skin—faintly citric, with a hint of something darker and richer, like a strong cup of earl grey—filled your senses, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world had narrowed down to just this, just you and W, and the space between you.

when you pulled back, you could see the way their chest rose and fell a little faster than before, could hear the slight unsteadiness in their breath. W’s eyes fluttered closed again, but this time, there was something different in their expression—something vulnerable, something raw, that they’d never let anyone see but you.

“do you believe in that?” W asked quietly, their voice low and rough around the edges, like they were speaking through a dream.

“i don’t know,” you admitted, your voice just as soft. “but i like the idea.”

W didn’t say anything for a long moment, their thumb tracing absent patterns on your skin, a slow, rhythmic motion that was oddly comforting. and then, just as you were beginning to think they wouldn’t respond, they spoke again, their voice so quiet you almost didn’t catch it.

“if that’s true,” they murmured, “then i must have fallen for you in every lifetime. in every timeline. in every universe.”

you leaned in and kissed the mole again, a slow, lingering press of your lips against their skin. “then you’ll have to keep loving me for a thousand more lifetimes,” you whispered, the words a soft promise against their neck.

W let out a breath they’d been holding, their eyes opening to meet yours, and in their gaze, you saw something that felt familiar. it was the same exact gaze they had thrown at you when you were six, when you had defended them against a playground bully and promised them you’d always be there for them.

the realisation of it would hit you like a truck then—W has been in love with you for the better part of their entire life. it didn’t matter how many times you were both reborn, it didn’t matter where you were reincarnated, it didn’t matter how many times you’d remade the introductions; W would fall in love with you every single time.

D DIACONU

the night was alive with the thrum of distant music and the low murmur of conversations bleeding through the walls. the party was in full swing somewhere beyond the closed door and into the opposite suite. but here, in the dimly lit bedroom, everything felt suspended in time. D leaned back against the bed’s headboard, the half-smirk playing on their lips softened by the shadows that draped across the lines of their jaw.

you were perched on the edge of the bed, close enough to feel the heat radiating off their skin, but not touching. D’s eyes, a metallic shade of gray that seemed to shift colors with every flicker of the low lava lamp, were fixed on you, intense but playful, as if they were daring you to make the next move.

you noticed the mole just beneath their collarbone, proudly visible as they had discarded their t-shirt prior to welcoming you in their dorm room. it was small, easy to miss if you weren’t looking closely, but now that you’d seen it, you couldn’t tear your gaze away.

the words spilled out before you could stop them, your voice a low murmur in the intimate silence. “i heard that moles are where your lover kissed you the most in your past life.”

D grinned widely, a flash of white teeth against the paleness of their skin. they tilted their head slightly, amusement dancing in their eyes as they watched you, waiting to see where you were going with this.

“is that right? well, lucky me then,” they teased, but their bravado faded when you leaned in and kissed the mole softly. it felt like a branding iron against their skin, scorching and almost painful.

D’s breath stuttered, a slight choking sound that betrayed the storm inside them. for a moment, they were caught in a whirlpool of emotions, fear and longing mingling in a way that feels too intense, too fucking real. they didn’t know what to do with this feeling, this surge of something that threatened to drown them. their heart pounded loudly in their chest, each beat a reminder of how terrifyingly alive they were feeling in that moment.

they wanted to pull away, to retreat into the safety of their walls that they’d worked so hard to build, but they can’t. your touch was magnetic, drawing them in like the metal which shared the same color as their eyes; even as every instinct screamed at them to run. they stared at you, as if trying to understand the significance of that small, intimate gesture. trying to understand why did you even do it.

“that... that was the wrong thing to do,” D breathed out, their voice rough with an effort to push you away emotionally. “you’re playing with fire.”

but you didn’t pull back. instead, you smiled softly, your hand finding its way to D’s cheek, tilting their head just enough to meet your gaze.

“maybe i like the heat.” you replied, your voice is steady and reassuring. “maybe i don’t mind being burned.”

but there’s also a challenge in your eyes, alongside an understanding of the battle that raged within them.

D felt the tension in their chest tighten, the fear of opening up their heart again clashing with the undeniable truth that they wanted you. needed you.

they swallowed hard, feeling the way that their heart was racing, how it was skipping all the beats it shouldn’t be. this was dangerous, they knew it, but they were too far gone to pull back now.

you leaned in again, pressing another kiss to their collarbone, lingering just a moment longer this time before travelling up to their neck. D closed their eyes, trying to anchor themself, trying to make sense of the emotions that threatened to overwhelm them. but they are being pulled in the currents of you, and for the first time, they weren’t sure if they wanted to be saved.

M WHITLOCK-SINGH

the library was a sanctuary for the thinkers, the poets, and the dreamers. it was where the only light came from the dimly flickering lamps and the soft glow of a dying sunset filtering through the stained glass windows. shelves rose like ancient trees, their spines a forest of forgotten stories, a testament to the weight of knowledge held within the four walls. dust motes drifted lazily in the air, suspended like tiny stars in the darkening room.

M stood by one of the tall windows, half-hidden in the twilight. the pale, cool light reflected on their tawny face like a heavenly mirage. their fingers rested on a leather-bound volume they had not yet opened, their attention instead on the gathering dusk outside. in the moment, they were a figure caught between the worlds of the living and the dead, as if they were both here and somewhere far from what normal folks would imagine.

you stepped into the room, making a beeline for them after you spotted them. your footsteps were almost soundless against the polished wood floor, but M sensed your presence immediately. there was a subtle shift in the air, a tension that wasn’t there before, and M’s hand tightened slightly on the book’s spine.

their eyes, a shade of deep umber, flickered toward your direction, curiosity mingled with the faintest hint of unease. M had always been told they are the very definition of posh, and they had worked hard to maintain that image—detached, reserved, a perfect balance of manners, decorum and intellect. but here, in the presence of you, that carefully constructed persona began to shift again, like the earth preparing for a quake.

for a long moment, neither of you spoke. the only sound is the distant rustle of pages turning, the soft creak of the old wooden shelves as they settled into the silence. your eyes glanced over the tome they’d been holding, and your lips quirked up in a knowing smile.

“there’s a legend in that book that says moles are where your lover kissed you the most in your past life,” you whispered, your voice low and full of secrecy. there was also a softness to the words, a kind of gentle magic that made them feel lighter, more significant.

your gaze fell to the small mole just beneath M’s lip, and without hesitation, you leaned in, your lips brushing against the spot with a tender reverence.

M gasped, a sharp intake of breath that betrayed the calm exterior they were known for. the touch was electric, sending a shiver down their spine, and for a brief moment, M is unprecedentedly unmoored.

they’d been kissed before, of course, but not like this. not with such purpose, not with a whisper that seemed to echo in all the chambers of their heart. they felt the weight of your words fully, as if they were touching something beyond the physical—a connection that transcends time and place.

“M…” your voice was a soft breath against their skin, and you pressed another kiss to the same spot, lingering a fraction longer this time. there was a sweetness to it, a kind of innocent affection that was almost unbearable in its swooning simplicity.

M’s hands trembled slightly, and they reached out, almost hesitantly, to touch your arm. their fingers brushed against the fabric of your sleeve, and for a moment, they just stood there, eyes closed, feeling the warmth of your body so close to theirs.

they didn’t know what to say, how to respond to such tenderness, such unguarded affection. they’d been trained to command, to lead, but here, they felt utterly lost, and good god, they didn’t want to find their way out of this labyrinth.

“don’t do this to me,” M whispered, but there was no real warning in their voice, only a soft, aching plea. “you know this can’t happen. we can’t happen.”

they were pleading for mercy, an admission that they were not as strong as they have always pretended to be. your hand came up to cradle M’s face, your thumb brushing gently against their cheek.

“whatever happens, we’ll get through it,” you whispered, your voice a balm to M’s doubtful heart. “i’m here for you no matter what.”

you placed one final kiss on the mole beneath their lip, and M felt something inside them break free—a dam that had held back months of longing, of wanting to be seen, to be loved not for who they are, but for the person behind all the titles.

M’s eyes fluttered open, and for the first time, they met your gaze without the shield of their usual poise. there’s a question in their eyes, unspoken but clear: can you really love me for who i am, with all my flaws, all my fears? for all that i am and all that i am not?

and in your beaming smile, they found their answer.

#got carried away again ugh #it’s a pretty good writing exercise tho 👁️👄👁️#ro: c lacroix #ro: v næsholm #ro: w ostendorf #ro: d diaconu #ro: m whitlock singh #if: the ballad of the young gods #interactive fiction #interactive novel #twine wip #interactive story #ro scenarios

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