#it is 3am as I am writing this post

[selfinserttothestars]

MY EWFIE IS HOME MY WIFE8

Heishome!!@W Im happy

[zivazivc]

Sorry if this has already been asked before but why did the band break up? And did they break up on decent terms? Do they still talk to each other sometime?

It has been asked before, I just never answered jshfbdjcbh I'm still piecing everything together and stuff is changing or getting tweaked all the time, so I'm always super hesitant about answering these types of questions, afraid that people will take whatever I say as the final answer. So basically what I'm going to answer now will already contradict what I told some people already. And maybe in the future the story might go a little differently too (although I'm pretty satisfied with the current events)

Uhhh, get ready for a long info dump. I didn't expect I'd write this much...

Floyd basically stayed with the band for 8 years (from 14 till 22) and got pretty messed up in the process. The rest of the guys are all quite older than him so I guess I could say they were more responsible, or at least had a better understanding of their own limits (also they grew up in this kind of environment or grew up aware of it, while Floyd was oblivious and naive about all of it) and while they do get drunk and do drugs often, none of them are really dependent on them. They are also pretty good judges of character and know how to avoid trouble. Floyd on the other hand drove in with no breaks and constantly got himself in trouble that the rest (mostly Les) had to drag him out of. He also developed bipolar during this time (in my story Floyd constantly fluctuates between being saturated and being desaturated because of this) and his manic and depressive episodes started getting out of hand after his teenage years. (None of them are aware it's a mental disorder that's making him act so out of character.)

Floyd was becoming miserable because of this and all of his problems pilling up, and started blaming Les for the way he was. Les never argued this which only fueled Floyd to blame him more. In the end he was getting so frustrated and irritable that Floyd constantly tried starting arguments with him, even putting him down and getting aggressive at times because Les gets very unresponsive and closed off during personal conversations (guy is a giant onion of suppressed trauma that Floyd is hellbent on peeling open).

Eventually there was one fight too many, terrible things were said, some objects flew through the air, and Floyd walked out (or Hed kicked him out, I haven't decided yet) with the promise of going home and never seeing them again.

So, yeah, it was very messy and Floyd was the primary asshole, even though he's not really to blame either...

But Floyd didn't make it home (was too scared to sneak through Bergen Town to get to the tree (i don't think i can judge him for that either)) and he just returned to the reckless lifestyle, this time without anyone being there to keep him safe. So if he was messed up before, this is the time period where he got absolutely fucked up. This is also when he got heavily addicted to sour worms. And when he chronically slept around (half the time just to get offered free worms or have somewhere to sleep, other times because he was having manic episodes and was feeling hypersexual). (This is also potentially the period when he had the two eggs with that techno troll, but I'm still thinking if I want that to be canon to the story or not.) During this time he also grew to become very anxious and his self-confidence went to shit when he was being himself.

Then after about three years of that, he bumped into Les at some party. He wanted to dodge him out of shame but Les grabbed his arm and manhandled him outside to talk. Floyd felt like shit about the way they had split up and tried apologizing for all the stuff he had said and done to Les, but Les wasn't having any of that because he wasn't angry at Floyd, he was just worried about him. Les is also insanely empathetic like Floyd, and he knew that Floyd never really meant any of it, and that he was just looking for an outlet when he was hurting. Also he does think he is to blame for the way Floyd ended up.

Les wanted to know why he didn't go home like he had said (because that was the only reason Les had even let him walk out in the first place). A few exchanged words later and Floyd broke down telling him all the awful things he'd done, and Les promised to help him, feeling insanely guilty. Floyd wondered if he was allowed back in the band but Les made it clear that the band wasn't good for him and that he was never taking him back. Instead Les helped him go though rehab. I don't think trolls have those institutions (or at least not many are aware of them or how they work (I'm sorry but I refuse to believe the Trolls world has internet and cellphones, Mountrageons can keep that for themselves lol)), so it was more or less just Les finding Floyd a job and his own place to stay in the middle of bumfuck nowhere where he had no option but to detox, and constantly checking up on him to make sure he was doing okay. During this time they grew pretty close again. Or maybe the better term would be that Les slowly started putting his walls down again.

Hed needed a while to warm up to Floyd again. He's almost as protective of Les as Les is of him, and he resented Floyd for the way he had treated him.

Flea is pretty phlegmatic when it comes to any sort of arguing or drama. He was casual about seeing Floyd again, they were never super close anyway.

And Liv, she left the band when she and Hed broke up (haven't decided if that happened before or after Floyd left), so Floyd didn't get to see her again after bumping into Les at the party. And I haven't thought yet if they'd ever meet again somewhere later in life. But if they did, I think they'd both be happy to see each other.

Anyway...

Floyd managed to detox and successfully kept the job for about a year, but then he became manic again and messed it all up. After that he returned to his nomadic lifestyle, but he never fell as hard as those three years again. In my story Floyd's life is a constant cycle of getting his life together and fucking it up and booking to the next place. And he and Les are trapped in a never-ending cat and mouse game where they're both trying to fix each other.

So, uh, Les and Floyd are still very close and see each other somewhat often...

(sometimes monthly, sometimes yearly)

Yeah...

I am so fucking obsessed with them I'm gonna hurl. Please take this song before I combust:

[tenderfxck]

hello!!! i really like ur sub characters they make me giggle ngl cause like awww <3 if it’s okay can I request a Zhongli x reader where during the night he lets his half dragon form out while he rests, so he has his horns and tail out but still looks human (I think that is his morax form) however the reader doesn’t know about him being a dragon so one night as he has his form out, she is having a wet dream and poor Li’ has to grit his teeth and try not to whimper and buck his hips up as she grinds and humps his tail :(( poor baby is getting all the stimulation but not enough at this same time :(( Eventually he’ll come and twitch while slapping a hand over his mouth to stop his whining as his beloved continues to grind all over his tail, rubbing its most sensitive parts and he just has to endure the overstimulation. (Have a good day!)

zhongli//restless night//f!reader//18+

contents: half dragon! zhongli, f!reader, somno, accidental voyerism, shit anon you got me good T T

notes: AAAAAH i'm so late, sorry this took forever, there was a whole lot going on in my life but i’m still so happy you sent this spicy prompt to me, it was so much fun to write💕

it was a time of rest. a time when he allowed himself to relax just enough that he wouldn’t have to keep up the appearance of a human anymore.

the long amber horns were allowed to sprout from his temples, while his long tail resembling that color of oudh wood was permitted to spread itself across the fine sheets that wangshu inn provided.

and yet, now you have spread yourself across him. . .

this certainly wasn’t the plan, but can anything ever go accordingly when it comes to you?

zhongli wasn't expecting to be in such a vulnerable position with you. he was typically vigilant about hiding his dragon-like form, dismissing himself from your company to his own room for the night before unwinding.

but tonight, wangshu inn was fully booked except for one solitary room.

with only one bed.

you fussed about the arrangement, but zhongli merely chuckled, assuring you that as long as you were comfortable, he did not mind the prospect of sharing.

so the two of you shared this bed together. zhongli had thought absolutely nothing of it. he'll just retain his human form all night.

well, that was the plan, until he felt your weight dip the other side of the mattress, settling so comfortably against his form as you quickly dozed off. he could smell the sweet scent of your perfume, feel the soft cotton of your nightgown against him. it was just so. . .cozy. warm and safe

soon enough, zhongli could feel his human form slipping, sprouting those more dragon-like traits without him noticing.

well. . .then he'll just wake up before your pretty eyes even think to flutter open. zhongli will change back and you'll never be the wiser to this altered state he finds himself in now.

yes, a fine plan.

(and one that would let him indulge in the warmth and comfort of you as he dozed off)

but of course, that's when you saw fit to strike upon him.

it is had all started so innocently. just you clinging to him, snuggled up so cutely even as he faced away from you. you had been positioned against him, cradling his back as you spooned his resting form. his great tail was in between those soft thighs, but zhongli had decent enough self-control to ignore it.

that’s when he first felt the thrust of your hips.

he was on the cusp of waking and asleep until the sudden motion enticed him away from the edge.

he thought nothing much of it. just the shifting of your body to a more comfortable position. he was settling in to his pillow once again when he felt the rock of hips against his tail again.

a gasp was caught in his throat, unsure if what happened wasn't just an active imagination on his part. zhongli held his breath, waiting to see if it was just a trick of his mind.

and then there it was again. a long, drawn out stroke of your hips. and this time, the heavenly sigh of your voice to accompany it.

zhongli grit his teeth, listening intently for any sign that you had awoken, but all that graced his ears was your soft snores accompanied by tiny little whimpers escaping you.

unknowingly, in a fit of passion only clear to you in whatever blissful dream your sleeping form had conjured up, you were nonetheless grinding upon zhongli’s ridged tail in what was now becoming a slow, yet steady pace.

“a-ah~ excuse me,” he stuttered, barely able to process the scene enfolding behind him. he stumbled over his words, desperately searching for any way to wake you up without mortifying the two of you. “you seem to be-aah!” zhongli couldn’t contain that little outburst. he gasped at the steady friction you provided.

zhongli couldn’t believe the circumstances. he turned his head, chancing a look back upon your peaceful form.

sure enough you were still soundly asleep, unaware of the lewd situation playing out before you.

it didn’t help that his tail was overly sensitive to stimuli (something left over from more primordial days) and especially that of your wet cunt catching on each prominent bump along his long tail.

“a-ah, wait, that’s. . . nngh!” zhongli tried to protest. he knew the implications this would have if you were to wake up and discover more than just the illicit situation you found yourselves in.

but zhongli had desired you for so long. thought about just what noises you would make in circumstances like this long before he found himself here tonight. and now it was all coming true. right in his ear.

and right against him. . .

fuck. your needy pussy humping his sensitive tail was just too much. the worst part is he could feel just exactly how wet you had gotten using him to get yourself off. he grasps at the waistband of his pants, dragging them down and letting his already weeping cock spring forth from the cotton confines.

it’d shame him to admit just how quickly this little routine had him stiff and aching in his pants. but his self restraint had already eroded to much.

if you were enjoying yourself, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to indulge himself as well?

zhongli took his cock in hand and began to slowly stroke, focusing on the distinct feeling of you moving against him. he bit his tongue, willing any moans to die on his lips before he dares disturbs your slumber.

it continued like that for archons knows how long. the thrust of your hips, followed by zhongli silencing his moans and fisting his cock quicker, all while enduring all those sweet little whimpers escaping you as you chased your own pleasure on his tail.

it was too much. too much stimulation, too many little sounds. the slick of your cunt against him, the wet noise of him fucking his own fist, the knowledge that you were so close, using him to get yourself off while that pretty little head dreamt about all sorts of perverse things.

too much. too much. he’s gonna-!

he comes with a particularly deep grind of your twitching pussy gliding against his now glistening scales. he clasped a trembling hand over his mouth, willing himself quieter as dragon fangs catch against his palm, feeling himself finally come undone. he basks in the sensation of you humping so diligently against his most vulnerable area as he spills his thick load all over himself.

he panted, tremors still finding their way through his body as he lay spent, thighs and stomach covered in his seed.

he gasped, moaning and twitching in the aftermath.

yet you still continued.

fuck. fuck. archons, you weren’t stopping-!

you kept on grinding onto his newly overstimmed tail, letting out those sweet little whimpers, chasing that high while zhongli has to sit and bear this whole lewd scene as he writhed and panted against you.

this was going to be a long night. . .

[flowercrowngods]

*checks time* a prompt for you. eddie's insomnia versus steve the human weighted blanket. 🥺

in which Eddie hasn’t slept in days and feels like he’s losing his mind. fairy lights, music, and Steve lying down on top of him with promises whispered into his skin are what saves him | cw: gets pretty heavy on the insomnia | 2.8k

Eddie doesn’t sleep. Hasn’t slept in a while. He knows it must have been two days. Maybe three. And before that it’s always just been one lucky hour, maybe two, his body collapsing into blissful darkness before black turns red and he’s back in the Upside down, before silence turns into Chrissy screaming at him, for him, because of him.

Eddie doesn’t sleep. And it’s starting to show. His movements are slow, thinking and speaking takes way longer than it used to, than it should, and everything is dulled. Sometimes he hears voices where there are none, sometimes he misses words directed at him before one of the shrimps call for his attention again, annoyed and only a little worried. Only a little, because Eddie is quirky, Eddie is dramatic, Eddie is like that, right? Right?

Wrong. Eddie is just tired. His hands won’t stop shaking, his mouth won’t stop talking, his thoughts won’t stop running. It doesn’t even feel like he’s in control of himself anymore, and it’s beginning to be real scary.

But even when he thinks, screw the nightmares, I just want some sleep, rest won’t find him. The constant thrum of anxiety keeps it all away and he’s starting to get frustrated, angry, desperate.

He just wants to sleep. Please. The laundry already starts talking to him, and he doesn’t remember hanging it up, and almost panics when it’s gone.

This is fine. It’s all fine. His joints ache, his scars itch, sometimes smiling hurts, but it’s all fine. He just needs sleep.

It all comes to a head when he’s hosting Hellfire for the kids two weeks since his last full night of sleep — and a full night is being generous, because his standards have gone so low as to that meaning he got five hours of almost uninterrupted sleep. Magically, the kids don’t really suspect anything, don’t even notice the bags under Eddie’s eyes or find their own completely misguided whiz kid explanations for it without so much as asking how he’s been doing. Part of him is glad, because they shouldn’t know, shouldn’t worry, shouldn’t see.

It also helps that even complete and utter sleep deprivation can’t ruin Eddie’s Dungeon Master headspace — and so what if the traitorous elf that asked the kids for help sounds a bit like the angry cabinet door he left open all day yesterday because he always forgot to close it? That’s between Eddie and his mind that he’s absolutely been losing.

Everything goes by without a hitch, the kids busy discussing each other’s moves and yelling and hollering, than watching Eddie massage his temples one, two, three times.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. Except his skin has started tingling three hours ago and he knows he shouldn’t drive the kids home, knows he shouldn’t even be hosting them in this state, but he can’t… He can’t let the Upside Down win.

They didn’t get him with red lightning and murderous bats, and now they won’t get him with nightmares or the lack of sleep.

Maybe he’s been cursed. What if he’s cursed? Fuck, what if he’s actually been cursed to die the slow, agonising death that Dustin gave Mike’s character in the one shot he hosted last week, his brain rotting inside his skull and the cure just out of reach, so close but so far? Is that possible? Is that a thing? It sure feels like it, and—

“Eddie?”

Wait.

Steve? Why’s Steve asking for him, calling his name, where is he?

Eddie blinks. And blinks again. Only to find himself in the living room, a shaking hand pressing the telephone to his ear.

He’s been calling Steve. He does not remember. Panic is building inside him and he swallows it down.

I’m not going crazy. I’m not going crazy. I just need to sleep.

“Eds? You there?”

“Yeah, man,” he says, his voice too shaky, not at all sounding like him, and he wonders if someone’s taking over his body. If Vecna is back. If he’s been possessed. Fuck, he might really he possessed, and he shouldn’t be calling Steve, he should keep them all safe, he should—

“What’s up?” Steve asks then, and Eddie sort of never wants him to stop talking, because his head is quiet when he does. Keep talking, Stevie. Please tell me I’m not going crazy. Tell me I’m not cursed. “You okay? Are the kids still there?”

After a moment Eddie finds his breath and his voice, hoping it sounds more like him now. “Yeah, actually, I was wondering if you could come pick them up around nine-ish? I’m not…” okay, he wants to say, but doesn’t. “I can’t really drive. Today.”

There’s a bit of rustling on the other end of the line and Eddie listens, because listening to Steve, to his voice and his movements, is easier than listening to all the things inside his house that suddenly have a voice now.

“Sure,” Steve says. “Yeah, I can come pick them up, no problem. You okay, though? Do you need anything? I can come over sooner if you want, grab them and end Hellfire early. Just say the word, okay?”

Despite himself, Eddie scoffs. “End Hellfire early? Peasant. Heathen! Heretic!”

And Steve just laughs that soft little laugh of his and Eddie listens like his life depends on it.

“Alright, Munson, you little shit, I’ll be there at nine. I’ll just do two rounds, grab you, Dustin and Will on the second one, yeah?”

“Sure, whatever,” Eddie says. Then Steve’s words process and he asks, “Wait, me?”

“Yes, you. I’m not leaving you alone when you sound like… Like you could really use a hug but don’t wanna ask for it, alright? Trust me, I know all about how that sounds. And you don’t gotta be alone, okay? We can just hang out here, don’t even have to talk, just listen to some music or whatever.”

And Eddie doesn’t know what to say. It’s not the sleep deprivation this time, though, it’s Steve Harrington and the way he always seems to know when something’s up. Maybe Eddie’s voice really didn’t sound like him just now, or maybe Steve is just really fucking perceptive and sweet like that.

“The things you listen to are hardly music, Stevie.” That’s all he says. All he can say without breaking into tears, because hanging out with Steve outside of these walls that mock him, laugh at him, talk with him, sounds exactly like what he needs right now.

Well, what he needs is sleep, but Steve feels like second best. And isn’t that something he never expected to feel.

“Shut up, Munson,” Steve laughs, and it’s soft, soft, soft. “But that’s not a no. So I guess I’ll see you then.”

**

Just as promised, Steve is there at exactly 9:00pm. Not one minute early, not one second late. Eddie scoffs and shakes his head as he jogs to the front door.

And maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, but Steve looks really fucking pretty with that smug half smile and another stupid polo shirt under his grey jacket. Eddie swallows. It’s probably the sleep deprivation. It definitely is. Because suddenly he wants nothing more than for Steve to come and hug him.

Sleep, hug, hang out. That’s his list now. It’s growing.

He obsesses over that while Steve brings Lucas, Erica and Mike home. Dustin and Will are talking strategies and Eddie busies himself cleaning up, sorting his notes and carefully storing his Hellfire stuff in the little cabinet unter his desk.

When he’s done, because maybe this took longer than it should have after he forgot what he was about to do a grand total of three times, Steve’s just pulling up to come get them for the second round.

Eddie grabs a bag with a change of clothes, a notebook because he doesn’t expect to find any sleep anyway and he wants to keep himself busy with something, even though writing takes precious brain power he’s going to be lacking for basic things such as making himself breakfast or remembering to get into the house when he’s standing by the front door.

Not like that has happened before. More than once, that is.

With his bag packed, he goes to grab Will and Dustin and together they head out to where Steve’s waiting outside his car, just leaning against it like he’s the goddamn protagonist of some shitty movie. Maybe he’s seen too many of those. Maybe Steve should stop working at Family Video, the movies are a bad influence apparently.

The car ride is blessedly silent, the only noise being the quiet music coming from the radio, and Eddie closes his eyes as he lets street lights wash over him. In the back, Will and Dustin do the same. Everyone’s tired after Hellfire, Eddie knows. Sometimes he catches Steve smiling when he comments on how he hates driving the kids home after their sessions because they always manage to fall asleep on the short ride home and he gets to be the asshole that wakes them up.

Eyes closed, the vision of Steve’s fond smile and faux exasperation in his mind’s eye, Eddie smiles. It’s only when the constant, pleasant rumble of the engine stops and the world is cast in absolute silence, that he opens his eyes. Steve’s watching him, but instead of that smile Eddie’s been dreaming of, there’s a worried expression waiting for him.

“You look like shit,” Steve says so, so quietly, and Eddie sags into the seat, twisting around to face Steve completely as he loses every ounce of fight left in him.

“Can’t sleep,” he says, rasps, whispers.

Steve just looks at him. He’s always looking, always seeing. “Nightmares?”

Eddie shakes his head, plays with one of the loose threads where his jeans are ripped at the knees. “Not even nightmares, just… Insomnia, Nancy called it. I love how she has a fancy word for everything.”

“Shit, man. I’m sorry.” Steve sounds like he means it, and Eddie wants to wrap himself up in that. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Tell me I’m not going crazy?” The words leave his mouth before he can hold them back and Eddie hates how small he sounds, how scared, how tired.

But Steve, oh, Steve, he’s not small or scared or tired. He’s none of that. He’s not weak like Eddie, because after looking for five, six, seven seconds, Steve turns to open his door and gets out of the car. Eddie’s heart sinks and he rubs at his eyes — his dry, aching, burning eyes, protesting at never getting to close anymore.

Then the front passenger door opens and Steve is there, kneeling beside him, taking Eddie’s hands from his eyes and holding them in his own.

“You’re not going crazy, Eddie. I promise you, you’re not going crazy.”

Eddie doesn’t look at Steve, can’t possibly meet the eyes that belong to this incredibly sincere and kind voice. He keeps his eyes on the dashboard instead, watching as the unmoving shadow of a tree morphs into different shapes right before his eyes, his mind playing tricks on him without hiding it anymore.

“Sure feels like it, though,” he whispers. Or he thinks he does. He’s not so sure anymore, watching the one shadow become two, then three. He closes his eyes, clenches them shut like it would make all his problems disappear.

Maybe it does, because like this, there’s only Steve’s voice as he’s talking so gently, so quietly, so unlike anything and everything Eddie has ever known.

The words don’t really register, but one moment Eddie is sitting in the car, the next he’s standing, and it’s warm and it smells like Steve and— oh. They’re hugging. Steve is hugging him. Holding him. Talking still like he knows Eddie needs it, like he knows the world will fade and shift and morph if he doesn’t, like he wants nothing more than to talk Eddie down from this brink of madness.

Then there’s a hand in his and the air is cold again, but it’s fine because there’s a hand and its guiding, holding, soothing.

A door falls closed, a lock clicks, and the hand is still there.

They’re in Steve’s house. Then in Steve’s room. And then there’s music. The hand is gone, and Eddie blinks, his eyes aching, so dry and tired and angry him.

Steve gently, so very gently pushes him to sit down on his bed, but Eddie doesn’t have the strength to sit, so he falls backward until he’s lying on Steve’s bed. It’s soft, comfortable. There’s a string of lights on the wall behind his headboard casting the room in warm light, and Eddie wonders if it’s Christmas soon.

It’s not. It’s August.

It doesn’t make sense.

But they’re pretty.

Eddie is only staring for a while while Steve is off doing something or other, and then he’s back in Eddie’s line of sight.

“Can I try something?”

Eddie just stares.

“It’s absolutely cool if you don’t want to, man, but I do this with Robbie sometimes when she can’t sleep. It doesnt work on me this way around, I always have to be on top, I hate having something on my chest, but—“

“Stevie, I have very limited brain capacity right now.”

“Right, sorry,” he laughs sheepishly and then rests one knee on the mattress. That’s when it hits Eddie that he’s lying in Steve Haddington’s bed, and that aforementioned Steve Harrington has nothing better to do about it than to fucking smile at him.

“Tell me if it’s bad. Seriously, tell me. Uncomfortable, bad, panic-inducing or just plain wrong, yeah? Tell me.”

And Eddie doesn’t understand what on Earth he’s supposed to tell Steve, when…

Steve’s lying down on top of him. They’re touching from knee to shoulder, Steve’s head landing on his collarbone. He’s warm. He’s heavy, and for a second Eddie can’t breathe and it’s too much, his lungs can’t fill, he can’t—

“Breathe, Eddie.”

And he does. And it’s the easiest breath he took all day. He takes another. And another. And all of them smell of Steve, all of them are warm, all of them a promise that he’s not losing his mind or his sanity. His heart, possibly, but that’s a problem for a different day.

“Better?” Steve asks, his breath leaving goosebumps on Eddie’s skin.

He nods. His hands coming up to wrap around Steve because part of him is still scared that this is a dream, a hallucination, or that Steve will decide it’s enough, he can leave Eddie to his business of losing his mind again.

But Steve’s not going anywhere. He shifts, getting comfortable on top of Eddie and promises into the skin of his throat, “I’m not going anywhere, Eddie. I’ve got you and you’re safe. Close your eyes for me, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

And, miraculously, Eddie believes him. The weight of Steve on top of him, his promise now eternalised in Eddie’s skin, and the quiet tunes coming from the record player take him where he hasn’t been in far too long.

He doesn’t even have the time to think about the way his past self would scoff at him for letting Steve Harrington lie down on him like this. For holding him close.

There’s only Steve who keeps him safe from the brink of insanity and guides him to a much gentler, warmer, kinder place. It’s a bit like insanity, actually, but at least here there’s someone to take his hand and hold it.

The last thought that crosses his mind is the list he made earlier. Sleep, hug, hang out.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

**

This quickly turns into the only way Eddie can fall asleep, and he’s embarrassed about it at first. Feels like a burden and doesn’t ask for it, spends most nights alone and with the resolution that he just won’t sleep. But Steve finds out and makes him come over again or just kidnaps him in broad daylight.

Every night they spend like this, Steve promises the same thing. “I’m not going anywhere, Eddie. I’ve got you and you’re safe. Close your eyes for me, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Every night they spend like this, Eddie believes him as he winds his arms around Steve in turn and holds him.

And then, over time, words whispered into skin turn into the tentative press of lips there. They turn into kisses, into more promises, declarations, pleas.

Some nights turn into most nights, into every night, and Eddie doesn’t lose his sleep again, not like that. Sometimes it’s Steve who wakes up from a nightmare but Eddie is there to soothe him, to make promises of his own and to hold him until he’s asleep again.

They make it work. And somewhere along the way, somewhere between sleep and promises, underneath the fairy lights Steve never takes down, they fall in love.

It’s a different kind of insanity, and one that Eddie never wants to run from.

[20cm]

hi, i unfortunately need help covering a combined bill that rounds to roughly ~$1500 due to the vehicle i share with my mother + my only transportation to work being suddenly very out of commission.

$500 is renting the cheapest vehicle we could for a week, the rest is for the part we need to repair it and the repair itself. the issues with it have already cost me hours at work.

i work 'full time' (a little under 40hrs) making minimum wage to support myself + my mom and our animals and we'd been coasting by despite having a $600 vet bill we were chipping away at. right now im prioritizing trying to get this $1500 off our backs.

if youre able anything helps, truly, even just reblogging this. thank you so much in advance (pls dont tag with b00st/etc)

♡ v3nmo: @/rookwind

♡ p@/pal: @/ceeqyinn

[ethereal-darling-angelic-cherub]

“If Yuichiro hadn’t die/accepted becoming a demon slayer then he and Muichiro would be hashira twins”

Listen listen I love this I do I promise but in my headcannon, everything would have gone the same for Muichiro he would have become a hashira within two months just Like in canon. But for fun and angst Yuichiro wouldn’t, in fact, I don’t think Yuichiro would have any abilities in being Demon Slayer like can’t use a breathing technique and even after years of training ends up becoming a Kakushi I think this would be a massive barrier in Yuichiro and Muichiro for obvious reasons their relationship would become strained and Yuichiro is two seconds away from his villain arc and becoming like Kokushibo until the swordsmith arc when and Muichiro gets greatly injured from the poison (loses his memory if we add flavour bc he wouldn’t have lost it if Yuichiro didn’t die so maybe he loses it with the poison???) and this is when Yuichiro remembers why he is here and that even if his twin is stronger and a better fighter then him Muichiro still needs his protection and they start to form there bond again particularly with the influence of Tanjiro and Nezuko personally I just find that more entertaining then Yuichiro becoming a hashira as well

[boyfridged]

in your fic “paint it over” is that how you imagine jason making it out of the explosion at the end of utrh? not exactly the events that follow, but the preferable characterization of bruce digging jay out of the rubble and carrying him to help. and how do you think jason made it out canonically (without the help of bruce) also!!! what are your thoughts on the specifics of jason’s scar and how he’d behave toward it. i liked the part of your fic where jason was temporarily unable to speak due to the trauma his neck received. i think the scar is something that rests on the junction of his shoulder/neck, and that can be hidden with whatever clothes he wears -> no one knows he has it (or how he got it) either. i like to imagine while bruce knows his batarang made contact with jason’s throat it’s never fully registered to him that it scarred until he sees it for himself (and while i believe bruce would turn the moment in head over and over again until it’s engraved in his brain, his delayed realization—to me—is due to his repression of the occurrence)

oh i adore this whole ask. some of it i explained in my notes, but this fanfic is quite dear to me, so i will elaborate.

short answer to whether this is how i imagine jay making it out of the explosion: not exactly?

the premise that i wanted to explore with paint it over is almost the opposite of a fix-it, and definitely not what i believe it should be in canon.

what i wished to explore there is, however, the part of utrh that is perhaps the most shocking to many readers: that bruce leaves jason to die.

in-universe, i think the answer why it happens is surprisingly simple enough: bruce does not come because he is just... not there. my understanding is, that in a way, the events of under the red hood did not happen. there is nothing to follow. that purple mist in the finale of the utrh, that is often read as a force resurrecting jason (not technically wrong, either)- i believe that is the timeline already rewriting itself, making the whole story into something that was not.

and the reason for the above is the infinite crisis. if i'm not wrong, it's also the inifinite crisis miniseries where bruce meets dick right after the explosions in (or of) bludhaven-- that in batman clearly happens in the background of his confrontation with jay. however, in infinite crisis (#4, just checked it now), bruce tells dick: "i wanted to make sure...you're alright... i was in new york when it hit. got here as soon as i could." which could be a lie or a matter of the editorial not being synced enough- but i'm willing to give them a benefit of the doubt given how it ties with that sudden, stunted ending of utrh.

this makes sense for canon for several reasons. in the animated movie, since it spares us the infinite crisis tie-in, bruce says of the whole incident: this changes nothing. it changes nothing because although aditf isn't, utrh is a tragedy; it changes nothing because since his death, jason is necessarily always pushed at the peripheries of the narrative, no matter how much the fate itself tries to fix it, becoming a tragic footnote. the dead have one right and it's the right to remain silent. and that is ironically ensured on a cosmic level, with his violent attempt at being seen hidden in the folds of the timeline. you can also see it clearly in canon -- i believe it was not until the infinite frontier that the events of utrh got just tangentially mentioned (before that, even lobdell barely touched upon it). other than that, they have no consequences; they are barely ever spoken of; they seem to slip out even from jay's solo comics.

this move was necessary for batman, as a character and as a title: let's say bruce does hold red hood as he does in the alt cover of annual 25 (and the cover of the deluxe edition of utrh.) that would implore a reckoning with his failure and his (suddenly non-productive) grief that would either reconstruct the whole myth or lead to some terrifying implications. these terrifying implications are, essentially, what paint it over is about. it's about the worst happening and about there being no way back from it. and jason, in receiving what he wanted (his father's love and care) wants to deny that reality. they both want to. yet even jay cannot ignore it completely -- and i chose to use the batarang injury to emphasize it.

and about the scar: i mentioned it briefly before, but in the au jason aggravates the wounds on purpose, hence it will scar worse and cause long-term issues for his voice. it's a theme i also keep in some of my other stories (to come...) and i very much think this is what would happen in canon if he had to take care of that injury. yet as it healed, i believe he'd take to hiding it, mostly. still, as it stands, my primary take might be that in canon (if it was to follow the interference into the timeline from the crisis at least) jason would simply end up with no scar at all, and only memories for evidence of what happened, which is perhaps worse for him too (but of course better for bruce. and as it happens, this is bruce wayne's story and everyone else is just living in it- or dies in it- for better or worse. and if we're ignoring that metaphysical timeline bullshit, as you said, i believe bruce would repress it all anyway.)

[gatzbright]

sweater weather

dnf fic, 1.6k, one shot, general, ao3 link [Established Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst With a Happy Ending, Fluff]

A cry escapes George’s lips. “Dream—” Dream brings George closer, holds his face in two large palms. “Tell me when you’re hurting, sweetheart,” he whispers thickly, “and I can try help.” George shakes his head. “No,” he says, weepy, “‘s’too much—” “Never,” Dream says. He holds George’s gaze. “You’re never too much—nothing you ever feel is ever too much.”

[Or, The tide brings in old feelings, and George feels the ache.]

[obstinaterixatrix]

Usopp asks sanji to write out the recipe of a favorite dish of his and let him borrow the kitchen to make it but sanji keeps Observing and Hovering

set vaguely after arlong park I guess??

—

Despite what anyone on the crew might think, Sanji isn’t actually against having other people in the kitchen. Working in a restaurant means working with a bunch of assholes who know how to sauté shit without setting themselves on fire. But while the bastards on the Baratie could barely be considered chefs, they were still—technically speaking—chefs.

He doesn’t miss the cacophony of steel and iron, of stupid banter, of order after order after order. He doesn’t miss elbowing past Patty on the way to the fridge, or heckling some dipshit’s new recipe until it’s actually worth serving, or cleaning with the geezer at the end of the day.

What he does miss is working with someone who knows how to hold a knife.

“That’s not how you fillet a fish,” Sanji says. Once he’s sure Usopp’s not in danger of accidentally cutting himself, Sanji reaches over to reposition Usopp’s hand, finger off the spine of the blade.

Usopp makes a face, probably torn between deferring to Sanji or spinning some story to brush him off. They’re still feeling each other out—it’s been a weird leap from ‘reluctant waiter and picky customer’ to ‘crewmates bound by the whims of their idiot captain.’ In the end, Usopp nods, carefully cutting into the pike while holding the knife in his new and improved posture (smart choice, less chance of losing his grip and a finger).

“You’re not cutting close enough to the—“

“Do you not want me here?” Usopp blurts out. “In the kitchen, I mean,” he clarifies, and for a second it looks like he’s going to continue, but he. Doesn’t. No backpedaling, no deflection, no convoluted over-explanation, which—isn’t Usopp supposed to lie? That’s his whole thing. Sanji knows that much, at least (but not much else).

“I’m trying to be nice,” Sanji says, eventually. To his own surprise, he means it. “If I didn’t want you here, I would’ve kicked you out.”

“…Oh.”

Usopp continues filleting the pike, and Sanji doesn’t point out the bones that are stuck in the pieces.

Alright, so, the thing is. Spending nine whole years surrounded by thugs will apparently have an impact on someone’s social skills. Which doesn’t matter with Luffy—he doesn’t really care about what Sanji says (unless it’s about food). It doesn’t matter with Zoro—Sanji doesn’t give a shit about that mosshead. And with Nami-chan, Sanji doesn’t have to think—a single glimpse of her radiant beauty is so soul-stirring that Sanji’s simply helpless against the flood of praise that springs forth ❤️

So how the hell is he supposed to talk to someone like Usopp?

Thankfully, it’s not a question Sanji has to consider for too long—Usopp clears his throat, taking the lead.

“I actually did this a lot before joining the crew,” he says, which—knife technique aside—sounds plausible.

“Yeah?”

“I must’ve grilled a thousand—no, ten thousand fish,” he continues, which sounds like bullshit. “By the time I was eight, the whole island was lining up for a taste of the great Captain Usopp’s legendary fire-grilled fish! Using spices foraged from the forest and fish caught by spear, not even the most refined palate could resist the food I poured my heart and soul into! But you see—” and here, he smiles, bright but somehow bittersweet, “I’d only cook it for my loyal crew and the princess we’d all sworn to protect.

“Now, as astounding as my own recipe was, I’m man enough to admit when I’m beat. And yours beats mine, no contest. So someday, I’d… like to cook it. For my old crew.”

It’s impressive, the way Usopp manages to be blindingly honest while lying his ass off. Sanji’s not quite sure what to make of it. If anyone else was feeding him this crap, he would’ve told them to eat shit, but…

…

“Hey,” Sanji says. “Tell me about your old crew.”

And, with a wide grin, Usopp does.

(The fish comes out fine. A little over-seasoned, but edible. They’ll work on it.)

[conquerthenight]

I’ve been thinking nonstop about the time someone on ao3 mentioned that Maxim took on some of Rebecca’s worst traits as a way to cope with (or that some of his own worst traits were exacerbated by) the abuse he endured by Rebecca’s hand. And that honestly makes so much sense.

None of this an excuse for how he behaves, but I think it could be an explanation.

I mean, think about it. We know he has quite the horrible temper. In the musical Beatrice states that he was “the same way as a child” meaning that his anger issues have always existed in some way. Of course that is most likely true, but take that and add in years of emotional abuse and it’s certainly a recipe for disaster. What used to be an ordinary bad temper became something border lining on volatile over the years. We see that in those moments Maxim snaps at his second wife. In the musical, during the first boathouse scene, Maxim rushes after his wife who had run offstage in terror, as if he was about to hit her before ultimately realizing what he was about to do and stopping himself in his tracks.

We know that Maxim can be quite cold and distant when he wants to be. At times he is also super patronizing and mocking. In the musical it’s a bit less so (but even that has the “you react like a child” line) but in the book he’s constantly talking down to his wife. Perhaps he does so because Rebecca did the same to him? Of course, Rebecca definitely didn’t compare him to a child as Maxim did to his second wife, but she could have mocked him with his insecurities (his obsession with holding up his family’s reputation, his intense desire to be seen as a strong figure and the toxic level of pressure he puts on himself as a result).

And of course, we can’t talk about Maxim or Rebecca’s worst traits without mentioning manipulation and the abuse of power dynamics. And what’s more is that both of them are fully aware that they are manipulating the situation. Rebecca sought to control Maxim by holding her affairs, Manderley’s standing, etc. over his head knowing full well he either wouldn’t or couldn’t (or a combination of the two) divorce her. See the lyric in “Kein Lächeln war je so Kalt”: “Divorce was taboo for the de Winter family. The family honor was worth more to me than my pride, and she relished in her triumph”.

Likewise, Maxim knows full well that his second wife came from basically nothing. He knows she’s financially dependent on him and that should their marriage fail in some way, she would have nowhere to go and no one to turn to. He even outright admits to her that he “did a selfish thing” marrying his second wife and that he “should have waited and let [his wife] marry a boy of [her] own age”. He knows that he has (and arguably still is) manipulating the dynamics in his own favor until the very moment he confesses to Rebecca’s murder and the power shifts from Maxim to his young wife.

Both Maxim and Rebecca know that they are absolute monsters. But it’s important to also note where they differ. While Rebecca revels in her absolute assholery and abusiveness, Maxim’s situation is the opposite. He hates himself for his own assholery and has basically condemned himself to a suffering of his own making.

Ironically, Mrs. Danvers said it best: “He’s made his own hell, and he has no one but himself to thank for it”. Was Mrs. Danvers just trying to get under the new Mrs. de Winter’s skin and hit her where it would hurt most? Yes. Was it said out of bitterness over Rebecca being replaced? Yes. But was she correct in her assumption? Also yes.

And of course, the key difference between Rebecca and Maxim is that all important shift in power. Rebecca held the power for almost the entirety of their relationship, and Maxim sought to take that power back through any means necessary resulting in Rebecca’s murder. When Maxim eventually confesses to said murder, it serves as an act of giving up that power he had claimed by killing Rebecca. He can no longer hold the weight of it because he knows he is damned and thus power transferred itself to his second wife. Where he was previously codependent on Rebecca, his second wife became codependent on him upon their marriage, and ultimately he became codependent on his wife upon his confession.

This is where the adaptation of Rebecca’s traits begins to fade. Maxim becomes basically a shell of himself, barely keeping it together through the rest of the story if not for the influence of his wife. He becomes as reliant on her as she had previously been reliant on him. This toxic cycle is only truly broken with the burning of Manderley. Only then are they equals. Only then do they begin to truly grow.

Rebecca, on the other hand, never got that chance. It was taken from her by the very man she had ill used. She knew that her “pregnancy” was a lie. She knew that her cancer diagnoses would damn her to a slow and painful death. Did that stop her from perpetuating the cycle of abuse? No. Instead she continued with it until her last breath, passing the torch to Maxim in the process.

Maxim certainly was no innocent. He perpetuated this toxic cycle as well. The only difference was that the person he passed it onto ended up not only breaking the cycle, but also gave him the opportunity to heal from it. He knows he isn’t worthy of it. We as the reader/viewer somewhat know that too. And yet the second Mrs. de Winter unknowingly grants him this post Manderley fire. Maxim has the opportunity to redeem himself where Rebecca did not.

Whether he takes the opportunity or ultimately succumbs to his inner demons (figuratively or literally) is completely up to the one consuming the story.

Personally my opinion is ever changing. While the optimistic part of me believes that he does work to better himself and ultimately succeeds in doing so, the realistic part of me wonders whether that’s the case. Of course, when I am of the realistic opinion I don’t think he reverts back to the traits he took on from Rebecca and those that were made worse during his relationship with Rebecca, but rather he wallows in a state of being that is just numb to it all. He is stagnant in his recovery because he believes, he knows, that he is beyond help. Things don’t get worse, but they certainly don’t get better either.

Ultimately Maxim de Winter is a character that foretells the tragedy of abuse and how the cycle of abuse can continue in ways that those trapped within it don’t comprehend until it’s too late. He is and isn’t a victim. He is and isn’t a perpetrator. We root for his relationship with his second wife on our most hopeful days and yet we don’t on our most cynical. He is an asshole. He is a dick. He isn’t exactly the best of men. And yet he is also broken. He is lonely. He is lost.

He finds what he is looking for in the end to an extent. A love that, while not exactly the healthiest, sets him on a path to becoming a better person. The relationship between Maxim and his second wife is in a way just like the drive leading to Manderley itself. Constant twisting and turning, plenty of bumps in the road, obstacles that temporarily prevent them from moving forward. And the beauty of it is that they do, in their own twisted way. They move on from the cycle of abuse they started in, however irreparably damaged and emotionally numb Maxim may be by the end.

“Love that liberates”. I’ve seen plenty of debate over whether that signature line from the musical is applicable to the story of Rebecca and the journey the de Winters take. My two cents is that it is, although the love itself isn’t what liberates the de Winters, Maxim in particular. Maxim may delude himself into believe that the love his second wife shows him despite his crimes is what liberates him, but while it certainly sets the foundation for their liberation from the cycle, in the end it is he who must crawl out of the hell he created for himself. No one can pull him out of it but himself.

[godsfavoritescientist]

Bill Cipher: Lord of Hope (the homestuck classpect)

explanation for why I picked this classpect for him under the cut

First of all: I think classpect is heavily influenced by one's narrative role in a story. It's influenced by personality too, of course, but someone with the exact same personality could have a completely different classpect depending on how the story uses them.

Lord is an extremely powerful class reserved for the big-bad in homestuck. It means having unimaginable amounts of control over your aspect (which here is Hope). It's also a volatile, destructive, and self-serving class. It's also the mirror and opposite of the Muse class, which is equally powerful, but wielded passively for the benefit of others, often using methods more like setting up all the components of a rube goldberg machine behind the scenes, rather than the Lord's preferred method of steamrolling over things whenever possible.

Second side-note: Each aspect has an opposite, and I think these aspect pairs meaningfully influence each other by virtue of being on opposite ends of a continuum. You might even say they're opposite sides of the same concept.

Hope is the aspect of imagination, limitless possibilities, belief, and the literal meaning as well. It also has a ton of religious undertones. Its opposite aspect is Doom, which, other than the literal meaning, is all about rules, limitations, doubt, and what is rather than what could be. They both need each other--without Hope, Doom becomes despair. Without Doom, Hope becomes completely disconnected from reality.

Which brings me to Bill. On the Hope-Doom spectrum, he's leaned so absurdly far towards Hope that he's convinced himself Doom doesn't even exist. In his reddit AMA, he literally says "lie until what you want to be true becomes true. Lie until you can't remember what's a lie and what isn't. Lie until you aren't lying anymore." I can't think of a better encapsulation of what it means to push the Hope aspect to its absolute extreme. He believes so much in the power of belief that he simply ignores any truths he doesn't like.

He embodies the Hope aspect in many other ways, too. Originally he was going to be more of a morally-neutral trickster character, whose whole purpose was just to show up randomly in Dipper's dreams and rattle off wild statements of questionable truth and conspiracy theories at him. The kind of things that people hope are true (sometimes to make the world seem more exciting and magical, sometimes for bigoted reasons, you know how it is with conspiracy theories), but the point is: Bill retains some of this in his canon personality. He tells Ford in the journal that the moon landing was fake. When he first meets Gideon, he says the whole "reality is an illusion" thing. He delights in sharing these kinds of things with people, and yeah, it's to fuck with them, but there's still something to be said about the fact that he accomplishes this through the use of things that exist as uncertain possibilities in people's minds, and things that some people have a strong belief in and/or hope to find proof of. He's wielding Hope as a tool, because that's when he's in his element.

Bill also preys on people's hopes and dreams, appearing to people literally inside their heads, and existing mainly in dreams and minds for billions of years--a place where you really can create anything you can imagine. He uses Ford's hopes of accomplishing something meaningful to get him to create a doomsday device. He also has Ford practically worshiping him, calling him a Muse with a capital M, calling his presence 'divine intervention'... the religious themes that often go hand-in-hand with the Hope aspect are definitely present. Of course a Lord would wield the Hope aspect to give himself worshipers who practically see him as a god.

And, speaking of doomsday devices, Weirdmageddon is the exactly what would happen in a world where the Hope aspect ran rampant without any laws or restrictions or concrete truths. In the codes of Journal 3, Bill says, "why should time only move forward, why must cause precede effect, who voted on the laws of physics - rules are perversions against all will, that's why I'm about to rewrite the whole system buddy, and no one is going to stop me."

We also get some insight into Bill's beliefs when we take a look as Mabel's dreambubble. He literally uses someone's hopes as a weapon against them, trapping her inside a twisted version of all the things that could've been true, if only the world was fueled by pure imagination, without any laws of physics or imperfect days or boring moments. Bill is so confident that this trap is infallible that he doesn't even bother to stop Dipper from trying to get her out once he makes it inside the dreambubble. Maybe the reason why Bill is so confident that this trap is inescapable is because he's pretty much trapped himself in a dreambubble of his own creation, where anything is possible and fantasy wins over reality every time (talking about the nightmare realm here), and was so intoxicated by the limitless lawlessness of the place that he spent billions of years trying to expand his little self-imposed prison to cover the rest of the multiverse, rather than ever stop to question himself or consider the consequences. Because with enough Hope, there are no consequences, only infinite possibilities limited only by your own imagination! ...right?

I could probably go on, but I think this is more than enough to support my case for Bill being a Lord of Hope. I'm always interested to hear about other classpect headcanons though!

[nonbinarygamzee]

in general i feel like people often miss the mark in discussing the underlying homophobic disgust going on in homestuck when trying to criticize hussies “problematic” nature. in quotes because the word has lost meaning for me not because i think that he isnt, obviously. when i go looking for people criticizing this (DONT do this) it often boils down to guy said f slur, rosemary is flat, dirks shit but usually wrt a framing of dirkjake rather than, like, the underlying assertion of violence and misery. none of these are wholly invalid things to criticize imo especially if you have any of the context of how hussie talked about homosexuality in previous works but they just.... fail to look at the bigger picture, at the context of this being a person using his own fiction as identity exploration even if he insists upon being too detached to give a shit. and like. largely i think people can look at these things too textually, when the actual layers of disdain and bias end up exerting themselves moreso in the imagery, in the invocation in the first place regardless of what context we can derive from the story. the same way that troll society lacking sexuality labels doesnt save it from upholding heteropatriarchy.

the only mspa work ive reread in recent years is homestuck so honestly i just do not wholly remember a lot of the things i want to pull from here Right this minute, sorry, but i have done quite a bit of backreading on TSO and co, plus his other little assorted comics and something that is asserted repeatedly is hussie, as the author of these gags, as an outsider to homosexuality in the same ways he is positioning himself as such in the extremely racist, misogynistic, and ableist ones. and this varies in impact from mostly harmless little quips where gay people are stupid because everyone in the world hussie paints for these strips is stupid, to.... implications and imagery meant to invoke disgust in a ‘degenerate weirdo’ way. the same way that the bro stuff does when positioning him as not only explicitly abusive but explicitly invested in pedophilic content wrapped up in layers of irony, or the weird anxiety surrounding miscegenation as it relates to masculinity going on with him. the same way the gamzee stuff with tavros is injected for no reason except that it sets up context for a scene where one of the only male same gender attracted trolls (and honestly the only guy up to this point whos same gender attraction isnt able to be dismissed as a joke or Freudian-slip of sorts from the character) is doing something basically with the sole intent to invoke disgust and am insinuation that the attraction he experiences as something oppressive and predatory. we can talk context all day about whether gay characters can be bad people, how trolls dont Have sexuality or whatever. but that doesnt really change them as decisions being made by an author and especially doesnt do so when said author is far from unfamiliar with treating homosexuality especially as it relates to manhood and the performance/failure of masculinity as grotesque.

[crescentfool]

i love ryomina

no but seriously. even when i’m thinking about other things that captivate my interest, i find myself coming back to them and feeling like i fell down three whole flights of staircases every time i do. they are one of my favorite pairs in media and are very special to me.

it’s the way that ryoji and minato’s lives are inevitably intertwined with each other due to the circumstances 10 years ago on the moonlight bridge. without no minato, there is no ryoji. minato as he is today is because of ryoji. they have irreparably affected each other’s lives that you cannot discuss one without bringing up the other one.

ryoji mochizuki, who is death, pharos, thanatos, nyx avatar, the man of many names and identities, is the perfect summation of p3′s messages and themes.

minato arisato, the wildcard and protagonist, who has boundless kindness in his actions despite the unfortunate cards handed to him.

the two of them complement each other and tell a beautiful story from start to finish.

minato’s personas capture this perfectly. he awakens to orpheus, who’s flames burns bright, is snuffed out by thanatos during the encounter against the arcana magician. a visual precursor of the idea that ryoji stole from the life that minato could have had.

it’s the way that over the course of the game as minato interacts with pharos, talking throughout the dark hour, forging a bond that cannot be broken, that allows ryoji to exist. minato humanizes death.

november. the bells toll, calling the appriser. and yet, it’s peaceful... quiet, and full of life. ryoji, who breaks free from death’s chains, refusing his role, is given the chance to live for a month. to make the most of the humanity that minato has given him over those ten years. and what a life he lived. ryoji’s life is a reflection of what minato’s life could have been like in another universe.

it is the way the two of them are reflections of each other. ryoji with his hair down is just like minato. they are both stubbornly committed to choosing to be kind, to love life, yet are chained down by the cards the narrative dealt them with. they finish each other’s sentences, knowing each other intimately in a way no one else does.

how is that, a boy who lived for only one month, profoundly changes the course of the narrative? he is simultaneously relevant and irrelevant. blink, and you miss it, the beautiful life that he led.

ryoji is horrified at the revelations of being the appriser. he who so desperately wished to forget that his existence was meant to bring the end to all life, was unable to escape the inevitability of death. in a non-human way, of course. he becomes remorseful. a shadow of his brief time as a human who was enamored by the small beautiful things that life had to offer.

he is swallowed by grief. grief knowing that his very existence will take away not only minato’s life, but everyone else’s. the very thing that ryoji loved- life, fundamentally went against the role he was born for- to be the harbinger of death. and unable to grapple with this sadness he believes that the best thing for minato to do is to kill him, so that SEES can live in bliss not knowing about their inevitable end.

SEES is left rattled, calling into question what the meaning of life is and what they do when faced against the inevitability of death.

and!!! minato chooses!! for ryoji to live!! even in spite of what ryoji is MEANT to embody, minato still stubbornly chooses to defy death itself! and if that’s not cool i don’t know what is!! minato wants everyone to have the chance to live!!

so he climbs. he ascends tartarus, to meet ryoji, again, who is now the nyx avatar. and i just think there’s something so so beautiful about being able to use messiah, minato’s ultimate persona, against nyx avatar.

messiah, being the fusion of orpheus and thanatos is peak ryomina to me. because ryoji and minato have established an unbreakable bond from having been entwined for 10 years, minato still has a piece of death with him, and by proxy!! ryoji is able to defy and rebel against nyx trying to bring the fall! and i think that’s fucking cool shit if you ask me!

even when all of the arcanas have been gone through, it’s still not enough to stop the fall. and yet. minato knows. in the way that ryoji was sealed in minato 10 years ago by aigis... minato becomes the great seal so that everyone can live. it comes full circle.

march rolls around. he fulfills his promise to SEES on graduation day. minato dies from exhaustion. but goddamn does his sacrifice make me weep- he’s had such, such a tiring journey. he’s been through so many things because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. but at the end of it all, he’s reunited with ryoji in death.

and i think this is why ryomina continues to evoke so much emotions for me, to this day. the relationship that they have embodies so much of persona 3′s messages and themes that it makes me feel like a microwave with nothing running in it.

p3′s message is very hopeful, for me. my favorite takeaway from it is that even if death is inevitable, appreciating the life that we were given and choosing to live as best as we can with kindness (even if we can’t feasibly do everything), is just? really nice? and you see this manifest in both ryoji and minato’s personalities and what they do for the other characters.

ryomina just feels so distinct to me, the flavor that their relationship ties back to my favorite takeaways from this game and im just!!  god!! i love you minato arisato! i love you ryoji mochizuki! im so glad that i could meet them! i’m happy that they changed my life! they made me want to appreciate the connections in life even if they were fleeting! they made me!! want to pay attention to the good moments in life and cherish them!

i love ryomina so much!!! i’m so glad that these two could bring so much joy into my life! and i hope that others can have this joy too! 💛💙

[dreamyprinx]

he’s performing a gay ass magic act

✧ reblogs are appreciated ✧ | ♡ buy me a kofi ♡ | ☾ commission info ☽

[corvussnakee]

Me when I'm gonna drop all the fuckin lore about my Silly Rotten Baby in some fanfic on Ao3.

I won't be tellin yall what my Ao3 is.

Cus the fun part is like having a little scavenger hunt where you all can go and find it. Whoever finds it gets bragging rights and a gold star until a new person finds it.

@ me when ya do so I can be like "Look! LOOK!! THEY FOUND THE FUNNY!!!!"

Honestly I don't think it'll be too hard.

...

Okay maybe I'm hoping there's a little bit of a challenge with finding it

Hehehridbcihehhehehejdjsi

[stardustdiiving]

I would read your zhongxiao codependent yuri Like, I do generally picture them as a vaguely father/son dynamic BUT THAT IS NOT CANON. It's just as much fun to view them through a romantic interpretation! Idk why people can't view the same characters in different kinds of relationships without being weird about it.

Anyway I love your vision and would love to hear more about it lakdjs

THANK U SO MUCH Im not sure if I’m gonna write zx in the future since I’ve tended to be shy about posting my stuff relating to them for over a yr now, but I did post this fic with them last year while trying to get a hold on how to write them (mind the tags it’s pure angst omg). I was too shy to tag it as ship since it didn’t feel shippy enough, which is kind of funny to me in hindsight bc I reread it and am like. Man I think only a zx shipper would write this NUFNVJVJV

Post got kind of lot Im gonna go on a tangent about them under the cut

Honestly my theory for why ppl r very set on the father/son interpretation is everyone’s immediate thought on to how to make the power imbalance between them seem less uncomfortable is to apply a parental interpretation to it. Which is fine ofc, I get it, but the way ppl push it as canon a lot kind of grates on me a little bc they’re usually incredibly passive aggressive and pushy even if u clearly designate ur post as ship OTL

Also not really a fan of the characterizations either since ppl tend to treat Xiao like a moody teenager Zhongli has to reel in (this is hilariously reminiscent of the post I made about how ppl handle scaramouche and nahida a bit ago haha). And idk I just feel kind of polarized about the headcanon overall bc I associate it with people being really uncomfortable and frustrating about zx

I just like how there’s sort of an imbalance to them, some zxs like them being more fluffy and functional but I sort of like it where it’s not like, entirely dysfunctional but I’m prioritizing a specific kind of character study over romance. This tends to be how a lot of my ships go ngl I just sometimes enjoy the intensity/intimacy of romantic feelings thrown into the mix if it makes it interesting but I’m not often interested in a lot of my ships following more standard romance plots(?) I guess? Unless it’s specific ones. Which sounds clinical when I put it like that but this is just bc I am very aromantic NHFBVJVJ

When I say codependency in zhongxiao honestly it’s sort of a theoretical(?) codependency—not sure how to word it? I think Xiao would be really fucked up if he didn’t have Zhongli in his life suddenly but I don’t think his relationship with getting attached to people invokes what people would majorly think of when they think of codependency in a ship I suppose. It’s moreso I just feel Xiao could be at his worst with dehumanizing himself in comparison to other people with Zhongli, because said mental state is driven by how he feels about debt, service, and duty which are very closely tied with devotion and how he would feel about someone he considers his god and leader, as well as someone who saved him

It’s fun this is paired with Zhongli who generally knows how to work with Xiao kind of understands the self destructive depth Xiao’s loyalty/devotion comes with. Also fun they have been around each other for a very long time and Xiao as one of the adepti is familiar with the past I think Zhongli appreciates having around. They work but it’s also a case where Zhongli is in such a position of power over Xiao its kind of very delicate situation that’s hard for both of them to navigate. Which is fun to explore. I esp love contrasting it with other Xiao pairings (actually i think i still have that xiaoven fic up on my ao3 where I tried to convey a specific interpretation of them in a similar exploration vein too)

I totally get why people wouldn’t like it (I feel a lot of my opinions on xiao ships just clash with a lot of fandom consensus so bad all the time And it’s just bc I’m like this I’m not even trying to be contrarian or anything. HELDINCJD) but I just tend to handle shipping in a specific way. It’s not I don’t enjoy fluffy or lighthearted zl and xiao stuff I actually enjoy it a lot I just like there being layers. This makes it feel more impactful when I think about how Zhongli looks out for Xiao in canon or how Xiao gets like textually flustered talking to him (lantern rite 2023 was so tailored to my tastes it’s not even funny)