So Many Feelings - Tumblr Posts

im about to start freaking out

Lostale Ch 3 - Day of Res-pie-te

Rather than delve into snail facts immediately, Toriel insisted on showing you the ruins. You acquiesced easily enough, willing to go along with whatever she wanted for what remained of the day. Despite the less-than-pleasant talk you two had just shared, Toriel seemed very excited to tour the ruins with you. You followed along just behind and beside Toriel as she led the way out of her home.

The first thing that had caught your eye had been the dark and empty branches of a tree, twisting and rising above a carpet of red leaves. Toriel had called it a ‘never-green tree’, and you’d felt that same quirk of humor that was beginning to arise more often. The name was a lot more accurate than ‘ever-red’, or even ‘ever-black’ – you stood there long enough to watch a leaf grow, already crimson red at its creation, before it soon lost its grip and broke away to join the pile of fallen debris below.

You wondered if that tree was the source of all the red leaves that were scattered in neat piles throughout the ruins, adding a touch of extra color to the entirely purple themed rooms. You spotted several Froggits playing amongst the leaves in one of the next rooms, with a cautious Whimsun fluttering nearby. When you stopped to watch, Toriel joined you. Within moments, the monsters you were watching had noticed, and began to shy away.

You turned away as well, with a slight pang in your heart at the rejection. Huh. You didn’t expect that to hurt. Why shouldn’t you have, though? Didn’t just about everything hurt these days? You continued on, not entirely sure where you were going as Toriel lingered behind for several more seconds. You both wound your way through the entirety of the ruins, from the rotating room to the rock puzzles to the crumbling floors.

Eventually, you reached the room where Flowey had confronted you. Toriel hesitated, but when you made no move to continue, she placed a hand on your shoulder before moving into the flower room. You simply sat on the grass, right before where Flowey had popped up. He didn’t appear, but that didn’t surprise you – he was likely wary with Toriel nearby, and the Flower wasn’t really the confrontational type, anyways. He was the sneaky follower type instead.

You did join Toriel in the flower room, Chara’s grave. She was tending to the flowers when you approached, and you knelt down to assist her. There was silence for several minutes, before she slowly began telling you her tale. She talked about her children, her firstborn son and her only child by birth, and the seven other children she had cared for as her own. You silently noted that you would indeed be the seventh soul – the eighth human to fall.

You spared a moment to wonder what would happen with Frisk; had you replaced them, or just fallen before them? You let the thought linger as you listened, Toriel telling tales of her children’s antics.

You heard about how her son had the kindest soul, always willing to stop and help another. You heard about how her first human child was wary, unable to trust anyone but her son who had found them and supported them when they were injured. You heard about how her second human child had been quiet; always willing to listen and wait before doing anything or making any judgements. You heard about her third human child, who was brash and headstrong, following his heart without pausing to think about the danger. You heard about her fourth human child, who loved to dance and threw her entire soul into the display without any artifice. You heard about her fifth human child, who was endlessly fascinated by this new land and wouldn’t stop until he’d learned about everything he could discover. You heard about her sixth human child, who had eagerly learned any recipes they could from Toriel and then shared the results with any nearby monsters. You heard about her seventh human child, who had felt a profound sense of what was wrong and right within the world and set about ‘fixing’ that wherever he could.

You heard about her eighth human child, who felt broken but had a soul big enough for the entire Underground. You thought that was an interesting description for Frisk…before you remembered that Toriel hadn’t met Frisk. You had frozen, staring up at Toriel with wide eyes, all else momentarily forgotten. Her smile was soft and sad as she abandoned her own flowers to lean over, engulfing you in another hug.

The world was warm within her love, overflowing and reaching out to you. “You said that you are not a child,” she breathed into your hair, “but know that I shall always treasure you as my child. Even if this is the only time we have,” she broke off, “I want you to know how much it means to me.”

You were confused, lost, and hurting. Why was she doing this, saying this? You’d broken down before her, she knew you were broken, and she’d known you for less than a day. Why was she claiming you as her own? Why was she setting herself up for heartache? You’d already hurt her, unintentionally and unfortunately intentionally; why was she only setting herself up for more hurt?

You were still lost as she pulled you to your feet, standing herself. She kept your hand within hers as you began the steady trek back to her home. You expected her to let go when you reached the long corridor to prove your independence, but all she did was hold your hand tighter. You made it through all the puzzles, even managing to lead slightly through the spike bridge and cracked floor maze. Toriel hadn’t seemed keen on you leading, but she let you try – at those times, her grip on your hand seemed to be far more for her benefit than for yours.

Still, you didn’t encounter any monsters willing to confront either of you the entire way back. When you reached the entryway of the house, Toriel finally let go of your hand. “Please, explore the upper floors while I make us some food.” Her smile felt sad as she led you to the hallway, stopping before the first door. “For the time that you are here… you may consider this your room.” It was the room you’d woken up in, the room she would give to Frisk.

You reached out, giving Toriel a half-hug, before heading into the child’s room. She did not join you, instead heading back the hallway, and presumably to the kitchen. You felt exhausted, drained emotionally and physically, and simply dropped onto the bed. You sat there for several moments, not sure what to do. Slowly, you toed off your shoes, and lay back above the blankets. You stared emptily at the blank ceiling, thoughts mulled and indecipherable. You eventually closed your eyes, letting the darkness behind your eyelids echo the darkness within your mind and soul.

Dark…darker…yet darker; the faintest flicker of amusement threatened to rise at the fitting quote. Emptiness quickly quashed that emotion, and you wandered adrift, floating in a sea of denial. You could have remained there; safe from the hurts of the world, but once more a voice came to interrupt you. The sound was accompanied by a scent, unfamiliar but pleasant all the same.

Grudgingly, you dragged yourself back to the real world. Surprisingly, you even still had the energy to spare for opening your eyes, sending the darkness away until you next returned. Toriel was sitting on the bed, a plate carefully held in one hand. “Child?” she called worriedly.

The desire to not cause her any more worry gave you the motivation to rise, until you were sitting cross-legged on the bed facing her. When you moved, she smiled, and once you settled she offered out the plate. You took it carefully, unwilling to dirty the bed with crumbs.

It was a golden pie, and you realized that you knew what the scent was: butterscotch and cinnamon. You felt something rise unbidden in your chest. “I did not know which you preferred more, butterscotch or cinnamon…” Toriel began, shifting slightly. “So I used them both to create this pie. I do hope that you enjoy it.” She smiled, warm but wary, as if expecting another painful blow from you.

You felt tears gather in your eyes as you take a bite. The slice is still warm from Toriel’s fire magic, and you can taste the care and love that went into its creation. It has to be because of the magic that created it – you can actually feel the emotions poured into the food. Warmth, care, safety, concern, happiness, sadness; a promise – you choke, tears starting to overflow as the gentle emotions are pressed upon you. It’s painful, so extraordinarily painful, but it’s the most beautiful pain you’ve ever felt. The taste of cinnamon and butterscotch swirled on your tongue, sweet with enough to spice it up.

“I love it,” you choke, and have to set down the plate to wipe your eyes once more. “I love it…” you sob, as the emotions linger. You force yourself to take another bite, and bite back another sob at the renewed force of feelings. You see hands reaching out to take the plate away, and you desperately pull it back towards you, protecting it. The hands pause, retreat, and you feel a weight settle on your shoulder, pulling you into a hug without dislodging either you or the pie.

Toriel let you cry as you ate, and you could feel a similar warmth emanating from her as you could from the pie. The love that this woman could feel was unbelievable, overwhelming, and you didn’t know how to comprehend or respond to it.

Eventually, you finished, and the two of you sat together in silence for several moments before she began talking. “Oh dear… if this was your response to cinnamon and butterscotch, perhaps it is a good thing that I did not make snail pie.” You can’t help your quiet laugh, but you privately imagine that you would be almost just as torn up inside even if the pie Toriel baked had a more…questionable taste. “Pie believe that it may be best saved for another day.” You couldn’t stop yourself from cracking up, barely believing the pun she’d just made. Her eyes were sparkling as she continued, “I shell just have to wait.” You let out an undignified snort, amusement rising unfettered.

“Toriel, I believe that you butter stop now before you hurt yourself.” You giggle along with Toriel, even as you wonder why your heart feels so light. “These puns are barely half-baked.” That was so horrible, but you both are laughing like it’s the best joke you’ve heard in years.

“Do you know any batter ones, then?” You snicker, but shake your head.

“No, but I’m sure I can cook up a few more jokes anyways.” You should be ashamed of yourself, but all you can feel is happiness. It’s weird, being happy once more.

As you continue to trade jokes with Toriel, you feel another powerful emotion rising up. It isn’t one of your normal negative feelings, still blocked from you by the magical power of Toriel’s pie, love, and bad jokes. No – instead, you’re determined to find more happiness for Toriel.

For just a moment, you felt the world grow clear, and you know that you’ll remember this moment forever. The happiness of trading laughs with someone who sincerely loves bad jokes, the peace from spending time with someone who cares about you very much… it filled you with Determination.

You blink, and Toriel reels off one last pun before she leaves, taking the plate with her and humming as she goes. Something completely foreign had just happened, and you didn’t know what it was. The empty room sapped at your strength and your emotions, and you suddenly felt hollow, worn out and tired. You’d just expended a great deal of energy, after all. Keeping up with Toriel had been no joke.

You wanted to go back to sleep, but instead, you headed out to the sitting room. You had a limited amount of time to spend with Toriel, after all. She was sitting in her comfortable little chair, book in her lap, and you curled up on the floor beside her.

The fire magic from the fireplace warmed you as you listened to her speak, reading softly of snail facts. Every so often a small smile or frown flickered across your face, but you just sat there with your eyes closed, trying to soak up as much of the warmth radiating out as you could while you were able. It was oddly comfortable, and you drifted, half there and half within the void of your mind.

It was a delicate peace, and one destined to break, but it lasted through the rest of the evening. It even followed you to bed, as you and Toriel parted ways for the night and you slipped into slumber. It didn’t last long after that, the balance tipping back towards the darkness that supported you with its emptiness. There was no one to hurt you, no one to be hurt by; no one was supposed to be here, so there could be no one missing when they weren’t there.

You let yourself be vulnerable, open, with the darkness shielding you. You felt protected here, and you let that lull you into deeper sleep, deeper depths of darkness, deeper into the void…

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Writing Iverson as a father figure in To Be Vulnerable

My parents were neither great nor terrible. They both had good moments, and both had moments when they sucked. Overall, they were average people with their own baggage, doing an average job of raising kids.

But traditionally, in our sexist society, mothers are viewed as the more nurturing, present, dedicated parents; the heart of their families. In my family, it was the opposite. My dad was far more involved, available, and caring than my mom.

The first chapter of To Be Vulnerable was posted two months after my dad died.

I didn’t set out to write Iverson as a tribute to my dad, and I still don’t think of him as such. There aren’t many similarities between them, and I plan to keep it that way.

What I did set out to do was write a father figure who was believable as a parent, as the primary source of parental love and affection and support. That had been my experience with parents, and I wanted it to be a more visible experience, even if seen through the eyes of fictional characters.

Iverson was still essentially himself: no bullshit, entirely straightforward, with a little (or a lot) of fumbling in personal matters. A little rigid in some ways. But he cared. He gave a shit, and he tried to be the best parent he could be, just like he tried to be the best he could be in other areas of his life.

This worked especially well with Keith, who was already established in canon as having been raised by a single dad before his dad’s death. He would be well primed to accept a male figure as a parent, probably more easily than he would accept a female figure.

And the reader response to Dad Iverson has been pretty huge. <3

Feel free to share any of your thoughts on Iverson in the comments!

"Biggest regret of my life, this fight. You'd think it was when I had to stab her to death, but... no. All through that... I was thinking, we never got to get past this. If I'd have known, I'd have said anything she'd wanted to hear."

Edit: him throwing the baseball with Dean. I can't. I CANT

Cas saying he loves Dean and Sam so early on makes me feel things. I love them all.

five kisses ⭑𓂃 c. beomgyu

𝄞𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ 𓈈⭒♬ ﾟ. choi beomgyu x gn!reader ✧˖° five types of kisses from the love of your life.

GENRE ── fluff

WARNINGS ── est. relationship, kisses, toothrotting fluff, silly cuddly boyfie gyu

WORDS ── 1.1k

A/N ── happy late comeback day!! it took me way longer to finish this than i wanted to cos i could not for the life of me find the motivation to write it TT but finally it’s here! it’s short but it’s my longest fluff work so far… hoping to write longer fluff works in the future

you’ve kissed choi beomgyu more times than you could ever hope to count. each one a single shining star that made up the constellations of your relationship, the galaxy that was your love; your days and nights were peppered with his kisses just as often as they were by his jokes and his banter, by his hand on your waist; they were something so beautifully interwoven into your everyday life that it was hard to keep track.

while you couldn’t remember every one, you would always remember their types– beomgyu gave you five different kisses out of all of the hundreds and thousands that you’ve shared.

absently to the back of your cradled hand when you weren’t paying attention.

beomgyu always insisted that he hold your hand on movie nights, no matter how far you may end up seated away from him– that night you had sat in front of him cross-legged on the floor, letting all of the boys take the couch while you rested your back against his legs, and even then did beomgyu kept your fingers laced together. he ignored your complaints about having to bend your arm up behind your back with an evil little smile.

“that can’t be comfortable.” soobin laughed, tearing his eyes away from the tv screen only to hand yeonjun a bag of chips. you can hear beomgyu’s quiet snicker somewhere above your head.

“it’s not!” you whined, failing to hide your smile behind a pout. “my arm is falling asleep!”

“we can switch places, if you want.” hueningkai added gently, squished between the armrest and soobin’s broad frame– unlike him, you would probably fit just fine, comfortably even.

but that was when you felt it; beomgyu lifted your intertwined hands to his face, the skin of your fingers tingling as his plush lips ghosted your knuckles, and as gently and ardently as he possibly could pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. you gave hueningkai a polite, sideways smile.

“actually, i think i’m just fine here.”

so passionate you can hardly breathe, hardly even think.

“i love you,” beomgyu whispered, exalted like a prayer; you’ve never heard him sound like that before. his big brown puppy-dog eyes take up your vision, blinking, swimming with overwhelming emotion, framed by pretty long eyelashes; they sparkled like the brightest of stars even in the dark. you opened your mouth to respond, surprised and euphoric, but his pouty bottom lip wobbling with nerves knocked any scattered thought from your head.

So you kissed him instead.

you were used to first kisses being awkward, uncoordinated, but beomgyu kissed you back like your lips were the only one’s he’d ever known; you gasped softly against his lips and he drank it in like ambrosia, tilted your face to deepen the kiss as he cupped your cheeks in his shaking hands. it was perfect, indescribable, gentler than you had expected beomgyu to be. not like fireworks or explosions, but simply his lips on yours, and a slow caressing warmth that left you unable to focus on anything other than his touch, his taste.

you hadn’t known what to do with your hands, and it didn’t come to you until you both pulled away for air that you had been digging your nails into his sweater-clad shoulders. he didn’t seem to mind much.

“i love you,” beomgyu repeated, his words dancing across your lips in his hot, panting breaths. “can we do that again?”

softly and sweetly and exchanged in dimly lit doorsteps, a goodbye, a promise.

he’s running late, but you can’t let go. not when you have him in your arms like this, pretty face illuminated by the streetlights as you kiss him goodbye. “stay?” you whispered against his lips, just short of begging. beomgyu chuckled and shook his head, the best he can with your arms wrapped around his neck.

“you know i can’t.”

“just for the night…” you argued half-heartedly, but you already knew you had lost. “they certainly won’t miss you for just one night.”

“baby…” beomgyu sighed, shushing you with his hands caressing down your back and his chin resting on the crown of your head. you begged like this every night, but it never got any easier for him to say no. “i have to go.”

“when will you be back?”

“so soon you won’t even have time to miss me.”

“but i already miss you.”

“ya, you’ll be fine.” beomgyu tutted, pressing a heartbreakingly gentle kiss to your forehead. his smile is infectious, even with your sour mood.

“one last kiss? please?” you pout, your fingers tangled in the hairs at the base of his neck. beomgyu’s eyes crinkle into sweet, shimmery half-moon cresents.

“of course.”

as a surprise, a sudden declaration of love and mischief.

you could never let your guard down around him— in a good way, of course.

you sat on the couch engrossed in your phone, mind consumed with endless scrolling; beomgyu had been caught up playing a video game on his console, headphones on and controller in hand as he cursed at the monitor, and you were simply trying to pass the time he came back to the land of the living. but then it was you who was the one disconnected from the real world, as you hadn’t even noticed that beomgyu had placed his controller down and had gotten up out of his seat.

there’s nothing your boyfriend hates more than being ignored, despite how much he loved to ignore you in favor for his games— you gasp when a hand comes around the back of the couch to snatch your phone out of your hands, and you turn your head sharply to admonish your attacker… just for beomgyu to land an obnoxious wet kiss to your lips, giggling and grinning like a cat that had gotten the cream.

“beomgyu!” you whined petulantly as your boyfriend continued to smatter kisses across your cheeks. “i was watching something!”

“don’t care.” beomgyu snickered, tossing your phone to the side. “i’m done with my game; pay attention to me!”

against your forehead when you fall asleep, a wish goodnight as he takes in your beauty.

you had gotten into the habit of pretending to be asleep when you weren’t, just so you could experience these moments. cuddled up tight in beomgyu’s warm embrace, your head cradled against his chest, his chest rising and falling in tandem with his heartbeat.

beomgyu’s hands smooth down your arms and back, grounding you and lulling you into the sweetest sense of calm; you’ve never felt safer than right there in his arms.

finally beomgyu does it, something he does every night when he’s certain you’ve nodded off; slowly and carefully he presses his lips to your forehead in a chaste kiss, rests there as you try your hardest not to smile. “goodnight baby,” he whispers, barely audible, his breath hot against your skin. “i love you.”

This is probably one of the best sex scenes lovestruck ever made. It was stunning

ruthlessness was as amazing as i had expected but good LORD I was not expecting keep your friends close to be that good!!!!!!!

tags from @spriteofmushrooms

#baby lqr being taken sooo seriously by wanyin-ge #wcz like 👀👀👀 what fine form he has #jfm SUFFERING AGONIES as he deserves

Late night brain blast but JC gets transported back in time to when his parent’s generation was studying at Cloud Recesses and manages to blow everyone away. JC being the strong confident self he becomes during crisis because come hell or high water he’s getting back to his nephew, thus attracting everyone’s attention and awakening some crushes. Everyone initially assumes he’s from the past and that he’s JFM’s ancestor, which makes JFM feel inadequate as he should, especially with how starstruck his SIC is by him. LQR being the youngest and having the biggest crush on JC because he talks to him like his opinion really matters and doesn’t focus on whatever heroics his elder brother has done this week. I just think it could be fun and full of shenanigans.

Anon, this is absolutely incredible, and I feel like @not-rude-ginger needs to see this ASAP. More to add later when I'm done being raked over the coals by this zcx fic.

little euphoria~ 

@mightiestbanana

It's all he can do to listen--to read between the lines, and hear the things that Kohga doesn't say, and sei'va, he'd had enough of the minor nuances of peacekeeping for the day. Kamai is torn, in equal parts wishing to hold his husband, scold him, and ignore him; But he can't find the rightness in any of those things right now, so he has to try talking more, instead.

Though, the return of that sweet word...husband. It helps, when the Yiga actually means it.

"Wasn't the point of everything that we've done," The King begins, gaze on the stone of the table so charged it may catch fire just from his eyes boring into it. "To give you and your people a chance to do those things? To let you come out of hiding, to have you be seen as a people again--to give you and every Yiga, from here on, the opportunity to be something other than a warrior, hunkered down in an abandoned shelter?"

It takes a lot to raise his eyes up; And even still, it takes more from him to keep composed, seeing wetness at the edges of his husband's eyes.

"...At the very least.. I need you to try for me. It's the only thing I ask of you, vurevi, because this is now our people. We shouldn't have to be shut off from the rest of the world, denying opportunities to build something better than what the Hylians did. And...if you can't? If you won't try, if you leave everything on my shoulders, pull back from meetings, or actively go against what I'm trying to do for all of us.."

A breath that he knows he doesn't need, as his gaze falls back to that weathered stone.

"If you won't be my partner in all things...I don't know that I can call you my husband."

@mightiestbanana

"Ki'e-sarqso." The King responds plainly, with nothing more, and leaves the cup where it's been scooted to. He doesn't even raise his eyes towards it, or Kohga for that matter, near statuesque in how he remains stoic and unmoving.

Kamai does finish his plate, however, and delicately pushes it away from himself a bit, methodically cleaning his hands with a spare napkin. His mind wanders to the day--the unease, and anger, and disappointment he'd held in his chest until this point--and the Gerudo's hands lace together in front of him, on the table, as he finally sees fit to speak what's been brewing in his mind.

"You do not have to join me for delegations, or peace talks, or any decision making meeting anymore."

If anyone needs me I will be listening to 93 Days by Grace Gaustad on repeat. Thank you.