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I am sad that I cannot look on our memories together with fondness. All I feel is resentment. I let it fester for too long, I tried to address it but you brushed off my concerns. And the resent me grew inside me, like a pot of boiling milk, until it all foamed over and nothing of my love and care for you was left, it was burnt and ruined.
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People headcanon Astarion getting emotional/soft/weepy when you do nice things for him but may I present to you:
An Astarion who gets /mad/ about it. You wash his clothes for him while he's gone, and instead of being grateful, he asks you what you want out of it.
You bring him things you think he will like, extra loot, etc and of course he takes it and is ever so grateful... but his eyes narrow in suspicion and a frown tugs at his lips. He stares at the items, turning them over, wondering what's wrong with them.
Give me an Astarion who is always waiting 'for the other shoe to drop', who questions every kind thing you try to do, who accepts it but does not bask in your light- he winces, for it is too bright.
Give me Astarion learning how to trust your kindness with the same enthusiasm one would have going to the dentist to get a rotten tooth pulled without anesthetic.
I have a mind that longs for touch, a gentle one, a rough one, a touch all the same. But a body that I hate the idea of being touched because I fear it will make you no longer want me.
Despite that, I would like to touch you. I would like to hug you, and hold your face, and stroke your cheek with my thumb. I would like to put my face in your chest, and wrap my arms around your waist. I would like to tangle my legs together together with yours in bed. I would like to lay on your lap and look up at you. I would like to hold your hand. I would like to kiss you.
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When I was younger, my mom likened me to a dog in my loyalty,
You call my name, I come running over to you, my tail happily swinging back and forth.
You leaned down and cliped a leash to my collar, oh how I loved my collar, and you opened the front door.
You walked out to your truck, me joyfully trotting behind you, not minding where we were going, as long as it was with you.
We drove, we drove for a while, you rolled down the window and I stuck my head out, smiling in the wind.
And when we finally rolled to a stop, we were in a field, and for a long time it was feild, speckled with spottings of trees, and in the distance, a dark forest.
You opened the door and I hopped out, my toes meeting the damp ground. I looked up at you and you looked down at me. I couldn’t tell what that look meant.
You unclasped the collar around my neck, I was confused but didn’t mind too much as I watched you remove my favorite yellow ball from your pocket.
You reached your arm back, not looking at me anymore, and threw it, as far as you could. I watched the ball fly through the air before I darted off, not waiting for it to hit the ground.
When I finally reached the ball and scooped it up into my mouth, I turned around, ready to dash back to you for you to throw it again. Instead I saw the form of your retreating truck, growing ever smaller.
I sat. Confused. My ball fell from my mouth. Why did you leave me? Please, please come back.
listen to the song while you read or i'll fucking gut you like a fish.
sero x reader angst :)
hanta loved his unif sweaters. not loves, but loved, because it's hard to love something with so many now painful memories inside it. he can't hate them either. too many happy memories there. memories of sweeter days. the sweaters are dingy, but homey. lived in, even. vintage finds from that thrift shop you used to take him to, the one by the movie theatre that still sells glass bottles. he still has the one from your first date, back when you could barely speak japanese, and were just about as shy as a mouse because of it. that was months, no, years ago, he thinks, face crinkling in discomfort as your sleeping body shifts closer to his warmth.
he softly smiles, something sweet yet painful, bitter, as he realizes what this means for him, and for you, of course. he thinks back to a few weeks ago when you shared the news about the agency that made an offer for you back home. hanta would never tell a soul, but he cried that night, because he knows you. it's a pain, he thinks, knowing you, but i'd rather not forget either. because he knows what you'll do. and what you'll tell him as you leave.
you'll say, "japan just isn't ready for a hero like me," and you'll be right, because no one could be ready for you. hanta knows that. he's okay with that, but not okay with you leaving. but you're not leaving yet, so there isn't much to worry about, at least not now. time permits hanta a little breathing room, just this once. until it doesn't anymore.
it's a dreadful thing, time, is what hanta believes, because time stops for no one and nothing. not hatred, not passion, and definitely not love. not the love cultivated of a almost thousand lifetimes to want a single being, you, in his presence. time doesn't give a damn, space doesn't give a damn, no one does, so its no surprise to hanta when time starts moving a bit faster than he likes.
three days. three more godforsaken days until the love of his life, the only one who chose to understand him, the only person in this city who saw more than a plain face and a bag of unsolved insecurities leaves, taking his heart with them. taking his sweaters with them. taking his motivation with them. he wakes you out of your slumber as he sobs, muffled cries hidden in the sleeves of a brown sweater that smells of coffee, book paper, and now, the wet tears of an emotionally exhausted boy.
"hanta," you had whispered, "why're you cryin'," rubbing the sleep from your eyes, concern growing on your face as he cries harder.
"you're," he heaves, "two days, you're leav-" he breaks into more tears, breaking his promise to himself. that hw wouldn't make you pity him, becuase this is for you. you're going to be an adult, you can do what you want. you want to go, so you should go.
"all things come to pass," you sigh, tears springing up almost out of nowhere, "with time."
you grab hanta with a vengeance, holding him like you'll never let go, like you're not leaving him behind in less than 48 hours. he sobs harder into you chest, muttering apologies that you silence over and over with kisses.
"but," he takes a deep experimental breath to ground himself, to keep from falling apart entirely,"but i want everything, now, to be alright." the tears didn't stop falling.
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I’m cleaning out my childhood bedroom right now, I just opened a box and found it absolutely filled to the brim with hot glue sticks, like well over 100 sticks. Why did I have so many glue sticks? Why do I have no recollection of my horde of glue sticks?? What was I planning on making???
romaincrisis
ellievsbear
snowghoul
turnnoffyourmind
