unintentional pyro main

follow from @rcverberated! icon from n0yuun ⸙ 22

[valberryventi]

welcome to a sweet respite from the city's woes. take a valberry.

main: @rcverberated

— . ° .• ° 🍓: ☆. FELIX ･::･ she/they ･::･ 20+

˗ˏˋ ✧ genshin ☽ love and deepspace

➼ diluc, kaeya, zayne, sylus

I am uncomfortable with anyone under 19 following this blog. While I will not block you, I sometimes reblog/like nsfw works. I've stated in a previous post that I advice you to block my nsfw tags (shown below). Should you view or consume these works, it is already your responsibility.

✧.* masterlist.

➼ tag system: genshin

hushvalberry ; 🍓 (brainrot)

valberry ramble ; 🍓

꒰🍓꒱ — vices (nsfw)

꒰🍓꒱ — proper penmanship (writing)

꒰🍓꒱ — in the inventory (fic saves)

꒰🍓꒱ — what a find ! (faves)

➼ tag system: l&ds

flushed ears ; 🪐 (brainrot)

winter ramble ; 🪐

*. 🪐✧ — untamed (nsfw)

*. 🪐✧ — bedtime story (writing)

*. 🪐✧ — pinned moments (fic saves)

*. 🪐✧ — lovely aurora (faves)

writing on the margins ✎ — general

[c-dra]

Eyes (updated +Valko)

[love-marimo]

LADS Men and Their Favorite Filipino Dish (Headcanons)

Lolita's Note: hopefully this ficlet would convince y'all to try some filipino food 🫶🏻😋

wc: 847 (keepin' it real short for now)

cw: none! just fluffy fluff ʕ •̥ ˕ ก ʔ

Xavier - Chicken Inasal

since this man only knows how to burn the kitchen and call it cooking, chicken inasal is practically the easiest, foolproof dish xavier can make and eat.

you have to marinate it for him though, he might put too much or too little.

you can technically eye ball the marinade, but better safe than sorry!

once he catches a whiff of that juicy, tangy aroma, you best believe he'll get real impatient and keep poking at you asking: "is it done yet?"

he'll surely love the grease and the tenderness of the chicken inside.

if you suggest to add more soy sauce and calamansi, he'll practically devour everything.

if he manages to actually get the chicken be cooked in the right… state, he'll definitely have an ego boost and will offer to cook it for the both of you next time.

make sure to cook lots of rice, because he will take all the largest parts of the chicken and ask for more servings.

Zayne - Halo-halo

ah, yes, the holy cup of diabetes!

well, not so much, since you can make a healthier version of halo-halo with just fruits, but!

he will argue with you to add more nata, more jelly AND extra leche flan.

when he saw you eating it all mixed up, he found it strange at first.

"you call that purple mixture a dessert? interesting…"

he WILL switch up real quick once he sees it BEFORE the mixing.

zayne finds it so breathtaking that he'll take lots of photos before eating it.

you teach him that you have to mix them all together with the shaved ice, but well,

this man will eat all the sweetest ingredients first, and then ask if he can add more toppings…

expect him to go down a rabbit hole of ube flavored desserts after his first taste of the philippines' most iconic sweet treat!

Rafayel - Seafood Bicol Express

spicy or not, this man will surely love how unique the flavor of this dish is.

he'd never expect coconut milk to make something so creamy and flavorful.

he will ask you to cook it for him as a comfort meal, and when you make a joke about him being a sea creature eating fishー

"did you not study about the food chain? or do you assume that all mermen are some sort of vegetarians? ugh, imagine eating seaweed everyday…" he'll sigh dramatically.

a bit of an unusual choice, but rafayel will probably not eat bicol express with rice.

if he does, the portion of it will be much more bigger than rice.

Sylus - Pork Sisig + Chicharon - Chili Flakes

this… is a very specific formula that he actually chose because he just doesn't want to eat spicy food.

anyway the combination of crunchiness and the small juicy tidbits of chopped pork will satisfy sylus's preferences for texture over taste.

he will wait for it too cool down a bit though, if it's served sizzling hot.

the first time he eats sisig though, he's unknowing that it's spicy at default, he deliberately put away all the chili flakes to the side.

and then he will eat and probably ask for another serving.

you suggest to mix the chili in but he interruptsー

"i said i like it. don't ruin it for me."

he'll probably ditch the steak for a while and pair sisig with his favorite wine.

Caleb - Kare-kare

caleb looooves to cook more than to eat. and what better dish to match that requires meticulous techniques of cooking? kare-kare.

this dish takes hours to make traditionally.

and if you don't get the measurements right, this dish will have very high chances to spoil the next day.

so he will treat it as a challenge!

you know not to doubt him since he's a very talented man.

"food's good to go! wanna join the honors of the first taste?"

he will smile like a kid when you compliment him that it tasted exactly the way it's made back home.

he's not the type to be surprised at the taste of new food especially when he knows what ingredients were used.

he did find it interesting that peanuts can be used to make such a challenging and time-consuming dish!

Valko - Chicken Curry

two words: strong scent. and you know what belongs right in that alley?

chicken curry.

meat and strong, musky scent? expect a wolfboy happily wagging his tail waiting to eat.

filipino curry doesn't usually have stronger spices and its taste is more on the milder side, but if he asks for it, you can always add some chilies!

valko isn't really particular about the taste, but he loves the blend of turmeric, ginger, and garlic.

he prefers the natural mixtures of herbs and spices as opposed to the store-bought curry powder.

once he gets a hold of this dish, he will keep its ingredients stocked in his and your fridge (for when he comes over).

gets really into it that you have to designate a chicken curry day to prevent him from eating it every day.

ー 𝐿𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑎 ᥫ᭡

[beachbeibi]

He’s very chalant, in fact he’s the most chalant, the chalantest if you may, he’s just a shy snowman 😔😔

[cloverbbun]

── ⟢ making out with them

♯┆ have you ever wondered what it's like to make out with the love and deepspace men?

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ cw: mdni! suggestive, mentions of sex

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ notes: my requests are open >:3 | taglist

♡ comments and reblogs appreciated ♡

── ⟢ Rafayel

✧ His kisses start out as soft pecks most of the time

✧ Not quite playful but feather light dotted along your jawline as if he's mapping you out

✧ When he finally kisses the corners of your mouth he likes to hover just a breath away from your lips, making you lean in first.

✧ Rafayel gets lost in your shared kisses fast, letting himself indulge in the sensation of your tongues striking each other.

✧ He does smirk against your lips when you get breathless and he might tease you for it.

✧ "Am I stealing your breath, cutie?" He pecks your lips after but kisses you the way he did just before his mocking.

✧ If you make small sounds or clench your hands into his shirt or hair, he gets absolutely addicted to it, trying to get more out of you.

✧ His hands don't seem to know where they want to linger and stay everywhere for a short while - cupping your cheek, holding your neck, pulling you closer by the small of your back.

✧ If things don't escalate he likes to ease out of it the way he started - heated kisses turn softer until they're mere pecks along your cheek.

── ⟢ Sylus

✧ Sylus kisses start out soft to ease you in slow and gentle but the moment you kiss back he deepens them.

✧ He might deepen the kiss but it's not rushed, every move is slow and measured, meant to build up anticipation for more.

✧ When you lean into him more and kiss him back with more desperation, he's satisfied with himself, loving it when you take what you want.

✧ When it's his turn to give you exactly what you want it's all consuming. It's like he's losing himself in you while trying to resist the undeniable pull of you.

✧ Sylus prefers you to sit on top of him, straddling his lap or hips as he keeps you close, strong hands keeping you grounded to his body.

✧ They don't wander far, mostly keeping to your hips or your lower back, occasionally one hand wanders up your spine to cradle the back of your head like you're his most precious possession (you are).

✧ When he pulls back momentarily to allow you to catch your breath, his eyes are half lidded but his gaze is locked with yours, trying to read your thoughts before he leans back in to give you exactly what you were thinking about.

✧ Sylus also loves to nip at your lip from time to time, teasing you almost in a playful manner that leaves you clutching his shirt but he slips his tongue over your lip before letting it slide against your tongue again, daring you to take the control from him which you rarely ever do.

✧ He doesn't really use words to tease you (so he won't need to break the kiss more than necessary) but he will taunt you afterwards when your cheeks are hot and you're almost out of breath.

✧ He usually stops making out with you before he gets too excited if you catch my drift, but if you want to take things further, all you need to do is to slip your tongue in his mouth and he's on you within a second.

── ⟢ Xavier

✧ Xavier's doesn't hold back at all, unable to help himself the second he has you close.

✧ He leans in without hesitation and it feels like kissing him has become second nature, as if you became the oxygen his lungs crave.

✧ He doesn't start slow or eases in, he's all in from the moment your lips touch.

✧ His hands wander all over your body, unable to find a resting spot - cupping your cheeks, sliding a hand into your hair to tug gently, wrapping an arm around you to pull you impossibly close - no matter what he does, he can't get enough of you.

✧ This doesn't mean that his kisses are hurried or messy however - They're passionate with a hint of softness beneath.

✧ He peppers kisses onto your lips between the deep kisses as if he can't get enough of you even though his lungs demand a breath of air.

✧ If you laugh from how sweet he is with you, he smiles against your lips. Hearing how happy you are is all he wants in life, even better if he's the reason you're giggling.

✧ When you tug on his hair, no matter how gently, he will groan softly against your lips, an admission of how you undo him just with a simple touch.

✧ If you're cuddling in bed and it turns into a make out session, he has a hard time to not lose himself in the intensity of it. Everything is so warm and soft around him, he easily loses track of time, drowning himself in your love.

✧ His tongue tangles with yours almost messily but filled with some sort of desperation only more kisses can fix.

✧ When he does pull away, he pulls you closer by the hips, wanting to tuck you against his body and never let go, but if you want to take things further just snake your hands beneath his shirt.

── ⟢ Zayne

✧ Zayne's kisses start composed to test the waters, see how you react when he kisses you out of the blue while you two were just cooking in the kitchen.

✧ He placed you on top of the kitchen counter and stands firmly between your legs, his hands respectfully resting at your side and the other cupping your cheek.

✧ The moment your arms wrap around his neck, he's done for. You have him in the palm of your hand and you don't even know it yet.

✧ His kisses are slow and sensual, grounding you while tearing the floor from beneath your feet all at the same time. He makes you forget how to breathe.

✧ He hums softly into the kiss when you melt against him, parting your lips to allow his tongue to slip into your mouth.

✧ When he's losing himself in the kissing, it's not all consuming or messy. It feels like devotion, rather than desire when his tongue caresses yours.

✧ You can feel how he grows tense and how his breath hitches when you start letting your hands wander, almost as if he has to concentrate to not lose control completely.

✧ When things get too heated, he slowly eases out of the make out session, his tongue caressing yours softer before withdrawing and giving your lips gentle kisses until he eventually pulls away.

✧ His hair looks like a mess when he pulls away and all it takes is one word from you to escalate things from harmless kissing to much more.

── ⟢ Caleb

✧ Caleb's kisses are confident from the start on, gentle but slightly possessive, making sure you know that you're his.

✧ There's no hesitation in the way his hand cups your face, no second guessing when he leans in - knowing that you'll meet him halfway.

✧ His lips feel warm and unhurried against yours, savoring every moment he can spend with you like this.

✧ One hand rests at the nape of your neck while the other stays planted to your hip, holding you close without urgency, because he's in no rush to let you go any time soon.

✧ When you kiss him back, he smiles into the kiss and finally deepens it, his tongue swiping along your lips asking for entrance you won't deny him.

✧ If your fingers slip into his hair or tug at his collar, he just hums in approval as he pulls you even closer since this is exactly the reaction he needed from you.

✧ When he pulls back to let you breathe, he stays close, lips busying themselves with the sensitive skin of your neck.

✧ "You good?" he asks carefully before kissing you again, softer this time.

✧ He never pulls away completely, always keeping some form of contact—his hand squeezing your hip, his nose brushing against your neck while he kisses your pulse point—reminding you that he is right there.

✧ And if you want more than just making out, you don't even need to ask, Caleb is already grinding himself against you, letting you decide if you move with him to take things further or if you slowly ease out of the heated moment.

── ⟢ Valko

✧ Valko's kisses start playful, just a teasing brush of his lips, barely there and just enough to make you chase him before he finally gives in with a soft chuckle against your lips.

✧ His hands roam freely until settling on your sides, thumbs stroking lazy circles as he deepens the kiss, savoring each reaction and shiver he pulls from you.

✧ But Valko struggles to stay serious for too long—sharp canines gently tugging at your bottom lip in a playful nip, not hard enough to hurt but enough to give him a reaction.

✧ The sound makes his ears twitch, and before you know it, those soft wolf ears have popped up from his hair, betraying just how much he's enjoying this.

✧ He doesn't try to hide them, if anything he leans into your caress, tilting his head to give you better access as his tongue slides against yours with a newfound urge.

✧ His hands wander over your body but ultimately one of then slides up your spine to cradle the back of your head, while the other arm wraps around your waist do keep you close to him.

✧ Valko eventually pulls back to smirk at you when your breath got heavier.

✧ "Getting shy on me already?" he teases amused before diving back in to steal another kiss that leaves you breathless.

✧ His body is painfully aware of every small change in the air, his nose picking up the scent of your arousal before you can even voice out a need for more—the moment you do however, his hips slowly start rutting against you to get you even more needy for him.

[valberryventi]

the sylus brainrot of dancing in front of him, not even in a sexual manner. just pure confidence and enthusiasm for what you do. and he watches in awe as he falls deeper into you

[ocyuri]

affirmations for oc artists:

* im allowed to change my ocs design

* nobody will kill me if i change my ocs design

* compliments are not threats

* just because somebody said they like my ocs design that does not mean they will hunt me down and kill me if i change my ocs design

* my ocs are mine and i can design them how i want

* im very brave and i can change my ocs design if i want to

[ocyuri]

* !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TRUEEEE TRUEEEEEE

[templepriest-motherfucker]

Say it with me folks:

“Eat the rich” means 1%ers and billionaires

middle class is closer to poverty than being a multimillionaire

“The rich” does NOT include children of billionaires (come on we’re at least slightly better than the plagues of Egypt)

Upper middle class children SHOULD NOT feel guilt over having money

Being aware of privilege and using your privilege to help others IS NOT a guilt trip

Constantly feeling guilty helps no one

Billionaires, however, should feel guilty over hoarding wealth.

Upper middle class is NOT rich

Black Lives Matter

Trans rights are human rights

[kelila-rivka]

My uncle was one of the top surgeons in the country. He was upper middle class definitely. When he got cancer, his insurance didn’t cover all the treatments he would need and after 5 years he drained his savings on cancer treatments (while still working most of that time) and eventually died because he couldn’t afford the expensive treatments that might have saved him.

If you are upper middle class and you get sick, it will likely bankrupt your family. It’s fucked.

[olddukeofficial]

For all of the idiots in the notes ^

[dancinbutterfly]

Honest to god - even if you make 6 figures a year? you're closer to poverty than true wealth. Check your shit and remember who your real allies and enemies are guys.

[uvradical]

A 6 figure income is a lot right? That’s say: 223,000 dollars a year Which is 112 dollars an hour. Most people would consider that upper middle class. That’s enough money to have a nice house, go on fun vacations. That’s slight more than the average doctor makes.

223,000 dollars is what Jeff Bezo makes in a minute

the well-off and the rich are not the same. 

[simonalkenmayer]

There was a wonderful study done about 15 years ago I think, that shows that people cannot accurately identify their income bracket. Most people who own a home think they are upper middle class when in fact they are closer to the poverty line. Even people living well below poverty often identify as middle class. The wealth gap is even worse now. I wonder if anyone actually knows their financial standing.

[ngkiscool]

This post is from 2020. Things did not improve.

[tanadrin]

I hope there’s an afterlife so that whoever made this pot 2,000 years ago can brag that their cookware is so good it’s still usable literally millennia later. Something about this object being lost for centuries and then rediscovered, and being put (successfully) to its original purpose again is so pleasing to me.

[cryptotheism]

Some Uzbek digging a canal: “Oh fuck yes a free pot. This rules.”

[sanguinifex]

I think it’s kind of beautiful that this pot just got used as an ordinary pot. Like imagine you’re a smith and you make a pot so good that people are using it 2000 years later. You’d be proud, right?

[valberryventi]

"Is that it, then? You think every one of us is a killer? You think you're the only one who's right?"

"What is it you're doing, then?"

"You're not listening, Diluc."

"I wish it didn't have to be you."

commission artist: SPARR0WCHILD on twt

[valberryventi]

please let me write again

[gatesofminrathous]

there will never be anything as funny as the mutual disbelief between long form and short form fic writers about each other's style.

short form writers look at people writing 100k+ fics as though this is some sort of talent given as part of a fae bargain, that the commitment required shows some sort of ungodly mental fortitude.

meanwhile long form writers look at people writing 1000 word one shots like god I would cut off my left nipple to be able to say anything concisely. i would love to play with multiple ideas. free me from the shackles of this child I have birthed. i love them but I now must take them to t-ball and doctor's appointments and they're going to destroy everything I own.

[ao3commentoftheday]

[azaablue]

the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.

[nvuy]

to invoke perjury (and to love no one else) — sunday

summary. an old telltale whisper of a confession leaves sunday defenceless, and all the more paranoid of your loyalty to him.

notes. omg this is so epic i say as i hold up this work that nobody asked for. i finally finished the penacony tb quest everybody clap it up for me. my sunday obsession is so so bad somebody save me from the trenches.

warnings. mdni. implied explicit content, dark themes, manipulation, sunday is (unsurprisingly) very controlling, sunday is also tremendously paranoid of everything, yandere themes, he makes you cry, sunday uses that weird lying curse on you, but worry not he does love you. i think. let me know if ive missed anything!

“You are breaking my heart.”

You glanced up from the model of the city, growing tired of picking at the corner of one of the buildings. A nervous habit, if you will. When Sunday noticed the damage later, he’d scold you for it.

For now, his eyes were elsewhere. He, too, was staring down at the miniature pinball machine, spinning it with a gloved finger.

You fidgeted, uncertain. “What?”

“You’re lying to me,” Sunday accused. His tone was soft.

Your hands pressed to the sides of the table. “I haven’t lied to you.”

“Not recently, no,” he agreed. He agreed, and you almost sprang from your seat. “But you have. And you still are.”

To that, you gripped the edge of the table tighter. Uncertainty wrought heavy in your bones like lead.

It suddenly felt cold. As if he’d slid ice along your spine. A chill wracked through you. You realised the feeling was his gaze.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

But he was still slowly twisting the pinball machine around and around. He then sighed.

And then he leaned back and traced a finger along the edge of the table, not at all mindful of the small animated figurines occupying the city.

He gave one of their heads a small push, and the small figure’s body sank into the floor.

You took it as a warning.

“Do you remember the night we met?”

Of course you did.

It was a swirl of colour and muted hushed whispers now, but you could recall taking his hand, promising him the world, and kissing along his fingers to the swell of his wrist.

You nodded meekly.

Sunday hummed, clearly lost in thought. “I never forgot what you said to me.” Oh, you knew that look. That distant, faraway look. Like he’s trapping himself in his own head again. He was good at that. Acting, pretending. Putting on a show. “I’d never felt the same again.”

He was still tracing the edge of the table.

There was a small grin on his face.

Such a pleasant expression, paired with that a gorgeous light-hearted tone. His voice sounded like a lullaby echoing in the back of your mind.

His halo was glowing in the light.

“You said to me you’d be my everything. You offered a piece of your very own soul to me.” He gloved finger flitted from the polished wood, and then stopped short of your hand resting on the table. “You have such a lovely heart.”

The muscle raced in your chest.

You weren’t sure if it was out of flattery or fear. You weren’t able to tell the difference anymore.

“Such a shame you continue to spit poison at me. I used to love talking to you.” His gloved finger followed the curvature of your knuckles. “You’ve changed. You’re so different from when I met you.”

Your hands curled into fists as he traced the bone-white colour as you squeezed. Your nails dug into your palms.

He’d changed, too. He’s different too. He’s more watchful now. He barely makes time for himself anymore. He’s always either working or watching you like a hawk.

It’s unnerving. The unsettling brush of his lashes against your skin, and that unbreaking stare.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” was all you said. “I haven’t changed at all.”

Sunday hummed. “Are you sure?”

“Very.” You found the courage to glance up at him. That same unbreaking stare. When you met his gaze, he smiled. “I still care about you.”

“But, you don’t.” There was a light hearted ring in his voice.

You stopped. “What?”

“You don’t love me anymore.”

And there it was.

He was paranoid. He always had been, since the day you shedded a glove from his hand to kiss the skin wrapped around bone white knuckles. He’d been so busy pressing his nails into his palm, so preoccupied in what you were doing, why you were doing this, what you gained from it.

He’s paranoid now. He’s never stopped. He’s always been anxious. He’s always been overthinking your every move like you’re an opponent in a game of chess; always on his toes, always watching, either with his own eyes that more often than not, glared daggers into you, or through the nightingales that swarmed the mansion.

You were shaking. You tried to stop yourself.

He noticed. “You’re upset.”

“Of course, I’m upset.” Your nails dug into the underside of the table. You felt them strain as your jaw clenched.

“Is it wrong to think you’re dishonest?”

“Yes,” you answered. “Yes, it’s wrong. You’re wrong.”

“Perhaps I am, then, for falling in love with a liar.” His fingers chased up your arm slowly. “I always valued honesty above all. How rich.”

“But I’m–” You didn’t even know how to defend yourself.

Instead, you fell completely silent, face burning in humiliation.

The scent of him was intoxicating. Orange blossoms and sandalwood. You had memorised the scents of his favourite fragrances, the shampoo he used, down to his toothpaste. You knew all of it. The way he brushed his hair, the temperature of the water he preferred for his baths, to the chronological order of steps on how he got ready in the morning.

It was all order; a set of stagnant unchanging steps. Like he was following a recipe to its very word.

He was particular.

And he hated change.

He took your silence as an invitation to pry further. “You were so enchanting that night.” He was telling the truth. You could read it on his expression–and his expression. That same expression he held on that night you offered him your heart to take. “And I know now, that you are most enchanting when you lie.”

“What’s–” You interlocked your fingers. His own were tracing the bone of your shoulder now. “What have I done? Why’re you–”

“You, of all people, must understand my uncertainty,” he spoke. He sounded as if you were supposed to know the answer.

Maybe there was no answer at all. No spark to his flame. He’s just doing all of this, because he can. Because he’s paranoid, and he’s hiding his churning stomach and the anxiety that fills his throat with this stage play he’s put on.

“You willingly took in a perfect home, much different from where you came from.” He gestured to the room around him. Pillars that intricately curled into the ceiling, floor polished, the scaled model of Penacony tended to and dusted, and the walls featuring thousands of commissioned pieces from artists all over the galaxy. “No sorrows, no disorder, no dishonesty. Certainly not here.

His eyes shift to you again. “And certainly not now.”

You shrank down into your seat.

“And, under the light of the Harmony–” He raises his hands to gesture to the ceiling, as if THEY’RE watching over him. “–All wickedness is revealed. That is precisely why you're so radiant in the sunlight.”

What the fuck is he talking about?

He must have noticed your expression. You must have appeared distressed. Fidgeting nervously, your blood running cold beneath your skin.

Perhaps your apprehension, the clear anxiousness drawn over your face, egged him further.

He did not dwell on it. Instead, he simply narrowed his eyes. “It is as I suspected.” When your eyebrows raised in surprise, he continued, “you’ve been lying.”

“You don’t trust me anymore?” You frantically wiped a stray tear that had fallen. You hoped he didn’t notice the waver in your tone.

Sunday merely nodded, blinking slowly. “You understand now.”

You stared at the floor. His eyes were burning into your skull.

Your brows knitted together.

A bell tolled nearby.

You don’t recall any sort of church close by.

“I cannot excuse, nor house, nor bed, a liar. It is beyond THEIR natural order. Liars have no place in an assimilated, perfect world.”

You looked elsewhere. You picked nervously at the hem of your shirt, suddenly feeling like you were drowning in hot water.

Your nose filled and clogged with a horrible earthy scent much unlike his shampoo. This was different, real and raw, like there was somebody else in the room.

When you looked around, there was nobody else.

Just the two of you.

“Stand up,” he ordered softly.

You did so, hesitantly, still shaking.

You must have looked pathetic.

Sunday offered you his hand.

Desperate, you took it, and kissed his knuckles.

He let out a faint laugh. “That will not work. Not this time, I’m afraid.” He looked up towards the ceiling for a brief moment, before he closed his eyes. “O Triple-Faced Soul, let fire brand flesh and bone with the mark of honesty–”

Something was wrong, and his face was changing.

For a moment, you saw tracks like golden water flow down his cheeks.

His halo was glowing, but there was something else behind his head. A clouded and muted swirl of colours, mismatched and ever changing.

You tried to pull your hand from his grip, but there was a weight pressed to your limbs.

“–And ensure that every vow is etched in the fervour of undeniable truth.”

“What’re you–” He let go of your hand and you stumbled. The bell toll was only just louder by a margin, and there was now a searing heat in your head. “What’re you doing?!”

Your hands desperately rested on his shoulders, trying to keep yourself upright.

You tried again to wrench yourself from his touch. It was sickening how gentle he was being.

Slowly, he guided you back to the love seat, tutting and scolding you as you fought in his hold. How could somebody so horrible be so gentle?

You felt the urge to throw up all over his clothes. Sweat beaded down your neck and pooled at your collarbone like a necklace.

“What did you do to me?” You were panicking. “What have you done?” You pressed the pads of your fingers to your temples to try and soothe the burning. “You cursed me?”

“I’ve blessed you,” he whispered. “This way, you will be rectified.”

Something was whispering to you. Almost inaudible, indiscernible, like the banging of a death knell in your ears.

What is it? What is that?

You looked to him for an answer, but words caught heavy on your tongue like lead.

“All you have to do is tell the truth.”

You shook your head. “I’m not speaking to you like this,” you tried. Your voice came out strained.

“You don’t have a choice,” he snapped. “You are not in control.”

“You’ll hurt me for the sake of your precious pride?” Your hands coiled into fists at your sides. Thank the Lords he’d seated you, for you were sure you would’ve fallen over by now. Your feet had since gone numb.

The whispering was right in your ear. When you turned your head to confront the noise, there was nothing there.

“It will not hurt if you tell the truth,” Sunday explained gently. “I hope that doesn’t come as a challenge to you.”

Get out of my head get out of my head get out of my head–

“I’m not answering anything you ask,” you forced out through gritted teeth.

Sunday only let out a breathy, exasperated sigh. “Then don’t. We’ll see what happens to you.”

You said nothing.

Instead, you tried to stand up to leave. Screw this curse he’s put on your head because he’s retreated into his own insecurities. He wasn’t winning this time.

You were so sick of this paranoia.

When you stood, a dizziness hit you like a wave. You desperately reached for anything, and your hands found his. He did not guide you back down into the seat, but his gloved hands remained encased in yours.

Such a perfect, warm fit.

Sunday offered you a gentle, yet peculiar smile.

“Question: have you ever lied to me?”

You didn’t answer.

Your flesh felt as though it was set alight. As if the halovian had personally poured gasoline over you and held a match to the tip of your nose and watched you burn alive.

The whispering was loud. The voices was indiscernible. You couldn’t place a finger to its source, nor a face, nor a name. Three voices, all repeating the same thing. You could tell from its tone, its pitch modulation, and yet you couldn’t understand what was being spoken.

It didn’t sound like any language you knew.

“Answer the question, angel.”

Hot tears bubbled over your lashes.

“Yes.” You fought to keep the word lodged in the back of your throat, but when you forced it out, the lava on your tongue cooled significantly. The whispers grew softer.

He noticed the look of relief cross over your face. “See?” A gloved hand came down to gently touch the crown of your head. “Just answer truthfully, and it will all be okay.”

Then, the white material of his gloves came forward to swipe gently at the tears below your eyes. Salt soaked the soft cotton.

Your hand reached up shakily to hold onto his wrist.

“Did you lie to me the night we met?”

The swirls of colour around his halo were returning.

Your thumb traced the ring on his finger. Gold, with a blue gem on its interior.

Instead of answering, you tried to press your lips to his.

Sunday stopped you, though it took restraint. He held your face still, lips just barely brushing against your own. He tasted salt. Salt and sweet lies, and Aeons above was it addicting.

He sighed. “Don’t tempt me.” He watched you flinch, and rang a simple reminder, “answer.”

“Yes,” you said.

As he expected.

You were so beautiful like this. Raw, and honest.

His heart squeezed with disgust. “Did you lie when you said you loved me?”

Frantically, you shook your head. “No.”

He smiled.

“Did you lie when you said you’d die for me?” He tilted his head.

Your lips pressed together. Your fingers curled tight in the loose curls of his hair. Your nails brushed softly against his feathers.

Your chest heaved when he finally sat beside you on the couch. His skin was so warm pressed against yours, and the contact made you feel dizzy.

“Yes,” you responded.

He accepted it. His finger softly petted your cheek.

Oh, you were crying.

You felt so pathetic and weak, and bubbled words caught in your throat like fish on a hook. You felt trapped, and the colours behind his head were growing more vibrant, brighter, accompanying and drowning out that awful halo.

He’s horrible. He’s so horrible.

You wanted to say it, you wanted to tell him that you needed him to leave. You needed him gone.

He beat you to it. “Do you hate me?”

You heaved a sob. “No.” And you didn’t. You didn’t hate him, despite his obsessive control and unjustified possessiveness. His hubris, and his inability to see past his own paranoia and fear. “Please stop.”

You pressed your lips to the small, poniard-shaped jewel on his chest.

Your sign of devotion did not deter him, though, he was sure you would always have some sort of effect on him.

“It shouldn’t hurt if you tell the truth,” Sunday reminded you. There was a teasing lilt to his voice.

“I don’t hate you,” you repeated, this time as firmly as you could—albeit your voice shook with fervour. “I never hated you.”

“I’m relieved.” His hand petted your hair. “So, so relieved.”

You buried your face into his shoulder and sobbed.

You prayed it was over. You prayed and prayed for the voices to dissipate from your mind. You tried to will them away, to squeeze your eyes shut and beg for the whispers to fade into the background of white noise and static.

The kaleidoscope of colours crept below your eyelids.

Sunday held you securely, and as warm as he was, and as firm and yet so gently his arms sat snugly against you, you felt so cold. So cold and alone and so afraid.

He could fix that.

He hadn’t said a word for a moment.

The burning feeling of your skin returned, and you let out another drawn out noise of distress.

He shushed you. “One final question.”

You shook your head.

Your hands were trembling, fingers weakly pressing to your temples to rid the pounding that made your stomach churn. Your vision was swamped in swirls and patterns of colours you couldn’t put a name to.

His face, too, warped into something evil.

This wasn’t the man whose knuckles you’d kissed, whose wings gently fluttered against your skin, who’d plucked a small feather from them and handed it to you as a symbol of his devotion.

His halo dimmed for a moment.

You felt his lips brush against your ear and the tickle of a feather.

“Do you still love me?”

[stxr-dream]

Holy shit.

[krebkrebkreb]

love and deepspace is so funny in a ton of ways, not the least of which being that it’s an angst game full of angst with a huge helping of angst on top masquerading as a romance game

and this angst romance game has wacky characters like:

🐠 merman sea god who is an artist with flame powers for some reason. his symbol is not a fish but a duck. there is a section of the story where he goes into heat. canonical billionaire. also a serial revenge killer.

❄️ accomplished heart surgeon with ice powers who is trapped in a cycle of multiverse-spanning reincarnations. mc’s childhood friend and also her doctor. blatantly the horniest of the lot but you wouldn’t know it because he has never shown anyone an emotion ever.

💫 centuries old immortal space prince. literally an alien. got stuck in the past after attempting wormhole travel and has been bopping around earth until mc is born. mc’s monster-fighting coworker and upstairs neighbor. secretly batman.

🐦‍⬛ dangerous crime boss. also an alien, probably. also a dragon whose soul is bound to mc’s. once made mc shoot him in the heart to prove his immortality. wife guy in a “he supports women’s wrongs” way.

🍎 cyborg military commander with gravity powers. flies space planes. was killed in an explosion but got better. a narrative representation of the biblical eve. diagnosed mentally/emotionally unwell. wife guy in a “he is the wife” way.

and. like. originally i was going to say only a sentence about each of them but i could not pick just one of the many, many unhinged things about the tiny men who live in my phone.

absolutely batshit insane game. hilarious.

i have cried probably a dozen times while playing it.

[jewfish]

🌌

[valberryventi]

i want to kiss diluc so bad ... happy birthday baby