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yuichi-ro · 2 years

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3:32 𝘗𝘔 - 𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘺𝘶𝘶𝘨𝘶𝘫𝘪

cw: fem!Reader x draken, angst, hurt/no comfort, manga spoilers, from takemichi’s pov, unedited wc: 1.6k -𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘪 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨

No longer the serendipity of Pah’s wedding.

It wasn’t like the reception was what took him away either. Takemichi sat staring at his feet reeling from the shift but knowing it had happened as he only had this pair of shoes during high school. Eleven years back. And when he looked up all the familiar faces at Pah’s wedding were around him. Well, nearly everyone.

“Aye you look like you’re about to throw up Takemitchy.” Draken, the one face he hadn’t seen immediately when returning, was behind him on the top of the stairs. He scrunched his nose and offered him the drink in his other hand without much of another word, “Here.”

That face made his stomach sink in the oddest way. Was it that obvious he’d shifted back or had he said something previously? Didn’t matter it’s not like he’d remember it now that he was back in the past. With the unopen drink in his hand Takemichi looked out at his group of friends unable to shake what he’d left back at Pah’s wedding. Sour stomach dropping further and further until he finally had to whip around to Draken and blurt it out.

“Do you have a crush on anyone?” Takemichi’s words dropped out of his mouth like vomit.

“Huh?” Draken’s face contorted into a disgusted scowl, “What the hell kinda question is that, Takemichty?”

“I just- I-” Never able to ease into anything he couldn’t blur the lines of past and his present when he switched this much, “I just- You know- We’re cool- We’re friends- You liked Emma but-”

“But what?” Draken’s face went absolutely cold at the mention of Mikey’s late sister.

Panic set in when all Takemichi could keep doing was looking up at Draken and then glancing over at the group. More specifically at you over with Mitsuya out of earshot of anything entirely. If his shift back to the past wasn’t noticeable. Well his stiff looks over at you were more than enough to tip Draken off.

“What the hell are you looking over at y/n for? What do you think you need to know about anything Takemitchy?” Draken’s tone not one to find amusement in his friend’s little sleepover question.

Quickly palming the back of his neck. Ready to start a fire with how vigorously he was rubbing it. Takemichi chewed down on his bottom lip sputtering out nonsense with an ever growling scowl on Draken’s face above him. Some of it finally stringing together to make sense, “No no! Nothing like that! I just- You know I just thought we’ve been friends for a while- Don’t friends know that kinda thing?! Yamagishi listed off his crushes like a phonebook! Ahah not saying you have a bunch of crushes! Your a good looking guy so I just assumed-”

Draken’s brows pinched together and his grip dented the can he’d cracked open for himself. Stomach getting dropped ten floors the second Takemichi locked eyes with him above him. He couldn’t believe the last time he saw Draken came from the one he was talking to right now. It felt as surreal as any other time he’d lept back to the past. But this was the first time he realized there was more at stake here than just Mikey.

“...do you like kids?” Takemichi tugged on his shirt collar utterly shrinking under Draken’s death glare.

“What kinda crack shit are you smoking Takemitchy.” Draken finally broke the glare to laugh at the absurdity of what was coming out of his mouth, “You ok? Need to lie down or something because you sound insane right now.”

He quickly followed up on Draken’s laugh. Mimicking it in the most nervous fashion possible. Trying not to look away and open his drink like it was no big deal. Failing and struggling until the seal broke. Just to quickly throw it back not realizing he’d been given something carbonated. Only to choke and sputter on it when a few wandering eyes looked over at the scene.

“Hey Takemitchy you good?” Mitsuya, as well as you, had stopped what you were doing to look over at the little scene.

“Takemitchy got some shit for brains today he can’t even drink.” Draken laughed at his friend choking on his fizzy drink.

Everyone picked up laughing just as Draken had. Takemichi’s face growing red from both the drink and the attention. A good minor distraction from his thoughts for a second. Before he realized as his coughing fit died down and everyone went back to what they were doing. Takemichi was the awful third wheel privy to seeing Draken’s gaze linger on you of all people. No one else saw it. But he did and maybe Draken was right, he did want to throw up.

“....do you love her?” Takemichi wiped at his mouth after he’d taken another drink to clear himself after the coughing fit.

“Huh?” Draken’s nose scrunched, “Lovewho?”

“Y/n.”

“No.”

Takemichi looked over at you. No longer doing anything but chatting with Mitsuya. Knowing he’d seen the two of you at Pah’s wedding. There was no mistaking it. Not with the way Draken had been so excited to show you off as well as the two kids accompanying you both.

“Not even a little?” Takemichi edged a little closer with the first question even after receiving his answer.

Draken looked over the lip of his drink and frowned, “What part of no do you not understand.”

“I’m sorry-” He shook his head not ready for a fight, “I just- I thought-”

“...I guess....if anything,” Draken’s frown dropped to a somber expression as he looked down at his dented can, “I kind of like her. A little. I guess.”

If his stomach hadn’t ready been doing acrobatics in his guts. Takemichi felt a rightful punch to the gut never believing this could be where it all started. Seeing you pregnant at Pah’s wedding obviously wasn’t enough. You and Draken...actually got together. Somewhere. At some time.

“What are you even asking about crap like that?” Draken interrupted his thoughts, “You try to pull some match maker I’ll punch your teeth in Takemitchy.”

“No no I would never!” He threw his hands up innocently. No guru in love. Honestly he had a hard enough time keeping Hinata alive just to love her. To interfere with someone else’s love story seemed foolish even for him.

It stuck in his craw though, that suddenly it wasn’t only his life he was tampering with. This entire time the wrongs he couldn’t right felt inevitable. Baji’s death. Emma’s murder. Kazutora’s imprisonment. They were means to an end. To find an end without Kisaki. And when he did, Takemichi hadn’t expected to return to marriage, kids and more for each and every one of them. Now as he felt like an onlooker to the very real time passing in front of him. Takemichi couldn’t help feel guilty at his choice to come back. He had no idea how or when it happened. But if he changed anything then that smile Draken had when introducing his two sons would never happen.

“You tell even Mikey-” Draken’s voice once again tore him from his festering thoughts. Takemichi looked up to see him shaking his head looking out at the gang. But more specifically following his gaze showed him Draken was only looking at you, “...I’m not ready to loose anymore.”

“Draken...” Takemichi felt the very real weight of knowing what hurt came with loosing a loved one. Hinata and Emma were two different people but the pain their death caused to loved ones was all too similiar. He couldn’t claim to be in Draken’s shoes but he could vividly see those hands on your belly when Draken told him at Pah’s wedding that he was having a third son. He’d never seen him so happy. Not at least that he could recall, “...I don’t think you’ll loose her. If you tell her that is.”

His scowl returned and Draken broke off his stare to look down at him with a condescending look, “And what do you know, Takemitchy? I could loose a friend. Not to mention Mikey or anyone else.”

He couldn’t lay out the wonderfulness of Pah’s wedding. Not that he really didn’t want to so Draken could experience it first hand. Still it tugged at his bleeding heart to give his friend something to look forward to, “I just....don’t think it’ll go like that.” Takemichi felt such a conflicting stir of emotions in his heart. It made him sick, nervous and hopeful all at once when he looked over at you among the other gang members while Draken stood next to him, “Stay alive....please just....stay alive is all.”

“Stay alive?” Draken burst out with a dumbfounded laugh as he reached down and smacked the back of his friend’s head, “Damn Takemitchy you really got weird shit in your brain today. Want me to knock it out for you?”

He winced and rubbed where Draken hit him as he looked up at him with a half hearted grin, “Yeah, maybe. I just want my friends to live a long healthy live is all.”

“Well,” Draken shook his head laughing as he took a drink but was very clearly lookout over at you with a hint of a smile being hide behind his can, “Not like I plan on getting stabbed or shot anytime soon.”

Takemichi swallowed the hard lump in his throat looking out at you just as Draken was unable to help his words mumbling from his lips as it dawned on him that returning might have just put so many more lives at risk than he knew, “Please....live a long and healthy life. For all of five of you.”

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violent138 · 2 months

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Tim, looking around the darkened corridor: "You think it's a good idea to be breaking into random places right now?"

Jason said nothing, fumbling in his pockets.

Dick: "You live here, don't you?" Which gets everyone's attention laser-focused.

Jason just cast him a look, getting the door open.

Steph entered first, smacking into something that falls over. "Jeez." She complained, stumbling backward until Cass steadied her by the shoulders. "Sorry, that's my bad."

Duke turned on the lights in one motion, making everyone blink and wince.

"Get off me." Damian snapped, and Dick carefully let him go, letting him limp angrily into a chair. He frowned, scrutinizing the place. "You live here? Why would anyone--"

"Guys." Dick rubbed his eyes over the mask, cutting off Damian and Jason’s sharp answer. "First aid kit?" Dick asked Jason tiredly.

Jason nodded, moving to get it and heard Damian ask "What?" in response to a patented glare he must be getting.

Tim had made a beeline for the kitchen. "Dude, why do you have a singular set of dishes? And why are there just guns in this cabinet?"

Jason scoffed, handing Dick the kit. "Didn't realize I was running a fucking bed and breakfast."

"There's guns in this cabinet too!" Tim shook his head, opening and closing two more. "Oh good, just large knives in this one."

At Tim's raised eyebrows, Jason went into the kitchen and shooed Cass down the counter she was perched on, grabbing the paper plates he kept in a drawer and shoving them into Tim's chest.

Glancing at the way Steph was rubbing her neck, slouched at the table, Jason grabbed two ice packs, sliding one her way and throwing the other to Damian.

Duke, taking a book off Jason's meticulously organized shelf: "Why do you have seven copies of Pride and Prejudice? Did you keep forgetting you bought it, or--?"

Jason, storming over to put the book back. "Stop."

Dick looked up from the wound he was stitching. "Are they different at at all?"

"Are they in different languages?" Steph asked.

"Did you barter them for food? Because your fridge is fucking empty." Tim reported.

Jason groaned, realizing that they weren't going to drop it. "One has a different introduction and one is the zombies version. And yes, the rest are the same, now could you all stop touching stuff?"

"Why do you have five copies of the same book?"

#New format I'm testing out: too lazy to write a fic and too content heavy to be a text post #I present to you minificpost #Batman #Dc comics #Mini something #Batfamily #Jason Todd #Dick Grayson #Duke Thomas #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #damian wayne #Tim Drake #batfam #Don't know why I fixated on pride and Prejudice #Man reads other books too lol

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cheesit-notes · 10 months

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thinking about men and desperately kissing you like its the end of the world

warnings: fem reader, kissing turns nsfw(?)

Soap who kisses you like there’s no tomorrow. whenever, wherever, if he gets a chance, he’ll take it. he’s not afraid of smothering you with kisses in front of his own team, though Price has asked him to refrain from doing so during briefings. there’s not a moment that he isn’t trying to hold you, kiss you, just touch you in someway, somehow, anyhow.

he’s kissing you like he’ll never get the chance. quick pecks on your cheeks and forehead to sloppy, messy makeout sessions. the two of you, in need of air, yet not willing to pull apart for a second. your arms around his neck and his hand supporting the back of your head and he can’t help but push himself onto you. your kisses are so fucking intoxicating, its like a drug to poor Johnny, absolutely putty in your hands.

Soap who’s kisses makes it seem like his next mission is his last, like the world ends tomorrow. and god help him but if the world ends tomorrow, he’s going out with a bang. messy makeout sessions turn into him foddling your pretty tits like its his last time and gripping your thighs like he’s never touched you before. hes grinding on you like a bitch in heat. but you must understand, he needs you soo badly. precum leaking, and hes a mess, groaning as his hard cock twitches and strains against his pants. he needs you so bad, he can barely string together the words to ask you. so you’ll offer your pretty cunt and let him fuck you to oblivion, yeah? he’ll kiss you better after.

#cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #soap mactavish #soap call of duty #cod headcanons #kissing like there's no tomorrow #cheesy likes cod?!#im getting way too lazy trying to format stuff the same way everytime because i have to reference what i did before so no formating

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callsign-rogueone · 2 months

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that time of the month

fourth wing boys (Aaric, Brennan, Bodhi, Dain, Garrick, Liam, Ridoc, Sawyer, Xaden) x reader

how our favorite boys would take care of you when you’re on your period [request]

words: 588

🏷: no book spoilers. gender neutral, no pronouns used. mentions of periods, cramps,, etc. soft and fluffy. these are kinda short bc it was hard to not make them repetitive — I think they all give excellent care + cuddles 🥰

Aaric is a quiet support kind of guy to me. he’ll be by your side, but not overbearing or too touchy. really good at playing with your hair and massaging the back of your neck if you get migraines (like I do) he also sleeps flat on his back and perfectly still like a total weirdo, so he’s great to use as a body pillow.

Brennan is the number one man for the job, and I’m not just saying this because he’s my favorite. he’s a mender, so he can literally stop your pain, and he can get stains out of clothes super easily. also just a very nurturing and gentle person, takes excellent care of you all week.

Bodhi is going to use this as an excuse to cuddle you and take naps all week (I love how the Bodhi girls have collectively decided that he’s just a lil cuddlebug 🥺). expect lots of murmured words of affirmation about how strong you are and how much he loves you.

Dain, the overgrown boyscout he is (I say this affectionately) is prepared. he knows when that time is coming up, and he is properly equipped to take care of you. has everything you need in both his room and yours. also gives a 10/10 back massage (canon, actually.)

Garrick insists that you spend the week in his room, because his bed is more comfortable (it honestly is) and that way he can take care of you. he’s very nice to cuddle up with. lets you sleep in his clothes, too, for maximum comfort. has a secret stash of all your favorite snacks, too — he’s been getting them from the fliers. don’t tell Xaden. (Xaden totally knows, and is also getting snacks from them.)

Liam makes sure you’re eating even if you have no appetite, and that you’re staying hydrated, etc. you might grumble about it, but absolutely nobody can say no to that face. he knows not to take it personally if you get mad at him, because you’re hormonal + in pain. gives fabulous cuddles, too, and lots of sweet words.

Ridoc knows not to make any jokes at your expense or fuck with you when you’re feeling fragile, instead showering you with cheesy verbal affection to get the grumpiness out of your system and get you feeling a little better — as much as you can, when you feel like your insides are being ripped out. uses his hands like ice packs for you, holding them on any place that’s particularly achy.

Sawyer was a little awkward about it at first, but now he’s a seasoned boyfriend who knows what you need and does it without you needing to ask; snacks, cuddles, back rubs, so on and so forth. helps you with whatever’s particularly difficult this week. ties your shoes for you so you don’t have to bend down and strain your back, etc.

Xaden can sense that you’re in pain, and the minute he’s able to, he’s scooping you up and whisking you away to rest in his arms. abuses his wingleader privledges a little bit, letting you have the worst day(s) off. don’t bother trying to lie to him and say that you’re fine — he knows you aren’t. don’t question the sudden change in his normal tough-guy persona either; just enjoy it.

++ none of these men are at all scared or grossed out by a little blood. they’re men, not boys, and they’re used to it anyway, going to this deathtrap of a school.

#formatting this on mobile was a pain #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #brennan sorrengail #bodhi durran #aaric graycastle #dain aetos #garrick tavis #liam mairi #ridoc gamlyn #sawyer henrick #xaden riorson #mine #too lazy to type the rest of my tags lol #seeing if it works without them. tungle search feature is an unpredictable beast #goodnight

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bromcommie · 4 months

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tfatws + text posts: sam edition because I have too many fucking drafts that have been sitting around for years (bucky version) (misc)

bonus:

#i want him backkk #tfatws #sam wilson #tfatws edit #sam wilson edit #text post meme #sam wilson + text posts #ignore the constant ratio change lol i was too lazy to crop all of them to one format :|#my edits

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spiderism · 1 year

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Miguel’s conducting a census on the spider-verse when he lands himself on 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇-𝟐𝟏𝟑𝟕 – has no prior information since this is his initial visit, but on first glance recognizes that this is Nueva York; that usually means that the local superhero is Miguel O’Hara, or at least another variant of him. Only he finds out that here, it’s actually someone named Web-Shot, a souped-up version of his own late wife.

"Cariño." It was easier to say before – when everything was right, when his entire world hadn't collapsed in on itself. Now, the word feels strange. His brain reacts as if no time's passed at all; it takes effort for his mouth to form around each of the vowels and the consonants, though – like a rusted cog forced into service after being made stiff from years of disuse.

And while you may walk and talk like her, you’re not. He tells himself not to be fooled by the way your face lights up when you see him, by the way your laughter fills the space between the two of you, and by the way you still tell jokes at his expense.

But then you take the few steps necessary to close the distance to get to him, wrap your arms around his frame like he’s just come home after a long day of being out. It’s all too familiar – your body folding into his, how well the pieces fit together, the softness that he remembers so well; it’s every single inch of his wife that had been catalogued and filed away in the back of his mind for safekeeping – dust-ridden archives that he’d never thought he’d dig up again. You’re a memory in the flesh.

“Web-Shot, because—”

“You shoot webs. That’s cute,” he says in a dry tone.

“Alright, then. Let’s hear yours. You got something better?”

“Spider-man. It’s simple. Clean. Rolls off the tongue.”

“Wow, original. Was ‘Daddy Long Legs’ already taken?”

“Oh, you’ve got jokes. I see your sense of humor is consistent.”

“It’s why you fell for me, isn’t it?”

“Among other things,” he murmurs. “Pain in my ass—”

He asks where your Miguel is, needs to know if the two of you are together, but finds out that he died three months ago – fell from a clocktower during a bad fight he wasn’t supposed to be at, snapped his neck clean in half from the tension when you tried to catch him with your webbing and he ricocheted back up from the concrete like a damn bungee cord. The ring was in his pocket; he was supposed to propose that night before everything went to shit. So your time ended with him fast, early. Before you even really got to start your lives together.

And this other Miguel, the one who shows up in your universe alive (sure) and well (debatable), gives you some insight to his world. His wife was a romantic – an idealist, a dreamer. He’s always been pragmatic – a man of science, an engineer, doing everything within his realm of possibility to make her visions come true. It’s been a long time since he talked about his history and his family: how he proposed, where they had the wedding, his daughter – the way everything was good and perfect until it wasn’t.

After spending the night with you on the Empire State Building, he realizes how much you’re like his wife. It hits him hard, brings up too many emotions to the surface that he’d been tamping down all these years.

Nothing about any of this is fair. And it’s sad, heartbreaking. Especially—

“I didn’t get to grow old with you.”

“We could’ve had a lifetime together and it still wouldn’t have been enough. You get that, right?”

You convince him to stay. Try to, at least. He can be your Miguel, and it would all be so easy. He can take his retired wedding ring off the chain around his neck and slip it on where it belongs.

But it’s not possible. He tells you that much – what can happen, the repercussions that ripple out and affect the multiverse web. Because he’s already attempted that – wouldn’t have given up without trying to get you back.

A part of him wants you to say it one last time. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Instead, he gets:

“Every version of me loves every version of you. And even though I haven’t gotten to see it for myself, I know that there’s no universe where that isn’t true.”

Before he leaves, you ask if he thinks there’s any chance the two of you are allowed to be happy, allowed to live normal lives in all of the places he’s seen.

He tells you that he has: breakfast on the balcony, slow Sunday mornings, and weekend fútbol tourneys with your daughter. This story ends on a good note, but he doesn’t mention that it only exists inside his head.

#i was a lil too lazy to write the full version #honestly i was too lazy to properly format this and put angst warning so you can yell at me if you want #no i did not proofread #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o hara x reader

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ciphykiss · 1 year

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incubus >

blade x f!reader; nsfw, mdni somnophilia (does it count if its in a dream idk), slight dubcon, light “claiming” elements

You’re going to resign tomorrow.

This is what you tell yourself when the siren of your cell blares Jingyuan’s ringtone at 3 AM on a weekend, a mere two hours following your last shift at the general’s personal slammer (you’d applied for an administrative assistant position, dammit; you were supposed to be serving the slick bastard tea and going on lotus cake runs, not wiping prisoner spit off your cheek). In the beginning, you’d attempted to balm the degrading lifestyle with girthy checks, cruising into salons like clockwork every Friday with your hair up and eyes cucumber’d, lovely Foxian ladies attending to your nails and worn muscle (you’d try to ignore their comments about how you’d aged fifty years in half of one but just end up crying), flirted with the latest designer dresses, and found yourself zombie-clicking add to cart whenever you were on the verge of your bi-weekly meltdown.

No amount of flashy makeup, a piled vanity, and three grand miniskirts are convincing enough for Tingyun, however, and the Foxian would only glance over in pity as you threw yourself at your weekend prize in attempts to forget whatever near-death experience you’d suffered from grooming Jingyuan’s latest charge before their trial.

Your holidays always ended in one of two ways: the ambassador consoling you by observing her nails while you threw your guts up on a clubside of the red light district, remarking on how you should’ve just worked under Yukong like she’d told you to (it wasn’t your fault you’d been seduced by the sleeping general enough to delude yourself into thinking you’d had a shot at a postgraduate office romance), victim to you screeching obscenities of “that bastard” while vomiting a day’s meals (five shots of espresso, a chicken wing, and offbrand Lexapro). Then, you’d spy grime under your nails from previous altercation and wail louder, because you were wasting your prime in fucking prison cells.

It was either that, or being rudely interrupted at approximately five-thirty the next day (a holiday, mind you) to a string of texts that had bypassed warnings of “do not disturb” in favor of bitching about how a true friend wouldn’t let you sleep with a negative four. The true miracle was you not ending up on Tingyun’s blocklist (she’d added you indefinitely once until you’d bombarded the Sky-Faring Commissions with love letters begging their amicassador for “one more chance pls :’(( </3”).

“Why don’t you just quit,” Tingyun had asked on an average Sunday afternoon while stirring her margarita; the Foxian looked a picture-perfect beauty next to your rat-haired, hoodie-clad figure, makeup from last night melting off your face.

You’d ceased licking hollandaise sauce off your upper lip to stare at her. And instead of arguing about how you’d likely never procure a salary as high as your current one (nothing was worth the cost of your youth and beauty), or how Jingyuan could, quite literally, ruin every one of your future job prospects if he deemed you necessary (you’d find a way to murder him; hell hath no fury like a woman scorned), you could only muster a single thought.

“Tingyun, you’re a genius.”

The paperwork (because he is the bastard, Jingyuan had purposefully orchestrated his resignation process to be thrice as lengthy as the average Luofunian businesses, complete with word-limit essays detailing the exact reason for departure and a five-year timeline on future posts) is stashed under a vase on your nightstand; you make a mental note to litter expletives along the margins to finalize the word count. With the shit he’d just pulled, the general would be in no position to even raise a brow.

“Where’s the newbie,” you grit, slamming your receiver and thumb print over the holographic lock of the Cloud Knight’s maximum security cells. Your companion, a Vidyadhara accountant-turned-night watch guard (because Jingyuan’s ever-growing penchant for tossing civil servants into the line of criminal apprehension remained steadfast even before your recruitment), sweats nervously, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Miss [Name],” Danyin stresses, wincing at the sight of weeks-old inmates clawing at his fabrics for scraps of food, money, and flesh; you ignore him, walking onwards with an air of pissed-offery not even the most seasoned of inmates would dare inflame; your hair hangs behind you, perfumed and damp from its midnight shower, face void of the traditional rouged eyes and thick liner you’d adopted since entering Jingyuan’s court. “If I may speak—”

“You may not.”

“—the general was adamant you meet with him first before apprehension of our newest inmate. He seems… quite ruffled.”

“As he should be, because the next time I see him, I’ll rip him a ne—”

“It is evident that this criminal is naught like the others, [Name], and this is the first time we’ve had to quarter anyone in Cloudford’s maximum security ce—”

You whirl around to face Danyin, eyes ablaze. The guard withers under the brunt of your glower.

“I will see to it my duties are performed,” you say evenly, “and then, I will clock out, return to bed, and enjoy the rest of my weekend with my cell muted. You can let that scoundrel know I will be unavailable for the next 48 hours.”

And with that, you jerk the handlebar of the deepest cell in Jingyuan’s fort shut, your last sight that of Danyin with his mouth hanging open.

The maximum security cells of Jingyuan’s prison are surprisingly less unkempt than the bustle of the commons; it is dark and smells distinctly of a new, unused apartment complex. There are neither guards nor cellkeepers, no windows to speak of; only a dark, winding hallway leading to your destination.

It’s the first time you’d been allotted clearance; originally, you’d presumed the general lacked faith in both your combat abilities and the unwavering loyalty shared by his retinue (both are correct), but now, you realize it’s simply due to a lack of occupants.

(And rightfully so, because you’re having a terrible time imagining what dangers would have Jingyuan paranoid.)

You stop in front of a glass cell; it is tempered, element, bullet, sound, and magic proof; you glance down at your wristwatch and realize it has lost its signal. A neon red “O” flashes on top of the door.

Hesitantly (because despite your lack of sleep and the fact that you’re moving on sole hatred), you touch the glass, peering into the darkness for any sign of movement (any sign of life).

There are none.

Chewing your bottom lip, you decide to adopt the usual “fuck it” mentality you’d been ailed with after more than a few double-digit near death encounters in these halls and press the pads of your fingers over the lock.

It churns, once, twice, thrice, before responding in a robotic monotone; “high-risk individual detected; please exercise caution.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave your hand. “Just get it over with.”

A pause. “Searching database; clearance confirmed. Please confirm entry command.”

You click your tongue. “I do.”

A soft, buzzing sound. “High-risk individual detected; please reaffirm entry command.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, yes!”

The algorithm grows silent. The cogs behind the seemingly innocuous doorway bluster for at least ten seconds, winding open in a rigid, clumsy gait.

Inside, it is darker still. It smells of the preserved glaze used all over the Luofu to seal unused buildings, and a hint of dust; metallic odors assail your nose. Your eyes adjust to the blackness, and you peer long enough to spy the end of a conversation table.

“...uh, hello?”

No response. Annoyed, you search the walls for the lightswitch—your hands dart blindly until it finds the lever.

Dim, blue hues glint off the corridor, bathing the cell in an ominous, funeral-morning light. Your eyes train to the end of the table, and there he sits—still, unmoving, a mane of raven hair cascading down his back, a flesh-and-bone composition of some western Dracula. He is unlike any other inmate you’d laid eyes on before, something incorrigible, clandestine about him; it’s as if he’s frozen in the intersection of immortality and death, one foot through the door, never fully on either side. Distinctly, it reminds you of some late-stage cases of mara-struck individuals that would eventually be sent for termination (the grim fate of all Xianzhou natives).

He is as strong as he is imposing, and nearly as tall as the general himself; this, you can ascertain by the muted rise of his chest, the cling of Xianzhounian fabric over battle-hardened muscle, and knees that hit the bottom of the table.

He can kill you, you realize instantly; a part of you screams that he not only can, but will. It is a primitive fear, one you hadn’t thought you’d face in the closely-guarded Luofu ship, especially under the watchful eye of the Cloud Knight’s general; it’s enough for you to stop breathing, and render you frozen in your tracks.

You force yourself to exhale, dragging the chair on your end of the table back to situate yourself.

“Good evening,” you manage to utter, cringing at how it comes out a half-squeak; you bite your tongue, willing yourself to harden. A killer this man might’ve been (a professional one, if your screaming gut instinct had anything to say), you didn’t power through half a decade of amicassador training and Jingyuan’s bullshit to flail at the sight of a wanted criminal. “I’m [Name], associate-assistant of General Jingyuan of the Cloud Knights, acting director-in-command of Cloudford’s maximum security center; my duties include, but are not limited to, prerequisite questioning of inmates following admission, collection of bio-data, and basic care of inmates that are unable to groom oneself.” You spy the etherous shackles bound at the wrists of his gauze-covered hands. “Do you consent to the precursory collection of bio-data?”

No response. Not even the slightest tilt of a head, not a single hair moving out of place. A little paler, and you’d presume him dead. You chew the inside of your mouth.

“Would you be willing to provide your legal name? Planet of origin? Species?” Each question is followed by another inch of silence, widening the sea between you and the stranger; though you’re simply following protocol, you can’t help but shiver at the thought of offending Jingyuan’s newest specimen. “...that will conclude logistics. As per duty, and due to current physical restrictions, I am, by law, required to provide basic grooming; this will include a wipe-down of the face. You may vocalize any additional requests; if deemed appropriate by the Cloud Knight Codex, I will comply.”

Silence.

You decide you’d rather the world swallow you back into its womb and spit you back out so you might choose another path in life. Anything to prevent the development of that stupid crush on the scoundrel-general that had left you moon-eyed enough to brush off Tingyun’s recommendation of bannering under Yukong’s Sky-Faring Commission, where you’d entertain foreign investors and tryst with exotic artists instead of dancing with the stink of death every workday.

“...I’m going to touch you now,” you murmur, the scrape of your chair filling the cell. “Please excuse me.”

It’s like diving head-first into a guillotine; every live-wire nerve in you is shrilling for you to run, dignity and Jingyuan and the peace of the Luofu be damned. Leave the goddamn cell door open if you had to; anything to save your own skin. You don’t, of course; instead, you waver in front of the man, still a sitting statue, and tear open the sterile clothpack you’d pocketed.

Slowly, you kneel—and suddenly, you’re having to look up at him, all harsh lines and dark hair, and you thank the Aeons he’s blindfolded and you can’t see his eyes, because you know you wouldn’t have been able to perform any duty under the brunt of a killer’s stare.

He smells of incense and the bloodied scabbard of a sword. Specifically, the woodsmoke used in funerals. Hesitantly, you press the damp end of the satin to the stranger’s cheek.

The result is instantaneous, and you would’ve missed it had you hadn’t been seasoned by years of dealing with the most insidious of criminals; his mouth twitches, his nostrils flare; the actions are subtle, not at all assuming to the naked eye, and would, when performed by any other inmate, be brushed off as involuntary fidgeting;

But not this man, not death himself.

You nearly drop the cloth in alarm. But you don’t, and you try to look anywhere but him (because looking at him hurts as much as it would staring into the core of a non-artificial sun), climbing over the bridge of his nose, the flesh of his lips, the dip of his brows and the cuts of his hard, narrow jaw.

He is handsome.

The thought is both funny and terrifying; it helps you function, albeit more normally, though a part of you knows you shouldn’t find a national security threat anything more than appalling.

“Done,” you murmur, pulling back until you’re no longer drunk on the scent of orientals and woodsmoke. You pause, affirming just how pretty he is up close—a word you’d seldom use to describe men, and though he is absurdly handsome, there’s something flowery about the drape of his hair over his shoulder (another sign of danger, you now realize, as Xianzhounian warriors only cut their hair after defeat), the fullness of his mouth; like a carnivorous, night-flowering jasmine, you muse, blooming a scent so elusive it would only attract the most macabre of victims into its maw.

Aeons, the wanted criminal had you waxing poetry. Had your perpetual sleep deprivation toed its way to insanity?

“...do you require any further assistance?”

It shouldn’t shock you, it really shouldn’t; and yet, his response has the same effect as being struck with a killing blow from the general’s lightning lord itself;

“No,” he rasps, and the sound shoots right down to your core.

Fuck. Maybe you should’ve convinced your Foxian friend to take that old geezer up on his threeway offer last weekend, because it had clearly been too long since you’d gotten laid. For a wanted criminal you’d just laid eyes on to have such—

No. There’s no way. You make a mental note to ask Tingyun what self-care devices are trending and hide the pang in your nether regions with a shuffle of your thighs.

“Alright,” you squeak, scrambling to your feet—and protocol be damned, because there’s nothing in this godforsaken intergalactic universe that can stop you from crawl-dashing out the door as fast as your stupid work heels will carry you.

You need an intervention (an orgasm). Stat.

ꨄ︎

The Jingyuan that haunts you at dusk is as capable as the one you loathe during the day, thrice as inflamed, and so deliciously pliant. Your vision is obscured in the pewter-gray of his mane, teeth scraping the naked flesh of your shoulder, wet and warm and hard.

You dig your nails into the roots of his hair, as always, and yank. In response, he lets out a muffled groan—you imagine the sound reverberates under your skin like ripples along a lake, and feel his (your) hands dip below the hem of your dress. He would be careful, you think—considerate, despite his bastardry, barely bruising, just harsh enough to leave you wanting, just how you like it (or so you think).

“I hate you,” you gasp, to no one; Jingyuan chuckles, lips soft over the juncture of your throat.

“Me?”

“You,” you moan, the rake of your nails along his back coaxing him into littering a thousand kisses over your neck. “I hate you, I hate you—you and your stupid hair and lackadaisical, know-it-all attitude, and—fuck, I deserve a raise!”

“You don’t sound as though you hate me,” he hums. “In fact, you sound… rather pleased.”

Of course the Jingyuan in your hallucinogen-inspired wet dream is as cocky as the one in flesh; you scowl, landing a good one across his left cheek. He laughs, then, which spurs you to lock your legs around his hips and push him into the plush of the many pillows of your dreamscape.

“Shut up,” you order, “and put that mouth of yours to use for once.”

He doesn’t need any further instigation; dream-Jingyuan (somehow just as insufferable, despite being the byproduct of YOUR imagination) grabs you by the thighs and splits you open like his last meal. You gasp, hips moving of their own accord—reality blurs with the walls of your dreamworld, your own fingers replaced with the general’s calloused ones, and you sway to build the peak of your climax to your heart’s desire, lips coaxed open by his tongue, clit brushing against the bridge of his nose.

It’s all too much, really; you don’t remember the last time you’d had a dream so vivid, despite having remedied your insomnia quite often with visions of taming the sleeping general. There’s a strange sense of liminality; the thick fog separates to make way for cracks that closely resemble your bedroom wall, silk sheets fading into the strewn blankets you’d received as a New Year’s gift.

And then, Jingyuan does something completely unscripted—he slides you off his face, throws your leg over his hip, and grinds into your core.

You let out a whimper, something small in the back of your mind screaming that this isn’t normal—that a fabrication shouldn’t be chasing after his own pleasure, that the teeth along your neck feel harsher, more volatile;

But you can’t be bothered to care, whining for more—because suddenly, his mouth isn’t enough, and you need him, you need to be filled—had your vision been less blurry, and had you been even a smidgen less wanton, you wouldn’t noticed the shock of white hair fade into ink, the bare chest replace itself with dark fabric, and the fog of your dreamscape turn to overhead skies and a bed crowned in a million spider lilies.

And then,

“Jingyuan?” The forbidden, familiar baritone husks into your ear, and Aeons, you’d never crumbled faster—your eyes split open, still hazy, glittering with unshed tears—of frustration, of want, of hatred, everything in between and more, and you feel yourself getting even wetter. “Of all men, him?”

“What’re ‘ou doing here?” You babble, incoherent; your arms are still wrapped around his neck, and slowly, the inmate you’d been acquainted with mere hours before rises, shrouding your world in a curtain of black hair.

He smells the same—incense and blood and rain. Great. Now you’re hallucinating scents.

“That won’t do,” he says, lowering his face; the fabric of his blindfold touches your forehead, and you’re not sure why, but the fact that you can’t truly see him is even more erotic than any fantasy you’d ever conjured up before.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you mumble, the last shreds of decency slipping away to the cloudsmoke of his perfume and the flush of his hardened body against yours. “This isn’t—mmm!”

His mouth is on yours, and it is nothing like any mirage store-bought fantasia can conjure up; he is nothing like the men you pick up at clubs, nothing like the teasing Jingyuan in your dreams. He is taking you, commanding your lips to part to make way for him; his tongue searches yours, feverish and so ravaging that it should have you fleeing the planet.

Then, he moves, and you feel the brush of something hard against your mound, near corporeal; the threads of rationality snap, and you’re arching, using your hooked leg as leverage to melt into the dream-criminal’s body, because now, a dream isn’t enough—you want to feel him, warmth and muscle and the cage of his arms, and become one; a mouth isn’t enough. Suddenly, nothing is enough.

He pulls away to latch onto your neck, and you cry at the loss.

“No,” you wail, hooking your remaining leg over his waist. Slender, moreso than Jingyuan’s. “Kiss me more—gimme more—I need—”

“Take it yourself,” he says, working on the welts now littering your collarbone in what an absurd part of you assumes is an attempt to replace any remnants of the dream-general. “Do you really think yourself deserving?”

Tears brim at the corners of your eyes. “So—so mean,”

You lay there for a minute more, frustrated and so stupidly wet, aching for his touch while he seems content to deliver his punishments in the form of mouthing along every inch of your throat and breasts.

“You demon,” you accuse, fisting his shirtsleeve pathetically. Your lips twitch into a frown when he continues to ignore you.

Take it yourself, huh?

And then, because it’s a dream and you would rather die than be left unsatisfied in your own un-reality, you grab the stranger by the face, part your lips open, and finish what he so rudely began.

A part of you expects a nightmarish turn—one where he lashes out to skewer your gut, or worse; instead, he indulges you, fingers steadying your hips as they attempt to grind into a rhythm.

“You’re in my dream, aren’t you?” You whisper, scattering pecks along his cheek—he is, after all, so pretty, too pretty not to dote on. “Take responsibility. Jingyuan would.”

It’s like smelting a firecracker; his mouth bends into an almost-scowl, and the grip on your hips turns bruising.

Bandaged fingers curl into your heat, building atop an existing pressure—your reaction is visceral. A gasp, then an involuntary swivel of your spine with the heels of your feet digging into the bed; and just as you think he’s going to build a staccato, his ministrations halt.

It’s devastating, and it has you wailing into the crook of his pale, unforgiving, not-quite-embrace; frustrated, you knock your fists against his chest. If it were reality, it would hurt you more than it hurt him.

“You bastard.”

“I could ruin you,” he haunts, an echo in your ear. “I could make it burn. You would dream of me in the waking world, cry for me in the dreaming. A slave to passion, day and night; hardly sleeping, hardly eating, merely breathing, finding relief only when I move inside you.”

His lips graze over your own.

“But I won’t.”

It’s a strange, humiliating experience, coming undone from a mere kiss; your heat throbs, neglected, still sobbing to be touched, be soothed, put at rest; but the way he holds you can be mistaken as loving, and the curl of his mouth against yours is almost kind; it’s like grasping at the shadow of a man that never existed.

And then, you wake up.

Your walls are sepia and no longer skies, there are no lilies at your feet. Your cheeks are tear-stained, and there’s a hand under your skirt, the other cupping your breast in poor mimicry of your dream demon.

Something red catches the mirror on your nightstand.

There, splintered across the previously unmarred expanse of your throat, lies a canopy of bruise-colored kisses.

#blade x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #blade hsr #honkai star rail smut #blade smut #part of a series but im too lazy to format parts rn

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krys-draws · 8 months

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guys, read gachiakuta pls

#i’m too lazy to do my usual format #gachiakuta #gachiakuta engine #engine fanart #kei urana #sketch #fan art #procreate #krysanthees

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p-mobile · 13 days

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Ren BF Texts!!

#these have been rotting in my drafts for almost a month now bc ive been too lazy to format the cute header stuff #but i didnt want you guys to think i forgot about this blog entirely #just been tired and burnt out is all #love yall!#puffy posting! (⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)/*⁠♡#crunchy puff posts! °❀⋆.ೃ*:･#14dwy ren #14 days with you

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sleepanonymous · 6 months

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is there a solid way to tell apart ii, iii, and iv? i always mix them up : (

Hello Anon 🖤 Ty for the ask. I've actually answered this in this post for III and IV. I'd be happy to go over it again for you here and include II more. I'll be honest, the majority of the time they've been on stage, the three band members have worn literally the same sort of clothes, and it doesn't help that they all have blue eyes either lol. It gets easier eventually, I promise. This might sound odd, but you'll soon start to recognize cheekbones, hand veins, eye shape, and overall mannerisms that the Eepy guys have.

Some quick tells are: II - Drums, double scythe necklace, black painted nails, cola/redbull stains on his mask, short king III - Bass, checkered socks, man bun, stage right, long boi IV - Guitar, black paint stains on his mask (from Vessel's kisses and his own fingers), jewelry, stage left, also a short king

Something I didn't mention in the first post is that there is a single scythe necklace that's been passed around between Vessel, III, and IV. Most recently that necklace has been worn by IV but I wouldn't count it as a valid indicator unless you know who was in possession of the necklace at the time the photo was taken. Rings, on the other hand, could be a valid indicator. I've only ever seen Vessel and IV wearing rings on stage (if I am wrong about this, someone please correct me).

Something I did mention in the other post (and is quite honestly one of my favorite ways to tell the Eepies apart) is utilizing Vessel as a measuring stick.

If the Eepy guy is taller than Vessel, you have a III.

If the Eepy guy is shorter than Vessel, you have a II or IV.

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muninnhuginn · 2 months

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In Defence of Qiao Ling

I've been musing on several threads relating to Qiao Ling in the last few weeks and have seen a few posts going around that have pushed me to actually try and put all my Qiao Ling thoughts into words and in one place.

Despite the title, I don't fully agree with the show's handling of Qiao Ling, but I do think she has been provided with a clear ongoing arc and so that's what I'm going to be focusing on here.

This got quite long so most of it is under the cut, but shout-out to @lizzieonka and @oceaniche for their previous posts on Qiao Ling, which definitely ended up inspiring some parts of this.

So, let's start with: what do we actually know about Qiao Ling?

Qiao Ling's Background

She's first introduced as the "landlady", for all it quickly becomes apparent that her relationship with Cheng Xiaoshi isn't quite that simple. Her family "took Cheng Xiaoshi in" but there's always been some distance and that's reinforced by the whole "rent" deal. (The fact that Cheng Xiaoshi is still adamant his parents will return likely also factors in to this.) Still, Qiao Ling herself clearly sees Cheng Xiaoshi as her younger brother and is willing to stake her claim on him as family to near-strangers (we've seen it both when she met Lu Guang and Li Tianxi).

Qiao Ling's social life is clearly contrasted with that of Cheng Xiaoshi. Where Cheng Xiaoshi's first "proper" friend was Lu Guang, Qiao Ling has her own circle of friends and is fairly sociable in general (she literally found a client by befriending a stranger when she came to learn martial arts). Xu Shanshan, for instance, is very much Qiao Ling's friend despite hanging out with the collective group at uni. Qiao Ling also spoke of Cheng Xiaoshi's childhood as something that happened to him specifically, implying that she herself was spared the bullying (which makes sense considering the fact that she wasn't the one with missing parents) and so had a more "normal" upbringing. Whether she spoke up back then or stayed quiet isn't fully clarified (not speaking up against adults is one thing but what about classmates?), but Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't seem to hold it against her either way.

Nowadays, Qiao Ling's role in managing the photo shop's side-business has her interacting directly with most clients. She's the most customer-facing of the three, relaying information between clients and shiguang. This is despite her not actually knowing the full details behind shiguang's diving process until season two, which in retrospect makes it more impressive. Qiao Ling taking on the managerial role (and what is also implied to be social media advertising) also has the (unintended?) effect of obscuring shiguang's roles in the business from the public, as it's Qiao Ling who earns the nickname of "witch". It took until Xiao Li saw Cheng Xiaoshi in the CCTV footage during the Doudou case for anyone to see through this.

Key Character Moments

In terms of Qiao Ling's key moments, we have four main ones.

In Doudou arc, Qiao Ling admits she saw Doudou being taken three years ago;

In season two, at the hospital, Qiao Ling asks for some trust and to not be shut out anymore;

Qiao Ling bonding with Li Tianxi and using their shared aspects to bring her out of her shell so she would help the investigation;

The revelation that Qiao Ling did, in fact, receive some form of Lu Guang's memories from Tianxi and her dismissal of their implications.

The main thread behind all of these scenes is that they are about information and what you choose to do with it.

My thoughts are two-fold here. First, how these scenes connect with Qiao Ling's arc specifically, and secondly, how they connect with the broader themes of the series.

Qiao Ling's Arc

Doudou

Let's begin with Doudou arc. In this arc, Qiao Ling reveals that she saw the kidnapping of a child several years ago. She hadn't told anyone about this for three years and likely would have continued to have kept it to herself if not for Doudou's father approaching the photo studio. In this arc, there is the following exchange:

Qiao Ling's main regret is that she didn't do something or say something as she saw Doudou being taken away. That her inaction may have ensured that Doudou's kidnapper was able to get away with him. And she specifically says "I didn't even have the courage to step forward and provide any information." (Tangent: Funnily enough, Lu Guang is the "star of courage" in the Star Warriors later in the episode, not Qiao Ling. Qiao Ling is "star of wisdom" who is meant to "light the way". Still fitting, but in a less straightforward way.)

Now, to me, this is clearly setting up an arc, not resolving one. Qiao Ling wouldn't have offered the information if not for the circumstances. And it tells us that for all Qiao Ling has friends and is sociable, she still holds certain cards close to her chest. She doesn't want to confront the past so instead she will hold her guilt tight and not say a word. Though, as this exchange shows, she does want to have that courage. And I'll get onto this later, but this ties in very clearly with the information she later holds regarding Lu Guang.

Hospital confrontation

Throughout this entire scene, even before it becomes a "confrontation" Qiao Ling is clearly feeling guilty. She runs after Cheng Xiaoshi when he tries to leave to help the police so that she can *do something*, make up for it the best she can. Guilt and avoidance are key traits for her and they both manifest here. They're still holding her back.

And, of course, there's her statement to Cheng Xiaoshi: "You're always trying to protect me. I really appreciate it. But what I need more is your trust." Qiao Ling knows what it's like to be locked out of the loop. She didn't know the specifics of diving for months (possibly years?) and it didn't really seem to bother her (or at least she didn't give the impression it bothered her when "Xu Shanshan" asked her about it). But she has her limits. And being locked out when the situation is actively dangerous? That's clearly past those limits.

Li Tianxi

Grouping together the final two scenes, because the first Li Tianxi scene is more a demonstration of character traits as well as digging in those sibling parallels between LTC-LTX and CXS-QL. Anyway, the first scene adds more evidence to the idea that Qiao Ling is more sociable and a people person. That she could could get Li Tianxi to open up by taking a more understanding approach and showing that she gets it to some extent. She's in the same boat.

Which means when we get to the final scene, this is what ties it all together. Qiao Ling has inherited the memories Li Tianxi saw from Lu Guang. She has seen Cheng Xiaoshi's "death". She has information now. But her first instinct is to dismiss it. To avoid it and refuse to confront it because the implications are too much.

But, see, she's been in this situation before with Doudou. She's had information and done nothing with it and regretted. She wanted to have the courage to do better. This is her goal.

And the implications of these memories? Do they mean Cheng Xiaoshi is in danger? Wasn't danger her red line in the sand? Didn't she tell him that "protecting" people and "trusting" them aren't mutually exclusive?

And finally, Lu Guang isn't Li Tianxi, but isn't the scenario here at least somewhat similar? Isn't Qiao Ling in the same boat as him here, wanting to keep Cheng Xiaoshi safe? Hasn't Qiao Ling shown she can connect with people through their shared experiences?

Qiao Ling isn't a confrontational character. She's avoidant. She will wallow in her guilt and not let on until it gets too much. But she wants to do better and isn't this her chance to do something? Say something? To not just be a passive observer and be left with regrets? I don't think it will be immediate by any means, but I think for her arc to conclude properly, she will have to conclude for herself that she needs to be open with the information she has and share it. If she's pushed into it, then it's just Doudou again. But if she chooses to share the information, then that's the pay-off set up back in season one.

Broader Themes in the Show

Broader themes regarding information and withholding of it. We see time and again in this series, that characters withhold information from others.

Liu Xiao and Lu Guang with Li Tianchen and Cheng Xiaoshi respectively, both holding more information than their "partner". Refusing to share it so that they can control them. Their reasons may differ, but the dynamics mirror each other in that respect. Unhealthy dynamic number one.

Li Tianchen and Li Tianxi, never addressing what Li Tianchen is doing with their powers. It allows Li Tianchen to pretend to himself that he is protecting Li Tianxi and carrying out justice. Li Tianxi is heavily implied in her telling of their backstory to know more than she lets on with regards to Li Tianchen's actions. But the refusal of both siblings to broach the topic eventually leads to Li Tianchen going where Li Tianxi cannot follow in his pursuit of vengeance and puts Li Tianxi in the very danger Li Tianchen wanted to avoid. Unhealthy dynamic number two. (There are more than this but I'm just sticking to these to keep this from getting any longer)

To go back to the hospital confrontation, when Qiao Ling says: "You're always trying to protect me. I really appreciate it. But what I need more is your trust." When she says this? It's a direct hit against the idea that protection should involve keeping people out. And in this case, Cheng Xiaoshi does start to let her in. They do manage to have healthy communication here now that Qiao Ling has been let in on the dives and is allowed to do something to help. She doesn't want to be passive.

She knows what it's like to be locked out, to be "protected" without having her own agency respected. But now, as of end of season two, she's on the other side. She has the information and Cheng Xiaoshi is locked out.

When Qiao Ling was assigned as the "Star of Wisdom, to light the way" in the Doudou arc, that's because it's her role in the show overall. Lu Guang certainly isn't going to push forward with healthy communication; he's too committed to his path for that. Cheng Xiaoshi meanwhile doesn't have the information needed to even start a confrontation. Qiao Ling is the only one in the position to lead the way with her knowledge. To provide the route to healthy communication once more.

She is the catalyst.

#ikik catalysts speed up reactions (not cause them) and are used up in the process so pls don't take this metaphor literally #link click #shiguang daili ren #shiguang daili ren spoilers #also my bolding is so eclectic but I tried to just go for the parts that were most important to what I was trying to say #also sorry im too lazy to make this more screenshotty so it's just full on words without many images to break it up #hopefully the formatting helps a tad but yeah sorry

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ge · 2 months

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okechukwu nzelu, here again now / hua xi, the past still needs me / @.robertszombie / ocean vuong, time is a mother / naomi shihab nye, fuel: poems; hidden / kaveh akbar, thirstiness is not equal division / david foster wallace / unknown

#OBLIGATORY WEB WEAVE sorry guys i couldnt wait for the anime..shitty gifs from the amv osts instead #rotmhs #return of the blossoming blade #return of the mount hua sect #rotbb #화산귀환 #web weaving #web weave #poetry #a little on the nose but watever.. too lazy to fix the formatting or find other excerpts

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hakusins · 2 months

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cw // scars, slight nudity

i have a soft spot for him ;;w;;; he's so cute

#dol black wolf #black wolf the alpha #degrees of lewdity #dol pc #black wolf x pc #fan art #art #mine #my fan art #my art #i wanted to play with a new brush ;;w;;;#and i decided to doodle HIM!!!!#he's super cute and i rlly rlly love him BHJRHBFBJERF #actually wish there was pregnancy content with him GRRR *shakes jail bars*#also very rough comic format #just too lazy to make the usual format #wondering to myself if i should make the scars nastier looking...#cause right now they look pretty....#eri the orphan

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pileofwords · 2 years

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it's a date

pairing: jeonghan x reader length: 1.3k genre: fluff (i promise!!) warnings: mild language, vague mentions of hospitals + jeonghan's elbow injury summary: A text from your best friend telling you that your boyfriend was in the hospital was definitely not what you wanted to see when you woke up at three in the morning.

shubot (02:34): hey shubot (02:34): jeonghan's in the hospital shubot (02:35): he told me not to tell you but since when have i listened to him about that lol

yn (03:12): shua what the fuck do you mean jeonghan's in the hospital yn (03:13): what's wrong yn (03:13): is he sick yn (03:13): wait, did he get hurt at filming yn (03:14): how serious is this, how freaked out do i need to be bc i am very freaked out yn (03:25): answer!! your!! phone!!!!!!!!!!!!! yn (03:28): shua istg i know you're awake rn

shubot (03:36): i was showering!!

yn (03:37): i WaS sHoWeRiNg BOI DO NOT JUST TEXT ME THAT MY BOYFRIEND IS IN THE HOSPITAL AND THEN GO SHOWER

shubot (03:38): i thought you'd be asleep :/

yn (03:38): answer my questions joshua hong!!!

shubot (03:39): i mean it's not not-serious but it's not life threatening shubot (03:40): it's his elbow, he went in earlier bc the pain got worse and ended up having to have surgery shubot (03:40): he’ll have to wear a cast or brace or something for a few months probably shubot (03:41): he's not dying or anything

yn (03:42): i was about to drive to the dorms rn and smack you i swear yn (03:42): literally holding my car keys

shubot (03:43): i'll give you his hospital room # if you don't slap me

yn (03:44): fine yn (03:44): gimmie

shubot (03:44): score

–

You were smart enough to not show up at the hospital at four in the morning, and you had to go into the office for at least a couple hours to wrap up some projects before taking the rest of the day off, but you were outside of Jeonghan’s hospital suite by noon.

You knocked once but didn’t bother waiting for a response before slipping into the room, only to immediately be met with a loud groan; you laughed, flopping unceremoniously in the chair next to Jeonghan’s bed.

“I told them all not to tell you until I was discharged, I didn’t want you to worry about it, who snitched?”

“Who do you think?”

“I’m gonna kill Joshua.”

“Babe, I’ve been friends with Shua since we were two, he was always gonna tell me. He can’t help it.”

Jeonghan pouted, reaching over with his good hand to grab yours. “But I didn’t want you to worry. It wasn’t a big deal.”

You wrinkled up your nose playfully, turning your hand over in his so you could wind your fingers together. “I would have worried a lot less if you’d told me instead of Shua ominously texting me at three in the morning that you were in the hospital. With absolutely zero context! No explanation! Imagine waking up in the middle of the night and getting that message.”

Jeonghan winced. "Sorry."

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Hey, you're alive and I didn't have a heart attack, so we're all good."

"Our standards for being good are pretty low if that's the bar we've gotta hit," Jeonghan remarked dryly, but you could hear the smile in his voice.

You shrugged as he brought your connected hands to his face, pressing his lips against the back of your hand and holding there for a second. "As long as we're fine, I'm fine," you said, and you meant it. "You're my rock. I can get through anything with you."

"Doljjong is my rock," Jeonghan said immediately, and his laugh filled the room as you deadpanned, only to be joined by yours a moment later. His laughter was infectious; you could never stay mad at him for long.

"Do I at least get to be your second choice rock?"

He clicked his tongue. "I'd pick you over Doljjong any day."

"You'd pick me over your own son?" You gasped dramatically, hand over your heart as you feigned shock.

Jeonghan winked. "Just don't tell him that."

And you dissolved into giggles again, Jeonghan watching you with the fondest smile on his face, feeling very proud that he was the only one who could make you laugh like that.

Once you'd calmed down, you yawned, checking your phone for the time. "When are you getting discharged?"

Jeonghan pouted at his cast. "Not sure. My physical therapist is supposed to come by sometime between four and five, I think, to go over some stuff and then I can get discharged after that as long as everything looks okay. When do you have to go back to work?"

"I don't," you said cheerfully, quietly delighted at the way his eyes, sparkling hopefully, darted over to you. "Took the rest of the day off because I was worried about my poor hospitalized boyfriend. Thought I might take him out to dinner and everything for being sooooo brave.”

Jeonghan was smiling so hard at the thought of getting to spend the whole day with you that he couldn’t even be mad at your teasing. Your dates had been quick ones for the last few months, just coffee or a meal between breaks or short naps at your place – his busy schedule and yours had prevented any more than that and, though you texted and called all the time, he missed you.

So you spent the afternoon talking, Jeonghan telling you all the funny stories about his members that he hadn’t yet, you catching him up on the latest office gossip, you both making suggestions and lighthearted plans for the next time he had a break.

A little after four, when there was a momentary lull in your conversation, you stretched your arms over your head and moved to get up; Jeonghan grabbed the side of your shirt.

“Where’re you going?”

You rolled your eyes at the note of disappointment in his voice, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Your physical therapist is coming, remember?” His lips slipped into a silent ‘O’ and you smiled fondly. “I’m just going to wait in the cafe downstairs until you’re done. I probably shouldn’t be here while they’re going through everything with you.”

“Why not? I want–”

“You don’t want me here because then I’ll know what you’re supposed to be doing and not doing and I’ll just end up nagging you even more every single time we talk.”

“Good point.”

You laughed, grabbing your bag. “Text me when you’re done, okay?”

“Yeah. Babe?”

You paused in the doorway, looking back at him with a questioning hum.

“Love you.”

A smile blossomed over your face. “Always. Love you back.”

“Always,” he repeated and he grinned, flopping back against his pillows as you disappeared out of the room.

–

hanniehae (16:37): i’m gonna kill you

shubot (16:38): no you’re not ♡ shubot (16:38): you know you wanted yn to come visit you ♡

hanniehae (16:39): yeah thanks or whatever

yn (16:40): you know you’re texting the group chat right?

hanniehae (16:41): yeah that was on purpose hanniehae (16:41): send him that pic of us hanniehae (16:42): make him feel all sad and lonely for being the single friend, that’s part of his punishment

shubot (16:44): but i’m not sad or lonely shubot (16:44): or the single friend 😉🤪

hanniehae (16:45): WHAT

yn (16:45): WHAT

hanniehae (16:46): SINCE WHEN

yn (16:46): AND WHO

hanniehae (16:47): WHEN DID YOU START KEEPING SECRETS FROM US

yn (16:48): gonna kick him out of the best friend chat fr wtf yn (16:53): … yn (16:58): JOSHUA JISOO HONG yn (16:58): STOP DROPPING BOMBS IN CHAT AND THEN DISAPPEARING yn (16:59): omfg

hanniehae (17:00): we still get to be the cute couple though, right 🥺

yn (17:01): ofc we are 💗 yn (17:02): now stop texting and pay attention to your physical therapist so we can go get dinner, i’m hungry

hanniehae (17:03): only if you beat up shua for me after 💗

yn (17:04): it’s a date 💗

#caratwritersclub #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #seventeen scenarios #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan imagines #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan #seventeen #95z for my first three fics on this blog! 🎉#also they all somehow ended up being around 1.2k #that was not on purpose lol i honestly don’t know how that happened #this is like half smau but without the fun picture formatting bc i’m too lazy to figure out how to do that l o l

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