#(inescapable mental presence)

[frodo-a-gogo]

"...Goddamnit."

#disco elysium #jean vicquemare #harry du bois #(inescapable mental presence) #the comic im drawing and updating piecemeal on twitter is v fun #comics #kinda #jean (frenchly): “goddamnit” #of its not clear here he thru the phone at the wall and dented it :>(

[pearlsinmyhair]

kinktober day one - “use me”

miguel ohara

miguel is stressed by nature and by profession, and the man is stubborn. he refuses to address his own mental and physical state, no matter the amount of concern. but how can he resist you, a pretty little thing, so eager to help him?

content: nsfw (duh). dirty talk. use of ‘slut.’ dom/sub dynamics. sex on desk. oral (fem!receiving). unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids.) creampie. cum eating. spanking. clit slapping.

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miguel was stressed. intensely, inescapably, and completely. every nerve was fried, and his patience had gone down the drain a few hours ago.

he knew how he must look to you; an animal, with his hair a mess from running his hands through it, his eyes bloodshot from staring at screens for far too long, his body trembling slightly from the sheer amount of caffeine he’s consumed.

and yet you offered-

“what?” he questioned, looking at you over one hunched shoulder.

“use me.” you reiterated.

you leaned against the desk opposite him, the one without any keyboards or screens.

how were you so damn casual about it? with your relaxed shoulders and easy presence, your sweatpants low on your hips and your hair carelessly styled. you looked at him like you just asked them out to lunch, not about this.

“and how exactly” he dared to ask, turning to face you and mirror your posture. “would i use you?”

and your smile was slow, spreading across your face like you knew you had him. and you did, especially as you lifted yourself to sit on the dark surface that you leaned on.

“you’re stressed.” you said as he took a step closer. “and you refuse to sleep, or eat, or relax. you won’t find an outlet, no matter how much everyone begs you to. so…”

his hands found the soft flesh of your thighs, allowing his claws to just barely puncture the fabric of your sweatpants to prick at your skin. if he hadn’t taken rapture earlier, he wouldn’t have caught the soft hitch of your breath as his palms settled against your legs.

“…use me.”

he allowed himself to lean down to you, dragging his nose along your jawline. you tilted your head for him, and he hummed his approval. “this isn’t going to be soft, cariño.” he murmured, and he felt you exhale against his ear. “if you want me to let off steam, i’m going to do it without restraint.”

his canines dragged along the smooth skin of your throat, and goosebumps rose along your body.

“are you ready for that?”

one hour less and he would have turned you away with a scoff and a glare. one hour less and he would have fired you on the spot.

but like miguel said before, he was stressed.

he watched as your hands gripped there edge of the table, and he was close enough to count each heartbeat before you replied.

“of course.”

the sound that came from his throat was primal, and his hands moved to your hips to hold you still as his mouth pressed to yours. you let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, and he gripped you harder.

if he hadn’t been shaking, he would have put more effort into his foreplay. but the sounds you were making as his teeth nipped at your collarbone sent liquid heat to the pit of his stomach, and he could feel the warmth between your legs as he pressed against you.

he found the divot between your ass and the back of your thighs and tugged you forward, and your feet thumped against the floor as you skipped off the desk. miguel slipped his hands down against your hips, pulling your sweatpants down with them. he groaned at the sight of your clothed sex, nearly shivering as he sunk to his knees and caught sight of a small wet spot.

“what are you-“ you managed before he ripped your panties down your legs and licked a line from your dripping entrance to your clit, closed his lips around the bundle of nerves, and sucked.

your moan was broken and pitchy, hands flying from the edge of the desk to his hair as you bucked into his mouth, already trembling from the stimulation.

miguel’s hand delivered a sharp smack to your ass when you bucked again, and you gasped and jumped against him. he pulled away slowly, lapping at your clit as he tipped his head back to look up at you.

“shouldn’t i be sucking you off?” you asked, voice breathy as he mouthed at your inner thigh before sucking a hickey into it. your hands dropped from his hair to his shoulders, but a glare from him sent your fingers back to curling into the strands.

“you asked me to use you, correct?” he said as he rested his chin right below your belly button. “so i’ll use you how i want, and you’ll take it until it’s too much.” he smacked your butt again, and you nodded.

he rested his hands against the back of your thighs, slowly pulling you close once more. “safe word?” he uttered, his breath fanning against your wet pussy.

“mercy.”

miguel pulled back with a sharp look. “you think you’re funny?” he said after a second of disbelief.

and you smirked down at him, eyeing him cockily from above. “oh, i think i’m hilarious.”

it was all it took for him to shove you forward and suck at your clit again, nipping it with his sharp canines as he learned your reactions. he lapped your release like a man devastated with thirst when you finally came, and he pushed you back up onto the desk as he rose.

“you okay?” he asked as he circled your entrance with his pointer finger, and you nodded. he slapped your cunt, earning a yelp. “words, cariño.”

“yes. yes, i’m okay, just put it in-“

he slipped his finger into you with ease, and you whined as he found your g-spot, stroking it as he pushed inside of you slowly. the first finger was easy, but he met some resistance with the second.

“have you done this before?” he asked, watching your expressions carefully. your eyes darted up from where his fingers disappeared inside of you to his face. “i haven’t in a while. it’s just been my fingers for the past…year?” you managed through gasps as his thumb worked slow circles against your clit.

he smirked. no wonder you were on the edge just with his fingers, miguel thought as he studied your hands. you hadn’t had something bigger than your digits for a while.

when he judged you properly prepped, he pulled you closer, rubbing the length of his dick along your pussy to gather your slick. lyla had reverted down to her basic mechanics, refusing to even make herself known in this situation. instead, the lower part of his suit disappeared without so much as a word from him.

the tip passed without resistance, but you cling after the first few inches. miguel pressed his hands to your lower back, pulling you to him as your nails dug into his back. you hid your face in his shoulder as he bottomed out, and he sat there until you managed a soft “ready.”

miguel had promised no restraint. and he never went back on his promises.

his thrusts were hard and bruising, the slap of skin on skin harsh in the quiet of his cavernous office. but the moans and cries from your mouth reassured him, and he found your second orgasm quick.

miguel pulled out and flipped you around, pressing your chest against the cold metal as he bit down on your shoulder.

“you like that?” he groaned against your back as he spanked you. “taking me so well, little slut. being such a good little stress reliever.”

you babbled, hands blindly gripping for purchase along the desk. miguel grabbed your wrists and held them at your lower back, ramming into you harder.

“fuck, yes, right there-“ you gasped, and he sped up as your cunt clenched around him.

one of his hands reached around your front to grab at your throat, pulling you up so that your back pressed against his chest.

you screamed at the new angle, walls spasming as the tip of his dick pushed against your cervix. he rested his chin over your shoulder as the pressure in both your cores finally burst, and he came deep inside of you.

he sat there for a few moments, allowing both your breaths to even out as you came down from the high of your orgasms.

miguel pulled out of you, his cum dripping down your legs as you both slid down to the floor.

“you okay?” he murmured, not for the second time though your little rendezvous.

“fantastic.” you hummed as he pressed his mouth to your shoulder. you exhaled shakily as his thumb gathered up the line of release down your inner thigh, bringing it to your mouth.

you rested your head back against his chest, fluttering your tear-clumped lashes at him as you sucked his cum off his finger.

oh, he thought as he pressed a kiss to your lips, was he going to enjoy using you.

his little coworker, his slut on call, his pretty little stress reliever.

this was going to be fun.

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taglist: @messylustt @cultrise @ya-boi-v @rainbowsocks @belladonna-is-alive @deobipabooo @m4dyy @bobtheoriginal-blog @huyyyyyyyt @sillygardeneggperson @jakelockleysdoll

#kinktober 2023 #—pearls kinktober #@kinktober #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara x reader smut #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara x reader

[elysiumania]

title: when the moon descends

pairing(s): jing yuan, reader

characters: jing yuan, reader, fu xuan, yanqing

word count: 4.4k

synopsis: in the midst of his daily routine, jing yuan finds solace and delight in the presence of a certain individual who never fails to brighten his morning.

As the first rays of the sun creep into his chambers like tendrils of light, Jing Yuan feels as if he's being beckoned by a siren's call to stay in the comfort of his bed. The weight of his responsibilities as the Luofu General bears down upon his chest, compelling him to evade the challenges of the forthcoming day. However, he understands that yielding to such temptation is not an option, for the affairs of the Xianzhou Luofu demands his undivided attention and his subordinates depend on him to steer them through the tumultuous waters. So, with great effort, Jing Yuan shakes off the heavy cloak of lethargy and begins his day.

Jing Yuan acknowledges that there have been instances in which he has entrusted some of his obligations to the Master Diviner, Fu Xuan. But he knows that he can't rely solely on her, for there are still other pressing matters that require his attention. Though discreetly. 

It's like a delicate balance, trying to delegate tasks to others while also shouldering his own share of responsibilities. Despite the weight that comes with it, Jing Yuan knows that it's all part of being a leader—the ability to juggle multiple tasks and make the tough decisions that can impact the lives of many.

Although Jing Yuan is tempted to stay in bed all day, the sheer amount of paperwork on his office desk is urging him to begin his day. It is imperative that he completes those towering documents as soon as possible, not only to free up his leisure time, but also because they contain crucial information that requires his attention. The requests and reports from various commissions must be addressed promptly by the General. 

Who knows, maybe amongst these papers lies something that will pique his interest and provide a welcome distraction from his monotonous routine.

Jing Yuan starts his day with a heavy heart, knowing that his responsibilities as a General would be demanding, but he continues to walk with a purpose. 

As he traverses the bustling streets of Luofu, people pay their respects to him, bowing in reverence to his position. His subordinates, with their eyes locked on their tasks, take a moment to acknowledge their General's presence and extend their greetings. The aura around him demands respect and deference, marking him as a man of great authority and responsibility.

To Jing Yuan, his routine was as steady as the flow of the river, never faltering or swaying. The daily tasks and responsibilities that came with his position were second nature to him, like a well-oiled machine that worked without a hitch. The only thing that could disrupt the serene pattern of his life was a crisis that threatened the peace and stability of Xianzhou Luofu. In such dire circumstances, Jing Yuan would act with urgency, convening a meeting of the commission heads to ensure the safety of the people he swore to protect.

As he enters his office, Jing Yuan's eyes are immediately drawn to the pile of papers resting atop his desk, a sight that never fails to elicit a deep sigh of weariness from the Xianzhou General. It is a task that he cannot avoid, no matter how much he wishes to do so, an inescapable responsibility that weighs heavily on the shoulders of the wise and valiant leader of Luofu. 

A defeated scoff escapes his lips as he trudges towards his desk, mentally preparing himself for the monotonous task that has become his daily routine.

Jing Yuan peruses through the stack of papers, carefully analyzing each document before signing off on the ones he approves of, he separates them into two piles–one for those that require immediate attention, and the other for those that need further work. 

As Jing Yuan's eyes dart back and forth across the pages, a sudden knock at his door jolts him out of his concentration like a bolt of lightning. And then, he hears the sound of a voice that is as soothing and sweet as honey, a voice that always makes his heart skip a beat with anticipation. In an instant, his eyes light up like stars in the sky, sparkling with excitement at the prospect of seeing the owner of that enchanting voice.

Because it is none other than his most favorite being. (Name).

Jing Yuan grants you permission to enter, his gaze fixated on the door as he waits for your arrival with the eagerness of a child anticipating their turn on the playground. When the door creaks open, his eyes are immediately drawn to your radiant face, despite the pile of documents clutched in your arms. The General pays no attention to the paperwork, his entire focus directed solely at the sight of your smile directed towards him. To him, nothing else holds as much importance as you, his beloved partner, who never fails to bring a smile to his face and ease his worries. 

"Good morning, General," you address with a courteous bow, paying respect to the esteemed leader of Luofu.

The General gazes at you with his customary smile, despite having previously expressed his desire for you to address him by name in private. Yet, you persist with your habit of addressing him with formality, even in the privacy of his office.

Jing Yuan comprehends your predicament fully. Your clandestine affair is something that must remain a secret from the rest of the Xianzhou, and given that you are under his command, he acknowledges the importance of maintaining a professional demeanor.

At first, Jing Yuan was puzzled as to why you wanted your relationship with him to be kept under wraps, but after learning that you were not yet prepared to reveal your relationship to the natives of Xianzhou Luofu, he acquiesces to your request. Your thoughts and emotions matter to him, and he respects your decision. He'll patiently wait for the day when you feel comfortable enough to share your romance with everyone.

Jing Yuan understands the gravity of the situation, and he doesn't want to put any undue pressure on you. He knows that if your relationship is made public, it will draw the attention of many, and it will become a hot topic of discussion amongst the citizens. 

Being the honorable and respectable General of Xianzhou Luofu, he is aware that his actions are under constant scrutiny, and any news of his personal life could easily become tomorrow's headline. 

Therefore, he doesn't want to risk ruining the comforting and peaceful company he already had with you. No.

Being with you brings Jing Yuan a sense of serenity that he seldom experiences amidst the chaos of his duties as a general. You are his sanctuary, a tranquil harbor where he can dock his restless heart. Listening to your voice and watching the subtle movements of your lips as you speak is akin to watching a mesmerizing dance. Your eyes, like two shining stars, holding his gaze in a trance, and he finds himself lost in the vastness of their beauty. In your company, he is content to forget the world and the worries that come with it.

Despite his reputation for being a quick dozer, Jing Yuan never wants to miss a moment of being with you and hearing about your day. He knows that being in your company is a rare and precious indulgence, like savoring a delectable treat that is too fleeting and too limited. 

Although he's constrained by the secrecy of your relationship, Jing Yuan remains hopeful for a time when he can freely spend his days with you without fear of being exposed. He yearns for the day when he can finally engage in all the activities he's been dreaming of without any reservations. He's optimistic that this day will come, and until then, he will cherish every moment he gets to spend with you in private, relishing the comfort and safety that your company provides.

The prospect of that day fills him with immense anticipation, and he longs for it to arrive.

“Here are the reports of the Sky-Faring commission, General.” You hand over the reports to Jing Yuan, not daring to meet his intense gaze. 

His amber eyes seem to penetrate through your very being, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. It's as if he's peering into the depths of your soul, examining every thought and emotion. You can't help but feel uneasy under his watchful stare. After all, it's Jing Yuan, the highly respected General of the Luofu Cloud Knights, and his imposing presence is impossible to ignore. Despite being his secret lover, you still feel conscious of your every move and appearance in his presence.

“(Name), come here,” Jing Yuan utters in a gentle tone, but the authoritative edge in his voice is unmistakable.

At the sound of Jing Yuan's voice, you are inexorably pulled towards him like a moth to a flame. The gentle curve of his lips and the tender warmth in his amber gaze resonate with you, enveloping you in a comforting cocoon of affection. It's almost as though he has woven a spell that ensnares your every movement, compelling you to draw near to him with a sense of captivation and awe. His commanding presence is both palpable and irresistible, and you find yourself drawn to him without any conscious effort.

You glide over to Jing Yuan, and it prompts him to swivel his body to face you. He's perched on his chair, and as he gazes up at you, you catch his amber eyes with your own. 

Upon locking gazes with you, Jing Yuan experiences a surge of emotions that swiftly courses through his being, evoking the rapid flutters of a hummingbird's wings in his chest. He finds himself captivated by the sight of you, who exudes an aura of luminosity and grace that enraptured his senses. Even in the absence of the sun's warmth, you shine like a celestial body, illuminating his world and imbuing it with a sense of wonder and admiration. As he continues to gaze upon you, his affection for you only grows stronger, as he is powerless to resist the alluring force of your magnetic pull.

In his subliminal state, he extends his hand to grasp your hands in his sizable ones, sensing the heat emanating from your palms, and he relishes the sensation of it.

In this very moment, as Jing Yuan finally takes hold of your hands, he begins to caress your knuckles with his thumbs in the most gentle and soothing way possible, treating them as if they were a delicate and fragile crystal that he is afraid of damaging. As he continues to rub, his fingers slide effortlessly in between yours, elegantly interlacing and entwining them together. The unexpected tenderness of his touch causes a warm blush to spread across your cheeks, taking you by surprise, yet you remain motionless, as if tamed by his presence. Although he can feel the faint tremble in your hands, he is grateful that you do not pull away, and he continues to hold onto you, cherishing this rare moment of intimacy.

As he tried to contain his amusement, a small, almost imperceptible chuckle escaped from Jing Yuan's lips, betraying his attempt at composure. 

Jing Yuan couldn't resist the urge to tease you a bit and asked, "Are you feeling nervous?" 

He felt a subtle tremor in your hand, signaling him that you were indeed feeling apprehensive. The sight of your sudden reaction elicited a sense of amusement from within him, causing the corners of his lips to stretch into a small, yet visible grin. However, his amusement was short-lived, for he soon sensed that you had regained your composure and settled into a state of calmness.

"General, I suggest you should release me. It would not be ideal for us to be seen in this manner," you calmly remind, conscious of the potential consequences of being caught in such a compromising position. However, you are unable to deceive the sharp eyes of Jing Yuan, who can sense the underlying emotions beneath your composed exterior.

"Let them see it." You became aware of Jing Yuan's remark, and let out a soft gasp at his boldness. 

Even though he had previously expressed his intention to honor your wishes and wait for you, he spoke truthfully at that moment. It was of no consequence to him if anyone were to witness your intimate exchange, as he desired for everyone to acknowledge that you were solely his.

"General—"

"Jing Yuan," he interjects, longing for the sound of his name on your lips.

"But we're—" again with him interrupting you.

"I have but one desire, (Name), and that is to hear you speak my name," Jing Yuan implores with a subtle plea, his grip on your hands tight as he urges you to comply with his request. His eyes seem to gleam under the sun's rays, almost as if they were hypnotic, coaxing you to surrender to him.

Your lips tighten into a firm line, unwilling to yield to Jing Yuan's indolence yet determined nature. It's one of his many qualities that leaves you with no choice but to relent and give in to his wishes.

Therefore, you relinquish, your shoulders dropping in resignation as you release a defeated sigh.

"Jing Yuan," you utter, finally giving in to his request. He couldn't hide his delight upon hearing his name from your lips. Even if it may seem insignificant to others, it means the world to the General, enough to brighten his mood.

"Very well," he replies with a subtle nod. "I earnestly request that you continue to address me by my name when we are in private. It's not desirable for me to feel a sense of separation from you due to our current circumstances. Do you comprehend my sentiments, (Name)?"

A smile graces Jing Yuan's face as his gaze lingers on you, and you take a brief moment to observe him before answering.

"I understand, but we must stay vigilant. There are prying eyes everywhere you go. I do not wish to bring any more difficulties upon you," you admit bashfully, averting your eyes from his.

Jing Yuan squeezes his grip on you and speaks in a soft tone, "Look at me, (Name)." He waits until he has your full attention. "I want you to understand that if it concerns you, it is not a burden to me. You hold great significance in my life, and I assure you that any inconvenience you may cause is of no concern. In fact, I would be delighted if you require my assistance.”

Jing Yuan's voice is gentle, reminiscent of the gentle caress of fluffy clouds on a bright summer day. He doesn't spell it out, but you can tell he's trying to assuage your worries in his own unique way. His words were already indicative of his intent, and although you have conflicting emotions, they dissipated when Jing Yuan delivered his heartfelt speech.

Your countenance brightens up as you acknowledge Jing Yuan's words with a smile that reaches your eyes, revealing the depth of your gratitude towards him. The General doesn't miss the tenderness in your look, and it stirs a fluttering sensation in his chest that he can't ignore. In response, he mirrors your expression of fondness, beaming with an equal measure of warmth and affection.

Jing Yuan yields to the irresistible impulse to draw you closer, settling you onto his lap, which catches you by surprise and causes your heart to race uncontrollably.

He envelops you in his embrace, his arms delicately encircling your waist, and he presses his nose into your hair, savoring the captivating fragrance of your shampoo that has grown to be his familiar fixation. It is a scent that he will always connect with you, a fragrance that will remain etched in his memory.

"Jing Yuan," you stutter, aware of the blush that suffuses your cheeks from both embarrassment and your close proximity. "Your actions could potentially expose us to being caught by someone."

Jing Yuan is acutely aware of your embarrassment, even without visually confirming it. Despite having shared moments of intimacy in private settings, you still appear unaccustomed to his unpredictable yet affectionate gestures. He finds it perplexing that you are still taken aback, given the likelihood of more instances like this in the future.

He contemplates whether he should demonstrate more of these affectionate actions in the hopes that you'll become more accustomed to such intimacy.

"I have already made myself clear, have I not? Let them see," he declares, as he maintains his embrace and presses his face onto your head. His unwavering action conveys his steadfast resolve to keep you close, unmindful of any prying eyes or onlookers that may come.

“You’re being overbearing, Jing Yuan.” You deliver the comment with a hint of amusement, making him laugh knowing full well that he can sense your eyes rolling in exasperation.

You feel his arms tightening around you, his hold on you growing firmer. "Worry not, no one may enter my office without my permission," he reassures you, though he quickly follows up with a caveat. "With the exception of my retainer, Yanqing, I'm afraid."

You let out a sigh and attempt to shift your position to release yourself from Jing Yuan's hold. Unfortunately, his embrace on you only grows stronger, making it impossible for you to escape his grasp.

Your tone is assertive as you convey your concerns to Jing Yuan. "I suggest it would be appropriate if you release me now. Yanqing could walk in and catch us in this position. Furthermore, Lady Yukong has a meeting scheduled shortly, and my attendance is necessary," you state, underscoring the importance of the matter.

Jing Yuan contemplates whether he should accede to your request or not. However, he comprehends that it would not be prudent to cause you any vexation on account of his own indulgence, especially given that you both have obligations to attend to. Despite the limited time you share, he remains convinced that there will be future opportunities where he can have you as he desires.

"Would it be permissible to remain in this embrace for a mere five minutes?" Jing Yuan inquires, his tone low but exhibiting a gentle and almost imploring quality.

When Jing Yuan receives a nod of your head in response, a smile spreads across his face. He holds onto you tightly, savoring every moment he has left to spend with you. He takes comfort in knowing that you will see each other again later.

As the minutes ticked by, Jing Yuan adhered to his promise and reluctantly let go of you, the loss of your warmth and proximity leaving an ache in his chest. You stood up swiftly, smoothing out your attire and trying to regain your composure. Jing Yuan watched you intently, taking in every detail of your movement and memorizing the way you looked in that moment. As you turned to face him, he remained silent, his gaze fixed solely on you.

With a sense of remorse and a weight on your heart, you implore Jing Yuan. "I know our situation is hard, but please bear it for a little longer."

You are aware that he has no reservations about disclosing your relationship, but you are hesitant due to the potential negative ramifications that it may bring. The prospect of being scrutinized and shunned by others because of your association with the General preoccupies your thoughts and causes you to be ill-equipped to handle the aftermath of a public announcement.

Jing Yuan is not oblivious to your troubled expression as he observes you closely. The way you look down at your feet and clench your fists, he already knows what is weighing on your mind. It is the same expression you wear whenever your secretive relationship becomes a topic of discussion. He truly understands your worries and concerns. Therefore, the only recourse Jing Yuan can offer to alleviate your distress is to offer comfort and assurance. He assures you that he does not object to waiting until such time that you are ready to divulge your relationship to the public, and that he will be there for you every step of the way. In his own inimitable way, he consoles you until your concerns are dispelled. Because that is the only thing he can do for you at this moment.

"(Name)." Jing Yuan once again calls your name and it didn't take him a second to gain your heed. "Will you lean in?"

You were confused by Jing Yuan's sudden request, but without hesitation, you leaned in towards him. Sensing his hand on the back of your head, you felt a rush of emotions. As he pulled you closer to him, your eyes widened in anticipation of what was to come. Jing Yuan's lips landed gently on top of your head, eliciting a tingly sensation that traveled down to your fingertips and stirred butterflies in your stomach. The contact of his lips on your head lingered for a moment briefly before he drew away. His lips curved into a smile as he gazed at your blushing cheeks and slightly parted lips as you looked into each other’s eyes.

Jing Yuan was greatly amused by your reaction, which was one of the many reasons why he took pleasure in teasing you. Your reactions were absolutely priceless, and he simply couldn't get enough of them. It only served to fuel his desire to tease you even further whenever he saw you react in such a way.

Indeed, he is satisfied.

"It would be best if you left now," he suggested, his hand tenderly resting on your head as he gave it a reassuring pat. "I understand that you have other pressing matters to attend to, and I wouldn't want to keep you from them," he explained, his eyes reflecting a blend of melancholy and solicitude. "However, please know that should you ever require any assistance, my door will always be open to you," he offered, his tone composed and reassuring.

As you blink, you snap out of your stupor and quickly straighten your posture. The blush on your face remains, a lingering effect of the surprise that Jing Yuan had given you. It was astounding how effortlessly he could catch you off guard, leaving you constantly on edge, unsure of what he might do next.

He is indeed a mysterious man. 

"Thank you, Jing Yuan. I appreciate your kind offer," you reply, clearing your throat in an attempt to compose yourself. "I shall keep that in mind. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must take my leave."

You cast a quick glance at Jing Yuan, and your eyes catch him gazing at you with such tenderness that it leaves you feeling warm and fuzzy inside. It was a look that he always gave you, even from afar, and it never failed to make your heart melt.

Jing Yuan observes you quietly as you collect yourself to leave his room. He feels a sense of disappointment knowing that you will soon be gone and that he will be left alone in his spacious office. However, he understands the urgency of your matters with the Sky-Faring commission and would not want to be the cause of your tardiness to a meeting that is soon to be held. It would be unwise of him to delay you, even if he wished otherwise.

As Jing Yuan is lost in thought, he suddenly feels a cool sensation on his forehead, interrupting his musings. He soon realizes that you had surprised him with a kiss on the forehead without any prior warning, making his body stiffen unwillingly.

Jing Yuan was astonished yet pleased by your unexpected display of affection. He had not anticipated such a gesture, but it was one that he valued greatly. His body soon relaxes and the warmth in his heart swelled as he closed his eyes, basking in the moment and enjoying the sensation of your touch.

It was a moment that he wished could last indefinitely.

However, the moment of intimacy between you and Jing Yuan came to an end as you pulled away from him. He couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment as the warmth and tenderness he felt instantly dissipated. Jing Yuan adjusted his posture, backing away slightly as he looked at you. He was a bit surprised by the intensity of your gaze, which conveyed a deep admiration and affection that was reserved only for him. This was a look that had the power to make him feel weak, but he always put up a tough front and never revealed his vulnerability to you. 

If only you are aware how much you affected him this much. Will you still be able to grant him more, or minimize because of embarrassment? He does not know. But he hopes it will be the former.

"I will take my leave now as I may be late," you say in a hurry. Jing Yuan simply waves a dismissive hand, giving you permission to attend to your duties.

"Good luck with your work," he said with a smile, and you nodded in response.

As you turn to leave Jing Yuan's office, you pause and take one last glance at Jing Yuan, who's comfortably sitting in his seat as he watches you.

You lick your lips and convey the words that you wanted to say. "I'll see you later."

With a final smile, you exit the room and make your way towards the Helm Master who was waiting for you. 

Once you are no longer in his office, Jing Yuan couldn't help but smile as he reflected on the brief encounter you had just shared. The sensation of your lips on his forehead is still palpable, like a vivid painting on a canvas. The warmth of your touch lingers, leaving an indelible impression on his skin. 

The encounter bestowed upon Jing Yuan gives him a profound sense of contentment and exhilaration, stirring within him a delightful mixture of emotions. The satisfaction he derived from that fleeting interaction proved to be truly intoxicating, leaving him with an insatiable yearning for more. His craving persisted, unquenched by the mere taste of that moment.

Jing Yuan redirects his focus to the documents before him, delicately resting his chin on his palm. The faint smirk that creeps his face persists as though it was a lasting imprint on his features.

How can he not be pleased when his morning was a very welcoming indulgence he had? It indeed gave him the satisfaction that he needs.

If you consistently become the first person he encounters and shower him with your affection every time the moon descends, his mornings will no longer be laden with dreariness as they were originally destined to be.

Jing Yuan will perpetually welcome anything and everything as long as it involves you.

#jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan x you #jing yuan fanfic

[simp4wom3n]

I Miss Us

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Reader

Requested: Yes/No ~ request

Summary: After working together tore you relationship apart, a kiss scene between your two characters revived a lot of buried feelings - both good and bad. ~ Word Count: 3.576k ~ Warnings: Angsttt + Swearing

A/N: I'M BACK B*TCHESSS!! first fic back after being shadow banned and good lord I have missed writing and posting stuff for my fellow simps. But it feels amazing to be back and I hope you enjoy <3

The moment you received the phone call informing you that you would be playing Jenna's love interest in a new film was easily one of the best days of your life. Is that a little sad? maybe, but at the end of the day, you would do anything to spend more time with your girlfriend. You thought that being able to spend the time together you typically spent apart would be a blessing, something that would bring you closer.

Sadly, however, that didn't seem to be the case.

Ever since you had started dating, you became each others rocks - the shoulder to cry on and the arms to fall into after a long and hard day on set. But what you didn't know, was what either of you would do without that rock? What would you do without your favourite person sat at home, awaiting the other with open arms and a warm smile. What would happen when you both needed that support yet neither of you were capable of providing it.

Sadly, without said support, your relationship began to crumble.

Despite playing Jenna's love interest in the film, your two characters spent quite a lot of time apart, meaning you had barely seen her on set today. You were currently filming scenes for a point in the plot where her character is ignoring yours - painfully reflective of your current situation.

What you thought would be a dream has turned into somewhat of an inescapable nightmare.

Unlike what the greater audience thinks, being an actor is an incredibly draining job. With a typical day on set being over 10 hours, especially as a main character, the mental and physical exhaustion was unlike any other. With both you and Jenna being constantly exhausted, the time you spent together dwindled and you turned from two loving girlfriends, into two strangers.

It was as if all of your chemistry and love had dissipated.

Where you used to spend your free time on set together, you both now spent it alone, most likely sleeping or rehearsing a scene, so distracted by exhaustion that the girlfriend shaped void in each others hearts was no longer noticeable.

Your conversations were now emotionless and lasted less than a minute. Your intimacy had flown out the window, now only exchanging a quick smile on set and a short 'Goodnight' before you slept - still in the same bed but with what felt like miles in between.

Today was no different.

The few times you saw Jenna, you exchanged a smile, a small hello, maybe even a few more words before walking in your seperate directions. You had gotten used to it at this point. You were also completely depleted of energy so the idea of maintaining a meaningful conversation wasn't one you fancied either.

Jenna had finally wrapped filming at 11pm, something she too was used to, and made her way home to the apartment you shared with her. Unsure as to whether you were home or not, she walked in trying to make as little noise as possible. Dumping her belongings in the doorway, she sighed as she tried to blink away her exhaustion, wanting nothing more than to head straight to bed.

To her surprise, not only were you home, but you were sat cross legged on the kitchen bench, a steaming cup of tea in your hands. "Oh. Hey." she whispers, slightly startled by your presence. "How was your day?", you glance at her, almost surprised that she was talking to you. You reply with a small "Fine" before you take a sip of your tea, the steam hugging your tired features.

Despite feeling as though her legs would give out any minute in exhaustion, there was a small voice in the back of Jenna's mind that was telling her to stay and talk to you. To take the chance of going back to how you used to be, the chance you had both been ignoring.

"So... how's everything been going?" she questions apprehensively, earning a confused, almost irritated, glance from her girlfriend. You look away from her as you get down from your spot and place your mug in the sink. "I'm going to bed" you answer softly as you head towards your bedroom.

"Seriously?" she scoffs, causing your head to whip around as your eyebrows furrow. "I just want to talk to my girlfriend why is that so hard." Jenna spoke, her words coming out a bit harsher than she had intended. Your mouth opened in slight shock at her tone, "Well I'm sorry. I didn't know going to bed was a crime" you retort, glancing towards your bedroom wanting nothing more than to leave this conversation.

"I just want to talk to you! Instead your avoiding me like the fucking plague!" although what she was saying was true, your pure exhaustion uncharacteristically caused you anger to burst. "Well maybe because I don't want to talk to you!" you yell, Jenna being instantly taken back by your confession. "What do you m-" "I'm just fucking tired ok! Just leave me alone please." you instantly regret your words but it's what you felt in the moment. Where you used to search for her when you were tired, for some reason, now, all you wanted was to be alone.

You swiftly walk towards your bedroom not wanting to look at Jenna, knowing that her expression will probably break your heart. As you settle into bed, Jenna just stands there shocked. Feeling her eyes burn with tears, she sucks in a breath before exhaling slowly and following you.

Your bedroom has never been so quiet. The tension thickened as Jenna entered the dark room and saw your figure curled up on your side of the bed. Sighing again, she moved around the room to get herself ready for bed, the silence deafening.

No goodnights were exchanged.

You both simply slipped into a deep sleep, your minds, unlike your bodies, full of energy and running rampant.

Awoken, rather rudely, by your alarm, you eyes flutter open as you groan. Not only was it 7 in the morning, but you were also flooded with memories of last night, ones which instantly cause you to hide your face with your hands. 'Fuck' you mutter as you sit up, noticing Jenna isn't in the bed with you.

You used to know every last detail of her schedule, when she had to be on set, when she was supposed to wrap. Evidently those details had escaped you over the past few gruelling months as you had no idea where your girlfriend was at this point.

Groggily making your way towards the kitchen, your face drops in realisation as you are suddenly hit with what today is.

The kiss scene.

"Shit" you whisper, dragging it out as the squeeze your eyes shut in frustration. As you continue through the apartment, you notice Jenna near the doorway looking ready to leave. "Hey Jenna. Can we talk?" she immediately straightens, only now aware of your presence as you slowly approach her. "Not now" she blows you off coldly as she continues to grab her stuff, reaching for the door. "I just wanted to say I'm sor-" and she's gone, the door slamming in your face.

You kinda deserved that.

As you walk towards the set where the kiss scene was about to be shot, with your heart pounding through your chest, you attempt to steady your breathing. Your heart beating in your ears as you fidgeted with the rings that adorn your sweaty hands.

Ever since Jenna slammed the door in your face this morning, which you admittedly deserved, she had been running circles around you as you failed to think about anything other than her.

Greeting the director as you enter the set, your eyes glance towards Jenna whose back is facing you, talking to her assistant on the other side of the room. You felt a slight spark of jealously as you forced your eyes away from her and back onto the director, who was now running you through how everything was going to work.

The scene was an incredibly emotional one, sure to pull at the heart strings of the entire audience. Up until this point in the movie, Jenna's character had distanced herself from yours due to her trying to escape her feelings, leaving your character heartbroken and alone as her best-friend completely ignored her. It was in this scene that your character finally confronts Jenna's, leading to their shared confessions and their first kiss.

This was probably the most important scene of the entire film and yet you had never felt so unprepared. Sure, you knew all your lines and all your cues. But as good of an actor as you are, having to act this scene with your girlfriend who you very recently hurt was going to prove to be a definite challenge.

You only hoped you could do it justice.

"Leave me alone" "Not until you tell me what's been going on with you!" your character insists as you follow Jenna into her character's bedroom. "Nothing is going on! I'm fine" "That's bullshit and you know it" grabbing Jenna's arm you spin her around, your eyes locking with hers as you notice the suddenly little space between the two of you.

'Focus y/n' you scolded yourself inwardly as you continued reciting the script, "You have been ignoring me for weeks! and don't even try to deny it... Do you know how shitty it feels to have your best friend avoid you like the plague... I don't understand... what did I do" your eyes brim with tears as you notice Jenna's features soften, an expression you have missed on her.

"I-I don't know what to tell you" Jenna stutters as she avoids eye contact, causing you to gently rest your hands on her cheeks and guide her eyes towards yours - oh how you missed this intimacy. "Tell me what I can do to fix this... to fix us... I miss us" you whisper as you risk a glance towards her lips. "I miss us too".

At her confession, you glance towards her lips again as you unknowingly begin to lean in. With the distance between you slowly closing, your heartbeat pounds in your ears as your tongue subtly travels across your lips, your attention now purely on Jenna's.

As your noses brush together, you realise what you are doing and pull back suddenly, your hards swiftly dropping from her cheeks. Your widened eyes stare into her confused ones as you take a large step back, your mouth slightly open as you struggle to find any words. "I-I'm so sorry I don't... I don't know what I was doing I'm so sorry oh my god". Jenna just stands there, frozen in confusion, as she watches you panic, your eyes deliberately avoiding hers.

You continue to ramble and apologise as she takes a slow step towards you. When you feel her hands gently rest on your cheeks, your words catch in your throat as you look at her with tears in your eyes. Her gaze is so soft and full of warmth that you - not your character - almost feel like bursting out into tears.

It had been so long since she looked at you that way.

"I-I... I'm so sorry I shouldn't have done that." you whisper brokenly as she gently wipes away a stray tear that was sliding down your cheek. "It's ok" she whispers giving you a small smile. Shaking your head in denial, she takes a small step closer as her hands slide to the back of your neck, her hold on you growing stronger as you are once again inches from each other. "It's ok" she repeats softly as she leans in to connect your lips gently.

Letting out a soft sigh as your lips connect, your hands hesitantly slip onto her waist as you melt into the kiss. Your heart begins to pound in your chest as the feeling of her lips against yours, which had become an almost foreign feeling for you, reminds you of how much you had missed her. Knowing only a gentle and hesitant kiss is scripted, you attempt to stop yourself from deepening the kiss.

But goddamn it that was impossible.

Your grip on her waist tightens as you pull her body flush against yours. You hear Jenna softly moan as your lips continue to move against hers with a renewed urgency, desperate to make the most of the intimacy.

When your lips eventually leave hers, you slowly open your eyes only to discover hers are already open, staring at you breathlessly. You gently bite your lip as you attempt to catch your breath, you mind in a state of pure bliss as you meet Jenna's eyes - the thought of your character long gone

"Cut!"

The director's call caught you off guard. You blink rapidly as your eyes widen slightly in realisation. Your hands drop from Jenna's waist as you move away from her, your eyes diverting towards the director in an attempt to forget what just happened.

'you fucking idiot y/n why did you just do that'

'what the fuck was that... shit'

"That was excellent girls! Y/n, I love the passion and desperation you showed it was so believable. Absolutely amazing! Both of you have a short break we will call you back when we need you." That was all you needed to hear before you gave the director a small nod and a smile before you practically bolted towards your trailer.

Jenna stood frozen as she watched you run away from her, so suddenly afraid of her presence it was almost like she had burned you. Despite remaining fixed in her place, her heart was racing after she had kissed you - well, her character had kissed your character.

It had felt so real.

She couldn't believe what she was feeling, she couldn't help but think how unprofessional it was of her to allow her feelings to get in the way of her acting - especially when it comes to scenes as monumental as the one you just shot.

But it was you.

It was y/n.

The love of her life.

The one person she truly felt at home around and the only person that filled her life with so much joy.

To say the past few months had been rocky would have been an understatement, but at the end of the day, she couldn't help but love you. Sure you had hurt her feelings with the way you acted the night before, but it's not like she wasn't also at fault. You had both let work get in the way of your relationship and the kiss you just shared was the slap in the face you both needed.

Eventually coming to her senses, Jenna was quick to follow in your footsteps, walking briskly towards your trailer, determined to finally set things right - or at least get everything off of her chest.

The soft beat of three knocks on your trailer door broke you out of your thoughts as your head snapped towards the sound.

Currently curled up in a ball on your trailer couch, a steady stream of tears rolling down your cheeks, your chest ached with the idea that you had just ruined everything.

Jenna was the one thing that was always steady in your life.

Always there to catch you when you started to fall, always there to push you back up when you had fallen. And now, purely because of your stupidity and inability to control yourself, you had lost that. You couldn't even look at her as you retreated and tried to hide and avoid her like you had been for the past few months.

Just the thought of her not being in your life anymore made your heart clench.

And although you have both been distant recently, at least she was still there.

And now after the stunt you pulled only minutes ago, you truly believed that there was no way she could look at you the same. You had acted out and taken advantage of her vulnerability whilst her only intention was to do her job.

So as you hastily wiped the tears off of your cheeks, attempting to somewhat hide the fact that you had been crying your eyes out not seconds before, you approached the door expecting it to be a crew member checking up on you.

Your attempt to hide your pure shock that was no doubt written all over your face was futile as you opened the door and saw Jenna stood there, her eyes softly meeting yours.

"Hi" she spoke softly, offering you a gentle smile which caused your heart to melt slightly. "Hi" you breathe out as Jenna takes notice of your bloodshot eyes and bright red cheeks, her immediate instinct being to comfort you, but not wanting to push any boundaries she settled on giving you a knowing look as she fidgeted with her hands.

"Can I come in?" she asked as she subtly gestured into your mess of a trailer, the cleanliness of which had declined along with your relationship over the recent past. "Yeah... of course" you whisper as you break out of your surprised tranced and moved over, allowing her to come in.

You watched her eyes slowly travel around the room, taking notice of the trash littered around, the clothes and blankets thrown around the place, but one thing in particular caught her attention.

It was a framed photo of the two of you on your first date that was placed neatly on your small coffee table.

Her eyes remained fixed to the photo as you closed the door behind her and sat back down on your couch, pulling your knees to your chest in preparation for the conversation you were about to have. Tears already welling in your eyes, you looked at Jenna expectantly as her expression didn't change.

You breath caught in your throat as you followed her line of sight, noticing what she had been staring so intently at. Trying to not let your emotions get the better of you as you saw the picture, you clear your throat which causes Jenna's attention to finally leave the photo as her eyes meet yours.

Deciding the break the rather uncomfortable silence, you let your feelings come spilling out as you avert your eyes from hers, "Look..." you whisper brokenly, taking a deep breath before continuing, "I-I'm so fucking sorry for what I just did... It was messed up and I... I took advantage of you and I understand if you don't wanna talk to me again because I have been so fucking mean to you and I haven't even acknowledged you and then I go an pull shit like that I..." you rant as your tears resurface and begin cascading down your cheeks.

You are so distracted by your own rambling that you don't notice Jenna gaze softening as she slowly makes her way over to the couch and takes a seat next to you. You only notice her presence once she grasps your hands with her own warm ones, your eyes instantly meeting hers as you look up.

Your lips tremble as you duck your head, inhaling as you once again meet her eyes before brokenly whispering, "I-I'm so s-sorry", giving her your best smile before your sobs escape your throat causing you to cave in on yourself.

Jenna wraps her arms around your broken figure as she squeezes you tightly, her own tears escaping as she sees how truly broken you are. As you continue to sob into her chest, her shirt growing increasingly wet as it soaks up your tears, Jenna remains silent as she gently cradles your head and strokes your back in an attempt to comfort you.

Oh how much you missed being this close to her - although admittedly, the circumstances weren't ideal.

As your sobs began to cease, Jenna gently pulls back and places a hand on your chin to slowly lift your head up so your eyes meet hers. Embarrassed by how awful you think you look, you attempt to shake her grip, wanting to curl up into a ball and disappear, yet she keeps ahold of you as she wills you to look at her.

Just looking at her brings tears to your eyes.

"Y/n... I need you to listen to me ok?". Her lips crack into a gentle smile as you give her small nod. "There is nothing you could possibly do that would make me not want talk to you again... ok? You did nothing wrong, I need you to believe me when I say that. Sure, we both fucked up a little bit but it's nothing we can't get through. Ok?"

As you let out a small, wet chuckle at her last comment, her hands move to your cheeks as they wipe away the remaining tears that had slowly trickled down your cheeks.

Grasping her hands from your cheeks, you bring them into your lap as you give them a gentle squeeze. "I still love you" you whispered as one side of your mouth quirked up into a smile, to which Jenna reciprocated.

"I still love you too" is what she whispered in response before she gently brought you in for a kiss.

Fuck... you really missed her.

Tag-list: @nitchxhdc @emeraldevan @looseheartedlady @the-night-owl-blr @badassjaguar @txmxav @oh-thats-cute @blckrwidow @cacciatricediartemide @flaiire1805 @rainbow-love4ever @fall-08 @simp4nat @natashadeservedmore @livingforwaddams @alexkolax

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem reader #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega request #jenna ortega angst #jenna ortega fluff #jenna ortega #wednesday addams x fem reader #wednesday addams x reader #simp4wom3n

[braineater444]

“To Be Better”

Big Brother!Yoshida x Gender Neutral Reader

(Tw: Sexual Abuse, Rape, Incest, Mild Smut, Mental Health, Suicidal Ideation)

A/N: I told myself I would finish this today and I did against my better judgment. This is not fully proofread and a bit different in comparison to other things I’ve written. Not heavy on the smut but definitely heavy. Idk. This isn’t good. Goodnight <3

Your older brother Yoshida is the brightest star to ever shine in your family. He got into all of the top universities (and every school he applied to for that matter) he’s smart, he’s attractive and everyone loves him to pieces, even those he’s only said one word to. He’s that type of guy. Too charismatic for his own good. A revolving door of people interested in being with him. Not a single flaw on his pretty skin.

Then, there’s you. You’re born second, but that doesn’t make you any where near close to second to him. Somehow, even with there being only two of you, you fall further down. You’re not placing in a race with him. You graduated two years after him, but no one from your extended family showed up like they did for him. You had a few friends, but were otherwise known as Hirofumi’s younger sibling. Your existence felt like an inconsequential blip when you were so eclipsed by him in every aspect of anything you did. He is the sun, but to say you’re the moon would be a lie.

So, it felt nice to graduate. To leave the school where every one knew you as a his shadow and the comparisons never ended. It felt nice to go to a community college where no one knew you and forge your own identity.

Even with him out of the house two years before, you still weren’t as free from him as you have been recently. You’re healing as of late. His winter break visit has come and gone and you’re getting better. This summer will be better. There’s just you and sure, you still live with your parents who always compared you to him, but now your lives have almost completely diverged. They have to, after all the work you’ve put in to getting better about being his shadow.

Of course, it’s not as simple as him having disappeared at university forver, though. It cant be your happily ever after. He comes home over his breaks and this one is no different.

The summer air is hot. It’s unpleasant and almost inescapable. There’s three popsicle sticks on your desk and the ceiling fan of your room is going as fast as it can go. It’s working desperately to cool you down with its gentle whirring, but still, you’re sticky with a light cast of sweat as you lay silently on your bed in wait.

You know he’s here. His voice flows proudly all through the house as he greets your parents and asks where you are and why you haven’t come to see him. You can hear him padding down the hall. Your brother has a distinct walk. It’s heavy and light all at once, like he’s waltzing his way to your door. A distinct feeling of dread punctuates each and every step.

As the door to your room swings open, you’re greeted by that same gut punch of a smile that you hadn’t been unfortunate enough to see since winter. This time it’ll be longer. The summer is too long.

“What?” It’s not really a question. Just something to make him go away.

“What?” He repeats back to you. “You’re not excited to see me?” Hirofumi… his voice is like silk; like he’s got it all figured out. It’s no wonder he’s got everyone fooled.

…

Usually it’s the summer heat that keeps you up all night, but tonight it’s him. You can’t see him, but you know he’s there and for that reason you haven’t left your room all day. His presence is an ache in your brain and the dryness of your mouth. This was supposed to be easier.

For the first time since he’s been back, you walk as quietly as possible out of your room praying that he isn’t awake. When you pass his room there’s no light coming from under the closed door and not a sound to be heard.

He’s asleep. Thank god.

You take a breath of relief and hurry yourself through the house, but as you round the corner into the kitchen the lights are on and he’s there. Closing the cabinets after putting up one last dish. And there it is. That sickening smile as he spots you.

“You didn’t eat dinner with us.”

You ignore him and pull open the refrigerator. All of the foods been neatly wrapped up and nicely stacked in small containers. You don’t check them to see what’s inside. Instead, you pick at a bunch of grapes and shovel them into your mouth one by one. There’s nothing to be said. You’re dealing with this well enough.

The grapes are ice cold and pop deliciously in your mouth. This is the best thing to happen to you all day. You needed this. You deserve this. Until, it’s interrupted by a large hand on your shoulder.

You stiffen.

“Don’t-” You turn and smack his hand off of your shoulder.

“Why are you acting like that?” He asks. He’s trapping you between his body and the ice cold inside of the refrigerator. He’s so close. Too close. You can smell him. He smells so fucking good. It’s sweet like fresh cut grass and natural like the wind traveling over the sea. It’s sickening. He’s making you nauseous by being in your space. A headache is forming. He shouldn’t be this close.

Your hand shoots out between the two of you and pushes at his chest before you even realize you’ve moved. You retract your hand like you were burned. “Move.” It’s quiet but stern. He doesn’t budge in the slightest. A look of confusion paints his face.

“What is your problem?” He steels himself.

For a second you almost believe him. You almost believe he’s truly lost and he doesn’t know why you’re acting like this towards him.

“You were fine when I came back over the break in winter.”

Right. Winter. You don’t even want to think about it.

He pulls you away from the refrigerator with a tight grip on your arm. You here it click closed and your brain stops working at the sound. He’s been treating you like this forever. Like a rag doll. For a second you let it happen. You have half a mind to let him do what he’s always done, but with the better half you pull away from him. His hand feels like it should’ve left burn marks in every spot he’d touched.

“Leave me alone.” You want to scream but it comes out as a hushed cry. Your nails dig into his forearm and he lets you go. You stumble back into the counter and you don’t even feel the pain that accompanies it.

“You don’t like me anymore?” His smile is confused. His eyebrows are furrowed. He pretends not to know what’s wrong.

…

You’re dealing with this the best way you know how.

He’s not here, in your room, but somehow he’s everywhere. His smell lingers in there air. Somehow it feels like his hand is still wrapped around your arms. You can’t get rid of him even in the quiet of your own room.

You lock the door. You unlock it. You lock it again.

You flick the light on. You flick it off. You flick it on again. You leave it off.

You start to try to lay back down, but you can’t bring yourself to touch your bed. Not with Hirofumi all over you.

The only solution is a shower.

The water burns just right against your thigh as you step in. You needed this. You weren’t ready to see him again.

Your body is trembling. How long have you been like that? Are there tears in your eye? You can feel your throat tightening up and wetness streaming down your face. Why are you crying? He didn’t do anything to you.

Maybe you shouldn’t be treating him like this. You liked him in the winter. You liked what happened then. You’re fooling yourself into thinking you’re the victim. After all these years, you’re not the victim.

Like a bullet in the chest it hits you all at once. So many years of him fight to the forefront of your thoughts.

Even as you scrub your skin you can feel his hands all over you. You’re sure the soap smells like him. You hold the soap to your nose and the thought goes away. It doesn’t smell like him.

You think about the winter. Your unlocked door. An invite for him to come in. You scrub at your skin.

You remember the heat of his body against yours. When you would beg him to stop. You scrub.

His hands gripping at your chest. Your quiet discomfort as you let him. The tears that rolled down your cheeks and the the way he kissed them away. You’ll clean him off of you even if your skin turns raw.

You can’t breathe. The tightness in your throat is getting worse. You’re sure you’re bawling. You want this to end. To go away. You need to go away.

Your knees buckles under you and when they crack against the shower floor the world becomes clear again. You can hear yourself sobbing. You can feel that the waters too hot against your skin. It’s too much.

A knock on the door comes as you rush to turn the water off.

“Are you okay?” Hirofumi’s voice lingers on the other side. You can smell him again. “Y/N~” He sings your name out with the beat of his second round of knocks at the door. “Do you want me to come in there?”

You’re still crying. You can’t catch your breathe. Your pleads for him not to come in are stuck in your throat.

You hear him say your name again. Then, the door starts to inch open. He can’t do this. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.

“GO AWAY!” You scream out before you knew you could speak again. The door clicks shut. Footsteps sound further and further until they disappear. Relief. You melt in to the wall of the tub. He’s gone.

There’s no telling how long you stayed there; a mess of sopping wet hair and skin, but you eventually pull yourself together and rush to get your pajamas on. The long pants. The long sleeves. They tug against your wet skin and make you sweat already.

You look in the mirror; into your bloodshot eyes.

You can never brush your teeth enough. It’s like his tongue is always in your mouth. The taste of his breath lingers. The inside of your mouth feels like his. Too much like his. Your lips are so chewed up trying escape the feeling, they crack even more when you brush your teeth. You brush until your gums bleed. Until your mouth feels as raw as your skin. Until the taste of iron replaces him. Until you can sleep at night. The taste of him will come back. It always does.

…

Your parents don’t sit down for breakfast unless he’s around. Your mom doesn’t cook unless it’s for him. You don’t exist outside of him.

You push your food around your plate and tune them out. He’s sitting across from you and you’re not looking up unless you have to. You’re not hungry this morning. You don’t want to be here.

“Why don’t you want to learn how yo drive?”

The question sounds pointed at you. You stop, to listen again.

“You know…” You stop hearing his voice, but you’re sure he’s still talking. You keep looking down at your plate. “…really, I’m your big brother I should.” You can hear that fucking smile in his voice.

“That would be great, wouldn’t it, honey?” Your moms hand rubs soothingly over your thigh. You almost get the urge to cry again, but you can’t. “Hirofumi could be a great person to teach you?”

You look at her, confused.

“He can teach you how to drive. You should really learn. And maybe look at his new car.”

“It’s really nice.” Your dad cuts in.

He has a new car.

“It’d be great. To make new memories and stuff, right?” Hirofumi looks so endearing. The sun coming in through the window surrounds his body in soft morning light. Of course, he’s glowing. He casts a shadow over your breakfast plate.

“I’ll learn to drive on my own time.” You stuff your mouth with eggs.

Your mother insists that you let Hirofumi teach you. She’s like that. He’s her favorite. He does everything right the first time.

You leave breakfast early and leave them to their golden child.

You lock your door. You unlock it. You lock it again. You check the handle. It’s locked.

Your pajamas are suffocating you. It’s only going to get hotter from this point in the day, but you can’t change. You turn your ceiling fan on. You can breath.

You open a book and try to forget.

By the afternoon, the house falls silent. You leave your room and check all around the place. For each room you flick the lights on and of again and again. Not a soul. Tension relieves itself in places you didn’t know you had it. After checking all the locks, you sprawl out on the couch. Let them be gone forever.

…

You’re burning up. You’re sweating. You have a headache. The tv is on, but there’s some other noise. The couch suddenly feels too small.

“Do you want to go in my room?” Hands tap your cheeks to wake you. Your eyes struggle to open. Your mouth doesn’t move. Again. “Do you want to go in my room?” His face is far above yours, there’s brightness in his eyes, but they remain pitch black. His bangs are still too low. “It’s cooler in there. You’re sweating a lot. C’mon.”

He grabs you. Hoists you in to his arms and you latch on to him. You let him carry you. He loves to carry you. You’re so easy. So so easy. Why are you letting him do this.

“Hiro-”

Nothing.

“Hirofumi…”

“Hm?”

“Please take me to my room. I don’t want to do this.”

“It was fine a couple moths ago. Wasn’t it?”

You shake your head. You never liked it. That time you thought if you tried to enjoy it you’d hurt less. If you finally smiled and gave him what he wanted willingly it wouldn’t be as bad as all of the times before. It worked in the moment, but like every time before it came back to haunt you. You can’t do it again, but you don’t argue.

You let him lay you down on his bed. You go limp. You can’t run. You’ve never been able to stop this.

You think you say his name out loud, but if you do, he doesn’t answer. You ask where your mom’s at. Nothing. Your pajama pants are off. You hear yourself say stop. His hand smooths over your underwear.

There’s a moment of darkness and suddenly you’re both naked. You’re pushing at his muscles. His mouth is leaving wet kisses down your body. You swear you’re begging him to end this. There’s something of a cry for help in there. He can’t do this again.

“You wanted this last time, remember?” He breathes over your sex and drags his tongue across. Your body reacts as if you were struck by electricity, but you feel nothing. There’s just a strange wetness between your legs.

He can’t seem to remember the times before when you said no. All the times that came before the winter. When his hands traveled down in to your uniform. When you told him he didn’t need to kiss you before his graduation speech for good luck. When you said you didn’t want to know what he’d taste like. There were so many rejections, but he just can’t be a good brother.

He can only remember when you begged for him at the park last winter. When you let him climb in your bed and rub himself against the curve of your ass. When you licked his semen off the palm of your hand and kissed him hungrily. He can only remember last winter.

You were so scared. You thought you could face your demons head on.

He’s inside you. He’s so deep inside you. His tongue lick’s at the salty tears and sweat on your cheeks. His lips interlock with yours and you don’t kiss back. Not this time. You feel nothing and everything. Every vein dragging in and out of you. Every fingernail digging into your waist. The muscle in his chest where your hands aren’t pushing any more. Every breath he steals from you. But you don’t feel it.

You’re trapped eye to eye under him. His bedside lamp is dim, but you can see his face so close to yours. He’s tearing you apart from the inside. You have to be dying. You want to die.

“Hiro… I’m going to kill myself.” You manage between tears, broken moans and unstable breaths. “Please stop. I’m going to die. I’m going to kill myself.” It all pours out of your mouth like a flood.

“No. I’ll take care of you,” He says as he lays kisses along your throat.

“No. I’ll die.” You sniffle. “I’ll just die. I promise. I can’t do this. Please stop.” You might be screaming. There’s no way for you to tell. He’s slamming in to you harder. You can see it. You can’t feel it, but you know it hurts. Then it all stops. You can’t see anymore. There’s nothing. Again.

He’s there. Laying on your stomach when you come to. You feel sticky. Like your body’s covered in slime. Gross. Like you’re wrapped in spiderwebs. Like your brother’s been inside of you. Like this has been going on for as long as you can remember.

You try to push him off of you. You’re still naked. You don’t want your pajamas back anyway. You just want the shower. You push at his head and try to slide your body from under him. His scalp is wet with sweat.

You just want to shower. He won’t budge. His smell is seeping deeper into your skin by the second.

He turns to face you.

“Mom and dad are out all night. We have time.”

You give up. You’ll never be clean again.

#my head hurts. #man idk I was kinda venting when I wrote this #tw: noncon #tw: rape #tw: abuse #tw: trauma #yoshida smut #yandere yoshida #chainsaw man smut

[hoverboards-and-dragons]

Lucifer’s Fall; told from the Sloth Sin’s  Perspective

Belphegor finds a heavily injured angel and a woman of Creation in the wastelands of hell’s highest crimson ring.

The same ones that just caved in their realm’s roof with an incredible light show.

Despite being aware of the potential threat a powerful angelic being poses to all demons, something compels her to start picking up the pieces before her fellow sins have even finished deliberating on whether they want to kill the pair or not.

~

Hell itself is alive and reacts to Lucifer with cuteness aggression, and to Lilith like a friend group finally gaining one person who’s good at social interaction

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Belphegor’s tail dragged against the thick layers of red dust covering the ground as she slogged through the endless dark in blind search of a query unknown.

The highest level of hell was a crimson wasteland bathed in impenetrable pitch black. It’s giant expense only sparely populated by roving bands of tiny simple creatures.

The heat and power from which hell had sprung thinned out bare up here and under the shadow of creation, heaven’s light wouldn’t reach.

No demon prince or deadly sin had ever risen from it nor did any of the others wish to claim it despite its grand size, content to consider it the lid caping off their realms and nothing more.

Mammon had probably mentally dubbed it as his, but he wasn’t ready to back that claim up without anything valuable to show for it.

The demon prince of sloth had always been a slave to her own whims. Most of the time that meant she slept with no motivation and thus no ability to do anything at all.

But sometimes, she’s awaken with a vague but unbearable compulsion that would send her scrambling, as helpless to stop herself as anyone else from her mission.

So, she found herself wandering this never ending desolate ring so far from home and bed.

Regardless, her visions had never led her astray before, if they brought her here, there was something to find.

She felt the change in the air before anything else.

Soft light was ever so slightly penetrating through the black above her; washing out the dunes around her. Piercing a dark that swallowed up the glow from even as great a creature as she.

She inclined her head, gaze straining for the source.

A thin white line, like a tear in the very sky itself, slowly wretched apart.

Taking on off-white shades of gold and blue as it deepened and strengthened.

Belle tilted her head. Well, this was certainly getting somewhere interesting. Hell wasn’t a very old realm, she wondered if it was really coming to an end so soon.

It pulsed a few times, fighting through some unknown resistance.

And then it broke.

Belle was forced to look away as painful light burst from the sky, bathing the eternal unseen wastes in harsh white.

Through the sound was inescapable, nearly rupturing her eardrums, a thousand glasses shattering, unknowable violence, rage and desecration retrained to a moment.

And then it was over.

She glanced back up, blinking a few times. Oh, not quite.

The brightness was falling down, the opening quickly sealing behind it, leaving the sky permanently altered.

She could taste it’s power, the energy from that break still echoing forcefully against her senses; no doubt all of hell had felt it.

The other sins were on their way.

But even now, after the break, hell was shifting around to accommodate this new entity, as if a gravitational force they were all being orientated towards. As if it’s mere presence changed the makeup of the entire realm.

It reeked of something powerful, even if temporarily stripped.

There was one more thing.

It wasn’t just entering hell, it was being *given* to hell, bound.

Something the light starved ring accepted eagerly.

The assumedly unwitting and unwilling light source would probably be less excited.

Belle started to move again once she had a good idea of where it would make contact.

She wondered what her fellow sins would decide to do with it, could they feel hell’s unabashed yearning to keep it? If they did would that carry any weight when deciding to destroy or consume it.

Satan would probably be the next here, coming from just one ring below. The others not far behind.

The noise of the actual impact was a little underwhelming when following the realm being thorn asunder.

A slamming, a crash, a scraping skitter. Belle winced sympathetically at a sound that was definitely shattering bones. And then nothing.

It… was a pretty far way to fall after all.

She was pretty sure she heard a woman shriek, but not nearly enough compared to the intensity of the landing.

She continued to trail towards the light, now laying unmoving in a decently large crater.

Another glow caught her eye, not nearly as bright but quite distant.

Golden ichor, spattered across the ground.

A grim gift from Heaven then? Perhaps they had finally come to open relations properly, even if this was rather morbid for their like.

But she supposed even those above needed disposal methods.

Belle peered over the edge of crater, squinting while her eyes adjusted.

“Lucifer-!” A broken cry.

Her head snapped to the voice, another figure in the pit shakily attempting to stumble to her feet.

She smelled of dirt and roses, earthen. *Creation’s* work.

As she scrambled over to the light, Belle could feel hell swirling around her too, equally as fervent but different from its attraction to the glowing creature.

Whatever attachment to realms beyond she has won’t remain for very long. Hell was taking to her as if welcoming her home.

And yes, she could see that now, the light was a being, still alive even, if barely.

The figure desperately pulled it against her, and Belle finally recognized its wings, tattered and scorched as they were. They had seen beings of its like a few times, circling and observing the young hell from afar.

The few direct confrontations said they despised this place, everything in it and every single creature born of it.

“Ya think that little thing’s a threat?” Satan had shuffled up beside her at some point, thankfully keeping his voice low. “Would do us good to end it now.”

The light was yelling something, maybe names she didn’t recognize barely intelligible between the sobs in its ruined throat.

The other sins didn’t take long to follow.

“I say… we eat it?” Beelzebub had been curious about the angel creatures’s taste since she first saw them, Belle was honestly a little shocked at the hesitance. “I dunno it’s just, in a lot of pain. Feels bad, gone sour.”

“The air tingles with its power even in such a pitiful state~” Leviathan hissed, her tail thrashing in derision. “Leave it to bleed, let it die, let it die! While we still can, before it consumes us all in its shadow.”

“If we killin it, we’re goin down there to make sure it’s good and dead and staying that way.” Satan adds “Coward.” He spits quietly in Levi’s direction in spite of their seeming temporary alliance.

“You kidding?” Mammon choked a laugh. “The perfect potential counter to all our enemies falls into our lap, and you wanna chuck it?” He stalked forward, eyes gleaming. “Nah nah, we make it ours.”

‘We’ Belle thought that was interesting addition for him.

“If that becomes the strongest thing in hell, what’ll that make us?” Asmodeus kept his voice steady, not giving either way.

“Masters!” Mammon cheered.

“Slaves!” Levi retorted.

The puddle of gold beneath it was deepening, they’d have to make this decision quickly before it was made for them.

It was good hell had never been a democracy.

Belle lurched her hulk over the side, sliding towards the centre.

She came to stop just before the two. She could see why hell found both so appealing up close.

The woman faced her not with wide eyes like she expected, but careful scepticism, although her exhaustion and panic permeated clearly just below the surface. Judging her not just for a threat, but for potential assistance.

Belle could taste hells energy so much clearer here, how it warred with itself. Desperate to surge forward and take what belonged to it and longing to preserve the glow. The light’s essence writhing in repulsion to the demonic force.

She was exhausted just observing it.

Based on the angel’s shock and fear, it could feel the shadows pressing and snapping against his weakened essence too.

She wondered if the woman could, did she know she was the one thing holding back the darkness from snuffing out her light totally.

“Mistress of Night,” Belle had no idea where the title came from as offered greetings to the pair.

She didn’t seem to recognize it either. “H-hello-? “ she cleared throat, finding her confidence. “Hello. Why do you appear before us?” Even toned, a chance to dismiss the accusation before it needs to be levered.

Belle dipped her head, in respect and in gesture. “Your light is fading.”

Her breath shuddered in dismay, expression breaking for a moment. She nodded tightly. “H-he is.” She swallowed hard. “Can- May you help?”

She stepped closer, bringing up her great claws. “I may. I can.”

The woman hesitated, tightening her hold before allowing her access.

He stared at her with wide eyes, delirious with pain and fully able to view her connection to the dark.

But unable to so much as shy away from her looming form.

Oh yes, taught to despise the demonic he was, how fun.

A distant tiring thought wondered why she was even doing this for the little thing.

She felt him attempt to call upon his magic once or twice, seemingly more out instinct than anything only for it to fizzle out.

She brought her face right down to his, staring into her blank eyes with a mad gaze.

Belle took a deep breath in; blowing out smoke that blanketed him. His eyes squeezed shut but at least he didn’t try holding his breath.

She held a moment.

Before sucking it back in.

She couldn’t say she was surprised at the extent of damage, but it was something to see it all laid out.

Wings burned and torn from air friction, a web of cracks in his skull, all of his ribs had been fractured and two had been entirely scattered, she was sure some of the organ damage came from a wandering bone piece or a couple piercing something.

There was too much organ damage for even her to tell at a glance.

His back was especially a mess, mostly likely bent double in the landing. Including a complete break in his spine that seemed too clean to be from the fall alone, or unintentional; placed at the perfect point to paralyzed all of his six wings at once.

If she wasn’t convinced of his power before, the fact that he was alive at all more than proved it.

Belle steadied herself.

Estimate his limits based on how bad he’s handling the current damage compared to the average; she doesn’t need to get him perfect, just stabilized enough for his magic to begin to recover and take over; just like one of the sins.

She kept her ring and her effort out of others constant wars by playing healer to all sides, she could do this.

She numbed the pain just enough to take the edge off without compromising his reactions. Both of the pair visibly relaxed, she hadn’t realized how much their tension had been getting to her.

If any of the other sins reveal themselves now she’s killing them.

She began moving bone fragments back into place and locking them, disappearing some that were too small or embedded. Stitching the wounds left behind.

She added some magic to assist the faltering bodily tasks and save his body precious energy, as well as avoiding a full system shut down if an organ properly fails for a moment or two.

She seeped the heat from the burns and the tension from his muscles with little else to do.

And she finally breathed.

Well, more heaved painfully as the weight of such draining magic collapsed on her all at once.

It took every bit of effort left not to collapse right then, a dust pile alone wouldn’t be her worst nap spot but the pool of ichor was too much.

She focused down. His body still shuttered even as he fell against the woman and shut his eyes, good, he was still fighting.

“Keep him awake.” She spat, barely managing. Her bedside manners were usually a little better.

But the woman nodded determinedly, staring at Belle with nothing but bewildered but grateful awe.

Before turning her attention back to her light, Belle could practically see the rest of the world disappear to them as she placed a hand on his cheek and began speaking softly.

“The angel needs rest and to be carefully monitored for the next,” she’d never fully treated such fatal injuries before, she had no idea how long they’d take to heal given the chance. “While.”

Belle noted the small nod that said she was still listening.

“Lucifer.” Interrupting her own mutterings. “His name is Lucifer, and I am Lilith.”

“Pleasure. Prince Belphegor of Sloth, my ring is some distance below.” Lilith was already beginning to stand, taking the hint. “You can tell me what happened on the way.” Belle didn’t have enough left in her to be curious at this point, but she had met enough suspicious types to know better than to present this as just charity.

“He ain’t in a state to make that trip,” Belle narrowed her eyes at Satan’s approach. “My ring’s closer.”

“I thought-“

“I just said if we’re gonna put the lil angel out of his misery we do the job good and right, but if we ain’t then we ain’t.”

Belle watched Lilith bristle at the mention of threat. Carefully holding her composure and glaring down the towering bull, “You aren’t.”

“Thems fighting words but guess you’re right, so hows bout another time.” He added quieter. “I like her”

Bee pushed by him. Giving the pair a soft look “Oh, you poor things.”

She buzzed back to Belle. Excitedly announcing, “Yup, I made up my mind! I’m with you, Belle, they’ll taste much better after you fix ‘em up.”

Great, she was so looking forward to the panic that line would inspire in the clearly protective and threatened woman.

“I’ll carry him.” Ozzie offered, and oh thank fuck he did before Belle had to make Lilith choose between the sin that talked about killing or eating her light.

She heard Mammon laugh some ways away. “Good luck with prying ‘im out of her grip.”

Ozzie grumbled something insulting, but one glance at her said he was probably right.

He shrugged, “Then I’ll carry both.”

Lilith perked up, agreeing after a few thoughts.

And they began the delicate process of getting them both comfortable and safely positioned against Ozzie soft chest.

Leviathan kept her gaze targeted square on the sky, long since losing interest in the scene in the crater below.

She still thought dead was a preferable option, but that doesn’t mean she was gonna let herself be left out of the loop just cause her fellow sins didn’t go with it.

The dryness here usually could irritate her, but it was different now.

A barely noticeable breeze, a shifting in the dust.

Feeling less like the nothing after hell ended and before creation began and more like a blank place, a yet to be territory…

An empty ring.

The sky had changed and was changing still, she could she it through the enveloping shade for the first time.

She looked back the angel, she wondered how much it’d take from him, she wondered how much it’ll give back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hell and Heaven are both cesspools of writhing energy (heat and light respectively) that life is clawing it’s way out of, just with like slightly different aesthetics

This kinda implied hell is only weaker than heaven cause it’s so much younger and I’m lowkey down with that theory

Lucifer’s Fall is honestly a very messy affair to me; way more damage was caused than intended cause 1) it’s the first time Heaven ever did something like it 2) it’s very hard to make a being as powerful as Lucifer leave when they do not want to. It was scrambling mad rush(mostly by Michael) to break his halo and get him out cause his panicked blind resisting kept bringing buildings down and crumbing any angel not an archangel or seraphim like tissue paper

~~

If this is received well enough I might make a part two following Lucifer’s recovery, adjusting to hell and processing what’s happened to him, so ~ reblog ~

It’s going to be apart of a bigger series of oneshots interpreting past events of Hazbin’s universe, From The Very Beginning, if out of order

#Michael heaving: thank dad that’s over… holy shit I broke his spine #forcing you all to agree with Mammon in the dont kill him front #helluva boss #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel lilith #hellaverse #helluva boss belphegor #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #helluva boss leviathan #helluva boss beelzebub #helluva boss mammon #helluva boss asmodeus #helluva boss satan

[mononijikayu]

malmö i mitt hjärta ━ nanami kento

But amid the sterile bleakness, a beacon awaited. Someone was there for him, a comforting presence that contradicted the harsh realities of the hospital room. The warmth of her memory, a stark contrast to the clinical surroundings, lingered in his mind like a gentle embrace. As his senses gradually acclimated to the reality surrounding him, he became aware of the cool caress of pristine white sheets against his skin. The distant symphony of medical equipment, each beep and hum, served as a poignant testament to his unexpected survival. Yes, he was alive.

GENRE: Post - Shibuya Arc, November 2018;

WARNING/s: Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Near - Death Experience, Explicit Mention of Injuries, Mention of Death, Mention of Loss, Mention of Gojo's Sealing;

main masterlist

what a wonderful world masterlist

listen: malmö i mitt hjärta by sarah macdougall

hesitate | malmö i mitt hjärta

next: what are you doing new year's eve

HE DID NOT REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED AFTER THE BURST OF WHITE LIGHT ECHOED ALL AROUND HIM. Nanami Kento found himself in a disorienting haze, the aftermath of the blinding white light that had enveloped him. The memories of what had transpired were elusive, slipping away like grains of sand in the wind. Bleeding and broken, he stood amidst the chaos, wearied not only by the physical toll but also by the relentless violence that surrounded him.

Shibuya had proven to be a formidable battleground, surpassing even the expectations set by reports. Nanami, however, hadn't anticipated the extent of the exhaustion he would feel. The weariness ran deep, etched in the scarlet lines that adorned his wounded flesh, almost resembling weary tears.

As he stood at the precipice of what seemed like the end, he could envision the face of Yu Haibara, a nostalgic smile etched across the features of his youth. There he stood, eyeing Nanami with all the kindness he doesn't deserve. It was as if Death itself was extending an invitation to the solace Nanami had long sought, a respite from the unending cycle of struggle that seemed inescapable.

Yet before he knew it, it was as though he was never there.

Haibara smiled, standing before Mikoto Nobuhiko.

Nanami realized that they switched positions. From where he stood before, he could catch the glimpse of Nobuhiko's orbs glisten in crystal tears. He tried to scream, he remembers he could. But Itadori Yuuji did it for the both of them, crying out Nobuhiko's name.

He didn't know if he cried or not.

He doesn't remember that much.

But he knew that the blue summer ended forever.

Nanami Kento had lost himself in fleeting delusions.

In those fleeting moments, Nanami's mind drifted to the simple joys that made life worth living. The vivid beauty of a Malaysian morning, the tropical sun's warmth on his skin, the gentle winds accompanying moments of quiet reading against a backdrop of serene resignation, and the comforting aroma of green tea in the familiarity of his home.

The mental images continued to unfold, walking hand in hand with a cherished person, the resonance of their rings echoing like a soft bell, proclaiming a love that belonged exclusively to them. Her gaze, filled with the profound echoes of a love uniquely theirs, lingered in his mind as he faced Death head-on.

Her face, where her warm smile was tender for him.

The scarlet sunset etched all over her cheeks.

The bright beam of love in those eyes for him.

He held on to life, wanting to see her again.

As the intense beam of light faded, Nanami Kento found himself grappling with the harsh reality of his surroundings. The once vibrant scenes of his memories were replaced by sterile white ceilings, devoid of the vitality he had just envisioned. His lips, now forming a flat line, mirrored his uncertainty about this unexpected twist of fate. The struggle to open his eyes wide was matched by the greater challenge of drawing breath into his lungs. Amidst the confusion, he became aware of the narrow hitches of breath escaping his lips.

As he took in the scene around him, the echoes of a flatline transitioned into the sound of morning air filling his lungs. The pain was a harsh reminder of his corporeal existence, yet the sensation of life coursing through him was undeniable. Nanami Kento found himself grappling with the juxtaposition of life and near death, a survivor in a world that seemed to have momentarily abandoned its tumultuous chaos.

The sterile hospital room resonated with the cold hum of fluorescent lights, casting a clinical glow upon the barren walls. For Nanami, it was a realm he despised, a place where discomfort and unease mingled. Despite the years spent in the ebb and flow of blood and flesh, the hospital environment remained foreign, an unwelcome terrain that clawed at the edges of his resolve.

It wasn't just the sights; it was the acrid scent that permeated the air, triggering memories of a bygone youth marked by echoes of profound loss. The antiseptic aroma, a nauseating reminder of vulnerability, threatened to unravel him. Yet, confined to his bed, there was no escape. Nanami Kento found himself ensnared in a place he had vowed never to return.

But amid the sterile bleakness, a beacon awaited. Someone was there for him, a comforting presence that contradicted the harsh realities of the hospital room. The warmth of her memory, a stark contrast to the clinical surroundings, lingered in his mind like a gentle embrace.

As his senses gradually acclimated to the reality surrounding him, he became aware of the cool caress of pristine white sheets against his skin. The distant symphony of medical equipment, each beep and hum, served as a poignant testament to his unexpected survival. Yes, he was alive.

And in that pulsating moment between life and the sterile ambiance, he found solace in the idea of returning to her. The prospect of reuniting with the vivid tapestry of their lives painted itself in his mind. Another day, another chance to age gracefully in the cocoon of her love, a promise that whispered of a tomorrow adorned with shared laughter, quiet moments, and the unspoken embrace of a love that had weathered the storm.

Nanami Kento, in that fragile instance of survival, embraced the prospect of living another day—a chance to return to the arms of the one who made life's battles worthwhile.

“Oh, you’re awake.” The words cut through the clinical ambiance, a lifeline tethering him to the present. The voice, though familiar, held a depth of mystery, and he turned his head to find those unmistakable purple orbs. There she stood, a reassuring figure, her presence a balm to his disoriented senses. “It’s quite a miracle that you’re alive, Mr. Seven — Three.”

Nanami, ever the stoic one, couldn't help but release a sound that resembled a snort. His senpai, Gojo Genmei, had picked up some of his husband's bravado over the years. In that moment, he found solace in the warmth of her company, even in the face of his physical discomfort. 

“How can it be a miracle when it was obvious you manipulated my survival, Genmei–san?”

A hearty laugh escaped Gojo Genmei as she moved away from the wall, pulling a chair with her as she settled down. “You didn’t have to say it like that, Kento–kun!”

Kento, now adjusting himself on the medical bed with a laborious effort, retorted, “You’re too much like Gojo–san. It’s giving me a headache.”

“Hm, you’re still you, alright.”

He raised a questioning brow. “What do you mean by that?”

Genmei's laughter echoed in the sterile room, a melody that cut through the clinical atmosphere. As she leaned forward, a mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes. “I mean, even on the brink of death, you're still as grumpy as ever, Kento–kun. That's how I know you're okay.”

The younger sorcerer let out a wistful sigh, his breath carrying the weight of fleeting moments and unspoken echoes. "Facing death doesn’t change me much, I suppose. I’m just... alive. I'm well enough, I can say."

“A fact I’m sure your wife will be happy about,” Genmei remarked, crossing her legs as she leaned back, the air thick with unspoken understanding. "I think any wife would be, I think."

“Hm,” he nodded in agreement, a subtle smile playing on his lips. The prospect of returning home, of going to Malaysia with his wife, lingered in his thoughts like a delicate melody. It was enough, he believed. Enough to live for, to savor in the quiet richness of shared moments. “I suppose I owe you my life.”

“You owe me nothing,” she dismissed his gratitude with a wave, a tender smile softening the contours of her face. In her warm eyes, there was a somber tenderness, an acknowledgment of the unspoken complexities that lingered between them. “Someone has to have their happy ending first. Nobu thought so too, don't you think?"

In the pause that followed, a heavy silence hung in the air, pregnant with the weight of unspoken truths. Nanami's memories of his dearest friend passed through him in the silence. It was as though those three years of youth never happened. As though they were his day dreams in his one summer day. He was the only one left, he's still breathing. Yu would forever be seventeen, as will Nobuhiko stay twenty - seven.

Genmei - senpai meant every word she uttered, a sentiment that resonated even as she wished it didn't. Perhaps if Nobuhiko would be here too, he'd say the same thing. Both of them were the same like that, almost like mother and son.

His senpai was happy for him, she always has been. She had always supported his decisions and his actions. Just as Nobuhiko did. Nanami was certain he's only alive because she knew what Nobuhiko would do for him. It was because of her that he's still alive. And yet he knew deep down, she was jealous. His senpai after all was not the god people saw her to be. She too felt humanity make her a hypocrite.

Beneath the veneer of Gojo Genmei's righteousness and kindness lay a selfish desire, a longing to cling to life just as fiercely as Nanami clung to his reasons for existence.

As much as she had risked everything for the peace of the Jujutsu and Human world, a poignant selfishness whispered in her heart. She clung to Gojo Satoru, she clung to the memory left by Nobuhiko over and over again. He could see it in her lilac eyes. She was yearning for the day when she could live without the constraints of this absence, this hole inside of her. This emptiness. She looked forward to the day when she would be free of torment.

That Nanami knew too well. And in the same breath, Nanami knew, as did she, that such freedom to her desires was not imminent. The person she held dearest, the god she worshiped, remained sealed away, and no one yet held the key to his release. This truth, unbeknownst to Nanami, lingered in the shadows of their shared existence.

"I hate how self-righteous you are," he finally uttered, a playful accusation laced with a deeper understanding of the intricacies of their intertwined fates.

In that moment, amid the fragility of survival and the weight of unsaid words, Gojo Genmei embraced the role of the patient observer, waiting for her turn to taste the sweetness of a life unburdened by the shackles of uncertainty. Genmei laughed. Nanami, in his silent acknowledgment, found solace in her kindred happiness.

“It sickens me, Genmei–san. At least be mad at me for what happened."

“Let me indulge in this mood.” She bit her cheek, her purple eyes narrowing at him. “It’s all that keeps me afloat.”

"Really...."

She smiles at him. "Why should we blame you, though? Love is a curse, but its worth dying for. So don't curse Nobuhiko like that. Besides, I doubt you wouldn't say the same thing, Mr. Seven – Three."

His lips pursed in a flat line.

He hated that she was right.

She's become more like Gojo Satoru.

“How many days have passed?” Nanami questioned her, changing the topic.

“Just a few days,” She informed him diligently, crossing her legs in the other direction. “You’ve healed quicker than Todo, I have to say. I’m impressed. With your wounds, it was expected that it would take even longer."

His mind moved towards the young ones, once she mentioned the third-year protege of Kyoto High. He moved to open his mouth, wanting to express the many worries that plagued his head at the thought of the young ones. Genmei stopped him, smiling. “You shouldn’t worry about the young ones, Kento–kun. They’re healthy, for the most part. Megumi and Yuuji are doing what they can do find the answers we need. Just trust them for now. Rest your restless heart, Kento-kun.”

Kento did not think her answer sufficed; there was too much hidden in the words said. But he knew he would not argue with her about the matter. At least not today. There would be more days to catch up, to ask his many questions.

His mind was still a blur; he still needed rest. This is enough, for now. He didn't want to carry the heavy load of all of it just yet. Nobuhiko was enough. Knowing the kids were safe. All he wanted right now, he supposed, was to see his wife. He did not want to be here. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be in his beloved's arms once again.

“You’re quite the fighter, though,” Genmei's light sandy hair shone against the beaming sun. “You responded well to the treatments, Kento–kun. It’s incredibly determined.”

He looked at his damaged arm. “Well, I can see that, seeing I’m somewhat still whole.”

“Hm, Your wife insisted,” Genmei responded to him, causing him to perk up at the mention of his wife. “She protested, how you can live with burns and scars, but not without your arm and hand. You need it, she told them. Cause you would never leave your job here. She knows that much.”

“She knows me too well, then.”

“And I know you just as well,” Genmei said, standing up as hands moved towards the inner confines of her kimono and revealing papers. She lays it before him, he looks at her suspiciously. He takes it, mustering all his strength to read it. “You need a break, Kento-kun.”

He frowns deeply, dropping the paper. His eye arrows at her with all the emotions that drowned him in turmoil. "You forced them to put me on a break? Now, when am I most needed?”

“You aren’t well just yet,” She says, her lips tightly pressed in a line. “And not for a long time, Kento-kun. You need to rest.”

“I can’t just leave now. Genmei–senpai, you just can’t—”

She shakes her head at him. He could see her eyes become fonder. He has not called her 'senpai' in a long time. “Kento–kun, you are of use to us when you’re well. You can only be well when you rest. I cannot have you risking your life like that again, Kento–kun. You are more valuable to all of us, to your wife, alive. So please, don’t fight us on this.”

For a moment, he couldn’t stare at her in the eyes. He felt like that child again, that child hiding his face, hiding the way every inch of it contorted in grief and sorrow. Hiding the way his one good eye echoed the tears that neared his face. He felt so defenseless, so raw, so open to the world that wouldn’t understand the bareness of him. She looks at him, almost guilty. But Kento knew that in her heart, she knew this was the right thing to do.

She didn’t want to see him dead. She told him then that she was glad he was not dead. How blunt she was then, telling him how glad she was that he was not Haibara. The glee she found in her heart when he told her that he would be leaving the Jujutsu world behind and starting anew. Inside her heart, Kento was a younger brother. And perhaps, it was much better for her to be hated by him, than to see him robbed from her by the cruelty of their lives.

Genmei watched him, an unspoken understanding passing between them. She walked over to the window, gazing at the city beyond as the fading sunlight painted the sky in hues of orange and pink. "Your wife," she began, her voice softer now, carrying the weight of shared burdens, "She loves you deeply, Kento–kun. She fought for you to have this break because she wants you to be whole, to be with her."

Nanami's gaze remained fixed on the papers before him, the weight of his wife's love and Genmei's concern settling in his chest. He knew the truth in those words, the depth of the sacrifice she had made for him.

"You need to rest, not just for yourself but for her too. You've been fighting for others for so long; it's time to let others fight for you," Genmei continued her eyes still on the echo of the city's skyline, now bathed in the soft glow of twilight. "Please, Kento-kun. Leave it to us. Enjoy your life for a bit."

He sighed, a mixture of resignation and gratitude. "I'll take the break," he finally conceded, realizing the truth in her words. "Just this once."

Genmei turned to face him, a small smile playing on her lips. "Good. You deserve it, Kento–kun. And when you're ready, we'll be here, waiting for you."

As she left the room, the door clicking softly behind her, Nanami's thoughts turned to the papers on the bed. They were a ticket to rest, a journey into the unfamiliar territory of self-care and healing. The room, once a battleground of conflicting emotions, now held the promise of renewal.

With a weary yet determined sigh, Nanami Kento allowed himself to succumb to the quiet solitude of rest, knowing that beyond the confines of the hospital walls, a world awaited where the echoes of Shibuya would gradually fade, and the whispers of a new beginning would take root.

AND SO, HE SAT THERE FOR A WHILE STARING AT THE CLOUDS PASS BY. The sterile hospital room, a cold oasis of white, seemed to echo with the whispered words of Gojo Genmei as she left. Nanami Kento left alone in the quiet aftermath of their conversation, found himself wrestling with an unsatisfied restlessness. The very notion of being told to rest felt like a cage, confining him in a realm of inactivity that clashed with the echoes of Shibuya still reverberating in his mind.

He shifted uncomfortably on the hospital bed, the crisp white sheets clinging to the contours of his tired form. The room, bathed in the sterile glow of fluorescent lights, felt oppressive. Nanami's gaze wandered to the window, where the outside world beckoned, tantalizingly close yet out of reach.

The very air seemed to carry the weight of unspoken promises, of a life beyond hospital walls. Kento had called for food to be brought to his room, now that he was awake. He’s quite weary, much to the conversation in itself. The medicines he was forced to take into his body made it even worse. But he needed to sustain himself, he needed to make a moderate effort at least.

‘How am I supposed to return to normal if I don’t push myself to?’ He scolds himself in the quiet of his somber room. ‘I have to do it, I have to do it.’

Just as the specter of discontent began to settle, a soft voice invaded the sterile silence in his head. The words of parting dwelled in his mind like a broken record.  

‘Enjoy Malaysia, Kento–kun. The trip will make you strong, I’m sure, hm? Just take all the time you need! Bring a souvenir, Satoru would adore it by the time he sees it!'

The voice of Gojo Genmei had always made a mark whenever she spoke, her presence a fleeting memory that lingered in the room. She had left, but her words hovered in the air like a gentle melody, a reminder of the promises yet to unfold. She had reassured him that all would be well. He had to put his faith in her, in all his comrades. In Gojo Satoru. He had to think that they’d do well.

That they can carry on while he is gone. He did his best, to collect himself but he could not help it, feel the things he did. Nanami, still restless, couldn't help but dwell on the words. He couldn’t deny that she made a good point. He agrees with her. His life as a sorcerer was always bound to be short, bound to danger. He had to make the best of it. He needs to make it all worth it. Now more than ever.

Time passed in measured increments, the rhythm of the hospital machinery punctuating the silence. It was in this liminal space that the door creaked open, allowing a sliver of anticipation to seep in. The food was finally brought by the nurse. The nurse was an elderly woman, and she seemed to fawn over him as though he was a child. She told him to press the button by his bed if he needed anything or if he wanted more food. Nanami Kento was certainly overwhelmed by her energy, he had used all his energy talking to Genmei before.

But he merely nodded his head and thanked her for her help and the meal. Nanami didn’t find the taste to his liking, and in all honesty, he’s never liked the food at hospital canteens either. But he was not one to turn down food when he needed it. He’s not ungrateful. And so he ate and he ate, listening to the music on the radio, the disco jockey announcing the next song. It was his favorite by far, Saboten Record, by his favorite band Fujifabric.

It had been quite a while since Kento had heard the song. The last time he did was when he and his wife danced to it in the narrow space of their kitchen, laughing as they spun playfully against the beckoning edges of mahogany counters and marble tops. The night had been a spectacle, a happier time which gave him strength. For a moment he started to hum, the fondness of his heart following along to the echo of the rhythm.

Then, just as she had entered into his life, his dearly beloved wife, a vision of quiet strength and warmth, entered the room with all the vibrant color and exquisite wonder that she had brought with her.

Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Nanami, awake and grappling with the confines of the hospital bed. Her eyes were red, one could expect that from the tears she must have cried from worry. The room seemed to brighten like it was spring all over again as her gaze locked onto him, and in that instant, the stark walls became a canvas for the emotions playing out before her. Life made sense again, purpose existed again. The meaning of life blossomed in front of him, still from shock.

"Kento!" Her voice, a symphony of relief and joy, carried across the room. Tears glistened in her eyes, mirroring the overwhelming surge of emotions. She rushed to his side, the clatter of her footsteps echoing in the otherwise hushed room.

Nanami Kento, in turn, watched her approach, a myriad of emotions flickering in his eyes. Her presence was a balm, a reminder that he had weathered the storm and emerged on the other side. As she reached his bedside, the floodgates of her emotions opened, and tears streamed down her cheeks. She was still in the cycle of disbelief, the realm of joyous hope stuck in the motion of where her happiness began.

She kisses his scars, his burnt fingers, and hands. She could touch him, she could hold him. He was here. He was breathing, living. He was with her. She embraced him as though he would disappear if she didn’t hold onto him as tightly as she could. Not even the bundle of tears flowing from her face could stop her.

She was grateful, to any god out there, to anyone who listened to her prayers, that she had him in her arms. She had her love, the love that was made out of the wonder of this man, return to her. Alive and well, warm with everything that encompasses the beauty of life.

"I'm so happy you're alive," she whispered, her voice choked with a mix of gratitude and disbelief. All the love in her words, in her tone, brought him back to life. “You came back, you returned to me.”

He reached out to touch her cheek, his fingers gentle against the warmth of her skin. "I'm alright," he assured her, his voice a soothing murmur. "I'll never leave. I promised that to you, didn’t I, min skat?”

She leaned into his touch, her tears mingling with the warmth of his palm. "We're going to Malaysia, Kento. Together. I’m never letting you go, mit hjerte. You promised me. We’re going to live happily, Kento."

A soft smile played on his lips, a promise reflected in the depths of his gaze. "Yes, we will. I promised you, min skat. We’ll be together until we’re old and grey.”

The hospital room, once a sterile chamber of uncertainty, seemed to undergo a miraculous metamorphosis as Nanami Kento's beloved wife entered. The harsh, clinical glow of fluorescent lights softened, casting a warm, golden hue that embraced the room's confines. The air, once stagnant with the scent of antiseptic, now carried the subtle fragrance of hope and revival.

Nanami, despite his weariness, felt a surge of vitality as his wife crossed the threshold. The room itself seemed to respond, shedding its clinical demeanor in favor of a gentler, more welcoming ambiance. The crisp white sheets on the hospital bed, though still meticulously arranged, appeared softer, and inviting. They cradled him with a newfound tenderness as if conspiring with the universe to provide solace to a weary soul.

As she approached, the echo of her footsteps against the linoleum floor resonated like a reassuring heartbeat, harmonizing with the subdued hum of medical equipment. The door creaked open and closed, a gentle symphony, orchestrating the entrance of love into a space that had witnessed pain and healing in equal measure.

Her eyes, shimmering with tears yet ablaze with an unmistakable joy, met his with an intensity that breathed life into the room. The stark walls, once indifferent observers, became witnesses to the sacred dance of their reunion. The very essence of their connection infused the air, transforming the room into a haven where the boundaries of time and space seemed to blur.

In that quiet moment, their words became more than utterances; they were a melody, a soft cadence that reverberated with the depth of shared vows. The room, once void of emotion, now pulsed with the palpable warmth of love rediscovered. Dialogues danced between them like ethereal waltzes, each word a step in a choreography of reassurances and promises that only they could understand.

The hospital bed, a utilitarian piece of furniture, became a sanctuary where the contours of their bodies aligned with a perfect, unspoken understanding. The sheets, once merely functional, cradled them in an embrace that transcended the physical, a cocoon of shared experiences and the promise of a future yet to unfold.

As she leaned in, her lips pressed against the scars and burns on his fingers and hands, the room held its breath, as if granting this tender moment the reverence it deserved. She enveloped him in an embrace that felt like a gentle breeze, carrying away the residual echoes of pain and fear. The atmosphere crackled with the electricity of their shared relief, the acknowledgment that they had weathered the storm together.

Her whispered words, "I'm so happy you're alive," painted the room in hues of gratitude and disbelief. Each syllable, a brushstroke, adorned the walls with the colors of love's rekindled flame. The hospital room, once a backdrop to uncertainty, now stood as a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the enduring power of connection.

Nanami, in response, extended his hand to gently cup her tear-streaked cheek. His touch, a caress against the canvas of her skin, carried a promise.

"I'm alright," he assured her, his voice a soothing murmur that resonated with the strength of shared trials. "I'll never leave. I promised that to you, didn’t I, min skat?”

In this delicate exchange, the room bore witness to a pledge that transcended the physical confines of its walls. The hospital, once a realm of sterile uncertainties, had now become a sanctuary where the beauty of life's fragile yet enduring moments unfolded, leaving an indelible imprint on the very fabric of their shared existence.

"I was so scared, Kento. When they told me what happened..." Her voice trembled, a delicate timbre of vulnerability, the remnants of fear still haunting her. 

It made his heart ache, a heavy throb echoing through his chest, as he watched the flickering emotions dance in the depths of her eyes. She suffered because of him, and the weight of that realization settled in his soul like a stone. But she understood, as she always did. She understood the essence of him, the intricate dance between duty and the echo of his existence.

The Jujutsu world was as much him as it was the reflection of him, a reality he couldn't fully escape. Yet, despite the peril that clung to his every step, she embraced him. She embraced his flaws, his scars, and the unspoken challenges that defined his very being. 

“I’m glad that you’re here with me, Kento.”

He squeezed her hand, fingers intertwining in a silent communion of shared strength. The touch was a testament to the unspoken bond, a lifeline tethering them to the realm of the living. "I'm here now. We're here."

Her laughter, a delicate melody, bubbled forth like a spring of relief. Each note carried the weight of a thousand worries released, a cascade of sound that filled the room with an ethereal lightness. "This is enough, being with you. I could ask for nothing more. But this moment. You and me. Here."

He chuckled, the resonance vibrating through the air, a deep and comforting sound that echoed in the corners of the room. "It's more than enough for me too."

She enveloped him in her arms, a tender sanctuary where love and survival intertwined in an intricate dance. The hospital bed, once a sterile canvas of clinical white, transformed into a haven where the essence of their shared existence blossomed. Their whispered promises exchanged in the quiet sanctuary of their moments painted the room in hues of contentment.

Each word was a stroke of color, a brush dipped in the palette of their love, transforming the backdrop of sterile walls and clinical lights into a canvas adorned with the vibrant tapestry of life rekindled.

As she nestled into the curve of his embrace, Nanami whispered, his voice a soft breeze in the tranquil space, "You are in my heart, only you."

A joyous smile glistened to him. “You are too, Kento. You are my heart. My everything.”

Her eyes, still glistening with tears, met his, and in that shared gaze, they found the promise of a tomorrow unfurling before them. The hospital room, now adorned with the intricate details of their intertwined love, became a sanctuary where time seemed to stand still, embracing the beauty of life's fragile yet enduring moments.

The soft glow of the hospital lights filtered through sheer curtains, casting a warm hue that painted the room in a gentle embrace. The air, once laden with the sterile scent of antiseptic, now carried the fragrance of their shared history—the familiar scent of her perfume, the subtle notes of his cologne lingering in the air. The crisp white sheets, once clinical and unwelcoming, cradled them in a cocoon of comfort, a haven woven from threads of shared laughter and whispered confessions.

The shadows of fear and uncertainty, cast by the specter of Shibuya, faded into the background, eclipsed by the radiance of their shared love. Each heartbeat, a testament to survival and resilience, echoed in the room like a melody composed by the hands of fate. The hospital machinery, once an intrusive symphony of beeps and hums, now harmonized with the rhythm of their shared breaths, orchestrating a quiet lullaby of solace.

Nanami's scars, etched like battle-worn poetry on his skin, told a tale of survival and strength. His fingers, once battered and bruised, now intertwined with hers, creating a tapestry of connection that spoke of enduring love. The room held the echoes of their laughter, the whispered promises exchanged in the silent moments when the world outside seemed to disappear.

Their intertwined fingers traced patterns on the crisp sheets, creating a visual symphony of connection. His touch, a gentle caress against her tear-stained cheek, carried the weight of unspoken assurances. Her tears, now mingling with the warmth of his palm, became droplets of gratitude that painted the canvas of their shared existence.

As they leaned into each other's embrace, the hospital bed transformed into a sacred space where love and survival intertwined. The room, once a sterile chamber of uncertainty, now blossomed into a sanctuary of renewal and hope. The delicate dance of their shared gazes painted the walls with the colors of understanding, where unspoken words wove a narrative of connection stronger than any adversity.

The cadence of their breaths, synchronized in the quiet sanctuary, became a hymn of gratitude for the fragile yet enduring moments life had bestowed upon them. The outside world, with its chaos and uncertainties, seemed distant, held at bay by the sanctuary they had created within the hospital room. It was a haven where time, for that moment, ceased to be a relentless force and instead became a gentle companion, allowing them to savor the exquisite beauty of being together.

In that room, the resilience of the human spirit was not merely an abstract concept but a tangible force, pulsating through the air with each shared heartbeat. Their whispered promises, delicate yet profound, lingered in the spaces between them, creating an ethereal connection that surpassed the confines of the hospital walls.

And so, in the quiet embrace of their intertwined love, the hospital room became a canvas where the intricacies of life's tapestry unfolded. The fragility of existence, highlighted by the shadow left behind by the horrors of Shibuya, found solace in the enduring strength of their shared promise—a promise to weather the storms, celebrate the joys, and traverse the unpredictable terrain of life hand in hand.

writer's notes: kinda perfect to put this out, considering i was fuming last night that mei mei was in malaysia and not nanami. GEGE WHEN I CATCH YOU GEGE??? im not sure if i'll write more about nanami and his wife, but im thinking on it. if you have any thing you wanna see from their life, just come on and tell me as suggestions!!! &lt;333

facts about nanami's relationships: genmei is the person nanami trusts the most, to the point that she knew everything about his life after he left jujutsu high. they met up often to talk about how life was shit while drinking. nobuhiko and nanami were polar opposites when they met. nobuhiko was like suguru and nanami was more like satoru in terms of beliefs. but even more opposite in personality as nobuhiko is more like satoru there and nanami is more like suguru. the person that mediated between each fight was haibara. the first person nanami introduced to his wife was genmei, and they got along pretty fast. the second was nobuhiko, just after nanami and his wife got together when he got back to jujutsu. genmei and nanami have a food blog together, where they document their favorite foods across missions. since they share a similar food palate, that's how they know what to eat when they're near by. genmei, nobuhiko and nanami visit haibara often, together and separately. they often gather to drink beside haibara's grave on his birthday and death day. genmei and satoru were the two witnesses at nanami and his wife's wedding. because satoru was the one who made the process speedy, he's been irritating nanami about naming his first born after gojo satoru. nanami's wife said she'd consider it. nanami refuses.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fic #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #nanami jjk #jujutsu nanami #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami x reader #nanami kento x you #kento x reader #nanami kento x reader #gojo satoru #nanami fluff #nanami x you #nanami lives

[pancakes-with-grounded-hazelnuts]

hsr: 2.1 spoilers

thoughts on firefly (LONG AND UNPOLISHED BUT I MUST SCREAM)

- - -

just to get it out of the way, i love that firefly is sam.

also what i’m about to share is a mix of interpretation and headcanon based on how i would write her. NOT INTENDED TO BE A THEORY OR A PROPER ANALYSIS OF CANON.

and i’m not going through all of samfire’s dialogue and lore for this because if i did that for every post expressing my thoughts i’d never post anything ever.

- - -

i propose: “firefly” is sam’s dream.

imagine this: you are a killer. one with strength and perception far beyond any mortal being. when an enemy is caught by your senses, their life ends before they ever knew the fear of your presence. this is what you were made to be, and this is all that you are. you can’t even dream…but you can imagine.

what if you were instead, a mortal? one with lovely eyes the color of the night sky lit by a bustling city below. you’ve always looked to a starry sky fondly, and longingly. so incomprehensibly vast - each speck of light was a unique something, forming a great sea of possibilities, but all too far from your reach. what could be a better fit?

and what if instead of the one role you were made for, you had many roles? this young mortal is an actor! sure, actors read off a script as well, but each story woven by the script was different. each has its own destiny. you ponder what it’s like to be bound to multiple destinies, rather than just the one.

and you continue to ponder. each day this imaginary “you” becomes more and more realized. and now that you have finished imagining, you begin to wish: that between the checkpoints of fate, the brief moments of freedom will let you play as this “you”. but you know that’s all it is: play. you can never escape your true nature…right?

- - -

UH. BASICALLY. i headcanon firefly as sam’s wishful persona manifested in the dream world.

that being said, that doesn’t make firefly any less real to me.

firefly herself even asserts that what one experiences in a dream is still true and valid, but when sam speaks, they seem resigned to what they believe is their “nature”, like they can only be the type of person firefly is in a fabricated world.

without the constraints of the waking world, sam can be a kind and lively young woman who can make friends on her own, and has a job - a purpose - where as a performer, obeying the scripts brings delight instead of blood. and it was such a wonderful experience that they didn’t want to wake up from it.

i don’t yet know how much sam fully validates their “firefly” self beyond the feelings being real, but the way they behave and describe themselves to acheron when they’re sam suggests that they don’t believe they can also truly be “firefly” at the same time.

also i’m mainly going off of the idea that firefly’s appearance can only be easily manifested in the dream world, and that sam’s “armor” is truly just their body, but i believe this headcanon still works even if it is armor, because it is more about the mentality.

of course there are some glaring constraints in reality that prevents them from being able to do certain things (at the moment), but the way sam views themselves also constrains them far more than they realize. if sam wishes to be firefly, then sam IS firefly. and once they realize that, they don’t have to strictly act and identify in the way they believe they should.

sam’s scripts have always been brief, and i wonder…is it just because sam is simple in their skills and approach to their work? or is it because between the inescapable events one calls destiny, between the tasks sam must fulfill, they can do or be whatever they choose?

- - -

that was a very roundabout way to say that i think samfire is trans.

bonus thoughts:

omg after seeing the reveal, firefly feels more like an affectionate parody of the character we were meant to think she is. hc sam watched and read a lot of romcoms and was like…damn i wish that was me. i wish i was a cute girl with fluffy hair going on a date with the trailblazer, but alas i am but a 8 ft tall murder robot. GIRL YOU CAN BE BOTH.

i also like that this idea highlights a more positive side to dreaming, in contrast to the rest of the penacony story so far. yes, one can’t slumber forever, but is a rest - a respite - not needed from time to time? and just as reality can follow one into their dream, can dreams not also be with you when you wake?

#honkai star rail #hsr 2.1 spoilers #hsr firefly #god i hope i don’t regret posting this #this fandom scares me #yet for some reason i must share #if this gets too much attention i’m deleting it #i can’t believe i’m not talking about jingliu for once

[dickssociation]

in the wake of the Depp/Heard trial's presence becoming a nearly inescapable anywhere on the internet, please try extra hard to be kind to yourself. if you know that it's bad for you to keep reading, please keep scrolling & block any tags people are using for this garbage. i'll be leaving this here then disengaging too.

last night i reached a breaking point after accidentally getting into a conversation with my roommates about what purpose it serves as a publicized event. people either seem to be taking sides in what they see as a soap opera or taking the "mature, detached" approach of denouncing any real-world effect. this isn't just celebrity drama. this is something that will deeply effect the way we look at both domestic violence and mental health. after years of academic research on personality disorders & years of following the personal experiences of people with personality disorders, as well as learning to manage my own bpd symptoms, reading the misinformation that's being reported is so heartbreaking

here's what happened & why it's scary:

•mental illness has once again been used in a court of law to not only support abuse accusations, but also to delegitimize the opponent's testimony

•the specific mental illnesses in question are all Cluster B personality disorders (BPD & HPD for Amber, NPD for Johnny), some of the most historically misunderstood & stigmatized disorders in the entire field of psychology

•it's already very difficult to find professional help that isn't dehumanizing - it just got harder (therapists often flat out refuse to treat people diagnosed or suspected of having a personality disorder)

•this is many people's first time hearing these terms - abusiveness is now an inherent connotation

things to remember:

•throwing around the words "borderlines" or "narcissists" instead of "people with BPD/NPD" reduces a person to a diagnosis & reinforces stereotypes

•turning psychiatric terms into adjectives & using them in phrases like "narcissistic/borderline abuse" is the same as describing someone's behavior as "bipolar" or "schizo" when it negatively affects you - it's demonizing & ableist

•linking a particular style of abuse to a mental disorder allows anyone to look at an abuser and diagnose them with a mental disorder

•it also allows anyone to look at someone with a mental disorder and assign them the status of an abuser

•people (not diagnoses) are responsible for their actions & the effects of those actions

•diagnoses do not dictate personal ethics

•no one is a bad person because of their diagnosis or a good person despite it

•any type of abuse can be perpetrated by anyone, neurodivergent or neurotypical

•every person is different - celebrities in a disturbing legal battle are NOT the faces of personality disorders or really anything else that the general population should relate to

•this will continue to be an incredibly triggering topic for some people with a history of abuse, people with a personality disorder, & especially people with both

•people with personality disorders are much more likely to be abused than neurotypical people (certain symptoms + neurodivergence in general put us at greater risk) - not all of us are victims of abuse, but the majority are (sources below)

•please be sensitive & respectful - we're humans too & feeling like our existence is being criminalized is really upsetting

•please educate yourself before you speak on the experiences of neurodivergency - bias is nearly unavoidable but it's also pretty easy to detect even if academic resources are too dense for you

sources:

1 2 3 4 5

#borderline personality disorder #bpd #borderline #quiet bpd #quiet borderline #implosive bpd #actually borderline #actually bpd #borderline problems #bpd problems #npd #narcissistic personality disorder #mental health #mental disorder #hpd #histrionic personality disorder #abuse #domestic abuse #amber heard #johnny depp #stigma #ableism #cluster b #bpd resources #bpd info

[akela-nakamura]

I've been torn between 'we're running for Midnight,' ' Lock the last door open,' and ' We're pausing for dusk'. I'm absolutely Obsessed with all three of those as i've read them at least ten times.

First off: ten times?! You utter madlad. That's So Many omg. 🥺

Those are tough ones to be stuck between, I won't lie.

So I'll give you a Little for each, though I don't know that Dusk has anything to share in it atm.

For Midnight:

"A fissure of pain spreads through his chest, a touch of a knife across skin. But he can’t stop, he won’t. More voices around him, steady and sure. The hand doesn’t let go, and he feels someone lean in on his other side.  Jason’s voice comes over the comms again, and the words only barely register. He gets the gist, though, that Jason’s heading for the Realms. The lack of communication they’ll have with Jason is not ideal, but they’ll simply have to manage."

Oh, there is a little bit for Dusk!

"But of course, it’s never not that easy. Not for him. No, Tim Drake-Wayne gets to blink his gritty eyes and stare blankly at the walls while mentally begging himself to just sleep.  And he knows why. It doesn’t take a genius to know he’s afraid. When he does sleep, he dreams of cage bars and smothering weights on his chest, of false smiles, and Drake Manor, stretched for miles. Inescapable, unbreakable.  He dreams of Nocturn’s voice, the scrape of presence that hunted him.  So it’s no wonder it’s three-thirty in the morning, and he can’t find the ability to sleep. It’s no wonder the silence of the house is like a warning siren."

Annnndd here's some Door:

"Tucker’s pretty numb on the ride back over to FentonWorks. The world feels like it’s lightyears away, and he simply can’t reach. The only thing that’s real is the rumble of the mail truck’s engine, the press of Sam against his side, and the firm, grounding grip Batgirl has on his shoulder. There’s a pile of semi-conscious GIW agents piled in the back. And a void in his chest, screaming in his head."

Enjoy! :)

WIP Ask Game

#Akela's Antics #Akela Writes #WIP Ask Game #Lock the Last Open Door #We're Running For Midnight #We're Pausing For Dusk #Links #DPxDC

[not-a-coral-snake]

I couldn’t find any one-shots that were about Damen and Laurent spooning, so I wrote this one. Post-canon fluff, more or less.

“Laurent. Would you move closer?” says Damen, and while his voice when saying Laurent’s name had been tentative, by the end of the request his voice had been—wheedling is a fair descriptor, Laurent rules. Somewhere between wheedling and plaintive.

There is nearly an arm span of empty bed between them.

“Your wound,” Laurent reminds him. Damen has, in these last weeks, revealed himself to be an incorrigibly bad patient.

“I’ll let you know if you’re hurting it. And Paschal did say it wasn’t in danger of reopening any more, barring extreme exertion.”

‘Extreme exertion’ hadn’t been exactly how Paschal had put it. Paschal had been both a great deal more specific and a great deal less delicate.

And Damen is right that Laurent simply lying near to Damen, near enough to touch, is not likely to do the wound any damage now.

Laurent shuffles a little closer. Now he is lying next to Damen, close enough for his right shoulder to brush Damen’s left.

Laurent had been surprised, rather foolishly perhaps, when he’d moved into Damen’s bedchamber in Ios, at how natural it had felt to be sleeping alongside him. They may have only fucked a handful of times, but they had been sleeping side-by-side on the road to Ios for weeks, and before that they had spent a month sleeping in the same tent. Laurent has grown used to falling asleep to the sound of Damen’s breathing, to the vague but inescapable awareness of his presence.

Damen shifts, tucks an arm behind Laurent’s shoulders.

Laurent is aware that this is awkward, that he is not quite doing this right. Damen’s presence is familiar, comfortable. Physical contact is . . . Well, unfamiliar, certainly. Not unwelcomed. But. . .

Damen is still beside him, waiting for an invitation to do anything else. Or perhaps just accepting this, whatever this is, though the position can hardly be comfortable for him.

It’s just that for a long time now, Laurent has found comfort, found an ability to relax, in the feeling of sprawling surrounded on all sides by empty bed. He’s liked the feeling of waking up in Damen’s arms, the times it’s happened. He’s liked the feeling a lot. It’s just that he’s not sure how to replicate that feeling now. He’s not even sure that he can replicate it, or if he must rely on his unconscious self to make the decision to seek contact for him.

Slowly and with deliberate effort, Laurent tells his muscles to relax.

One of Laurent’s instructors in swordsmanship had been forever after Laurent to relax, to loosen his muscles in preparation for a quick response to the next strike rather than to tense them in anticipation of it. He tries drawing on that training now, taking note of his breathing, loosening first the muscles of his feet, then calves, proceeding upwards. He thinks it is probably helping at least a little.

He is not unaware of the absurdity of it all, that he needs to devote concentrated physical and mental effort to achieve the task of lounging with a lover. At least Damen beside him is graciously giving no sign that he finds Laurent’s manner in any way out of the ordinary.

It helps when Laurent thinks, how would I be lying if I were alone? It helps when Laurent thinks, how am I lying when I am asleep? When I wake up? He turns over onto one side, using the movement to nestle into Damen’s shoulder. He curls his knees forward slightly.

It helps still more when he begins to match his breathing to the steady slow rise and fall of Damen’s chest behind him. Damen turns over slightly too, so that Laurent’s back is pressed up against his chest. His other arm comes up around Laurent’s waist, hand resting on Laurent’s stomach. He moves slowly, deliberately, in the manner that Laurent has discovered is Damen’s way of saying, ‘nothing you don’t want.’ Of saying ‘stop me if you’d like.’

Laurent doesn’t stop him. He shifts backward, pressing their bodies closer together. And with a sigh that is half a yawn, he finds himself relaxing into the newfound comfort of Damen’s arms.

#captive prince

[misscammiedawn]

50 Days of HypnoKink - Day 23: Scent Play

Alignment: 100% Top. This is Dawn's signature.

With apologies to my silly science boy. I will give you the world as best I can package it, but this is one treat I cannot share with you.

Lavender is the scent of Miss Dawn. Lavender is the scent that penetrates you, surrounds you, coaxes you and lulls you in to soft surrender.

You may cover your ears to block out her voice, you may hide out of reach to avoid her touch or the taste of her lips, you may close your eyes to avoid being swayed by her commanding gestures and dazzling eyes, you may even try to plug your nose...

But you have to breathe some time and when you do, you'll notice that tint in the air, that flavor to the room, lavender softly accenting the moment, quietly corrupting, subtly lulling.

Drawing you ever closer to that inevitable surrender.

You cannot hide from my scent. You cannot resist my scent. You cannot resist me.

I have you.

...many scenes I tend to put on candles, defuse some essential oil or burn incense. It makes the space mine for a little while. I have conditioned Dolly enough that she already associates the scent and my presence/permission (both required, I do not want her lulling at lavender in public) with the sensation of trance.

It's the nearest I can have to a truly hypnotic aura.

Certainly I could set the lighting to a certain level (mental note: get multicolored LED lighting with a dimmer dial for your space in the future) and add some scenic music, wear specific outfits and generate the tone for a hypnotic space that is overt and inescapable. Any and every tool would heighten the mood.

But scent is subtle. It's something which doesn't demand or draw attention. There's some plausible deniability in there. Does it smell like that because it is my preferred scent? All of my toiletries are lavender scented. My bubble bath is lavender scented. Even my tea has lavender in it. When I say "this is my scent" I am not being hyperbolic. I want lavender to be synonymous with Miss Dawn.

I can see evidence that this has been the case since as early as 2004, with journal entries stating "her scent is lavender" when referring to my inevitable transitioned self.

This of course means the scent is attached to me rather than to trance.

Until I use the scent as a weapon.

Dolly is conditioned enough that all I need to do is make her consciously recognize the scent in order for it to drug her. "Does this smell like chloroform to you?" used to be a trigger, especially when I held a lavender soaked rag over her mouth and held her firm while she squirmed in resistance.

The most memorable time of which @redcap3 chronicled in a wonderful story called Snatch and Grab. Let's just say Puppet and I teamed up to gift our mutual girlfriend a *lovely* kidnapping scene.

Drug play is something I am newer to and I need to experiment with more before I can get it on the list, but it falls under the same umbrella.

My lovely lass once did a suggestion to perceive a drink I was having as a powerful sedative and every time a sip was taken it would induce a trance and provide amnesia so the next sip would come as just as much of a surprise as the first.

I have to admit, it caught my attention and I've been thinking of ways to do things since then.

As a final side note for Scent Play, I once wrote a hypnosis themed route for a visual novel. I utilized lavender as a scent in that script for pacification, obviously. As a reference to Jukebox's Girl stories I added strawberry as an arousal scent. Made it so the perspective character would succumb to insatiable arousal at the scent of strawberry.

I do not do that one in real life.

But I felt like mentioning it.

---

Day 22: Truth Spells

FULL SCHEDULE MASTER POST

Day 24: Writing in Trance

#dawn posting #50 days of fetishes #hypnosis #hypnokink #sometimes I write things in these entries targeted at one person in my audience #this is one of those times

[ekowolf]

TW

“The great inheritance. Born with and into it. Infused with her blood. Pain was no mere visitor to Lena; it was more like a constant companion, one more faithful to her than anything in her life. It clung to her like an unwanted shadow. Cleaved to her skin and whispered her name as if they shared some kind of diseased bond. No matter how long she tried to deny it to everyone, especially herself, this was a lifelong sentence. 

Sleep offered no reprieve from its call. All night, her body tossed and turned relentlessly in a desperate search for a barely bearable position. It was truly a cruel and savage commander that allowed her to barely taste rest—a tease, really—only to wake her with a vice grip before it could ultimately take root. No amount of denial or distraction could change that. 

When will this end? When will everything stop hurting? Could someone please dilute her? Make her a little easier to be around. Make it a little easier to get some sleep.

Whether it was mental or physical, pain haunted her nights with its heavy weight, engulfing her in a suffocating fog so thick that she sometimes couldn't see a way out. It displaced her in her own bed, ripping the bones from her body, each breath stolen by its unrelenting presence—a fog so thick that at times, she couldn't see a way out. Sometimes, it felt like her hair was too heavy to handle; the dark strands were an added burden to the weight she was already carrying. She was done asking the world for happiness. All she needed was a little less pain. 

Despite the affliction being crippling, Lena's dealings with it were her most intimate encounters. It lived on the deepest insides of her, touched everything that made her who she was, claimed her body, and mastered her muscles. Clearly, it was able to siphon all her strength to the point where she thought she'd never see it again. She was well-versed and uniquely acquainted with the villains that lived in her head. Kara was the only person who made the mistake of trekking deep enough inside to brush everything with gentle fingers. Just a taste. Just a glimpse. And the mere thought of causing Kara to experience a second of the same helplessness she felt was enough to make her keep it locked away. Even though it was a constant burden, it was hers to bear. Hers and hers alone. 

She was a scientist; a pragmatist. But most of the time she couldn't ignore the artistry of this thing that lived in her. It manifested in different ways, but mostly it twisted and warped her body until it was almost unrecognizable. Changed her in a way that could never be reversed. Her favorite, though, was how it seeped into her thoughts, clouding her mind and making it difficult to focus on anything but its inescapable presence. Lena had invisible grief coursing through her, pressing into her, resembling that of a person sobbing alone in a dark room, its echo reverberating in her very bones. Or maybe something similar to an unrelenting urge to lay her head down on a table for a while, regardless of where or who she was with. A sadness that she didn't want to deal with or acknowledge. Misery tugged at her shirt and sat squarely on her shoulders, begging to be her best friend, to be heard. It called her by name. Made itself a home. Made her bed a casket. As always, the feeling begged to meet her in the eye, but she avoided its gaze despite hearing it twenty-four-seven”

I don’t think i’ve ever read something that feels like it was ripped from my soul

#supercorp #supergirl #lena luthor #kara danvers #no sleep club #ao3 #writing

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

For me being trans was, and still is, an honestly really profound experience. Being out and trans in the real world is a distinctly different sensation from being out and trans online. When you're online, revealing your transness is usually a sign that you're very confident in who you are and you don't give a shit what people think, or that you feel comfortable and safe in a space. It's very, very easy to just never reveal that you're trans and to have people always operating under the assumption that you're a cis woman, or just never reveal your gender at all.

Being in the real world though, being trans felt like...a necessity for existing in spaces. It's an undeniable facet of your existence. When you're in an LGBT space and you can be easily clocked, there's no escaping it. When you're in a cishet space and someone says your name and there's that brief moment behind their eyes where you can see the gears turning, its inescapable. It's immeasurably revealing about people: what they think, how they view you, how they view trans people as a whole.

Let me provide a really good example, an example that has stuck with me for literal years: when I worked at my university's LGBT Center and was student chair of the university's LGBT Advisory Board, and we had done a survey of the campus to get a better idea of the needs and wants of the campuses' LGBT population. One of the responses that was brought up was about the lack of lesbian spaces in the Center, which was strictly true as we really didn't have anyone at the time who had the time and energy to run them. Our Center was chronically underfunded and running constantly on the unpaid labor of students. There's slack to be given.

But that really made me uncomfortable was the same person going "but there's no one who looks like me at the Center." Which came off as very weird. What does a lesbian look like? Even amongst like, lesbians, there's a swath of different gender expressions and subcultures and there always has been historically. It was doubly confusing because I was myself a lesbian, and I basically lived at the Center during the day. I was a constant presence there.

But of course, some days I didn't try so hard to try and "look" my gender. I was a college student, who was running herself absolutely ragged trying to make the Center the best place it could be, who was dealing with mental health issues so I looked...better some days than others. I didn't really care when I was having a bad day about how people perceived me for the most part, like I pulled an all-nighter I should be allowed to look like I'm running off of caffeine in an old T-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants.

So I brought up to the Advisory Board the issues I had with the comment, including that the comment might just be transphobic: our Center had a higher than average representation of trans people, and it's definitely possible that was what was meant by the comment. When the lesbians at the Center are a trans woman, a biracial woman, and someone who sat in the weird gender bubble outside of it all, it would be very easy for a white cis lesbian to look in and go "oh, there's no one here who looks like me."

A lot more people didn't get it than people who did. Some people said I shouldn't be denying people their feelings (which, what?) but for a lot of people, part of the response was "But you're a trans woman, you aren't getting how she feels." Being a trans woman consumed everything else to people who I still trust and I still like, but it was a big wake-up call. You couldn't just trust people when you say "I'm trans and a lesbian". It's why I'm generally much more forthcoming and direct now: I just call myself a dyke. That tends to stick more.

You learn A LOT about other people by being trans, and that's part of what made being trans so profound to me. You learn about the people who genuinely support you and work to understand you, you learn about the people who support you but struggle to understand, and you learn about the people who kind of secretly despise you. You learn about the people for whom their trans support only extends to their friends: the people who never ask if you need clothes, the people who suggest changing a trans clothing drive into a clothing sale to support their drag ball.

It's been a really good window into who is genuine and who isn't, and it's an important part of being me.

[winchester-reload]

As sort of a follow up to the ask about artists trying to break the perfection mentality.

How do I, as a non-artistic person, most effectively encourage artists who see the flaws instead their amazing talent?

I have a fandom friend who is hella gifted. You've seen their work, know their name just by looking at it, and they create such gorgeous art. But they also are hypercritical of their work, and while I understand that (I feel the same way about stringing words together), I also just want to point at every single thing that makes their art so amazing to me and be like, "You did this thing that I can't do, and it's a such an extraordinary gift, and I can never thank you enough for sharing it. Have my non-existant first born as a sign of my devotion."

This friend has admitted they don't really want to create in this medium anymore, which I respect and won't push back on. I just wish they could *feel* how much their art touches me.

For other artists, though, how do I help? I know that positive feedback is always welcome, but sometimes I wonder if there's something else artists find useful when it comes to reactions.

(P.S. Rainbow Mohawk Cas is, and always will be, one of my favorite pieces of your artwork, and you could try to pry him from my cold, dead hands, but you'd fail.)

Okay, I’m gonna try to answer this but it’s gonna be difficult for me because, full disclosure, I’m getting through a huge art dip right now.

The reality is, this issue is as varied and complex as the artists you’re kinda asking me to group up and speak for here. So let me be clear, I can only speak for myself and my own experience with fanart, an online presence within a fandom, and how those two things impact creativity, motivation, and self-perception. But know at the same time that my experience is not going to be exactly like other peoples’.  

First, as you noted, there are always going to be the obvious things people can do to help promote their favorite artists: 

Reblog their posts

CREDIT THEIR WORK ELSEWHERE

 Likes

Comment

Commission them

Don’t steal

Be respectful: refrain from criticism or personal biases on their posts <—Are you allowed to have your own opinion? YES! Do you need to barf it all over their comment section? No. If you don’t agree with something they made, go make your own art. Can’t make your own art? Then go supply positive support to artists who do create the things you enjoy. *Some of you may be surprised to learn that we do read comments, tags and reblogs. No matter how *big* or *small* you perceive us to be. So if you leave some shit in your tags, we’re probably gonna see it. 

But now here comes the complicated part. 

The thing about fanart creation is, it’s very much a labor of love. The time, effort, and mental energy required to make, post, and manage the feedback may often outweigh any external benefits of making the art (income, accolades, fandom celebration, etc). So there'll always come a point when artists hit a wall and need to draw on their own self-motivation. This happens over and over again, not once or twice. It’s kind of like a wave that ebbs and flows with the mood of the fandom. And with Supernatural specifically, you can imagine that wave is a little more like a typhoon: sunny beach moment one day, drowning in inescapable toxicity the next. So it doesn’t surprise me to hear you have a fandom friend who might be done creating in this subject. Does it make me sad though? Yes, incredibly. We’ve had a myriad of talented artists throughout the years that’ve since moved on and I mourn every one of them. But I also support their decision to do so. If the current subject is no longer a source of inspiration, it becomes impossible to create for it. 

I do hope your friend is still creating though.

However, since you mentioned hyper-criticality, I’m afraid they might not be. The thing is, I don’t have a solution for ridding yourself of hyper-criticism as an artist. It may sometimes appear as though I do because I have a lot of art out, but that’s just an illusion. The reality is, I don’t like most of my art. And, like your friend, I’m often hyper-critical of it. The difference is, I post it anyway because I decided I don’t need to like it. I just have to make it. And if I make it enough, I build the skills I need to, every once-in-a while, accomplish something I do like. And everything in between those pieces are just stepping stones. Which is why I always finish a piece of art and tell myself “it is what it is, on to the next.” That kind of thinking has helped me move past what might otherwise be a immovable obstacle. 

So, if I have any advice for your friend, it’s that. You don’t have to like your art. You just have to make it, and keep moving forward. 

This is where audience interaction becomes so incredibly important. Artists always get caught up in their own head about what they’re making, but the positive feedback can help us see it through your eyes. And it isn’t everything, because tbh we’re always getting our feet caught on mental hurdles and faceplanting in our own puddles of self-loathing, but audience support can get us up again, refill our wells of motivation, and help reaffirm our goals.

I mean, I can honestly say I would not be here without the support I get. But it’s even difficult for me at times, and I’m fully aware that I benefit from much more support than many other skilled artists do.  

So, @eyesofatragedy67, all of this is to say I do believe your friend knows how much their art means to you, just as I know how much my art means to other people--even the pieces I don’t like. It’s just that sometimes it’s hard to get out of our heads about it. Ultimately, it’s something we have to overcome ourselves, but that impossible task is made infinitely easier with a kind, supportive audience base. So, you keep doing what you’re doing, and I’m gonna send a little nod to your artist friend: I miss you already, but I can’t wait to see where you find your new source of inspiration. 

#asks #art asks #wonderful people

[tobeornottotc]

Hii! I haven't read the novel, but do you think that at some point Kinn and Vegas will learn to coexist in the same world? I can't wait to see the Vegas arc, and of course Pete!!!

Hi!

The funny thing is I know most of the spoilers for Kinn and Porsche story and arc for book 1 but I’m not familiar with all of Vegas and Pete’s story. I only know a few tidbits here and there, especially how they start, and Vegas’s role in KinnPorsche’s over all romance arc (which I have stated is one of my favorite things to explore in this story). It’s difficult because without spoilers, Kinn and Vegas have a long past with each other, they were forced to become enemies by external influences, for Vegas these influences are hard to escape from, especially since they’re interconnected mentally and psychologically to his traumas and growth. It’s not easy for him to easily coexist with Kinn when Kinn’s overall presence has been a trigger for him every step of the way and although it isn’t really Kinn’s fault per say, his presence still connects to Vegas’s mind of pain and anger, and the way he copes with that is to turn to ambition and greed to distract and convince himself it’s okay. With Kinn it's the same, while Kinn’s presence have always been a trigger for Vegas since young, Vegas is more connected to Kinn’s traumas in a different form, there’s hurt there, there’s pain and cruelty there from Vegas towards Kinn, and it’s not easy to just pretend that doesn’t matter.

 Let’s review what their dynamic is, because Kinn and Vegas’s roles are mirrored after who they are supposed to replace and take after in this chess game, their fathers. Korn is the head of the family but is distrustful and has been betrayed by many families next to him, this is a massive family as shown on Kim’s board, there’s threads of different minor families, and Korn has watched them come and go and try and take his spot, not to mention his own tense relationship (alike Hades and Zeus if you know Greek Mythology) with Kan (Vegas’s father) where the other one feels unfairly beaten and unfairly treated. With the titles being Kinn comes from the Major family, suggests superiority and Vegas being seen as minor to him, is something Kan had to deal with and couldn’t stand. So their fathers started this cycle before they were born, there are instilled ideas there, especially from Kan to Vegas, they’ve been molded and sometimes even forced to compete and hurt one another to try and get the upper hand.

So, it’s not easy for coexisting, Yes Vegas is going to end up with Pete (Kinn’s bodyguard) but because I don’t know how he becomes the right person for Pete, I don’t know what the outcomes of that is for his position in the chess game as the head of the second family, and what that means for the competition between the two of them. I hope there’s some sort of healing but with the amount of things they have gone through, they have thought and done to each other (mostly Vegas to Kinn) I don’t see an easy path to forgiveness, I don’t see how Kan will let go of his greed and hunger for the throne either, so I don’t know how Vegas can escape those shackles that bound him, yes Pete will be very powerful for that but how powerful? That’s why I’m excited to explore the dynamic between these two because I know the pain and hurt that binds them in this inescapable fate from the sins of their fathers. This cycle of betrayal and greed. A war Korn calls it in episode 5, because it is, and it’s up to them and their lovers to stop the cycle but when I don’t know. However, could there be someone else that causes them to work together later to defeat a common obstacle to both their roles? Maybe, I would think narratively that makes sense, but I don’t know if that happens since I have no clue about the outcome of VegasPete’s arc.

 Everything to do with Vegas in this show is complicated and painful, it’s conflicting and disturbing, it’s hard to love him but it's hard to leave him and not understand him, there’s a reason for his madness, his monstrosity, his chaos. And I want to see how this team and Bible transform his story for us to see that. I actually love Vegas a lot during his role in KInnPorsche arc, but his role in his own love story is too much to bear from where I’m at with spoilers, I honestly want to see how the show shows me how he becomes who he needs to be for Pete. Because we’ve not seen the real Vegas yet, there’s glimpses of him in episode 5 of the humanity stolen from him, the innocence but there’s also glimpses of him in episode 4 in his dungeon where he’s cultivating the monster inside him. Pete unfortunately shows up at the time the monster is no longer hidden and caged, and that’s the most stressful part of their journey. But monsters can love, monsters can be tamed, monsters can learn, and I can’t wait to see Vegas find the strength and catalyst to take back what was cruelly ruined and tainted for him.

Thanks anon. Hope that answers your question mostly focused on speculation to be honest since like I said it’s a blurry line for me when we get towards the next arc for him and Pete. But it’s one I think if taken time and effort to fully explain will be one of the best narratives in this genre for a long time. Vegas potentially could be the best character ever written!

#kinnporsche #kinnporsche the series #reviews #asks #bl series #bl drama #Thai bl #vegas x pete #meta