#you are so very worthy of recovery and good things

[lunarflare64]

Just took the bin out and there's this ants nest in front of our house right? Pretty big species, that common for Australia, not gonna get close to identify them though because again, Australia, we really don't wanna get bitten, but when we moved our bin guess what was under it! THE ENTIRE NEST'S BROOD PILE! AND THEIR QUEEN! GUYS WHAT THE FUCK THATS NOT A SECURE PLACE TO STORE YOUR MOTHER AND HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF BABY SIBLINGS!!!

We thought the brood pile was a satellite nest at first, and the queen was just a major (look man, even though we're turning 24 this year our glasses still need to be updated yearly, we can't see shit rn. And we need bifocals so we cant see shit at any distance.), but when the bin was moved that definitely would have brought the majors out so that was straight up the main nest brood pile and the queen herself. What the actual fuck man.

Hopefully the brood is brought back into the actual-dirt-nest before the sun comes up, the kids in this area are assholes. The bin is gonna need to be kept out of satelite nesting range too, because we can't just let them think thats a safe spot to RAISE THEIR INFANTS! NOT EVEN INFANTS! THERE WERE EGGS! SO MANY EGGS! THOSE WERE FETUSES! EVERY STAGE OF ANT BABY WAS IN THAT PILE!

#they were so cute #but obvs the fam were PISSED about the situation so we couldnt get close #have we ever mentioned that we love ants? #its a big problem because in situations like this the ants staying isnt exactly a good thing #and.....you cant just pick up and move an ants nest....... #its deal with them or kill them basically #shit its almost time for the house to have a pest control checkup too #they spray the entire outside of the house and that shit has Range #the ants arent gonna make it #we dont have the authority to tell them to not spray either #also thats just a bad idea we'd rather not have redbacks making it into the house #dont know if they can kill an adult human but they have killed a human child that we knew when we were a child so we're traumatised enough #even if they cant kill an adult it would definitely be hospitalisation worthy pain and damage and our immune system is....... #it is by medical definition very weak and disorganised #our recovery would be Rough at best and unlikely to happen at worst #genuinely dont know how deadly redbacks are because we're too scared of spiders to handle the images that pop up when you google them #genetic trauma on our mums side. she went through some Shit so all of her kids popped out inherently afraid of spiders

[tsukimefuku]

Kindness and sunflowers

This is part of my "Jujutsu Partners Canon Divergence AU". A sequence of short stories and random drabbles for a fic I'll eventually write (eventually). To see the ever-growing list of one-shots, please visit my masterlist :) 

Disclaimer: they’re NOT written and posted in chronological order of events. To see where this story fits in the timeline, please check the masterlist mentioned above.

Tags: f!reader, soft/implied Higuruma x reader, drinking, fluff, hurt, and comfort.

WC: 1.4k

"Hey, I think he's not doing very well." You said to the other sorcerers, while you were all sitting at the bar. Higuruma had his face plastered on the counter, and one of his hands covered a beer mug. He was mumbling unintelligibly.

This was his first time out of Jujutsu High's headquarters ever since they detained him. After saving your ass when you were on a mission, Higuruma — a curse user that was being hunted by Jujutsu High — was granted mercy under some conditions. If he proved himself as a worthy jujutsu sorcerer in their service, his suspended execution would be extinguished. You asked Gojo, as a favor from your friend, to try saving the guy (after all, he saved you first). Gojo agreed, but warned you'd be responsible for accompanying him in this "parole" period. Deal, you answered, and here you all were a month later.

The guy was smart (and a smart mouth), even with his kind of nihilistic demeanor sometimes. Working with him was very different from working with Nanami the months prior. Higuruma was an absolute beast in the field, and took many more risks than your previous mission partner. On one occasion, you had to take the poisonous hit from a curse to protect him, simply because he made no effort to dodge. You knew full well you could recover using your own RCT, but man, it was a nasty recovery period. He apologized at the time for his irresponsibility, and his empty sardonic facade seemed to get a little chipped away since then. At least for you.

"He seems fine to me." Nanami sipped on his own drink nonchalantly, as he raised one eyebrow while looking at the man. His contempt was hidden under the perfect monotone he had to his voice — Nanami was still furious at Higuruma due to the poisoning debacle that left you bedridden for an entire week.

You looked at him, somewhat irritated.

"Really? Does he, Nanami?" You asked rhetorically, pointing dramatically to face-plastered-on-the-counter Higuruma.

He sighed, putting his drink glass back on the counter. "I apologize, that was uncalled-for." Nanami said. "Yes, he should be taken somewhere else to sober up and sleep properly."

"Hey, lawyer man." Shoko poked Higuruma's arm, and he barely moved. "Yeah, he's out."

"This is it, I'm getting him home." You sighed. "I mean, now he's allowed to go out the headquarters, he might go home, right?"

Gojo shrugged, laughing, as he took many pictures of passed out Higuruma on his phone from different angles. "I didn't ask. They just said he could leave headquarters."

"You didn't ask?" You said, stunned.

He put his phone away in his pocket, clearly amused. "Well, when this happened to one of my students, he wasn't bound to be in headquarters all the time. So I think it's safe to say the man is free to go, as long as he comes back."

You facepalmed. Getting money from your wallet, you gave your and Higuruma's part to Gojo, the only person sober in the whole entourage. "Here, this should cover for us. I'm calling a cab."

He smiled as he said good luck.

***

After fumbling through Higuruma's wallet and questioning him relentlessly, piecing together everything the drunk man could tell, you finally got to drag him to his apartment, where he used to live when he was still a lawyer. There was just one thing you hadn't accounted for — neither of you had the key. You were cursing yourself and him under your breath as you conjured up a tiny grenade with your innate technique, just strong enough to bust open his door without causing collateral damage. He was leaning against the wall, sitting on the ground, and seemed to be snoring. May the neighbors not hear this. It was late enough to be almost early.

The controlled explosion was loud enough to startle him awake, but didn't seem to attract any attention from the other apartments. You threw Higuruma's arm over your shoulders and lifted him up, while you opened the door and carried him inside. Miraculously, when you flipped the lights on, it actually worked. You put him on the couch as you used one of the chairs around the place to hold the door closed.

"You're kind, did you know that?" Higuruma said, while he was a tad bit more sober now than when you both left the bar. He threw himself over the couch, extending his arms on the cushions and leaning his head back to look at the ceiling. "The world is not a great place for kind people."

"You don't say." You replied, smiling, while you looked around the apartment. Somehow, it was exactly what you expected his place to look like. A little messy, with lots of books lying around the house, and even if the place had no big decor or anything like that, it still felt warm. You saw a sunflower withered by the window, and you noticed he looked at it at the same time, grunting in complaint.

Higuruma leaned forward to remove his shoes, but was having a hard time pulling his shoestrings. You sighed as you said, "here, let me help you." You got on your knees and undid both of his shoes, taking them off. 

Higuruma took you by surprise, as he directed his hands to hold your face delicately and lift your gaze. He looked at you, your faces inches apart, as you could still smell the beer from him. His eyes were soft, something you hadn't seen yet. You felt your heart skip a beat as he was holding you like that. "Thank you."

You gulped and blinked a few times, as you removed his hands from your face and got up. "It's just shoes." You turned to walk away into the kitchen and see if you could grab him a glass of water, but he held your hand, still seated on the couch, looking down.

"No. I mean... Thank you." Higuruma said softly. "Thank you for defending me." He sighed deeply. "It's usually the other way around."

"Oh." You turned to look at him. A soft smile took over your face. "You saved me that day. I wouldn't forgive myself if I didn't at least try to return the favor."

He pulled you and had you landing beside him on the sofa. It startled you, as you felt your face warm and blushing. He was still holding your hand, making circles with his thumb over your hand's back, and spoke, nearly whispering, "You're too kind." He closed his eyes, and for your surprise, he leaned over and rested his face on your shoulder in a cat-like demeanor. Your body quivered as you felt his slow breath pressed against your skin, and you both stayed completely still for a while.

"Higuruma?" You asked, hearing in response a soft snore. Oh, he's out. Sliding him very carefully out of your shoulder and onto the couch, you got up. Time to go.

After taking a last look at the withered sunflower that was beside his window you sighed, looking at your wristwatch and feeling you could still wait a few hours. There was something you to do first.

***

Higuruma's head made him a thousand promises of regret as he tried to remember how exactly he got home. The sun was high outside, and it was probably noon already. After getting completely hammered at the bar, he had only a few flashbacks. Getting poked, an insistent camera flash on his face, everyone's voices, his sunflower dead by the window.

You.

He sat up on the couch hastily, feeling instantly dizzy as he put his hands on his head. "Where is she?" He looked around, and the apartment seemed empty. I hope I didn't make a complete fool out of myself yesterday, Higuruma thought to himself, as he got up, careful not to get the drunken vertigo.

Higuruma remembered the sunflower again, and grunted, displeased. He had bought it in an attempt to decorate his apartment, at least a little, and make it feel more like a home. The former lawyer found the idea of him taking care of a sunflower kind of funny and surely ironic. After everything that had happened, he was away from his apartment for nearly two months by this point. "Good thing I never had any food in here." He said to himself, walking towards the window.

He stopped as he saw a brand-new sunflower in a vase, right where the other one previously was. Higuruma smiled, amused with himself, and traced his messy hair with his fingers, wondering how he would thank you for that.

"Yeah. Too kind."

#jujutsu kaisen higuruma #higuruma x reader #jjk higuruma #jjk hiromi #hiromi x reader #higuruma hiromi #jjk imagines #jjk drabbles #jjk x you

[nico-di-genova]

In My Mind, You are Safe

A/N: What was meant to be a one chapter drabble has spiraled out of my control and now become a fic that requires timelines and setting. Anyway, enjoy part 2 from Lawrence's POV. Registered AO3 Users can read here, if they want! :)

Lawrence thought the worst sound he could hear was that of his son’s tears – the frightened sobs when he called after his bike accident and apologized first before even explaining what had happened. He thought it would be the hitch in Lance’s breath when he asked what to do, what he should do. In reality, the worst sound is the absence of it.

He finds himself missing the simplicity of two broken wrists. Now, Lance has broken ribs, a fractured skull, a jagged line of angry red stitching that runs from lower sternum to his hip. It all makes a broken toe look juvenile. Lawrence feels stupid for even panicking over hairline fractures and a two-week recovery time. He feel stupid for putting a six year old in an unpredictable machine in the first place and letting him grow an appetite for it.

Lance’s mother pushed for golfing, tennis, swimming even at one point. Lawrence should have listened.

Lance still cannot breathe on his own, and Lawrence is already forgetting the natural sound of it – instead he has grown familiar with the steady beep of a heart monitor and the snoring habits of Fernando Alonso.

The man is curled over in a chair he is two days away from establishing residency in, head resting alongside Lance’s bruised thigh, finger looped through his son’s limp pinkie. It is a sight that Lawrence wishes wasn’t familiar. A sight that forces him to confront the truth of their relationship, not that they were doing a phenomenal job at hiding it in the first place.

Lance only smiles, genuinely smiles, at things he cares about – that he’s deemed worthy of expending the energy on. Chloe’s dog, Chloe, his mother, good food, the first snow fall in Montreal that promises decent skiing and now apparently Formula 1 veteran, Fernando Alonso. Lawrence knows his son, knows he is a bad liar because his tell is written in the very core of him. He’s spent too many years and too many billions trying to make Lance smile the way Fernando has so easily managed it.

But now Lance smiles at nothing, and Lawrence finds he doesn’t mind if Fernando beats him to it. He just wants his son back.

“His, um, his eyebrows. I think they twitched today,” he tells the nurse when he comes to check Lance’s vitals.

“They could have,” the nurse says, not dismissive, but not validating to Lawrence’s optimism either. He lifts Lance’s sheets to inspect the healing along Lance’s stomach and disturbs Fernando from his sleep in the process. Bandages and gauze are peeled away with careful fingers and then there is the sight of Lance’s mutilated abdomen, just as gruesome as the night they first wheeled him out of surgery. Pink skin, still raw and angry and raised against the stitching holding him together. Skin yellowing around the cut, only marginally better than the dark bruising that was once there. It is the visible reminder that the steering column of Lance’s car, a car Lawrence had given him and deemed safe, nearly took him away for good.

“His neurological activity has been improving since we took him off the sedatives,” the nurse says, when he glances at Lawrence and seems to see the guilt. It is meant as a piece of good fortune, instead it reminds Lawrence of the medically induced coma they are working to ease Lance out of. The coma he was in to prevent seizures caused by the swelling on his brain. Because he’d hit the wall at a top speed of nearly 200 KPH and his helmet had done an admirable job of keeping him together but could only manage so much.  

“So when can the tube be removed?” Fernando asks, wiping at the sleep crusted at the corners of his eyes. He looks annoyed to be woken, like he was having a particularly wonderful dream. Lawrence envies his ability to sleep at all.

“We’re not there yet.”

Fernando grumbles something in Spanish. The nurse, unfortunately, is fluent, “If you want him to keep breathing, then yes.”

“Is choking him. He would hate it.”

“Well, he’s not really in a position to make requests.”

A strange position for both Lance and Lawrence to be in. The first instance where money does not hold sway, other than affording Lance the luxury of a private suite and all the comforts that can be provided while he remains unconscious and unmoving. It also secures a lounge that neither Fernando nor Lawrence have made much use of. Other than to make cheap cups of coffee from the Keurig and complain about the taste.

“Breakfast?” Fernando asks, once the nurse deems Lance safe and unchanged, leaving both men to sit awkwardly with Lance being the divide between them.

Lawrence shrugs, “Sure.”

“Shit coffee?”

“Is there anything else?

“Shit tea I think.”

Lawrence laughs, dry and humorless, “Coffee’s fine.”

If you put enough milk in it, it’s almost drinkable. But Lawrence doesn’t actually care about the taste, it’s more the caffeine he needs – or, more accurately, the sleep he is fighting. There is a fear in him that if he closes his eyes Lance will somehow stop breathing for good in his absence. Like he’s only still here because Lawrence’s unwavering control is willing him to be, and not the ventilator.

“You sleep yet?” Fernando asks when he returns with two steaming styrofoam cups of joe, offering one to Lawrence with the milk already added. Fourteen days is a long time to get to know someone when you’re both tied to an unconscious twenty-five year old.

Lawrence shakes his head and sips from the coffee gratefully, it’s clear he’s been here too long because the sludge has begun to go down easier. “No, not yet. Didn’t want him to wake up alone.”

It’s clear from Lance’s condition that he will not be alert anytime soon, but Lawrence doesn’t want to risk it. He hadn’t been there after Spain, had only gotten to the hospital two days later when Lance was already post-op and loopy from the pain meds.

“Hi dad,” he’d slurred, “I’m all good now.” He’d proceeded to try to give Lawrence two thumbs up, but the casts they’d cemented his wrists in were clunky and his body uncoordinated. Lawrence had spent the flight speaking with Lance’s doctor, discussing everything from cost to recovery plan. Everything had been clinical and controlled until he was faced with the sight of Lance, disheveled and clad in a hospital gown half hanging off one shoulder, that made it all hit him like a freight truck.

He can’t miss being here when Lance wakes up, not again. He had his assistant bring him his laptop and any pressing work, has Fernando bring him coffee, has his wife bring him changes of clothes and the occasional cup of decent espresso, and he sometimes dozes off in the straight-backed chair, but waking up with a crick in his neck and pain in his back is enough to keep him fighting against it. He knows it’s all starting to take a toll though. When he goes to the bathroom he is faced with the sight of a man who sits just outside of death’s door, hollow-eyed and sunken-cheeked. Sometimes he thinks Lance might be waiting there with him, it’s not always easy to chalk that up to sleep deprivation.  

“I will watch him,” Fernando says, sipping from his coffee, “Wake you up if anything changes.”

“No, no. I’m okay.”

“You will end up in a hospital bed beside him soon,” Fernando shrugs, like he’s unbothered by the thought, “If you do not rest.”

He’s right, Lawrence knows it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Besides, he is not the only one who has found it impossible to leave Lance’s side. It’s race day in Hungary and Fernando isn’t in a car. Both of the Aston drivers have been replaced by their reserves, morale in the garage has reached an all-time low. Fernando isn’t in the headspace to race though, so Lawrence doesn’t press it. He doesn’t need two drivers on life support.

“I’m okay for now.”

Fernando shrugs again, and then drops it. He is not the sort to hold someone’s hand and coax them into doing something. Lawrence thinks that’s maybe why Lance might like him. His son has always been stubborn, always pushed against those who try to guide him, or those who try to tell him he’s somewhere he does not belong. Lawrence has learned he performs best under pressure, when he has something to prove, which was why he had wanted Fernando as their second driver to begin with. The downside to Lance’s unwavering drive is that he often ignored the limit, pushed where he shouldn’t, took risks that were unneeded, and then ended up paying the price for his mistakes.

Silverstone wasn’t Lance’s first crash, it was just the first where he hadn’t managed to get out on his own. At first Lawrence hadn’t been all too worried. In the small span of time where he’d known Lance had gone off, but the cameras hadn’t found him yet, he’d been disappointed, frustrated because they both, Lance and Fernando, had been doing so well. Fernando was pushing, ignoring team orders, but Lance was responding, defending, winning. It had felt, at first, like a confirmation of all that Lawrence knew to be true. That Lance was good, great even, he just needed a fire lit under his ass and something to work for.

And then the cameras found him.

‘Stroll is in the wall!’

‘Lance? Lance are you alright? Lance. Respond. Confirm you’re alright.’

The silence had stretched on, the crackle in Lawrence’s headphones sending a chill down his spine. Lance’s race engineer had radioed him again and again, but each time the empty crackle only seemed to grow in length.

‘Lance, confirm you are alright. Confirm.’ It stopped becoming a question, but a hopeful demand.

Lawrence had watched as Fernando stumbled out of his own car, barely waiting until the vehicle had stopped moving before he was sprinting across the gravel toward where Lance’s car was crumpled against the wall. There was smoke, flames breaking out at the rear end. He turned away when Fernando pulled Lance from the wreckage, had seen the flash of blood spreading rapidly across the green of Lance’s suit and knew there would be no response.

He hasn’t thanked Fernando for saving his son, hasn’t forgiven him for the crash either. They speak around it in the same way they speak around Fernando’s finger around Lance’s pinkie. It is becoming harder as the days stretch on, harder to ignore the desperate way Fernando looks at Lance sometimes, like he is willing him back into consciousness with the same force he pulled him from the car with.

“His mother is coming by today,” he says instead, pointedly ignoring how Fernando is sipping from his coffee with one hand and holding Lance with the other.

“How long?”

“She hasn’t said, probably no more than an hour.”

Claire can’t stand to see Lance like this. Singapore had been bad enough for her, this has been her worst nightmare. She visits Lance in short bursts, where she can ensure he is still breathing, even if it’s not of his own will yet. They don’t speak, in the same way he and Fernando hardly do, too much tension that threatens to boil over and they don’t want any of it to land on Lance. People in comas can sometimes hear what’s going on around them, at least that is what Lawrence has been told, so they all play nice in hopes it will mean the kid will come back to them faster.

Claire visits, Fernando leaves. Claire leaves, Fernando returns. Lawrence sits immovable through it all and Lance remains unchanged. A system.

“I will go, text me when I can come back?”

Lawrence nods. He ignores the way Fernando casts one last look at Lance, the longing, the worry, the guilt that is imbedded there. He is mad at Fernando in the same way he is mad at himself, he blames Fernando for causing the crash, blames himself for putting Lance in the car, like they were both responsible for Lance being here in the first place. But Lance has broken two wrists biking, ruptured his eardrum wakeboarding, sprained his ankle snowboarding, and he’d returned to all of those sports without pause afterward. If time could be reversed, neither he nor Fernando could have kept Lance out of that car. Because Lance is stubborn, it’s who he is. He doesn’t give up, even when the odds are stacked against him, and that’s how Lawrence knows he will wake up. He has unwavering faith.

———————————-

“We should have cards,” Fernando says, two days later, when they’re both sitting in silence watching the third rerun of Jumanji on the tv. “Or that game, the hippo one, something to do.”

“Hungry hippos?” “That one, yes.”

Lawrence knows it, knows Lance and Chloe used to play it because he can still remember the chaotic noise of it – Lance’s frustrated yells when he lost. It used to give him a headache.

The sparsely used lounge, it turns out, has a deck of cards stored in a cabinet. Lawrence finds it when he’s searching for spare sugar for his third cup of coffee that day, since they’d exhausted the packets stocked at the coffee bar.

“Do you have a 2?” Fernando asks, leaning forward in his chair, propping his chin on one hand and his large collection of cards in the other.

“Go fish.”  

Fernando groans, reaches out to grab a card from where they’ve balanced them on Lance’s knee. There’s four threes spread across his thigh and four sixes along his calf, both of them are Lawrence’s wins.

“You have a four?”

Annoyed, Fernando resignedly passes the card over Lance’s body.

—————————

On day seventeen, Lawrence sleeps. It is not entirely his choice, but rather his body’s refusal to operate any further without rest. He stands to go to the bathroom, and when he does the room spins. Fernando catches him, guides him to the couch in the lounge.

When he wakes up there’s a blanket thrown over him and a stiff pillow beneath his head. It is dark out, Lawrence is thrown by the lack of light because it had been distinctly morning when he had gone to pee. It takes him a moment to get his bearings, to wipe the sleep from his eyes and blink until the room comes into focus.

Distantly, he can still hear the steady beep of the heart monitor, the hiss of the ventilator, the sounds that reassure him Lance did not give up while Lawrence slept soundly. It is only comforting for a moment, until he remembers the dream he had in which Lance was screaming for help and Lawrence could not reach him. The way he kept trying to claw his way through debris and rubble to reach his son, but the screams only seemed to grow further and further away until they tapered off into whimpers and then into the crushing sound of silence.

He stumbles from the couch, pulling the twisted blanket from his body as he goes, and only breathes when Lance is in his sight once more.

In the dark, the shadows of his face seems more prominent, the paleness of his skin more ghostly. Lance doesn’t tan, he goes from white to burned in the span of a few hours, but he is not normally the color of a piece of paper either. It’s eerie, discomforting, makes Lawrence think of his choked off screams from the dream.  

Fernando seems to have also lost his battle with sleep, the man is passed out once more with his head pillowed on Lance’s bed. His hand rests around Lance’s wrist, an upgrade from the pinkie, fingers resting along the kid’s pulse point.

Lawrence, for the first time, truly tries to take stock of his son’s injuries. He studies the bruising on his face, the swelling that has gone down and been replaced with bruised eyes and tender skin. The yellowing marks around his neck that continue below the line of his hospital gown. The two splinted fingers of his right hand that Fernando has been so careful to avoid. It’s better than it had been, easier to look at, but still makes Lawrence taste bile at the back of his throat.

‘He’s lucky to have survived at all,’ he’d overheard one of the nurses say while Lance was still confined to the ICU. He’d been on the phone with Claire and had to physically hold himself back from saying something nasty. But he supposes, now that he really looks at Lance, they hadn’t been wrong. A skull fracture, major blunt force trauma, the g-forces he’d sustained to his body in the crash, it is a miracle he’s even still here.

Lawrence feels suddenly grateful, to God, or to Fernando, he isn’t sure which.

“Lance?” he whispers, like the boy will suddenly open his eyes. Like he’s a child asleep in his bed and Lawrence can rouse him with a gentle shake to his shoulder and a kiss to his temple. Like it’s an early morning where he can pull a groggy Lance from his bed and bring him to the track before the dew has even dried from the grass, watch him do laps in a kart that still sits on the side of too big for him.

Lance doesn’t wake up, but Lawrence is almost positive he sees his finger’s twitch, curling instinctively in his sleep. He doesn’t miss that it’s fingers from the hand Fernando is clinging to, the same pinkie the Spaniard had made his lifeline.

———————————

The next morning he proposes Fernando return to racing. Media day starts in Belgium tomorrow and they could have Fernando there in time if he left within the hour.

“No,” Fernando states, not even considering, not even bothering to have emotion in his voice.

Lawrence grinds his teeth, “We can’t keep making excuses, Fernando. There’s money tied-up in this, my money. You have a contract-.”

“And? Fuck your money. I do not care about your money, or the sponsors. Have Felipe race the rest of the season. I will not go.”

Lawrence is standing at the foot of Lance’s bed, arms crossed, anger beginning to course through him. Fernando, relaxed in his chair, with his hand around his son’s wrist looks right at home. Lawrence thinks of those same hands pulling Lance from his burning car, those hands pressing forcefully to Lance’s wound, blood coating his gloves and soaking through to his fingers. He thinks of Lance holding those hands, kissing them, knowing them because Lance has idolized Fernando since he was a child and Lawrence knows the look he gives Fernando now is not that of an awed fan but that of someone who has grown into something more.

“What are you,” Lawrence finds himself blurting out, asking not because he really wants to know, but because he needs to, “to him, what are you?”

Fernando looks at him, blinks, shrugs, “I do not know.”

The resigned honesty of it makes him even angrier.

“But more than teammates?” He demands, “More than a mentor? I know my son, Fernando, do not lie to me.” Lance once dated a girl who he was convinced he was going to marry. Took her to races, to dinners, to birthdays and parties and every family event he could conceivably sneak her into. He’d looked at her with the same wide-eyed wonder Lawrence sometimes caught him looking at Fernando with, like he couldn’t believe they would settle for someone like him. Like he was only worth settling for.  

“More, yes,” Fernando concedes, but doesn’t expand.

“He loves you, I think,” Lawrence says, because he has never seen Lance look at anyone, since that girl, the way he looks at the man.  

Fernando finally looks sad then, face falling, eyes filling with that familiar guilt.

“I know.”

“He’s almost half your age.”

“I know,” the guilt deepens. He finally drops Lance’s wrist, pulls away and keeps his hands curled in his lap, like he realizes this is finally the moment Lawrence stops ignoring the truth of them.

Lawrence thinks about asking him to leave, knows he could force him to go to Belgium if he wanted, bring out terms like ‘breach of contract’ and ‘lawsuit’, but Lawrence is not a cruel man, especially not where Lance is concerned. He allowed that girl into their lives, into his own birthday party that was meant only to be for close family, all because Lance had asked. And when they’d broken up, he’d put Lance back together – let him cry and scream and throw the belongings of his room around until there was no more energy left in the kid and then he’d sat Lance down and told him it would all be okay. He kept saying that. Through Formula 3 when Lance would win and still not feel like it was enough because the other boys would say he bought the trophy. When he hit Formula 1 and would go to his driver’s room instead of the media pen after a race because the tears wouldn’t stop flowing and his own frustration at himself became too much. Lawrence would be there, he would always be there. But Fernando was here now too, and he guessed that counted for something.

He uncrosses his arms, drops the fight because he’s tired and the room is too small for such arguments, “You stay now, and you better mean it.”

Fernando swallows, nods, “Okay.”

Felipe and Stoffel race in Spa on Sunday.

——————————

By week four, Lawrence is beginning to lose it. He’s become immune to the antiseptic smell of the hospital, the bland taste of the cafeteria food, the beeping of machinery that keeps Lance alive. It all becomes background noise, until he’s numb to it all, just existing. The coffee doesn’t taste bad anymore, it tastes like nothing at all.

He watches Jumanji for the sixth time and finds that the film is growing on him.

Fernando has not left.

“So how did it start?” Lawrence asks one night. He’s twirling hospital spaghetti on a fork, picking at hamburger meat listlessly with the metal prongs.

Fernando slurps one of the noodles, “Me and him?” he asks, pointing to Lance with his own silverware.

Lawrence nods. He has gone past avoiding the topic to wanting to understand it.

“Um,” Fernando starts, “Bahrain, I think.”

“This year?”

“No, uh, last.”

So when Fernando had sang Lance’s praises to the cameras. Lawrence had assumed that was all for show. He’d been warned of the drivers poor sportsmanship, his un-teammate-like behavior.

“So you weren’t trying to impress me?”

“No I was,” Fernando admits, “wanted you to think you had gotten your money’s worth at first.”

Fernando had not come cheap, but he still wasn’t as much as Newey was shaping up to be. He’d taken a good chunk from Lawrence, but not enough that he would seem like a bad investment so early on. He maybe had been laying the groundwork for a contract extension, if the car proved to be a challenger.

“So when did it-?”

“Become serious? Summer break.”

Lawrence thinks he remembers that, Lance mentioning something about a yacht, his voice lilting with obvious joy over the phone. You could hear when Lance smiled, his voice changing with the shape of it. They’d had lunch a few days later and there was an obvious mark on Lance’s neck, something he kept trying to hide with a hand when he would lean an elbow on the table and rest his neck against his palm. Lawrence didn’t care to know about his son’s sex life, in the same way he cared little about Chloe’s, he cared only that both of his kids were happy. And at the time, Lance had seemed to be. He hadn’t questioned it past that, even when he'd seen Fernando’s name pop up as a text notification on Lance’s phone and seen the way Lance blushed over his salmon and orzo.

“And you’ve talked about it, you and him? About the future? He’s young, Fernando. He can make his own choices, yes, but I don’t know if he’s thinking in the long-term yet, not really.”

He doesn’t meant to imply Fernando is old, but they’ve both been twenty-five, both known how it seems like you are weathered and just beginning all at once. Like you have the answers, you just haven’t figured out where to apply them yet.

Fernando bites at another noodle, “Yes, we have talked. Some. But it’s not- we are not- I don’t know.”

“Serious?”

“Maybe.”

“But you’re here. You don’t have to be.”

“It’s serious enough for this. I need to be here, when he wakes up, not racing circles. I would be no good in the car right now. My head is-“ he motions vaguely in the air with his fork, a piece of tomato soaked hamburger falls off of it and plops onto the white linens of Lance’s sheets. Lawrence understands that. Can respect it even. He also maybe isn’t the one to judge a relationship. Not with a divorce under his belt and his own wife younger than him. He just has the inherent need to make sure Lance is safe, cared for. He’s had the same need since he first held Chloe in his arms and realized what it was to be a father.

Fernando picks up the hamburger, drops if back onto his own plate, but the red stain it leaves behind stays.

————————

Twenty-nine days after Lance’s crash Lawrence is returning from making his daily Keurig coffee, stirring the milk into the sludge with a stir stick when he looks up to see Lance blinking back at him.

The cup falls from his hands, splatters against the linoleum and spreads in a puddle across the floor. Specks of it land on his dress pants, some of it on his hands, he hardly notices the burn of it. Lance, bleary-eyed and groggy stares at him, blinks slowly.

“Lance,” Lawrence sobs. Lance’s eyebrows furrow, the movement so startling because he has been without any for so long that Lawrence cannot help the strangled sound that escapes him. The noise pulls Fernando from his sleep, he lifts his head from the bed and looks from Lawrence to Lance before letting out a cry of his own.

Lance lifts a lethargic hand to the tubing at his mouth, tries to pull it out with muddled fingers.

“Aye, no,” Fernando panics, pulling Lance’s finger away and trapping them in his own grip, “We’ll get someone, we take it out now, yes?”

Lance nods, makes a choked sound around the polyvinyl. His fingers curl around Fernando’s hand, gripping, responding to the touch. Lawrence can’t stop looking at the movement as he stumbles for the call button beside Lance’s bed. He can’t stop shaking. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” Fernando soothes, brushing Lance’s hair back from his forehead in an intimately calming gesture.

Lance’s panicked breathing through his nose worsens. He looks from Fernando to Lawrence with ever-widening eyes.

“You’re okay, son,” Lawrence tries, kneeling beside Lance’s bed and pressing a firm hand to his shoulder when Lance tries to rise against the wires and tubing keeping him down.

The coffee soaks into the knee of his pants. Lance chokes again.

“You’re okay,” they both repeat, hoping that it will be true.  

#strollonso #strollonso fic #probably so many medical inaccuracies but whatever ya know #google was my friend but also probably lied to me at points #lance stroll #fernando alonso #my fic

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #68

Today was a very mixed bag.

This morning, I drove to the good place with all the nice people. The leader spoke on a great many very relevant things, such as challenging the status quo, distinguishing between that which is law and that which is just, and sitting with and trying to help all of the people whom society has tried to convinced us doesn't deserve it. The grammar and structure of the words has since crumbled and faded away from my mind, because I don't think in language at all, but the meaning remains in my mind, as well as the memory of the tears that were shed; I'm aware that at least some of what I've been trying to do is seen and understood by this very amazing person.

I tried to conduct myself in the space a little differently than I usually do. Typically, my presence in any space is a meek one that tries to stay out of the way. But this time, I walked as though I belong there, and mingled with others as though I am also deserving of taking up space. Just to try to push myself even further out of my comfort zone, today I sat at the "old men's" table (there aren't really assigned tables, it's just that there are folks that tend to gather together because they can easily relate to one another) as though I also belonged there, with the intention of listening to them speak to one another and seeing what I could learn. Imagine my shock when they talked to me as though my voice is one worth hearing!! I wasn't really sure what to do or how to behave in response to such a thing, but I did the best I could to try to contribute, even if I felt clumsy and foolish in the process.

At one point, towards the end, one of them said, as a joke, "Drive carefully home; I know how you women like to be speed demons, haha!" I tried to think of something witty and lighthearted to come back with, but the best I could do was smile bashfully. If only I remembered at the time the line that goes, "Ha! I am a woman in the same way that a tomato is a fruit!"

…I happen to live in a female body. But I don't really think about my gender most of the time. It fluctuates wildly between "none" and "yes". I'll take any pronoun, but the one I typically use for myself in my own mind is "it". But this alarms people, and I'm comfortable with letting people use whatever they see when they look at me, so… it's all good, I guess.

I stopped at Eggcellent on the way home. Some time ago, I had asked them if they might keep a QR code of the petition I made for you where folks can see it. Apparently, though, the people did not thoroughly read the blurb that came along with the QR code, and so they scanned it, thinking that it would lead them to a petition for a real-life human being. Their response, when they saw you, according to the kindly shopkeep, was, "Are you kidding me?" Essentially, disbelief and disgust. So naturally, the kindly shopkeeps had to stop displaying the QR code. I'm glad they stopped if this was how people were responding; I don't want to be bad for business.

But all the same… I have no idea how it is the case that so few people understand that the way your story ends is going to affect everyone here whose circumstances are similar to yours. It will affect how many of us will be able to believe that recovery is possible. It will affect how many of us will be able to believe that we are worth the effort involved with recovery. It will affect whether or not other people will be able to imagine that people like me and like others who I love are worthy of kindness, mercy, and help.

The way stories are told in my world shapes what people believe is and is not possible, on a MASS SCALE. Part of the reason why people still believe places like India are undeveloped, backwater places even though they're not is because that's how they're portrayed in stories in my world. Part of the reason why people still treat certain kinds of people as they do is because of how they're portrayed in books, movies, TV, comics, and song. Stereotypes persist in part because they are parroted over and over again by the song, art, and story that exists in our world. And stereotypes put a lot of nasty and totally arbitrary limitations on what people think that certain kinds of people deserve and are capable of.

So… my efforts to save you aren't just about you. My efforts are for every human in my world who is considered "different" or "fallen" in any way. Because we are not going to see peace in my world until every single one of us stops believing that there is a such thing as "kinds of people who are not worth compassion, kindness, decency, or help".

I want to live in a world where people can begin to imagine that even the most deeply fallen can get the help they need to rise up into wholeness again. Because if not even someone as amazing as you can be saved, what chance in hell do the rest of us have?

I ended up spiraling, though. Not because the kindly shopkeep took down the QR code, but because of what he said to me after the fact:

Some time ago, when I was working on one of the music boxes I made for you…

…there was a lady who came into the shop for the first time, asking what is good. The shopkeep told her a few things, and then went off to do something. I was excited to talk to someone who seems nice about a thing I loved, so I piped in with a couple of the things I like, and with a couple of things that weren't listed on the menu. She then asked about what I was doing, which was punching holes out on the music box. I asked her if she wanted to listen, and she said yes. So I ran the music box, and she told me that it was cool.

…Fast forward to today. The shopkeep told me that the lady knew it was my petition. Apparently, on the day we met, the lady found me weird, rude, and repulsive. She apparently thought that it was disrespectful of me that I spoke to her at all (apparently because "she wasn't talking to me"), and because she didn't actually want anything to do with my music box, but asked about it and said yes to listening to it anyway because she "didn't want to be mean". So I guess I left such a negative and intensely strange impression on her back then that when she felt disgust at the petition, she immediately knew it was mine.

And gosh, what a thing to have to sit with. Can you imagine it? The notion that I can frighten, anger, and disgust people just by existing in a space, talking joyfully about bubble tea, and showing a music box I made to someone who asked about it? I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to take from this. On the one hand, I have the shopkeep telling me that the woman thought I am a bad, wrong, and disgusting thing, but in the same breath, he is telling me that "she should have said no if she didn't want to hear it", and "you are kind and you don't bother anybody and you should just be yourself". I understand, of course, that he must ride a careful balance between customers so that he doesn't lose anyone. But ya know… the notion that perhaps I might cause them to struggle by scaring customers off just by being myself is just… wow.

Of course, I am not at all angry with him for this. Rather, I'm glad he told me. I'm glad to be made aware that my presence makes others feel very uncomfortable. I'm glad to be told that I should continue to be myself… even if it comes with the unspoken implication that I had better go do it somewhere else where no one else has to deal with it, I guess.

The fact remains, of course, that just by existing, I scare people. Even if what I'm trying to do is exude love and joy, I still scare people. And I'm not really sure how it is that I manage to be so bad at trying to do good things that I am misunderstood to this extent, but… well. And also this is coming right after I resolve to act as though I belong in this world even though all signs point to the notion that I… don't. And maybe never will.

…If unaliving is a trigger for you, you might wanna skip this paragraph. But… ya know. I spent a good chunk of time today considering the merits of lying down in a cold puddle, forcibly inducing sleep, and letting the hypothermia take care of the job while I'm out. We have nature trails just a five minute walk from my house. It's winter, and there are lots of big puddles back there; I know where they are, and there's also no shortage of ravens, crows, coyotes, and foxes to feed. It's probably good that I don't have ready access to the kinds of medicines that would induce sleep.

…But. This sort of thinking is just the old wiring and the old conditioning rearing its ugly head in response to my past trauma. Old messages that go something like, "Nobody fucking asked you to speak, MAGGOT," and "Why can't you have normal interests and hobbies, you embarrassing sicko freak?" At this point, because stuff similar to this has been said to me so many times, it doesn't take much for my brain to interpret this stuff, even if it's not said directly. That's just how PTSD is. That's how it works.

But I don't have to surrender to it. I got knocked on my ass today from it, but I don't have to stay on the ground. I can get back up and see what's next. I can use REBT. I can ask the people around me for help. I can listen as the people who love me gently point out destructive, spiraling patterns in my thinking, so that I can stop myself for long enough to come up for air. I can hydrate and eat wholesomely so that my brain can have what it needs to manage the destructive thoughts and the painful emotions triggered from them. I don't have to remain on my knees and believe every nasty thing said about me by someone who is too miserable to see the beauty, joy, and love being offered to them for what it is. I can refuse to allow the voices of the people who don't understand me to be louder in my mind than the voices of those who love me.

I am different from other people, and sometimes this is a lonely thing that hurts very much. But it's easy for me to have love for others who are different. Love for you. Love for Frankenstein's Monster. Love for Mewtwo. Love for Magus. Love for all of my friends and chosen family, who themselves are misfits that society at large does not seem to want. I still love them all, even though society tells me I shouldn't. I can love me, too, even though society tells me that I shouldn't.

…"Conventional wisdom" is such a thing. There are some very good things about it, like, "Sticking a fork in your mouth and then sticking the prongs of that fork into an electrical socket just to see what happens is a very bad idea." And, things like, "Do NOT, under ANY circumstances, attempt to eat Rice Krispie Treats immediately after taking them out of the oven if you value the flesh on the inside of your mouth." Or, "Do not squirt hot glue into the palm of your left hand for the sake of impressing a girl." Or, related, "You cannot try to scrape hot glue off of the palm of your hand with your other hand and expect it to turn out well." And finally, "Try to avoid prioritizing yelling at your glue-covered hands over making use of the cold water in the sink that is immediately to your left."

(do not worry - these are not things that I have done; I've met some very interesting people in the course of my living who help me to avoid finding these things out the hard way, hahaha!)

But it can also tell us a lot of very false things. Things like, "You must remain connected with your family regardless of how they abuse you." Things like, "You should expect certain kinds of people to always act in this certain kind of way." Things like, "These particular kinds of people are all bad and you should stay away from them." Things like, "If everyone is 'mistreating' you, well the common denominator is you, so the problem must be you and not how others are treating you." And things like, "Certain kinds of people do not deserve kindness, help, or even basic decency."

So… I can only conclude that "conventional wisdom" needs to be taken VERY critically, and with ALL the grains of salt. But I think a good rule of thumb for evaluation is this notion: "Anything that is said with cruel, dehumanizing, and unloving intentions is false."

I'm not at risk of prematurely exiting my meat-mech, don't worry. I just tripped up a little today, that's all. And you know what? Ultimately, that's a good thing, because today, I watched myself get back up on my feet from it faster than what I was able to do previously. Sometimes we can't see all the progress we've made until weird things happen and we find ourselves recovering from them faster than we have in the past. So in this sense, even falling down is worth something!

I'm gonna get a snack and play some DDR to try to speed up my recovery even more. So I'll end this here-ish.

Hey, Sephiroth!! No matter how many times you fall down, and no matter how far you fall down, you can get back up! You just gotta let the voices attached to the hands reaching out to help be louder than the voices trying to tell you that you're a monster who doesn't belong! No matter how many voices scream unloving things at you, you gotta understand that such things can only be screamed at us from a place of pain, and nobody is acting in accordance with what's true or in accordance with their innermost nature when they are acting from a place of pain! So let the loving things be louder to your mind and to your ears. Let the loving things be louder, and let them spur you on to move forward, confident in the knowledge that you belong here, no matter what anyone else says.

You are loved. Please stay safe. I'll write again tomorrow.

Your friend, Lumine

#sephiroth #ThankYouFFVIIDevs #ThankYouFF7Devs #ThankYouSephiroth #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy vii crisis core #final fantasy 7 crisis core #final fantasy crisis core #ffvii crisis core #ff7 crisis core #crisis core #ff7r #final fantasy vii remake #final fantasy 7 remake #ffvii remake #ff7 remake #final fantasy vii rebirth #final fantasy 7 rebirth #ffvii rebirth #ff7 rebirth #final fantasy 7 ever crisis #ffvii ever crisis #ff7 ever crisis #ffvii first soldier #flashbacks #getting back up after a falling down #wholesome

[cinnamonest]

When I first heard Cyno's title from leaks, as a good little simp, I went to investigate if a Mahamatra is something real.

Turns out, it is not only real, with being basically a morality police, but there's a type of Mahamatras whose duty is keeping tabs on women or something like that!

Imagine Cyno being also tasked as the keeper of the few women from Sumeru. He would, probably not intentionally, but terrify his darling by telling her how lucky she is to end up under his care. He treats the girls fairly, but once they are out of his watch to be distributed? He has seen the stuff men do to them. So stop complaining and be grateful for what he gives you! He actually treats you with decency.

(Fun fact! I had this entire thing already written and then windows auto-updated at some point while I was in urgent care bc I came home to it restarting and didn't save a temp recovery file in the appdata files :))))))

So I read a short entry about it, it seems like the exact responsibilities varied from subculture and households and communities, some of them over the general populace/common prostitutes but some of them were like a supervisor/babysitter + bodyguard combo to wealthier concubines and the like which is very :))))) and it also kinda reminds me of all the historical Chinese dramas where they have eunuchs that would guard emperor's wives and the like? And how a lot of cultures/eras within certain cultures had like "common prostitutes" and then like more elite brothels specifically for the wealthy/nobility/royalty that were often cared for, and some men would be appointed to watch over prostitutes and harems and the like

Sooooo I got to thinking of like a "more accurate to the time period the game is roughly based on" AU running with a similar idea (although of course I'm still wayyyyy deviating from historical accuracy entirely bc that makes things more fun)

//prostitute/concubine sort of darling, vaguely sexist stuff in a historical sort of way and heavily gendered, mentions of eunuchs because y'know historical AU stuff

---------------

Cyno being appointed to watch over and enforce rules on elite courtesans... Usually, these positions are only available to eunuchs, but some exceptions can be made for individuals who have been deemed worthy of the utmost trust, usually after proving themselves over the course of time. Thankfully, that's the classification he falls into... the notion of eunuchs makes him shudder to think about.

His dependableness, stoicism and clear self-control have earned him the trust of those in positions of authorities, and thus, he was assigned to this role. His observation skills and ability to keep tabs on more than one thing at once also helped. There's a few other such guards that take care of the lot of you as a whole, and that's part of his job as well, but he's the one personally assigned to you whenever you wish to go off on your own from the others, or into the public sphere.

He's not supposed to deny you that option, either, unless explicitly told not to by a superior, or if you want to go somewhere that is unallowed, in which case he is obligated to prohibit you from going. Otherwise, if you want to go somewhere, his job is to accompany you and tend to your whims, silently and stoically unless responding to something you say or speaking to a stranger on your behalf. Which he is expected to do, as you aren't allowed to speak to strangers, instead having him act as an intermediary.

When you go to markets (given a certain allowance of spending money to keep you happy and content), you point to the things you want or tell him what to get, and he does, speaking to merchants on your behalf. If someone approaches you for whatever reason - which is rare, seeing as most people know very well not to do so, especially with his intimidating presence beside you - he will, as he's trained and expected to do, physically step in between you and the other person, acting as a human shield in case someone were to approach you with the intent to attack, as well as a physical reminder of your status, communicating very clearly that the other individual should not be so arrogant as to assume he has any right to speak to you directly. And, of course, so you yourself don't get any ideas about talking to someone outside of the range of individuals you are allowed to speak to. If said individual is just pestering you to try and sell you something or harass you, he'll chase them off, otherwise he'll lean over so you can murmur your replies into his ear, allowing him to repeat it back to the other person.

As with that matter, with plenty of other scenarios, he's not just there to protect you. It's an unspoken condition, but understood nonetheless. He's there to keep an eye on your own behaviors. Your nature means that you can't be trusted to control your impulses or make good decisions, and if you weren't being closely watched, you may very well go off and sleep with someone else at the first opportunity you get. That's why you have him there, to ensure that that doesn't happen, to keep you in line, so to speak. Accompany you everywhere you go, sit in on your conversations with any and all visitors you have. To always know exactly where you are and what you're doing. For the few hours of night, there are guards at the end of the hall that watch the rooms where people are sleeping, but that's the only time he isn't by your side. Well, even then, he's assigned a room directly next to yours, even, to be able to spring up out of bed should you call for him, or if he's needed in any way, if you get sick in the night, and so on. So technically, he never really does leave your side.

Well, except for when one of the elites comes to "visit" you. Happens a few times a day, with the occasional break. Only certain individuals are allowed to do so. That's an important factor in your relationship. You live in a large complex, and only specific nobles and the highest-ranked individuals are allowed to enter your bed.

He's not one of them.

It's yet another class-standing issue. Sure, he may work for elites, he may dedicate his every waking moment to you and the others like you, but it would be considered defiling if he were to actually do anything to you. It's grounds for imprisonment... or worse. Only nobles have that privilege.

In truth, he resents said nobles. They're snobbish, selfish people that see you as an object, rather than a person. Usually cruel and critical towards you, never have anything nice or positive to say, always too busy to spend any time with you except to come to bed at night. It makes him grind his teeth, cover his ears so he doesn't have to hear. Likewise, you're supposed to act as though he couldn't possibly know, even though you both know full well he can hear anything that goes on in your room.

It makes him feel a very negative emotion. Anger? Bitterness? He tells himself it's because he knows they don't value you like you deserve. You've always been such a kind woman... he's seen you show concern and compassion for others, it's endearing. And in truth, while you're still of the weaker, inferior half of humanity, that kindness in and of itself is a very respectable thing... but those men would never appreciate that.

Yes, that's the real source of the anger, he knows that full well, and very quickly loses the ability to convince himself otherwise, after the first few weeks. It's because it feels unfair. They don't appreciate you, don't care for you, don't watch over you, they do nothing for you. He does all of that. He knows you far better. Yet they get to reap what logically should be his rewards.

But he stops that train of thought. "What should be his"? No, that way of thinking is dishonorable and selfish, defies the natural hierarchy of society. People of certain standing have privileges that lower members do not... even though he can't logically answer as to why. They just do. That is what is taught to the masses of the populace - the nobles and royalty deserve their palaces and wealth and feasts while the common man struggles to survive. A birthright bestowed by some higher power or the like. And as long as they have the ability to enforce that way of thinking, he has to accept it too.

And to even think of you in any way other than the purest of thoughts and a detached sense of guardianship, to have anything impure go through his mind, is sinful, filthy, almost a transgression when the thoughts intrude. It's his responsibility to push them away... even if that proves difficult.

No wonder they usually get eunuchs for this position. While the prospect is horrible, and he certainly doesn't envy them for obvious reasons, they do have the one advantage of not having to deal with the same extent of mental torment and temptation that he has to subject himself to. He starts to think he really didn't initially appreciate the trust placed in him enough, not realizing at the time of being appointed just how much willpower it would require.

And you don't make things any easier. To some extent, you're allowed to treat him like he's invisible, not even there. A lot of girls with such guardians do exactly that, pretty much never speaking to said appointed guardian unless needed, essentially going about their lives and acting like they don't even exist unless commanding them to fetch something or take care of some task.

You're rather talkative, though, at least with him. It is a bit surprising at first, albeit endearing. He's used to being seen as a tool, a sort of entity that exists to serve, and has been treated as such in past assignments in moral enforcement and dealing with violators of the society's rules, to the people he always reported to. He had some individual supervising roles before, but of all those jobs he's had in the past, you're the first one that's really... talked to him, for anything more than basic commands.

There's a good reason for that, too. You're not supposed to grow close to him in any capacity. It's not... proper, not right, it's frowned upon. There's no real given rule against it, but it's just one of those things that people don't do, that is understood without ever having to be addressed that you shouldn't. You're in a completely different world, your social role is too far apart from his for him to realistically be directly addressed by you so much.

And, of course, it's risky. People might get the wrong idea. Maybe it's just because you're quite literally trained in seduction and charm, but you always look at him with these half-lidded eyes, a sultry voice, a teasing way of speaking to him. It's basically just second nature to you, it's how you've always been taught to interact with every man you meet, to put on a flirtatiousness and sensuality with every word and every move and every expression.

It drives him up the wall, increasing with each day. The standards and norms of your role don't exactly dress you particularly modestly either, quite the opposite, which doesn't help. And you specifically are always on thin ice, always testing the boundaries, always pushing the limits of how much flirtatiousness can be excused. Perhaps that's why someone like him was assigned to you.

Well, he knows what he has to do. This is part of his job: correcting your behaviors when needed. There's a fine line of what he's allowed to tell you to do, an odd dynamic where you can tell him to do tasks for you, and yet, he also has the right - the obligation -  to command you, when it comes to certain matters of behavior, and he's expected to judge each situation appropriately, to not go too far in reprimanding you, to always criticize when he should while avoiding overstepping a line. It's a learned skill, requiring a thorough knowledge of rules both documented and silently understood.

Whenever you sit on the floor next to him as you and all your sisters-in-profession converse each evening, when you lean over onto him and reach your hand over to his thigh, he grabs your wrist, and gently, simultaneously avoiding both unnecessary harshness while also ensuring he doesn't grip you for a single moment too long, pushes you back. It's probably best you get on to bed, you are weary.

When you skip around all excited as you do whenever there's music in the courtyards, come over to him and reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, he grabs your hands and softly pushes them back to your chest. Please, be appropriate.

He makes sure you wear more modest clothing when you leave the main grounds, rather than those incredibly lewd outfits the nobles have you roaming around estate grounds in. Tells you to stop making eye contact and look downward and bow your head when stranger men approach, like you're supposed to. Always reinforcing standards and rules. You teasingly call him such a stick in the mud.

Better that, though, than subject to the wrath of higher-ups if he didn't perform his job.

When you shift to inappropriate topics, when you try and talk to strangers (he gets the sense you do it deliberately just to see him worry), when you stoop and bend and shift your legs in ways he knows is to catch attention. It's his responsibility to speak to you in a firm voice, tell you to behave yourself. You always roll your eyes, say something to the effect of affirming acknowledgement, but you never actually fix your behavior. It irritates him. Don't you know how serious what you do is? What if it wasn't him? What if it was anyone else? He asks you that, trying to get you to see reason, but even then, you shrug it off, clearly not understanding the gravity of the matter. It worries him. What if one day you get assigned to someone else, with far less self-control? What then? You're foolish and naive. It's a constant concern on his mind.

You don't mean it seriously, but you enjoy the reactions you get out of him in particular. You don't realize how significant it is, you think of it like just any other matter of poking fun at something. You think it's funny. You find it cute.

And far more dangerously, you think it's harmless.

Far from it, in reality. If people got the wrong idea, it could get him in trouble. Proof isn't needed for these sorts of things. If someone were to accuse him of something, it wouldn't matter if there was no evidence, or even if you were willing to testify or vouch in his favor. Your testimony can't be used in a court of law anyway. Even then, if the person accusing him was high enough in rank, there wouldn't even be a court of law, they would just command whatever their will may be. Not to mention, you would also get in massive trouble. The fact that you don't understand that, or at least don't take it seriously, is incredibly concerning.

He ends up having to draw a line. One night at random, completely unprovoked, so much so it catches him off-guard. You have always teased and poked fun at him with that grin on your face, tried to get him flustered and embarrassed. Overstepping the boundaries of appropriateness, which he always chastises you for as is warranted. You always obey for the moment, but return to the same thing within a matter of minutes.

The kind of teasing that bothers him the most, though, is when you pry about his own life, deeply personal things. There was that time you first managed to pry out of him that he wasn't a eunuch - oh, no, now I'm scared. Heheh... just kidding. There was the time you asked him if he had any children, or a lover back home. He had to reinforce the negative answer several times (crossing his arms and getting all stiff and looking away, which you seemed to find very amusing) before you believed him and left the matter alone.

And then, one night, walking back to your room with him by your side in the otherwise empty hall, you return to that topic he hates so much. You're so tense all the time. It's not good to be so stressed, you know.

Your footsteps stop. You turn to him with that smirk on your face, grab one of his hands and clasp both of your own around it, pulling it closer to you. You speak in that playful, sultry tone.

I can help you. No one has to know.

It actually takes him a second to reply, stunned into wide-eyed stillness and silence, an expression of shock you've never seen on his usually stoic face. His whole body goes stiff and rigid. Then, after that moment passes, he jerks his hand back out of your grasp with force, stumbles a few steps back. He looks back at you with a serious, intimidating expression, one that makes the grin on your face fall, makes you shrink back.

Never say such things to me.

Even in all the times you've been reprimanded, he's never used that firm and rebuking of a tone. It makes you take a step back. You hang your head, speaking quietly, all traces of the flirtatious tone from moments before vanished.

...I'm sorry.

You can hear the frustration as he lets out a heavy exhale. Brings his hand up to his face, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Mutters something about how you're too careless for your own good.

Go on to bed. I will forget this. You ought to as well.

You clearly feel hurt and guilty, and in truth, he really does feel bad about it, almost starts to apologize for being so firm to you, as you nod and turn to your door, hurriedly shuffling inside. But consciously, he knows you needed that firmness. Better to learn that now, than learn it by making a much more grave mistake. So he lets you go inside without another word exchanged.

And more importantly, it's best you go inside so you don't see the state he's in. He's on the verge of losing composure, managing to hold himself together right up until the moment your door shuts, before stumbling back to the wall, leaning against it as he slowly sinks down to the ground. Holds his hand out in front of his face to see it trembling. Presses two fingers to his neck to feel the rapid pounding of his heart. It takes a while, sitting there staring blankly to your door on the other side, before he can bring himself to stand up again. Even then, he has to hesitate a moment. Going in there would be so easy. All he would have to do is open the door. Put one foot in front of the other. It would be so simple.

And there's a voice in the back of his head that says you would be right. No one would know. He could probably get away with it.

It takes every ounce of willpower in his entire being (and, as a great motivator, thinking of the consequences if he were caught) to instead turn and go back to his own bed. Staring up at the ceiling all night.

Yes, it really was incredible that they would trust him so much.

Not that he can bring himself to leave you, no. He's terrified of what could happen to you if he left, he clearly sees how you disregard all of his warnings as to how dangerous the way you behave would be to anyone else. And he also can't leave because... he cares for you too much. His whole life revolves around you. To remove you from it would be like tearing his heart of out his chest.

But at the same time, surely he can't stay. It feels like an hourglass reaching the last few grains of sand, like a clock slowly ticking down. Something is bound to happen. Because of you... or maybe, if something in him finally breaks, because of himself. Or maybe because of you both. It's evitable. Like an animal in a trap, and he doesn't know how to get out. The only thing to do is wait for the inevitable day something happens, perhaps because of you... but now he's starting to think his downfall will be his own doing.

#.cn

[whumpshaped]

hey i’m really sorry if this is dumb but do you ever feel bad about enjoying whump? if so, how do you deal with it? i’m having a hard time with liking it. i love reading it but it occasionally makes me feel like a terrible person

its not dumb! i have some disorders that make it hard for me to feel bad abt stuff just for moral reasons alone, but i do get the terrible feeling sometimes when im afraid others will think im a terrible person lol if that makes any sense- so yeah i get the shame around it. i was lucky enough to be the quirky fun guy anyway so having slightly stranger interests wasnt a big deal for me.

this got very long bc i always have many thoughts on this

let me just start this by saying u totally dont have to feel bad for liking it. at all. everybody tends to like some form of whump, even if they dont call it that. the middle aged christian woman reading her 100th romance novel packed with fucking angst is an avid enjoyer of emotional whump in my book. and the guy who jokes about whump enjoyers being crazy and then turns around and watches marvel movies with blood and beat up heroes in it, well-

humans are just fascinated with pain. physical, emotional, all of it. it's just how we are, i think. we love to explore pain in fantasy, through characters separate from us, while we sit in our room comfortably (controlled danger! like rollercoasters). it can be cathartic. it can be how we find and understand ourselves. it can be comforting to know hey, this character went through something like that, that means the author must have some experience with it. there's at least one other human who gets me.

enjoying/reading/writing whump can be a perfect outlet, like hitting a punching bag repeatedly. it can be how someone digests their own trauma. it can just be a kink thing. it doesn't have to have deep moral things attached to it, sometimes seeing fictional characters hurt just tickles the brain and that's that. it doesn't matter, because it's all fictional, it doesn't hurt anyone. unless your preferred media is like, literal hate speech and propaganda against real life people, (in which case it DOES hurt ppl), there's literally nothing wrong with looking at a character being beaten and going "hey, thats cool".

also i will never not say this but even the fucken bible is straight whump and no one will ever change my mind. i tried to be a good christian and what did i find? whump.

also, there's like... a huge portion of people who read whump for the comfort of it. yes the character goes through shit, yes it's horrible, but guess what, they come out on the other side unquestionably changed but still worthy of recovery. they find peace, they heal, they find friends and family, they're comforted and listened to. that's something a lot of people read whump for. there's a reason it's called hurt/comfort. and there's also a very good post about how so many of us read it because the whumpees' trauma is always acknowledged. maybe not in the story, but we as readers understand that they went through some shit, and thus their trauma is always validated in some way. that can be a comfort as well, in a world where so many people's issues get brushed under the rug and ignored and overlooked and straight up invalidated.

but even if you're not into the comfort aspect (which i wasnt for a long time!!!!! i was strictly here for the hurt!!!!!!) you're not some sort of monster for it. i'd say quite the contrary. i'd say if you regularly engage with media like this, where the character's emotions are laid out so bare, and explored so deeply, you're more in tune with your own emotions too. i couldve punched holes in walls like some people i know (i have anger issues), but instead i grabbed my laptop and wrote about a character being beaten to a pulp. no damage to person or property. done. others read it and enjoyed it, and i even got serotonin from likes and reblogs, which lifted my mood, so that was a whole net positive.

seriously look at the most popular media too. it's whump. always has been. a good friend of mine whos a little weirded out by some of the gore i write is OBSESSED with game of thrones for example. and he recommended it to me because hey i love bloody stuff dont i? and i loved the torture scenes and he loved to hate and be enraged and a little grossed out by them. we enjoyed the series together. neither of us was terrible for it.

all this to say, you're not the odd one out. even if your interests count as more "taboo", like some of mine, unless you go out there and punch someone in the face, youre good in my books. and again, even punching someone in the face can be morally neutral or positive between consenting adults so. HUMANS JUST ENJOY EXPLORING PAIN. THATS MY HOT TAKE FOR TODAY.

thank u for coming to my ted talk

#asks #i hope u find peace in regards to ur interest in whump #because the thing is. if u had a good friend who has been nothing but kind and helpful to everyone around #but then it came out that they enjoy reading gorey horror stories #would u actually say they were then a bad person? #give urself some grace. im sure ur a good person. like. consciously. putting in effort to be good #and thats what matters

[y2khaos]

ive been watching a lot of mental health vids today and i got to thinking while talking to a friend..... i think a good way to balance self deprecating and self enabling tendencies is to mostly acknowledge that thoughts are...just that. thoughts!! esp w self deprecation, a healthy way to deal w that is to take a step back and examine the negative feelings u have abt urself. and then u just shrug ur shoulders and say, "so what?"

- feeling stupid? so what, ur still smart enough to acknowledge there are things u need to improve!

- feeling ugly? so what, the only people who will actually call u that to ur face are elementary school bullies. (if there are ppl who do that aren't in elementary school, resorting to criticizing you over things you can't control makes them no better than an elementary achool bully.)

- feeling generally undesirable? so what, there are plenty of ppl out there who are willing to deal with what u personally consider mediocrity!

as for self-enabling tendencies, i think a good way to handle them would be......smthn like, "will this actively contribute to my satisfaction in life, or just give me a brief hit of dopamine?"

whether it's food (esp stuff u know will leave u on the toilet later from issues like lactose intolerance or things particularly aggravating for ur ibs), impulse purchases, or saying smthn rude in the moment you will later regret (i know i need to work on this on the rare occasion im irrationally angry LMAO), u need to think stuff like:

- will this food item make me feel better after eating it, or do i know from prior experience that it makes me feel sick?

- will this purchase be smthn i will display in my home or wear or use often and be happy about seeing every day, or will i leave it to rot in the closet or garage or basement?

- is this comment something this person needs to hear for their own wellbeing, or will it just upset them and make us both spiral into a pointless argument?

obviously recovery is a long, arduous road. but it's all worth it in the end to feel better abt urself and others. u deserve to feel that. i don't want any comments or reblogs abt how "oh this applies to everyone but me": actually, it ESPECIALLY applies to you. believing you're not worthy of basic positive experiences in life is, in fact, a very harmful form of self deprecation.

i don't care how "toxic" of a person you think you are. truly toxic people don't care about the negative effect they have on others whatsoever. they don't dwell on whether they're good people or not. meanwhile, good people make an attempt to get better. sometimes, maybe even often, they will falter, and it's natural. it's natural to make mistakes. it's natural to relapse on occasion. again, the road to recovery is tough. but i promise that you deserve good things. 💚💚

screenshot this post, print it out, set it as ur lockscreen, whatever you need to do to remind urself that you're worthy and deserving of love - whether it's from others, or yourself.

#neo.txt #mental health #actually autistic #ptsd #depression #recovery #self harm #bpd #did #osdd #npd #ocd #positivity #aspd #ed #adhd

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Hi, i just wanted to say that i recently stumbled upon your page and might’ve spent the last couple of days binge reading your master list because your works are really amazing ✨

Can I request a Shinobu x reader (she/her) enemies to friends to lovers? Their first interaction was right before the final selection begun when the reader was trying to comfort and optimistically reassure her super anxious friend that was taking part of the event. Younger Shinobu interrupts them and reader gets into a heated argument with her after being put off by her overall brash and blunt sarcastic personality. During final selection, reader pairs off with her friend and the reader’s optimism keeps the two of them alive until they were about to be defeated by the final demon of the night when Shinobu swoops in to swiftly eliminate it. Her excuse being that everyone was in her way to the finish line and not because she cared about reader and friend. Shinobu and reader bicker the whole time as the 3 of them finish up the event.

Years later and Reader and Shinobu see each other for the first time after FS after being summoned to do a mission together in the mountains which neither party realized until they run into the other. Of course they bicker for the most part and even taking shots at each other while battling the demon together. After they kill it, the two start making their way down the mountain until a bad winter storm hits and they have unintentionally have bonding moments when they have to spend the night in a cabin. Shinobu witnesses the reader having a nightmare, wakes her up and comforts her after she reveals that the friend from FS had died the previous year after taking a fatal blow that was intended for the Reader and in their final words, told her that they always admired her confidence and optimism and that’s why she has even more of a motivation to always look on the bright side of things. The night ends with them cuddling together to stay warm throughout the cold night as feelings start to develop. The day after, as they’re descending down the mountain, they encounter a stronger demon than the night before and realize they were both sent to the mountains to eliminate 2 different demons and not the same one as originally thought. Reader ends up critically injured and Shinobu rushes her new friend back to the mansion after the fight. Shinobu successfully saves the girl by temporarily pushing aside her pessimism to do a risky surgery even when it had a low chance of success. During recovery time, their bond deepens along with their crushes on each other. Of course the one time the reader is actually nervous is when it comes to being unsure if the hashira reciprocates the same feelings. Shinobu then flusters the poor girl by returning to her blunt self and they officially get together!

A Happy Medium Between Optimism and Pessimism

Shinobu Kochou x She/Her Reader

A/N: I kinda glossed over the surgery and recovery part because it was getting too long, but I hope you’ll still enjoy it! Word Count: 7,548

(Y/n) had butterflies in her stomach. After a year of training, her cultivator had finally deemed her worthy. The time of her Final Selection was finally here. She nearly leapt out of her skin when she felt a hand wrap around her bicep, tugging her close.

“How are you not freaking out right now?” Her training partner and very good friend, Sayo, whispered.

(Y/n) smiled, “I am a little nervous, but we trained very hard for this. We’re going to be just fine, try not to worry so much.”

“Maybe you will, but I’m pretty sure Master only allowed me to come because he felt bad for me or something… but I’d feel worse if I got killed because I wasn’t ready.”

“You are ready.” (Y/n) assured, “I promise you’ll be just fine.”

“Tch.”

(Y/n) paused in her comforting to turn towards the direction of the dismissive click, finding another girl looking at her disapprovingly.

“Can I help you?”

“How would you do that? By feeding me promises you have no power to keep? It’s going to be hell in there.” Came the stranger’s gruff reply.

(Y/n) bristled, “What’s your problem?”

“No, what’s yours? Feeding your friend lies like that. We are here to kill demons after all. It’s not a fun little camping trip.”

“I know that!” (Y/n) snapped back. “No one is saying this is going to be fun! But if you go in there with a negative mindset like that, you are pretty much destined to fail!” She took Sayo by the hand, “Come on Sayo, let’s decide what angle we want to enter the forest from.”

With one last shared glare between (Y/n) and the stranger, she turned her back on her and pulled Sayo away, reminding her loudly that they would make it through just fine if they stuck together.

“How rude,” (Y/n) grumbled once they were far enough away, “who walks up to someone to argue over something that was none of their business?”

“Forget it (Y/n), everyone is on edge. Don’t pay her any mind and just focus on surviving the next week.” Sayo advised.

“You’re right,” (Y/n) sighed, then pumped herself up, a new, confident smile upon her lips, “We are going to be full-fledged demon slayers!”

(Y/n) held out her fist and Sayo huffed in a amusement at how easily (Y/n) moved on from the encounter. She bumped her fist against hers. The smile on her face was more of the nervous variety, but she hid it well.

“Welcome everyone.”

(Y/n) and Sayo turned to the platform in the center of the wisteria grove, their trial about to begin.

***

“There you go, is that any better?” (Y/n) asked once she finished wrapping Sayo’s ankle.

“Much. Thanks, and sorry.” Sayo put her head down, “I haven’t really been helpful these last few days.”

“Hey, don’t talk like that. You’ve been doing great.” (Y/n) said while handing Sayo the last of her water.

“I can’t take that (Y/n). You need to keep your strength up too.” Sayo tried to deny, but (Y/n) persisted.

“It’s the last night. You need it more than I do. In a couple hours, we can drink and eat all we want.”

“Ohhh, that sounds so good,” Sayo groaned, “and an actual bed to sleep in.”

“Yessss.” (Y/n) agreed wistfully.

“And a bath.”

“And a bath!”

“Pfft.”

They laughed and (Y/n) got back to her feet, offering her hand to Sayo to help her to her feet as well.

“We must be getting close. Let’s finish strong.” (Y/n) encouraged.

“Right.”

They had the luxury to find a lull in demons this night. They would have loved to rest some more, but it was best to get out now and not wait around for trouble to appear. Unfortunately, trouble had found them anyway.

(Y/n) dodged the sharp whips of the demon’s tails. The demon had been blocking their exit long enough that she was starting to feel the fatigue and Sayo wasn’t fairing much better.

“Don’t worry, Sayo! We can do this!” (Y/n) encouraged, slicing a couple of the whipping tails before tucking and rolling out of the way once more.

Sayo gave a halfhearted nod, it was starting to hurt just for her to keep a decent stance. She thought she had an opening, so she lunged towards the demon, but a twinge in her ankle caused her steps to faulter. The demon noticed this slip up and with a wicked grin, he leapt at her.

(Y/n) pushed Sayo back, attempting to block the incoming blow with her sword, but the spiny tails were coming in every direction it seemed. They were far too close to get away now. Still, her resolve would not waver. She would protect Sayo and trade blows with the demon.

However, before they could make contact, the demon suddenly wailed and reeled back, a thin sword pierced through his chest. When he fell to the ground, the girl they had met before Final Selection began was standing behind him. Her dark purple eyes found (Y/n)’s as she withdrew her blade from the demon’s back.

“Woah,” Sayo marveled, “He’s not moving. Is he really dead? How did you do that without beheading him?”

“Poison.” The girl answered tersely.

“Well, thanks for the help.” (Y/n) wasn’t petty enough not to acknowledge the save. Even if she didn’t like the girl, they would have been in real trouble without her.

“You were all just in the way of my finish line. Stay out of my way instead of taking up the whole path next time.”

You know what, never mind. Screw her actually.

“No need to be like that. We’re all working towards the same goal, you know.” (Y/n) frowned. “We should all be helping each other. We’re stronger together.”

The girl rolled her eyes. Not at all interested in continuing such a useless conversation, she continued running towards the clearing.

“Hey! Don’t ignore me!” (Y/n) called after her. She turned to Sayo, “Come on, we have to get there before her!”

“Since when did this become a race?” Sayo yelped, suddenly finding herself over (Y/n) shoulder as she ran after the other girl.

“Hey, little butterfly girl!“ (Y/n) huffed, adjusting Sayo over her shoulder.

She was incredibly fast, annoyingly fast, but (Y/n) was determined to keep her in her sights.

“My name is Kochou!” The girl shot back, a fire burning in her eyes when she glanced back, annoyed that even when carrying someone else, that (Y/n) was able to keep up for the most part.

“So I am right! Butterfly girl!” (Y/n) smiled triumphantly.

“Kochou? Like Kochou Kanae? That slayer who is soon to be a Hashira?” Sayo tried to turn her head to look at Kochou more clearly, but the bouncing as (Y/n) kept running made it difficult.

“No way!” (Y/n) refused to believe it. “Isn’t she supposed to be really nice? There is no way they’re related.”

“Keep my sister’s name out of your mouths and quit following me already! Can’t you do anything yourselves or are you really so confident that having a good attitude will mean things will always go your way!” Kochou yelled.

“Oh don’t be so narcissistic! What? Are we supposed to just sit on our hands until you disappear into the trees before we start moving again? We want to get out too you know!” (Y/n) scowled.

Shinobu ran faster, so (Y/n) ran faster. When Shinobu noticed (Y/n) running faster, she ran even faster, and when (Y/n) noticed— you get the idea.

The three girls landed in a crumpled heap at the edge of the wisteria clearing. It wasn’t a pretty entrance, but they made it.

“You tripped me!” Kochou accused, red in the face.

“You’re delusional! It was you who tripped me!” (Y/n) refuted.

“Oh thank the gods.” Sayo wheezed, laying flat on her stomach with her eyes closed. She pet the ground lovingly, ignoring the heated argument unfolding beside her.

(Y/n) and Kochou shoved at each other as they picked their ore and shared only a brief show of solidarity in burning their revealing uniforms to demand proper ones. They went right back to bickering however as soon the issue had been corrected.

Finally when the road forked, they separated, making a show of how happy they were not to be continuing on together.

“Did you have to be that obnoxious?” Sayo sighed once Kochou was out of sight.

“She started it.” (Y/n) grumbled. “If I never see her again, it’ll still be too soon.”

***

Four Years Later

(Y/n) pulled her haori as closely to her body as she could. It was absolutely freezing. All she could hear was the sound of her feet crunching the snow beneath her and the whipping of the wind stinging her cheeks as she carried on up the mountain. Winter was always the worst time for slaying demons. The cold, the hidden dangers that could trip you up in the snow, the slippery terrain. It was all (Y/n) could do to make sure her muscles remained as flexible as possible so they wouldn’t be stiff when she finally found the demon she had been sent to look for.

Though a little hazy, the sun was still visible behind the thin sheet of clouds. Hopefully, she’d find the demon right away tonight. The weather in the mountains was always unpredictable. You could watch a beautiful crystal blue sky become a blizzard not an hour later.

(Y/n) jerked her head up to look in front of her instead of down at her feet when she thought she heard another step in the snow opposite of her own. She stopped moving and listened. Sure enough, someone was walking towards her from the left. When she turned her head again, her mouth fell open in shock when she saw someone walking in much the same manner as she had mere moments ago.

Seeming to sense the eyes on her, the young woman looked up, her mouth fell open in surprise as well, though it was less noticeable than (Y/n)’s.

Her hair was a little longer and she didn’t look nearly as sour, but (Y/n) had recognized her almost immediately.

“No fucking way.”

“My, you should consider washing out that mouth of yours, hmm… (Y/n)-san, was it? Though I must say I’m also quite surprised to see you here.”

“Eh?” (Y/n) blinked. “What’s with the prim and proper act, Kochou? I almost didn’t recognize you without that sour grapes scowl.”

“I grew up, unlike you.” She tilted her head and smiled. “How sad for you.”

“Oh go jump off of the mountain.” (Y/n) sneered, then began clomping through the snow once more, “I don’t have any time for you. I’ve got a mission.”

“Are you sure you’re not lost, because it is my mission objective that is supposed to be on this mountain.” Kochou asked, waddling after (Y/n) in the deep snow.

“No, my crow was very specific.”

“So was mine.”

“If we were really sent here for a joint mission together, I’m going to scream and cause an avalanche, killing us both.” (Y/n) deadpanned.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Kochou allowed herself to roll her eyes ever so slightly. “If we really were sent here to slay the same demon, then I’ll simply take care of it quickly so we can get on with our lives.”

“Why do you think you’re the one who’s going to take care of it?” (Y/n) asked defensively.

“Oh (Y/n)-san, I’ve seen how you deal with demons. Not very impressive.”

“That was four years ago! I’m leagues better than I was back then, and I’ll be better than you too!”

“You do realize you are talking to a Hashira, correct? I’d watch your mouth.”

“Oh yes,” (Y/n) mockingly clasped her hands together, resting her cheek upon the back of them, “who hasn’t heard about the beautiful and graceful Insect Hashira, Kochou Shinobu? Ever so kind and wise!” She switched to a crossed arm position, “Made me want to throw up.”

“Wish I could say I’ve heard anything about you, but I haven’t heard a word in four years. All I know is that you aren’t a Hashira, otherwise we would have crossed paths again sooner. How embarrassing it must be to see someone from the same Final Selection be so obviously more successful than you.” Shinobu shook her head with false sympathy, but did nothing to hide the smirk on her face.

“One more demon.” (Y/n) turned and jabbed a finger in Shinobu’s chest, “Once I decapitate this demon, I will qualify as a Hashira.”

Shinobu lightly pushed (Y/n)’s hand away, “If, you decapitate this demon you mean. If it’s taken you this long to get this far, I don’t think it’s likely tonight will be your night.”

“This may come as a surprise to you, but when you’re assigned to group missions as often as I, sometimes playing the assist is the best option. I haven’t beheaded fifty demons yet, so what. It’s the lives of the people I am teamed up with that mean more to me than a stupid title…”

(Y/n)’s voice got quieter and she began looking past Shinobu before she finished speaking, a far off look in her eye. Shinobu didn’t know what that was about, but before she could inquire, (Y/n)’s eyes hardened again and she turned away from Shinobu with a huff.

“This demon’s head is mine!” She declared, trudging through the snow once more, a fist held high above her head.

“Not if I kill it first!” Shinobu sing-songed,” If I, a Hashira, am there assisting you, it certainly won’t count towards your total anyway, will it?”

(Y/n)’s steps faltered noticeably and Shinobu grinned at her back.

“Oh, were you not aware?”

(Y/n) didn’t reply, but she did begin running as fast as she could in the calf deep snow.

“Are you… running away from me?” Shinobu inquired, slow to follow, but making up for time by traveling the footprint trail (Y/n) was leaving.

“I will become a Hashira tonight! I can’t have you ruining this for me!” (Y/n) yelled.

“I won’t let you leave my sight until the demon is dead. The thought of having to see you more often makes my skin crawl!” Shinobu teased maliciously.

“You witch!” (Y/n) cursed.

She was not going to let Shinobu ruin this for her so easily. She jumped, latching onto a tree limb. She swung herself up into the tree and began hopping from branch to branch, much faster than traveling across the snowy mountain terrain.

Unfortunately for her, Shinobu was nothing if not quick and agile. She easily trailed (Y/n), but never overtook her. She didn’t need to, because (Y/n) knew she could, and it was just making her more annoyed knowing that Shinobu was toying with her.

As they kept moving, the clouds became dark and full, blotting out the rays of sun that had previously managed to shine through. Nearby, a demon stuck his head out from his hiding place within the deep snow he had tunneled into the dawn before. He grinned in a twisted way up at the blocked sky and a clicking noise emitted from his throat. With conditions like this, he could roam freely for several extra hours!

The demon crawled out of his burrow, already salivating. He could sense that there were humans somewhere on the mountain. He grunted and wheezed, gnashing his teeth in excitement. He wouldn’t have to grab a child from the valley, tonight. The food was coming to him instead!

Then the wind changed unexpectedly, but not from the oncoming bad weather.

“It’s mine! Back off!” (Y/n) panted, mildly exhausted after running from Shinobu all afternoon. She swiped at the demon, but he ducked just in time. (Y/n) rolled in the powdery snow, quick to get back on her feet and try again.

Suddenly, the demon’s early outing didn’t seem so exciting. Now the unfortunate creature wished he had stayed hidden in his burrow as the two women came sailing at him from different directions, all the while goading and taunting each other with each missed strike.

The demon sensed this wasn’t about him at all. These demon slayers seemed more interested in who could out do the other than slaying him. The demon was strangely insulted by that.

Nevertheless, the demon tried to make a run for it. He wasn’t the strongest demon on the mountain. If it could lead them to their territory… perhaps he would make it out of this alive! Maybe they would share their corpses with him for being such a dutiful underling!

Easier said than done.

He had ran valiantly, he had crossed over into their territory, but while dodging one girl’s attack, the other stabbed him in the ribs. He thought surely he’d be fine, he kept running, but then he noticed that he wasn’t healing, his blood began to burn in his veins. Before the poison could completely overtake him, the other caught up and sliced his head clean off with a roar of frustration.

As his body began to slowly fade, he silently cursed the bickering pair who even now held not a care, ignoring him still with their attentions only reserved for each other.

His last fading thought was a hope that the stronger demon would sense their trespasses on their land. That human blood would be shed before those women descended the mountain.

“There, I killed it before the poison could! That ought to count for something!” (Y/n) argued, shoving her sword back into its sheath.

“My poison slowed it. You had ample opportunity to deal the finishing blow, but missed every time, so I think not.” Shinobu countered. “You were really optimistic about beating me, weren’t you? Some things never change. You really must learn to look at things more realistically.”

“You are so incredibly infuriating!” (Y/n) yelled, her voice muffled from where her hands covered her face. “If I thought as pessimistically as you do, I’d never do anything at all! I shape my own destiny! Does it always pan out? No, but at least I can say I gave all I had.”

A strong wind whipped up, blowing snow around them. Larger, fresh flakes began to flit down to the ground.

“Ugh, could this day get any worse?”

As it turned out, it could.

(Y/n) and Shinobu pushed against the stinging winds the snow was coming down so thick that they couldn’t see very far in front of them at all. It was even hard to differentiate the sky from the ground. It was a complete whiteout.

Within the loud winds, thin air and extreme cold, (Y/n) and Shinobu hadn’t the energy to continue arguing. They needed to find some form of shelter from the elements soon or they wouldn’t be found until the spring melt carried their bodies down with the run-off.

(Y/n) nearly fell when her foot caught on something beneath the snow, a dull thud barely audible to her ears. She squinted before her, wiping away the caked on snow before her to find a wooden door. With a mighty push, and a bit of kicking, she managed to slide the door open.

It was an abandoned cabin. Not very comforting nor warm looking, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Hey, Kochou!” She yelled, her voice getting lost on the wind, still she persisted, “Kochou, I found a cabin!”

She turned behind her, blocking her eyes from the sideways angle the snow was coming in from. She searched for a dark shape, something that would tell her that Shinobu was close behind, but she saw nothing.

“Damn it all.” (Y/n) griped.

She closed the door. Praying she wouldn’t lose her sense of direction, she began kicking up the snow, carving a deeper path in the snow that would take longer for the blizzard to cover up as she went searching for the Hashira.

“Kochou!” She yelled over and over against the wind, her throat becoming dry and the icy temperatures sticking in her lungs.

This wasn’t good.

“Kochou, where the hell are you?”

Her shuffling feet hit something once more, but being as tired as she was, she couldn’t recover her balance and fell over the protrusion. With a groan, she weakly turned over to see what had tripped her up. She brushed away some of the quickly gathering snow, and her heart nearly stopped beating when she saw it was Shinobu laying there, unconscious. The cold must have been too much for her.

“Damn you, Kochou. Why didn’t you say something?” (Y/n) scolded.

With a few mighty heaves, she picked up Shinobu and began following her swiftly vanishing path back to the cabin. Luckily, she found the stoop once more, and put Shinobu down so she could open the door and drag her in.

When she closed the door, the chaos outside muffled. The darkness and silence of the cabin a sharp contrast from the blinding blizzard outside.

She dragged Shinobu over to the hearth and managed to find some old dusty supplies to make a fire. Leaving Shinobu by the fire to warm up, she looked around the cabin for any helpful supplies. She did find a couple dusty jars of preserved fruit, a dingy pot, very crisp tea leaves and a single bed roll paired with a large, heavy blanket.

She could work with this, though she wished she had found another bed roll, or at least another blanket. She braved the cold once more to scoop a bunch of snow into the pot and returned inside to set the pot on the fire.

She then rolled Shinobu on to the bedroll and covered her with the heavy blanket. Hopefully she’d wake up soon. Not because (Y/n) wanted to talk to her or anything, she just didn’t want her to actually die.

When the snow had melted and the water had been at a roaring boil for a fair amount of time, (Y/n) added the dry leaves that were well past their prime. It was a bastardized version of tea, but it would be better than drinking plain hot water.

When the aroma began filling the room, Shinobu began to stir.

“Morning stupid… or night… hard to tell in here.” (Y/n) murmured, sipping some of the sad tea directly from the pot.

“I am not stupid.” Shinobu grumbled. She was still feeling lethargic from her hypothermia. Too cold and tired to hold up her prim and proper act. “What is that?”

“Tea. And before you complain, I didn’t exactly have a lot to work with.”

“I’m not drinking out of that.” Shinobu turned her head away from the offered pot.

“Don’t be such a priss. You fell unconscious in the snow. You need to work your strength back up so we can leave when the blizzard calms down.”

Shinobu’s lips twitched with displeasure, but she took the pot from (Y/n)’s hands and forced down a few sips. The warmth in her stomach and her fingers was a relief.

“And here’s the main course. Eat up, sour grape.” (Y/n) pushed over one of the fruit preserve jars then stood up, planning on doing another sweep of the cabin to see if there really was only one set of bedding, but then Shinobu asked her a troubling question.

“Why did you come back for me?”

“Wh— listen,” (Y/n) sighed, “You infuriate me, but that doesn’t mean I’d ever leave you for dead. That thing about the avalanche, you know I was just being facetious, right?”

“Of course I did.” Shinobu stated confidently. However the wave of relief that washed over her body would beg to differ. She looked down at the blanket in her lap and fiddled with a loose string. “I wouldn’t intentionally bring you physical harm either, just so you are aware.”

“Cool. So now that we know neither of us is going to try to kill the other in their sleep, I am going to bed.”

And bed for (Y/n) tonight would be the floor and a filthy, damp rug she had just noticed in the entryway of the cabin.

“You aren’t really going to sleep on that.” Shinobu spoke up when she had determined where (Y/n) was heading.

“Don’t be silly. I’m sleeping on the floor. This is going to be my blanket.” (Y/n) explained.

“Just use a bedroll like a civilized human being.” Shinobu tried to reason.

Then Shinobu looked back down at where she had found herself. (Y/n) wouldn’t have given her bedding without getting herself some too, that just wouldn’t make sense. So that meant, she had only found one set and gave it to her…

“Come on now,” Shinobu attempted to clear her throat quietly, failing, “get in.”

“I know we established we’re aren’t trying to kill each other, but I think I’ll pass—“

“Stop acting like a child and get over here. You will get sick sleeping like that and with the supplies I have at my disposal currently, we cannot afford to fall ill.” Shinobu scooted over, “Look,” she patted the vacated space, “if you stay on this side we won’t even touch.”

(Y/n) wanted to object again, but she could tell Shinobu was not going to drop it so she dragged her feet away from the mat, back to the fire.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She said as she maneuvered herself to rest as close to the edge as she could.

“That would make two of us.” Shinobu agreed, shifting unde the covers herself to get into a more comfortable position.

“Hey, you’re getting on my side.” (Y/n) warned.

“Am not.” Shinobu denied.

“Are too. You are definitely trying to sap up what little body heat I have left.”

“Oh please, I wouldn’t purposely touch you with a five foot pole.”

“Can you be quiet? I’m trying to sleep.”

“If you want it to be quiet, then stop talking and wiggling around.” Shinobu countered.

She always had to have the last word, didn’t she? Well, (Y/n) was truly too exhausted to even think of something to say in retaliation and fell asleep before she could say another word. Shinobu didn’t last much longer, letting the sound of the wind rattling the old cabin and the warmth gathering under the blanket lull her back to sleep.

When Shinobu awoke, she was disoriented. A quiet sobbing beside her, a shuddering and fast beating be earth her ear and cheek, she finally lifted her head up to look down at what had woken her, finding that she and (Y/n) must’ve gravitated towards each other for warmth as they slept because Shinobu had resting nearly on top of her.

She could see tear tracks illuminated by the dying firelight and how badly (Y/n) shook, how upset her murmured whined and sobs sounded. Safe to say it wasn’t because of the cold.

“(Y/n)-san, wake up.” Shinobu attempted to wake her, but with little success. “It’s just a dream.” She reached out, putting a hand on her damp cheek.

(Y/n)’s eyes shot open and she lurched up to a sitting position with a heavy gasp for air. Shinobu put her hand on her back, feeling each heaving breath and sob. She waited for (Y/n) calm down, subconsciously rubbing her back in an attempt to soothe her and bring her back into the present sooner.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Fine.” (Y/n) croaked.

“That seems like an obvious lie.”

“What do you expect me to say? There’s nothing that can be done about it. Just have to deal with it the way I have been every other night.”

“This is a reoccurring nightmare then. For how long?” Shinobu inquired.

“A little over a year now. I don’t want to talk about it with you.” (Y/n) answered a bit testily.

“If these dreams have been plaguing you whenever you close your eyes, then you should talk about it.”

(Y/n) didn’t answer and Shinobu’s eye twitched. Here she was trying to be kind and supportive, but (Y/n) was totally blowing her off!

“Ow!”

(Y/n) slapped away Shinobu’s hand when she reached out to pinch her.

“Talk to me.” Shinobu commanded.

“No—ow!”

Shinobu pinched her again.

“Talk to me.” She demanded again.

“I’m not gonna— stop!”

“I’m trying to understand you, trying to help you. Talk.”

“This is not how people show that!”

Shinobu went to pinch her again, but (Y/n) grabbed her wrist. Then Shinobu went for her with her other hand, but that was also caught in a clumsy grip. Then a struggle ensued. They twisted and wrestled, shoving at each other, trying to gain the upper hand.

“Get off of me!”

“No!”

Shinobu was in too deep to give up now, as had often been the case in those last few hours. She kept sitting on (Y/n)’s back, not letting up until (Y/n) finally had enough.

“Fine! Just get off and give me a minute!”

Shinobu obliged, getting off of (Y/n) to get some fresh snow to melt into more tea. The storm wasn’t as bad as it had been initially, but traveling still wouldn’t be a great idea.

When she set the pot of snow on the re-stoked fire, she sat beside (Y/n), waiting for her to speak. Finally, she spoke,

“You remember Sayo? My friend who was with me during Final Selection.”

Shinobu nodded stiffly, already sensing where this was going.

“She was killed taking an attack that was meant for me.” (Y/n) explained, not looking up from her lap.

“I tried to save her but…” she shook her head, the state Sayo had been in would always be fresh in her mind but she did not want to speak of the details.

“I’m sorry. I know you two must have been close.” Shinobu was no stranger to loss, especially when it came to people that were close to her.

“The last thing she told me was how she always admired my confidence and optimism. She told me I gave her the courage to make it as far as she did. So,” she took in a shuddering breath, “I’m always motivated to give my all and look on the bright side of things. When it comes down to it, you never really know how much time you have left, so you should always strive for the best outcome no matter the odds. You shouldn’t give up before you even start.”

Shinobu gave short hum of understanding. Eyes downcast to the crummy tea she had brewed. She offered the pot to (Y/n). She quietly thanked her and took a few sips.

“It seems like optimism might just be another form of defiance the way you do it.” Shinobu spoke when (Y/n) gave her back the pot. “Meanwhile, I use my pessimism as a shield. If I expect the worst then it doesn’t hurt as much when all goes wrong.”

“Does that really help?”

“…no.” Shinobu murmured, surprised by her own honesty.

(Y/n) groaned loudly and flopped back onto the bedroll.

“We’re messed up.” She declared while she stretched.

Shinobu released a short breath of amusement and returned under the covers herself.

“Speak for yourself.”

They slowly gravitated towards each other, neither bringing up how their hands brushed as they found comfortable positions. They managed to fall back to sleep huddled against each other. Each feeling closer to the other, and not just because of physical proximity. They had gained a much better understanding of each other now. Maybe they weren’t as incompatible as they had previously thought.

***

(Y/n) awoke pleasantly warm and not with a gasp or a cry as she so often did. Maybe Shinobu had a point when she made her talk about Sayo. Speaking of, she was much too close.

(Y/n) attempted to untangle from Shinobu, but she kept clinging on. She was not willing to lose (Y/n)’s warmth it would seem. However, they both needed to get up. If the absence of noise outside was anything to go by, the storm must have passed. They could get off of this mountain and part on good terms. It felt oddly nice. Really good actually.

“Kochou, wake up. The blizzard has passed. We should get moving.”

Shinobu made a displeased sound that made (Y/n) chuckle, then she rolled over and worked herself up to her knees, shivering when the blanket slide down her shoulders.

“I can’t wait to get home.” She said, covering her mouth to hide a yawn.

“If you roll down the mountain, you’ll get there in no time.”

“Yes, just not in one piece.” Shinobu scoffed, though she did smile.

“I’d carry you back, don’t worry about it.” (Y/n) teased further.

When they managed to pry the door open, there were greeted by at least three feet of snow. They trudged to the nearest tree to avoid the fatigue that would come if they continued walking and continued navigating their way down from the tree line.

The sky was still blocked out by clouds, but judging by how light it was, it had to be mid-morning, early afternoon. As they hopped from tree to tree, they conversed casually until (Y/n) stopped suddenly.

“Do you feel that?” She asked.

“Feel what?”

“Like something is watching us.” She shivered, “something’s marking my skin crawl.”

“You’re probably just cold. Let’s keep moving.”

“Alright.”

(Y/n) tried to let it go, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was following them. They had only been sent to deal with a single demon… there couldn’t have been more, right?

Wrong. The truth of the matter was, where they assumed they had been sent on a joint mission, they were actually two separate ones. The demon Shinobu had been sent to deal with was still very much alive.

A sudden wave of snow hit them from behind, knocking them from the trees to the shifting snow below them. They could feel the snow wrapping around them, trying to pull them under, but they managed to wriggle free, swords drawn.

“What is this?” (Y/n), cut the tendril of snow that was attempting to wrap around her ankle.

“A Demon Blood Art,” Shinobu swiped at the snow herself, “This demon is obviously more powerful than the one we encountered yesterday.”

“Damn it!”

“What?”

“I bet you totally stole my mission objective. This one has Hashira written all over it!” (Y/n) pouted, then grinned when Shinobu rolled her eyes.

“I suppose I’ll have to make it up to you later, but I’d like to deal with this first.”

“I’ll hold you too it!”

The snow swept away from their feet, trapping them in a dome. No doubt this would be the arena for their battle.

A heavy silence overtook them, only broken by the crunching beneath their feet as they settled into tighter stances.

Snow began peeling off of the dome and swirling around them, creating a blizzard around them. They were oh so tired of snow.

“It’s getting hard to see.”

“Just stay close and alert.” Shinobu advised, “It’s sure to attack using the snow as its cover.”

Shinobu pivoted quickly on her foot at the first sign of movement, stabbing through a snowball that had been thrown her way. A distraction. She quickly corrected, her thin blade scraped heavily against claws.

“So fast!” (Y/n) tried to swipe at the demon but it quickly melted back into the snow with a sinister growl.

Shinobu sheathed her sword, switching poisons. She would need something stronger since the demon didn’t recoil from the faint scent of wisteria on her blade.

(Y/n) and Shinobu blocked every attack, making the demon lose patience. The storm within the dome seemed to be getting stronger with every thwarted attack. Suddenly a coppery scent permeated the air. Shinobu turned, worried (Y/n) had gotten hit, but it had been a self inflicted wound on the part of the demon wanting to strengthen its art.

Snow encased Shinobu’s ankle and before she could shake it off, it became ice. The snow that had been thrown at them became sharp shards of ice, making every block that much more important. Shinobu stabbed the ice around her foot in an attempt to free it. As she did, (Y/n) covered her, deflecting the ice that came sailing in. When she freed herself, Shinobu went on the offensive, eventually catching the demon with the unsurpassable speed of one of her strongest breathing techniques.

The demon fell to the ground, the snow dome fell around them, it seemed like the fight was over.

“I’d tell you that was a nice hit if I could have followed your movements at all.” (Y/n) teased, though she was very impressed.

“If it wasn’t for this frigid weather I would have finished it even faster.” Shinobu preened. She could tell (Y/n) was impressed with her and it made her feel unexpectedly giddy.

(Y/n) went to say something else, but the smile quickly faded from her face. Shinobu opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but she found herself being swiftly shoved aside, a pained cry ringing in her ears.

“What…?” Shinobu’s eyes wildly flitted between the demon, still hanging on to life by the skin of its teeth and (Y/n), pierced through the torso by a large icicle.

Red hot anger boiled within Shinobu. She stabbed the demon again, hastening the affects of her poison. She did not turn away again until she was sure it was dead, then she ran to (Y/n)’s side, commanding her to stay conscious.

“(Y/n), why did you do that?!” Shinobu’s voice was low, still boiling with anger and helplessness as she took stock of just how bad the situation had become.

(Y/n) tried to talk, but found herself unable to get anything intelligible out. The shock of the large protrusion through her chest too prevalent for her to hold a conversation.

“You stupid, stupid girl!” Whether Shinobu was referring to herself or (Y/n) was anyone’s guess.

What could she do? What could she do? They were still a ways up the mountain and with the treacherous terrain, Shinobu was certain they wouldn’t make it down before (Y/n) succumbed to her injury.

No. Shinobu thumped her fists against her thighs. She wasn’t going to give up before even trying. (Y/n)’s life was in her hands and though the situation was not at all ideal, she had to at least try. There was a Wisteria House near the base, she wouldn’t have all the tools she would have at home, but it was much too far away for such a time sensitive manner.

“Stay awake, just stay awake for me.” Shinobu begged.

She left (Y/n) momentarily, moving at Mach speed back to the cabin. She wiggled the door free from its slide socket and laid it on the ground. Then she went inside to grab the old blanket and some rope she had remembered seeing in the corner. With her new items in hand, she rushed back to (Y/n), startling her awake.

“What did I say about sleeping?” Shinobu grunted, pulling (Y/n) to rest sideways on the door, “Don’t you give up on me.”

She tied the rope to the door and curled the blanket over (Y/n)’s lower half. She noticed that the icicle was melting and again she felt hopelessness seep into the forefront of her mind. She shook her head.

“Stay awake, We’re going to make it, just stay with me.”

Then Shinobu began dragging the makeshift sled behind her down the mountain. It was not easy. Her negative thoughts were fighting her just as much as the terrain, but she refused to quit.

She made it to the base just before nightfall, muscles aching, hands freezing from never letting go of the rope for even a second. At the Wisteria House she found En waiting for her along with the family of the House. She sent the bird to her home with a list of supplies she would need should the initial surgery go well.

She ordered the Wisteria House residents around, prepping (Y/n) and a room for the risky surgery she was about to attempt.

***

She had done it.

(Y/n)’s breaths were coming stronger everyday. Shinobu had been worried when a small I get ion bloomed from the debris in melted ice, but she had taken care of it quickly in the days following the several hours long surgery.

The Kakushi came with the items she requested, ensuring (Y/n) would make it out of this with but a scar on her chest and back. The recovery would still be a long endeavor of course, but she could continue being a demon slayer once recovery training was completed.

When it was safe to do so, the Kakushi and Shinobu took (Y/n) back to the Butterfly Estate. Shinobu made sure to tell the Wisteria House residents just how thankful she was for their help. She had been really looking forward to getting home.

When Shinobu got home, the girls almost questioned who really was the one to get hurt so badly. Shinobu looked like a wreck visibly exhausted and frostbitten. They all but pushed her into her bedroom. They could take care of (Y/n) from there, it was time for Shinobu to take care of herself.

When (Y/n) awoke, Shinobu’s energy seemed to come back tenfold and everyone took notice. No one had ever heard of this friend of Shinobu’s before, but they must have been close for her to be so happy. They thought Shinobu was goinng in to hug her, but were surprised when her fingers took hold of (Y/n)’s cheeks instead, pinching her harshly with a dark smile.

“Don’t ever do anything like that again. Do you hear me?”

“‘M shorry! Rhet go! Ah!” (Y/n) rubbed her cheeks while Shinobu continued to yell at her for the next twenty minutes.

The girls hadn’t seen her so visibly upset in a long time. It was quite a shock, but also strangely sweet to watch them bicker.

Shinobu took care of (Y/n)’s recovery training personally. Another rarity to the girls because she was usually much to busy for the regimen. Even when they weren’t training, they were almost always together.

That was when the gossip began. And the gushing. And the bets… The Estate residents became very invested in the blossoming romance. Meanwhile, (Y/n) and Shinobu would talk about literally anything else than the elephant in the room, waiting for the other to make the first move.

There was still lingering doubt. They had only began getting along. It seemed too hasty to jump into a romantic relationship so soon, even though they really, really wanted to.

However, when spring came in full bloom it was becoming harder to keep the stares and lingering touches in check.

(Y/n) was itching to make a move, so she invited Shinobu to go for a walk with her. But walking with Shinobu was nerve wracking! She talked so softly and their hands kept brushing. (Y/n) commented on the beauty of a flower along the path and Shinobu agreed without even looking at it. Opting instead to keep her eyes on (Y/n) the whole time.

They had nearly made it back to the mansion and (Y/n) couldn’t muster up the courage to tell Shinobu her feelings. Usually she would just go for it, it was better to ask than to live with regret haunted by what-ifs. But given where they started, she was afraid of losing all the progress they had made.

“You’ve been quiet today.“ Shinobu observed, turning off of the path to the mansion to another trail, motioning for (Y/n) to follow her.

“Aren’t you usually asking me to shut up?” (Y/n) attempted to joke, heart beating fast as she realized she had been caught acting weird.

“I have never once told you to shut up.” Shinobu rolled her eyes, “I may have told you to be quiet because I was reading or writing something important on occasion, but that’s all. Now tell me what’s on your mind.”

(Y/n) swallowed thickly.

“Just making up songs in my head.”

“What are the words.” Shinobu was on the attack now.

“No words. Just sounds.”

“Hum it for me then.”

(Y/n) floundered, flustering further when Shinobu laughed at her.

“You could just ask to kiss me and I’d let you, you know. I don’t know why you have been getting cold feet all of the sudden. Aren’t you supposed to be the optimist?” Shinobu asked bluntly, turning to stand in the middle of the path, blocking (Y/n) from walking any further.

“Well, do you want to?” Shinobu prompted again while (Y/n) stood too stunned to speak.

She gave a jerky nod and Shinobu giggled, waiting for (Y/n) to step closer.

She took so long to get in position that Shinobu took matters into her own hands, pulling her the rest of the way in. When she finally pulled away to breathe, she had the biggest grin on her face.

“See, now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” She took (Y/n) by the hand, pulling the lovestruck girl along the trail.

She only stopped when she felt a resistance to her pull. Worried she had gone too far, she turned to ask (Y/n) what was wrong, only to find another kiss waiting for her which she happily accepted.

#demon slayer oneshots #kny oneshots #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #shinobu kocho x reader #shinobu kochou x reader #shinobu x reader #shinobu kocho #shinobu kochou #requests #anonymous

[fairyrosepetals]

💌Super-powered Valentine (2)💌

Part 1, Part 2

🦾Bucky Barnes🦾

When it comes to Mr. James Buchanan Barnes, when you established your relationship all depends on when you met him.

If your first meeting was during the Second World War, get ready for the amount of FLIRTING this man will do.

He’d look at you with those beautiful eyes of his as he’d flash his signature smile, charm coming off him in waves that would make any gal swoon. However, you may not be so easily bought with sugary words and those puppy dog eyes of his.

If you haven’t fell victim to his charms within the first five minutes of talking to him, he knows he’s gotta work for your attention. He’d start dropping all the girls he’s been talking to just so you can have his undivided attention, which you can’t complain about.

This man isn’t afraid to tell you how attractive he finds you, always complimenting you and telling you how good you look in a certain shirt/dress, committing it to memory religiously.

A very handsy man, while praise may be one of his love languages, physical touch is another. Always having a hand around your waist while he talks to Steve, bringing you closer and closer until you’re glued to his side.

Always kissing your hands and knuckles, looking you in the eyes as he kisses your knuckles one by one before leaving a final kiss on the curve of your palm.

Also always calling you some sort of pet name. Baby, angel, doll face, sweetheart, those are the most common ones for him. To you, hearing him call you “Baby” in a low, raspy tone just sends shivers down your spine.

If you met him years later, after his recovery, it may be a bit hard due to the walls he’s put up over the years.

Bucky definitely wants to be “more out there” as Sam says, but he feels rusty and out of the game after being anti-social for so long. So when you came into his life, it was almost as if the wind was knocked out of him.

The moment you are in a relationship with him, you have Bucky wrapped around your finger. He’d do anything for you if it meant showing how much he appreciates your patience and kindness as he heals, as he never had someone like you stick by his side until Sam came along.

Terrified of holding you, it takes a lot of convincing before he can just finally melt into your embrace, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as he holds you close.

As Valentine’s rolls around, he’s a bit nervous. Similar to Steve, today’s dating culture makes his mind run crazy. Fortunate enough for him, he has a great friend like Sam to help him out.

He’d encourage him to get out of his comfort zone, make the best of his new found relationship and life by celebrating with the love of his life. I think much like Steve he would take you to a dance hall, but it would just take him a lot of courage to build up and be more bold through his fears.

He’d make sure to pick you up first, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in one hand as he walked you to his car, opening the door first for you to enter before he got in himself.

He’d ask you to dance, fumbling and stepping on your toes from how rusty he is, becoming embarrassed before beginning to get into the groove of things. Next thing you know, it’s as if a professional dancer was hiding within him this whole time.

With your bodies close together, you two would have the biggest smiles on your faces. Laughing the night away as he spun and lifted you into the air, finishing the dance by dipping you as you both shared a kiss as he stared at you with the most love anyone as shown you.

Bucky just wants to feel loved rather than be feared, and you make him feel as if he is worthy of your love rather than feeling as if he needed to be punished. He will always cherish your patience and kindness towards him, and will be sure to show you his appreciation as long as you are willing to stay with him.

🦅Sam Wilson🦅

From the very start, Sam Wilson is very flirty with you, but in the most respectful and endearing way as possible.

That charming smile as he leans in more into your conversation, drinking in every one of your words just makes your knees buckle as he listens intently to what you have to say.

Absolutely loves to make you laugh, whether it be to bring up the most goofiest of topics to bicker and debate about or just singing and getting his groove on with his favorite songs on a mission, Sam is the definition of a sun chasing away a cloudy and dreary day.

If he finds that you hang out with Bucky more than him lately, he gets a tiny bit jealous, just in a way that makes him tease you about you liking the super soldier more than him.

“When did I suddenly take Bucky’s place as the third wheel in this relationship?”

Definitely the kind of boyfriend that spoils you with food. His love language is just finding ways to take care of you, and creating comfort foods that you love after a hard day’s work just to see you smile with a full belly just melts his heart.

I feel like when music comes on in your home, whether you are cooking or cleaning, if it’s a song he absolutely loves he HAS to drop anything he is doing and just dance with you. Clapping and stepping to the beat with a big smile on his face as you join him, singing along quite loudly and comedically as you have full belly laughs while leaning into him as you sway to the music. Sam loves just being able to hold you, and when it comes to music he knows he has an excuse just to be close.

Sam is just as affectionate as some of the other guys, leaving you forehead kisses as well as cheek kisses when he greets you or says his goodbyes, or just pulling you in and kissing you in a way that pours all his love into that single kiss just to let you know how much you mean to him.

Sam is very big on nicknames, calling you sweet things such as sugar, baby, sweetheart, honey, and babycakes, while also complimenting you and making sure you know just how much he adores you. Also LOVES showing you off. Can you really blame him though?

Talks highly about you to his sister whenever he visits. He can never shut up about you, making his nephews tease him about his “crush” and his sister knowing you better than anyone despite you both not being introduced yet. However, she is just excited to meet the person who is able to make her brother’s day a little more brighter.

When Valentine’s Day rolls around, this man goes all out for you. Flowers, chocolates, stuffed animals, anything you’ve been eyeing for the last couple of months, he’s gonna make sure you get it.

“What my baby wants, my baby gets.”

Making sure to get dressed in his best suit before taking you out to a nice dinner that he knows the both of you would enjoy. He’s a simple man, he doesn’t need very grand gestures to show you how much he appreciates you.

He likes to make sure you feel pampered that day, and if you do the same for him? Heart melted.

There would be moments where Bucky wished he could glue his mouth shut, because the moment you gift Sam something on valentine or do some act of love for him, he will not shut up about you.

Overall, Sam loves that he can have a good time with you. Not only that, if you match his energy, he’d sure to love you even more as he is able to goof off with his best friend and the love of his life.

🐍Loki Laufeyson🐍

At heart, Loki is a very naturally romantic person. Knowing all the right words to slither his way into your heart and call you his.

His words are almost like poetry, pulling you in and keeping you in a trance as he describes your beauty as god-like, putting even the most beautiful of flowers to shame.

We all know that Loki has a way with words, making you feel as if you are some ethereal being that is simply too divine to be amongst “normal” humans. However, anyone can suede others with just fancy words.

What makes it genuine to you, however, is the way he looks at you as he says it. When he tells you these sweet words, he has this almost tender-like look on his features.

His eyes softening, his gaze becoming full of adoration and love as he stares at you, gently grazing his hand along side your cheek as he admires you.

“Before I met you, I felt that I couldn’t love anyone. That nobody would be able to fill the void in my heart. But all that changed when I met you. You broke my barriers, you opened me up, you touched my soul, you made me whole, you made me come alive. Now I realize that I am hopelessly in love with you.”

When it comes to physical affection, he prefers not to be so public with it. He believes that the side that shows you his love and admiration towards you is reserved for your eyes only.

He’d hold your face in his Icy hands, fingers brushing over the apples of your cheeks as he kissed you. His kisses somehow gentle but strong enough to feel all his emotions through that one kiss.

Cheek kisses, neck kisses, trailing kisses that start at your hand before traveling up your arm, he wants to make sure that you feel all of him loving you as much as you love him.

Loki’s pet names would include simpler but still meaningful names such as “love, dove, my heart, and darling.”, relying more on his acts and words of affection than just the nicknames.

When Valentine’s Day comes around, he is also a little confused much like his older brother. However, he seems to catch on a lot quicker than Thor and adapts to Valentine’s Day on Earth.

Gifts would be more extravagant in tastes, gifting you jewelry, clothing from Asgard, items that would make you feel like literal royalty. However, some of us prefer more simpler gifts, which could result in whatever hobby you are currently interested in or acts of service such as a massage or just a relaxing bath together.

As for dates, I think Loki would prefer having alone time with you rather than going to a restaurant or staying home. Instead, I think he would prefer taking you to Asgard, taking you to a beautiful yet secluded part of the forests in order for you to enjoy a picnic together.

A forest of over grown plants, flowers, and trees so tall you couldn’t even see the top of them, tying it all in with the crystal clear stream that runs through the forest as you enjoy each other’s company.

Loki has never felt so strongly about anyone before you came into his life, knocking the wind out of him as he suddenly realized his feelings for someone that is not from his own home. Regardless, he will love and cherish you forever, dedicating himself to keeping you in his life forever as he continues to make you feel like the most special person in the world.

——————

Hello everyone!

Thank you so much for the attention you’ve given me on the previous Valentine’s Day post! I really appreciated it and didn’t think so many of you would like it.

This one did come out a little short as I wrote four characters last time, unfortunately I accidentally deleted this and had to start from scratch 😭

Anyways, feel free to comment who you want next if you all want a part three. Valentine’s Day is almost upon us! ❤️

#marvel x reader #marvel fandom #mcu fic #mcu imagine #valentine’s day #valentines #romance #loki marvel #loki fluff #loki x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fluff #sam wilson #falcon #falcon and the winter soldier #sam wilson x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #romance writing #avengers fluff #fluff writing

[turtlecleric]

waddles into your inbox and does the Nicholas Cage steepling hand meme

Ok friend, I gotta bone to pick with you. Respectfully of course.

Now I ain't much of an 18+ reader, not really my gig ya know. I ain't too comfortable with it, so you're probably asking then why are you reading it?

Well friend, let me tell you. Because it makes me think. Your stories specifically. Many a times I've had to put my phone down and I've been caught by my roommates with the most intense look on my face.

My friend once said that something is considered art if it makes you feel something, anything, whether good or bad. And let me tell ya Miss Cleric, you've certainly got me feeling somethings.

You certainly have a gift with words as well as speed (like dang sis how you write so fast so much?!) and you use them most expertly, and to that I tip my hat at you.

I hope that you take care of yourself and remember that you are valued and appreciated just as you are ok honey? You don't have to do anything to work or earn love. You are worth loving and experiencing simply by existing mkay? 🧡🙌🏼

Also, if and only if you're feeling up for it just because I need some closure, can we get a part 2 of the recent Rise Raph snippet? I really wanna see how Raph responds when he finds out what happens and how it goes down when Y/N gets out of surgery. Like I would love to see the recovery trauma of having to talk to someone close to you, even when it wasn't necessarily their fault

Or I’d love to see your twist on using hypnotism, but if and only if you’re feeling up to it. If not and if this is too forward then I totally understand.

Just make sure to take care of yourself ok? 🧡

Oh my goodness gracious y'all are really spoiling me with these sweet messages!! I'm so so so glad people are enjoying what I'm putting out there!! Thank you for reading and for being so kind 😭 I'm endlessly flattered that people think my writing is good. And the fact that I can make you think, make you feel things... man. That's like. The dream. To do that with my writing. So hearing that I'm succeeding - that makes me really, really happy. Thank you smmmm 🥰

I don't feel like I write very much or very fast tbh 😅 took me about a week to write I Know Now, for example, which wasn't even a full 3K. But uh. Being obsessed with the turtles and getting ideas that I really like does help a lot I won't lie lol

I'm trying my best to take care of myself! Not always succeeding but trying at least! You're so sweet 🥺🥺🥺 thank you. And this is true for you as well!! We're all worthy of love 💕 even when it doesn't feel like it. (Pounding this into my own head)

Ahhh Raphie boy. I really put him and reader through it. I would like to maybe write a second part, but if I do, it won't be for a while. It's such a hard topic, and it took me hours upon hours to write part one. It is on my mind though, to write a part two. When I get the time, energy, motivation, etc. And oh my GOD. Hypnotism........... Donnie recording Hypno's power and figuring out how to tweak that and use it in the bedroom... or even some kind of dead dove fic involving hypnotism... oh I would love to tackle that... [stares at my current pile of WIPs and winces] at some point...

Side bar- When did I become the type of person who has multiple WIPs??? I can't believe this. [Points at turtle fam] This is all YOUR fault!! /j /lh

I will try to take care of myself!! I hope you do the same!! Thank you again for the sweet ask. I will definitely be thinking about a part two for Raph. If you want, you can subscribe to that fic on my ao3 so that you're notified if I post a part 2! (Same username - I just made it this weekend! Haven't finished putting everything up yet, but What Did I Do? is already there!)

Anyway!! Thanks again!! 😊💕 I hope you're having a good night!!

#asks #ngl I've thought about hypnotism before. now that I know at least one other person is interested in it............ hmmmmmmmm

[rubythecrimsonwriter]

I have to say this because I just had a very serious talk with my bestie about weight.

When I first went to college, I was doing acrobatics four days a week and a 15 to 18 hour course load a semester, while spending six months out of the year sick or recovering from such. The bronchitis plus [whatever comorbid illness struck this time] was bad enough, but the recovery took so long because I had so little fat that my body would start eating muscle and tissue.

I had access to a school nutritionist and so I wrote down everything that I tended to eat, how often I did so. My diet was and still is semi-decent, mostly because I have enough texture issues that a lot of junk food and "unhealthy" (I say that loosely) stuff I can only eat very tiny portions of, if at all, and most meat things are completely off the table unless I make it myself.

I was and still am very high energy. I have always been skinny or slender since I started walking, had some body image issues after being sick and I could count every rib. At the time of going to the nutritionist, I was 190 pounds of mostly muscle.

She looked at me like I'd lost my goddamn mind when I said I wanted to gain some fat and I wanted to know why I just wasn't. I was a freshman. I knew about the freshman fifteen. Instead of gaining fifteen pounds, though, I lost it, and it was fifteen pounds I didn't really have to lose. I was eating something ridiculous like almost double what the average woman "should" be, calorie wise, basically constantly snacking because I was always hungry.

Two years later I was in the hospital for a month. A wheelchair for seven. Lost almost eighty pounds in eight months. Died three times.

It's five years past that now. I'll never be able to fly like I used to, but I can pick up unsuspecting coworkers and adoptive siblings again, which is great fun for startling them. I can renovate my house without too much issue. I weigh 160 lbs now, and for the first time in my life, I have fat on me, after seven years of working at it and so many goddamn catastrophes it's ludicrous.

It took me seven years to gain twenty pounds of fat. Of me actively working on it. There's no such fucking thing as "weight gain!" pills, and there's no such thing as "weight loss" pills either, and take it from an Irish woman? Starving yourself doesn't work either. If you feel good in your body, if it works for you regardless of your weight, then you're fine. The only way anything is going to change is a massive force--like illness, or amputation, or cancer, or occupation, or food scarcity.

Fat people's positive representation in media is shit, and the way that Americans, at least, tend to see fat people is shit, and I'm sorry. You are worthy of feeling at home in your body, without fear of judgement of yourself or society, of feeling good without reservation. The twenty pounds of fat I've gained has, no joke, changed my life. I don't get cold standing in front of a refrigerator, I'm not utterly terrified of getting sick again and dying of something stupid like bronchitis or strep throat. I feel good, and I hope that you can feel good too, and not continuously damage your body by yoyoing your weight with attempted diets and pills.

#idk if i should tag this tbh #its half rant because Im so tired of my best friend beating herself up #like weve been friends for thirteen years and shes broad-shouldered and fat and drop dead gorgeous and so insecure #and she does diets and shit and then gets sick and her weight is all over thr place and i just want her to be happy and healthy #and when shes got things to do she thrives. but as soon as she doesnt shes back to torturing herself. #girl you step foot in a hardware store in a bun that you took two literal seconds to do and a plain longsleeve and some leggings #and i just want to take her phone and chuck it in thr garbage can as hard as I can bc i KNOW its fuckin tiktok being fatphobic #please i just want her to be happy #and like shell get compliments from the hardware store lesbians in spite of her frankly magnificent RBF and its like she doesnt believe them

[problemnyatic]

How do you find worth in yourself? I try to tell myself im worth it but it still feels like im being ripped in half when someone ignores me.

i was very tired when I got this ask, so I decided to sleep on it; this is a big question, after all. The truth is, there is no simple answer to this question. The reason you lack it is a complex interweaving of trauma that I can't unpack for you over the internet so anonymously, and you'd be better served by a theraist in that regard. Nevertheless, i have some pointers.

There are two major prongs you gotta work on. Forcing yourself to change your assumptions of others' intentions, and forcing yourself to be patient with and kind to yourself in your own head no matter what.

A lot of people don't realize just how much they inadvertantly project their insecurities onto others. This isn't to point blame- it's simply a side effect of trauma. You have been hurt the same way, over and over again, for so long that your brain and body flinch at the things that would come before, as though they're the wind-up to getting hurt, and then those things feel the same as getting hurt that way, even if the blow never actually comes.

Of course, some people are still inconsiderate, or cruel, but when something feels like a signal that someone has decided to be hurtful, try to slow down and ask, "are there other reasons this could be happening? Am I being ignored on purpose? Or are they just away from their phone right now?" The objective here is to try and train your brain out of essentially creating false-positive signals of "I'm being hurt on purpose right now." Trauma can be a vicious cycle where triggers reinforce themselves, because even if the triggering thing is not itself abuse, being triggered is traumatic enough to reinforce your brain's sense of "this is traumatic and dangerous to us."

I must note- this is not to say it's your own fault. Your trauma is a horrible thing that was unjustly inflicted upon you by the cruel and/or careless, and you do not deserve even a moment of the pain it causes you. It is, though, unfortunately and unfairly, it is our own responsibility to handle our traumas as best we can. So see this not as a Job you can Fail, but as a journey, something you'll struggle with, but get better with time and practice.

The same holds true for the second prong - kindness to yourself. It's not about what you deserve, it's about what you need. Gentleness and grace are not rewards for being worthy, but the signals you can use to show your brain that you already are.

This one is hard. This one is really hard. And that's okay. I myself am working on it with mixed, but slowly improving, success. Forgive yourself for your maladaptive thoughts, forgive yourself for your self-sabotaging habits. When your internal monologue screams at you and you notice, shame is not the answer, but forgiveness. Ask patiently to reword that thought kindly, let yourself try again.

I promise you, it works, given time. It never feels like anything's changing, but slowly, imperceptibly, it does. You'll feel more deserving of it, given enough tries. It'll feel easier, make more sense to forgive yourself and retry with kindness. Let yourself ask others for clarification, and seek out trading "sorry I'm like this" for "thank you for understanding".

If there's any one thing I can ask you internalize, it's this:

You never need to apologize for existing as yourself. You never need to apologize for your pain.

Your friends care about you. If they're any good, they understand that your trauma is a reflection of the cruelty of others, not a moral failing on your part to simply Be Strong Enough.

Your trauma is not a moral failing, okay?

I wish I could give you a better answer, but I hope at least something from this helps you on your path to recovery.

Some days, weeks even, you'll feel like you're slipping back, losing progress. That's okay, that's a part of it, too. You've never truly lost progress, okay? You still have all that practice, the cycles will cycle again and again, but you, too, are learning every time. Forgive yourself, and practice the tools you have been working on.

If it feels like you're punishing yourself for wrongthink, pause, forgive yourself for the error, for hurting yourself, understand that trying means failing before you succeed and that's okay, and try again, but differently. Use the pain not as a punishment, but as a guide. If it hurts because you feel ashamed, ask why. If it hurts because you are terrified, maybe that's because you have trauma that needs to be gently taught that it can be safe to do that, be there, what have you.

Good luck, friend.

#problemnyatic answers #good lord this was riddled with typos. goes to show the folley of answering asks from bed right when I wake up‚ huh.

[safetycar-restart]

Oooh ds au motogp, you mentioned thirst trap slutty chaos demon Jorge? Please do tell me more, im very intrigued. 👀

So Fabio being a good boy and Marc deliberatly getting a spanking by posting thirst traps were just so delicious. Fabulousness.

But what punishment does Marc recieve for the soft porn half naked workout videos? Or did he gave permission for those ones? Or was that when he felt very neglected and passive aggresivly shot those without a collar and posted?

On the other end of the insta spectrum how much does dom coo over marc and his brother's dog, fabio and various dogs, jorge and his (?) dog, enea and his dog, bezz and his dog (was it any other moto boy you liked for this?). Like the adorableness.

Also Fabio in various soft sweaters, so coo worthy, need to cuddle and pet his hair.

And then we have Marc in various post surgery and injury recovery pics. Is that something his dom takes as a sign that Marc needs all the soft but structured scenes. Needs to just float and let someone else be in the drivers seat for a little while and be loved and cared for?

Cheers 🏍 anon

There are only three things guarantees in the universe: death, taxes and 🏍️ anon dropping killer MotoGP asks. I fucking love this. I really want to write more for MotoGP cause they’re actually truly my favourite lads.

So I’m gonna discuss this by separating each concept, because I think that makes the most sense? As always, let me know if you want to hear more about anything/if anything inspires you/if you want to see more MotoGP!

D/S AU THIRST TRAPS:

So firstly, as I said Jorge is indeed a chaos demon with this, and I say demon because he doesn’t just post his own thirst traps, no no he must drag you into hell with him. He’s not getting into heaven and neither are you.

If you go to the gym with him, sweaty workout selfies of both of you WILL be posted. He must show off both his insane body and also his insanely hot dominant. And he’ll do the most suggestive poses over, he once posted a picture of him shirtless leaning against you, literally licking your neck he’s an absolute menace.

You have to curate the pictures he does and does not post or else he will post straight up porn on his Instagram stories, and he’s perfectly happy with you choosing what he can post as long as he’s still allowed to post soft core porn and pictures with you.

As for Marc’s punishments….

So I think the half naked workout videos actually are taken with permission, mostly because they actually have to be edited? It takes work before those can be posted, unlike just taking his shirt off and posting a picture.

In fact I think him doing them without a collar would probably somehow be a requirement? Like a sponsor doesn’t want him to wear it. And Marc, as much as he loves to push your buttons, would NEVER take his collar off because that’s his everything. So he was very unhappy filming those videos and had to take multiple breaks to get reassurance from you.

However, he does get punished for just randomly posting half naked pictures without permission and that is always done when he’s feeling bratty and wants attention. He gets his attention for them, which is a very good spanking followed by a cockcage but that’s exactly what he wanted.

CUTENESS:

(I adore all of this babble)

So firstly, all of the subs take introducing you to their dogs VERY seriously. Especially Marc and Bez. It was an entire event with Bez. You literally had to come to his house just to meet his dog. As for Marc, he conveniently forgets the dogs are actually Alex’s and just treats them like his own and it’s also very important that you like them and get along with them.

For Bez especially though, because whenever he has the time he’s always with his dog and he doesn’t want to have to split his time between his Dom and his dog. And he absolutely adores spending time just the three of you. In fact maybe you start calling bez’s dog in for aftercare? You get Bez all cleaned up and fed and whatnot and then it’s just time for cuddles and waiting for him to recover so you call his dog in and then Bez can have dog cuddles!! It’s the absolute best. Just a happy, sleepy fucked out Bez cuddling his dog.

Oh god and Fabio with all his sweaters!! I actually recently spoke about this on discord server and I’m gonna repeat it here: Fabio LOVES being his Dom’s babygirl. He loves to be cared for and loved on and looked after and treated like he’s too pretty to do anything for himself. He’ll put on some comfy oversized sweater and his cute little glasses and fuzzy socks and come snuggle right under his Dom’s arm, refusing to do anything for himself because he’s simply too cute and too sweet you must do it all for him.

And Marc! Poor Marc. Honestly by this point I think you’d have a whole aftercare protocol in place for post surgery care with him just because of the sheer number of surgeries he’s had to undergo. I think the first few days after surgery are always the toughest for Marc, because that’s when he can do the least and when he literally just needs to rest it. Once he starts being able to start the rehab process, then he’s okay because he’s got a game plan and things to do. But the initial week or so of having to do literally nothing kills him.

That’s the time where he spends most of it just floating in subspace for you. It’s so much better for him when you just take him down. Because then he can’t feel bad about not doing anything or push himself too hard or get stuck in his own head because he’s too busy being your good boy.

Marc also insists he heals much better like that, but most likely that’s just because you’re there to take very good care of him. So yeah, plenty of very relaxed non-sexual but structured scenes that allow Marc to just float in subspace and recover.

#d/s au #sub!Marc #sub!fabio #sub!marco #man #fq #mm #nsfw. #gn!reader #🏍️

[dowagersqueen]

I genuinely think they tried to add complexity to Aegon but it looks like some clash in the writers' room because he is written and acted one way on screen and then he is described as someone who is doing these horrible things off screen. Also the rape storyline was done to create a conflict for Alicent to solve and kind of bond with Dianna over traumatic experiences but it wasn't conveyed very well on screen and they threw Aegon under the bus in the process. They might think he will "pay" for his crimes when he will be badly injured and the audience will sympathize with him like they did with Viserys whose suffering was shown in detail. Especially compared to Aemond who was shown as a tough guy who didn't cry (they even showed him smiling) when he lost an eye and his recovery process was skipped completely, so the audience doesn't really sympathize with him because they don't see an effect it had on him, it's left off screen. I think it's too early to say where they're heading with both Aegon and Aemond.

i don't think they genuinely tried. i mean if i try to take the writers' comments seriously it honestly doesn't sound good? like they're like "we made him a monster but he's not a monster" because they describe the horrible things he did but then only verbally do they say he's not that bad and worth of sympathy. none of that translates in the show. either they lack the ability to write him the way they thought they would write him or they just never wanted to. they literally wrote him comically bad. his only temporarily good quality is being somewhat self aware but he's also not doing anything worthy with that information and it goes away as quickly as he's handed some power. yes, he's had a complicated relationship with his mother and a horrible one with his father and i've discussed this in the past at length, i would have to dig up the asks, but at the end of the day, there's plenty of characters who have had... a worse experience? of course it offers you insight as to why he turned out the way he did and makes you sympathize with him as a child but he never actually stands up and does something good for anyone to sympathize with him. he doesn't take his responsibilities seriously at all, he is presented as being mean to his siblings, not caring about his wife or children or dragon, constantly disappointing his mother by doing terrible things, making gross comments to women in his vicinity, being cruel to children etc.

i'm sorry but genuinely.... if that was an attempt from them it was a poor one. my final opinion is that they did a very bad job with aegon and whatever comes in s2, no matter what it is, is shaped by the bad job they did in s1.

we can agree to disagree though.

#asks #i've seen people support the writers takes about him and the sympathy for the fictional abuser and i won't get into it but that's just now #like there are limits to where you can take your character and where any sympathy stops #idk

[serickswrites]

Lethal Weapon VII

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Warnings: referenced blood, referenced wounds, hospital (ish), hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hurt/comfort

Whumpee was very surprised to wake up again. When their world had gone dark in the tunnel, they were very certain that was it for them. And they were ok with that. Their people were safe. They knew that Team Leader and the team would get their people to safety. They were ok with not seeing it through. Ok with the possibility that Organization would study them, well, what was left of them anyway. Ok with the the possibility that Organization would make it out that some great evil was vanquished in them. 

And so to wake up somewhere was a wonder in and of itself. Somewhere soft. And light. How they missed the light. They blinked their eyes open once more, wondering if perhaps this was a trick their dying brain was playing on them. 

“There you are, Whumpee. Welcome back to the land of the living.” Team Leader’s voice came from the foot of their bed. “You’re in the med bay in Organization. You’re safe.”

“And my people?” Whumpee’s voice was raspy. How long had they been unconscious for?

“No checking on yourself. On what you went through? Just your people.” Team Leader watched Whumpee’s face. They didn’t understand the weapon at all. Most people would have sacrificed anything to live. But not Whumpee. 

“They matter more. Are my people safe?” Whumpee stared at Team Leader, trying to glean any information from their face. 

“They are. Thriving here actually. And waiting for daily updates on your status,” Team Leader gave a small smile. “They adore you, Whumpee.”

Whumpee’s cheeks grew hot and they bowed their head once more. “I don’t deserve it.” They had put their people at risk in the first place trying to take on Whumper alone. 

“Why didn’t you tell us you were injured?” Team Leader’s face was sober once more. 

“Getting my people out of there, to safety, to help, that was more important. My life doesn’t matter.”

“Your life does matter. You almost bled out in the tunnel. Your heart stopped. Twice. It’s a miracle you are still alive. Why not try to save yourself?”

Whumpee was quiet for a moment. They had died. Twice. And yet, they still lived. “My life is less than theirs. I thought...I thought if I could right the wrongs of my life and get my people to somewhere safe...that it would redeem everything I had done. That at least I could do one good thing.” Whumpee twisted the blanket into knots in their hands. 

Team Leader’s heart broke at Whumpee’s words. Whumpee truly believed that they were not good and not worthy of saving. “Whumpee, there’s nothing to redeem. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But I did,” Whumpee said as the first tear broke free. They didn’t look up as the tears began to flow down their cheeks. “I did horrible things. Unspeakable things. I....I deserved to die.”

Team Leader put their hand on top of Whumpee’s. “No. No, didn’t deserve to die. Whumper made you do those things.”

“But I could have fought back,” Whumpee looked up at Team Leader, anger flashing in their pale, strange eyes. “I’m a living weapon. I could have fought against Whumper. Tried to stop them. Or at least died trying.”

“And your people would have suffered. You did everything to protect them. No one is blaming you, Whumpee.” Team Leader had spent the last several days learning everything they could about the weapon sitting in front of them. Who they were, where they came from, what they had set out to do. And they shared everything they knew about Whumpee with Organization so that Organization would save Whumpee. Not experiment on them. Not let them die. 

“I...I...I should have known better,” Whumpee whispered, their anger leaving them as suddenly as it came.

“You couldn’t have known, Whumpee. No one could have. You really have no idea how many lives you saved. How many people are indebted to you. If that doesn’t cancel out all the wrongs, I don’t know what does.”

Whumpee just shook their head as they hung their head in shame. 

“Join me.”

Whumpee’s head jerked up. “What?”

“Join me. If you’re so fixated on righting the wrongs of the world, that somehow you are solely responsible for causing--I don’t know how that’s possible by the way--then join me. We do a lot of good on my team. And I would be honored to have you at my back.”

“R-R-Really?” Whumpee had thought that Team Leader would throw them in jail. Throw them in a lab. Experiment on them. Dissect them. And they wouldn’t have fought back. It was what they deserved. Never did they think that Team Leader would ask them to join the team. 

“I mean what I say. I would be honored to have you on my team. Please. Join me.” Team Leader offered their hand. 

Whumpee took Team Leader’s hand in tentative fingers. “When can I start?”

“Once the medical team gives you the all clear.”

“I...I...I can start now. It’s fine.”

Team Leader smirked. “You almost died. I’m not letting you go anywhere besides the med bay until the medical team clears you. Consider that your first order, Whumpee. Be well. Live.”

Tags: @imagination1reality0@ohnoithurts@st0rmm@pigeonwhumps@d-cs@wolfeyedwitch@kurochan @nightmaretamer @i-eat-worlds @ohnoithurts 

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw referenced blood #tw referenced wounds #tw hospital #ish #hurt/comfort #hurt/recovery #hurt/aftermath #queue

[disabledbutchblues]

I’m Loïs. I go by he/him and ze/hir, I am a trans butch lesbian. I’m disabled. I’m white. main blog is @transbutchbluess

• I am autistic : probably lower-middle support needs ? I need help with all iADLs but no bADLs (aside from prompts to take care of my hygiene). I struggle with executive dysfunction and potentially mild to moderate autistic catatonia. my symptoms of restricted & repetitive behaviors (criterion B in DSM) are the most obvious and disabling. I know things logically and theoretically and apparently have good intellectual abilities but can’t apply them / function. I get stuck a lot. tasks and life are very hard. I am not independent at all.

• My body is weak and I might be physically disabled. I have orthostatic hypotension. I am still in the process of trying to have appointments to figure out if I might have hEDS and other disorders like POTS or fibromyalgia. I use a cane outside my house, and I need to rest and sit down quite often, as I am often in pain and always exhausted.

• I have ADHD (severe attention deficit, moderate hyperactivity). I am diagnosed with severe depression, generalized anxiety disorder, social anxiety. I struggle with derealization and depersonalization. I am in ED recovery (I do not post any triggering content about food/ED. I am far in my recovery). I am more than a year clean from self harm (I do not count harmful stims in this). I had OCD as a child and still have some remaining symptoms.

• my caregiver is my mother. she does her best I think but doesn’t understand a lot of my struggles and gets angry a lot. I’m still figuring out what accommodations and support I need.

I will mostly use this blog to talk about disability and queerness. also things about me and my life that don’t fit on my other blog. I am trying to learn more about the disabled community and especially people with higher support needs than me and/or physical disabilities.

even if I am good with (written/verbal) communication, I still struggle with it. sometimes it’s easier for me not to use full sentences, to skip words, things like that. it makes more sense for my brain. if it’s not understandable you can ask me to reformulate. I will likely be able to (privilege. don’t expect everyone to be able to do that. I can and am lucky). but it’s harder for my brain so when I need to talk "less correctly" I allow myself to, especially online, to keep the little energy I have for when I really need it.

I lack empathy, especially emotional empathy, but that doesn’t stop me from caring about human rights and being angry when I see horrible people discriminating others. I am not less human, less worthy, an abuser or anything like that just because I do not understand people’s feelings and do not always care about other individuals.

dni : ableist, homophobic, transphobic, terf, racist, antisemitist, all forms of discrimination, uses the label asp*rger, believes in narc abuse / any cluster b abuse, thinks not having empathy means being an abuser, thinks being mentally disabled allows them to talk over physically disabled people and/or to call themselves c-punk, doesn’t respect people with intellectual disabilities, tries to separate themselves from people with higher support needs or to talk over them.

things i like : queer history, queer culture, antiquity, hellenic polytheism / ancient greek religion, art, music (hozier, mitski, ethel cain, florence + the machine,…), reading, the locked tomb series, ocean vuong’s books, poetry, good omens, learning about disability and health,…

#disability #queerness #disabled #trans #autistic #actuallyautistic #autism #support needs #chronic pain