#and im like yeah sure it would be BUT WITH WHAT ENERGY

[biggie-chcese]

ranking rain code lets plays on how much i enjoy/would recommend them

hi did you know i am incredibly autistic about this game and have watched, in full, several lets plays of it? and im still going? haha yeah im normal. anyway here goes... all lets plays ive watched from best to worst:

#1 Highest recommendation: JustOneGamr. ESPECIALLY for people who are going in blind. im so serious. it's the best way to experience as much of the game as possible without playing it yourself. They go through all of the content, side quests, gumshoe gabs, profiles, DLC, and even most of the flavor text. it's also a no commentary run, which i personally see as a massive boon because they aren't influencing your opinions of the game

#2: Pixel Partners. they've got real good vibes and they actually do the side quests. it's also fun to listen to their theories and see their reactions. they're one of the few who dont spend their time complaining and give more valid constructive criticisms than others. they also have the funniest reaction to the chapter 5 reveal

#3: JohnAwesome. his humor sometimes isn't particularly for me but boy is his lets play enjoyable. also has lots of positive vibes and is generally pretty entertaining. i dont remember if he does side quests but im pretty sure he does. he will easily make chapter 4 even more gut wrenching thanks to a very specific kind of incompetence on his part, which in hindsight is really funny

#4: NyanCave. they're pretty fun and also have great vibes! i like their chemistry a lot. they have some pretty good theories and good jokes, but they will spend a lot of time on responding to chat donations. this is fine like get that bag kings but if you're impatient like me it might get annoying after a while lol. it's especially bad in chapter 5, where the tension dies because of their waifu fight donations

#5: NicoB. I was never really a NicoB fan because he's a bit too loud and high energy for me, but his rain code lets play is still pretty good! he seems to have fun playing the game and even has a few good jokes. i think he does the side quests which is a plus but i could be misremembering. i still quote "and now back to yuma crackhead" to this day so there's that

#6: Faz Faz. This another no commentary run but for people who are in a rush. they go through the game as quickly as possible. frankly, i think these kinds of lets plays are not as good as the ones that go through the sidequests, but hey, it's there if you just want the main plot and gumshoe gabs

#7: Save Data. I don't recommend this one to people experiencing rain code for the first time because they will talk over the cutscenes and dialogue and that will get annoying. they also complain quite a bit about the same things over and over which can also get tiresome (im sorry guys i do Not care about graphics as much as you do). however, they're really funny and it's good for a second or third experience of the game. "this city..." is a highly prevalent vocal stim for me thanks to them. they will shit on on the game often though, so if you really love rain code and dont want to hear that, then avoid this one lol. but you do get to see my art at the end of their vids! that's pretty cool!

#8: Rat Attack. i straight up don't recommend this one. it's easily the worst one i've seen and that's sad because i really love their pngtuber avatars. they're not finished with the game yet and that's probably because they spend so much time ranting and yapping about everything else, or just concocting the most baffling theories known to man and spending wayyy too much time on them. you will also hear a lot of unfunny halara gender jokes sorry. sometimes they are funny in other ways but it's honestly not worth it unless you're like me and keep watching out of obsession for the game.

that's all the ones ive watched in full (so far)! here's a couple others i haven't seen in full but have seen small parts of:

Weeby Newz - she's got some fun reactions from what ive seen and is pretty funny too. i have only really watched her play chapters 4 and 5 though, so i cant give a full opinion. i dont care for yakou fathero as a concept though and she seems pretty heavy on that, but if you like that you may enjoy her let's play. i may go back and finish it soon!

CurtStreamy - genuinely very funny from what ive seen though in chapter 5 his whole crew has a pretty fundamental misunderstanding of makoto's character, which can be a little irritating. either way, most of it is great but his live chat sucks. i still need to watch the rest in full to form a full opinion

CrystAAHHL - ohhh she did Not like this game lmao. she is a based makoto enjoyer though. i only watched the highlight reel though i think watching her full streams would just make me tired. i personally dont like watching lets plays if the person playing isnt having any fun

JazzyGuns - unfinished but she is really funny and has good vibes. if you can cope with her probably never finishing the game then go for it

khee chu - im still in the process of watching this one in full but it's fun so far. i will say CHECK OUT KHEE'S MERCH AND SHINIGAMI X JUNKO ART!!! THE ART IS RLY CUTE!!!!

and that's everything! there's other lesser known ones out there but im just one guy i cant watch em all despite how determined i am to do so </3 above all else i want people to get the game but like, yknow, some folks dont got $60 to spend on a game lol. anyway have fun and happy watching!

[b0nelessdoodles]

me, just trying to do artfight:

my stupid rotted brain: what if we just made a fuckin cookie run ask blog. what then?

[moeblob]

A lil guy !

[luck-of-the-drawings]

"I think this is the most inhuman; and human, that I've ever felt.." MUCH CAN HAPPEN IN A YEAR. IN FIVE YEARS. A DECADE. imagine how much can happen in a century. just ONE (1). How will you grow? what phases do you find? even in 5 years, you will find patterns.

[skitskatdacat63]

"Death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily."

+ process(tw blood)

Also, look at him, bloody little guy 🥹

This drawing was inspired by several matador pics :D here and here:

^ I don't think I'll ever live up to the second one ah. There's several pics of that specific guy just soaked with blood, and I'm uh a bit obsessed with then ITS FUCKED UP I KNOW OKAY! But I've not drawn blood in a while so it was a bit difficult so I added less than I would want to I guess. Also I'm obsessed with how often they kneel in bullfighting?? Like okay who are you arching your back and spreading your legs for-

[chompe-diem]

pick a thing that i want so badly a normal amount and am never going to get

[hiddenbeks]

more than a month after my previous kotor update i am happy to announce that i have finally met jolee and had him join me <3

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[pepprs]

june 27th give it up for june 27th

[bunnyb34r]

I'm so burnt out my dudes

[n9ph]

sorry for backrooms spam, but in doing it i think back to this part of kane pixels backrooms videos (i need to catch up on them!) but i think about this part the most

[partyinthemysterymachine]

me @ me "you're supposed to be editing and making it shorter and more concise and not adding a bunch of new paragraphs and words to the damn thing so shut the fuck UUUUUUPPPPPPP" while working on writing the next chapter of goomt challenge

[th3houseofleaves]

one of the funniest things about kit is that he's generally disrespectful to most adult heroes (as in, they were heroes already when he a kid) and it's mostly in a joking way like he will listen to them and he actually thinks most of them are cool he just copes by being a disagreeable asshole sometimes but this energy does not extend to a handful of heroes. most of them are bc he really does respect them too much to be an ass even if it's not real lmao and then one. one is lowkey bc? dude intimidates the hell out of him. and what makes it worse is kit is dating his SON. bro is so intimidated by batman it isn't even funny. if he ever works with the bats on something and batman is actually there and kit, who rarely ever totally behaves, is on his best behavior and he's calling bruce sir and istg the other bats would give him so much shit.

kit regularly tells dick that his sort of dad is scary as FUCK.

[gibbearish]

just took your uquiz lol! about being trans! what do you think it could mean if I wanted to be a guy but didn’t really mind being who i am? it’s not even any guy, it’s like specific guys (like actors,. I don’t know). Sometimes people say they’d rather be an ugly guy than a good looking woman, and I couldn’t relate less. Part of the reason I’m so scared about this (and it’s a big part) is that I’m just so terrified of being ugly. I’m finally conventionally attractive after years of trying to be, and now I’m scared I won’t be anymore. I’m wondering if maybe the first time i thought i was trans i went about it the wrong way (i was obsessed w masculinity, cut my hair, things like that). And is it even worth it doing anything about it if I’m not dysphoric? I’m also very scared about the finding someone to love me and also losing all my friends and family thing (100% will happen). This whole maybe not ever finding a guy to love me thing is really bothering me, too. You can ignore this I’m just venting a lot. Sorry.

hey friend! i think it could help out a lot if you looked into the idea of gender euphoria. the quick description essentially is the opposite of dysphoria, where rather than "being x makes me feel bad," its "being x makes me feel good". there's been a lot of discourse about this over the years and you will still find people out there who will be shitty, but as someone with dysphoria, i have always fallen firmly on the "you do not need dysphoria to be trans" side of things. i believe that if it makes you happy to be a specific way, you shouldnt have to hate being the way you are to be allowed to pursue that. i dont have to turn down a cheesecake just because i don't hate poundcake, suffering is not a requirement to get to the things that make you happy.

i will also say, to me it does sound like a lot of this struggle is based around your ideals irt attractiveness, and while that is very human, it sounds like you also know that your relationship with that is somewhat unhealthy? like, yes, people by and large want others to think they look nice, but that shouldnt come between you loving the body you're in. there are billions of people with billions of opinions and you will never be able to satisfy all of them, and if you try then all those opinions pulling in different directions will draw and quarter you lol. so to me it sounds a bit like itll be hard for you to really unravel your thoughts irt your gender until you're able to work through those hangups around attractiveness? or even that these may be something youll have to unravel in tandem

something that might help start that is next time youre feeling unattractive, rather than pulling away from that feeling or changing something about your look or wallowing in it, take some time to sit with it as a friend. ask it what's so scary about being unattractive. is it societal pressure telling you Girls Have To Be Pretty? is it your parents picking apart your appearance often? is it your friends treating you poorly because of your looks? figure out what it is that has created the unattractive=bad association in your mind, find who has been punishing you (literally or metaphorically) for looking "bad", and ask if you actually did anything wrong that deserves punishment by simply existing on your default settings, or if perhaps it wasnt actually about you at all, and was just about those peoples insecurities. when you pay attention, you start to notice that 99% of the time, attacks against others are defensiveness, they are insecure about something and something you did or said reminded them of it, so now they feel uncomfortable and want it to stop, and the way you do that is either investigate why, or take it out on someone else. and investigating why feels bad and takes a lot of time, so, yknow. path of least resistance, most people will lash out. and that does suck, but in my experience, realizing that made it a thousand times easier to not worry abt other ppls opinions' anywhere near as much. the way that i look is the way that /i/ like, not how society does, because im the one that has to live with me 24/7. society can deal with the horrific terrible burden of seeing me getting gas looking like a 1 occasionally, bc like literally how does that effect them yknow? theyre not harmed in any way by me existing and not looking how they want me to, and it would be weird for them to expect that of me because I Didnt Know They Existed Before Now so how could i possibly dress for them? and why would i?

(that can help w insecurities too ime is like. imagine someone else saying those things to you, would you think theyre an asshole and tell them to fuck off? if yes, you have permission to tell your brain the same thing)

as far as finding someone to love you, i definitely feel that fear but 1000% you have nothing to worry about. the adult queer scene is bursting to the seams with people who will want whatever it is that youre bringing to the table like a man lost in the desert for fifty years being offered a crisp mcdonalds sprite. "but what about-" yes that too. like, enough that they had to make a word specifically for cis people who Really Really Want To Date Trans People A Creepy Amount to distinguish between them and respectful ppl. i promise your dating pool is not small, you're just still in school and/or a small town and dont have access to them yet. give it time, you have decades ahead of you

as far as family and friends, honestly, yeah, you might lose them, im not gonna sugar coat that. and that sucks . so much. and i can tell you theres more people out there to befriend and that you can build a new family but id bet thatd hit about as well as it hits for me. bc truth is that yeah, you can make a new family, but that just isn't the same. there will still be a little hole in your heart reserved for the accepting and loving family and friends you deserved. and i cant really offer any advice on making that go away if thats how it turns out bc its still there for me.

but i also gotta say? the hole is a lot easier to deal with than the knife that put it there. theres still a painful spot but at least im not still actively being hurt More by them. so like im trying very hard not to just say "fuck em who needs em" here bc i know its not that easy and for a lot of people that isn't the right answer anyways, but yknow. thats what i did and im doing better, and at the end of the day i can really only speak from my own experience. either way, just know that there are in fact people out there who will accept and love you regardless of who you are or how you look, and in fact will encourage you to do things that make you look "worse" by society's standards if it makes you happy.

anyways. i hope that wasnt too depresso there, i think ill finish this off by addressing "is it even worth doing anything about it if im not dysphoric?": imo, yes, absolutely. there are parts of me that i wasnt dysphoric about before starting t that now make me ridiculously happy. i never knew i wanted chest hair and yet now i sometimes just sit here staring at it like "!!!!!!". you deserve a body that makes you happy. not a body that makes the people around you happy, not a body you can tolerate, a body that makes YOU happy. you could probably tolerate living in a featureless square apartment with all the bare essentials and 0 decorations if it was cheap, but would it make you happy? personally, i think you deserve to put up posters even if the world thinks theyd look dumb.

[wishful-seeker]

Tips on how to avoid being unintentionally ableist

1. When a disabled person says they cannot do something, and you wish to offer solutions, do not make a solution that involves them powering through pain, or something thats not accessible to the disabled.

Example:

Disabled person: "washing dishes hurts too much and i cannot do it."

Abled person: "what if you did one dish at a time throughout the day?"

This statement is not respecting that this disabled person just said they "can't". Always respect that. No matter how simple the task would be for you.

Disabled person:" i think ill use plastic silverware so i don't make dishes."

Abled person: "plastic is bad for the environment!"

This statement shuts down the most accessible and disabled friendly option that this disabled person can actually do because of the abled persons personal beliefs. This is not helpful, and ableist.

Better yet, instead of offering solutions, ask them directly "is there anything you need that you do not have that would help you do this?" This allows the disabled person to think about what would work, and they will always have a better idea of what would work than you do.

To add on to this, when we say we have no more energy to solve a problem or do a task, or change our lifestyle, we mean it.

2. If you feel discomfort when a disabled person is talking about their health, good and bad, that is ableist. Your discomfort is coming from a place that deams disabled peoples very existence as a bad thing and you need to fix that.

For example:

Disabled person:" this week has been rough pain wise, ive been through a lot, felt like my body was on fire. Lucky i got new meds though and i think they're helping!"

Abled person: "can we talk about something else, this is a bummer."

Disabled people should be able to exist freely without worrying about your personal comfort. Do you really think its appropriate to tell someone in constant pain that their life is making YOU uncomfortable?

3. Do not treat disabled people as tragedies, do not romanticize their old life or put their current one down.

For example:

Disabled person: "yeah my life is pretty difficult sometimes, ive lost a lot but i still have happy moments."

Abled person: "it makes me so sad to see what disabled people go through :(. You used to love rock climbing and running, i would love to see you move around more again."

This statement is putting more value on the disabled persons abled past, and ignoring their life as a whole.

4. Do not avoid speaking to disabled people because it hurts to see your loved one disabled.

For example: my grandmother avoids conversations with me because it hurts her to see me in pain. While she has good intentions it leaves me being unable to be close to her. This is very isolating to the disabled.

5. Do not stop inviting your disabled friend/loved one out even if they are never well enough to attend. Unless we specifically ask you to stop asking if we can go out, good chances are we want to know you still care because again, disability is very isolating.

6. When a disabled person says certain things in their health have gotten better or worse, do not challenge this because you don't see a difference.

For example:

Disabled person: "yeah things are getting a little better"

Abled person sees disabled person using their wheelchair like usual: "i thought you said you were getting better?"

Better and worse are usually small changes only the disabled experience, its not like abled people healing from a broken arm. Better to a disabled person could mean they can stand for 10 more minutes.

7. Do not expect disabled people to ever be abled again, and again, do not put more value on an abled life.

For example:

Disabled person:"I have been using a wheelchair for 2 years."

Abled person: "oh you're young, im sure you'll be walking around in no time!"

This statement invalidates and ignores the disabled persons current life by hoping they get a more abled bodied life. Its fine to hope disabled people get better, but you don't get to decide what better looks like.

Hope this helps, stay punk.

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ! ( ninth installment ) in which you are forced to plan a corporate event with your office enemy .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; kento nanami

୨୧˚ cw; profanity , alcohol consumption , inebriation , sexual harassment , violence , vomit

୨୧˚ an; i love nami kempo (dis shit like 4k werdssss) ALSO i’ve been getting comments that my tag list isn’t working for me dumb someone help me pls tell me what im doing wrong

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

“Why am I here?” Nanami thinks out loud, glaring pointedly around the unlit dive bar. It’s unglamorous, walls garbed in eclectic music paraphernalia, references that go right past him. Flurries of reds and yellows and oranges in the decor cut brightly, shining through the dim atmosphere. Seriously, would it kill them to switch a light on? It bustles with life; university kids, Nanami is subjected to think based on the… unique fashion sense present in the room. Street wear, torn jeans, crop tops way too short to be considered shirts anymore. He cringes, feeling entirely too dated to be hanging amongst this kind of crowd. His leg bounces restlessly under the ledge of the bar, and he turns to look at you. “Why are we here?”

You’re smiling—actually smiling—flagging down the bartender. “You knew we were coming to a bar,” you cut yourself short, holding up a single finger to him whilst you relayed your order to the older gentleman behind the bar. A rum and coke, you asked politely before glancing toward Nanami. It took a moment for him to realize what that look meant. 

“I’ll have scotch, neat. Thanks.”

“As I was saying,” you steal back his attention, “I made it clear we were coming to a bar. What’s the problem?”

There was a hint of an attitude catching at your words, and Nanami felt his brow twitch in frustration. “You failed to tell me that we’d be in…” He grimaces, peeking back over his shoulder to the sea of youthful patrons slinging over nearly every stool and booth. “ . . . Mixed company.” God awful pop music fizzles through the speakers, twisting and crackling with pops of static; fuel to the billowing flames of Nanami’s overstimulation. “I was expecting something a bit more sophisticated.”

“I can tell,” you’re laughing as you give him a once over, and he gets a shiver of Deja Vu from the coffee shop where you pulled the same exact move. You tweeze at the expensive cotton button down, plucking the bunched fabric of a sleeve at the crease of his elbow. “Thought we said no more fancy clothes?”

Tonight he threw together a plain white shirt and a pair of slim fit khaki pants; the quintessential dad outfit, sure, but fancy? Nanami didn’t think so. “I’m dressed down.”

“Nixing the suit jacket and tie didn’t do much. You still look stiff, man.” Two glasses are brought over, one placed before either of you respectively. Nanami stares down into the glass, a foggy, brown abyss. His alcohol looks watered down and piss cheap. “You stick out, it’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Oh please, you’re too kind.” Nanami rolls his eyes, hunching over the bar and downing a swig from the scotch. Yeah, It was definitely watered down. Fuck this place. 

Your hand slaps his back. “So dramatic. I was kidding Nanami, you look fine.” A cheeky laugh reaches his ears before you tack on, “very handsome.” 

Now he knows you’re messing with him. 

You grin into your cup. “Stop sulking. It’s not so bad here.” Nanami would beg to differ. A debate that isn’t worth having because frankly, it’s a Saturday night and he doesn’t have nearly enough energy to draft a list of all the cons that this joint has to offer. “We got booze,” you raise your glass. “Booze makes everything better.”

His forehead wrinkles. “That’s a horrible mindset to have, Y/n.”

Your boisterous laugh outweighs the ambient chatter, and you take a hearty gulp. Nanami follows suit, albeit a bit awkwardly, tipping more spirits down his throat. You look surprisingly comfortable, slinking against the bar counter with a hazy smile that welcomes strangers in. This time, you weren’t wearing a flowery dress; instead, a low cut shirt and jeans, both equal parts dark and tight. The neckline plummeted deep, exposing slivers of your bra cups and entirely too much cleavage. By God, was his self restraint something to write home about. 

It was easy to fall into comfortable conversation. All in all, Nanami enjoys talking to you now, even if once upon a time the thought of engaging with you evoked such dread that he’d outwardly avoid your presence around the office. Passing along orders specifically meant for you to other colleagues and entrusting them to deliver the message, lengthening the conveyor belt of relation simply because you got him in a tizzy. Back then, all Nanami could see when he looked at you was that cowardly girl in the bathroom with smeared lipstick and a trembling pout. How shameful, he thinks, that it took him this long to see past that terrible first impression. 

“So there I was, balancing ten cups of coffee, shaking like a little bitch,” you laughed as you shared an anecdote from an internship in your university years. Nanami listened intently, head propped up on his fist as he watched your theatrics. Your cheeks flushed with the evidence of alcohol, eyes lidded, smile wobbly. Nanami was feeling the edge of his buzz coming on too, an amazing revelation considering the diluted alcohol this place served. “And I’m walking up ten flights of stairs–”

“Ten flights?” He gawks, feeling looser and matching you with melodrama. “What, did your office not have an elevator?”

You laughed. “It was out of order.”

“Your luck astounds me.”

You flip him off playfully. “I finally get to the last stair and my heel catches on the floor and I eat total shit in front of the entire room!” Nanami can’t stop his own tittering, cupping a palm over his grin. “Spilled the coffee everywhere, twisted my ankle, too. I probably laid in that puddle for ten minutes.”

“That’s why you don’t wear high heels anymore?”

There’s a grimace on your face when you nod, topping off the rest of your glass. “Mm.”

Nanami swaps his own story, of a time when he was in his third year of college and his work laptop got stolen. “I think I cried,” and you guffawed at his misery. “I’m serious, I really think I cried. Alone, on the floor of my dormitory. It was finals week, and I had written my dissertation on that laptop.”

“So what did you do?”

“I pulled an all-nighter in the library on campus and rewrote my entire thesis.” Merely remembering that chaotically stressful night had Nanami huffing a sigh of anguish and dragging an exasperated hand down his face. 

The bartender slides you another drink. Gosh, he was lagging behind. “I would’ve dropped out.” You spoke over the rim of the glass.

“Trust me, I was really close.” Nanami’s eyes narrow, gaging the swell of your throat as you knock back a few swigs. “How many have you had?” 

“A few.” Your answer was blunt, and from that Nanami could gather that his question had rendered you the slightest bit irritated. He understood why; you were a grown woman, who was he to regulate how many rounds you decide to have? But even with this understanding, the man couldn’t shake his concern. “More than you, old timer. Keep up.”

He shakes his head, scratching at his cheek. “This is my last for the night.” Any more, and Nanami would wake up the next morning nauseous with a pounding headache. He took precautions to avoid breaching his limits, he really disliked that hungover feeling. 

You gawk at the declaration. “How lame.” Then you hiccup.

“You can call me lame now, but which one of us will wake up tomorrow not in pain?”

You wave a hand through the air, brushing off his very astute observation. “Hush, that’s for future me to deal with. Present me doesn’t have a care in the world.”

You’re immature, but it’s amusing, so he doesn’t offer any rebuttals. The way you are so insistent on living in the moment is fascinating, almost inspiring even. Nanami feels as though he’s ever crushed by the impending future, always so concerned with what the next day, next week, next month, next year brings. He thinks ahead to a fault, and because of that, forgets to enjoy the little things. But you always stop and smell the roses. It’s admirable. 

“Bartender!” You wag a finger in the air, slamming down your empty glass. Fiending for yet another drink. 

Okay, maybe your ability to live in the now is to a fault as well. Nanami holds a hand up, signaling the barkeep to halt. “Sorry,” he apologizes politely, “she’s all good for now, thanks.” Ain’t that the truth. Your face looked tacky with sweat, pupils scarily dilated. Your words come out dimly slurred, and your gestures uncoordinated. As your business associate, he feels obligated to intervene at this point.

A hand slaps his down. Your hand. “Hey what gives?” You’re upset with him. “Just because you’re done doesn’t mean I am.”

“You’re three sips away from throwing up on yourself,” Nanami deadpans, unphased by your drunken outburst. Unbeknownst to the two of you, another patron had taken up the stool opposite of you. To be expected; the bar was decently crowded, that being said neither of you paid much mind to the man. He was younger than Nanami for sure, his hair unkempt and shaggy, swept back by sweat and something that looked like grease. He was smiling, probably on some brand of dope that Nanami was unfamiliar with. The stranger interrupts, leaning over with his elbow planted on the countertop. 

“You her father or some shit?” He speaks without any warning, catching both you and Nanami’s attention. 

Father? Nanami internally grimaces, jaw tightening. Just how old does he think I am? Trying not to be offended by the inquiry, he corrects the man. “Just a concerned friend, that’s all.” You have yet to speak, still a tad caught off guard by the unexpected company. 

The stranger’s grin widens, reaching shit-eating status. “Then hop the fuck off her case, man.” He shoots a pair of lidded, droopy eyes toward you, eyebrows jumping in a manner that is entirely too suggestive for Nanami’s liking. “If the lady wants another drink, then let her have another drink.”

Nanami feels the awkward tension thicken the air between this interaction. For all the shit you talked about getting hit on in bars, he would have never expected you to act so timid when put in a position like this. Nanami fully expected you to side with the latter party, to order another round of vodka-whatever and then leave with your newfound knight in shining armor. What actually happened: “No, er, my friend might be right actually,” followed by an incredibly strained chuckle. Your shoulders stiffen, Nanami can practically feel the way you harden up beside him. “I should probably take it easy.”

The man feigns grief. “Aw, c’mon. You seemed so eager before. Let me buy you another?”

“She just said—”

“I was talking to her, not you.”

Nanami was utterly shocked by the sheer gall this young man possessed. Was he trying to intimidate him? It was painfully ineffective. “I don’t want one,” you said with a little more oomph this time, fiercely hanging on the urge to defend Nanami. It made him feel strangely prideful. 

The stranger’s smile never retreated, but something sinister glinted in the ocean of his dark eyes. He gave a sniff, brushing the point of his nose with the pad of his thumb before hurling yet another unwanted flirtation your way. “Baby, hey, what’s one more drink? I saw you from across the room, I’ve been dyin’ to chat you up.” Under the table, his hand slips into your personal space. Nanami sees it unfold in his peripherals; the pallor hand slithering over your lap, grabbing a handful of your denim-clad thigh. You yelped in surprise, wincing. Nanami saw it all.  

He was not a violent man. In fact, he could count the number of times he’s thrown a punch in his life on one hand. Physical fights were pointless, a waste of time and energy because Nanami wholeheartedly believed that altercations were best settled with words. But the moment your nervous squeak found his ears, Nanami couldn’t control the urge to beat this guy’s face in. So that’s what he did; sliding out of his seat to round you and pull the stranger off his stool by the collar of his faux leather jacket. The material felt cheap and mingy, not something Nanami would ever be caught dead wearing. Without so much as a second thought, Nanami sends a heavy fist barreling into the meat of his cheek. One good, solid punch, and the sinewy gentleman was tumbling to the ground, walking the thin line between consciousness. “Shit…” Nanami breathes, chest heaving with barely concealed rage, knuckles throbbing to the beat of his racing heart. The bar went dead, too many pairs of eyes locked onto him to count, but the only ones he could care about were yours. 

You looked at Nanami with such astonishment, with your eyes pried wide as dinner plates and your mouth ajar. He was ready for you to yell at him, to curse him for embarrassing you in a pub you frequented, but nothing came. Well, almost nothing. 

“Security!” The bartender hollered thick and deep, slapping a damp rag onto the counter with a wet plap. 

“Shit!” Nanami repeated, cuffing a hand around the thinnest part of your wrist, tugging you into his side as you both raced toward the exit. “Let’s go.”

You’re gurgling and grumbling, latching onto the material of his shirt as little bouts of complaining bubbled past your lips. “Not so fast!” and “Oh God, my stomach” and “I don’t feel good.” Nanami had been reduced to your crutch at this point; he bore the entirety of your weight without batting an eye because your own legs were too wobbly to do it yourself. 

“I know,” he murmured, maneuvering through the crowd. “Hold it together, we’re almost there.”

The first step outside felt like entering Heaven. Nanami basked in the cleanliness of the chilly night air, gulping down a big breath of fresh oxygen that hadn’t been tainted by marijuana smoke. But suddenly, you’re detaching yourself from his hip and he’s bewildered by your sudden need for proximity. “Y/n—”

He turns to face you, only to be met with the crown of your head. Doubled over at the waist, hands on the lower fraction of your thighs, you vomit onto the dewy pavement… and his shoes. Nanami’s cursing once more, drawing closer despite how much you obviously don’t want him to. “Alright,” he coos in exasperation, gathering your hair into a bundle and holding it away from the splash zone. “It’s alright, get it out.”

“You’re… Did I just puke on y-your feet?” Your voice is croaky, something of a mixture of embarrassment and illness. You can’t even look at him. 

“Stand up,” Nanami tells you. He’s unbending you, straightening your body upright with a hand pressing your back in from his bowed shape. “Can you look at me?”

You pout, childlike. “No.” You’re looking at his shoes, the toes slick with remnants of your stomach acid. 

“They’re just shoes, I have a million pairs.” His head cocks to a tilt. “Would you look at me, please?”

You’re sighing, but looking up to him nonetheless. Gazing up with big, glossy eyes and wet lashes that clumped together through tears. Eyeliner diluted and cradling your undereyes in a dark embrace. You wipe your mouth with the back of a palm, smearing shimmery gloss out of the confines of your lip line. It’s all so nauseatingly familiar, this pitiful display. Nanami decides he hates seeing you like this. 

“I’m sorry,” you chirp. 

“Don’t apologize.” 

“I’ll pay for them.”

Nanami puts a hand on your shoulder when he notices the slant in your posture. “Cut it out, that’s entirely unnecessary.” He looks around the parking lot, full of vehicles. They catch the glint from the yellowish street lamps. “Did you drive here?” He thinks it’s unlikely, seeing as you let yourself fall under such intoxication. You weren’t so irresponsible; if you drove here, you would’ve made sure you’d be able to drive home too, like he did. 

You’re shaking your head. “Caught a train.”

Nanami nods, pleased. “Good. That’s good.” With all the grace and gentleness in the world, the man loops your limp arm back around his nape, securing you against his oblique with a sturdy arm snaked around your waist. Everything is ginger, lest he upset your stomach again. “Are you good to walk?”

“Yeah, I think I’m alright.”

“Then let me take you to my car.”

That pulls a frown from you. “You don’t need—need to drive me there, Nana’. The station—” Hiccup “It’s just down the road.”

The blonde glowers. “You can barely stand on your own, public transportation is out of the question.” Like Hell he’s going to let an obviously inebriated, attractive young woman such as yourself ride the subway alone. Please, don’t make him laugh. “I’m driving you home.”

“It’s out of your way.”

“I don’t care.”

It’s a slow race, but Nanami eventually hauls you to his car parked at the entrance of the lot. A midnight shade Maserati; he doesn’t miss the way you gawk at his luxurious ride. “If I had a car like this, I’d never leave it.” He laughs. You smack his bicep. “I’m not kidding, I’d sleep in this thing. She’s gorgeous.”

“She says thank you,” he huffs his response. Nanami leans you up against the side of his car, pinning you between its door and his thigh while he opens the passenger door. “Watch your head.” His hand curls around the roof’s ledge, a makeshift cushion to protect your skull as you duck into the car seat. Immediately, you’re slumping back into the comfortable leather interior, moaning out quiet mewls of exhaustion. 

“Yeah, I’d definitely sleep in here.”

“Keep those eyes open.” The door swings shut, and Nanami makes haste when rounding the rear of his car to the driver’s side. He had barely toed the line of sobriety anyways, but knocking a stranger on his ass was definitely more than enough to woosh any semblance of haziness from his veins. Nanami wouldn’t think about driving—wouldn’t think about putting you or anyone else on the road in danger—if he felt even the slightest bit impaired by the scotch. Behind the wheel, the man leans across the center console to grab your seat’s safety belt, carefully dragging it over your chest and clipping it into the buckle. “I need your address first, then you can knock out.”

“My address…” You ponder, lips pursed and eyes blinking at a snail’s pace. Sleepiness prevails, and you fall in and out of slumber, head lolling and cheek mashed up against your shoulder. 

Nanami carps, unappreciative of your inability to stay awake long enough for this much needed conversation. “Hey,” he bleats, patting the top of your thigh. “Come on, Y/n. I need to know where you live.”

You whine, rolling your eyes at his persistence. “The city.”

“You live in the city.” Nanami deadpans at the useless information you’ve just spared. 

“Mm.” And then you’re drifting back to sleep. 

Nanami pinches high on the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger, over the permanent divets where his glasses have drilled into his skin. The contortment of his fingers sends another spike of pain over his bruising knuckles. “Wake up and give me a proper address.” He supposes his heated seats aren’t doing much to stave off your tiredness, so he presses his knuckle into the off button. You whine. 

“I don’t remember, okay?”

That’s how you ended up at Nanami’s home, tucked under his lavish sheets in his bed that’s entirely too big for one person. Your outfit had been neatly folded and piled upon his dresser, exchanged for one of his tee shirts and a pair of sweatpants that were cinched at the waist. He helped you into his clothes—with your undivided consent, of course. A completely clinical and respectful process; Nanami looked elsewhere, acting as a handle for you to hold onto as you stepped into the oversized pants he held open for you. They were far too wide, falling off your hips, so he took the time to tie a precious, little bow with the drawstrings. 

“Comfy?” He asks upon his return to the bedroom, holding a glass of tap water in one hand, a bottle of pills rattling in the other. You’re exactly where he left you; swimming in his bedsheets, the comforter hoisted up to your chest. Nanami sets the water down on the bedside table, then takes a seat on the edge of his mattress, working the bottle open. 

“I’ve never been more comfortable,” you sigh blissfully, taking a deep inhale. “Your blankets smell good.”

The blonde can’t help his chuckle. “I’ll give you the name of the laundry detergent I use tomorrow.” With deft fingers, he plucks two small tablets, light pain medication, and sets the pair on the table next to your water glass. 

“Promise?” Your tongue pokes out from between your teeth, playful. He chides an airy yes, snapping the tylenol bottle shut. Then, your smile fades; you’re averting your eyes, fixing them somewhere over to the blank canvas of Nanami’s gray, bedroom wall. “Hey, um…” He watched the side of your face, watches the flex of your jawline and the tension in your neck. “Did I—I didn’t really throw up on you, right?”

You rub at your temple, like you’re trying to find the memory but it’s just out of reach. “No,” he replies instantly, steadily, like it’s not a complete lie. Like his bile-ridden shoes aren’t sitting outside on his front door step, waiting to be cleaned. “You don’t remember?”

“It’s fuzzy,” you grumble, frustrated with yourself. “I had too much.”

Normal circumstances permitted, Nanami would’ve totally took this opportunity to have his I told you so moment. But you already looked  upset, maybe a little bit sick still, so he bit his tongue for you. “Some drunk imbecile interrupted us. We shared words, and then he got sick on us.” He was pleased with himself, his story must’ve been believable with the way you nodded along. 

“And then you punched him, right?”

His face drops. “That’s what you remember?”

Your shrug. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget it, Nanami. Not for my entire life.”

“Kento.” You hum, confused, so he reiterates, “I mean, call me Kento. I just clothed you, I’d say we’re close enough.” It’s true, you guys were getting more and more comfortable together by the day. Even outside of work and the management project, Nanami and you share text conversations more frequently than he would’ve ever imagined. And these little hangouts—granted, only two have been executed thus far—have been the most fun he’s had in ages. More fun than he’d ever hope to have with his ‘friendly’ business colleagues. You’re his friend. 

You, Y/n L/n, are his friend. What a strange fucking twist of events, it nearly gives Nanami whiplash. 

“Ken… To…” You speak each syllable slowly, peeking up at him through your eyelashes. He nods, grinning easily. Happy. “Kento, Kento, Ken—”

“Okay, okay enough.” He rises, arms raised as he gives a hearty stretch to his back. “It’s bedtime. Over there,” Nanami points at a door, “is the bathroom if you need it. You’ve got water here, and make sure you take the medicine in the mornings. You’re going to have a terrible migraine.”

“Wait, where are you gonna go?”

“I’ll take the couch for tonight.”

“Kento…” You whine, and he really wished you wouldn’t do that. “C’mere. There’s room.”

You’re patting the expansive open space beside you, peeling back the heavy blankets. It’s an enticing offer, to slip in beside you and feed off your body heat. To hold you to him and— Stop, what are you thinking? Stupid. “I think it’s best we don’t. Sorry.” And then he’s fleeing to the door because the way in which he worded that made the depths of his soul curl with cringe. Nanami bids you a polite sleep well before leaving you to the darkness, though he has enough sense left to keep the door cracked just in case you should yell for him in the night. 

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