#because for some of the others....... the cycle is unfortunately cycling

[into-the-milgramverse]

I've been thinking about Muu for a while now, especially the reason people generally don't like her and wanna vote her guilty. I get it's likely due to people's personal experiences with bullying, and I've had those experiences too, so I'm not here to excuse her actions. Just wanna bring another perspective.

So, she lives in Japan.

She's mixed. She has blonde hair.

Does anyone here know that in some Japanese schools, if your hair isn't perfectly black but instead brown, they'll edit your photos to make it black?

Do people know that her being white and asian puts her already as a target for bullying?

I'm pretty sure she knew of that before starting highschool.

So, how to prevent being bullied? She had to find someone to target herself. If she's the one on top, if she's the one bullying others, she won't be bullied, right? It's a survival strategy (yes, "survival", while talking about school. After all, for many, the experience of going to school and being bullied is genuinely traumatizing.)

Unfortunately, that strategy doesn't quite work because all it takes is to accidentally bully the wrong person, or bully at the wrong time and a teacher catches you. And then there's a low possibility that teacher will actually do something about the bullying (but who's to say that same teacher will be there when everyone turns against you now?)

But, if, when they turn against you, you apologize really sweetly and make sure you look really depressed over it, they might stop, right?

But you can only say so many "sorry"s before people stop believing you all together.

That's basically the cycle Muu is in.

Be at the top by putting others beneath you -> If they turn against you, put on an act to be pitied -> Go back to the top -> If knocked back down again, cry again

It's what seems to work in school so far, so she's applying that same logic to prison, since, ya know, she hasn't really had any other experiences in life yet. I really doubt a rich 16 year old girl would know what prison is like (even those familiar with prisons likely weren't ready for some magic prison like Milgram).

Is what she's doing bad? Yes. But should she be tortured and killed for that? No. Besides, does it really bring justice to her victim? The family of the girl she killed will just know that their daughter is dead, and the one responsible for their daughter's death ran away. I mean, how would they know Muu got kidnapped to some kind of magical prison?

[umemiyan]

my mom updated me on the latest family drama during our phone call and i just. this is why i barely talk to these bitches lmfao

[deoidesign]

Can you make a tutorial on how you world build and make ocs? I can't seem to make any people in my brain, but then when I try to come up with environments jobs, beliefs and little details to slowly come up with someone, I think: well I don't really know how people have influenced the world- it's a weird loop

To be honest, I don't think I can! Writing is an extremely personal process. The way I write is directly related to how I process things, what I find important in stories, years of my own analysis of my and other's writing, etc... The way you write will be unique to you, as well. But I can explain how I personally think of it.

The short answer:

Write. Write anything and everything, it's a tool to explore your ideas. Analyze your own writing, and write more. Then, as you discover which ideas you want to develop, write more to explore them more. You won't know what you want otherwise!

The long answer:

I think this kind of loop is common. It's easy to feel like everything needs to be done "at once," because our job as writers is to make elements logically fit with each other for our readers. But as you've discovered, developing multiple elements simultaneously isn't really possible, or at least is extremely difficult.

Personally, when I think of writing, I break it into three major elements; characters, world, and plot. As much as possible every scene explores one or more of these, and as much as possible these three things tie back into what I personally consider most important: theme.

Everything I do is in service of the themes I want to present. Without them my events feel aimless. It can take a while to discover them, but they're the core of my work. You will have to discover what you feel is the core of yours. Analyzing other media helps with this too.

Concepts in your brain exist in a state of infinite potential. But when you start writing you have to start making choices, which removes potential as you move forward... But you have to move forward anyways. If there's ideas you want to explore later, you can always explore them later.

What this ends up meaning, to answer your question, is that I don't think of my characters as "people in my brain" or my worlds as something people have influenced... Not at their core, at least. They are tools that I use to represent specific ideas. Obviously they're also my blorbos, but mostly they're serving a specific narrative purpose.

So above all else... Write. Write, and discover what you're writing about, and then start over and write with that in mind. Keep doing this. But you have to write!

[seyaryminamoto]

From what I remember in your story, even taking Iroh's initial biases into account I thought part of his intense hostility leading up to his report to Ozai was that he was truly convinced that Azula's true nature was either no better or even significantly worse than Ozai's due to the Iroh's suspicions arc. Azula herself told Sokka she was worried that by throwing him of the trail of their relationship that she may have brought the worst out of him. Honestly this was probably my favorite exploration of their conflict, because if they were truly able to trust each other and talk they could have avoided so much pain and trouble, but both of them over the course of the story had developed genuine and/or biased reasons not to trust one another and viewed themselves as doing the right thing despite their actions ultimately resulting in the worst outcome. Azula was trying to prevent a known adversary from having ammunition to ruin their lives and future plans, and Iroh believed that he was essentially hindering the fire nation by turning what he thought were essentially two Evil Ozais with a good relationship with one another into enemies. I can't lie that I'm not slightly disappointed that in the latest chapter that this aspect of their conflict wasn't brought up more explicitly in the conversation with Zuko when Iroh was talking about his biases. Was I personally thinking that the dynamic was more significant than it actually was or is that dynamic being saved for a future conversation Iroh may have with Sokka and Azula?

Uuuuuh, as for the last question... I don't really know if I'll bring it up some more since I do think I've had Iroh acknowledge why and how he fucked up in that respect in the past + exteriorized that if Azula had acted differently he might just have done it too? Am I crazy for thinking so? Did I write that or didn't I? That's a complicated game to play when you're almost at 5 million words of a story... 🤣

Azula and Iroh miiiight have one more conversation in the future and maybe this will come up there, but I haven't written it yet so I won't make any promises on that front. Admittedly, I don't expect their future encounter to be particularly fruitful. Iroh is 100% genuine in what he has understood and learned, though, that can't be denied and I always have hoped to portray him not as a super wicked villain but as a character who thinks he understands far more than he actually does, with motivations that push him into making mistakes he very much comes to regret.

This being said, the Azula-Iroh and Zuko-Ozai parallels in this story are and always have been 100% intentional. Those two tugs-of-war have been going on forever, and the crux of them was very much the fact that Azula and Iroh distrusted and second-guessed and suspected each other soooo much... because they have similar natures, similar thought processes, and they're both intellectual, suspicious, hiding what's REALLY going on underneath the surface, and immediately wary when they recognize all those traits in each other too. Likewise, Zuko and Ozai have some REALLY ugly parallels and one of those parallels, already given away by the chapter you sent this ask over, is going to be the driving force of the conflict between those two, much as a similar thing was the driving force between Iroh and Azula, in its own way: the more they fight to push the other away, the harder they reject the other, the more they end up embodying the flaws they see in that other person, to an extent where they could do absolutely TERRIBLE things just out of wanting to push the other one as far away as possible.

So yeah, the point was never for Iroh to feel like some sadistic mustache-twirling villain who wanted Azula to suffer just for shits and giggles. He had his reasons to do what he did. Doesn't mean he was right. Doesn't mean he should've done it. What it means is it made sense in his head due to his biases, the information he had at hand at the moment, and the particularly awful relationship he had with Azula. Likewise, Azula's rejection of Iroh back in "Iroh's suspicions" caused her uncertainty and anguish because she KNEW she had taken it too far. She was afraid of the consequences. A part of her KNEW that if she acted differently, there was a chance, however slim, that Iroh might not have made the choice he did. And that's why this is such a messed up situation! :')

Ultimately, I want my characters to have motivations that just... add up. That can be traced. That, upon looking at their actions and choices, anyone can go "oh yeah, this is why they did whatever they did". This is good when it comes to establishing ultimate goals, and it's also good when you want to put characters to the test: how far are they willing to go, what are they ready to do to achieve whatever they're trying to achieve? How much are they willing to sacrifice for it? And the answers to those questions can be VERY extreme and painful. Just so, we can find characters who decide to back down and simply surrender over their goals when they realize that there are other things that matter more. But it's a manner of game a writer plays when it comes to gauging and figuring out what a character wants vs. needs, what a character will fight for and what it will take for them to surrender, and so on. Fundamentally, that's how I built up Iroh and Azula's chaotic dynamic. Whatever comes from that in the future, ultimately, their biggest problem may just be that they were just too smart for their own good, tried to outsmart each other a little too much, and never allowed themselves to just... accept each other properly. They came close to it once, yes! But... they failed. And it's depressing as hell, but complicated characters will always be challenging this way...

[akkivee]

biggest gripe is when they don’t include kuukou’s kindness in writing even tho it’s as integral to his character as his brattiness

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Month 3, day 7, got the nose done and since the guide helped a ton with that (and fixing some weirdness in the eyebrows), I'm gonna try animating the eyes and mouth at the same time and see if I can get them to agree with me. If they don't, it's no big deal; I'll just go back to animating one facial feature at a time :)

[mayakern]

Things are bad right now.

As many of you know, way back in 2020 we weren’t sure if our business was gonna make it. Our factory was already on break for Lunar New Year–a month-long holiday for many businesses in the area–and with the announcement of COVID19, everything shut down indefinitely. We knew immediately we were in for a bad time. Despite our fears, our sales grew so far beyond anything we ever expected, to the point where we had to hire two employees just to keep up with demand! 

Unfortunately, even after our factory reopened, our problems were not over. Their quality drastically declined almost immediately, to the point that a significant amount of our  fabric would literally fall apart in transit between the factory and our office. Because of this, we discovered that our sales rep had no idea what she was doing and knew nothing about the factory she was representing, so when we told her the fabric was garbage her response was “�� factory said it’s good!” At the beginning, only roughly 10% of our new product was defective and we were able to sell the affected items with a reasonable discount. By the end of our relationship with that factory, 40% of our midi skirts and 70% of our miniskirts were defective, some affected so severely that they practically fell apart when touched. And still, our rep said everything was fine and there were no problems and the fabric composition had not changed.

So in 2022 we changed factories. We hired Ash to handle this since I was way too busy managing fulfillment to do the amount of research and communication necessary to find us a factory that met our criteria. Finding clothing factories that can make clothing over a size 2-3X is significantly more difficult than one that can’t because it often requires larger and more expensive machinery. But Ash did it: she got us set up with a new factory that has excellent certifications for both their labor practices and their methods for textile production, that delivers consistent, high quality sewing on well made fabric that can be printed without suffering loss in detail–and she was armored with the knowledge for what makes a quality garment so she could check them if they tried to screw us on quality. Their minimum orders were way higher than our previous factory’s, so we decided to focus on ordering more units of fewer designs. We ordered way too much our first round–some of those designs were in stock until the 2024 blowout sale! But it worked out, and slowly we had a warehouse full of stuff to sell.

Fast forward to 2024, business is slowing down between the economy being bad and what seemed to be a general skirt fatigue amongst our customers. We tried expanding into shirts, which would’ve been successful if our minimums were lower. In the late spring we realized we were in trouble if we didn’t make drastic changes and we ultimately decided to end in-house fulfillment and transfer to a third party fulfillment center that would support domestic shipping in Canada and eventually the UK, EU, and Australia. In order to make that transition affordable we drastically discounted everything and that sale was super successful! We were able to begin shipping from the fulfillment center with an almost clean slate, even if it did mean having to close the store for almost two months and thereby missing out on two very important months of sales.

Unfortunately, we were stupid. We continued to order new designs on an every other month schedule instead of switching to an every month schedule, forgetting that having a backstock in a variety of designs is what previously helped us float between orders and now we quite literally didn’t have enough inventory to match the sales we made for last year’s holiday sale.

That brings us to now.

We’re a little stuck. We have a round of skirts in production (yay!) but they won’t get here until February (boo!). To get back on that monthly cycle we would need to order the next round of skirts right now, but we can’t pay for production until that next round of skirts gets here; if the current sale goes well, it’s paying payroll, not production. We are currently in the very difficult, horrible situation of not having enough money for next month’s payroll unless we are somehow able to make significant sales with our very sparse inventory.

We’re scrappy and we do our best to adapt to disasters and I’m sure we’ll find a way to adapt to this one as well, it’ll just take us some time to get there. Basically we’re going to be okay eventually–hopefully later this year–but in the meantime if we seem frantic, now you know why. 

If you’re been considering trying out our viscose shirts but haven’t been able to justify paying full price, they’re on clearance PLUS half off right now! That’s $9-$15 for the viscose tops, and other tops on clearance are $20-$45. Some of the shirts we’re having a LOT of trouble selling are now priced below cost to help us recoup some of the money we spent making them.

Any amount of support helps right now. Sharing posts, telling your friends, buying a $9 shirt–all of it helps. If our clothing isn’t your thing, we also have a Patreon you can support for as little as $1 a month. https://www.patreon.com/mayakern

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you have a great rest of your day and that 2025 is a brighter, kinder year for us all.

[whateveriwant]

Ok I lied. Here’s some more Simon fucking himself stupid because apparently he has a chokehold on me. (prev: part 1, part 2)

You’d think a man that regularly fucks his own brains mushy would have a poor performance in the bedroom, right? For a normal man, perhaps, but this is Simon Riley we’re talking about; ‘vigor’ is his middle name.

So even after going for multiple rounds, cycling through multiple positions, and getting covered in multiple fluids, your boyfriend is as ready to go as ever… physically speaking, that is. Because as far as mentally goes, he dropped out a long time ago, somewhere between taking you on your back and then on your knees.

Now you’ve reached the part of the night you like to call your ‘wind down phase’, where you’re just looking for one last, easy release before you throw in the towel. But where you’re tired, sensitive as hell, and already feeling tomorrow’s soreness starting to creep in, Simon’s still pinching and pawing at you like he can’t get enough.

As you lazily ride him, fingers curled over his thick shoulders, Simon’s own hands are pressed hungrily into the meat of your hips. From where he’s sat against the headboard, his lower back propped up by a pillow or two, he’s in the perfect position to guide you back and forth in his lap.

It’s as you feel the slow approach of your final climax that you begin to pick up the pace a little, only to slow right back down again as a sudden noise has you distracted. It takes you a second to place the sound, but once you recognize it, you’re immediately grinding your movements to a halt.

Simon’s phone only rings when it’s you or his work calling. And seeing the current situation you find yourselves in, you know it’s not the former.

The phone rings and rings, neither one of you bothering to move for it. The call gets sent to voicemail, and for a moment you think that’s all it’s going to be, but as the phone promptly begins to trill again, you know something else is up.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you reach over to the nightstand to grab the device. “It’s John,” you tell your boyfriend, seeing his Captain’s contact flash across the screen. You turn the phone around to show Simon, but it seems he has little interest in it, his grip on your waist unwavering as his phone buzzes away in your hand.

“Should you answer? Could be important,” you say. The boss making back to back calls speaks of urgency, if not emergency. But Simon’s focus lies solely on where your two bodies are connected, a sex-fueled tunnel vision if you ever saw one.

Though one look at Simon’s face tells you he’s in no place to have a meaningful conversation right now, as the phone darkens again, only to then light up for a third time in a row, you know this is serious. So despite the haziness in his eyes and the limpness of his jaw, you decide to answer the phone, putting it on speaker.

There’s silence on the other end for a moment before you hear the deep baritone of Price’s voice calling out. “Simon?” He waits a beat. “Simon, hello?” He tries again when he hears nothing in response.

While Price is kept in limbo, you’re busy trying to rouse your boyfriend back from brain death. “Simon, it’s John,” you whisper to him, hoping to not be heard by the other man on the phone. Unfortunately, Simon gives zero indication he’s heard you, his bleary gaze looking right past you.

“You there, Simon?” Price’s voice crackles over the speaker.

Bringing your hand up, you lightly tap Simon on the cheek. “Baby, it’s John. Your boss,” you whisper again, slightly louder this time.

Again, he offers you no response, just a slow blink, an even slower trickle of drool starting to form at the corner of his mouth.

As you hear another gruff, “Simon?”, being spoken over the phone, your taps become a little more insistent, a little more forceful.

“It’s Price, Si. Price. Captain Price,” you hiss, urgently patting him against the cheek.

Somehow, whether by miracle or sheer force, you’re able to knock Simon’s last two brain cells together and coax forth a vaguely human-sounding reaction from him.

“Priiizzzzze,” Simon rumbles out, a garbled approximation of his Captain’s surname.

The line goes quiet for a beat, and you can almost imagine the man on the other side blinking in confusion. Then, “You alright, Simon?” he asks earnestly. “Now’s not a bad time, is it?”

Thankfully, Simon seems to have regained the smallest hint of his bearings again, and he manages to hum a solid, “Mmmf.”

Price takes a moment to consider what he means by such an ambiguous response, and deciding it translates to ‘Speak freely’, he does just that. “Well, I’m callin’ because we’ve just received word of some new developments comin’ out of Hong Kong. Laswell’ll want to give a full briefing tomorrow mornin’, but essentially–”

And that’s about as far as Simon gets before he checks out again.

As Price continues to lay down the basics for him, Simon’s focus shifts back to what he really desires: the person he’s currently buried to the hilt inside.

His Captain’s droning acts as little more than background noise as Simon reaches up and begins toying with one of your nipples. The action is unexpected (not to mention ill-timed given the circumstances), and you try batting his hand away, even as a pleasurable tweak has you choking back a moan.

However, unfazed, Simon drags his fingers down, down, downwards, slowly tracing the midline of your body until he reaches your throbbing sex. His fingers are warm and slightly rough as he begins to stroke you, applying just the barest of touches, but it’s enough to light your nerves on fire.

This time, it’s harder to stop your moans from spilling forth, and you’re forced to mash your lips together lest you reveal your presence to the Captain still chirping on and on. Your free hand darts down to grab Simon’s wrist, meaning to tug it away, but instead, you find yourself pausing, holding onto him as a shudder wracks up your spine.

You know you should push him away – or, at the very least, tell him to ease up a little – but it just feels so fucking good that you can’t bring yourself to do either.

Besides, even if you were to speak up, would Simon be cognizant enough to heed your words? A quick peek at his expression tells you all you need to know. The lights may be on upstairs, but there is no one home right now to answer the phone.

You can feel the hand between your legs grow wetter and wetter as you start to leak droplets of your arousal. The slippery fluid makes Simon’s fingers glide that much smoother, that much slicker as he rubs you.

Even the way he’s touching you now – the way he’s expertly taking you apart – isn’t the result of conscious decision making by Simon. His movements, however deft, aren’t directed by any true rhyme or reason; they’re pure muscle memory at this point.

Simon’s other hand on your hip starts to rock you against him, and you find it’s getting harder to keep yourself under control. Try as you might to tamp your voice down, your ecstasy soon gets the better of you, and before you can stop it, you’re muttering a less than subtle, “Fuck.”

Immediately, you realize what you’ve done, and you slap a hand over your mouth at your mistake. As Price’s side of the call goes similarly quiet, you squeeze your eyes shut, wanting to kick yourself for your carelessness.

Just as you think the jig is up, however, you catch a lucky break, as not a second later, Price resumes, “–boots on the ground to confirm what these sat images have been pickin’ up.”

The feeling of relief that floods you is almost akin to euphoria, and you exhale deeply (but not loud enough to be picked up over the receiver) as you bring your hand back down.

That was close; way too close for comfort, honestly. And yet, despite how close you just came to exposing yourself, Simon is totally, completely oblivious to it all.

This time when you reach for the wrist between your legs, you successfully tug it away. You feel like you’ve tempted fate enough for one night.

Though Simon puts up zero fight as you remove his hand from your sex, that’s only because he then reaches up and quickly stuffs his slickened fingers into his mouth. His eyes fall shut as he savors the salty taste of your arousal, a sort of blissful wave washing over him as he sucks his fingers clean.

Somehow, though you’re not sure how it’s possible, you swear you can feel him grow even harder where he’s buried inside you. The sensation makes you squirm, wanting to bear down on the fullness within you, but you force yourself to resist the urge to tilt your hips back and forth.

This is almost torture at this point, like you’re caught in some kind of kinky Saw trap. Honestly, you’re not sure how much more of this you can take. But thankfully, it appears you won’t have to endure it for much longer.

“All that’s to say, it looks like our timetable’s been moved up. We’ll be shippin’ out earlier than expected,” Price starts to wind the one-sided conversation down.

Though Simon has been relatively mute this entire time, for some reason, at this moment, he takes the opportunity to let out a long, “Mmmmmm.”

While you know the noise isn’t much more than an appreciative moan at your taste, Price is unaware of that fact, and so he asks, “That’s not a problem, is it, Lieutenant?”

You both wait a few beats for Simon to respond, but with less than a handful of working neurons left in his brain, you figure that’s unlikely to happen. Knowing Price is still expecting an answer and your boyfriend is unable to offer him one, you realize you have to take matters into your own hands once more.

So puffing out your chest and straightening up your spine, you muster up your best Simon impression as you expel a deep, gravelly, “Hmm.” The several seconds that follow find you holding your breath in anticipation, praying to whatever god will listen that Price buys your impersonation.

It’s after he eventually says, “Alright, well, I’ll expect you at 0800 for tomorrow’s brief,” that you breathe again, feeling nearly on the verge of passing out.

Frankly, this whole ordeal has left you exhausted. From having to hide from Price to having to pull one over on him, you feel like your heart is liable to give out any moment now.

If only Simon had been more of a conscious participant in this conversation maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad. You and him could have quietly laughed and swore together in your shared misery. Instead, he’s too preoccupied with squeezing your nipple again between his wet fingers to notice anything’s the matter.

You don’t even bother pushing his hand away this time as you can sense the call is mercifully coming to a close.

“Have a good rest of your night, Simon,” Price says through the speaker.

If you weren’t so wrecked right now, you could almost leap with joy from how utterly relieved you feel. From the moment you answered this call, you thought you’d undoubtedly be found out. Truth be told, you’re not sure how you managed to make it through the past several minutes unheard and undiscovered. All you know is that you did and you’re beyond grateful for that.

But before you can hang up the phone to celebrate, Price has one last thing to say. Just as you’re about to press the end call button, just as you’re about to fling the phone to the far side of the room, just as you’re about to collapse into a boneless heap because you’re finally, finally, finally in the clear, Price gives one last farewell that makes your stomach fall out of your ass.

“And you too, (Y/N).”

The call dies, and you wish you died with it.

[suiana]

(yandere! golden boy x reader)

you don't think you've ever felt special. well, maybe your mom or something told you that when you were younger but you never really believed it.

you're too normal.

not exceptionally good at one thing, nor are you decently good at everything. you're okay at some stuff and you don't have any particular interests that you're really passionate about. and you know bevause you've tried changing. it's never worked, it never will.

because you're just you.

sometimes you wish you had talent, because then at least you'd be good at something. to lack the passion but have talent, that would be a dream for you. could you imagine? being effortlessly good and having people flock to you without trying? or even the opposite would be nice. being passionate about something sounds... like a life worth living. like your life has purpose. meaning. so what if you don't have talent? at least you'd want to be better, to improve yourself, to have the drive to live.

you have neither, what can you do?

all you do is go through the motions. wake up, go to work, come home, repeat. you don't have any hobbies other than watching the occasional television. it's not like your life is exceptionally hard either. you're blessed with good parents who love you and a select few friends that you're thankful for.

yet there's this... aching gap in your chest that's yearning for something more. something you can't give it. why? because you're just not special enough. you never are. you know this already, there's no use trying to change it.

so you scroll on social media constantly, trying to fill the empty gap in your chest.

but if anything, it only makes the gap worse.

it shows how much you're missing out, how others have it better than you. how others have something going on for them that lets them stand out. something that makes them alive.

maybe it's just the way things are, the way your life was always destined to be. to be the background character that admires others, never the one being admired. the supporting character that stays stagnant with no character growth.

you're just too average.

just plain old you.

plain like a cracker.

never the first choice, never a choice at all.

you merely exist on this world, you're never truely alive and living life like others. and it's a rather unfortunate thing to be doing when you could be achieveing so much but you're just... you. you don't even know who you are. you're just someone, really.

or at least that's what you think of yourself. he could never see you like that. not when he thinks that you're the best thing to ever happen to him.

he's the exact opposite of you. charming, handsome, an absolute adonis on earth. he's perfect in every sense of the word. and he chose you to give his heart to.

you have no idea why he even fell for you in the first place. you're average. not pretty, not ugly, just somehwere in between. you're not particularly charming or whatsoever, a little awkward but can hold a conversation. sure you've dated once or twice but they weren't serious and you didn't feel bad about break up either. you didn't feel much to begin with.

but with him... well, you think that maybe you just might have a chance.

those encouraging words and affectionate gazes, do you think that perhaps there's someone out there who could potentially change the way you live? the way you've been aimlessly drifting about?

there's just no way.

but you think you'll take the chance. with him, you'll get to do things you've never done before. if not, you'll just go back to where you were before. stuck in the middle, living out your days in an endless cycle of contributing to the Earth's death. there's nothing bad in accepting his hand, his promise for a better life.

at the very least, you'll have someone who tells you he loves you. someone who tells you that you're special and that you mean something. someone that partially fills the hole.

you just want to be somebody, and he'll gladly help you out. he might be a little bit too obsessive and protective, but you guess it's just part of him. he can't change something that makes him who he is, change isn't easy. you know that well.

and doesn't it feel nice to be wanted?

just trust him, everything will be fine. he'll teach you how to live, what love feels like. he'll protect you, take care of you...

"i love you, darling."

are those lies or the truth? you don't know, but you don't really care. would someone who wants someone as average as you ever lie about something like that anyway?

his affection burns with such a hot intensity that you're pretty sure could never be fake. you can see that, you're not blind. he very obviously adores you. that much you're sure.

so just give in already, would you? it would make things a whole lot easier if you stopped trying to resist and make sense of the world. sometimes... some things are just destined to happen. like how you see yourself as shit and he thinks you're perfect. that destiny also includes being with him. he won't accept anything else anyway.

don't worry, you'll be very happy. he's sure of that.

[chuluoyi]

fear

- gojo satoru x reader

his best friend’s defection is still a hard topic for him to swallow, and it leads into an unexpected argument that spurs you to leave, only to unlock a new fear in him when you get into an unfortunate accident afterwards.

genre/warnings: angst, gojo being mean, one scene with a worried nanami *wink*, injured reader, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end

notes: *sigh* my coping mechanism is still gojo’s past arc, which is why this piece takes place on that timeline. just a little context: reader is in the same class with nanami & haibara and was in the same mission that took haibara's life. this is probably the longest oneshot i've written so far sooo… enjoy! :)

general masterlist

A year and a half had passed since Suguru embarked on his path as a curse user. In that one year and a half, Satoru had finished his last year at Jujutsu High, and now was in the halls of his alma mater, speaking to the newly appointed headmaster who was none other than his teacher.

"You're applying to become a teacher?" Yaga asked again with a frown. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. Granted, he was his most troublesome pupil. "Why, Satoru?"

"If I said it's because I want to train young sorcerers to be strong, would you believe me?"

That was not a lie. It was actually 50% of his main reasons anyway. The other 50% was to repent what he missed with Suguru when he chose his dark path—his contempt with the current system of this jujutsu world.

"I would," Yaga responded gruffly. To him, Satoru was irritating, but he also knew that he was also extremely capable, and thus everything he did wasn't just out of nowhere. "But you still have to submit your applications. We can't make an exception even if you come from a prestigious clan."

"That's fine with me," he grinned. "Thanks, sensei."

On summer days, he'd get reminded of Suguru and silly things they had done together. Eating shaved ice, cycling together, driving either you, Shoko or Nanami mad. Satoru missed those days, it hadn't been the same ever since. Not knowing if his best friend was alright—if he was still alive at all—was exhausting.

Sometimes, he felt like he was the only one who was affected by his departure, the only one who stayed right where Suguru left him. Shoko didn't seem ruffled, if anything she just went to more bars and pachinko parlors as of late. Nanami was always a recluse, he never disclosed his feelings. You mourned him, but it was clear that most part of you would always be more focused on Haibara's death.

Satoru understood that he couldn't force anyone to feel what he felt, and he had no right to. But sometimes, he just wanted someone to connect with at his level. Someone to get him just like Suguru did.

And so when he got back to his condo that night—just right next to the one he rented for Megumi and Tsumiki, since he had moved out of his dorm—to find his girlfriend there with a big smile and a tray of cupcakes, unaware of everything and anything, he merely scoffed to himself.

"Satoru, you're back," you acknowledged, beaming like the sunshine you were. "I just baked these for the kids. Do you want some?"

Usually he'd smother you, throw some pickup lines here and there and say yes, but today, he just felt drained. "No." And with that, he stalked away to the bathroom, not glancing back at you.

It was wrong. But tonight he just wanted some peace and quiet, and so keeping his silence seemed to be the best choice as he didn't want to start a pointless argument with you. But you weren’t anything but observant, and definitely noticed that something was amiss with him.

"Are you... alright?" You approached him warily after he came out of the bathroom with wet hair. "Where were you today?"

"Just somewhere," he replied curtly. Afterwards he turned on the hairdryer, drowning the whole place with the noise even as you stood behind him with a visible question mark.

But you were still there after he dried his hair. "Is something bothering you?" you asked with a tilt of your head, concerned. By all means, you mean well. You just wanted to know if he could use your help at all.

When you pulled that expression, he couldn't help feeling annoyed, like he wanted you to take a hint, but you just didn't. "If you know, then just shut it."

It was probably the first time since the two of you got together that Satoru actually said something harsh. But you still tried to be reasonable though, bless you.

"Satoru, I don't know what got into your nerves like this, but I think sleeping through it might help. Have a rest."

"Why are you talking as if you know it?" he snapped, finally turning to you with his cold gaze. "You might not know anything, so don't be a know-it-all. Just mind your own business."

Now you were frustrated with his reply. "Once again, I don't know what happened to you. But if you're taking it out on me because I'm the closest you have—"

"Who said that?" Satoru didn't know where he got all this venom from. It was just at the forefront of his mind and he just got the urge to spew it. "You're considering yourself closest to me? Where did you get that big head from?"

You were aghast, and you blinked a few times to get your bearings. "Let me guess, it's about Geto-san, isn't it? Or the higher ups. Either of that must be what causing you to blindly place your anger on me."

"So what if it was? It isn't like you'll understand anyway."

"Satoru," you started, trying to even your breathing. "What happened to Geto-san isn't your fault. I've been telling you this. It can't be helped—"

"Can't be helped?" he jeered. "Do you know why it has come to this?" his tone took a dangerous edge as he stepped closer. He reached for you, grasping your wrist.

"Maybe because I was too blind back then. If it weren't for you—if only I didn't spend that much time on you, maybe he would still be here."

Did he just say that? Did he just imply that he had regretted the two of you getting together?

You felt your lower lip start to tremble and something seemed to obscure and blur your vision, making it hard to see him clearly. "You... don't mean that."

"Really?" the corner of his lips curled into a disparaging smile. "You never know. Before you know it, this can be over already. After all, I could have anyone out there that I want. Maybe someone less nosey than—”

That did it. You wrenched your arm out of his grip violently, as your first tear fell. His smirk vanished too, replaced with a total stillness to cover his sudden panic that was followed by a sudden sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach.

"You selfish, self-obsessed jerk," you hissed through watery eyes. He was taken aback, even amidst your anger and possible fear of him, your still managed to throw daggers at him. "Fine. You have it. I'll see myself out."

Satoru never wanted you to leave. Honestly, he would've made you stay. But he wasn't in the right state of mind and it was too late to take back what he said. He didn't want to mess this up even further.

You left the cupcakes, even throwing it away just to spite him. Driven by pain and humiliation, you choked back your sob and didn't spare a glance at him as you shut the door.

Peace and quiet. There he had it, he thought as he clenched his fists, at the cost of everything else.

Leaving that condo, every step you took felt like needles piercing your shattered heart. You wiped your tears roughly. No, you refused to cry over such asshole. He made it clear, didn't he? Whatever it was that you two shared, it was at the cost of his best friend leaving him. So now the blame was on you.

If you were thinking clearly, you would've understood that his words were likely a result of his own pent-up pain and frustration that he had kept to himself for some while. But you had no patience for that or even pinpoint what you felt right now—anger, disappointment or dread, or perhaps all three. You just felt wrongly accused.

Your feet brought you back to your dorm in the school. Now it wasn't as bustling as it once were. After Satoru and Shoko's graduation, you didn't really get close to anyone. There was Ichiji, but he treated you more like a mentor rather than a classmate.

As you sank into the comforts of your bed, You replayed the events, trying to find where it went wrong—and found nothing. After all, you had already said all that could be said. It wasn't just him who lost Geto, but you, Shoko and Nanami did too, but it was more convenient for Satoru to blame everyone else rather than trying to understand that they too shared this pain.

Nevertheless, you were disappointed. You didn't expect half of what he spouted, and it got you doubting everything you had.

"You've royally fucked up."

Satoru exhaled, glaring at Shoko through the corner of his eyes. "Yeah, maybe."

The reverse cursed technique user threw him a blank stare, taking in everything from his disheveled hair to his wrinkled trousers. "Gojo, as much as I can’t care less about your sorry ass, I'm saying this not out of concern for you, but rather for Y/N. You are an asshole."

The puff of smoke she blew expanded to create a cloud-like shape. "Yaga-sensei was our teacher. His student is now a mass murderer and wanted dead. Can you even imagine how he feels? And I can't believe I'm saying this—but weren't there three of us?"

A week had gone by and instead of doing the right thing like trying to get into your good graces, Satoru was in Shoko's infirmary in the headquarters instead. He didn't exactly know what he was looking for by going here. Maybe some lingering taste of his happier student days, and Shoko was the only one remaining.

Three of us, huh... she was right. That was precisely why he came here after all.

"You're just sulking because it seems no one cares about your best friend being the best there is. But have you thought about how our juniors also lost Haibara? Right in front of their eyes? Haibara was our friend too."

He was wrong, of course he was. Satoru realized that now. But it felt wrong to ask for your forgiveness now, not to mention the disrupting thought he had—should he let you go for good altogether?

The phone suddenly rang with such fervor that made Shoko utter a swear word. She was on call duty for the rescue team today, and it was supposedly a peaceful day until Satoru decided to barge in to become her company. "Hello? Ichiji? What—speak clearly, I can't hear you."

She switched it to loudspeaker. "...iri-san! Ieiri-san—h-help—please—"

It was noisy, and blaring at the same time, and Ichiji was... Sobbing? Choking? His voice was terribly muffled and—

"L/N-san!" he cried, and Satoru remembered at that moment that you should be in a mission with Ichiji, he remembered you telling him before.

"Hic—s-she fell... hic—she fell! B-blood! She i-is bleeding so much! I-Ieiri-san—hic—s-send help! Please!"

"Hey, stay awake. Breathe. Just breathe."

Everything hurt. Most notably, your head. You could hardly think straight when all you felt was blinding pain and how your breaths came in short wheezes. 

Your vision was blurry. The numbness had started to set in and chills ran up and down your spine. You couldn't make out who in front of you was. Was it Ichiji, who went with you in this mission? The only thing that glared was blue.

"You can't sleep, you hear me?" the voice was commanding, willing you to do his bidding. It was familiar, but usually his tone of voice was much lighter, happier.

Satoru.

But why was he here? He wasn't in this mission. It was supposed to be a mission for you and Ichiji.

You remembered getting the cursed spirit after manifesting your domain expansion, until in its last ditch attempt, it went after Ichiji. You had no choice—even when your cursed energy had burned out, you still shoved him away at the cost of being flung from the top of a building.

Not again. Not after Haibara. You’d gladly pay the price if it meant you didn't have to see anyone die in front of you again.

"I..." You managed to croak out—breathing hurt, and you felt your hands being grasped tightly.

"Hey, just breathe. Y/N. Look at me.” Through your blurry haze, you focused on that cold blue, and you saw him. Satoru's sharp eyes, pursed lips and frown. He's really here.

Satoru always said that if there was a cursed spirit apocalypse, then Ichiji would be the first to die. You used to scold him for that, but now as you a laid here possibly dying in your own pool of blood, you found it to be true.

Yet at the same time you knew that with him here, Ichiji must be safe already, and it gave you reassurance so great even when you were on the verge of dying. "I... can't..."

"Yes, you can. Just look at me," he firmly rebuked, his voice came out in a hiss. For all the time you had been with him, you had never heard him so forceful. "If you close your eyes now, I won't forgive you. So please, just hang in there."

It was a struggle to take in any air and darkness encroached on your vision as your consciousness began slipping away.

And everything faded to nothingness.

Satoru honestly thought he had no fears. His worst fear had fully realized after all—Suguru going away into the darkness. What more could he possibly fear?

But when he heard Ichiji's distress call for rescue team, about how you fell from a rooftop of a building and unconscious, he realized that it was a fear he didn't know existed. His mind got disoriented and he teleported to the scene on impulse. He just had to see it for himself. With their petty argument still lacking closure, he felt even worse.

And the sight before him gave him so much fright he never thought was possible.

It was a mistake, he should have brought Shoko along.

You had laid there like a broken doll, your eyes dimmed, and not been able to breathe. He desperately tried to keep you awake, his presence beside you, yet it didn't seem to matter. He watched helplessly as you passed out in his arms.

Satoru felt nothing. The panic that had set in was suddenly gone as your limp body slumped against him, replaced by incessant ringing in his ears and tremor wracking his nervous system. It wasn't long until the rescue team came to retrieve you and even then he still felt numb. He rejected the idea that you might possibly die on him.

That went on until Shoko, who assisted in the emergency treatment, came out of the surgery, sweat on her forehead.

"It's even worse than the aftermath of the guardian deity mission last year," Shoko explained with a grim expression. "Her brain has sustained damage and it affects everything. It may take her quite a while before she can go back to the field."

When she said that, Satoru felt terror washed over him again. You almost died—was all he perceived.

The two of you had no contact for a week just because of his ego. He could still recall that day with vivid clarity, feeling a burning ache in his chest. If someone were to ask him what heartbreak was like, now he certainly would he able the to tell them the two instances in which he experienced them. What he felt now mirrored the same stinging sensation he had felt when Suguru left him.

He visited you when he was allowed to, and you were still unconscious, with many machines connected to your body. It was a sight he still couldn’t bring himself to get used to. He had seen you injured before, but never seen you in your own pool of blood, so this made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Stupid," he whispered, gently rubbing your forehead. His eyes remained fixated on you as you rested, his insides still churning with emotions. "You're not weak, and you're not hopeless." Once upon a time, Satoru might have thought of you as weak, but now he knew better.

"So why you always pick the worst decision?" The more he thought this could've been avoided, the more irked he was. The thought that he could have done something to prevent it intensified the sting of guilt, and he continued to punish himself with it.

And the more he dwelled on the idea that he had hurt you prior to this, the tighter his breath became.

But that was who you were. Self-sacrificing to a fault. And he loved you for that. There was no way of him letting you go now.

It astonished even himself—that he was capable of this love thing. At first it was an attraction, but now that you had been going on for more than a year, it felt like it was no longer a silly infatuation after all.

"Hurry and wake up, will you?" Satoru gently brushed your hair aside, his eyes fixed on you. He didn't know it even as his gut twisted, his frown deepened and his touch quivered, that he was worried sick. "I have a lot to make up for."

And he left you with a tender brush of his lips against your forehead.

Nanami Kento was the first person you saw when you awoke from coma.

You struggled to regain your senses, still feeling absolutely broken. The dull throb on the back of your head was still there, and as if you had found yourself trapped in a fog, you were only able to move sluggishly.

"You're awake?" his gruff voice greeted, laced with concern. In his hand were a bucket of fresh flowers and fruits basket, which he soon placed at the table next to your bed.

It was unexpected, because ever since the tragedy that costed Haibara's life, the two of you had been drifting apart.

You nodded, and let out a hum in response—all you could manage at the moment.

"Thank God." Nanami sounded relieved as he pinched the bridge between his eyes, and you were moved that he had shown this degree of concern.

Your remaining classmate, who suffered the burden of Haibara's life just like you. He was always quiet or brooding somewhere, hiding his own feelings.

You felt tears pricking the corner of your eyes. The fact that he visited you meant that he hadn't decided to cut you out of his life yet.

"Gojo-san is out today, but he'll be back by afternoon," he said, mistranslating your tears as some sort of a want to have your annoying—ex?—boyfriend at your side.

The two of you were still not on talking terms, weren’t you?

You so badly wanted to say thank you to him—and tell him that no, you weren't looking for Satoru—but it came out hoarse and barely above a whisper.

"Huh?" Nanami then realized what you were trying to say, and a faint smile graced his lips. "Just... get well soon, L/N. Have a good rest."

Just before you drifted back to sleep, you could hear him sigh and mutter, "Hello, Gojo-san? L/N has awakened. Just letting you know is all.”

You weren't sure how much time had passed when you woke up the second time, but the curtains were already drawn and only darkness came from the window. Your body felt lighter, but you still felt like a mess and and couldn't help but groan in discomfort.

Satoru was there, he perked up at the noise you made. And you realized that it was the first time in about a week that he faced you after that disasterous almost-breakup.

He walked up to you, his expression was more hopeful than you had ever seen him before, like a kid whose wish had been granted. He slowly shifted to sit beside you.

"Hey, welcome back." His voice was soft. It was a change of pace for him, as you were used to seeing him all loud and silly.

Now your voice no longer sounds like a lead. "Hey."

"How are you feeling?" he asked and you took a moment to look at him. He was smiling, but exhaustion reached his bright eyes, dimming them. "You know, with the whole you passing out and almost dying thing?"

His words were almost humorous as he spoke, like he didn't know what else to say except try to lighten the mood, but there was also a strain on his tone, like he was holding back.

"I'm quite fine now, I suppose..." You still felt the lingering pain and dizziness as you slowly sat up. Satoru reached out to steady you—and you realized how his fingers trembled when they made contact with your body—as his brows furrowed with worry when you winced.

"You don't look like it though." His voice dropped and the humor was gone, replaced by this haunted look. You blinked. It was probably the first time you had seem him this ruffled.

He immediately pulled you into a hug, cradling your head to his neck gently, as if to protect and shield you from the world altogether. Exhaling heavily, he leaned on you. "You scared me, you know that?"

You wondered out loud if you really had that hold over him. "Did I?"

"You can't do that to me, you hear?" Satoru stroked your hair, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck. His voice quivered. “Don't ever do that again.”

He pulled you tighter against him, but still careful not to crush you.

You let out a snicker, letting go of everything you felt during this horrible week. "Heh, afraid to lose me, huh?"

"Shut up,” he grumbled. “What were you thinking anyway? How did you calculate that freefalling is better than letting that cursed spirit attack Ichiji?”

"He was defenseless. He could die, you know that."

"And you also can," he quipped, upset, pulling away enough to look you squarely in the eyes, his eyes devoid of any expression, yet filled with a raging wave that you could only interpret as undiluted concern.

The emphasis in his tone made you recoil and feel guilty. If you were in his shoes, you probably would've said the same thing and so you had nothing to say to that.

But the more pressing agenda in the list was the unspoken silent treatment the two of you saw fit to use against each other for the last few days. Satoru was the one who decided to address it first.

"About that night..." he faltered, looking away. "I didn't mean what I said. I'm sorry."

Satoru always had trouble processing emotions. This time too. He must've a hard time dealing with the anxiety caused by the possibility of him losing you for good, no matter how much he tried to be unaware of it.

"..." You wanted to respond, to make him understand your point, but somehow right now you were just too weary. And he sensed your reluctance. So you blurted the first thing that gnawed at your mind.

“You said you could have any other women out there—”

"No, really—" he started to panic, and it was blatantly too, which surprised you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Us. I don't regret anything. I’m not breaking up with you. Being with you is the happiest I've been ever since Suguru left."

“That's...” you blinked, before letting out a small sigh. “Okay. Fine then. Let's just put it behind us for now.”

“I—” he almost wheezed, his bright blue eyes were overtaken with sheer urgency to explain how wrong everything had been that night. “You must know that I didn’t mean any of it. And that I hate hurting you the way I did. I won’t—”

"Satoru, I understand," you let out another sigh, fidgeting with your fingers. "Sometimes when I’m reminded of Haibara, I also get sad. I don't want to presume but I think I know how you feel. Just next time, maybe," you shifted your gaze on him, seeing how you had his attention fully. Gojo Satoru, the strongest now, was looking at you as if you had his fate in your hands. "Just tell me if you need space and I would have understood."

"Yeah, okay, sure," he responded immediately, relieved, before a lopsided grin appeared on his face, turning him back into your dork slash boyfriend. "So, am I forgiven now?"

"A thank you would be nice."

In the end, he chuckled, seemingly resigned. "You should sleep more."

He positioned himself into bed next to you, and you let him pull you into his chest again. You could feel how his taut back started to relax upon the contact. He pressed his lips on your forehead in a fleeting kiss.

"Promise me you won't pull that stunt again.”

You smirked. "I can't. What if Ichiji—"

"Then just let him die."

You swatted his arm playfully, pressing your head to his chest as he continued to run his fingers on your hair. He cushioned you carefully, and you felt the tension in him slowly melt away with each breath you took. In your mind, you figured he needed this closeness more than you did, if anything, for the sake of his sanity.

“I love you,” he whispered by your ear, kissing it lightly.

“Mmhm.”

As you felt Satoru's calming presence, it helped ease you into slumber. You soon found yourself in a deep sleep, comfortably held in his embrace.

Epilogue

Ichiji gulped as Satoru stared him down, sizing him up as if he was the most despicable creature on this planet.

Okay, he might be. He was a coward, all he could do was trembling in the face of evil. But he had come in peace, even bringing fruits as an offering! He felt bad too that he was the partial cause for you to be this injured.

He was used to Satoru terrorizing him—calling him names, slapping him, and whatnot—and he could take it. Just this time, he really looked like he could murder him on the spot if he wanted to. A small part of Ichiji mourned that you were his girlfriend, because that pretty much sealed his fate that Gojo Satoru could indeed murder him on the spot because he had a valid enough reason to.

"You are—"

"No! I'm sorry, Gojo-san! I'm sorry for my incompetence!"

"Hah?"

If he was mildly irked before, now Satoru was visibly irritated.

"You're not cut out to be a jujutsu sorcerer," he started. "You're useless. You just get in the way most of the time."

Ichiji kept his head down. No, no. He can't cry!

"Get your driving license or I'll slap the shit out of you."

"Oh?" and before he knew it, Satoru had stalked away, leaving him in the dust. How rude! But...

Get a driver license? Quit the jujutsu work?

Hey, that sounds like something I can do!

[kedreeva]

i have an odd animal husbandry question you seem like you might know the answer to, your comment about stan reminded me - ive been thinking about getting into backyard chickens for a couple years and the thing that makes me hesitate most is hard culling. im confident in my ability to put down an animal thats sick, or infirm, or for food, but for like, temperament? or for poor egg layers? just sticks on me for some reason. i think it would feel like telling them theyre not a good enough chicken for me. how to you process this part of animal husbandry?

This will be a little long, so bear with me.

If you want to keep use animals (animals bred for a purpose, to be used for a purpose instead of kept as a companion), you gotta get good with the idea that they are here for you under the agreement that you will only keep them as long as you need to. When you take them on, you are agreeing that you will release them to whatever their next life holds for them as soon as you do not need (or they've completed) their service. Maybe for some people that's just release to the biological cycle of life, for others maybe there's an eternal rest, for others maybe it's reincarnation. For soft culling that's just moving to the next household. Whatever it is, you are allowing them to pass to it in as humane a way as you can, and ultimately it is the single greatest kindness and gratitude you can show to them, to give them proper care while they are here and allow them to end with little to no pain- something animals outside of our care rarely get. You are thanking them for their service, and letting them go. Worth does not even begin to factor into it.

It is not easy to take a life. It is NEVER easy, regardless of reason, regardless of excuse, regardless of anything. It is ALWAYS heavy, and it will always hurt you. And it should. I am grateful for the weight of taking a life, because it reminds me that it is serious, and reminds me to take the production of life seriously, because at some point any life I cause to come into existence via breeding animals will have to end.

On top of that, some things ARE heath related that do not seem health related. Aggression in domestic animals IS A HEALTH ISSUE. A cock is aggressive because he is stressed about intruders, containment, mating threats, resource guarding, etc. Even with the best of care this can be true, and unfortunately for you both, this means the animal is not suited for domestic keeping. The same goes for animals (in any stripe of use, but particularly private care) that display repetitive stress behaviors from normal, proper captive care (for example, mice that are food chewing are stressed and should be culled from lines where possible because they are not having a good time). You are doing them a disservice to keep them in a stressful situation you cannot change because of their biology. It has nothing to do with not being good enough for you, and everything to do with producing/keeping animals that do not experience that stress in captive care and releasing the rest from duty because they will not be okay in any captive care.

For some issues (poor egg laying, for example) you CAN pet-home culls instead of hard culling. It's harder to do, you will spend time finding people who just want pets that don't intend to breed or don't care, but it can be done. However!! Is the bird just slow at producing eggs because her genetics say that's how fast eggs get produced, or is she producing slowly because there's a health problem that isn't immediately evident? Is her ovary damaged, is her reproductive tract infected, does she have a disorder that prevents her from processing food correctly so she can't get what she needs to produce eggs as fast as normal? Are you setting the bird up for failure (and someone else for heartbreak/money troubles) sending them to a pet home? Is it something which could lead to pain/suffering down the road if she's allowed to continue? Hard to say without spending a lot of money. Are you willing to risk your reputation, if someone takes a surprise illness/genetic issue down the road badly ("Oh THAT breeder sold me a sick/unhealthy bird/bird with bad genetics"), and compromise your ability to find homes for healthy birds down the road?

You are okay with culling a bird for food- there's nothing that says you cannot eat the bad temperaments, the poor egg layers, the one with genetic issues, and so on. And if you can tell early enough that you, personally, can't make use of the meat, there are plenty of folks with other animals that would LOVE feed for those animals. Take yourself down to a local reptile expo, grab the business cards for a few people who have big snake babies (retics, burmese, anaconda, redtail boa, even BP) that say they'd be interested in taking culls, OR look up local bird of prey rescues in your area (or reptile rescues or big cat rescues if there are any) and ask if they'd be interested in culls. There is ALWAYS someone that can use what you can't/won't. You may have to jump through some hoops to donate to some kinds of rescues (health testing for example), but it's an option you can look into if you want to combat the feelings you're talking about.

As a last note- and I am saying this gently and holding your face in both hands: do not anthropomorphize animals in reality.

In YOUR eyes, you are culling them an illness or an injury or for food or for temperament or for poor quality or or or---- it does not matter to the animal why you are culling them. A death is a death, to them. They are here, and then a thing happens, and they are no longer. They do not understand life or death or afterlife or reincarnation or that they are here for a purpose or not a purpose or literally anything you as a human might impose upon them in your head. They live while they are alive, and then they are not. They do not "want to live" in the "avoid death" sense because they do not necessarily understand "death" as a future concept. Instincts that have worked well to preserve life have been encoded in their DNA to one degree or another, they can and do respond to avoid pain, but with little exception (like... maybe elephants and dolphins and a crows and a few others), it's unlikely that they understand the connection between doing those things and being alive/avoiding death.

So while TO YOU it may feel like telling the bird they are not good enough, and TO ME it feels like allowing the bird to move on in peace... the bird doesn't know either way, and honestly the reason hardly matters. It is alive in the present, and one way or another it will not be alive someday, and you are responsible for making sure that the one way under your control is so peaceful or quick that the bird hardly knows it is no longer alive. The bird doesn't care about (and cannot understand) the why of their death, any more than they understand their pain/stress and how it relates medical assistance; it's why animals often freak out, refuse meds, etc. They don't hate the vet or the car or the carrier or anything- they just simply don't understand human stuff and react according to instincts/what they do understand. If you treat an animal like the animal it IS rather than the person you imagine it to be, you will find yourself with a lot better relationship with them during life, and be able to frame their passing a bit better later on.

[prael]

Day 7: Rockstar

Loona/ARTMS Jinsoul x male reader smut

words: 3,223 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

Sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll. That's probably the order she would put them in.

It might seem cliché, but there's nothing new under the sun. Life on tour is an endless cycle of late-night gigs and after-parties searching for something to drink, take or fuck. It's an addiction, the lifestyle, and Jinsoul isn't an exception to the rule.

Every performance goes exactly the same: play to a sold-out crowd, have a little something backstage, give some autographs, follow the drink wherever it leads and then end the night fucking her lead guitarist. Rinse and repeat. It's easy enough to follow the routine once you've got the hang of things.

She convinced you to pick it up for the first time back in high school. She told you that you had real talent and should really give the whole music thing a shot. She said you had natural charm when you held a guitar and could make everyone in the room pay attention, so you played along because you wanted to see if her words were true or not.

As it turned out, she was right. You might have never played anything in your life before joining Jinsoul in the practice room, but you're a quick learner, talented too. You followed her instructions, listened to all the little details of what being a rockstar means and eventually made it big. Together.

It isn't like you owe her everything for helping you through this life but you appreciate everything she has done for you, nonetheless. If Jinsoul had said jump, you'd be asking her how high but unfortunately for you, you can't exactly tell her this without looking like that one crazy stalker fan (that's an entirely different story).

When you're with the others though, performing together on stage with thousands of people screaming out their love and adoration as your fingers dance up and down your fretboard, well, there are no words to describe the feeling. You're addicted. It's thrilling, nerve-racking, terrifying and amazing all at the same time.

And the truth is, you feel it just like she does. You step off the stage and reach for whatever bottle you can find because the adrenaline coursing through your veins is electrifying, but the buzz always leaves too quickly. So, in order to prolong the high, you take it back to the hotel. Groupies, liquor and the hard stuff; everything is fair game.

-

Jinsoul has her hand wrapped firmly around your waist as she brings her body close to grinding against your thigh while singing into the mic. Her breathy voice sending shivers down your spine. Your fingers continue to glide effortlessly across strings while staring out into the sea of faceless bodies cheering as they sway from side to side beneath strobe lighting.

The lead vocalist grips tightly onto your shirt as her tongue darts over your earlobe, causing your skin to prickle with sensation before leaning away again. She grins wickedly, knowing what kind of effect she can have on you before returning to strutting across the stage. She dances in time with each chord progression you create. Watching as Jinsoul plays with her fans who push forward eagerly at any opportunity, hoping their fingertips can graze hers for even half a second, she laughs. The flashing lights are flickering in a seemingly random pattern, illuminating her features and casting shadows upon them all at once.

It's the encore. Fans chanting and begging for more. All their attention fixed solely upon Jinsoul; her movements so captivatingly beautiful yet dangerously provocative. Everything about her radiates confidence—power—lust. You watch carefully when she bends down to place a chaste kiss on a fan's hand; you watch when she takes the lollipop from one guy's mouth and puts it between her teeth. Smiling smugly to herself after spitting it out back at him. And you can't help yourself either... It's impossible not to get drawn into her orbit whenever she gets like this.

As much as everyone loves a good show, it ends too soon. Everything finishes with your eyes meeting hers through sweaty bangs; hands clapping in unison along with the rest of the band as they thank the audience for coming out tonight.

A smile still remains plastered firmly on Jinsoul's lips despite how exhausted she appears after performing for hours straight. Sweat beads glisten across her brow and drip down her temple as she pants heavily from exertion but still maintains that air of invincibility and untouchability, like always.

The lights dim and you're making your way off stage with Jinsoul hot on your tail behind you. You turn around intending to compliment her performance, only managing halfway before suddenly she presses her palm flat against the wall beside your head, pinning you against it. Her eyes glint mischievously at seeing how flustered you've become, having her so close to your face again.

"I know I did amazing." She says simply, before licking her upper lip seductively.

Before you know it her hand is already wrapped around the nape of your neck pulling you toward her and into a rough kiss filled with needful desperation. Tongue sliding past yours in earnest exploration before sliding away again to drag along the roof of your mouth instead. A gasp leaves your lungs being stolen away by Jinsoul, who eagerly swallows it down as if it were nourishment enough to sustain herself completely on its own.

"I need a drink," she murmurs huskily before pulling on your wrist leading towards the dressing rooms where several bottles await you in ice.

-

Another night, another fucking blur. It started in the dressing room with your band members; congratulating themselves for playing such an incredible gig together whilst downing shots and racking lines until they forget why exactly it is that they should even celebrate anymore.

You know little of what happened between then and now. Just snapshots. An image in your mind of Jinsoul dancing on a table surrounded by strangers all cheering her name. A memory of a bathroom stall where you found yourself with your pants pulled halfway down to your knees, some girl whose face remains indistinguishable giving you sloppy head. Then there are parts where you recall talking animatedly with some fan asking what's your favourite track from their album, others asking you to sign their breasts because they didn't bring anything else to write on. More of just flashes, really—snapshots of moments lost forever amongst booze, drugs and cigarette smoke.

It must have been a miracle that got the two of you back here alone without any incident or accident happening beforehand, considering neither of you could walk properly without stumbling over something unseen every couple of steps taken forward. Regardless, however, eventually, you do reach the hotel room door, which swings open violently crashing loudly into the wall behind it. Kicked by Jinsoul, who couldn't care less about causing damage or waking people up around you because she wants nothing more right now than to get laid.

Jinsoul's lips crush against yours almost immediately, stealing your breath away just as soon as it escapes from your lungs. Teeth clash clumsily while tongues slide hungrily within each other's mouths, fighting fiercely until finally breaking apart once air becomes scarce between you both.

Your mouth travels downward along her jawline, sucking bruises into soft flesh wherever possible—finding purchase there to continue making marks upon unmarred skin otherwise unknown and wanting—a place forbidden by nature yet entirely inviting, nonetheless. Fingertips dance gracefully across her curves until her legs give out, sending the two of you falling onto the bed without caution or warning whatsoever.

She's pulling off her ripped jeans. You're helping remove everything else until she sits before you fully exposed wearing nothing but those sinful fishnet stockings covering perfectly toned calves leading upward towards her thighs. They contrast beautifully against her flawless pale complexion; smooth as marble but warm beneath your touch, unlike the cold stone ever could hope to achieve.

Time and time again, no matter how often you've done this exact thing, seeing her bare like this never fails to amaze you. This angelic creature baring herself shamelessly beneath bright lights—openly inviting your gaze as though daring it not to look elsewhere but at her. And god knows how difficult resisting temptation truly is...

"Fucking come on." Her speech is slurred.

Her impatience shows clearly through alcohol-glazed eyes staring expectantly up at yours, silently pleading desperately for action. She doesn't need to ask twice, though; you gladly oblige, willingly pressing palms firmly upon inner thighs. Pushing gently outward, spreading wide welcoming hips before pressing two fingers roughly inside her slick, wet cunt.

Jinsoul's body arches upwards off the bedding instantly from pleasure, throwing her head backwards against pillows as loud moans escape parted lips. You're sloppy. Messy. Drunkenly probing into her pussy, desperately trying to hit that spot deep within her core, which always manages to drive her absolutely insane.

"No," she groans in frustration. "Fuck me." Every word she speaks takes an effort to enunciate clearly, each syllable struggling against the haze clouding her mind from reason. "Fingers aren't enough..."

You understand immediately what she means when she looks at you with those half-lidded eyes filled with need; lustful desire burning intensely within pupils dilated to full width now. She wants you to fuck her. Hard. With your cock buried deep inside her until she forgets everything else, but how amazing it feels being filled completely by you.

And so, you oblige once more... removing fingers covered entirely, coated thickly in Jinsoul's juices before quickly fumbling at your trousers. Undoing zippers hastily and pulling them down past your knees where they fall onto carpet flooring forgotten alongside all other articles removed already.

She's watching you undress, her eyes roaming your body with their haze. Lips curling upwards into a smirk before licking over teeth, hungrily anticipating what comes next. She knows exactly what she wants from you. Knows just how badly she needs it right now, too.

She sees you're ready, and without a word, she climbs onto all fours. Leaning forward on hands and knees before lowering her face onto the sheets below, presenting herself fully exposed before you, waiting eagerly for what comes next. And as soon as your tip brushes against her entrance, wetting itself upon her lips, it's all so familiar to you. You've been here a hundred times before.

You slap down hard onto her ass, making the skin turn pink. Jinsoul yelps out, surprised, but enjoys the sensation nonetheless. You repeat this several more times until her butt cheeks burn deep crimson under contact with each strike delivered forcefully across them. She groans loudly with each blow struck upon sensitive flesh, causing pain mixed deliciously together alongside pleasure.

When done playing games, finally, you grab her hips firmly—tightly enough that fingerprints will remain bruised tomorrow morning—before plunging forward into Jinsoul's cunt, burying yourself balls-deep within her core instantly. She always says sex after a show is special. Whether it's the adrenaline, the drink, the drugs or whatever the hell else that fuels you, you give it to her good every single time.

Your thrusts become rough and quick almost immediately. Skin slapping loudly together with each movement made forcefully enough to cause ripples across flesh bouncing back from the impact. It's messy. Dirty. Filthy. But Jinsoul loves every minute of being fucked hard like this—every moment spent pounding into her pussy again and again relentlessly.

She feels so good around you. Hot. Tight. Wet. Your cock slides smoothly between slick folds, easily finding purchase within soft walls stretching accommodatingly around its size. She moans loudly, screaming obscenities with each thrust given, encouraging you further until eventually, she climaxes, screaming out your name in ecstasy.

Jinsoul collapses forward onto the bedding below, completely spent from orgasm. But you're still as hard as ever. You follow her down, boning her into the bed with your pelvis slapping hard against her ass cheeks, smashing them repeatedly against skin reddened by prior contact already.

She gasps in shock at feeling you still going, unable to do much else except accept how wonderfully incredible it feels being fucked senselessly. You pound away at her pussy, relentlessly continuing your assault. Thrusts becoming faster now, quicker in pace. You can't be sure, but you think she's cumming again. The way her body shudders uncontrollably beneath you, convulsing violently while her voice cracks mid-moan. She cries out in ecstasy, calling for god knows who or what, but fuck if it doesn't make you want to finish too.

You're entranced in ecstasy, lost within a haze of pleasure coursing through every nerve ending within your body. And before long, you're cumming hard into her cunt. You're collapsing down against her. Chest to back. Her willing body pressed into the bed beneath you. But still, somehow, she manages to reach backwards, grabbing tightly onto your arm with one hand, pulling you closer towards her until your lips meet hers once more.

Your tongues dance together in perfect sync, tasting one another intensely as they battle for dominance between mouths. Kisses become sloppy. Desperate. You both need more from each other than you currently have within yourselves to give.

And finally, when you break away, breathing heavily, she murmurs, "Nothing beats this, right? Nothing... feels better than fucking you."

You know she's right. Nothing does come close to how amazing it feels to be inside her.

-

The next morning you wake up with your head throbbing painfully, feeling hungover as hell. Not a lot of the night before remains in your head except for vague images of Jinsoul dancing on tables surrounded by admirers cheering her name, or maybe you were the one doing all that. You don't remember.

You roll your head to the side. To the empty space beside you.

"Jinsoul?"

There's a numb tremor that runs up your body—a feeling caught somewhere between confusion and pleasure.

You find yourself reaching out to touch her, wanting desperately to feel the warmth radiating from her skin but instead finding nothing except cold air and soft sheets. She's gone. It's not like this is the first time this has happened though...

"I'm right here, idiot," she says softly.

She wraps her mouth around your cock again, slowly bobbing her head up and down along its length. There's the feeling again. It's her; dragged out of your sleepy haze one suck at a time until finally you're able to fully appreciate everything about it.

Her tongue laps over the tip. Her hand strokes gently at the base while the other plays with your balls. It's fucking amazing. It always is whenever she does this. You watch as she takes you completely into her mouth, wrapping her lips around you before slowly pulling back off. Her cheeks hollow slightly as she sucks hard on the head, causing you to groan loudly and buck your hips upward involuntarily.

She looks up at you through thick lashes. Her eyes were stained with last night's makeup; mascara smudged across her face creating dark circles around her irises, but still somehow managing to retain their natural beauty despite that fact. You smile at her and she smiles back, before taking you deep once more.

Your hands grip tightly onto the bed sheets beside you as she begins pumping faster now, bobbing her head up and down your length with renewed vigour. What a way to wake up in the morning, huh?

"Fuck," you hiss between clenched teeth. "Keep going."

Your hips thrust up again, causing Jinsoul to gag slightly at the sudden movement suddenly coming from beneath her. She looks up at you, meeting your eyes again before winking playfully.

She pushes her throat onto you until her lips meet the base of your cock. You moan loudly, unable to contain yourself any longer and reach out, grabbing roughly onto her hair, forcing her head forward even further.

She gags once more but doesn't stop moving her mouth up and down along your shaft. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer. You don't know how much longer you can last like this, so you tug firmly at Jinsoul's locks again; signalling to her that you're about to cum.

She releases you from her mouth with a loud pop, then wastes no time in crawling over you. Straddling her hips above yours, she guides you to her entrance before lowering herself onto you. Her cunt is already a mess, wet with excitement, and stained with last night's debauchery. It doesn't bother her, riding you like this in the morning. She loves it.

The sight of her naked body bouncing on top of yours is enough to make anyone lose their mind and fuck if you don't want to see this every damn day of your life. The way her tits bounce in tandem with each movement made, how her mouth hangs open slightly in ecstasy as she throws her head back, letting out a moan now and then. Fuck, she's so goddamn sexy.

She knows what she's doing, too. Knows how to draw this out as long as possible, prolonging your pleasure for as long as she can without breaking eye contact with you. She rides you hard; hips thrusting forward aggressively, then slowing to a laboured grind that leaves you reeling for more.

"Good morning," she coos seductively.

You're mesmerised by her—completely hypnotised by everything about her. And before long, you're reaching out, grabbing onto her waist, guiding her movements as best as you can manage.

She leans over and kisses you hungrily while continuing to fuck herself on top of your cock. Her tongue pushes into your mouth, swirling around inside, tasting every inch available. The kiss is hot, wet and messy, but perfect, nonetheless.

Jinsoul breaks away from you and places her hands on either side of your head, steadying herself as she rides you harder and faster now, bringing both of you closer and closer towards orgasm. Your fingers dig into her skin, gripping tightly onto flesh for purchase as you feel yourself nearing climax.

It's too much. It's all too fucking good. You can't take anymore. You're not going to last another second longer. You need release. Desperately.

At the very last, you buck her off, throw her down to the bed and climb to your knees, hovering over her as you begin jacking yourself off furiously. The sight of her lying there, legs spread wide open, waiting patiently for you to cum on her only intensifies the sensation building within your core.

"Fuck!"

With one final cry, you erupt onto Jinsoul's stomach, painting white streaks across taut skin stretched taut across toned abs. Up to her tits too, ropes of cum covering pink nipples standing erect beneath it. You collapse next to her, completely spent from exertion. She laughs softly, running fingertips through damp hair and sticking messily to her forehead before wiping away sweat beads dripping down her chin.

"You always finish quick when we do this in the morning," she whispers teasingly.

You laugh too. "You just look too good."

She rolls over, planting a quick kiss on your lips. "Good enough to give me another in the shower?"

You grin.

She matches it with a knowing stare.

This is the life.

[wherewolf]

the responses i’ve seen to shiv’s ending seem very quick to write her off as just another sad victim of the cycle, which isn’t without truth BUT!!! that is not even remotely the summation of shiv’s story.

i don’t think she votes yes to “save kendall” or to try to finally set her brothers free. and i don’t think her main concern was that ken was becoming their dad. she absolutely noticed and didn’t love it, but that was not her motivation in betraying him. she was thinking about herself.

it’s tempting to make a martyr out of her as she is the only female child and we see her suffer the onslaught of misogyny that comes with that. but to make her into a saintlike figure who got beat takes away the power and intelligence behind her decision.

at this point she’s stuck between two non ideal choices, but she recognizes that they have accidentally made her the single most important player in the game. because while she can’t have the outcome she’d prefer, she has the power to decide the fates of everyone else. the written off lone woman now holds in her hands the fate of every man in her life.

so she thinks about the long term benefits of both options and realizes that one side leaves her completely without any leverage.

her brothers have proven to her multiple times in the last few days alone that they will cut her out and walk all over her the first chance they get. siding with them leaves her nothing to bargain with. she would just have to hope that ken would actually take care of her. and that level of vulnerability is not only unacceptable to her, it’s stupid. and shiv fuckin roy is not stupid.

so she thinks about the other side and about what she actually wants for her life. and against her better judgment, it’s becomes unfortunately clear that she wants tom. the way she wants him is not altogether loving or even good but it is necessary to her. she sees relationships as having winners and losers and she chose this man specifically so that she could be confident in her ability to win. except now he’s grown some balls and made himself unavailable to her.

she may not like the way her husband is evolving but she already placed her bets on him, so she’s sure as hell not losing to him now. there’s also a part of her that feels intrigued by this new man she’s married to. it’s interesting to have a sparring partner in him instead of having to looking for excitement outside of their marriage.

so for maybe the first time ever, she processes what tom has said to her and thinks about what he actually wants.

he needs her to prove that she cares. he needs to know that she is capable of sacrifice. if she can’t find it within herself to do this for him, then she will lose him, and by extension, she will lose.

siding with tom gives her the opportunity to once and for all make a grand-stand gesture of love, but more importantly, it creates leverage for her. never again will he be able to hold the moral high ground over her head. never again can he say she doesn’t love him. never again can he call her selfish or uncaring. above all, he can never betray her again, because she just removed all of his moral justification for turning on her. he doesn’t realize it yet, but she’s just taken back all the power in their relationship. just in a more subtle way than she’s used to operating.

and just like that, she has the ceo of a multi billion dollar company in her pocket, while situating herself as the only descendant of logan roy to still be playing the game, having removed her brothers from the equation permanently. she may still be far from the top but she’s creating a path for herself to climb.

so yes, she’ll let tom play king for a day, and she’ll have his baby and say “congratulations,” and play the gracious wife, but tomorrow is a new day with lots of room to maneuver. and when her husband puts out his hand, she’ll place her own on top. but she won’t grasp it because she doesn’t need to.

[sunderwight]

Bingqiu roleswap where disciple Shen Yuan knows he's gay, and figures out that he has a big huge crush on his handsome Shizun, but also concludes nearly at once that he's not going to be drawing Luo Binghe's eye any time soon. Firstly, Luo Binghe is notoriously straight. Secondly, even if he weren't, he wouldn't go for his scrawny untalented nerd of a disciple! Shen Yuan's not bad looking, not before or after transmigrating, but he's neither a beautiful nor a hot manly man, and he assumes if Luo Binghe were into dudes he'd be into the same kinds of twunks that Shen Yuan likes. Guys on his own level, etc etc.

Plus Luo Binghe hated the original disciple Shen, and only started to warm up to the transmigrated version after Shen Yuan got injured in front of him trying to stop the other disciples on the peak from killing a small animal. For some reason, Luo Binghe brought Shen Yuan medicine. He got even nicer after Shen Yuan distracted the skinner demon by trying to convince it to take his skin instead of Luo Binghe's, and then again when Shen Yuan successfully fought off a demon invader -- though initially when Luo Binghe volunteered him for that job, he thought it was an assassination attempt. His heart was in his throat when Luo Binghe nearly took a poisoned blow for him, but luckily he reacted more quickly and got hit by the thorns instead. His heavenly demon blood took care of the poison, and he managed to convince everyone that he narrowly avoided getting cut at all.

Shen Yuan's careful not to read anything into it when Luo Binghe finds out about his, erm, uncomfortable dormitory situation and moves him into the side room, or when he completely messes up trying to make dinner and Luo Binghe takes over cooking and bans him from the kitchen (he swears he's not actually that bad at cooking, he just never had to use a kitchen without a microwave or an electric hot plate before...)

After all, it's not like Luo Binghe is cooking for him, he's just making food he likes and letting Shen Yuan eat it too! Because he's nice! He's way nicer than the book gave him credit for being, see, clearly Shen Yuan was correct in signing up for his defense squad, "top ten worst villains of all time" his ass that poll was nonsense...

Unfortunately, though, the plot's still gotta plot. Shen Yuan is heartbroken when the Immortal Alliance Conference rolls around and his shizun stabs him and throws him down into the Endless Abyss. Heartbroken, but not surprised. After all, it was always going to go this way, wasn't it?

But at least, now that it's done, he has some agency in how he reacts to it. He's changed the story enough that he doesn't need to go get revenge. Maybe Luo Binghe's still the villain of his story, maybe that was inevitable, but some heroes let the villains get away. Don't they? It's all part of that noble, breaking the cycle of abuse type stuff. He can be that kind of hero. He can let it go. As long as he avoids Luo Binghe altogether, it should be fine, right? It's not like he's obligated to turn people into human sticks. He asked the system, he's definitely not!

Technically he's not even required to conquer the demon realms. He just has to get out of the Abyss and the be sufficiently cool and/or tragic. Conquest is just one means of doing that, and not even Shen Yuan's preferred, since he doesn't exactly want to rule over anybody. Going around the demon realms beating up some jackasses and rescuing some damsels in distress and becoming sworn brothers with Shang Qinghua, one of the current demon kings, is suitable. He definitely doesn't want to marry any of the damsels he encounters (thank fuck the system lets him off the hook for that!)

But eventually he has to go back to the human world. Not only is it mandated by the system, but he also misses living there. The demonic realms are in many ways better than expected, plus a lot of the monsters are really cool, but he misses the weather and plants and the people he's more accustomed to being around.

He misses Qing Jing Peak, if he's being honest with himself. Shizun's cooking and the bamboo forest and the crisp mountain breezes, the comforts of home.

Not that he can actually go back there in specific. Of course not. If he did that, Luo Binghe would try to kill him, or else the system would try and make him kill Luo Binghe. Bad ideas all around. No, he can't go back to Qing Jing Peak, but he can go find someplace nicer than the demon realms at least. He just has to keep a low profile, which shouldn't be hard since the original goods did that even while actively scheming to kill his former master!

Except.

Everywhere he goes, suddenly Luo Binghe is also there?!

Good thing Shen Yuan thought to take a page out of the book of Luo Binghe's actual love interest, Liu Mingyan, and start wearing a veil. He just didn't want any randos who might have seen him at the Immortal Alliance Conference or on any of the other missions his shizun sent him on to recognize him. But one minute he's investigating a strange case in Jinlan City, and the next the streets are full of Huan Hua cultivators (Shen Yuan has no intention of joining them, that's the path the original took to getting revenge! He doesn't want revenge!), and then Luo Binghe and Sect Leader MBJ and Peak Lord SHL show up, and SY is ducking down alleys and hiding behind columns, just trying to stay out of the way until the lockdown on Jinlan lifts and he can leave.

Except...

Luo Binghe really isn't acting like himself?

He looks like he hasn't been eating or sleeping well. There are dark circles around his eyes, and something almost melancholy in his countenance. And he's dressed entirely in white, none of the usual Qing Jing greens and blues anywhere to be seen. Of even greater concern, he's being reckless. Shen Yuan can't stop himself from rushing out when he sees his former shizun get infected by a sower demon.

Luckily, it's been some years since the last time they saw one another. Shen Yuan's gained a few inches in height, so he's almost at eye-level with his old master now, and though he's still more slender than bulky he's picked up some totally new styles from training the demon realms. He doesn't move the same way he used to. With that, plus the veil, it's enough for him to quickly swallow back his words as he grabs Luo Binghe and quickly administers a cure for the sower infection.

Well, he has one of course. He wouldn't need it himself, heavenly demon blood and all, but his time running around playing hero in the demon realms meant he rescued a lot of humans from such fates. Which is hard to do if you don't have a cure to their afflictions, but between him and Shang Qinghua, sourcing such things was almost easy.

Luo Binghe looks at him like he's just seen a ghost. The other Cang Qiong sect members are alarmed by SY suddenly accosting one of their own and of course find him suspicious, so he runs away right after, and then he has to lose Sha Hualing's pursuit in the city.

But what else could he do? He manages to evade the system's attempts to railroad him into meeting Gongyi Xiao, avoids the rest of the Cang Qiong crowd, and drops some of the cure through the current Qian Cao peak lord's window to get the incident sorted out. Then he flees and puts a good amount of distance between himself, Jinlan City, and every righteous sect he can think of.

The only problem is that after this point, Luo Binghe is everywhere.

Any time Shen Yuan stays in one place for longer than a few days, Qing Jing disciples start turning up. Any time he takes a job hunting some cool-sounding monster or pursuing some interesting tome of knowledge, the better to satisfy the system, it seems like Luo Binghe has selected and gone after the exact same target! Which is especially annoying because back when SY was a disciple, Luo Binghe was always assigning him to do this stuff. Since when does his chronic homebody master have an interesting in six-tailed scorpion lemurs or ancient spiritual kilns?

What's weirder, though, are the rumors.

It seems like any time SY stops at some well-populated place and asks for the latest gossip, he has to hear about how the Qing Jing peak lord lost his beloved disciple during the Immortal Alliance Conference, and mourned like a widow, and now wanders the earth in search of solace for his grief. Seeking something, possibly even the ghost of his dear disciple.

What nonsense! Luo Binghe threw SY into the Abyss himself. He had to do it, it was the plot! And also his obligation as a righteous cultivator, confronted with a "dangerous" half-demon. Does it sting? Yes it stings! That's why SY wouldn't just forget it! Despite logically knowing it's pointless, is there some part of him that wishes his master would have chosen differently? That thinks he should have known that no matter what kind of power Shen Yuan had, he would never use it to hurt people recklessly, or harm innocents, or especially not harm... well. It's pointless, his blood condemned him, and if there is some part of Luo Binghe which regrets what happened, it's doubtless just that he unwittingly harbored a monster for so long.

Which is fine and Shen Yuan would leave it at that, if the guy would just let him!

But no. Instead he has to deal with Luo Binghe turning up and asking him questions, trying to get him to talk (SY has no hope of disguising his voice, if he says anything he's not even sure it won't crack as he comes perilously close to tears instead, so he just stays silent), and then asking for his name, asking if he's mute, asking about his background, his sect, his kin. Is his a righteous cultivator? Where did he get that sword? (NOT Xin Mo, thanks, he used that thing once and then tossed it back into the Abyss before the portal finished closing behind him -- he knows a poisoned chalice when he sees one, although knowing the plot twist about that sword from the novel sure helped.) Where did he learn those forms? Is he... does he have a safe place to go home to? Someone to tend his injuries? Make sure he eats his meals?

SY, of course, stays silent. But it's difficult. Not only because Luo Binghe asks, but because he still looks... bad. Sunken, sorrowful, desperate almost. Shen Yuan can't figure out if he knows or not. Maybe he's unsure, maybe he's looking for SY to give him a sign, so that he can figure him out and then flip a switch and try to finish the job he started.

That can't happen. If they fight, SY will win, and he doesn't want to hurt Luo Binghe.

But even if Luo Binghe's not a heavenly demon, he is a highly accomplished cultivator, and it seems he's got his own breaking points to reach. Eventually he corners SY and gets a hand on his veil, and for a moment SY is sure he's going to rip it off, see his face, and confront him all "I knew it was you, you twisted evil demon, you won't escape justice a second time" and he feels a deep, icy terror close around his lungs--

Luo Binghe lets go of the veil before he can lift it.

But then something even worse happens. Because Shen Yuan's handsome, peerless, noble master breaks down. He falls to his knees, begging forgiveness, sobbing, clutching at his head like he's being driven to madness.

It all spills out of him, then. How he pushed his own dearest disciple into the Abyss, which obviously SY already knew, but also how he was apparently qi-deviating the whole time, and his senses could not differentiate between one kind of demonic "threat" and another. How he realized what he'd done only after he regained his senses hours later, and rushed back to the place where the tear to the Abyss had opened, but could not find a way in after the one he lost. How he had betrayed and thrown away the only person who cared about him, and couldn't even explain that he hadn't intended to. How he would accept anything, any punishment, hatred, penance, or revenge, if only he could see his disciple's face once more.

SY is stunned.

Apparently, Luo Binghe hadn't rejected him for his demon blood?

Not only that, but beforehand, he seemed to have valued Shen Yuan a lot more than Shen Yuan would have credited.

Is it a trick? Is he lying? SY would have guessed so, would have assumed that Luo Binghe's plan was to lull him into complacency only to turn on him once he finally had confirmation. But somehow, he just... doesn't think this is an insincere display. His old master is too cool for this stuff! He has too much dignity to just throw it away on a scheme! There are other ways to get what he wants.

Even if it is a lie, Shen Yuan is tired of running. He's the hero. He won't actually lose, and if it comes to it, it's still in his hands to decide if he wants to spare Luo Binghe or not (he does, of course he does, even if this whole spiel is an act). Plus he's got a backup plant body in one of Shang Qinghua's greenhouses if all goes to shit.

He takes the veil off himself.

Luo Binghe, teary-eyed, stares at him as if his face is the most beautiful he's ever seen.

Shen Yuan nearly puts the veil back on. His cheeks heat up. Dear Shizun, aren't you an immortal master? A noble peak lord? Isn't it your calling to vanquish demons? Get up off the dirty ground right this minute! Where did your dignity go? Shen Yuan did not spend all those nights doing the laundry to watch his teacher dirty his knees for no good reason!

There's a quaver in Luo Binghe's voice as he points out that Shen Yuan was terrible at doing laundry. Luo Binghe had to redo it the day after, all the time.

Shen Yuan chides at him that he should have made one of the other disciples do it then.

Luo Binghe just laughs, and stays on the ground, until finally Shen Yuan has to physically pull him up. Muttering about how he's being ridiculous, what's he crying for, why's he been moping so much, doesn't he know that handsome face should never look so bereft? Then he realizes what he's saying and shuts his mouth, but Luo Binghe just looks happy for the first time in years. Since the Abyss. How is it possible that SY, who actually had to slog through that awful place, can still smile more than Luo Binghe, who didn't?

They're standing so close. Holding on to one another. Almost as if... as if the scene's tone is... well...

Oh what the hell!

Shen Yuan closes the last little bit of distance between them, and kisses Luo Binghe.

[hyuny-bunny]

seasons // series

summary: your bestfriend minho just wants you to see how desperately in love he is with you

warnings: fmc, use of she/her/hers, speculum, obgyn procedures, cussing, mentions of knotting and heat, omegaverse au

part ii here

There was something so uncomfortable about being in an OBGYN’s exam room. Maybe it was the sterile and cold feelings of the rooms or the stirrups that resembled some sort of fucked up medieval torture device. Don’t even get started on the cold metal of a speculum, how far medicine has come, and yet there was no technological evolution that had been made yet that would make the entire experience of a vaginal exam any easier. Sitting up straight in the exam chair and waiting for the doctor to come back was nerve-racking, the small voice in your head that was screaming at you that you were perfectly fine was being drowned by the humming of the doctors' office and fluorescent lights above your head. When your doctor finally walked in with the manilla folder that held your results, you let out a small sigh you didn't realize you had been holding. She sits in front of you on a stool, blue jeans accompanied by a blue stripped shirt and her lab coat. She was fairly young for a doctor, but it brought comfort and reassurance when you first became her patient. Her glasses were pushed back on her face, tortoise shell frames complimented her eyes and brunette hair.

“Well your results looked good, you tested negative for any sexual transmitted disease or viruses. You’re the picture perfect ideal for someone your age but I do have one concern with your results.”

Well fuck.

“You said your last heat cycle was about a week ago but your pheromones are too high for my comfort. Are you spending these heat cycles with an alpha or anyone at all?”

You tense at the question knowing that the answer you’ll give will be less than satisfactory.

“No, I’m not mated and I’m not seeing anyone… I’ve…” You pause as she gives a sympathetic look of encouragement to finish the sentence. “I have been with anyone in the last year and a half so I’ve been spending my heat cycles alone or… taking heat suppresents.”

You can see the gears turning, if she was shocked or appalled by the idea of you taking heat suppressants at your ripe age of 23, she didn't show it. She clears her throat as she begins to speak.

“While there is nothing innately wrong with ‘heat suppresents’ it does present an issue that someone at your age who has been sexually active in the past is trying to suppress those cycles. For young teen girls at 16 to 19, it's perfectly okay, their bodies can handle the postponement until they choose to become active. For someone like you, it's like to trying to put the lid on a boiling pot of water thinking it’ll bring down the heat but it will only make things hotter to the point that it overflows.” She pauses to check that you’re following along. “That’s what they do to your pheromones, your body will eventually become resistant to the suppressants and cause your body to go in overdrive to compensate for what it's missing.”

You knew this was a possibility but being smacked in the face by the reality of it made all that more unfortunate.

“So what do I do?” She takes a moment to let out a sigh she had been holding as well.

“Find someone to spend these heat cycles with. Neglecting your body of the one thing it needs naturally will only create more problems down the road.”

Getting fucked was one thing but getting knotted because your body needed it was an entirely different thing. You cant help the groan that escapes you.

“By no means am I telling you to go find the one person who you will mate with for the rest of your life, but at the very least find someone who can offer you support during these cycles. I’ve heard wonderful things from other patients about these apps-”

“I’ve tried those alpha finder apps… I won’t give the nitty-gritty details but my experience was the most unfortunate of them.” 

She tenses her eyebrows.

“For the next 6 months, find someone to spend your heat’s with and let your body detox the suppressants. If in 6 months, you haven't found a healthy solution, we will come up with a new plan. Okay?”

You can’t help the look of despair and defeat on your face but you give in reluctantly.

“Okay.”

“Good, I’ll send in a nurse to give you your birth control shot before you leave and set up the next check-up.”

“Thank you, Doctor Kim.” She gives you a soft smile before the nurse comes in to give you your shot.

It had been about 2 years since you dumped your ex and over a year with no sex. With the gravity of your situation looming over your head, you call your closest confidant and friend, Felix.

“Hello?”

“I’m gonna fling myself down a set of stairs” He chuckles at your response.

“So what happened?”

“In short, my doctor said I needed to get knotted and share my heat cyclces with someone. Had to resist the urge to go on a rant about how every alpha I know is misogynistic shit that only cares about getting a knot in with no regard for the omega they’re with. She even so much as suggested those omega seeker apps…”

“Oh don’t be so pouty, you know those heat suppressants were bound to catch up eventually.” He was right, he had said it from the start and ever since.

“What am I gonna do?” You ask almost a bit pathetically.

“Why don’t you ask Minho hyung?” 

“Why would I ask him when I’m talking you?’ You ask in genuine confusion but you can hear Felix role his eyes.

“Because he’s an alpha dummy. I’m sure if you asked he would help you.”

“I can’t ask him!”

Minho was your childhood friend and childhood crush. You two were next-door neighbors, spending every moment together, almost to the point that most people thought you were dating. It was a natural assumption for as much time as you spent together. It was a shock the day you learned he had presented as an alpha as much of his family and you had assumed he would present as a beta given his family’s long-standing streak of male betas. He stepped into the role with ease, he had gotten stronger in build and grew into his features, something about his eyes remained boyish in an endearing way that made your heart flutter every time. Much of his family and your own thought the two of you would end up together after you had presented as an omega, what a shock it was to them when had brought his first girlfriend home that wasn’t you. Much like you, he didn’t have the greatest track history in dating, he had only had two girlfriends that were semi-serious. 

“Why not? For as long as you two have been friends, I’d think you’d be comfortable enough to ask him..” 

“I can’t ask him… besides I’m pretty sure he has an omega side piece that he spends his ruts with so I’m sure he’s got that going for himself already.” It didn’t bother you but a part of you held a sliver of jealousy for whoever that omega might be.

“I can poke around and find out if you want?”

“No… It’s alright.” Felix was the only person who knew how much you pined over Minho.

“Suit yourself. You know, come to think of it, theres a club not too far from campus that does Omega Night, might be good stomping grounds for you to start?”

“Sounds like a nightmare… You think Han will come?” 

“Already asking” He says a little too proud of himself.

“You're the best Lix.” 

“I know! Talk to you soon.”

He hangs up the phone as you wait in the lobby of the doctor’s office as you wait for Minho to pick you up. He comes into the clinic to make sure you're okay and walk you to his car, you can’t help clenching your teeth seeing the girls inside fawn over him as he walks you out.

“How did it go?”

“Good… Mostly.” He you to the passenger side as he cocks an eyebrow at your response.

“What does that mean?” You sigh as he asks the question.

“In short my doctor said I need to find someone to spend my heat cycles with.”

There was a small pause before his head whipped around, something in his eyes you couldn’t quite detect. 

“As in..?’ “As in she wants me to get knotted.”

“Oh… So what's the plan?” His response was only slightly fazed and maybe it was the suddenness of the answer to his question or maybe it was the fact that his mind ran wild at the idea of you finally looking to him to be the one to help you through your heats.

“I’m not sure, it's not like I have an assortment of alpha’s on speed dial to help me but Felix suggested that maybe I try seeing whats out there for me, we’re supposed to go out Saturday night for ‘Omega Night’. I despise the idea but I’m running out of options.”

He pauses for a moment thinking about the possibility of you going home with another alpha, someone who was just looking for a quick fuck with no regard to your aftercare or even caring about your overall well-being. “Just you and Felix?” His hand grips the steering wheel tighter as he tries to hold himself back from shouting ‘PICK ME! CHOOSE ME!’ until you finally got the hint that he would do anything to be the one to care for you the way you deserved if you gave him the chance. 

“No Han is coming to, we might convince Changbin to play pretend body guard if needed.”

Just ask me

“Do you want me to go? I’ve heard some horror stories of pushy alphas at those clubs.”

While true that he has heard these stories, its mostly been told to him by classmates sharing their wild times.

“No it’s okay. I know you don’t really care for the whole club scene anyways.”

But I care about you god damn it.

He lets out a small huff and hum, finally pulling up to your apartment complex. It was one of the nicer ones around the University neighborhood. He parks the car getting off to open your door.

“Do you want to come up? We can hang out for a bit.” You ask him looking at him with those sweet eyes, he shouldn’t.

“No, I got some errands to run but I’ll call you tonight. Get some rest you look a little tired.”

He pushes back a strand of hair from your face tucking it behind your ear, it never fails to make your heart flutter. He’d done it so often it shouldn’t have phased you but it did.

“Oh yeah, um, call me later then,” His hand smooths your cheek as he pulls away reluctantly, and you turn to make your way toward your apartment. It took every bit of self-restraint from him to not call after you, to not walk you up to your place, to not take you up the stairs, toss you down, and spend hours making you scream his name.

He calls Changbin as he pulls away from your place.

“Changbin,”

“What’s up?”

“Felix and Y/N are gonna call you to ask if you’ll go out with them tomorrow night and I need you to go.”

“What? Why don’t you go?”

“She didn’t ask me, but I need you to go and make sure she doesn’t go home with anyone let alone some fucking asshole that wants a quick knot.”

part ii

[twizzie-lairs]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 8)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Quick Notes:

You, the reader who is an artist, and had become Alastor's sweetheart, but unfortunately died too early.

Now, you're in hell.

Part 8:

Your arrival in hell was a quiet one, hardly a soul around to even notice you in what looked like a barren desert. But red. So much red everywhere. The sky, the ground, all of it- red.

You looked down at your hands, you looked different. You looked... not quite human.

"So this is hell, isn't it?" You said yourself out loud. "I thought it would be more... populated.. and.. different."

But what really caught your eye was a ring on the ring finger of your left hand. You don't recall ever wearing a ring there before you died.

But then it dawned on you... Alastor. This ring was from him. It had to be. Tears welled up in your eyes as you sniffled. It just had to be and you thanked whatever higher powers that existed for allowing this one thing to be brought with you to Hell after you died.

After walking for miles, hardly seeing any sign of civilization- or whatever it's called down here, you happen upon a small town situated in an oasis.

Well, a hell.. version of an oasis. It wasn't water in the center of this town, lava maybe? Blood? Either way, you figured this would be where you'd have to get your start and find your bearings as a new denizen of Hell.

After talking to some (begrudging) locals, you found out you were in what's called the "Ring of (insert whatever ring of hell you want to be in, except pride)"

With the basic information given to you (and then being told to figure the rest out, as the locals spat in your face) you figured you would have to settle here for now.

So settle you did, until you had enough resources to get to a bigger city.

In life, you were an artist, it was the one thing you felt like you could do best, so that's what you decided to do in Hell too.

For many years, you were the definition of a starving artist. You moved from town to town, city to city, with only enough money to get you through each day.

You didn't have a home to call your own, so you often had to find small little nooks and crannies in backstreets and alleyways at night.

During the day, you offered super cheap portraits on the street. Some sinners scoffed and looked down at you, calling you all sorts of degrading names that you had never heard before. Meanwhile other sinners were so vain, demanding you capture their beauty to their unrealistic standards. But you gave them what they wanted, after all, beggars can't be choosers down here.

This same cycle repeated for many long years, until a few decades later, you found yourself slowly working for higher-profile clients, starting from a variety of store owners until you eventually had your first Overlord client commission you to make a large-scale magnificent portrait of them.

After this big break, you began to get more commissions from other Overlords, both big and small.

It was around this time, decades after your arrival to Hell, that you found yourself not starving anymore. You didn't have to worry about the day-to-day, and even though you could afford a really nice place even in a big city of one of the rings of hell, you chose to keep it more low-key and stayed in a small, humble apartment.

It was easy to relocate and take the bare minimum essentials and move onto the next town, city, or ring of Hell.

Even after many decades in Hell, you never forgot about the love of your life- Alastor.

It's why you chose to live in such a small apartment, with not many material belongings except for your work/art materials.

You made it easy to pick up and move because you were searching for Alastor all these years.

You didn't want to sound insulting, but you knew he had to end up in Hell too.

But it was hard to find one specific person in all of hell. After all, you knew you had to tread carefully. Names and connections hold a lot of power and reign supreme down here.

Unfortunately, this led you to a bunch of dead ends or nothing at all. Investigating wasn't really your strong suit, but you did your damn best.

As you were reminiscing the past, both of your life on Earth and in the years you've resided in Hell (which doubled or was even close to tripling the number of years as you lived on Earth at this point), you got up from your chair and decided it was time to pack up again.

One of your acquaintances that was a lackey to one of the Overlords in the area let you know that a turf war was going to happen soon, so you figured now was the time to pack up and make your way to the only ring of hell you hadn't been to- the Pride ring.

Given the nature of your business, you had a feeling business would be booming in the Pride ring. You had a feeling that the Pride ring would be your best bet to make connections and find any potential leads on where the love of your life would be.

However, every time you traveled into a new ring, you had to sneak in as unnoticed as possible because "sinners" aren't supposed to be able to travel freely between the rings of hell.

It was a wonder that you still had ownership over your own soul after all these years, especially considering you've done many commissions for high-profile demons and Overlords throughout almost all of the rings of hell at this point.

You sigh as you bring your hood over your head and leave your home with just a briefcase of art supplies once more.

-> Part 9