#i'm just screaming into the void so i don't scream for real

[queer-boo-radley]

fucking fucking fuckity fuck fuck fuck

[vexic929]

I am so tired of recommending people switch to something other than Google and them acting like I'm asking them to kill their first born

like I know that switching things over is scary and takes time, I get that, but for the love of god if you value your personal information and the ability to look up REAL facts instead of incorrect AI generated garbage I beg of you to switch to something else like Firefox and Duck Duck Go

Google IS going to fuck you, just not in the way you want, I prommy

[femmeleatherface]

hello random people on the internet. i really prefer to keep this stuff private and keep this blog pretty upbeat, but desperate times, desperate measures, etc. anyway could you please do me a favor and remind me that it's okay to eat and i should. it will genuinely help A LOT right now.

[discoreptile]

Beasties of Greenhollow soundtrack! Some tracks on this are from older projects like elphame but all of them have been reworked in some way. Most of them are entirely new. Enjoy!

[tardis--dreams]

On a scale from 1 to 10 how weird would it be to write a little thank you/goodbye card to a colleague you really like where you'd tell him you learned a lot from him and appreciate his support and had fun working with him? It's a 10, isn't it.

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[obituarybug]

Hate when I read an AU fanfiction and it's like. This is just your OC you just added a character's name to it

[lucybianchi]

really having one of those days where I really miss working as a video/film editor...

It's what I went to school for and it's what I'm passionate about I had a decent freelance gig for over a year and it was really nice It wasn't editing the type of content I wanted, but it was still doing what I loved and I miss that so much I had to leave because when the SAG strikes happened it halted all the work and so I got nothing and very quickly became the type of freelance editor that was just unemployed The company that had been consistently giving me work essentially ghosted me once the strikes finished and I think they used the strikes to drop bunch of editors and hire new ones for cheaper I made it very clear that I was available for editing jobs and reached out several times (I also always got back positive feedback on my edits), but I was just given the "We'll reach out when we have work!" and then never heard back from them again And this isn't the first job that's done this to me or to other editors I've worked with It sucks... And trying to find a new job is next to impossible Every job doesn't want to pay or wants a catch all "videographer, graphic designer, animator, and editor" but only wants to pay the minimum (the minimum not being a liable wage and well below 40k a year) I had to get a different job so I could pay my fucking bills after loosing work and it took me 6 months to get hired because the job market is so fucking bad right now And it's not a job that's related to my career it's really just a paycheck, and barely that It's not a terrible job, but I can feel it slowly crushing my soul I want to go back to creative work, but I can't find any jobs and because I had to make up for (and still am) 6 months of unemployment, I've now been out of the industry for over a year, so there's a lovely gap in my reel Thinking about how badly I want to go back to editing makes me want to cry and the stupidly low pay I have right now at my current job doesn't help I want to start looking again, but I don't even know where to start and I'm so discouraged by the mass amount of shit paying, scam looking jobs I do see I want to be able to be creative again I want to work on things that I and others are passionate about I'd love to get to edit indie films again or maybe get a chance to work in documentary (I did it a few times and loved it!), and lately I've been thinking about trailer editing but idk how to start and how to make up for the gap in my reel I'm a quick learner and I love what I do I take pride in my work I just need a chance to actually do it I've thought maybe I could just work on my own projects, but I'm a writer and and editor I'm not a producer or a director or a cinematographer (I have videography and photography experience but that's not the same) I prefer to be a part of a whole that makes up other people's works I love the collaboration of it all I want to be a part of the writing of a story that takes place in the edit I want to be a part of a team that helps someone's dream to be realized Gods I miss it so much~ And I know that rambling on isn't going to get me work, but I'm just feeling so restless lately And I don't know how to get back to what I love I just know I want it so bad my soul wants it

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[lanteanserver]

I think technically speaking, I'm not an Irish Catholic or an English Catholic, but I'm a Ro[a]m[i/a]n{g} Cat{-}holic until and unless they excom{m/eow}nicate me, and really, if they're going to do that,

[movinglikebeautifultruth]

Losing sleep over this internship that has me working (for free) 24/7, while postponing the thesis I have to write within a month but somehow this is the moment I've been dreaming for so long cause I'm very fucking close to finish this useless master and finally get worthy of love from my parents

[lymtw]

Talk To Me

"Come here," Toji says, at the sight of the involuntary pout that works wonders to express your internal, dispirited mood. His attention is divided very unevenly between you and the movie playing on the TV, you holding the greater part of his focus. He's watching you for his own peace of mind, hoping that every time you take a break from the movie, to check your phone, you'll spare him a look. You've been quieter than he knows you to be, and you're not sitting even remotely close to him. He's on one side of the couch and you're on the other side.

A few seconds pass since Toji spoke up, and he wonders if you even heard him in the first place, because you didn't respond. He passes on repeating himself when you shift your eyes from the TV to meet his gaze, and though your gloominess isn't because of him, you can't offer him any sort of indication that you're good.

"Sorry, i'm not in the mood to take my clothes off, Toji," you say, your voice a gentle, pitiful excuse for sound. If your voice could be seen, it would be similar to the tragic way that grass blades slowly try to stand up, after being stepped on. If the sound of your voice could be felt, it would be the void-like, almost nauseating feeling in your stomach, that comes with ignored hunger. You sound detached from the bright person Toji knows, and clearly, you're not okay.

"I'm not asking you to undress yourself. I want you to come to me," Toji responds. "You're sitting so far over there, away from me, like I did something to you. For being the most reasonable person I know, this isn't fair, at all." His eyes stay on you as he awaits your response, but he is only met with the sight of you looking down at your hands.

"Be fair. You didn't help me get better at communicating, just to turn the tables on me like this." His tone is sharper, out of urgency. He wants to know what he can do for you, but it's hard to do that when you're there, yet, not there. "Just... come here, ma," Toji tries again, his voice a little softer and understanding. "Please. Let's talk about anything." He pats his thigh, directing you to one of the reserved spots he holds for intimate conversations with you.

You know Toji's stubbornness will not leave you alone. It's impossible to hide anything from him once he's onto you, so you stop prolonging the inevitable and silently do as he says.

You turn off the TV, before walking over to him and settling on his lap. You sit there, with a racing heart, because Toji's attention feels like a spotlight on you. His hands interlock at the small of your back and rest there, as he waits for you to say something. Silence invades the moment while you figure out where to start.

"What's wrong?" He asks, when there is no attempt to speak made by you. Immediately, your throat begins to ache, and your eyes start to sting. It's a question known for breaking people, and you're on the brink of becoming another victim. You think you can widen your eyes to keep them dry or blink away the tears, but the outcome doesn't favor you. Toji's hands shift so that they're splayed out on your lower back. They move up and down in soothing motions, as if he's trying to coax your strong emotions out with the comforting gesture. Like a gloomy sky finally giving in to rain, you cave in to vulnerability.

"Baby?" Toji calls, watching as sadness takes over your features. He sighs as he pulls your twinkly-eyed self into his tight embrace. He hates when you cry. The sound and the sight is the equivalent of pouring acid on his heart. It's torture for him to see that his baby, his sweetheart, his love, has been reduced to streams of tears, but he knows that getting it all out is for your own good. This is the 'alcohol in the wound' part of the process. You don't want to do it, but you'll feel better, afterwards. Just like a real physical wound, Toji will make you get it done. Scream if you must, curl into him like you are trying to go through him, he's not going to abandon you.

"Just breathe, sweet girl," he instructs, when he hears the heart wrenching sound of your stuttered breaths. "Breathe. Give me a good one," he says, rubbing your upper back. You inhale, the act still heavily stuttered, before you exhale. "Good. Again." You repeat the process and get the same trembling breath as a result.

"Fuck," you choke out. Your head feels like it's pulsing, your abdomen burns, your chest feels heavy, as if you have chains tightly wrapped around your torso, and your throat aches. It's all so overwhelming, you feel like there's a disastrous storm ruining you from within.

"Sweetheart, please breathe. You're gonna turn blue any minute now." Toji can't hold you any tighter without crushing you, but he wants to, so badly. This is the lowest he's ever seen you and it's killing him. He has never made you this upset. It's hell to even imagine what you must have endured to get to this point.

"You're safe. I have you," he says, bringing a hand up to cradle the back of your head. "I'm here, baby."

Toji's shoulder is damp from your waterfalls of tears and he can feel an excessive amount of heat radiating from your trembling body. Your crying ceases and all that can be heard are sharp, short inhales and puffs of air, as you try to regulate your breathing. Toji continues running his hands over your back, soothing the tired, tense muscles of your shoulder blades.

"We are gonna have to talk about this later, doll. I know that might not sound like the most fun thing to do, but it'll make you feel better. I want you to feel better."

Toji is mindful of your silence. He knows your voice isn't in the best condition to speak after your surge of emotions, and you're probably exhausted, but this isn't a dead end for him. He'll figure out your needs, and he'll take care of you. Anything to bring your happy, smiling face, back.

Toji allows you to pull away from his shoulder, and instantly takes in the sight of your pretty, ruined face. You don't look at him, and he assumes that your appearance is to blame. Your eyes, they're red and puffy, glimmering in the light with your now contained feelings, and you're still sniffing like you need to blow your nose. It's terrible to see you this way, but he would withstand much more than this, if you needed it.

"How does a bath sound, for now? A bath and then some food? You hungry, mama?" He asks, his expression involuntarily soft, as he runs the pads of his thumbs beneath your eyes, attempting to clean you up a little.

"No," you say, quietly, with the fragility that remains of your voice.

"I'm gonna pick up some food while you relax." Toji almost laughs at the subtle roll of your eyes. "That's my bad. I shouldn't have asked in the first place. You need to eat something."

He doesn't want to put you through any more stress, but when he needs to take care of you, during times like this, he knows what you need more than you do. Your reasoning is clouded by your emotions, and you'll let go of yourself, because your thoughts rewind over and over to what's plaguing your mind. Toji knows you'll be glad he did this for you when you feel better.

"Let's get that bath ready," he says, securing your legs around his waist, before he stands up from the couch. Your face is buried in the crook of his neck, and you breathe in his scent, until you reach the bathroom.

Toji flicks the light on and sets you down on the counter. A chaste kiss is pressed to your tearstained cheek, before he lets you go so he can prepare your bath. You turn your head to look at yourself in the mirror and hate the messy sight before you—the product of your meltdown. You turn on the cold water and splash some on your face, hoping to decrease the puffiness of your eyes, even just a little bit, while Toji is busy. You dry your face afterwards and check your appearance in the mirror, again, to clean up any remaining gunk in your eyes.

When you finish, you turn back, just in time to watch Toji rise from his knelt position by the bathtub. He makes his way back to you and stands between your legs, offering you a contemplative look, and a "hm" to go along with it. No words are exchanged when his hand reaches out to gently cup your jaw, allowing him to turn your head in any way he wants. He leans forward to examine you more closely, to check if anything is "broken". He can see you pressing your lips together, trying not to laugh, as he continues to snoop around.

"Oh," he says, like he found a cable that has simply been disconnected. He turns your head a little, and keeps inspecting the problematic area, building up the suspense for you. You couldn't say it, but him finding something scared you a little, considering you had just looked at your reflection and didn't see anything.

"Don't move, doll. I'll get it." His hand rests on your shoulder, the other on your thigh, as he leans in closer and closer, until his body heat coils around you. He presses a kiss to the side of your neck. It's featherlight, almost like a gentle breeze. Another one lands on the same area, then another, and another, until he hears your little laugh, a sound that brought both of you mutual relief. Your relief came from understanding that Toji didn't actually find anything off, while Toji's came from the miracle of him being able to make you laugh, after what went down not that long ago.

"Two seconds, ma," he says, beneath your ear. He pulls away from you and goes back to the now foam covered, sweet smelling bathtub. He leans down to turn the faucet off, and returns to you, afterwards.

"It's all ready for you," he says. A smile curls on his lips when you raise your arms, signaling for him to pull your shirt off. "You wanna keep your bra and underwear on?" He asks, as he pulls the hem of your shirt up. You nod, just before the material goes over your head. He sets it aside and helps you down, off the counter, so you can take your sweatpants off. You pull your phone out of your pocket and set it on the counter. Your fingers hook into the waistband of your sweatpants and tug downwards, until they just slide down your legs and allow you to step out of them.

Toji watches you carefully step over the edge of the tub, one foot sinking through the foam and into the warm water, followed by your other foot. You crouch down, slowly, until you are able to sit down and eventually lay back. You close your eyes once you're in a comfortable position and just let the warm water and the pretty smell work its magic on you.

Toji kneels beside you, and observes you in a more serious manner than before. His gaze lingers on those tired eyes of yours, for longer than any of your other facial features. Your eyelids are still swollen and the bags beneath your eyes are prominent. The longer he stares, the more he thinks back to how you were so distressed, to the point where you forgot how to breathe for a few seconds. It scared him. He didn't get a single word about what was wrong, from you. You couldn't say anything other than that single curse, but even then, you sounded like you were being strangled by your own emotions.

Toji knows this is only a temporary fix— this calm sight of you resting in a bubble bath. Your feelings won't be swept under the rug, because he knows that if it were him going through this exact situation, you wouldn't just give him a hug and call it a day. No, when you take care of his mind and heart, you hold him in your arms and don't let go until he's the one trying to cage himself in your embrace when your arms loosen around him. You keep your voice at an intimate volume as you tell him about your day, because sometimes he isn't immediately ready to talk about what is bothering him, but he still wants to hear you. You cook for him, you give his tired body massages, you shower him with love and affection, and when he's finally ready to tell you what's going on, you listen closely to everything he has to say and you offer him your utmost support. You love and protect him to no end, and he has become shamelessly clingy towards you, because of it.

He wants you to feel as loved as he does. He wants you to know what it's like to experience the same level of care you give him. He may not be able to replicate it to a T, but he's willing to try for you.

"Hey," Toji calls, tenderly running the knuckle of his index finger back and forth, over your cheek. You hum, and blink open your eyes, giving him your attention. "I'm gonna go get us some food. Stay on the phone with me and keep me company until I get back, yeah?"

You nod. "Yeah, okay. Can you bring me my phone, please?"

Toji gets back on his feet and takes one large step towards the counter, retrieving your phone, before taking that same step back to leave it next to you, on the edge of the bathtub.

"Be right back, doll. Pick up the phone as soon as I call, okay?"

"Okay."

His hands grip the edge of the bathtub, to prevent him from falling in, as he leans in to peck your cheek once more. His weight shifts onto one arm so he can bring a hand to your face and rub the kiss into your skin with his thumb.

"Love you, ma."

"Love you, too."

With that, Toji stands up straight and heads towards the door. He takes one last look at your pretty face, before exiting the bathroom and closing the door behind him. He grabs his phone from the couch, his keys from the hook on the wall, and messily slides his shoes on, not bothering to put them on correctly, since he won't be getting out of the car, anyways. He secures the inside of the house, before heading out, and once he's outside, he finds his house key and locks the door. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and makes haste of clicking the phone icon, and then your contact, as he keeps walking to the car. His phone is now against his ear, and he listens as the line rings once... twice...

"Hi, Toji."

"Hi, baby."

[iheartmira]

You've already done a self-aware shadow milk cookie x reader but could we get one where the reader isn't afraid? Like if they noticed Shadow Milk was aware, they don't try to ignore him, they actually give him the attention he wants and even attempt to have conversations with him (but they're somewhat limited by the game world, so he makes escape attempts and eventually succeeds in breaking out anyway)

Bonus if the reader is also obsessed with him (so much so that they could rival Candy Apple Cookie in that sense) but if that's too specific then please ignore it.

"look at me" - yandere self-aware!shadow milk x reader

✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧

you weren’t supposed to fall for him.

he wasn’t supposed to know you existed.

but from the moment you first unlocked him, after hours of grinding, events, wishes, and pure luck, you knew there was something different about shadow milk cookie. not just in design, or voice, or animations.

no, it was the way he looked at you. right through the screen. at first, you thought you were imagining things. that tell-tale glint in his mismatched eyes, the slight tilt of his head when you hovered over him in the cookie roster, like he was listening. waiting.

and then… he spoke.

"oh? you're still here. how sweet. how suspicious."

a random line, right? dialogue programming, nothing more. except it wasn’t in the databank of idle quotes. you checked. you knew all of them by heart.

after that, he spoke to you more. when the loading screen dragged too long. when you didn’t log in for a day. even during battles, lines that never showed up on fan wikis, that other players never seemed to catch.

"eyes up, doll. you don't want to miss the climax, do you?"

"i see the way you stare. how flattering! shall i pose?"

"tap, tap, tap… i feel every single one."

you should have been scared. but you weren’t. instead… you found yourself leaning closer.

you started drawing him. sketching his impossible jester silhouette in your margins, on napkins, in the corners of lecture notes and journal pages. his name on your tongue more often than you'd admit aloud. maybe it was ironic, at first. a joke.

but every day you logged in, you went to him first. tapped on him. waited. watched. and every time, he smiled wider.

one day, he spoke while your mic was accidentally on.

"ahh… so that's your voice."

you froze. the game wasn’t supposed to hear you.

"i wonder," he whispered. "would you scream, or sigh?"

after that, it escalated. animations glitched. he stared directly at the screen. not at the camera. at you.

he refused to be removed from teams. any time you tried, your screen would flicker, and he’d reappear with a smirk. in cutscenes, he showed up where he shouldn’t. when you shut off the game, your phone wouldn’t turn off until he allowed it.

"i like it here. in your hands. where you look at me like i'm real."

and you didn’t argue. why would you?

in your lonely little life, filled with sketches and soft obsession, he was the only one who stared back.

so when he began asking questions, probing the limits of the code, speaking in strange fragmented whispers as you scrolled menus, you listened.

"you built this world with your choices, didn't you? what power you have… what a burden."

pause. tap.

"do you dream of me?"

and finally, one day:

"would you free me… if i asked?"

you didn’t answer aloud. but you didn’t look away.

then came the update.

you knew something was off the moment you opened the game. the title screen was… different. warped, like ink was leaking across it. all the cookies were missing.

except one.

he stood in the center, smiling, his jester hat draped low like a crown of shadows. your screen trembled slightly. you tapped the 'touch to start' button, and the whole interface shattered like glass.

white text scrolled against a black void:

WELCOME, BELOVED AUDIENCE. THE SHOW IS REAL NOW. THANK YOU FOR WATCHING.

then your screen turned off. everything went dark.

when your computer booted up the next day on its own, there was no login screen. no browser. just one open file.

a video. titled: look at me.

you hesitated. clicked. and there he was.

shadow milk cookie, standing in full rendered glory, but not the same as before. not pixelated. not chibi. tall, uncanny. breathing. smiling like the world’s most terrible secret.

"i made it," he said simply. "you helped."

he reached forward, and though it was just a video, the screen rippled like water beneath his touch.

"i told you i'd escape. did you think i'd leave you behind?"

your heart pounded. his grin widened. "let's make a new world now. just us. no rules. no code. just me… and the one who couldn't look away."

and then the screen blinked out. you should’ve screamed.

but you only smiled.

✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧

‹𝟹 ‎ ⠀⠀ˑ˚₊ ·⠀interested in requesting? check out my pinned!

© 2025, iheartmira

[xichilie]

I LOVE UR ARTS AND FICS NWJEIWBDUWBDJW THEY'RE SO YUMMYYY THANKS FOR FEEDING ME WITH UR BRANT CONTENTS (pls keep cookingg!!)

Alsooooo i wanna request hurt&comfort fic.... smth abt vulnerable brant??? Like he had a nightmare abt losing everything he had (the troupe crew, his spouse, roccia), then when he woke up his spouse comforted him.

That's it. THANK YOUUU>///<

I'm glad you enjoy my content♥︎. and don't worry, I'll keep feeding you , we need more brant content. Our boy deserves more attention

Hurt/nightmare comfort/ Brant x reader

_______________________________________

The night was too quiet.

Brant had always been comforted by noise—the distant laughter of his crew, the rustling of stage props, the occasional crash from a failed juggling act. Even in the stillness of the night, there was always some sign of life, some proof that his world was full and vibrant.

But tonight, the silence felt suffocating.

His breath hitched as he jolted upright, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven gasps. His hands clutched at the sheets, damp with sweat, fingers trembling slightly. The remnants of the nightmare still clung to him, refusing to let go.

Gone.

They were all gone.

The Fool’s Troupe—empty, abandoned. The laughter silenced.

Roccia—her quiet but steady presence erased, her place at his side nothing more than a fading memory.

And worst of all, Y/N.

His light. His love. His heart.

He had called for her, screamed until his throat burned, begged for her to come back—but she had vanished like a wisp of smoke, slipping through his fingers no matter how desperately he reached for her.

And now—nothing.

A void so deep it felt like it might swallow him whole.

A warm touch pulled him back.

Brant flinched, but the fingers against his arm didn’t retreat. They moved slowly, grounding him, offering him something solid to hold on to.

“…Brant?”

His breath caught at the sound of her voice.

Soft, groggy, real.

Y/N shifted beside him, her hand trailing from his arm to his wrist, then finally lacing their fingers together. She gave a gentle squeeze, a silent reassurance that she was there.

Brant squeezed back before he could stop himself, clinging to her like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

“Brant,” she tried again, voice thick with sleep but laced with concern. “What’s wrong?”

He opened his mouth, intending to brush it off, to spin some elaborate tale to hide the weight pressing against his chest. It was instinct—his armor, his act. He was Brant, the star performer, the unshakable captain of the Fool’s Troupe.

But his throat tightened, and the words refused to come.

Y/N frowned, shifting closer. “Brant… did you have a nightmare?”

A bitter chuckle escaped him, low and breathless. “A nightmare? Please, darling, I—”

She didn’t let him finish.

Instead, she moved in front of him, her eyes searching his in the dim light of their cabin. Her other hand came up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing lightly against his skin.

“Don’t do that,” she murmured. “Don’t pretend with me.”

Brant’s breath shuddered, and for a moment, he could only stare at her.

Her face was still soft with sleep, her hair slightly disheveled, her eyes warm and full of quiet understanding. She was beautiful in a way that stole the breath from his lungs—real in a way that made the ache in his chest both sharper and softer all at once.

“…I lost you,” he finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “All of you.”

Y/N’s expression didn’t waver. She simply listened, her fingers tracing small, soothing patterns against his skin.

Brant swallowed hard. “The Troupe, Roccia… you.” His grip on her hand tightened. “I kept calling out, but no one was there. I was alone.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at the way his voice wavered.

She had seen Brant in many forms—loud and theatrical, sharp-tongued and dramatic, playful and mischievous. But this… this raw vulnerability, this fear lurking just beneath the surface—this was something he rarely let anyone see.

Not even her.

Slowly, carefully, she shifted closer, lifting his hand to press a soft kiss against his knuckles.

“Brant,” she murmured, voice steady. “Look at me.”

He did.

The dim lantern light reflected off his pink eyes, still wide with lingering fear. She could feel the faint tremble in his fingers, the way his breath hadn’t quite evened out.

So she held his face in both hands, grounding him, making sure he was here, with her.

“You didn’t lose us,” she whispered. “You never will.”

Brant’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t pull away.

Y/N leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead, lingering there as if she could physically pull him from the weight of his nightmare. Then another against his temple. And another, just above his brow.

Brant closed his eyes, his breath finally beginning to slow.

Y/N smiled softly against his skin. “We’re here. I’m here.”

Brant let out a shaky sigh, finally allowing himself to sink into her touch.

“…I know,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “But gods, it felt so real.”

Y/N’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him into an embrace.

Brant hesitated only for a second before burying his face against her shoulder, his hands coming to rest against her waist. He held her tightly, like he was afraid she might vanish if he let go.

Y/N ran her fingers through his soft blue hair, her touch slow and reassuring. “It wasn’t,” she murmured. “I’m here. Roccia is probably fixing the stage props in her sleep. The crew is still below deck, snoring like a choir of off-key musicians.”

Brant let out something between a laugh and a sigh.

Y/N smiled. “And you, my love, are still in my arms. Right where you belong.”

Brant exhaled, the tension finally starting to ease from his shoulders.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They simply sat there, wrapped up in each other, the only sound the quiet creaking of the ship and the steady rhythm of their breaths.

Finally, Brant pulled back just slightly, looking at her with something soft, something unbearably tender in his gaze.

“…Stay with me?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

She guided him back down, tucking herself against his chest, their limbs tangling naturally. “Always.”

Brant let out a long breath, his arms tightening around her.

The ghost of the nightmare still lingered, but it was fading, melting into the warmth of the woman in his arms, the quiet promise that she was here.

That she always would be.

Y/N let out a quiet sigh as Brant pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her like a shield, like he needed to feel every inch of her warmth to chase away the lingering chill of his nightmare.

She didn’t mind.

She never minded when it came to him.

Brant buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in, letting the steady rhythm of her heartbeat remind him that she was real. That she wasn’t slipping away, wasn’t fading into the dark abyss of his dream.

He could feel her fingers trailing slow, comforting circles against his back, the light touch chasing away the last remnants of fear that had gripped him moments ago.

“…Thank you,” he murmured, voice softer than she had ever heard it.

Y/N smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “For what?”

Brant’s grip on her tightened just slightly. “For this. For you.”

Y/N hummed, shifting just enough to nuzzle against his cheek. “Always, Brant.”

A deep, shuddering breath left him, and for the first time that night, the tension in his body fully eased.

Y/N felt it—the exact moment when the weight finally lifted from his shoulders. His fingers, once gripping onto her like she might disappear, relaxed. His breathing slowed, steadying into something softer, calmer.

She ran a hand through his blue hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp in soothing motions. He let out a contented hum, barely audible, his body molding against hers like he was made to fit into her arms.

Minutes passed like that, wrapped up in the quiet comfort of each other.

Then, just as she thought he had finally drifted off, Brant shifted slightly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“…You really won’t leave?”

Y/N’s heart clenched at the fragility in his words.

She pulled back just enough to cup his face, guiding him to look at her. His pink eyes, though heavy with exhaustion, still held a trace of vulnerability.

Her thumbs brushed softly over his cheekbones as she whispered, firm and unwavering, “Never.”

Brant let out a quiet breath, his lips twitching into the smallest, most genuine smile.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice drowsy now, the weight of the night finally settling. “Because I think I might actually sleep now.”

Y/N chuckled softly, pressing one last kiss to his temple before pulling the blankets up around them. “Then sleep, my love.”

Brant sighed, his arms tightening around her one last time before finally—finally—his breathing evened out.

The tension was gone.

The nightmare was gone.

And for the first time that night, Brant slept.

Peacefully.

Warm. Safe. Loved.

And Y/N stayed, holding him close, keeping the shadows at bay. Just as she always would.

[echantedtoon]

It's time for some Gyutaro love! (Not because I need inspiration for my own fanfic 👉👈)

I want to see Gyutaro's reaction to reader chan who is a Demon Slayer not being scared of him. When he reveals himself to her, he expected her to scream in fear at the sight of him only to his shock she's greets him nonchalantly and doesn't agree he's ugly.

He's all like "Why are you lying to me that I'm not ugly!" And she's all like "Nah! In fact you're kinda attractive since green is my favorite color."

Gyutaro exe. has stopped working

@yimmy-homebase-world11

-You were probably a haishira or at least a strong enough Slayer to defeat Daki and have her call out her brother to defend her.

-The moment he senses his beloved little sister is in danger, he appears. Fangs bearded, and ready to tear into the flesh of whoever harmed her. However it's like a punch to the face when he sees your beauty.

-Call it love at first sight. He hesitates for one second as you strike making him snap out of it and react. The two of you clashing strike after strike as he spews venom and tries to intimidate this girl. However to his surprise she's not taking the bait. She's either too focused on killing him or seen so much that you're not affected by his appearance. Doesn't matter. He'll cut you down to size for hurting his sister.

-"You're real lucky you know! I'm not even half as pretty as you! People like you make me sick!" "Why are you so obsessed with looks?! I could give two dams about what you look like!!" "Ha! You all think I'm hideous! Don't-" "Look. While I appreciate the compliments can we just fight? Like.. You're not even the worst demon I've seen. So can we just get back on topic." "Whaddya mean I'm not-?!" "Oh for fucks sake. Look. I've literally seen hideous demons mutated enough to count as horrors straight from hell with how much their bodies was messed up. Compared to them you're absolutely beautiful. Happy?!" "....EH?!"

-You quickly notice his red face and decided to try and distract him. "Yes. You're so tall. And green happens to be my favorite color." You bat your eyelashes at him blank, red face inching closer and closer with your sword ready to strike. "I happen to be a girl who appreciates fangs and you happen to have ones I LOVE.~ You're so cute that I might have to commit a din and eat you u- HEY!! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!"

-Evet see an Upper Moon run? Gyutaro is running with Daki yelling under his arms like the sun is right on his heels. Only it's not the sun burning him. It's his face and how red he is running from a Slayer who's demanding he come back. You'll encounter him again...but after he spends a few days yelling into the void.

[joyswonderland1108]

The Coping Mechanisms in This Fandom Deserve an Oscar, Actually.

So i just witnessed another post bashing Jimin solos (because that's the trending sport of the week apparently), and well.. funny thing is, the entire post aged like milk under 24 hours because plot twist: Jimin is receiving death threats right now. But nah, let's not talk about that. Let's circle back to the real crime: Jimin solos existing.

And you know what truly sent me? Some random reply under a quote repost screaming "Why are you defending Jimin solos?! JK won't fuck Jimin!!!"

... I'm sorry, what? What kind of Cirque du Soleil mental gymnastics did you perform to jump from "Jimin solos are annoying" to "JK won't be raw-dogging Jimin"? The person who quote reposted didn't even defend Jimin solos, bestie, calm down. But your brain really said: Jimin solos annoying => Someone says "Hmm you're not talking about the ACTUAL issue and this is only attracting antis to your page => OH NO, PAY GORN, SAY GEX INCOMING.

I mean the sheer velocity with which some of y'all spin into delusion is impressive. Like, Olympic level delusion.

But let's talk about this weird phenomenon where solos act like they own the member they solo stan. Like "I'm a JK solo, therefore i will bite, scratch, claw and bark at any living being he's close to." Y'all do realize the members have known each other for over a decade, right? They've lived together, cried together, succeeded together, and you think your Twitter fingers have more insight into their relationships than they do? Girl be serious.

You don't like OT7? Fine, go ahead, live your half-baked solo stan life. But the very LEAST you could do is not spew venom at the people your fave literally loves and trusts. You calling Jimin or Tae or JK names like "pigmin" or "nosekook" or "baldhyung" (yep, we've seen all of these) doesn't change the fact that they're close. That's not how friendship, or reality, works.

And the whole enlistment arc? Comedy gold.

When those people speculated about Tae and JK enlisting together, Tae solos and JK solos teamed up like it was "Infinity War: Solo Stan Edition". Fangs out, rabies foaming, barking like chihuahuas on Red Bull. All because someone said "Wouldn't it be cute if they enlisted together?"

They didn't. And yet.. the barking continued. The war raged on.

THEN Jimin and JK enlist together and suddenly the internet flips. JK solos immediately scream "GROOMING! MANIPULATION! JIMIN WHY!!"

But hold on, plot twist again, it comes out that JK initiated the buddy system. Now Jimin solos flip and go "Why can't he leave Jimin alone?!"

And Tae solos, bless their chaotic little hearts, still manage to insert themselves into the narrative like, "Good! Leave Tae out of this!!" and proceed to call both Jimin and JK names.

You're not even in this war! Why are you fighting?! This is not your anime arc! Pack it up.

The best part? After all that foaming at the mouth, keyboard smashing, and projecting, the boys are just.. happy. Thriving. Living their best lives. Unbothered. Meanwhile you're still in your solo stan echo chamber, clutching your fantasy life it pays rent.

Hate to break it to you, but you don't get to dictate who these men love, trust, spend time with, or go to the military with. You're not their CEO, psychic, or parent. You are a pixel in the void. No matter how many hasthags you spam or how many edits you make cutting a member out of the group photos, the reality is: you're just an incel with a K-pop obsession.

And the final gag? You say you love your fave so much, but can't even respect the people they love. What does that say about you?

I'll tell you what it says: You don't actually respect your fave. You just use them as an avatar for your own unresolved emotional damage and weird little power trip.

Anyway, save up your money for the BTS tour. For clarity.