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mononijikayu · 2 months ago

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bed chem — nanami kento.

“Are you free next week?” Your breath hitched, caught off guard by how effortlessly he turned the tables on you. It was exactly what you had been thinking, the question that had echoed in your head. He had beaten you to it, but his tone told you this was no ordinary invitation. There was more behind that simple question—an invitation to something deeper, something physical. You raised an eyebrow, smiling to yourself, already knowing your answer. “I think I could be.”

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au;

WARNING/S: romance, love at first sight, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, fingering, p to v sex, orgasm, humor, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, nanami kento is that MAN, reader really wants to have bed chem with nanami <3;

WORD COUNT: 4.8k words.

NOTE: i keep thinking about how much i wrote and how it could be a treat for the entire october in terms of kinktober but i think i realize i'll be too busy starting the 11th, so i won't be showing up to anything, so i'll just be doing all this stuff i can now and posting some in between so i can at least have something for yall, you know? also im realizing my actor sukuna series and this is a minor part of it. its such a good story!!! if you wanna read it the latest chapter is here chapter four; anyway, i hope you can feel my love through out. i'll be seeing you soon enough, though. wish me luck on my upcoming exams <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

kayu's playlist — side 1500;

YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO FORGET THIS NIGHT. And you were happy about that thought. You remember the day you met him vividly, as if it happened just yesterday. You were dressed in a sheer, ethereal gown, moving gracefully through the grand corridors of a buzzing fashion venue.

Models, designers, and staff rushed around in a whirlwind of fabric and creativity, preparing for the show. You were part of that beautiful chaos, your mind focused on the evening ahead. But then you saw him.

Nanami Kento, the famous actor.

He stood out, calm amidst the frenzy, wearing a sharp white jacket that contrasted with the hectic energy around you. His sandy-blonde hair fell neatly into place, and his tall, sturdy frame exuded a sense of quiet confidence.

You exchanged brief pleasantries—just a moment's conversation—but the connection felt palpable. His presence lingered in your thoughts long after. You can’t help it. He was just that enigmatic. He was just that awe-strikingly beautiful.

Later that evening, a friend of his reached out, suggesting the two of you connect. You think that maybe they think you guys are going to be good for each other. Or maybe you could just be friends.

Who knows? You hadn’t expected it, but before you knew it, there was a message on your phone from Nanami Kento himself. And just like that, you found yourself scrolling through his texts, your pulse quickening with every new notification.

Who's the cute guy with the white jacket and the thick accent? The thought danced in your mind, replaying your brief interaction. You wondered if you were imagining it, but something told you this connection was real.

He wasn’t just like any other guy you’ve dated. A lot about him was already an improvement, but you were sure, one hundred percent — he would be everything. Everything that you could ever want in a man.

Maybe it was all in your head, just a fleeting crush, but you couldn't shake the feeling. You have never felt like this before. You began to picture more than just idle conversation. You bet the two of you would have incredible chemistry—on all levels.

Your thoughts spiraled into fantasies, growing more vivid with every passing moment. You imagined him picking you up with ease, spinning you around like you were weightless, his strong hands firm but gentle. It just made sense, didn’t it? The way he looked at you, the way his words were always so calm and collected, but with an underlying intensity that pulled you in.

There was chemistry—bed chem, as you started to call it in your mind.

You saw it all clearly: the way he’d pull you close, lower you down, his voice teasing but sweet. And his hands—how they might trail over your skin with a deliberate touch, a mix of sweet and sinful. You were obsessed with the idea. He didn’t even need to say anything when you saw him, the look in his eyes was enough to spark that connection.

You imagined asking him, casually, Are you free next week? You were certain that if you met again, everything would fall into place. You’d fit together seamlessly, like two puzzle pieces made for each other. Your fantasies painted the perfect picture: soft sheets, the thermostat set just right—maybe at 69—and the two of you in sync, moving as if you’d done this a thousand times before.

You saw him later that night at the after-party, his blue eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. Your heart skipped a beat. Nanami wasn’t just an actor anymore, not just a face from the big screen or a billboard. He was real, standing right there, closing the distance between you.

As he approached, you couldn’t help but think, I bet we’d have really good bed chem.

The thought made you smile to yourself, a secret desire that hung in the air, just waiting to be fulfilled.

He moved closer, his stride confident but unhurried. The noise of the party seemed to fade into the background, the music and chatter dissolving as your attention zeroed in on him. You could feel the air between you thicken, an unspoken pull drawing you together. Nanami’s eyes never left yours, his intense gaze making it clear he hadn’t forgotten your brief encounter earlier in the day.

He stopped just a few steps away, close enough that you could see the faintest hints of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. You exchanged a polite smile, but beneath the surface, the tension was palpable. It was as if every look, every subtle movement, was laden with meaning. Your heart raced, but you kept your composure.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” he said, his voice smooth, with that same deep cadence you had replayed in your mind over and over again.

You offered a light laugh, something casual, but even the smallest exchange felt charged. “Fashion world is small, I guess.”

The conversation was polite, yet every word held weight. You both knew there was something more bubbling beneath the surface. And that’s when it happened—he leaned in, just a fraction, and his voice lowered, the faintest hint of something playful lacing his words.

“Are you free next week?”

Your breath hitched, caught off guard by how effortlessly he turned the tables on you. It was exactly what you had been thinking, the question that had echoed in your head. He had beaten you to it, but his tone told you this was no ordinary invitation. There was more behind that simple question—an invitation to something deeper, something physical.

You raised an eyebrow, smiling to yourself, already knowing your answer. “I think I could be.”

Nanami Kento chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming. It was a small moment, but it felt like a confirmation—like a prophecy about to be fulfilled. You both lingered in the silence for a beat longer than necessary, the electric tension between you undeniable.

As the night went on, the party flowed around you, but your attention never strayed far from him. Each glance, each word exchanged, only built on the anticipation. By the time you said your goodbyes, you were already planning out the next week in your head.

When you finally parted ways, your phone buzzed almost immediately. A message from him.

Next week, then.

You smiled, already thinking about how things would unfold. In your mind, you could see it—how he’d pick you up like it was nothing, his strength and control so effortless. You pictured the way he’d pull you close, then spin you around, always so deliberate but never rushed. The chemistry was undeniable, it was practically written in the stars. Bed chem, the kind that left no room for hesitation.

And when that moment finally came, you knew everything would fall into place, just like you imagined. The perfect rhythm, the thermostat set just right, every movement in sync.

It was only a matter of time.

The days that followed felt like a slow burn, each one stretching out as you found yourself replaying that moment over and over. The anticipation built, winding tighter with every passing thought of him. Every time your phone buzzed, your pulse quickened, hoping it was another message from Nanami, and more often than not, it was.

His texts were short, simple—never too much, but just enough to keep the flame alive. He didn’t need to say much for you to read between the lines. Each message held a certain calm confidence, like he knew exactly what he was doing, just like when you saw him at the party.

Each message was a spark, feeding the fire of your fantasies. Your mind wandered constantly, imagining every possible way the encounter could unfold. You knew it wouldn’t be rushed—it was never rushed with someone like Nanami. Everything about him was measured, thoughtful, intentional.

How’s your week?

Thinking about that conversation.

Looking forward to next week.

By the time the day finally arrived, you could feel your nerves dancing in your chest, excitement pulsing beneath your skin. You chose your outfit carefully, something that balanced elegance with subtle suggestion. You wanted to look as effortlessly composed as you imagined he would be.

When you arrived at the restaurant where he had suggested you meet, the atmosphere was warm, dimly lit, and intimate. Nanami was already there, sitting at a table near the window. He looked up as soon as you walked in, his eyes locking onto yours immediately, that same intensity you remembered from the party.

As you approached, he stood to greet you, his hand resting lightly on your back as he leaned in for a polite kiss on the cheek. His touch was brief but electric, and you felt the heat rise in your chest.

“You look stunning, darling.” he said, his voice deep and smooth, just as you remembered.

You smiled, brushing off the compliment with a modest shrug, but the way his eyes lingered told you he wasn’t just being polite. The dinner itself was a dance, every word exchanged adding to the tension that simmered between you. You talked about the show, your careers, little moments from your lives—but beneath it all, there was the unspoken promise of what was to come.

It wasn’t long before the two of you found yourselves alone, walking down the quiet city streets. The cool night air did little to cool the heat that was growing between you. His hand brushed yours as you walked, a casual but deliberate touch that sent a shiver down your spine.

Then, as if on cue, he stopped, turning to face you. His eyes held yours for a long moment, the city lights casting shadows over his sharp features.

“Should we continue this somewhere more private?” His voice was calm, but there was a subtle edge to it, the tension in his question making your breath catch.

You nodded, your heart racing as he reached for your hand, his grip firm but gentle as he led you toward his place. The walk was quiet, the air thick with anticipation. When you finally arrived, it felt like the world had slowed down, the moment you had been waiting for was finally here.

YOU WERE ASTOUNDED HOW SUAVE HIS EXISTENCE IS. The sight of his apartment took you by surprise, sleek and minimal yet warm, much like him. Everything was perfectly arranged, clean lines and subtle comfort that mirrored his understated charm. You couldn’t help but admire him, drawn in by everything he was. The more you were around him, the more you wanted—his presence, his touch, his everything.

He glanced at you, his gaze never wavering as he slipped off his jacket, hanging it neatly over the back of a chair. In an instant, he was standing before you, hands on your waist, drawing you close with a quiet, commanding energy. The world outside faded into the background, leaving only the two of you in the dimly lit room.

His lips hovered near your ear, his breath warm as he whispered, "I’ve been thinking about this all week."

The sound of his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could respond, his lips found yours. The kiss was slow at first, deliberate, as if savoring the moment. You could feel the excitement become even more palpable in you.

Each movement of his mouth felt carefully measured, like he had been imagining this for far longer than you realized. His hands moved with an easy confidence, sliding across your body, each touch making you feel as though he had memorized every inch of you.

When he lifted you, it felt seamless, effortless, as though you weighed nothing at all in his arms. He carried you to the bedroom, his strong grip both protective and possessive.

There was an undeniable chemistry between you—every brush of his skin against yours, every touch electric and charged with desire. His movements were slow, savoring the build-up, as if he had waited too long for this moment to rush through it.

Your breaths came out shallow and uneven as his lips moved from yours, down the length of your neck, leaving a burning trail in their wake. Each press of his mouth against your skin felt deliberate, purposeful, sending sparks of heat coursing through you.

His scent filled the space between you, rich and heady, mixing with the warmth of his body as he pressed closer. Every inch of you was aware of him—the solid strength of his frame, the way his breath hitched slightly as his hands roamed over you.

Kento’s fingers grazed the curve of your waist before tightening on your hips, pulling you against him with a quiet but undeniable hunger. The sensation of his body molded so tightly to yours made your heart race, your skin tingling with anticipation.

You bit your lip, trying to steady your breath, but it was impossible under the weight of his touch, his presence. His knee nudged between your thighs, parting them with a gentle yet insistent pressure, the friction sending a fresh wave of desire flooding through you.

"You feel so good, sweetie." he whispered, his voice low and rough, filled with want.

A soft moan slipped from your lips as his hands roamed lower, teasing the edge of your clothes before slipping beneath the fabric. His fingers dug in, just enough to make you gasp, his touch hot against your skin. The sensation of him—his rough palms gliding over your bare skin, the tension coiling between you—was intoxicating, leaving you breathless.

You felt his lips curl into a smirk against your neck, clearly pleased with the effect he was having on you. "I love hearing you like that, sweetie." he murmured, his breath warm and teasing as his mouth hovered near your ear. "Don’t hold back."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body arching toward him as his fingers dipped lower, exploring you with an eagerness that made you ache. You gasped, unable to stop the sound that escaped your throat as his fingers slipped inside you, moving with a skill that left you trembling.

"Oh—Kento. Oh, baby….." you whimpered, the intensity of the moment overwhelming you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly as your body pressed closer to his, desperate for more of his touch. He groaned softly in response, the sound vibrating through you.

His fingers moved inside you with purpose, every stroke calculated, every flick of his wrist sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. His thumb found the sensitive bundle of nerves that made you cry out, your hips bucking instinctively against him.

"God, you’re so responsive. I like that." he growled, his voice rough with desire. His free hand gripped your waist, holding you steady as his fingers moved faster, building a rhythm that had you teetering on the edge of control.

"I want you to come for me, sweetheart." he breathed against your ear, his voice low and commanding.

You couldn’t help it. The way he touched you, the way he knew exactly what you needed—it was too much. Your body responded without hesitation, muscles tightening as pleasure coiled deep inside you, ready to snap. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, broken and breathless, as you reached that sweet crescendo, your body trembling in his arms.

Kento didn’t want to stop, didn’t slow, as you rode the wave of pleasure. His fingers stayed inside you, coaxing every last bit of sensation from you, until you were left breathless, trembling, and utterly undone in his arms.

Kento’s fingers slowly withdrew, leaving you sensitive and aching, but he wasn’t done. His sharp gaze darkened as he looked down at you, his breath hot against your skin. He shifted, positioning himself between your thighs, and you felt a fresh rush of heat flood through you as his hands gently spread your legs wider, exposing your most sensitive, intimate places to him.

"You look incredible, slick like this." he murmured, his voice husky with desire. His eyes roamed over your body, lingering on every curve and soft line before settling on the glistening heat between your legs. The way he looked at you, so intent, so focused, made your heart race even faster.

Without a word, he lowered his head, his lips brushing the inside of your thigh with soft, teasing kisses. You shuddered beneath him, anticipation buzzing through your veins as his mouth inched closer to where you needed him most.

When his tongue finally flicked against your sensitive folds, you gasped, your back arching off the bed as pleasure shot through you. His touch was gentle at first, soft and exploratory, as if he was savoring the moment. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he took his time, each lick and kiss slow and deliberate.

"Kento—" you moaned, your voice breathless and needy. His hands slid up your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as he held you steady, his mouth working against you with a precision that drove you wild.

"Mm, s’ good." he hummed against you, the vibration of his voice sending a fresh wave of sensation through your core. His tongue swirled over your clit, slow and deliberate, before he sucked gently, and the world around you seemed to blur as pleasure bloomed deep in your belly.

"You taste so sweet. So so sweet." he growled at you, his voice low and full of hunger. He didn’t give you a moment to recover, his mouth returning to its work, tongue stroking over you in long, languid movements that left you trembling beneath him.

Your hands gripped the sheets, your body writhing against his mouth as he worked you closer to the edge. Every flick of his tongue, every soft press of his lips had you teetering on the brink, the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you.

"Please, please." you whimpered, your hips bucking against his face. "Don’t stop, Kento—"

He growled softly in response, his hands tightening on your thighs to hold you still as he intensified his pace. His tongue moved faster, more insistently, flicking and stroking your clit with a pressure that made you cry out. You could feel yourself unraveling, your body trembling uncontrollably as he pushed you closer and closer to release.

The heat inside you built with every stroke of his tongue, every soft moan he let out against you, until you couldn’t hold back any longer. Your body tensed, your muscles tightening as the pleasure overwhelmed you, and with a final, desperate cry, you came undone, your release crashing over you in waves.

Kento could only find himself addicted in your taste, his mouth continuing to work against you, drawing out every last bit of your orgasm until you were trembling, breathless, and utterly spent beneath him. Finally, he pulled back, his lips glistening with your arousal, and he looked up at you with a satisfied, almost possessive smile.

"You’re incredible, sweetie." he whispered, his voice rough and low as he moved back up your body, his lips finding yours again in a slow, heated kiss. You could taste yourself on him, and it only made you want him more.

"Kento..." you breathed, your voice barely audible but full of want. The way you said his name made him pause, his eyes darkening with desire as they met yours.

He leaned in again, his lips hovering near your ear, his voice deep and rough. “Gonna keep making you feel good, sweetie.”

His thumb brushed against your lower lip before claiming your mouth again in a kiss that was no longer soft or patient but filled with raw, undeniable hunger. His need for you was palpable now, every kiss, every touch pushing you both closer to the edge.

The night unraveled slowly, deliberately, as if time itself bowed to the intensity of the moment. His movements, once restrained and careful, had given way to a raw passion that filled the air with a palpable heat. The soft glow of moonlight slipping through the curtains cast fleeting shadows on his face, highlighting the quiet hunger in his eyes as he gazed down at you.

His lips, warm and persistent, traced a slow, deliberate path over the curve of your neck, sending shivers cascading down your spine. Your breath hitched as his mouth moved lower, each kiss searing your skin with a promise of what was to come.

His fingers followed, brushing against your skin with the lightest of touches, drawing a soft gasp from you. Every time he whispered your name, his voice low and filled with desire, it felt like the room itself pulsed in response, his words sinking into your very core.

“God, you’re so beautiful, sweetie.” he murmured, his breath hot against your collarbone, his eyes dark with an intensity that made your heart race.

Your body arched beneath him, a mixture of pleasure and anticipation building with every gentle caress. He paused for a moment, hovering above you, his gaze locked with yours, the weight of his control making your pulse quicken. It was as if he could sense every thought, every want, every need—knowing exactly how to unravel you. And you, caught in the tide of his desire, could do nothing but surrender.

“Please...” you breathed, the word slipping from your lips before you could even stop yourself. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes remained focused, intent.

His hands moved lower, his touch no longer teasing but commanding, each movement calculated to drive you closer to the edge. Your fingers tangled in the sheets, the anticipation almost unbearable as his lips brushed against your ear, sending another wave of heat through your body.

“I’ve got you, sweetie.” he whispered, his voice a dark promise that sent a jolt of desire straight through you. And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity of delicious torment, he positioned himself above you, his body pressing against yours in a way that made you ache with need. “Doin’ so good for me already, aren’t you?”

When he entered you, it felt like the culmination of everything—the tension, the desire, the quiet longing that had simmered beneath the surface for so long. A soft moan escaped your lips as he filled you completely, his movements slow and deliberate, each thrust deep and steady, leaving you breathless.

Your hands found his back, your nails digging in as you clung to him, the intensity of it all building between you like a storm ready to break. His breath was ragged now, mingling with yours in the heated air, every thrust a silent declaration of the connection that bound you together.

��Don’t stop, Kento…. Don’t…Oh—” you whispered, your voice breaking as he moved faster, his control unraveling just enough for you to feel the full force of his desire. His lips found yours again, his kiss rough and hungry, matching the rhythm of his body as you moved together, lost in the heat and the need for more.

Each movement, each breath, felt like an unspoken promise, his body telling you everything he couldn’t say aloud. In that moment, there was no space for hesitation, no room for anything but the overwhelming intensity of him, of you, of the way you fit together so perfectly.

When you finally came, it was everything you hadn’t known you needed. Kento’s name fell from your lips over and over, a soft chant as waves of pleasure washed over you, your body tightening around his. The intensity of it left you breathless, your fingers clutching him as if afraid to let go. Moments later, he followed you, his body tensing as he found his own release, his low groan sending shivers through you all over again.

For a long time, neither of you spoke, the only sound in the room the quiet, shared breaths of two people completely undone by the moment. He pulled you close, his arms wrapped around you protectively, his warmth enveloping you as you lay tangled together, the weight of what had just passed between you still lingering in the air.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice soft but filled with satisfaction. “Well, I think you got your answer.”

“Oh? About what?”

“We have bed chem.” He grins at you, kissing your shoulder.

You blinked and then laughed.

You could feel your heart still racing, and looked up at him, knowing that this moment was just the beginning.

epilogue

The sunlight filtered through the bedroom window, casting a warm glow over the rumpled sheets that barely covered your body. You stretched lazily, feeling the soft, comforting weight of the blankets and the familiar presence of Nanami beside you.

His arm was draped over your waist, his chest rising and falling steadily as he slept. The peaceful moment was too perfect to pass up, so you quietly reached for your phone, snapping a quick picture of the two of you in the soft morning light.

The sheets barely covered your bodies, your bare skin visible beneath the white fabric. The scene was intimate, cozy, and full of the quiet warmth of a morning spent wrapped in each other’s arms. You couldn’t resist adding a cheeky caption before posting it online:

“Come right on me, I mean camaraderie.”

The double entendre made you giggle quietly as you hit "post" knowing it was bound to get some playful reactions. You leaned back into the pillows, snuggling against Kento, who stirred slightly at your movement, his hand tightening around your waist.

“What are you up to?” he mumbled sleepily, his voice rough from sleep. His eyes opened just enough to catch your mischievous grin.

“Nothing… Just posting a little morning memory, darling.” you teased, unable to contain the laughter bubbling up inside you. Kento’s brow furrowed, clearly suspicious but too tired to press further.

It didn’t take long for the comments to start rolling in. Within minutes, his phone buzzed repeatedly on the nightstand. Kento could only feel himself groaning, reaching for it, and as soon as he saw the notifications lighting up the screen, his eyes widened in realization.

“You didn’t…?” His voice trailed off as he stared at the picture you had posted, the cheeky caption front and center.

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, watching as Nanami’s expression shifted from confusion to mild horror, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. He scrolled through the comments, and you could see the flood of teasing messages from his castmates already coming in.

@/GojoSatoru: Nanami, my man! Didn’t know you had this side to you! 😂

@/Geto Suguru: Yo, Kento…….You really kinky IRL, huh?

@/HaibaraYu: Is that what we call ‘teamwork’ now? Guess I’ve been doing it all wrong… 😏

@/IeiriShoko: Honestly? Kinda iconic. But also, never gonna let you live this down.

Kento could feel his blush deepened as he kept scrolling, his lips pressed into a thin line, clearly flustered. His hand ran through his hair in frustration, and he glanced at you with an exasperated but fond look.

“I can’t believe you posted that, sweetie.” he muttered, shaking his head as more notifications flooded in. “They’re never going to stop teasing me about this.”

You couldn’t stop giggling, leaning over to kiss his cheek, which was now bright red. “Come on, it’s cute. They’ll forget about it soon enough… maybe.”

Kento groaned again, but there was a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he pulled you closer. “You’re impossible, hm.” he said, though the warmth in his voice made it clear he wasn’t actually upset. He kissed your forehead softly, the tension in his body relaxing as he resigned himself to the teasing. “Too impossible.”

“I don’t mind being impossible if it makes you blush like this.” you teased, running your fingers through his hair, enjoying the rare sight of Kento looking flustered.

“Don’t push your luck, sweetie.” he replied, though the way his arms wrapped around you betrayed the affection behind his words. He sighed, resting his forehead against yours. “I guess I’ll have to get used to being the subject of their jokes for a while.”

You grinned, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

Nanami chuckled softly, the sound low and comforting. “You already have, sweetheart.” he murmured, his hand brushing a lock of hair away from your face. His eyes softened as he looked at you, the teasing forgotten as the moment between you became tender again.

“I don’t care what they say, though.” he added quietly. “All that matters is this. Us.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the teasing moment giving way to a warmth that spread through your chest. You snuggled closer into his embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours, and smiled.

“Good. So do I.” you whispered, kissing him again, the teasing fading into the background as the two of you enjoyed the quiet intimacy of the morning.

Nanami Kento could feel his phone buzzing again, but this time, neither of you bothered to check it. Let them tease—it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the two of you, wrapped in each other’s arms, finding comfort in the simple joy of being together.

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trashogram · 4 months ago

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Imagine if Stolas moved silently yet delicately all the time or if when he walked among imps there was emphasis on them running out from under his sharp clawed feet and long long legs? If there were more shots of Stolas being looked up at from Blitzo’s POV, which was also shared with the audience?

Or imagine that Alastor never physically shows anger toward others for insulting him or trying to get under his skin? He is ever the smiling observer, enjoying free entertainment without having to lift a finger or get emotionally involved to the point of cursing just like everyone else?

What if the Angels and Exterminators from Heaven were incredibly serious and dignified at all times? As a contrast to the raucousness of Hell? They’re like stone pillars that you feel as if you can never get through to and find a heart inside?

What if Charlie leaned more into being an incredibly sensitive crybaby type? Or she was more motherly and saw potential residents at the hotel like helpless children who need a guiding hand?

What if one of the Vees had an entirely different energy compared to the other two? A way to balance them out? Like if Valentino was much smoother and lulled his victims into false senses of security, treating them all like special lovers, so when he does snap, it’s genuinely terrifying and unexpected?

Or maybe Vox is incredibly fast-talking bc he’s always moving, always receiving input and new information via electronics everywhere? If he was more neurotic and could turn on the confidence he exudes onscreen while off he’s a nervous wreck?

Velvette was the one who got so viciously angry or petty or bitter that she had a habit of killing her own models and needed replacements all the time bc of her own actions? Models themselves are like fast fashion? Maybe she makes puns about how cutthroat her business is or something too? Idk.

What if they weren’t all zany? What if there were differences in their behaviors beyond what we are told? You could show this in how they walk, how they talk, how they handle problems, how they view other characters.

#hazbin hotel critical #helluva boss critical #just little things that make them stand out in the show itself and as characters #you know what I mean?

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mamayan · 1 year ago

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Psp psp 👀 genya thirsts please? 🤲

Nonnie I’m literally full of them of course— I personally see Genya as a switch so we’ll be playing around with that here (even though I adore him as a submissive too).

Genya Shinazugawa Thirsts ★彡

cw: NSFW • Fluff • Genya HC • A lil angst • GN! Reader • Praise Kink • Suggestive Themes • Oral mentioned • Switch! Genya (not really Dom, more pleasure top at best tbh) • Slightly Top!/Switch! Reader

Genya isn’t shy in the traditional sense. He’s not afraid of being the one to confess his love first, or even being rejected.

Problem is, he expects to be rejected. He’s understanding of it even. His own perception of self worth revolves around his ability to be useful, and while he’s proud to call himself a Demon Slayer, he finds himself lacking as a man a lot of the time.

He looks up to Sanemi and adores him a great deal, but doesn’t use him as a role model for love and expressing it. Instead he looks at Gyomei, a gentle and pious man who gives advice like “write a love poem from the depths of your heart.”

So when Genya confesses and he’s not rejected? He’s the sort to follow advice given to the letter, which makes for comically awkward and tender approaches.

Genya will present you with flowers, carefully arranged, but he knows nothing of flowers, so you’ll be sneezing immediately. They’re super pollen filled and smell obnoxious, but your heart will be full from the thought and effort alone. He apologizes profusely. Then will come the love letters, but as a Shinazugawa, the words of love will boarder on threats. “My heart burns when I see you, so much love fills me that I feel it may be the end for me in your presence.” You’ll wonder if he’s joking or has a heart condition. He knows he’s got a mean and scary looking face, many have told him so, and to remedy that… he will even wear makeup to make himself look less scary! (This may have been pointed out by Inosuke, his heart in the right place but the end results more for humor than anything). It’s too late by the time Tanjiro comes to rescue his friend, you’re in tears laughing at the clown his friends turned him into. It works on making him less scary to you though—

He’ll relax eventually, but he’s stiff and terrified of making even the smallest mistake… and the end result of that is making tons of mistakes. Once he realizes he can truly be himself, he’s the sweetest most devoted man you could ask for. He’s less prickly than his older brother, more ready to fall head first into the love jar with you. He’s a sap, truly seeing you as an angel who can do no wrong.

When it comes to being physical, he loves pda. Except, he likes it most when you show it. He’s constantly being rejected publicly or privately by his dearest elder brother, so when you show claim over him? It makes him ecstatic! Throw an arm around his waist, hold his hand, hug him, kiss him even. Show the world he belongs to you. It makes him melt into a puddle. He’ll even get a little smug if you do it in front of his friends, smirking even as his face goes molten red. He’ll pass away if you sit on his lap though, be careful of his weak heart. Tough exterior doesn’t translate to inside unfortunately.

Genya is a gentleman despite his rough appearance, he’s waiting on you to make all the first moves. He’s asking permission and consent constantly thereafter, and he’s very keen on your body language. You’ll have to ignore his body language when he tells you to, because despite his wishes he tenses up and freezes sometimes when he gets embarrassed. It takes a little for him to relax after that happens, just keep kissing him please, he’ll beg if he has to.

That’s how it’s like with deeper intimacy too, Genya becomes whiny and shy, stuttering and a bit foolish. He’s just desperate for you, make no mistake about it. He’s got good control though, holding still when you tell him, being very good for you. Use him for your pleasure, he really does insist. Genya’s favorite positions are any he can see you in, more specifically when you ride him.

He derives pleasure from you being pleased, so with oral he prefers to give rather than receive. Not that he doesn’t like receiving, your mouth on his cock leaves him a drooling mess, but Genya can find his end just by giving you head. Hearing you moan and cry for him makes him delirious with happiness, so use his Mohawk like a handle and hold on tight.

While Genya is giver, he does have a few triggers which set off a more dominant side of him. He can’t help himself honestly… usually it’s jealously. If someone else is flirting with you it riles him up. He gets more brash and mean, not towards you of course, but he does try and fight them quite readily. It leaves him insecure after too, afraid you’ll see his flaws and weakness and leave him.

So when you don’t, and when you comfort him, he just needs you.

Whining into your mouth how much he loves you, all while his hips pound you into the bed and you cum again. He’s fucking you stupid and not even on purpose, he’s just overcome with emotion he needs to let out, and what better way than to make love to you? Even if that love making turns into a sloppy fucking with your cute face pressed down and hips yanked high so he can kiss you inside a little deeper. He’s crying your name while he fills you up, and he really can’t help how his cock stays hard even after, thrusting again inside you soon after while you mewl and try to crawl away from all the pleasure and overstimulation.

He’s yanking you easily back onto his cock, head thrown back as he mindlessly babbles praises for you. “Ah fuck—so good on my cock, make me feel so fuckin’ good—l-love you, I love you—!” You’re too fucked out to do much else but cum for him, eyes watery and helpless as he shows you how much he loves you. Enjoy the stamina of Genya Shinazugawa, he’s got endless energy. He’ll fuck you till he’s shooting blanks.

He’s so sweet after too, kissing and holding you, profusely apologizing of course because you passed out eventually, and thanking you too for making him feel so good. He’s running around heating up a bath, bringing you sweets or whatever you crave. He goes right back to your sweet ‘Nya once he’s secure in his heart again.

Feel free to take revenge after too. He won’t admit it until he’s denied his fourth or fifth orgasm, but he adores when you take charge and top him. Play away to your heart’s desire, Genya is able to take all you give him, like the good boy he is. Panting like a dog after you curb his orgasm again, his body tied up and spread for you to do whatever you please. He’ll cry, sob even, for release. Begging his master for mercy, while you coo and tease him. “Poor puppy, what’s wrong hm? I thought you loved everything I do.” You have him there, because he’ll admit his deepest secrets like this. “I-I do! I love it! T-tease me more, please, master, m-make a mess of me,” he’s adorable like this, obedient and cute all for you. He’ll probably want to die a little if you just leave him like that too, but he’s so cute, you’ll find it hard to just walk away— unless it’s a punishment of course.

Genya is open to most any kink you might have… as long as it doesn’t hurt you. He’s fine if the pain is directed at him, he can take it after all, but he won’t do any breath play, no tight bondage, no whips or chains for you unless you’re the one wielding them, and of course no sharing you. Genya would rather tear someone’s eyes out and light them on fire than let them even see you naked. It makes him feral and enraged immediately. However, the thought of being seen with you doing something to him, makes him wildly aroused.

Genya would never bring it up in a regular conversation, but he’s got a small exhibition kink. If he were the one to been seen tied up and naked with you playing with him? He may just cum immediately. It ties into you claiming him too, showing how much he is to you, who he belongs to.

Genya also has a praise kink. It works both ways too, he wants to be praised and praise you too. “Such a good boy Genya, my sweet love, filling me up so good,” his eyes are rolling back, hips stuttering as he begs to cum. “Y-you feel so good—fuck, tight—wanna be inside you forever, feel you wrapped a-around my cock like this till I die—!” He’s losing control when you cum.

Overall Genya is a top tier lover and golden find. He’s loyal, devoted, and filled with adoration to shower on you.

Dividers/@cafekitsune

#Yan answers #Genya thirsts #genya shinazugawa #switch! Genya #genya smut #switch!reader #shinaguzawa genya #Genya x reader #Genya x reader smut #Genya Shinazugawa smut #kny smut #kny thirst #Genya HC #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba

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sydneymykah · 2 months ago

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☆MY FASHION ICONS☆

How to turn influence into originality

I think everyone should have at least 2 - 3 different fashion icons. Whether it's an artist, model, designer, fictional character or even cartoon. It's these influences that can help build upon your own fashion sense and style. Relating and gravitating towards certain people can help us decide how we want to present ourselves to the world. Help us find our inner confidence shine through to the physical. Taking bits and pieces from other influences to make something completely your own.

This post is in three sections

1. How finding your influences can help you find your style

2. My icons and their style

3. How I use their influence to find my own original style

(Also I use fashion icon and style icon interchangeably. The basis is just someone who’s fashionable and has a style you feel inspired by)

Lets get into it

FINDING INFLUENCE

Maybe you watched a movie when you were younger and a character dawned an outfit that has stuck with you forever. A specific show or movie has stayed with you simply because of the fashion alone. You discovered that you would give anything to dress like the people you grew up seeing on your screens. To a celebrity's iconic street style or a characters impeccable fashion choices. What we naturally gravitate towards is what inevitably ends up being our main influence. Knowing what we are inspired by helps us figure out how we want to represent ourselves. Today I'm focusing on fashion and style.

If you're someone who wants to figure out what inspires you I'd suggest to go explore all genres of films and tv. Regardless the decade I bet you, you will find a movie or show that resonates with you in terms of fashion/style and aesthetics. Pinterest of course is also an amazing place to look for inspo. Especially if you already have an idea of what you want but need expanding upon it. Environment also affects inspiration. I've seen people's style and how they express themselves completely change because they moved abroad or just simply to a new city. I hope people who read this who are in an environment who cant express themselves the way they want are able to find a place for them someday. If you cant find an environment physically, I'd suggest finding one online. Twitter communities, Tumblr and discord servers pertaining to your interests can help you extremely.

Now, people might struggle to take what inspires them and make something of their own without looking like a straight up carbon copy. Not knowing how to build a style and not look like they're wearing a costume. What I've found to be helpful is to start off by noticing patterns with how your influences dress. If one is a celebrity you can probably find interviews of them talking about the style you're trying to implicate. If it's a character(s) there's a high chance there are YouTube videos and even tiktoks dissecting their style. The best part about this is that you can pick and choose what you like and what you want to try out.

That is also how you eventually find your own style through influence. You have to do things through trial and error. I know that makes people wince because they don't want to look ridiculous but it's true. The main thing you need is confidence. And if you don’t have that fake it till you make it sis. I can think of many people and celebrities who started off one way and evolved into the icons they are today. To people like Rihanna, Bella Hadid, and Sabrina Carpenter. Even with them you can see what influences their style. Rihanna (who has gone through many fashion phases) once being very heavily influenced by 80's UK British punk rock style and Americana. Bella recently being influenced by vaquero and cowgirl chic fashion because of her current cowboy boyfriend Adan Banuelos. Sabrina being very influenced by baby doll aesthetics, lingerie, and 60's style of clothing. You can see with all of their influences they're able to make it theirs. Of course they have stylists to help them(not to take away from their own creativeness) but you can still find ways to help yourself.

Even I am in the trial and error stage. Finding out what I like and what my current influences wear that I want to try too. What helps me is making mood boards and finding pieces that look similar to the ones my inspirations wear. It’s important to note that just buying statement pieces won’t help you build style because it’s harder to create different outfits with them. Basics are VITAL. So don’t overlook them when dissecting your influences. Let me show you how I dissect the patterns and fashion sense my fashion icons have and how I use these as blueprints in figuring out how I want to style myself.

MY ICONS

FRAN FINE

Played by the fabulous Fran Dresher, Fran Fine was the main character in the extremely popular and iconic sitcom of the 90's "The Nanny". Fran being a flashy girl from Flushing Queens who stumbles into a nanny job taking care of rich bachelor Maxwell Sheffield's three kids. The shows main plot is the will they won't they dynamic between Fran and Mr. Sheffield and how unconventional of a nanny Fran is.

Her unconventional yet charming nature reflects in her many iconic outfits. Many pieces being traditionally sophisticated like blazers and turtlenecks are made more flirty and tempting with mini skirts. Frans style didn't shy away from any sort of color, texture or pattern. Wearing things that range from a brick pantsuit, a rainbow sequined strap dress, tiger print blazer and mini skirt set, many bright colored fur coats, and full vinyl and leather matching sets. Her main inspo to her fashion seems to take from 60’s and mod fashion trends. Especially with her big hair and headbands being her main choice of accessory.

Frans typical silhouette would consist of some sort of turtleneck or vest. If she wore a vest it'd usually would have some sort of blouse underneath (collared or another turtleneck). Her bottoms would either be fitted pants, a mini skirt, or a mini dress. Frans signature shoe was a classic pump heel and would usually wear some sort of stocking or tights with them. (usually black) Occasionally she'd switch out the pumps for a boot that would either be reminiscent of 60's mod or just a regular heeled boot. Fran loved a matching set so typically her skirts would usually match her jackets. Her jackets typically being cropped or regular sized blazers. A lot of them being fur trimmed.

CHER

Cher is a famous musician, actress and Tv host. She was the IT girl of the 70's deemed " Goddess of Pop" and was known muse for the incredible Bob Mackie, one of my favorite fashion designers.

Cher was known for her impeccable and ground breaking style. She was unique and was never afraid to dress outside the box. Proudly showing off her stomach and wearing very risqué mesh outfits. Cher's approach to fashion was like a hybrid of bohemian, Disco and old Hollywood glamour. The main thing I think of when it comes to Cher is how she was almost always decked out in sequins and diamonds. Forever sparkling and shining in the cameras. Looking like a colorful disco ball. Cher was also known to not shy away from feathers, furs, and metallics. Considering she can technically be considered a showgirl and had her own popular show filled with musical numbers it makes sense for her to wear that sort of fashion.

Cher's classic silhouette was usually some sort of form fitting, skin showing dress or two piece. She would start off covered in some sort of shawl or jacket that was usually fur or covered in feathers. Then she would reveal her outfit. Typically the outfit would show some a lot of skin, usually her stomach, chest and arms. She was almost aways wearing cross body dresses and tops. a top that would wrap around Chers chest but still show off her core and arms. If Cher wasn't wearing a dress with this type of top she was wearing flared disco pants/Bell bottoms. Similar to Fran, Cher never strayed from interesting patterns and designs. Both very flashy and fashion forward women who knew how to light up a room with just their style alone.

JEM

Jem, from the 80’s cartoon "Jem and the Holograms" is the lead singer of her pop rock band of the same name. Not only that but she’s also secretly Jerrica Benton, the groups manager and owner of her late father's record label starlight music. Jem's 80's fashion can only be described as truly outrageous along with her big pink hair.

Jem of the Holograms was a unique show not only for its premise but because the main cast almost always had a new outfit every episode. Jem didn’t have a consistent silhouette but her outfits were adjacent or the inverse to her alter self. Jerrica being more conservative and covered while jem was more flashy and glamourous. Like a rock star should. One thing consistent with jem were her colors. Pink being her iconic color along with purple, light blue, fuchsia, and yellow.

Jem wore everything from pant suits, bodycon dresses, ball gowns, evening gowns, trench coats, matching sets, and bodysuits. All with 80’s trends like shoulder pads, fingerless gloves, popped collars, patterns like polka dots, layered necklaces, and mini skirts (one reminiscent of tutus artists like Cyndi Lauper and Madonna would wear) The one accessory that stays consistent with her is her gem star earrings and if you notice in the show are the bands symbol. In many of her outfits she dawns a star shape or pattern

*Note that not just Jem inspires my fashion tastes in the show but other characters as well. The other person inspiring me second to her is her antagonist Pizzazz who I've opted as my alter ego. especially considering Jem wears pink and Pizzazz wears green, (opposite colors)

CREATING YOUR OWN STYLE

If it’s not obvious based off the three examples I gave, I like dressing like the brightest thing in the room. The star. The showgirl. The main character of you will. I like to be dressed up even if I’m the only one doing so. So naturally I gravitate to people (or characters) who dress like that. Showgirls like Lola Falana and Josephine Baker inspire me too. Now what I do is take the inspirations and make a mood board. You might've seen my "The Vibe I Bring to the Function" post. That is one example. I've created many moldboards of the type of style I want to have. By taking those influences I notice the similarities between them then make a base line. Here's what I've noticed with mine:

Sequins and rhinestones

Feathers and fur

Leather/Vinyl

Figure hugging

Skin showing

Bodysuits

Turtlenecks

Fitted Blazers/Suits

Flared pants/Bell Bottoms

Matching skirt/pants and jacket sets

Animal Print

Bold Prints/Patterns

Cross body/Halter tops

Bold and bright colors

Then I take this andattribute it to what I know looks good on me. Like certain accessories. for example headbands and bamboo hoops (usually in gold). Speaking of you should also learn your colors. Coincidentally Jems colors are actually some of mine. Especially the color pink. But like I said above trial and error is how you soon figure out what works for you and what doesn't. I used to have a romper body suit once that was baggy with spaghetti straps. The pants were hemmed with elastic so it looked like sweatpants… That's when I realized that if I wanna wear a bodysuit it looks better if its form fitting and flared at the leg lol. Asking people what looks good on you helps a lot too. A lot of the stuff I figured out looks good on me is because I consulted some good friends. When it comes to my environment I'm in an astrology discord chat with some close friends and long story short I'm associated with peacocks so I consider that into my style as well. I'm also from the south so southern inspired outfits also intrigue me. I take this all and experiment with it. I currently have a bunch of animal prints in my close to a peacock corset to an orange velvet bellbottoms. This is only the beginning.

At the end of it all it comes down to experimenting, finding what looks good and realizing that what you gravitate towards. Learning to style yourself is as easy as looking up the basics on YouTube and building on from there. Your icons in fashion will help you get to the direction you want and one day you’ll see how much you’ve developed.

Also ALWAYS remember that you’re in charge here. You can change whenever and whatever you want. You don’t have to find your style and stick with it forever. Like I mentioned before Rihanna has been through multiple different fashion phases, we’re seeing the same with Doja cat as well. Your influences now can be completely different later. Whether it’s your environment or tastes that change. Whatever you find in life that influences you. So today I might be dressing like a 70's showgirl the next a man-eater vampire. Still me at the end of the day. And whoever your icons are, or whatever your inspired by at the end of it all should be reflection of how you want to express yourself.

✧─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Xoxo, Sydney Mykah -☆

#sydney mykah #fashion #fashion icon #fashion inspo #fashion inspiration #fashion blog #style #fashion style #blog #blog post #style blog post #rihanna #Bella hadid #sabrina carpenter #fran drescher #fran fine #the nanny #cher #jem and the holograms

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bahrtofane · 8 months ago

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bruised knuckles

Jude x gender neutral!reader

While it’s not that surprising that a last minute party invite leads to a fight, Jude carrying you out was a little bit of an overkill

Word count - 1.5K+

Watch it - physical fight, pretentious male character, bruised knuckles mentioned like once. i am so unserious for writing this yall

—————

“That doesn’t make any sense though. “ You scoff idly playing with the rings adorning your fingers. Most gifts from Jude.

Speaking of, He sits next to you on a sleek black couch. The both of you got dragged away to some party by his teammates on what could’ve been a lazy weekend at home. He got a call way too early than what was socially acceptable on a weekend, (it was 10 am), and was begged to come along. You were already getting up groaning at the whining coming from his phone. Blame it on being half asleep or unaware but you both mumbled a promise to be there and went back to bed.

So here you are at a party hosted by god knows who in a now packed hotel, god knows where.

You know Jude doesn't like going to these. He calls them a poor excuse to show off and boost egos. You agree, it's all a ruse to see who can drop the most on champagne or bring the model with the most followers home. All just to have pixelated pictures of yourself blasted on social media

You couldn’t even call it a party to be honest, there’s a crowd jumbling together in an attempt to dance and music blaring from somewhere. It's more of a bad linkedin meetup. Dim lighting flickering poorly and cups strewn carelessly on the floor. It’s lame and you can’t wait to leave. His teammates that dragged the two of you here have long since abandoned the two of you to do.., actually you have no idea what any of them are here for, nor do you care.

You just continue to sip on your water and try to keep yourself entertained. It's not going very well.

The guy you're in conversation with sits on an identical couch across from you rolls his eyes, “Of course you don’t understand. I don’t expect you to understand the complexity of such a topic. “

Judes been pretty silent this whole time, watching the exchange. He understands you prefer to handle things yourself and respects that fully. He won’t take that away just to tell someone off. Though the second you ask he doesn't have a problem getting in anyone's face.

Now his hand moves to your thigh gently squeezing it, a warning to keep things in check for the night. He knows that you can get into more trouble than you care for sometimes. Spurring into action faster than you can actually process what you're doing.

You dont want to give him anymore bad press but holy fuck is this guy youre talking to an ass hole. You don't even know how he spotted you in the almost pitch black room. He smiled and asked for a picture with the two of you, and had gotten agitated when you declined.

“At least give me conversation.” He pleaded.

And so here you are. You regretted the choice about 20 minutes ago.

Your eyes narrow as you clench your teeth. “Listen I don't care for pretty arguments on topics that are in my jurisdiction ”

The man, who’s name you long forgot, just shakes his head and takes a long drink from his red solo cup.

“I seriously doubt that. You dress like that and expect anyone to take you seriously like come on. “ He snickers.

Jude tenses next to you and you try your best to calm the both of you down. Jude isn't one to start fights per say but he's not 6’1 (give or take) for nothing. Reputation be damned.

You breathe deeply trying to resist the urge to beat his ass right then and there. The cheap laser lights only make your head hurt. Jude rubs circles on your thigh, you settle for a quick response instead.

“What I wear doesn’t mean shit. I look good. What the fuck you have going for you? “

“A diploma ?? I don’t think you have one of those do you.”

Your patience is wearing thin, knee bobbing up and down harshly as you try and focus your attention away from him.

Jude stands, gently nudging your shoulder. It's time to leave. And you agree. No worth entertaining this any longer.

Just as you stand, taking Judes outstretched arm with a smile, setting your cup down on the table. You get one last retort that truly sends you reeling.

“Oh yeah walk away,” he begins, using his cup to point at you both. When you dont reply he chooses to get up, following you around the table and back into the dance floor.

“Let the money maker drag you away,” He yells, grabbing into your arm and yanking it back it almost knocks you off your feet“ So worthless compared to him you don't-”

You don’t let the man finish, rushing from your seat to slam him onto the floor. His drink splashes on your chest as you meet the slippery brown hardwood with a loud thud. Your body jerks with heavy force, ears ringing, but you don’t let up. Trapping his legs under your weight, one arm forcing his hands down while the other lands blows into his face. A crowd has gathered, you know that much, the bass that’s been shaking the floor has stopped as people are clamoring around to get a better look.

That all fades in the next few moments, passing in a blur as the man under you tries desperately to get up with no avail. You're clawing at whatever you can reach, tufts of his hair in between your fists while he yells so harshly you think his voice is about to give out.

He manages to land a kick haphazardly to your lower stomach, which makes you groan just enough for your grip to loosen and for him to begin to slip away.

Just as you get a good grip on him again you're lifted on the ground watching him skimper away, heaving deep breaths as he grips a couch arm rest. You thrash trying to slip away from the arms but you're caught all too soon. You're yelling at the man, spitting venom. Though the exact words are less clear at this point.

When you walk out from the blaring lights, you have half the mind to realize you're in a familiar set of arms. Wrapped around to keep you steady, swinging you over their shoulders. Jude.

The adrenaline rushes through you, blurring the party and its noise out of focus. You do realize you're heading down stairs and outside, the cool night air like a hotel AC on summer vacation, a little bit of an overkill. But it does good to bring you back to reality.

“You're going to get quite the reputation if you keep this up. “ He sighs, amusement in his voice.

You have half the mind to respond with a slap to his back. “Yeah well next time bitches need to know not to try me. A reputation wouldn’t even be that bad for me. Might be bad for you“

He pats your back gently and continues down the curb, softly setting you down when you reach your car. You lean against the passenger door, wiping the sweat off your face and checking for any major damage across your body. There are none, just bruising on your knuckles. Dude couldn’t even get one proper hit in. The aftermath of your actions sets in and you groan, rubbing your temples.

Jude gives you a small smile, gently taking your hand in his. You look at him fondly, if it weren’t for him you really don’t know what you would do at this point.

“I'm sorry. This is going to be all over twitter in an hour fuck.” You apologize.

“He deserved it. Doesn't matter what they say they weren't there.”

You shake your head, “i need to do better, this is just gonna come back to you. I guarantee you everyone was recording.”

“They can think and do what they want.”

“Jude…”

“No more talk of that. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” taking your hands and giving then a once over.

“No baby. Im fine.”

“Thank god.”

“I'm really really sorry, love.” you mutter.

He fixes your outfit, gentle tucking and rearranging the fabric back into place. “I told you baby, it's really fine. He was disrespectful and passed the limit.”

“Do you think he'll press charges?”

“I'm not sure. But for now dont worry okay? I got you. He touches you first anyway”

“Okay,” you breath out.

“Eduardo’s getting your stuff, he’s gonna be here in a sec. “ He tells you softly.

You nod your head and lean onto his shoulder, “The carrying me out was a little bit of an overkill babe.” you play with the buttons on his shirt. Trying to find at least a little light in the situation.

He snorts, “if I didn’t you would’ve mauled the guy.”

You shrug in response. Maybe you should lay off parties for a while if they keep ending like this.

#jude x reader #jude x you #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham fanfic #jude x y/n #jude bellingham #bahr footy #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham fluff #WE BACK YALL

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galahadwilder · 1 month ago

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Ways of Grieving

Warning: Canon non-compliance, Major Character Death, Suicide.

When Nathalie finally passed, after years of battling the damage the Peacock had done to her body, Adrien felt nothing.

He hadn't cried when her hand, entwined with his, had lost all its strength, the muscles slack. Like a dead fish, he'd thought. Or Lila trying to show real human emotion.

When the light went out of her eyes, he'd felt nothing. She was there, and then she was not. The body was Nathalie, and now it was not. It was a body. A body that had once been there closest thing he'd had to a parent for seven years, and now it was just. Meat.

That's all his father had ever treated her as anyway. Now she matched.

What a horrible thing to think.

So why couldn't he stop thinking it?

The hospital had been cold when he walked in. It may have still been cold. He couldn't tell. He couldn't feel anything, except, maybe, guilt. Guilt that he couldn't offer any tears to the woman who'd raised him. Guilt that he had nothing for her in his chest except an empty, dead feeling.

Marinette, of course, was inconsolable. She'd been sure that the cure was in the Grimoire somewhere, but translating had been long and difficult work—it had been written over hundreds of years, with linguistic drift and different cyphers building up into a monstrous decoding project that she'd only gotten halfway through. She'd prioritized any page that seemed to reference the Peacock, or healing, or Miraculous damage, but she hadn't found an answer and she'd run out of time.

She sobbed into his chest, into his shoulder, and he thought of how odd it was that the girl he loved, who'd barely known Nathalie as anything other than an obstacle between herself and him and then as a weak and dying woman, would need to be comforted by him over the passing of someone she'd barely known, while he couldn't even bring himself to feel... much of anything. No relief that she was free of her suffering. No sense of loss. Perversely, he would have preferred joy to this... nothing.

He felt the way he did when Chloé used to kiss him, or when he'd modeled alongside Lila—like he wasn't properly in his body. Like all the chemicals and meat and physical reactions in his neurons, his muscles, his skin belonged to someone else, and he was just watching from next to himself. Watching a statue.

He went through the next two days the same. He didn't bother to shower, or to change his clothes, not even to go to bed. He barely ate, because he couldn't find it in himself to feel hungry. He didn't expect Nathalie around every corner, the way some people described—this was his apartment, not the mansion, and she'd never been here. She'd moved to the hospital full-time before he'd moved out. So there was no expectation of her arrival.

Marinette called him seven times and texted him thirty-six. He let the phone ring. Didn't read the texts. He was barely aware of time passing, of the days blending into nights and the nights blending into days. He slept when he slept. He awoke when he awoke. Things were what they were.

He wasn't sure how much sleep he'd had when the splitting sound of his phone in his ear had wrenched him out of dead and dreamless sleep. Blearily, he looked at caller ID, and realized it wasn't Marinette calling him. La Santé, the contact name said. His father's prison.

The public contact was apologetic, almost pleading for some kind of forgiveness. He couldn't understand why, until she explained the situation.

Gabriel had heard about Nathalie, she told him. The wardens found him the next morning hanging from the top bunk with his own bedsheets expertly tied around his broken neck.

She'd been so broken when she told him. There'd been a note, she said. He could come down to read it whenever he was ready.

Adrien thanked her with a hollow voice, let her know he wasn't sure when he'd be able to come by, and then hung up the phone.

Then, lying on his bed and staring up at the Marinette-pink ceiling, he felt something inside him shatter.

Pain lanced through his entire body, burning and tight and angry. He turned to the side, tucked his knees into his chest, and sobbed. Tears came to his eyes, slowly at first, then in a river that wouldn't stop. Snot flowed from his nose as freely as the saltwater from his eyes. He held himself together as best he could with his arms, his shivering form feeling like someone had scooped something out of him like an ice cream bucket. Like his ribs, his heart, had been careless torn from his chest and he'd been left open and raw and bleeding.

He couldn't stop crying. He couldn't stop the wave of despair that washed over him, the black tide drowning his thoughts and leaving him unable to breathe between sobs.

Why? Why could he cry for Gabriel, a man who had never loved him and who he'd given up on loving years ago, and not Nathalie? Not the woman who'd shown him care when he'd given up on expecting it? Why did fucking Gabriel get his tears? Bastard fuck of a father, the man who'd murdered him again and again and again, even after finding out it was his own son he was killing. The man who'd nearly ruined Marinette's life with his obsession and spite—left her still unable to enter a room without marking the exits and any objects she could use as Rube-Goldberg weapons. Left him with this deep and aching sense that he the most Adrien could do to be loved was die.

He hated him so much. Not just for what he'd stolen from Adrien, from Marinette, from Nathalie, but because he'd taken the grief that had belonged to her. The woman who'd been his stepmother in all but name, versus the man who'd only ever been his father in name. Why could he grieve the one but not the other?

It was good that he was dead. It was good that he was gone. So why did Adrien feel so empty over it?

He didn't tell Marinette about it. It consumed his waking days—how thinking about Nathalie emptied him out, while thinking about his father filled him with grief and rage. He begged off patrols, rejected her calls. He was a monster, for grieving wrong. For grieving a man who'd torn him apart. Literally, on some occasions.

Still, Marinette had his apartment key, and she couldn't be avoided forever.

He wasn't sure how many days had passed since Nathalie slipped away in his hand, how many days had passed since his fucking bastard of a father had shoved one last burden onto him and then escaped the consequences forever. Still, his stomach dropped when he heard Marinette's key turn in the front door.

"Kitty?" she called. "Are you okay?"

"Kid hasn't moved in a week," he heard Plagg say from the front hallway. "I'm not even sure he knows I'm talking. He won't respond to anything. He's not even eating."

"Where is he?" Marinette asked, her voice trembling.

"Bed."

The door to his bedroom creaked open. "Kitty?"

He didn't want to see her. He buried his head under the pillow and pretended she wasn't there.

She sat down on the side of his bed, the mattress deforming under her weight. "Adrien, please. I'm here." Her hand tried to press on his shoulder, to massage, and he twisted away from her touch.

"Adrien..." she murmured, her voice so soft and full of concern and he couldn't stand it, he couldn't fucking—he couldn't—

"I couldn't fucking cry for her," he snaps, still facing the wall away from her. "I felt—I felt—nothing. And then—and then—he—and I just..."

He turns over to look at her through blurry eyes. "Why does he get my tears when I can't—I can't—I can't feel anything for her?"

Marinette covers her mouth in shock. "Adrien?"

"When he died, I just... I broke, okay? I—everything hit me at once, and I couldn't stop crying and thinking about him, and Nathalie was just—she slipped out of the back of my mind, and I couldn't—I couldn't—" He was sobbing now, but nothing was coming out. He'd had so little to drink in the last... week? Plagg had said week.

Marinette took his hand, and he wanted to jerk away, but he forced himself still.

"Of course you did," she whispered. "Nathalie... the grief is too big for you to look at."

What?

"Adrien, you may think you're not grieving her at all, but I—I saw the way you broke in that hospital room. I—your model smile came back. The fake one. I haven't—I haven't seen that in years." Marinette brushes her hair away from her forehead with her free hand, eyes closed, lashes wet. "You stopped responding to people, you stopped—it was like you were there, but you were gone."

"And—and why am I crying for him?"

"Because—" Marinette seems unsure. "I don't know. Maybe because... you're grieving what could have been? You're grieving the man you wished he would be?"

Maybe. Maybe she had a point.

"Maybe because you're angry. Angry at him for taking the moment that should be about Nathalie and making it about himself. Angry that you'll never get him to understand how much he hurt you."

Adrien curled up further. She was right. She was always right. God, he wanted to dig up his father's grave and scream into the man's face.

"Adrien, I cried when I heard. And it wasn't for you."

His brain slammed to a halt. What? She'd—why had she...?

"That man made our lives a living hell for five years. And I'd built... so much of myself around opposing him, around being everything he wasn't, around hating him and fighting him, and suddenly he was just... gone?" She squeezed his hand. "You loved him. You hated him. You can still grieve people you hate. And hating him... doesn't mean you didn't still..." She sighed. "There's nothing wrong with still loving him. There's nothing wrong with grieving him."

"And crying...?"

"There's no wrong way to grieve," she said. "And it seems like it's... smaller. So take it one step at a time."

"Hm?" he said, confused.

"Grieve them in whatever order you need to," Marinette said, holding his hand to her chest. Right over her heart. "Let it happen how it happens. I'm right here."

The last piece of Adrien that was holding together snapped, and he crawled into her lap and finally let himself collapse.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #original content #adrienette #adrinette #my fic #gabriel agreste #nathalie sancoeur #gabriel agreste's a+ parenting #death #major character death #grief #suicide #depression

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venuscnjunctpluto · 2 years ago

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Astro pt 3.

Credit: @venuscnjunctpluto

(I’m on spring break and literally have 50 other things I should be doing but we’re back at it again folks😝)

Venus conjunct saturn women 🤝 men w mommy issues

The worst moon square moon beef I’ve seen is Taurus and Aquarius. Both won’t let it go like the Taurus moon thinks they’re making sense while the Aquarius moon wants to seem unbothered it’s a mess.

Taurus Venus people are so beautiful (ex: Victoria Monet, Ariana Grande, Leighton Meester, Cillian Murphy, Matthew Gray Gubler, plus my mom💕)

There are three types of Aquarius risings: one who walks around in pajamas and chokers, one who is legit a model, and the one who wears graphic t shirts and multiple finger rings)

Also I notice a lot of aqua rising women love dressing masculine (ex: Zendaya, Nicki Minaj, and Aaliyah) if you see a girl w her pants sagging with her hat turned backwards w every color of the rainbow on. just know she’s a aqua rising.

Sag Venus women are bisexual ex: Erica Mena, Nicki Minaj, and me lol

Most kpop stans have libra placements and this is coming from a libra moon

Underdeveloped Men w Fixed sign placements are such incel. Leo esp mars when their ego gets hurt they cannot take it. Aquarius thinks they’re too good and smart for women so they can’t understand why no one wants to be around them. Do I even need to explain Taurus and Scorpio?😭

Pieces Venuses are down bad ex: the men crave a manic pixie dream partner and when they can’t live up to the natives fantasy; they cheat. The women are usually loyal but they are blind asf and will neglect and abandon their relationships w others just for their partner who may or may not be trash. On a good note; they are very very very giving in relationships and so sweet but just because y’all can give doesn’t mean you have to constantly.

Brent faiyaz and Jungkook have Scorpio Mars😮‍💨 I don’t know what it is but I wanna date one so bad. What’s y’all experiences?

Certain signs and placements date people w similar charts. Like I notice Taurus suns usually date eachother bc who else is about to put up w them (just kidding…no I’m not🙂) also Scorpio placements (ex: future and Ciara, Megan fox and machine gun Kelly, Karruche and Chris brown…these are terrible examples😭)

As far as Venus conjunct ascendant synastry…I honestly only feel the tension when I’m the ascendant. Whenever my Venus conjuncts someone’s asc it doesn’t really move me like I don’t think they’re unattractive I just don’t really gaf. Their personalities are fun because my sag Venus and mars knows they can take a joke. I think Scorpio/8th house doesn’t really care too much about looks and appearances. In fact I notice Scorpio Venus men view the people they date as beneath them in some way and they do that to feel comfortable as if that person can’t get better and leave or cheat.

I always tell people I don’t have a type which I kinda don’t aesthetically but: Virgo rising, moon-Pluto or Scorpio moons, Virgo mars, Taurus suns w aqua moons, air venuses or mars, libra risings, Scorpio mars😚

Blueface and Chrisean have Venus square pluto synastry. When I say they are the most exaggerated example of this synastry it’s crazy. She clearly seems trauma bonded and believes she’s truly in love with this man (Venus). While he’s using her for money (pluto) and maintaining control over her at all times. That’s another thing w Venus Pluto synastry the venus person looks worse in the public eye because we’re always outwardly vulnerable (the good and bad) while Pluto doesn’t show just how insane they are overtly. But he’s the jealous one because peep how mad and aggressive he gets when she gets any sort of attention outside of him (ex: when Drake followed her and he twisted it to be related to him) Pluto really thinks they OWN the Venus person like that Brent lyric “they only wanna fuck with you cause they know I fuck with you” that’s their mentality. (They’re both physically abusive to eachother and need to breakup asap)

Also everyone talks about how much she’s changed for the worst since she got w him. Her missing tooth and getting multiple tattoos of that man. I’ve seen this guy w his Venus square his ex’s Pluto and he looked terrible while w her and when they broke up he got hisself together. My conjunction synastry took me from wearing bold colors to black for months😭

Sag placements esp Venus or mars men are bow legged asf

Lana Del Rey’s catalog is the epitome of 8th house stellium. Constant changes, a certain loneliness that doesn’t go away, learning and growing, but also never giving up hope.🦋

Cancer mars men and their pregnancy fetish…lil durk has like 5,000 kids and his ex India said that she wanted another baby because of how affectionate he was when she was pregnant.

A lot of football/soccer player have air mars. (Ex: mason mount, kylian mbappe, phil foden)

Women w sun-Neptune, Uranus, pluto may have terrible relationships w men bc of their relationship w their father

Aqua, sag, and cap placements are funny asf😭 I’m one of them and I don’t even try but people are always dying laughing around me

I’ve been in two “lust” triangles and both pairs had one Taurus placement friend and one Scorpio placement friend. The Taurus friend (literally both of them had birthday two days apart) liked me and had their Scorpio friend (one was a Scorpio Venus and the other was a Scorpio mars) spy on me or maybe they just offered😭 long story short the Scorpio friend ended up liking me in both situations I just✨felt✨ it. Taurus and Scorpio are both sneaky and possessive they have opposite energy and it’s very likely they could like the same people. It gets complicated because Scorpio is more likely to keep their crush a secret which can cause unintended overlap.

Capricorn mars: I don’t get mad like I rarely get upset😐

Us all hearing them yell behind closed doors and come out like nothing happened:

#astro notes #venus pluto #synastry #taurus venus #aquarius rising #astro observations

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sunshine-zenith · 1 year ago

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Actually yeah I’m jumping back on my bullshit and doing another ramble about small details in Nimona

Specifically the fact that, in the movie, little Ballister already has his eye scar

In the comic, he gets the scar at the same time he loses the arm, but how he loses it in the book and the movie are different — in the comic he’s basically hit by a tiny missile, so it makes sense he would take a lot more damage overall, while in the movie it’s lost in a sword chop, so unless Ambrosius’s impulsive “disarming” also involves additional face stabbing, it wouldn’t make sense in the movie canon for him to give Bal the face scar here. But Ballister bleeds a bit from the head after the Gloradome collapses, and while him walking away with just one face scar instead of several might seem like a stretch, they could’ve played it off. They already had to make a new character model for him with the prosthetic arm, they could’ve also added the face scar to the second model

Instead, they “backdated” the scar all the way to his childhood without giving a backstory for it, and it implies so much about how his life was before he joined the knights

This concept art by Crystal Kung sure doesn’t show a happy and well cared for kid. We know he was homeless/impoverished (the visible patches on clothes, the “street kid/charity case” comments, zero signs of parents when his “commoner” bloodline is emphasized). He could’ve gotten the scar running from someone in the streets, or by getting into a fight since he was a pretty impulsive/bold (see what I did there) kid — jumping a fence and interrupting a knight training session. I can’t help but wonder though…

It’s implied that he’s an orphan, given the fact that all of zero parents are brought up when discussing his “commoner blood,” but it’s never outright stated. ND Stevenson stated that in the comic Ballister’s father gave up custody of his son to pay off his debts, and while the knights are no longer exploited orphans/the Queen doesn’t seem like the type of person to ask for that kind of transaction, it does make me wonder what movie Ballister’s parents were like

Look at those blotches on his face. Sure, they might just be dirt, since it doesn’t look like they bothered to give this poor kid a bath before throwing a media circus in his honor, but compare them to how bruising shows up on his adult self’s face. And if they are bruises, it’s possible that a couple of them are from the whole Tackled By Like Three Fully Grown Adults In Armor thing, but If you look closely, it looks like he already has a blotch before he’s tackled

Granted, his body language doesn’t really change when he sees the knights coming towards him (no flinches or attempts to cover his head, and while he doesn’t move it doesn’t look like he’s freezing) so him being abused might be a stretch, But think about how he holds Ambrosius back from confronting Todd, how he just quietly accepts the verbal harassment and rough treatment. He doesn’t think confronting Todd is worth it — Todd’s bullying was clearly never shut down or addressed over the years, and it’s likely that any attempts at retaliation from Ambrosius or Ballister got them in trouble instead. Bal is just… used to it

Listen. This vulnerable kid was hurt physically by something before he joined the knights. Maybe he had abusive parents, maybe he had an abusive foster family, maybe he was attacked by someone who caught him trying to steal food or something to survive, maybe he was attacked just for being homeless, maybe this wasn’t his first tango with knights. We have no clue. But he got that scar at a very young age and he got it from somewhere

#child abuse cw #ballister boldheart #queen valerin #nimona #nimona movie #cy meta #long post #broke 100

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icybluepenguin · 10 months ago

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The Sweetest Screams

Summary: Astarion relives a night of torture under Cazador. You wake him up and help him feel better by telling him how you see all the parts of him. Inspired by his lines “I am more than what you made me” and “I feel safe with you. Seen.” This is kind of exploring how he got there.

Pairing: Astarion x gender neutral Tav/reader

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Dark, Whump, Torture, Graphic Description, Emotional Abuse, Physical Abuse, Cazador, Godey, breaking bones, cuts, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional Comfort, feeling seen & safe, Praise, Love, Astarion Has A Bad Time, I'm Sorry, but then he gets put back together again with lots of love and fluff

Note: Extra extra thanks to @brabblesblog and @leomonae for taking their time to beta & edit this. 💙 Go check out their work, they're amazing!

This link will take you past the torture, if you want to read the comfort/fluffy part: Skip hurt only comfort (goes to Ao3)

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“Astarion…”

The dark singsong voice in his head sent a shiver down his spine. It was cloyingly sweet and full of false enticement.

He balled up the shirt he'd been working on and hurried to hide it, together with his needle and thread. He didn't want his siblings to find them; he knew he wouldn't be able to come back for a while.

“Come to me, child.”

Astarion had no choice but to obey.

What had he done wrong? Has he not been the very model of obedience lately? Even his siblings had noticed, calling him the master's little lapdog. Had he not brought back a beautiful half-elf for his master?

He huffed at himself. As if it ever mattered what he had or had not done. There was only one thing that tone of voice meant.

Astarion knew where to find him. Even without the vague sense he always had of where his sire was, Astarion knew what to expect tonight.

The master was bored.

Astarion made his way down dark hallways, his feet moving on their own. He felt like he was floating. He passed no one on his way– was that his mistake tonight? He had come back too early, before the others, and so was the only target?

The stench of the kennels wafted over him as he opened the door. Decay, despair, rust. Fetid and heavy.

The master was there, as expected, sitting in an ornate chair that had been dragged in just for the occasion. A body slumped on a table next to him; still alive, but barely. The man Astarion had brought back not two hours ago, now with a huge, dripping gash on his neck. The scent of blood made Astarion feral, his hunger roaring through his dread.

It was going to be a long night.

“Is this how you greet your master, boy?”

The master dragged a finger through the oozing blood on the body, bringing it to his lips to lick it off. Astarion's mouth watered, his whole body aching for a taste of it.

Astarion knelt, back straight and head bowed. “Good evening, Master. H-how can I serve you?” He hated the tremble in his voice he could never get rid of. Hadn't he been tortured enough by now? Shouldn't it not bother him any longer? Why must he be so weak?

“Remove your clothes. We do not want them getting stained, do we? They are already pathetic.”

And whose fault is that, Astarion couldn't help but think, and then cowered into his own mind, stripping his shirt off faster, as if it would erase his blasphemous thought. He folded his clothes with trembling hands, quickly, terrified to be seen as anything but obedient.

“We will make lovely music for the master, won't we, little one?” Godey chattered as Astarion placed his folded bundle somewhere the spray of blood wouldn't reach it. “We are so lucky he is joining us tonight. We will put on a good show for him.”

The skeleton’s genial, eager voice washed over Astarion as he planted his feet, shivering uncontrollably, his eyes unfocused and pointed at the wall. There was nothing to do now but endure. He couldn't stop this.

“Start with his face, Godey. I want to see his lovely features covered in bruises.” The master took another drink from the body, blood coating his lips. “And you, Astarion. Stand still and scream prettily for me.”

Godey's bare finger bones creaked as they folded into a fist. Astarion closed his eyes, knowing that bracing for the blow was useless, but the instinct hadn't died yet. Pain bloomed across his cheek; he barely had time to gasp before the other side was punched - harder. It split his lip, his own blood bright on his tongue.

He swayed on his feet, dizzy and starving. When was the last time he ate? The scent of rich, fresh blood filled the air, the master playing with his meal as he watched. Astarion, so, so desperately hungry, almost bared his fangs for a taste. He could never touch that blood, even if he were not too weak to take it. But he wanted it so badly even the cracking of his cheekbone from the rain of blows didn't ache as much as the hunger did.

Astarion knew what the master wanted. A tiny, contrary part of him– a part he had tried hard to crush– demanded he make the master earn his screams. He could indulge in this small withholding, this smallest sip of power, couldn't he?

It wouldn't matter either way. They would destroy him, it was inevitable as the sunrise.

He could barely see now, his eyes swelling nearly shut. His head was spinning. He staggered down to his knees, hands splayed in front of him to keep him from falling on his ruined face. He thought there were tears, but he couldn't feel them.

“Do not slouch, boy.”

Astarion tried to stand, but his brain seemed to slosh in his head and he collapsed back down. The earliest wounds were already starting to heal. But it was slow- it had been so long since he'd fed.

“Weak,” the master sneered, the word full of disappointment and disgust. “I told you to stand still. Such a simple command and yet you cannot follow it.”

Godey’s hand grabbed his hair, the bones scraping on his scalp, pulling back to bend his neck at a cruel angle. There was something in its other hand, something red with dried blood.

When the blade touched his skin, he begged. It was what they wanted. In a slurred, breathy voice, he begged for mercy, for forgiveness, for the knife to stop slicing his skin into hideous art.

He begged for death.

It did not matter. There was no rhyme or reason to this.

His pleas were worthless. He was worthless. Nothing he did changed anything, now or ever. He was nothing. Weak.

“Please, I'm sorry… Just kill me, please, let me die…”

The master sighed with frustration. “Always such yapping from you. Are you never out of words?”

His only purpose was to be entertainment. For his master, for his victims. He only existed to be pleasing, and his pain was pleasing to them.

He couldn't even do that right.

The master stood. Astarion rocked back and forth, whimpering, trying to pay attention to the master's movements, to anticipate what the master would want from him, but the burning, stinging, overwhelming pain consumed him.

An elegant hand held something wriggling and squeaking to Astarion's face.

Fresh.

Alive.

It's a trick.

His body acted before he could think. He snatched the treat with greedy hands and sank his fangs into its twisting body before it could be taken from him. He drained it in huge gulps, finishing far too soon, sucking on its empty body long after it had ceased to give him blood.

“Disgusting. Have you no manners, boy?”

The master's eyes glowed a brighter red and magic seized him, yanking him to his feet.

The rat dropped from his mouth and he whined, still starving. His wounds were healing faster, burning through what little nourishment he'd gotten. He knew it was a trick, food was always a trick. It didn't matter. He wanted more.

His body was contorted, forcing him back to his knees, arms extended in front of him.

The master grabbed his chin, examining the closing cuts on his face and the rat blood that had dripped down his neck. “Not even a ‘thank you’ for your dinner? What an unruly child. After all I have done for you– such wasted effort.” His palm cracked across Astarion's face, making his head snap to the side, making his broken cheekbone shriek with renewed vigor. “At least we have stopped your yapping, for once.”

Haven't I been obedient, didn't I bring you a beautiful meal? he wanted to wail. What more can I do?

The master wiped his hand clean of blood on Astarion's hair and returned to his chair. “I have not heard him scream yet. Break his hands. That is always a delightful sound.”

“Oh yes, we haven't done this in a long time. Last time, you sounded so pretty, little one,” Godey hummed as it rummaged for something out of Astarion’s sight.

Astarion's stomach dropped like a stone, his muscles yanking helplessly against the magic. Beat him, flay him, drain him, but–

He sobbed, “Please, I've been good, please, I'll be so good,” knowing that mercy did not exist in this room. They would cut him and break him until they tired of it, dragging his pulverized body to one of the blood-stained palettes until he healed enough to do it all again.

And again.

“Stop making such a fuss, little one. Godey will take good care of you, just like always.” The skeleton raised a pair of large pliers into Astarion's view.

The metal jaws were intensely cold on his finger. No, no no-

He screamed for them. He screamed until his throat was raw, until his voice was gone, and still he screamed. The master's pleased laughter cut through his own noises to ring in his ears. The master's delight wouldn't save him. Nothing would save him from the crushing, crunching, ripping–

“Astarion. Astarion!”

He jerked.

There was no pain.

The air smelled clean and… sweet.

He stared blankly up at a face that had skin and softness, not naked bone.

You. You were there. He was in your tent in… Rivington. Yes, that's where he was. Not the kennels.

“You were screaming.”

He swallowed, noticing the soreness in his throat.

“They're getting worse, the closer we get to Baldur's Gate, aren't they?”

“Well, it's not as if I have any happy memories to meditate with,” he said, trying to wave it away even though his voice was hoarse. It was getting worse, the closer he got to home. Instead of memories that he could replay as an observer, detached, he felt swallowed by them. Forced to relive every torturous detail. He held his hands in front of his face to be sure they weren't crushed to a pulp. He could almost still feel it.

He was desperate to kill Cazador. Every second of delay was interminable. He wanted to be truly free of the man, to see his corpse at his feet and know that Cazador would never touch him again. And if he could take all of his potential power for himself? Even better.

But he was also terrified to his very core to see his old master again. What if he couldn't do it? He was stronger now, but he still felt too weak for this. And what if something happened to you? He would never forgive himself.

“I’m sorry that I woke you,” he said. “Go back to sleep, darling. I'm fine.” Guilt made his stomach twist. You got precious little sleep as it was, and he was making it worse. After all you had done for him. Ungrateful. Unruly.

“Yeah, that's not happening. You were screaming. I'm not going back to sleep and leaving you alone.” You cupped his face in your hands, rubbing his temples with your thumbs. “Tell me about it.”

He didn't want to; wanted to shove it down and pretend it had never happened, like every other time. He hated to burden you, to make you listen to him yapping. You deserved better.

“Astarion,” you said gently. “I know that look. Try me. Please.”

He felt so brittle under your touch. Ready to shatter into a thousand pieces if he wasn't careful. Gods, he wanted to tell you everything as much as he didn't want to tell you a single thing.

“It was just…” He struggled for a quip, but nothing came. “It was a memory of Cazador's torments. Nothing special.”

“Come on.” You stood, grabbing his hand to urge him up. “We're going outside.”

“Outside?” He was completely baffled.

“Yes.” You pulled the blanket off the bedroll and led him out, the both of you barefoot and in your nightclothes.

The moon was bright and low on the horizon, its silver light shining on you as you picked your way across camp, still holding his hand. Astarion inhaled deeply, the cool air filling his lungs. He hadn't even realized he had felt trapped in the small space of the tent but now, as a breeze tickled his hair, he couldn't imagine going back inside.

He couldn't stand to keep the words trapped inside either. They came haltingly at first, half-mumbled as if he hoped you wouldn't hear. But by the time you were spreading out the blanket on a patch of soft grass, the memory was pouring out. It was easier out here in the open with you not staring at him, while he choked back emotion, trying and failing to stay aloof and sarcastic about it all.

You sat next to him, fingers laced through his in silent comfort.

When he was done, he waited for the pity, for you to see him as a broken, pathetic thing. He knew you couldn't make these memories go away, could never remove the pain of them. You couldn't make it so he hadn’t lived them.

But you surprised him again.

You squeezed his hand just a little too hard. “We are going to destroy that rat-bastard. There won't be enough pieces of him left to fill a chalice when we're done with him.”

He coughed, a laugh stuck in his throat from the uncharacteristic venom in your voice. “Well, I do appreciate that, darling. It wasn't even the worst night,” he shrugged. “Or maybe it was one of many similar worst nights. Hard to pick, really.” He sighed. “It was usually one or the other of them. But nights when Cazador was bored… When he wanted to be… entertained, those held an extra layer of humiliation.”

He pulled his hand from you, wrapping his arms around his knees, curling his body around the sudden crushing pressure in his chest. Weak. Pathetic. Disgusting. Never obedient enough. Never good enough.

He strangled back the tears that threatened to fall. “I was nothing to them. Less than a dog. Just… an object to be broken at their whims.”

Astarion put his head on his knees, huddled as tightly as he could get, but the shame and despair and fear wouldn't stop growing. Weak.

“And this wretched contract. All the shit Cazador put me through, the centuries of torment… just to be consumed so that he can attain greater power?” Why, why did that hurt? He hated Cazador to the very depths of his soul. Being discarded, though, even by him, being so worthless that only his death mattered at all crushed his heart.

Bitterness twisted his lips and he huffed. “Being consumed. That's what I was made for.”

“Astarion-”

“I'm only good for entertainment. I'm a toy. Sex or torture, it doesn't matter.” I don't matter.

“That's not true at all.”

“Oh, isn't it?” he snapped, head jerking up to glare at you. “How did this start then?” He gestured between you. “You just had to sleep with the sexy vampire, didn't you.”

He bit his lip hard. Lashing out was easier than being honest, pushing the hurt onto someone else, being the one to wield the knife for once. He cowered deeper into his knees. And after he had woken you and you were staying awake with him. Ungrateful. Unruly. Weak. Pathetic.

But you didn't rise to the bait.

“Why are you even with me?” he asked in a quiet, broken voice - the question that had been lurking in the back of his mind since you'd chosen him, the question that begged to be answered whenever he looked at you but that he could never utter, terrified of what you would say. “I’m too much wasted effort. I can't give you anything. Not sex, not safety…”

“What in our time together gives you the impression that I am someone concerned with safety?” There was a bit of laughter in your words, incredulous but gentle. “I was never with you for the sex. It was nice-”

Even drowning as he was, Astarion couldn't keep from retorting, “It was more than just ‘nice.’”

Your slightly exasperated smile warmed his hurting heart.

“Fine, it was mind-blowing in every way. But that was not and is not and never will be why I love you.”

You had never said it before. Love. But you said it so clearly, so naturally, as if there was no question at all, that Astarion's eyes welled with tears. He blinked them back.

You touched him carefully, drawing his head up to look at you but giving him the chance to pull away. “I love you, Astarion. All the broken pieces, all the rough edges, all the contradictory mishmash. I love the gleeful little noise you make when we find some good treasure. And the pride on your face after you open a particularly hard lock. I love watching you read, I love watching you embroider, I love watching you try to learn necromancy. Mm, if I were worried about safety, I probably shouldn't let you do that.”

Something started to uncurl from the tight, painful ball in his chest as Astarion watched you talk about him with bright enthusiasm. He hadn't realized how much attention you'd paid to the small details of him.

“I love listening to you. I love seeing you smile. Gods above, I love seeing you smile.” You smiled to yourself at the memory of it. “I've watched you grow from being so afraid– understandably– to trusting us. Trusting me enough to let me know you. And I am so glad you did. I'm so glad you're here.”

“And I'm beautiful, don't forget that,” he said with forced airiness to deflect, adoring the praises and uncomfortable with being so seen at the same time.

“You are unfairly beautiful. But that's not what this is about. You are brave, Astarion. You've thrown yourself into battles with goblins and cultists and a hag, fights that would have given trained soldiers a fright. You don't take shit from anyone. Not even explosive wizards or transdimensional warriors or whatever the hells Withers is.”

Your voice lowered and you touched your forehead to his. “I love you. All of you.”

Three little words… everyone's favorite. He had used them to con hundreds of people. Hundreds had said it to him in a lust-driven haze. This was something so vastly different.

He could feel it. It wasn't just three little words. It settled in his ribs, sweet and precious and sincere.

“May I kiss you?”

The question surprised him. But now that you had asked, he wanted it badly. To feel connected to you, to this new life, to feel like he was wanted.

“Please,” he said.

But you didn't lean in as he expected.

You picked up his hand, laying a soft kiss on each joint. You kissed his palm, turning it over to kiss the other side. You laid another on his wrist and then did the same with the other hand, slow and methodical. These weren't teasing or erotic. It was, he realized, as if he were a small child. You cupped his face and pressed your warm lips to his cheek, to the bridge of his nose, to his brow.

Everywhere that he had said he'd been hurt.

He couldn't hold back the tears any longer. They surged up in a tidal wave, the simple kindness of your kisses flooding him, and he buried his head in your neck with a whimper.

“Shh, I've got you,” you whispered, stroking his hair. “It's okay.”

He wrapped his arms around you, clinging like he'd be lost without you grounding him. His hands clawed into your nightshirt; all the longing and doubt and fear and rage that he'd been shoving away crashed over him, impossible to ignore, impossible to hold. It poured out of him in gasping, ugly sobs.

You just held him, rubbing his back, occasionally murmuring something comforting or encouraging.

He cried until he was empty, until the raging storm had passed and all he felt was exhausted and drained. His grip on you loosened, but he didn't let go. He listened to your breathing, consciously pulling air in and out of his lungs to match. It was soothing.

He was a mess and so was your shirt. He felt shaky and vulnerable, tender like a new wound.

But he didn't feel weak.

“Here, my love,” you said, holding your wrist up. “Eat. You'll feel better.”

He almost dissolved into tears again. There was no trick, no hidden motive, just food because he needed it.

Taking your arm, he did his best to bite gently. It was the least he could do. You hissed and tensed but wouldn't let him pull away.

“Just stings a little more than I expected. I'm fine. Eat, please.”

It was exceedingly peaceful, watching the sky slowly lighten and the stars fade, slumped against your shoulder with the rich taste of your blood in his mouth. You stroked his back with your free hand, and he thought, maybe this was what home was supposed to feel like.

Loved. Wanted. Seen.

Master Post

#my writing #This is the doc that gave me such anxiety editing #Not even because of the content #I asked for help and these lovely people gave it #And my brain went absolutely haywire with guilt lol #but it's done now my brain can calm down right #right???#brain: outlook hazy try again later #hurt/comfort #dark fic #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic

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justslowdown · 1 year ago

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It's freaky and fascinating how linked chronic illness can be to mental health

More and more science is showing that mental and social pain are going through the same parts of our brain as physical... the model of pain as bio-psycho-social makes a lot more sense to me than "your genetics have something weird wrong that we just need to get to the bottom of" WHICH sometimes IS a big piece of the puzzle! But isn't the only one.

The way we've been conditioned and currently conceptualize framworks to interpret and respond to pain and discomfort is a real factor. The brain is incredibly plastic/malleable and things we take for granted were often built up over time. And: the mental anguish we may be in is a massive, massive factor! And in my experience affects far more than pain--

That was there too for me--the very real, physical pain from my scoliosis and lax joints hurt in a way that I was constantly aware of, rather than being able to tune it out. Some days, I'd feel every joint in my hands buzzing with pain. NSAIDs barely helped then, even dangerous amounts

Within a few months on the (also sometimes painful: physically, socially, and mentally!) journey towards mental wellbeing... I didn't need painkillers to get through a day.

Normally, I don't have allergic reactions to anything. At the worst mental health point in my life, I was allergic to my own sweat, but also to most antiperspirant. I had a painful rash around my nose and mouth that popped up whenever I was extra stressed. Some foods didn't digest right. Meals felt like they sat in my stomach like lead and I felt nauseously full on 1/2 the calories I needed a day.

It's been a year since I've felt like that and a lot of the journey has been the hardest things I've pushed myself through.

Counterintuitively, becoming embodied in and moving through my suffering was a very important part of it. I believe trauma does live in how we hold ourselves. Both our minds/hearts/souls in tenderness or judgment, but also our physical bodies--the tension and fight or flight nervous system activation. Autoimmune is something I haven't seen much info on regarding this link, but I am curious, after my experience

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starlightandfairies · 2 years ago

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Leg injury -Austin Butler~

Description: Reader injures leg filming a scene and Austin takes care of you.

Warnings: Broken leg, fluff, implied female

Key: POV = Point of view, Y/N = your name

Word Count: 989

*Please send through requests!*

2nd Person's POV

Austin had met you at a photo shoot, you weren't originally meant to be the model standing in with Austin but the other model had dropped out and chose that she didn't want to do the photoshoot. So going through the books, looking for anyone that they thought could be a good match against Austin, they found your headshot. At the time you were an actress trying to get any sense of work. So, you ended up doing the shoot with Austin, the two of you finding an interest in each other and that created the pathway for your relationship.

Across the next three years later your friendship turned into a romance, and you started to gain more roles as a guest in tv shows, having a couple of episodes before being written off as there was no longer any use for your character and had also been placed in movies for ten minutes before your character was either or you were playing the younger version of the main character so once you had filmed your scenes you were sent off.

So, over the last two months, you auditioned for a movie, got the lead role and began filming with the others that had also been cast in the movie. You didn't do some of your own stunts, some of which made you uncomfortable. This current stunt was not meant to be a difficult one, you had been strapped into a harness, a suspension-like bungee wire hooked onto the back. All you had to do was stand on the edge of a tall platform, jump to a lower one and then switch with the stunt double who would be thrown off and onto a crashmat.

Normally, Austin would be there, watching you perform your scenes, however, he had to do some interviews that he had been requested to attend. After the whole process of being hooked up to the wire, getting into position and making sure everyone else was ready. Getting into character, you ran and jumped where the marking previously was. You had no clue how it happened or what happened to begin with.

The wire snapped before you could reach the other platform, you fell and just missed the crash mat, a scream escaped your lips as pain raced up your left leg.

You had been raced to the hospital, an obnoxious plaster cast placed on your leg, resting in bed while you waited for Austin to come home. Austin raced into the hospital room, looking panicked and worried.

"Sweetheart, how are you doing?" He whispered, sitting at your side as he placed a hand on your face and rested a couple of kisses across your face.

"I can't feel the pain, I'm on a lot of painkillers." You explained, smiling at him and holding his hand, Austin was glad to know that besides the broken leg, you were otherwise okay. Austin rested a kiss on your lips, holding your hand and looking over your form.

"They won't be mad at me?" You asked, Austin shot you a look and brought your hand to his lips and rested a gentle kiss on the back of your hand.

"No, sweetheart, they won't be mad, if they are I'll yell at them. Y/n you're the one that should be mad at them for not checking that wire." You nodded at his words, taking a breath and smiling as he handed you some water.

"Thank you." He nodded and grabbed a marker out of his pocket.

"Can I draw on it?" You nodded happily at his words, Austin chuckling as he moved the chair he had been sitting on closer to your leg and lightly began drawing over the plaster. You watched some sitcoms on the tv, ate the food that was brought in for you and talked with Austin as he drew cute little pictures on his new canvas. Austin placed the marker down, moved back to you and rested another kiss on your forehead.

"The doctors were saying that I would need to be in a wheelchair for a while, then be placed on crutches and then I'd also need physical therapy in the end." You explained sighing at how drastic it all sounded. Austin caressed your cheek, resting loving kisses on your forehead and gave you a caring smile.

"I'll be there with you, all the way. I promise." He reassured, grabbing something from his bag and smiling at you before showing you a teddy bear.

"You brought me Cookie!" Your teddy bear from your childhood was named Cookie, it normally sat on your bedside table and Austin didn't call you childish for keeping the childhood comfort. You cuddled the sentimental item close to your chest, smiling happily at the boy and rested a kiss on his lips.

"I love you."

"I love you too." He whispered, sitting back in the chair and watching as you fiddled with the ears of the loved but well-maintained toy.

"They're talking about returning to filming two weeks after I'm out of here, they just film me from the waist down or do scenes where my leg isn't showing. They don't want to use CGI unless they have to."

"We'll see how that goes. We don't want you pushing it too much." He stated lightly, standing up and closing the blinds as the sun was pouring in violently. He switched the lights on, smiling as you looked more relaxed from being able to see properly.

"Thanks for taking care of me."

"Always. I'll look after you. You're my girlfriend and I'd be a pretty shit boyfriend if I didn't." Austin reassured, resting a kiss on your lips and tracing patterns on your arm. Austin discovered it to be a way to soothe or calm you whenever you needed it.

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foster-the-world · 13 days ago

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Just learned

Just learned about the Harry Potter bakeoff show. What lovely news. The Weasley twins have turned out quite attractive. My daughters are going to love this news. Bee was obsessed with baking shows and Harry Potter for a long while there.

Now to find time to watch it. My SIL and her family are coming in Sunday. So we are all booked up for the next ten days. We are surprising the girls with a day off school to do tourist things with their cousins. We will tell them after baby boy heads out on the bus. They are going to be so excited. They are going to see Elf. So thankful for a really great SIL. She's very easy to get along with. Her kids are wonderful. All around lucky.

Book club meeting at a delicious/low key Indian restaurant tonight. We had moved to online during Covid and never went back. I much prefer the chance to get out of the house. Sending the husband to PTA meeting tmrw night. I was on the Exec board the last two years. Which meant he had the harder job of bed time alone for all three kids. I felt bad going to the meeting tmrw night since he'll be on his own tonight. Then I remembered he can go instead of me since I'm no longer on the Board. I've been slacking at doing school stuff. Def deserve a break after two years but plan to get back to after we get baby boy's school figured out.

We have a tour tmrw for an inclusion school model. 30-40% of the students are black. Every other special ed school has had maybe 2 other black students in the entire school :( This is NYC, filled with tons of diversity, having only two black kids in a school is ass backwards. Lots of different kinds of needs with gen ed kids also included. Down syndrome, physical disabilities, etc, etc. They just provide a lot of individual support for kids with extra needs. Fingers crossed the tour goes well. Its downtown- pretty far from our house. Which I hate. They will bus him but I don't like him being far away. I love that I can walk to his sisters school from work. I feel a little better that my husband works downtown so he'd be nearby if an emergency comes up.

That's the last school we plan to tour. We have a meeting with a lawyer in Mid-December to figure out how strong our case is. Fingers crossed it goes our way. Its the #1 lawyer everyone always recommends. She's known for only taking cases she can win. If she says no we have to figure out if we want to go with someone else who may be more willing to risk losing.

Right now I think we will only apply to the one 2e school with a Kindergarten and the inclusion school (assuming the tour goes well). There are other options if he does not get into one of those. They are more restrictive then I think he needs at this point.

I am also going to verify the DOE will not let him go into the Nest - Autism class (4 ASD kids 8 gen ed kids). His Neuro said it would be great for him but I'm 99% sure they won't let him without a ASD diagnosis. Why can't the DOE create the same program for ADHD kids??? I'd 10000xxxx prefer to put him in a DOE program. I do not want to go through this entire private school suing process. This is terrible. I hate every second of it. I hate the idea that some kids get fancy schools (paid for by the govt!! attended by rich kids whose parents can afford to sue) and some kids do not. It makes no sense. Its not fair. I'd take any other route available to us. I just don't see one.

At bedtime I always tell baby boy I love you so much. He's started asking "Mom, do you love me soooo much?" It melts my whole heart. I'm ready to be over the little kid/need to watch you every second stage of parenting (which is much longer for him then other kids) but I'm going to miss the cuddly baby stage so much. I'm convinced no one will every love me as much again. There's is something so complete and absolute about a mama's boy's love.

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martianbugsbunny · 10 months ago

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In all the videos I've watched about the modern character structure of Disney princesses, I've seen people say that Rapunzel, Anna, Moana, Asha, Raya, Sisu, and Mirabel are generally very samey characters in terms of personality traits and movement styles. But I have yet to see someone say that in Frozen 2, Elsa took on some of those traits, and my horribly capped evidence is under the cut.

Alright, to start with, let me explain a little bit more. Elsa in her debut movie is very restricted and repressed, that's true, but she's also by nature elegant and graceful. Once she figures herself out a little bit more, and she's comfortable in her skin, these aspects of her don't go away, in fact I think they're enhanced by her new confidence and self-assurance. Anna, by contrast, is clumsy and a little awkward, and that's not all down to her upbringing, either. It's who she is, and the contrast between them makes both of their personalities pop. It also makes them realistic, because in human beings and in sisters, you will not have two people who are identical in nature.

However, in the second Frozen movie, Elsa moves and gestures more like Anna. More like the new cookie cutter of the awkward (I hesitate to say "adorkable" because I'm utterly sick of the word at this point, but it's kind of apt) Disney girl.

This is the worst cap I have but watch this little scene where Elsa is startled and her powers activate is one of thee most egregious examples. The entire sequence of movements she has here feels completely detached from her; it's more like the way Anna would move than the way Elsa would move.

This. this is from the scene where she tells Anna she woke the spirits and decides to go to the forest. There is no universe in which the woman from the first Frozen movie would make these faces.

These are from the scene in Ahtohallan where she's watching her past. The cringe, once again, in the way it's animated, feels incredibly alien to her character. The little dance and the facial expressions when she comes across ice!Weaselton are incredibly Rapunzel, I think, but not very Elsa.

This one is the least offender in the bunch. But I still think in this particular scene, where she's doing the typical-of-modern-Disney thing where she's talking to the cute animal friend made to sell plushies, she doesn't feel quite right. The whole "they're all staring at us, aren't they" bit of dialogue contributes to the off-ness of the scene.

Now, allow me to present exhibit B: some of the expressions that I'm comparing her to.

You can see how similar they are, right? All of these to each other but also to the caps of Elsa? It's become the new style to just have all the characters making these faces. It's weird to see it all on them (particularly when it makes no sense for Raya, Asha, and Moana, but that's besides the point) and it's even weirder to see it on Elsa, a character who did not originate with this trait.

Here are a couple of caps of Elsa from Frozen. Her facial expressions are distinct from Anna's, because they have different personalities and would express their emotions physically in different ways. Elsa has a reserved grace and a boundless joy by the end of the movie and it shows through in the way she smiles, the way she frowns, the way she moves. Who she is, is indicated by her movements, which is an individual being and not a standard model.

Now, I'm not dunking on any of the other princesses listed here. I love most of them. I'm emotionally invested in their stories and I cry during their songs and I spend hours sketching them. But do I think I could love them just a little more if they each moved a little differently and their cores were expressed in their physicalities? Yes, I do. I also think it might force Disney to develop their individual personalities better if they weren't just falling back on standardized traits, because more specifics in one department might lead to more in others.

Anyway, that was my little thesis....kay bye.

#disney #disney princesses #elsa #anna #rapunzel #mirabel #moana #raya #asha #sisu #frozen #frozen 1 #frozen 2 #animation #disney animation #martianbugsbunny opines

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rpedia · 9 months ago

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[Ask RPedia] Writing Panic Attacks?

@twodemigodtraveleroflorien asked: Any advice on how to RP a character having a panic attack

Sure! As usual, ‘show don’t tell’ is gonna be big here. By that, I mean describe what is going on through connected ideas, not straightforward ones. When someone is in love they smile, and gaze, and touch. When someone is angry they sneer. When someone is scared they sweat, and triple check nothing is behind them. Don’t ever just say ‘Mary was scared’ unless it’s a stylistic choice to give a certain feel to your writing. Pick it consciously as what your story needs, or not at all.

Beyond that, panic attacks can hit in a ton of different ways. We’ll get into this below, and describe not only panic attacks, but some methods on how to help them. If you’re sensitive to this material, please don’t walk in knowingly, fuck yourself up, and have a bad day. I love you kids too much for that. Also remember this is for roleplay, I will be discussing the awkward as fuck things, like “picking which symptoms match your character” and “using panic attacks in plot.”

Writers, amirite? (Please only continue if you’re in the mental space for it! It can get graphic and triggering. Take breaks as needed.)

To reassure my readers, yes, I have had panic attacks an awful lot. So I can actually speak from experience for once. But only my experience, so give me some slack if yours hits you differently, or if I don’t nail it. Give other writers that slack too, and don’t think one size fits all will ever work here. Give them the benefit of the doubt, so long as they make a decent effort. No one needs their panic attacks nitpicked, it’s either from personal experience or to further the plot. Do either of those things really need someone telling them right at that moment they’re not doing it right? If they’re just making a mockery of it OOCly, go ahead and rip ‘em with facts. ICly, well, Jan. It’s supposed to be problematic, that’s a plot hook for character growth. If it bugs you, communicate that OOCly you’d like to move on.

So anyways, let’s just waltz right into the thick of it. According to the diagnostic criteria listed in the DSM-5, panic attacks are experienced as a sudden sense of fear and dread plus four or more of the following mental, emotional, and physical symptoms:

Heart palpitations or accelerated heart rate

Feelings of numbness or tingling sensations

Excessive sweating

Trembling or shaking

Shortness of breath or smothering sensations

Feeling of choking

Chest pain or discomfort

Nausea or abdominal pain

Feeling dizzy, unsteady, lightheaded, or faint

Chills or hot flashes

Derealization and/or depersonalization

Fear of losing control or going crazy

Fear of dying

So immediately we realize, not everyone’s panic attacks are going to be the same thing. Some people get their heart beating a mile a minute, and feel like they’re miles away, are scared they’ll die, and be afraid they’ll lose control. Some people will have aggressive chest pains, start sweating and shaking, then feel like they’re going to pass out, choke, and vomit at the same time. Can you see why those would present differently in a roleplay, or how they’d fit different character models better, or even the outcomes of these on different personalities? That’s important to the writer right there. You have to understand your character and how they would experience fear, and sensations that are unpleasant, and which ones they’re feeling.

The only thing that is solidly in every panic attack is that sudden feeling of dread or fear. People who have not had one can relate to it, honestly. Have you ever turned off the lights in your bathroom or some dark spooky hallway and suddenly felt like something was in there? Then you have to fucking run before the thing gets you, or turn on a light to check, and the hairs rise on your neck and your eyes open up wide enough to suck in every photon of light for miles because suddenly your brain wants the power to see in the dark? Yeah. That creeping feeling of being prey is the dread and fear. Yes, people may feel these differently. Fear is not exactly one size fits all. But this is a pretty good start to understanding the drop of an ‘oh fuck’ barreling down on you from behind.

Myths abound on panic attack causes, but the truth is simple. Sometimes, they happen because something triggered it, but a lot of the time there is no trigger. Your body just decides to fuck you over because that seems like a great idea right now. You can’t even really avoid them by sleeping. That’s right, you can get panic attacks while dead asleep. That’s so thoughtful of them, they don’t want you miss out, I say in the most sarcastic voice ever.

The good thing is, no, you can’t die from a panic attack or be ‘driven insane’,and no they aren’t just you overreacting to fear or pain. They aren’t even always part of a panic disorder (other disorders bring them to the party too). The good news is, although they suck rancid eggs, they can be managed. If you treat some of the underlying causes, you can help lessen them over time.

What disorders are linked? Oh boy, that’s a hell of a list. Anxiety disorders are a big one, agoraphobia, OCD, depression, Bipolar disorder. They all like to invite panic attacks with them. Other fun party guests are eating disorders, personality disorders, and substance-related conditions. Heck, GERD, IBS, and sleeping disorders are also friends with panic attacks. So while writing your character, look at what might be the underlying cause of it. Whatever building blocks you pick end up visible in not only panic attacks you decided to throw in to make the scene worse, but a constant background noise to their lives.

That’s one of the important things you need to remember. If you choose to give your character a condition like the above, there’s a couple rules that make this go over a lot better with the community. Let’s look at them.

Do not only use it to get attention. It may be plot relevant, but if it comes up every single time the spotlight is off you, it gets old quick. This is a shitty medical thing, not your golden ticket to being fussed over.

Do not use the disorder as their only personality. You have a character who happens to have and live with the disorder, not a walking form of the disorder who happens to have some character stuck in there.

Do not use it to only have good things happen. Realistically, you may get a panic attack at the worst time ever and fuck everything up. Don’t make it a ‘get out of jail free’ card, balance it with bad timing and bad outcomes.

Do not play Sympathy Sue with it. We don’t want to have to coax, dote, and protect your character every step of the way in a story without them ever showing signs of doing anything but keeping the attention on them and their issues. In real life, real people have personalities beyond their issues, they have friends, they tend to learn how to manage things over time. So let your character grow, and show themselves too. In writing, we do this for fun and to escape bad things. We don’t want to shoulder something during playtime, we may encounter often in real life.

Do not go into this without research. Practice writing up little stories to describe the symptoms. Read everything you can. Look up webpages, blogs, and everything where people are offering the information on their struggles freely.

Make sure everyone in the group is comfortable playing this out. It can trigger things when you go whole hog descriptive about every symptom they have until they suddenly start having one in real life because fuck, they’re right there again. Never surprise someone with a panic attack in character unless you know it’s okay, or are willing to just skim over it.

Understand the gist of why these exist? Good. Go with the spirit of them, not the letter of them. Basically respect, even though as writers we intentionally use them for plot and growth, we should not abuse that ability by lacking respect for the real people who have them. Be tactful, be polite, be respectful as the person behind the keyboard. Anything that isn’t tactful, polite, or respectful had better be in character, and had better relate to the plot and characterization pretty damn well. You should also make it very obvious that you disagree with the character in narration. If they say something crass or obtuse, point out that they said something crass and obtuse.

“It’s not like it’s really that bad, you’re just scared right? Get over it, you whiner,” he said, sneering. His lack of empathy for the subject really showed his lack of experience with it.

Tada, by adding in one line, you’re a better writer in general, and have accurately explored characterization while pointing out you recognize he’s a total asshole. Doing things in a way that clearly shows you give a damn and understand what you’re choosing to let the character do is the key to not pissing someone else off.

Okay so back to the attacks! These symptoms are basically just names right now. You can say what’s happening straight out, and that’s cool, but... how do you make your reader empathize with them? You’re going to want to explore each of these feelings in writing, or at least the ones you know you’re going to use. This is homework! Explain each of these in detail in a way you can connect with them. Put yourself into your character’s position, and write from the heart.

Their heart racing, what do they feel when this happens? The skipping beats that feel awkward and clunky? The way you can feel it pounding along, a mile a minute, ready to burst out of your chest? Go running, when your heart rate gets up there, you’ll really fucking quickly pick up on how that part feels. The pounding, heaviness of a heart going so fast your shirt is trembling, and your hands can’t stay steady. Describe it, describe how that heartbeat going mad feels to you and how out of place it is.

Tingling and numbness? You might have had a limb go to sleep before, use that as a jumping off point. Except in a panic attack, it’s everywhere and the pins aren’t painful. They’re just a loss of feeling everywhere. Your hands tickle with them, your skin feels like it’s tightened up weird, and can’t feel like it used to even if you’re hypersensitive to touch. Sweating so much you soak the sheets? Use that experience, the dripping, the suddenness. How it contrasts with the temperature being comfortable. Sweating from anxiousness or nerves. Damp palms. I fucking hate flop sweats like that, because I end up with a disgusting feeling scalp, wet neck, and my body is just damp all over after I’ve been through an extreme.

Everyone’s probably trembled in their lives. A shiver through your limbs. What happens when you tremble? Is it harder to write, or grab onto things? Is your grip worse? Explore how trembling effects your environment as much as it effects you. It helps to understand that the tremble is sudden, violent. You cannot stop it, it’s beyond your control, and you struggle to keep yourself from showing it a lot if you’re that type of a person. Since it’s down to personality, someone might have a shaking quavering voice, or they might be hiding that shaking hand and stiffening up to hide it all from the others.

Choking, smothering, unable to breathe... well that sounds like running to me, but I’m out of shape as hella. Crying does it too though, unable to get past a throat filled with snot. The absolute lack of breath, it’s like you’re depressurized. Remember nothing, from the feeling of choking, to the stitch in your side, to feeling sick to your stomach, is exclusive to a panic attack. You’ll probably have encountered being dizzy or light headed in your life without ever seeing a panic attack. Chills and hot flashes too. They can be way more extreme, like sitting there shivering and teeth chattering despite being in a 85°F/29°C room. Just absolutely taken by how cold you are, and nothing can warm you because you’re already sweating. It looks a lot like a symptom of shock, which is why they throw those blankets over you after a severe accident of any kind, even if you’re not hurt.

While you’re looking at those, don’t just look at the symptom. Look at the character’s reaction to the symptoms. Does stomach pain make them cry? Does it make the shortness of breath worse? Do they have sweating, lightheadedness, hot flashes, and nausea and just wave it off as a thing that’s happening because they’re scared? Mix and match. Some characters handle things better than others. Some have different reactions. Find them, and pull them out and shove them in the light for other people to see.

The final symptoms are a bit more in-depth because we can’t find aspects of them to jump off of from real life. Derealization, depersonalization, a fear of losing control or not feeling ‘sane’, or a fear of dying? These we might not feel very often or at all if we’re neurotypical. So we’re going to rely on people who have experienced them to learn about what they’re like. That’s dangerous territory, be respectful when you explore it. Not sure where you’ll find details on these without stepping on toes? Hi! I’ve had all of them, so lemme get down to brass tacks and tell you what they may be like. Once again, one person’s experiences do not equal all people’s experiences, but as an intelligent person with critical thinking you knew that and were totally going to google Reddit threads and blogs about the subject if you intended to write them, right?

So, derealization and depersonalization are very interconnected, which is probably while they’re listed as a grouped symptom in the list. They are experiencing the feeling of becoming entirely unhinged from either reality, or yourself. It’s a wild sensation to be several feet outside of your body, watching as everything happens. It’s even more wild that it can vary, a few inches away, or even just ‘somewhere else’ while your body keeps going. You can lose your entire grip on a situation, your mind fully consumed with something else, to the point you don’t really feel like it’s you talking, or moving.

Same thing when everything stops feeling real. Like you’re in a movie, or a dream, watching shit play out you have no control over. Yet, you function through it. On autopilot, saying the things you would say, doing the things you would or should do. Even though you’re feeling a bubble or padding between you and there. In my case, I’ve definitely felt like I was underwater, and should be unable to breathe, but I was breathing fine, looking through this glassy feeling at a body that was going through a panic attack, but it wasn’t really me. It was a bunch of chemical firing, everything happening felt rehearsed, fake, and far away. Like, it had been predetermined to happen, and I had no control over it.

It’s varied between feeling like I, personally, am not the person doing shit. I look into a mirror, and some stranger is looking back at me, who has the wrong everything. Sometimes everything isn’t real, there’s no way everything can look like this can feel like this when the world is shutting down for me. I am empty, why is the world doing this, it cannot be real. Except it is. This is such a numbing, empty experience, that it leaves you really struggling to find something to anchor yourself to. Those are not my hands. My hands aren’t that size. This room is not my room, it looks wrong, the color is off in a way I can’t describe, the comfort isn’t for me. It’s really fucking mindboggling, and all this?

Is on top of other symptoms. At the same time. My dude lemme tell you, wearing another person’s skin and watching them unable to breath because they’re choking on air, while they suddenly go freezing cold, teeth chattering, is a TRIP!

Fear of losing control or going crazy is fun too, in the way that I can being super sarcastic on one hand because it’s not fun at all; and also very very genuine because I have an analytical mind and it’s cool to see my own brain degrade in front of me. When in the throes of this, I definitely know I’m not insane, but what if I am? What if this is the moment I snap and lose it entirely? What if this is the terrifying reality now, that I’m never going to get any of these other symptoms under control, and instead I’m going to get worse and start chewing the walls and attacking people left and right? What if this is my breaking point?

The terror just eats away at you, because no matter how much someone says that you’re gonna be fine, and that you’re not insane, they have no idea. They’re not a professional, and they don’t have some kind of little device that lets them see what’s going on in your head. When your thoughts get jumbled and frantic like that, it can super feel like you’re losing the plot entirely. You really do start to believe there’s no hope for you and they’re going drag you off and drug you up because everything that makes you you has spiderwebbed into this wild ass new person who has had their sanity ripped out of their hands.

I blame Hollywood for a lot of this, because you see this kind of thing happen. Someone becomes too emotional, and wa-bam, they never come back from it. They got comatose, or hysterical and have to be dragged away. They never quite make it back to their former selves, and that! Is! terrifying! And just the kind of unrealistic thing a mind having met it’s limit would throw at you because it can no longer keep track of what is actually happening.

Fear of dying is the last one, and after the things above, is it really any surprise that you might feel like you were dying in the middle of all this? Now the last time I got this, I had managed to get a head injury and a seizure so maybe it was an ickle bitty bit of a realistic fear. (Also, I’m fine, but obviously some things have happened since I last wrote for you guys, be nice to me.) With all these feelings of rushing inevitability, fear of the end of yourself is RIGHT up there waving its hands and demanding to be seen. This is, I also got this from... slightly cutting my thumb while cooking.

It doesn’t have to make sense, I knew my thumb was not going to bleed out, but I was ready to face death because oh no, something terrible has happened. My brain saw one big drop of blood, and it was done. I was officially dying. I would lose the thumb, I would get gangrene, I would die in a corner somewhere. It became something that overwhelmed all my senses and I had to lay down for a while and let it pass. All I wanted was someone to be there for me while I was inevitably dying of a boo boo. That’s how extreme it can go from literally nothing, so it’s super hard to shake off if you pick it as one of your character’s responses!

Now if you had to take a break during this at any time, that’s perfectly normal. It may be a sign that you shouldn’t RP this situation though, because that’s gonna be even more intense. Plus, if it’s tied to your character, and you’re the type to be inside your characters POV for the smoothest writing process? You might feel like it’s happening to you. Method acting can bite you in the ass if this is something you can trigger by experiencing it. On the other hand, RPing your way through it can help compartmentalize it, and putting those horrible feelings into a new situation can help you recontextualize it from an outside perspective. Making it easier later to go through a panic attack because now you have another experience to draw from. There’s a reason Therapists like it when you roleplay.

Just remember, roleplaying is for story and fun. If you find yourself far too deep, aftercare may be needed. You don’t have to always ask someone else for that, you can just give yourself something relaxing after play. Hit up your favorite goofy TV show. Eat a treat you really love and let yourself be in the moment while you savor it. Take a nice warm bath if that’s the kind of thing that relaxes you. Sure, it’s roleplay, but it can have a real emotional effect on you, same as any other experience! So, if you need to, find someone you can talk it out with. If not friends, then a professional who can give you the tools to make the most of your new experience in helping yourself. Hell, if you simply got to the end of this and feel drained or something, go give yourself a treat and cool off a bit!

Anyways thank you for reading! Hope this helps in really expressing panic attacks a little more clearly in text, but always remember to CHECK IN on your partner. Make SURE they’re comfortable with the level of detail you want to get into! If not, go for a lighter hand! Write a vignette on the side, and upload it to your Tumblr as a fanfic of your RP if you wanna prove your skills without effecting other people! Tag your shit! Be aware of those around you, and really do make sure everyone’s comfortable when you’re exploring topics like these.

If you try your best to get it right and do the research, it’s obvious to others. You’ll be fine. Happy RPing!

#RPedia #Ask RPedia #roleplaying #roleplaying help #roleplaying tips #rph #panic attacks #triggering material #trigger warning #panic #writing #writing a panic attack

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