#live calligraphy presentation

[blackswaneuroparedux]

人生において 最も大切な時 それはいつでも いまです 

- Mitsou Aida, poet and calligrapher

The most important time in life is always the present.

In other words, live in the moment.

[ak319]

Yan Regent Consort x fem reader

Headcanon

(Warnings: This story contains matriarchal themes, fem dom such as mpreg, fem dominated world, role reversal, and BXG pairing! Yes, it's a boy x girl, so don't interact if you are not comfortable!!)

Xu Junlai was a boy who held different roles in the eyes of others, son to some, friend to some, an object of admiration or envy to others. He was born into a family of five sons and two daughters. His mother, Xu Huang, served as a minister in the court, while his father, Xu... well, he wasn’t married into the Xu family, he was merely a concubine of Junlai’s mother. Because of this, Junlai never received familial love, not from his step-siblings and not even from his mother, who was always either too busy or uninterested in family matters. Her absence from his life gave his brothers free rein to treat him as they pleased.

His oldest sibling was his sister, Xu Tai, whom everyone feared. She didn’t particularly dote on him, but she maintained order in the household whenever she returned from her training and service in the army. Xu Tai had high ambitions for the country, aspiring one day to become a commander or much better a General. His other sister, Xu Ai, was studying to be a scholar; she was a year older than Junlai, who himself was the second youngest in the family.

Junlai had long learned that if he didn’t stand up for himself and speak for himself, he would live a life of misery and eventually die alone, perhaps with no one to mourn his passing. So, he did speak for himself when necessary. A hard life had forced him into this role. It wasn’t as if anyone liked him before, or that he had earned any respect, so what was there to lose?

He had passions that he quietly pursued, calligraphy, reading books, sneakily borrowing them from Tai’s library at the estate and, most importantly, dancing. Yet he was made fun of, and ridiculed for his interests.

“Your father was a prostitute, and you doing this seems to scream that you are on the same path. You disgrace,” his stepfather, Xu Fen, sneered. But his words never truly hurt Junlai.

“But your sons are learning such skills too. Are they on the same path?”

“THEY ARE NOT! They are doing that so that when the time arises, they will be presented to the court for the new Empress and her harem. That is where their skills will shine; being a Xu, that is inevitable. You, however…”

“Mother may not have married my father, but she openly acknowledged that I have been granted the name Xu.”

“So? What are you--oh--so you want to enter the court? That might be the funniest thing I’ve heard this week. Part of the reason your presence here is sometimes bearable. Have you seen yourself? There is nothing graceful about you, such venomous features, that blank face, eyes like a devil’s. You are someone any woman would avoid, not bed.” Fen’s cackles echoed in the distance as Junlai stood in the garden, his usual blank expression firmly in place.

The court? But he didn’t desire any of that. That was a life of hell. As if my life is better now... Harem or no harem, at least he could demonstrate his skills and take a jab at his useless brothers. Perhaps that was the most thrilling part of it all. There was absolutely no chance that an Empress or even the Emperor Dowager would allow the son of a prostitute to enter the harem.

So, Junlai practised night after night, in the empty hall that felt both sacred and suffocating. The flickering candles cast shadows that danced like ghosts on the walls, whispering secrets of long-forgotten elegance. The sound of anklets chimed like distant bells, while the rustle of silken fabric filled the air, wrapping around him like a lover’s embrace. In the dim light, his body became a fluid extension of art, each movement imbued with a haunting beauty that could draw anyone into his graceful orbit. And perhaps, just perhaps, the voice that emerged from his lips was powerful enough to ensnare even the coldest of hearts.

But one fateful night, when he miraculously received permission from his mother to join the ceremony, everything changed. Three of his brothers discovered him lost in his usual routine, an ethereal vision in the half-light. As always, he expected their laughter, their scorn, but no... that night, the hall, once a sanctuary, transformed into a chamber of horrors.

Instead of melodies, the air was filled with his screams as they pinned him down, the laughter of his brothers echoing like a dark symphony. They poured scalding water over his feet, the pain searing through him, brutal and unrelenting--just a week before the ceremony.

═════ ◈ ═════

The day of the ceremony arrived, and you, the new Empress, had only been on the throne for a year after successfully defeating your sisters for the throne. However you were overwhelmed by the throng of men entering your court, you sat in silence, your mind already planning the next day's work while subtly noting the movements and behaviours of your court members.

The musical festivities began, likely your father's favorite part, as it allowed him to exert his influence over the affairs of the men. You had little energy to deal with such trivialities, and the classification of men in this way unsettled you. Your mother was deeply involved in it all, and you loathed the thought of it.

"Those are the sons of the Xu family, good-looking, aren't they?" your father remarked, his voice dripping with expectation. Your head snapped to his direction, and for a fleeting moment, you glanced at the display before you.

“Um, yes,” you replied, your tone devoid of enthusiasm.

Your father internally rolled his eyes at your lacklustre response. You might have bedded a few men and have a son with one of the concubines, but it was clear you weren’t taking any of them seriously. 'This idiot daughter of mine, clearly not worried about not having an heir still. By now your mother would have had three-'

"They came for you, so at least enjoy it a bit. If you prefer any changes, the music, the dance-"

"It's fine, Father. It's fine."

You granted your approval to Xu Huang in the end, an honest minister in your eyes, someone even your mother trusted. Her daughter, Tai, was a formidable warrior, perhaps the first to impress you with her skills.

As dinner commenced, no one anticipated the doors to swing open once more. A lone figure stepped into the hall, drawing everyone's attention, including yours. He was slender, his long hair tousled—surprisingly beautiful even in such disarray. Those eyes of his, empty yet hauntingly deep, bore into yours with an intensity that both intrigued and unsettled you.

His walk was seductive yet exuded an aura of defeat and determination. Silence enveloped the hall, a palpable tension as he stood in the centre, commanding attention. That’s when you noticed his feet, bare and crimson. You were certain that if you looked closer, you would see the dark stains of blood marring his skin.

It felt as though the entire court was holding its breath, waiting for you to question him. Just then, you caught the whisper of Xu Huang, “Son…” from her seat a few feet away.

Her son?

"Are you... Xu’s son?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued.

He nodded.

“Um--your Majesty, he was sick, so he couldn't perform earlier, although his name was registered on the list by me…” Xu Huang explained, her voice steady yet tinged with concern. You responded with a curt nod, your mind racing.

“If you are sick, then you shouldn’t be here,” you asserted, a protective instinct rising within you. You were certain the sickness plagued his feet. There was no way you would allow him to dance under such conditions.

“I want to dance,” he replied, his voice challenging and unwavering.

The spark in his tone caught you off guard. What an odd boy...

“Very well. Then do. I would like to see you dance,” you commanded, a blend of intrigue fluttering in your chest

“Your Majes-” Xu Huang began, but your glare silenced her immediately.

“Begin.”

As the sounds of the pipa and hulusi filled the hall, an almost electric hush fell over the audience. Everyone shifted their attention from their meals to the boy dancing, his presence so captivating that even your father, Wang Hua, sat bewildered. A simmering anger brewed within him as he grappled with his own intrigue. Are you seriously interested in him?

Though Hua possessed some knowledge about the boy, witnessing the fluidity and artistry of his dance made those thoughts melt away. Junlai moved as if in a trance, each motion a hauntingly beautiful expression that stirred something deep within you. The performance was mesmerizing, drawing you into a world that felt both ethereal and painfully real.

The only glimmer of envy and fury came from Junlai’s own brother and step-father, their faces twisted in disdain as they seethed at the spectacle before them. Even the blood that dripped from Junlai’s feet onto the glass-like floor seemed to only heighten their ire. They couldn’t maintain your gaze for even a moment, while Junlai seemed to command the room effortlessly, as if reigning over it with merely a flick of his wrist.

As the final echoes of Junlai’s performance faded, your ears, now deprived of the boy’s beautiful voice, were met once again with a profound silence that enveloped the hall.

Junlai stood with his gaze cast down, a picture of humility, while you rose from the podium, taking slow, deliberate steps toward him. A ripple of anticipation swept through the crowd, their eyes wide with curiosity about what would unfold next. To your surprise, the boy barely flinched as you stood before him, towering over his slight frame.

“Name?” you inquired, your voice steady.

“Junlai,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“And who did this to you...?” You leaned closer, searching his eyes for the truth.

His neutral gaze met yours, and you sensed a flicker of vulnerability beneath his composed exterior.

“People... whom I would rather not talk about on such a glorious day... a day for you, my Majesty.” He lowered himself in a respectful bow, his head tilting downward, yet his posture remained defiantly graceful.

“Is that so...?” you mused, glancing at Naun, your attendant, who stood discreetly behind a pillar to your left. She nodded subtly, understanding the unspoken command in your gaze.

This boy not only is now part of your harem but...your choice for the night.

You were resolute, you would not entertain the other sons of the Xu family. What need had you for them? Junlai’s dance eclipsed all of theirs combined, a testament to his raw talent and spirit. You were not greedy, you simply sought the best. And he was not only the best but also intriguingly peculiar, a captivating boy you were eager to indulge in and explore further.

As you crawled on top of him, Junlai had been cleaned and prepared for your gaze, yet a small part of you missed his disheveled appearance, the wild, untamed beauty that spoke of his struggles. You soothed yourself with the reminder that he would soon return to that captivating state.

“When I asked you about the culprits, you didn’t name them. You don’t want me to punish them?” you murmured, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek, relishing the softness of his skin as he leaned into your rough hand.

“But you already have... by choosing me,” he replied, a hint of defiance in his voice. You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound deep and rich. “You are... something, you know. I have never encountered a boy like you... but I always wanted to.”

“I never wanted this... to be in the bed of an empress, in her harem, but here I am…” His words hung in the air, laced with a surprising confidence. Something about you made him bold enough to voice such thoughts. You didn’t seem as cold and cruel as the whispers suggested, those comparisons to your mother fading in the warmth of his gaze.

Your deep chuckle reverberated against his neck, sending shivers coursing through his body. “Oh, how lucky I am then. More fortunate than any empress, for having caught you.” You pulled away slightly to meet his eyes, searching for the flicker of fear, but finding only intrigue. “Being in a harem means being mine, and I take care of what I own.”

“Do you fear me, Junlai?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down his spine. “You should...."

His heart raced at the challenge in your tone. “I don’t fear you, your Majesty. I only fear what I might become under your rule,” he replied, daring to meet your intense gaze.

“Ah, but isn’t that the thrill of it all?” You leaned in closer, your lips brushing tantalizingly against his ear as you spoke. A gasp left his plump lips as you nibbled on it.

Junlai’s breath quickened as your gaze pierced into him, as if you were seeing not just the boy he was but the depths of his soul. The air thickened with an intoxicating blend of fear and desire. He could feel the heat radiating from your body, enveloping him in a cocoon of both safety and peril.

Your fingers danced down his arm, tracing delicate patterns that ignited his skin, setting his nerves alight. Junlai's breath hitched as he felt the heat of your body press against him, a heady mix of power and vulnerability.

“Do you see how beautifully broken you are?” you continued, your voice low and mesmerizing.

Junlai felt the walls around his heart tremble, caught in the magnetic pull of your words. “What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the challenge now tinged with uncertainty.

“Everything.” Your lips curled into a wicked smile, a promise of the chaos to come. “I want your loyalty, your obedience, and most importantly, your heart. I will not only keep you in my harem, I will make you my most cherished treasure.”

As you leaned closer again, your lips tantalizingly brushing against his, he could feel the weight of your intentions, his robe being done deftly by your rough fingers. “Now, are you ready to dance for me?” you asked, your eyes glinting with mischief and hunger."

Junlai nodded, a flicker of excitement igniting within him. At that moment, he was no longer just a boy marked by pain, he was a dancer, ready to twirl and leap into the unknown, to be claimed by you.

═════ ◈ ═════

Junlai sat in the veranda, gazing out at the distant mountains with a forlorn expression, his slender fingers tapping absently on the polished wooden rail. Though the quarters designated for the favored concubine were lavish, adorned with silks and priceless porcelain, the space felt hollow without you. If only he could give you a daughter, the coveted title of consort would be his. The thought flitted through his mind like an unreachable dream. And yet, as the days stretched into months, it was your absence that gnawed at him, leaving him restless and aching.

God, when would you return from the campaign? Two months had passed, each day heavier than the last. He endured the whispers, and the scorn from the other concubines who mocked him for his damaged feet, but he bore it all without flinching. He knew you valued him for his skill, his grace, the things that went beyond mere perfection. You had appointed the empire's finest healers to tend to him, a silent reassurance that he still held a place in your heart.

Even the Emperor Dowager, shrewd and discerning, seemed to favour him, perhaps because he respected his daughter's choices or was mesmerized by his art. Either way, his endorsement granted him a measure of safety within the harem’s hostile world. And yet, safety was far from his mind. He spent sleepless nights worrying about you, imagining the dangers you might face, each possible harm a dagger in his chest. His own safety meant nothing if you were not there, by his side, safe and triumphant. He danced in the empty hall , every night, all night even. His gaze at the marble wall at the end, imagining you sitting in your throne watching his performance. Every word, every step a testimony for your longing. If anyone else saw him at night , they would be scared for their life.

A boy dancing as if he was possessed.

What had he become? Another lovesick boy, a fool just like his father, infatuated, aching, lost to his devotion. He had once vowed never to become so vulnerable, and yet here he was, the intensity of his love binding him more than duty or obligation ever could. He used to revel in this power, at first motivated by pride, even defiance, to show his brothers that he had won something they could never touch. But now, with every beat of his heart, every drop of his blood, he was wholly, helplessly, irrevocably yours.

Although not long ago, one significant shift rippled through the palace, Xu Tai, the skilled warrior whose loyalty you trusted, was now appointed as General. Junlai took comfort in this news. His sister's allegiance was unwavering, and her impressive abilities spoke for themselves. You chose her for her skill and integrity, qualities Junlai respected, and even admired from afar. He knew that with Tai at the helm, your interests, and your life, were in capable hands.

He hadn’t anticipated finding peace in such a development, yet knowing Tai held this position gave him a strange sense of relief. However when he just received a letter from Tai herself, that sense of relief seemed to diminish.

You had been poisoned by an arrow at the battlefield. Thankfully the physician present did their best to take it out but it was unknown if you would come back alive. The news was also sent to the Emperor and eventually spread over the harem and then the country.

The news struck the palace like a tempest. Word spread first as whispers in dimly lit corridors, then as gasps behind silken fans, until eventually, the rumours became cries of despair from every corner of the empire. The Empress has been poisoned, they said, her life teetering on the edge. The harem held its breath, the concubines offering quiet prayers. Yet amidst them all, Junlai felt as though his entire world had shattered.

Days passed in agonizing limbo, and Junlai clung to any scrap of information he could gather. The air in his chambers grew thick with dread, the whispers of the other concubines like needles against his skin. Would she return? Could she survive this? He tried to still his racing heart, to banish the wretched possibilities that plagued him day and night, but his mind clung stubbornly to images of your pale face, the way you looked as he’d last seen you, strong, assured, untouchable.

But now, you were mortal. Wounded. Vulnerable.

He’d never felt so powerless. Each night he would sit in the garden, his injured feet barely feeling the cold stone beneath them as he gazed at the stars, praying fervently for your safety. Let her come back to me, he whispered into the darkness. Take my health, my strength, take anything you want, but let her live.

The news of the looming threat reached the palace in the dead of night, casting a shadow over an already grief-stricken palace. The Chief Minister summoned her closest advisors including Xu Huang, the walls of the council chamber echoing with grave voices as they strategized. The Wei Dynasty had betrayed them, their forces striking not only on the battlefield but now threatening the heart of the empire, taking advantage of your absence. This insidious plot was spearheaded by the rebel leader Guo Wang, a lecherous woman of ruthless ambition and bloodthirsty intent. Her name alone sent ripples of fear through the court, her reputation for savagery preceding her.

The capital was left vulnerable in a way it hadn’t been for years. With Tai, your most loyal and capable General, at your side on the battlefield, and your position as Empress left temporarily vacant, the capital was guarded only by lesser warriors and the remaining commanders, a force barely sufficient for an ambush of this scale.

Junlai’s despair deepened. He had kept his composure in the wake of your injury, holding fast to the hope that you would return to him. But now the looming threat to the capital turned that sorrow into fear and fury. He knew what would come if Guo Wang breached the palace walls, the carnage that woman would wreak upon all in her path. The court, the innocents of the capital, and, he shuddered, the vulnerable harem.

He understood now what his sister had never fully articulated, the key to victory was not in repeating the old ways, but in disrupting the enemy's expectations. And Guo Wang’s forces? They would be expecting the standard defences. They would expect the palace to hide behind walls, women in armour standing guard at every gate. That was their mistake. Junlai knew better. But being a man and more so a mere consort was something that Junlai couldn't change. Nobody would listen to him. Two weeks left before the Guo reaches them even if Tai had sent for backup to the capital, it would have taken them a bit longer to get here.

No, he would not let this slide. The audacity to kill you , trying to take you AWAY FROM HIM!?. He will fucking lay corpses upon corpses of these disgusting pieces of filth. He will BURN EVERYTHING TO THE GROUND!

"I will not rest until I see you fall, Guo Wang..."

═════ ◈ ═════

"Mother, please. Trust me. You have to listen-"

"Your only job is to stay here, in the harem, and bear her children! Leave the military and court decisions to the court and the Empress."

Xu Huang froze, his chest tightening at the cold dismissal. His mother, ever so pragmatic, always intent on keeping him within the narrow boundaries of what was deemed acceptable for someone of his position. But tonight, he couldn’t bear it anymore. The years of suffocating silence, the weight of expectations that had been placed on him, all of it came crashing down in a wave of defiance.

"BUT I AM DOING THIS FOR THE EMPRESS!" His voice rang out, sharp and unforgiving. Xu Huang recoiled as if struck, the shock of his outburst still fresh in the air. But his fury only seemed to fuel him further. "Her Majesty’s court, her harem... I will not let some barbarian come in and tear it all apart. And don’t forget it, Mother!" He took a step forward, his voice thick with venom, his eyes burning with a passion he hadn’t allowed himself to show before. The tears were a mask, barely held together by his pride.

"I WILL protect her, and I WILL protect this dynasty."

He let his words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of their implications. He stood taller now, a dangerous glint in his eye, as he moved closer, letting the venomous truth seep into every syllable. "As for bearing children, oh sure, I will. But I won’t do it for you. I’ll do it for ME. For MY future. I’ll be elevated, not you. You will always remain a slave to the system, while I may one day be a part of the Wang dynasty. And you know what that could mean." His voice dropped to a low, almost mocking tone. "How do you think Tai became the General? If I can place someone on the board, I can just as easily toss them out."

There was a flicker of uncertainty in Xu Huang’s eyes at the mention of Tai, but it was quickly masked. He knew the truth, he had no such influence, but the bluff was enough. It was enough to make his mother tremble. The stoic, unflinching woman who had held him back his entire life now looked unsure, her hands gripping the edge of the table as if seeking something to steady herself.

"What are you proposing?" Her voice, cold as ever, betrayed the slight quiver in her tone. She had heard his words, but was she truly willing to listen?

Junlai smirked, the edge of triumph curling at the corners of his lips. "Now, we are talking."

═════ ◈ ═════

Junlai had always been more than just a skilled dancer; his mind was a sharp, calculating instrument that never ceased its relentless pursuit of efficiency and innovation. While the others focused on traditional warfare, the old strategies, sieging, ambushing, and brute force, Junlai saw only limitations. What he needed was an advantage that would catch their enemies off guard, something that no one had considered. The answer, as it often was, lay in nature.

Birds.

The idea came to him one evening while he watched the flock of crows circling above the harem. Their wings cutting through the air with precision, their effortless movement, a pattern of chaos within perfect order. It wasn't just the birds that caught his attention, but the fact that they held the power to burn.

In the markets, there had been whispers of incendiary techniques used by distant lands, fire-starting mechanisms using birds trained to carry torches. The court dismissed this concept as superstition, yet to Junlai, it was a brilliant, unrecognised weapon.

Junlai would need to launch the birds at night when the enemy's defences were at their weakest. The element of surprise would be vital, he knew that as soon as the birds were released, they would need to fly directly to their targets, avoiding the natural predators and the dangers of interception. So he had the women train them, following his instructions.

He took advantage of the dark sky, the birds’ natural night-flying abilities, to send them directly into the heart of Guo Wang’s camp. The wind, as if in cooperation with his plan, would be at their backs, ensuring that the fires would spread faster.

The moment the birds were released, the chaos began.

As the trained crows took flight, their wings slicing through the air like silent messengers of destruction, the fire lit up, first softly, then raging. Guo Wang's forces had no warning, no time to react. They watched in horror as the embers from above ignited their tents, their supplies, and worst of all, their weapons.

The women who had been enlisted as fighters, strong in their defiance but unprepared for such an assault, panicked as the fire spread, consuming their weapons and armour. Their leaders scrambled, but the flames had already done the work. The camp was ablaze, confusion and terror rippling through the ranks. The birds had burned their half camp, crippled their supply chain, and taken away the one thing they held most precious, control.

Thus, it made it easier for the soldiers to attack Guo's forces and easily win. Junlai watched with pride as he saw Guo's head impaled and being paraded around inside the castle's walls. A perfect homecoming gift for you. A gift to prove that he was not just a man in your harem, but someone who would do anything to ensure your reign remained unchallenged. Which made him again fall into a pit of worry for your return.

"Her Majesty has returned!" one of the attendants announced, her voice echoing down the hall.

Junlai stood in the corridor of the harem, his heart pounding in his chest. He had not realized how much he had missed you until the news arrived, that you were finally returning from the battlefield, victorious, but at a terrible cost. The victory meant nothing if it came at the cost of your well-being.

He watched from the shadows with along with other concubines as you entered, your face a bit pale but overall with no less than a sturdy and imperial aura. Your steps echoed in the hall as you greeted your father, your son and for a fleeting moment, met his gaze.

His mind was torn between wanting to rush to you and knowing that you would hate such an open display. So, he waited, watching, every fibre of his being aching to be near you.

And you called him finally, after two painful days.

"I... Your Majesty," Junlai's voice cracked slightly, betraying his calm facade. He couldn't hide the flood of emotions that coursed through him, the concern, the longing, the worry. He took another step closer, his voice low, "You came back... but how long will it take until you're truly well again?"

You always held yourself in such high regard, and the idea of being seen as anything less than the Empress was a bitter pill to swallow.

"I am better," you said, your tone firm, but Junlai could see the exhaustion etched into your features. "The battle was won, and my soldiers did well. That's enough for me."

Junlai stood in front of you now, so close that he could reach out and touch you if he dared. His gaze softened even further, and for a moment, the two of you simply stood there, him staring into your eyes, his heart heavy with the thoughts he didn’t dare speak aloud. Then he was finally graced with your embrace causing him to breakdown.

"Whatever it takes. Just... don’t push yourself too hard. You need rest." He whispered getting his act together.

You gestured for him to sat beside you on the bed. "I heard from Father...about what you did." He gulped, his form of being just...a boy in love under your gaze.

"I... I just... couldn't-- I had to! I did it all in fear of what might... happen..." You raised his chin.

"You didn't do it for love, then?"

"Of course I did! I did it for you only!" He grasped your hand against his cheek, his eyes filling with tears, his voice breaking at every word. "You... have no idea... what... torture it was for me to live after knowing that happened to you... my Queen. It was worse than death itself."

A hint of a smile graced your lips. "I am proud of you. I am... proud of my choice too..." You gazed lovingly at his face and wiped his tears, pulling his frail body to your chest. "Tai told me you... always had an interest in warfare... sneaked in to read her books."

His heart stopped. His sister... knew? All this time... she did? Yet she...

"Um... I--- yes." His whole body shivered when your deep chuckle traveled to every cell in his body.

"I have made a... decision."

His hands fisted your tunic in anticipation. "You will be the Regent consort here when I am away. You will manage the harem, manage the safety of the capital, it's people. Charities and all."

Junlai’s heart skipped a beat. His initial instinct was to deny, to say that it was nothing, that he just did his duty and wanted nothing more than to be a mere slave to your love. But the way you spoke to him with a glint of respect, of something more than just duty, it made him pause.

You saw him. Truly saw him.

He swallowed hard, trying to suppress the trembling in his hands, the heat in his chest. Regent consort. The title echoed in his mind like a promise, like a dream he had never dared to imagine. No man had ever had it...it didn't even exist until now. He would be the first man in history to have that. He will be known by every generation to come..

"But--but I... I don't deserve it," he stammered, the weight of your approval sinking into him. "I am... only a concubine, someone who had no right to such a role. You shouldn't place such responsibility on me."

You leaned closer, your fingers brushing against his cheek in a tender gesture, lifting his gaze with a gentle but firm pressure. "You don’t need to deserve it, Junlai," you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of your conviction. "You have already proven your loyalty, your cunning, and your heart."

You emphasized with a small but significant shift in tone, "You are my mind in the harem. You will ensure that my absence does not shake the foundations of this dynasty. You will stand guard over the people, the capital... everything I’ve worked for."

Junlai’s hands clenched tighter around your tunic as he processed the weight of your words. The enormity of the role, the responsibility, it was almost too much. But the way you spoke, the way you believed in him, gave him a strength he didn’t know he had.

"Are you afraid?" you asked, your voice soft but direct, your eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made his knees weak.

He paused, feeling a swirl of emotions churn in his chest. Fear. Desire. Ambition. Hope. They all mixed together until he couldn’t tell where one feeling ended and another began. But he was honest with you, always. "Yes," he said simply. "I am afraid. But if it means standing by your side... I will do whatever it takes."

You smiled at him, a slow, dangerous smile that made his breath catch in his throat. "Good," you said, leaning in closer, your voice dropping to a low murmur and pulled him in for a gentle kiss.

He had never imagined that the harem would become more than just a gilded cage. He had never imagined that he would be the one trusted to hold the reins when you were away. But now, it felt like everything was changing.

He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But there was none. Only a quiet confidence that he knew, deep down, was meant for him.

"I won’t let you down," he whispered, his voice steady with determination, even as the weight of his new role settled over him like a mantle. "I will protect everything you’ve built, Empress. And I will make sure that no one dares challenge your rule."

You let out a satisfied sigh, your fingers trailing down the length of his arm as you leaned back, taking in the sight of him, your trusted consort, your mind in the harem.

His eyes softened, and for the first time since the battle, since everything had changed, he felt a flicker of peace settle in his chest. There was no going back now. But for the first time, he didn’t want to. He had you. And that was all that mattered.

Junlai leaned into you then, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath steadying as he let himself savor the moment, the moment where everything shifted, where he was no longer just a boy in your harem but the one who would protect everything you held dear.

Though, he mustn't forget one last thing~~

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"Ju-nlai?" Xu Fen stammered, his face twisting into an expression of disbelief. The boy, no, the boy, who once knelt before him, who had suffered beneath his cruelty, now stood in front of him as a figure that exuded nothing but cold authority. The sight rattled Fen to his core.

Junlai’s gaze locked onto him, dead and distant, as though he were staring through him. “I came to meet my brothers,” he said, his voice as calm as the still waters of a lake, but carrying the weight of a storm hidden just beneath the surface.

“Oh really? Why is that?” Fen’s words dripped with thinly veiled disdain, though his insides were anything but calm. He took a cautious step backward, uncertain of what Junlai intended. The boy had always been an afterthought, a lesser player in the family’s schemes. But that had changed, and Fen knew it.

Junlai’s eyes flickered over the room, moving like cold knives, and finally settled on the women standing behind him. His gaze was hollow, merciless. “Are you going to bring them out, or...?" His words trailed off, but the implication was clear. He wasn’t asking, he was commanding. His tone had a chilling finality, as though the fate of everyone in that room rested solely in his hands now.

Fen felt the air constrict around him, the tension thickening with each passing second. He swallowed hard, unable to hide his discomfort. With a reluctant sigh and a sour expression, he turned on his heel and went to summon the others, though it pained him to do so. He knew it was futile to resist. The man who stood in his mansion now was not the boy he had once controlled but something far more dangerous.

Minutes passed, each one dragging as Fen stood nervously, but when the Xu brothers arrived, they entered with a mixture of curiosity and defiance. They were offended, of course, by Junlai’s sudden appearance, but there was a deeper undercurrent of fear in their eyes

"Same as always..." Junlai murmured to himself, but his smile, if it could even be called that, was something else entirely. It was a sharp, knowing grin, filled with something dangerous. His voice rose, becoming almost melodic in its dark amusement. "Which is going to make it more fun!"

For the first time in the Xu household, the black sheep of the family, Junlai, let out a laugh, but it was no ordinary laugh. It was a hollow, manic laugh that seemed to echo off the walls. The sound was unsettling, almost inhuman, a reminder of the twisted journey that had led him to this moment.

Junlai’s eyes never left them as he spoke again, his voice low and chilling. “You see… I’ve come to remind you what happens when you think you can break me. You’ve burned me before… but now, I’m going to return the favour.”

Fen’s heart skipped a beat. He had always thought he could control Junlai, keep him beneath his bootheel. He had been wrong.

“Now, I think it’s time for you to understand what it feels like.”

It took one subtle gesture from Junlai and the guards moved quickly, and efficiently, grabbing the Xu brothers and laying them down on the floor. Their hands were bound, their legs spread wide, and Junlai’s eyes glinted with a dangerous gleam as he stepped closer, his boots making a soft but deliberate thud with each step. The room seemed to grow colder.

"No--p-please...forgive them...NO! I BEG YOU!" Fen's voice mixed with his son's pleas as well which earned him a slap from Junlai. That was all it took to reduce them to sobs and whimpers.

"Shut your fucking mouth, whore. And watch." He dug his hands into Fen's hair and steadied him beside himself. "Look, how cute they look." He giggled.

The guard poured more water onto the brothers' feet, the boiling liquid now bubbling and splashing as it engulfed their limbs. The screams grew louder, desperate. One of the brothers jerked against his restraints, his body writhing in pain, but there was nowhere to go. Fen could hear their flesh sizzling, the sound of raw skin peeling and blistering under the scalding heat. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He had put them through this once before. Now it was his turn to witness the consequences. God, he always loved fire and its power. In fact, he began to see himself in it. Agile, dangerous, unyielding and most importantly, passionate when it came to you.

Fen watched, trembling, as the heat of the water burned into the skin of his sons. Junlai stood tall, his form casting a long shadow over the brothers writhing in pain, and spoke in a voice that resonated with unrelenting authority: “Let this be a reminder, boys." As he turned to leave, his guards following behind him, the sound of his laughter lingered in the air, a dark, triumphant melody that filled the hearts of those who heard it with dread.

Now is the turn of some concubines who have been acting up recently in your absence. Surely, they won't mind a little visit, right?

"Everyone stresses out your father soo much, don't they?" He cooed , caressing his flat abdomen as he settled in the carriage.

Nevertheless, it's all entertainment for him.

[zorrasucia]

13. Hot Cocoa + Baking

from @carmenberzattosgf list

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Mature (2.3k)

Tags: Chocolat (2000) AU, Friends to Rivals to Lovers, Food, Curvy Reader, Fluff, Sexual Tension, Smut, Dry Humping, Dirty Talk, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

Maybe it was corny and provincial, but you always welcomed your neighbors with a batch of cookies. It was good for business most of the time too - the insurance people next door bought pastries every other day for their breakfast after you gifted them some for their opening.

So, there you were, close to the counter of the new specialty chocolaterie, box of cookies in hand, captivated by the smell of chocolate... There was so much more though: caramel, vanilla, almonds, coffee, cardamom, berries, and was that pepper...?

"Welcome to The Bear, what can I do for you?" a tall man greeted you.

"Oh, hi!" you smiled politely. "I'm from the bakery down the street. Wanted to say hello and give you a little welcome present."

You handed him the box, delicate calligraphy marking the name of your shop.

The man beamed. "That's so sweet! Pun not intended," he chuckled to himself. "Now we definitely have to give you something on the house!"

You looked at his name tag. "Richie, that's not necessary at all..."

"Nonsense. Plus, you get to see the magic happen. Cousin!" he bellowed to the back, where you assumed the kitchen was.

"Magic?" you frowned.

A blond guy with blue eyes emerged from the door and gave you a polite nod.

"What is it?" he asked Richie, he seemed irritated.

"Cookies from our neighbor, cuz," Richie offered him the open box, he was already biting into his second one. "Say thanks and do your mind-reader thing."

"It's not... Never mind," he mumbled in exasperation, rolling his eyes. "Carmy Berzatto," he said and offered you his hand to shake. "Thank you for the cookies."

"You're welcome," you smiled at the sight of him eating with gusto.

"Is that piloncillo sugar?" he asked after a moment of savoring.

"Yes!" you beamed.

"Tremendous," he said earnestly, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He walked closer to the counter and stared at you, intensely, for half a minute. "Mocha frappe, double espresso shot, whipped cream and chocolate shavings on top. That's your favorite."

You stared right back, mouth agape. That was your comfort drink, no matter the weather. How did he know?

"Do we still have the nice Mexican coffee? She'll appreciate it," he asked Richie.

"Yeah, third shelf. Neat trick, huh?" Richie grinned, enjoying the shocked look on your face as Carmy went to the back.

"How does he-?"

"Fucked if I know," he shrugged. "He says it's a family thing. He never misses."

"Did he guess your favorite too?" you asked, fascinated.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "It's hot cocoa with marshmallows. He says I have the palate of a six year old but if it ain't broke..."

While Carmy prepared your drink, you looked around the shop. There were beautiful confections with crazy flavors, covered in gold leaf, almost too beautiful to eat. But there were also dollops of milk chocolate with puffed rice, humble looking and ready for a kid to devour. Truly something for everyone.

When he handed you your coffee you asked: "What's your favorite?"

Carmy gave you a tense smile. "Hope you like it. Pleasure to meet you," he said and left.

"He says it's a secret," Richie handed you a napkin, then he added in a whisper: "I don't think he has one. He doesn't enjoy things that way."

"What way?"

"Uh, the normal way, I guess," Richie shrugged. "He barely eats the things he makes. Lives like a monk. It feels like he has to make chocolate 24/7 or some family curse is going to get him. Dunno if I'm making sense."

"Kind of," you said.

You took a sip of your drink and knew you were fucked forever. No chain coffeehouse would be able to compete with this.

~

It had been a couple of months since The Bear opened. They had a few loyal customers plus whatever weirdos wanted to see if Carmy was as spot on with his predictions as online reviews said he was - he never missed.

You had become friendly with the staff and had developed a routine of sorts with Carmy.

It probably wasn't healthy but you saw him as a mystery to solve. You didn't know about chocolate, not the way he did, but you knew baking, you understood how comfort and love could be encapsulated in a dessert. So you tried to find his favorite, the thing that would make his heart sing like he could do to you and every other person that walked into his chocolaterie. If nothing else, you got constructive criticism from a kindred spirit on a weekly basis.

Could use less cinnamon. 

Maybe with brown sugar instead? 

Oh, that's good. 

What about blackberry jam? 

Delicious... but not my favorite.

"Anyone told you you're a buzzkill?" you said with a dejected sigh.

"Many people. Often," he replied dryly.

"Richie doesn't count."

"Point still stands," he said, wiping crumbs from the flaky pastry you had brought. "People think I'm supposed to be having fun in there for the chocolate to be good when it's probably the opposite."

"It doesn't have to be like that, Carm," you said, exasperated. "You don't have to be fucking miserable for this to work."

He took a deep breath. You had never spelled it out so clearly and it clearly struck a nerve.

"I appreciate you," he said. "I do. But I'm fucked up. And you can't fix me with pies and cakes and-" he looked at the ceiling. "You're an incredible pastry chef. And you're so fucking nice but, uh, I think we should stop this."

"This?"

"You coming here and asking for feedback on your already perfect baked goods. I don't know what you're expecting from me but you look at me with those Bambi eyes and I always disappoint you," he ran a hand through his hair. "It fucks me up."

"Right." You picked up your stuff as quickly as you could, feeling heartbroken and humiliated. You knew you probably came off as needy but you hadn't realized just how much. You felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "Sorry to bother you. Won't happen again."

And you left.

~

Weeks passed, weeks that you devoted to yourself, to feeling better, dressing pretty, baking delicious treats for happy customers, standing in front of the mirror to say nice things about your curvy body.

You had tried and failed to make Carmy see how much better his life could be if he let himself enjoy things, actually savor his chocolate instead of finding four things that were wrong with it upon his first bite. Only now you realized how similar you two were, both wanting to fix things that were probably best left alone. Carmy wasn't a recipe you could perfect and he wasn't your anything really to worry about.

It wasn't lost on you, the metaphor for everything you had been doing - his lithe body and your slightly overweight one, and how much you wanted his toned biceps on either side of your head as he panted above you, letting himself lose control for once. As you indulged in these fantasies, your fingers deep inside your pussy, you wondered whether he ever desired stuff that way. You pictured him, eyes rolled back in bliss, while he held you, and you came with a cry.

~

You were closing up for the night, cold wind ruffling your hair and your skirt.

"Hey."

You turned to see Carmy, blue apron underneath his wool coat.

"Hey," you said curtly, avoiding his glance.

"I, uh, I've been wanting to talk to you..." he said.

"Okay? Can you make it quick? I have to get up at four in the morning," the prickly part of you woke up at the sight of him.

"Listen, you don't need to do it if you don't want to but-" he handed you a paper bag with The Bear's logo on it. "I was wondering if you could make pain au chocolat with this?"

You received the bag cautiously. "How many?"

"I only need two," he mumbled and you scoffed. He knew - he fucking knew how hard it was to make the dough and that you couldn't just make two. "You can keep the rest of the chocolate," he offered.

"I'm still gonna charge you full price," you warned him.

"Of course."

You eyed him suspiciously, his bright eyes and open hands, his overall apologetic manner...

"Fine. I'll come by tomorrow after I close."

~

Maybe it was pride but you didn't try the pain au chocolat with Carmy's chocolate. Not one bite out of the entire batch you had baked. It would, of course, be excellent and you didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

"Here you go," you handed him the box, all pretty with a ribbon and a blank card ready to be gifted.

"Thank you," he gave you a shy smile. "Wanna sit down? I'll make you hot chocolate."

His shop was empty - only half the lights were on, and the sign at the door read 'Closed'.

"Come on," he insisted, his blue eyes pleading and you sighed in defeat, sitting by the counter next to him.

He served two cups of hot chocolate and plated the pastries, one for you and one for him.

"What are you-?" you started.

"When we first met, you asked me about my favorite," he explained. "Then you started bringing cookies and pie and muffins and it was so nice. I'm not used to nice things. And you were getting close. So I pushed you away and I Iashed out. I was an asshole."

"Yes, you were," you took a sip of your chocolate. He would be so much easier to hate if the things he made weren't so tasty.

"I'm not asking to go back to the way things were if you don't want that. I just hated how things ended," he nudged the plate towards you. "This is my favorite."

The pastry you had baked with the chocolate he had made.

"You haven't even tried it," you challenged him.

He took a bite and chewed slowly, savoring, a moan stuck in the back of his throat. You squeezed your thighs at the low, delicious sound.

"Fuck. That's perfect," he declared. Your heart beat faster. "Try it."

You took a bite. It was cozy and delicate, the rich chocolate caressing your tongue.

You nodded. "What a way to put my chocolate supplier to shame."

Carmy smiled, taking another big bite. "I'll give it to you for free if you keep making these."

You blushed at the double meaning and turned away.

"Fuck, that sounded awful. Sorry," Carmy said after a beat.

"It's okay," you laughed. You turned to face him, he had a giddy smile on his face that made him look younger and prettier.

"You have a-" he pointed at your lip but then he reached over and rubbed at your lower lip, wiping some leftover chocolate. He brought that same finger up to his mouth and sucked it clean. Your stomach dropped and you could feel yourself getting wet.

Carmy stood up, you could see his pupils dilate the closer he got, see his eyes linger on the low cut of your shirt.

"I thought that if I stopped seeing you, I would be able to focus," he whispered, his breath tickling your face. "I have never been so fucking distracted. Just thinking..." he kissed the side of your face, open mouthed and hungry. "Kept thinking of things I'd say to you, recipes I could share and shit like that," he mumbled, his hands ghosting over your thighs, playing with the hem of your skirt. "Thinking about your hands, kneading, working, and how they'd feel," following his lead you placed your hands over his chest, caressing his sides. He groaned. "Thinking about your body. Every part of it..."

"Touch me," you practically begged, moaning in satisfaction when he squeezed your breasts over your clothes.

"Imagining how sweet you'd taste," he panted against your lips, letting you close the small distance left, tasting his own chocolate in your mouth as he devoured you. You pulled on his hair, desperate to return every bit of passion he was giving you.

"Carmy," you gasped and brought him closer, opening your legs and scooting to the edge of your seat. His hard cock rubbed against your center, his hands were everywhere.

"So soft," he said, kissing down your neck to your chest. He palmed your breast with one hand and squeezed your hip with the other, guiding you to grind against his erection.

"Fuck," you cursed. "Like that."

You tugged on his hair, getting a low groan in response. You took the opportunity to shove your tongue inside his mouth and kiss him with all the hunger you had for him. He bit your lower lip and you moaned.

"You even sound sweet," he said absently, a desperate rhythm building between you.

"I thought of you too," you said, looking into his blue eyes, squeezing his ass to bring him closer. "Thought how'd beautiful you'd look when you came - all sweaty, your eyes on me."

"Fuck," he growled, his thrusts becoming frantic. "Can't wait to take you home. Fuck you properly. Fucking taste you..."

You could feel fireworks inside you, your pussy clenching around nothing, grinding desperately against Carmy, biting on his bicep to muffle a cry of ecstasy.

"Oh, my God," you gasped for breath as he chased his release, you grew pliant in his embrace, carding your fingers through his hair, legs shaking around his waist, your underwear soaked.

"Fuck," he froze and exhaled hard, his nose tickling your neck. "If you feel this good with your clothes on..."

You giggled. "Come on," you kissed his temple. "Let's close up shop."

[theconstellationprincess]

Whumptober Day 14: Blackmail

Elrond is not shy about his heritage, though some believe he should be. When forced to choose between inconveniencing Celebrimbor or doing some extra work, he chooses the extra work.

-

It was during his first week in Eregion that the whole event began. He took a trip to the markets, picking up a few new calligraphy pens that seem to be exceptionally well crafted. On his way back, he has the unsettling feeling of being watched, so quickens his pace. Unfortunately, that only seems to spur whoever it is on, and Elrond rounds a corner to find himself face to face with a group of elves.

"Oh hello," He greets, giving them a hesitant smile. Fingers curl around his cloak as he looks around, but there is not another way around them, and he has the terrible feeling that they would chase him if he were to run.

"You are Elrond Peredhel correct?" One of them sneers, taking a few steps towards him. Elrond wishes that he had bought one of the intricately etched daggers from the place he had instead purchased the pens from. He carries no weapons presently, and though he knows how to fight without one, his chances are not good.

"Yes, I am he. May I ask for your name?" His voice is strong, despite the rising stress he feels. He clutches the paper bag carrying the pens tightly, biting his tongue to stop himself from saying something foolish. First he needs information, than he can decide how to deal with this.

"No, but you may listen to my words and obey, lest you want Celebrimbor to learn that you are responsible for the loss of his uncles." Elrond blanks, mouth opening slightly and eyes squinting as he tries to understand what they are implying. Elrond had nothing to do with the oath, and while he regrets being a burden on Maedhros and Maglor as a child, he knows that he, and Elros, were responsible for joy in their lives during those dark years, instead of pain or sorrow.

"... Right." Elrond replies, because it seems as though the elf is waiting on his response to continue. He is still confused, but perhaps further elaboration would help. Celebrimbor knows that Elrond was raised by Maglor and Maedhros, most everyone does, and the good memories they both have of the two Feanorians is something they have bonded over.

"If you do not wish for us to tell Celebrimbor about how you contributed to their demise," The elf takes a dramatic pause, during which Elrond tries to consolidate what he knows and finds himself lacking any sort of comprehensible way to decipher this situation, "Then you will take up our duties in Celebrimbor's staff so that we may focus our attentions on far more important projects, that actually serve our lord."

Ah, so they wanted to skive off work but not get caught. Elrond is still utterly puzzled as to why they have approached him about this, but it seems that this situation may lead to a mess for Celebrimbor to sort out, and the elf is already stressed as it is. After a moments of deliberation, Elrond nods slowly, because while he is very busy, he would rather not add to Celebrimbor's work load.

-

Looking back, the agreement was foolish. He should have marched them to the guards so that they could be told off for threatening a guest in their city and then move on with his life. But he did not, and the following morning he finds that his to-do list has grown to a near unmanageable size.

He had been having breakfast with Celebrimbor during the week he had stayed here, and he was quite upset to have to miss it on this day. He still stopped by Celebrimbors office, where he was already settled and sipping tea, to explain why he could not join him, and then abruptly realized that he could not speak the true reason.

"I am invested in a project," Elrond claims instead, putting on a sheepish smile that grows a little more real when Celebrimbor laughs- and what a wonderful sound his laugh is, the sound of it makes Elrond's soul feel lighter- and makes him promise not to miss lunch.

Feeling guilty, but not enough to risk stressing his lord, Elrond scurries off to complete as many tasks as possible before his meeting with Celebrimbor that afternoon. Most of the tasks are manual in nature, involving cleaning or moving objects here and there, and he finds that he is exhausted after only two hours of rushing around the city. His stomach aches with hunger and his hands shake with fatigue, but is not done yet.

He has completed the extra tasks, now left with only his own, by the time he meets with Celebrimbor. He accepts the tea offered, quickly setting it down before Celebrimbor could notice how it trembles in his grasp. Elrond discusses his project at Celebrimbors prompting, and it is true he is working on one, he just has been unable to do much of anything on it today. He talks around the subject, mentioning small things that he knows will get done but haven't yet.

Then it is into business, the construction of the tower and forge, working with the dwarves, Elrond's clear exhaustion- Wait.

"Pardon me?" Elrond gasps out, a pink blush rising high on his cheeks as he gapes at Celebrimbor, who is wearing an evil grin. A delighted laugh spills out of Celebrimbor, silenced only when the elf stops to take a sip of his tea.

"You need a break, you look tired. You did eat lunch as you promised, did you not Elrond?" Elrond tries not to avert his gaze, knowing it would be a dead giveaway, but Celebrimbor looks so earnest and caring, he simply cannot look at that face and lie. He looks down at his tea, shrinking in on himself when Celebrimbor clicks his tongue and sighs.

"Come along, we can fetch you some food and I will escort you to your room and, if I have too, lock you inside so that you rest." Elrond huffs a laugh, but quickly stops when Celebrimbor gives him a stern look, "I mean it Elrond, I will."

-

Celebrimbor talks about a book he's been reading while Elrond eats, and Elrond can admit that it's soothing to hear about after being so stressed all day. He stays quiet, enjoying the simple meal and listening to Celebrimbors voice.

Afterwards, Celebrimbor makes true on his word and escorted Elrond to his rooms, keeping up a soft conversation during the short trip. Elrond flusters when they enter his room, tidying up while Celebrimbor takes a look around, having not seen the space since Elrond had unpacked. Eventually, Elrond takes a seat on his bed. Celebrimbor stands in front of him for a moment, before sitting beside him and pressing their shoulders together for a moment.

"Take a nap, read a book, I care not for the activity but you must rest Elrond." Celebrimbor speaks gently, but there is a seriousness in his voice that has Elrond nodding swiftly. Celebrimbor gives him a small smile before exiting the room, and Elrond is half-surprised when there is not the sound of a clicking lock.

He sighs and pulls out his to-do list, all his tasks that he needed to take care of today outside of the extra ones he has taken on for those strange elves he met yesterday. Most of them could be completed in his room, as the majority of it was continuing his duties as Gil-galads herald and writing correspondences and letters to be sent back to Lindon or to various other elven settlements.

The rest of his day was spent working, and he took dinner in his rooms. He was not looking forward to missing breakfast again tomorrow, he would need to find a better excuse because he doubts Celebrimbor will accept his absence after Elrond's fatigue yesterday.

And he was correct, Celebrimbor insisted that Elrond eat with him that next morning, and during their slightly stilted conversation, Elrond found himself suddenly overwhelmed with the idea of having to repeat yesterday. He was exhausted by the end of it all, he hardly slept, and his body still ached. Tears pooled in his eyes as he picked at his breakfast, clinging to his lashes when he tried to blink them away.

"... Elrond?" He sets down his fork and drags in a slow, shaking breath. He had been intending to relieve Celebrimbor of stress, and instead he has caused it. Stuck in his own thoughts, Elrond misses it when Celebrimbor stands and flinches when he feels the hand placed on his shoulder. It retracts for a moment, but then settles, grounded. Elrond takes a deep breath and releases it slowly.

"I'm sorry," Elrond whimpers out, holding his head in his hand. "I'm sorry, I do not mean to burden you I just- I have much to do today and I dread doing it." The confession falls from his lip and the moment Elrond realizes what he says, he regrets it. He had been an idiot to agree to in the first place, he was confused during that encounter but that is not an excuse. He was ruining Celebrimbors day because he was a fool.

"Do not apologize for being upset," Celebrimbor scolds, pulling Elrond into a standing position and hugging him tightly. "I will help you, Elrond. What is it that you need?" And between one breath and the next, from feeling alone to feeling so utterly loved that he cannot express into words the joy he feels, Elrond makes a decision.

His explanation about the event feels incomprehensible and rambling when he makes it, but Celebrimbor nods along, and when Elrond is done and emptied of tears, the Lord of Eregion kisses the top of his head and promises to return soon. Elrond stays in Celebrimbor's office because it feels like the safest place to be, and every part of it reminds him of his cousin.

It is quite some time before Celebrimbor returns. but when he does, there is a clear fire in his eyes that only slightly dissipates when he turns his attention to Elrond. "You are a complete fool, and should have come to me straight away." Celebrimbor tells him, voice quiet but firm. Elrond nods, he would not argue this point even if he disagreed, Celebrimbor is scary when he's mad. And then Celebrimbor melts and pulls him into another hug. "You are not leaving my sight for the rest of your time here."

And why would Elrond have any qualms with that?

[dykealloy]

Rec list please ✍️🏻

(with tropes and just a smidge of reason why the media is recommended <- both very optional of course)

oh boy. okay. Confession time, I've watched a ridiculous number of shows out of east Asia so this is a good opportunity to share some faves from recent memory. If there's going to be one running through-line with these recs it's that I love character-driven narratives which explore interesting interpersonal relationships (socio-cultural commentary is a plus).

In no ranked order, here's my top ten:

Hamster running the emotional gamut wheel (well-written stories about grief, closure and family)

Move to Heaven (2021) Korea, 10 episodes, Netflix Summary: Han Geu-ru is an autistic 20-year-old who works for his father’s business “Move To Heaven”, a company that specializes in crime scene cleanup, where they collect and arrange items left by the deceased and deliver them to the bereaved family. When Geu-ru's father dies, his guardianship passes to his uncle, ex-convict and underground MMA fighter Cho Sang-gu. Per the father's will, Sang-gu must care for and work with Geu-ru for three months to gain full guardianship and claim the inheritance. Eying money, Sang-gu agrees to the conditions and moves in.

This show knows exactly what it is and executes with excellent writing and characterisation. While it does have an overarching narrative, Move to Heaven is structured so that you're exploring a different person's story each episode, so it has a lot of flexibility to explore themes of grief and closure through different lives and relationships, and when I tell you this show can hit emotional beats... (<- may or may not have cried through most episodes on my first watch-through. Emotional terrorism). These stories are really beautifully portrayed and though there are effective comedic beats, there's this clear authenticity in not needing to undercut or distance oneself from the vulnerability of the subject matter.

Geu-ru and his uncle (Sang-gu) add a lot of needed levity, with Geu-ru's need for consistent, structured, methodical routines constantly clashing with Sang-gu's chaotic and combative approach to life. Sang-gu's character arc (though predictable) is just so satisfying. It's kinda hilarious seeing Geu-ru (and his father by extension) inadvertently poke more and more holes in Sang-gu's initial plan of "take the money and run" the deeper he incorporates himself into the space and purpose that his brother once took up, and it's very heartwarming to see these polar opposites slowly develop a respect and appreciation for one another.

Tropes: reluctant to responsible parental figure, tear-jerker

Oh No! Here Comes Trouble (2023) Taiwan, 12 episodes, GTV and iQIYI Summary: Pu Yi-yong was a typical 17-year-old student with a passion for drawing and a hereditary talent for calligraphy. After he wakes up from a bus accident that claimed his father's life and left him in a coma for two years, a 19-year-old Yi-yong must now find his place in the world again. This becomes more complicated when spirits begin approaching him and asking for his help.

This show actually has a lot of similarities to Move to Heaven e.g. exploring different side-stories each episode, focus on victims forgotten by society (the lonely, the homeless, the outcasts and the minorities), themes of grief and closure, polar opposite characters learning to work together, breaking me emotionally at some point. But Oh No! Here Comes Trouble differs in tone (distinct directing style), quirky humour (Taiwanese comedic style is just different and I love it in this show) and presentation (urban fantasy/mystery).

Yi-yong might be one of my all time favourite characters in media. From the outset he presents as this classic, one-dimensional, grumpy delinquent teen (e.g. resting-bitch-face syndrome, scrappy mullet, academically behind, no social grace and a tendency to accidentally hit people in the face with softballs). As fun as that is, the more you watch, the more this show challenges these assumptions. Yi-yong's mum (also an A+ character, god I love her) is a hairdresser, and often uses Yi-yong as her stylistic guinea pig. Yi-yong's not super intelligent, but he's compassionate (albeit at times reluctantly so). He really listens when people talk to him, whether they're trying to comfort him, give him advice, or asking him for assistance (though he often questions and expresses frustrations about his own ability to help other people). There's a humble gentleness to him.

Yi-yong was already struggling to juggle his dreams of becoming a comic artist with the practicalities of his life before he fell into a coma, then he woke up two years later, having completely missed the perceived "pivotal juncture" associated with the transition from youth to adulthood. Time moved on, and so have his peers, leaving an almost 20-year-old Yi-yong lost at sea with no paddle, no map and grieving the loss of his father. And now he has supernatural beings approaching him and insisting that he is the key to settling their unfinished business. To Yi-yong (and to popular east-asian social standards), Yi-yong is a loser. He's academically unintelligent, has no clear aspirations or discipline or future prospects, his family is far from wealthy, he's got zero social status, smarts or rank. Yi-yong is just as much of a forgotten outcast to society as these spirits are.

He does eventually get assistance in the form of Chen Chuying - a junior police officer (helping substantially with the mystery investigation side of things) and Cao Guangyan - former one-sided rival schoolmate and current med student who coincidentally moves next door (initially maintains the outsider perspective of Yi-yong as a hooligan until they get to know each other a little better, by which point Guangyan is already helping Yi-yong get back on his feet) who form a very well-rounded, loveable cast.

I wish I could talk more about this show, I am very fond of it. Please do watch it and if anyone wants to discuss it my dms are open.

Tropes: ragtag trio of idiots, urban fantasy, mystery, tear-jerker, reluctant hero

Get your pussy up get your money up (life is giving lemons and survival is the name of the game)

Honourable mentions here: Yeon Sang-ho popped off with Train to Busan in 2016 and South Korea has been throwing bangers into one of my favourite genre pools ever since. If you're interested in more zombie series I would strongly recommend checking out All of Us are Dead (2022), Happiness (2021), Sweet Home (2020) and Kingdom (2019).

A Shop for Killers (2024) Korea, 8 episodes, Netflix Summary: Jeong Ji-An tragically loses her parents as a young girl. Her reserved and mysterious estranged uncle, Jeong Jinman, acts as her sole guardian and care-taker, raising her with tough love and a survivalist mindset until she leaves for university. One day, Jung Ji-An hears that her uncle has suddenly passed away, and returns home, where she learns the truth behind her uncle's business and by extension, her past.

Ji-An is locked inside a building with no communication with the outside world, nowhere to go, and with assassins after her head (not ideal). Unbeknownst to Ji-An though, her late uncle Jinman prepared a thorough defense system for this very event, setting her up with home-terf advantage and a very dangerous fortress against this army.

Ji-An and Jinman's story is told mainly through flashbacks as Ji-An attempts to survive the raid on their home. Their dynamic is definitely a repeat of the stoic, initially cold father-figure type "I am neither your mum or your dad, and I can never be" to the orphan child that we've been seeing more recently of late. I'm not mad about it. It's a good formula. I won't go into the type of person Jinman is, or the nature of his work/business. Going in blind and slowly figuring this out with Ji-An was a big plus in terms of the viewing experience for me.

Tropes: reluctant parental figure, home alone antics

D.P. (2021) Korea, 12 episodes, Netflix Summary: Ahn Junho is enlisted to serve in the South Korean Army as part of his national service obligations. He eventually goes to the Army's Military Police. While getting used to life in the MP, Junho's street smarts lands him in the D.P. (Deserter Pursuit) unit. Junho is assigned with Corporeal Han Hoyeol to capture deserters, revealing the painful reality endured by each enlistee during their compulsory duty.

imo D.P.'s is at its most enjoyable when Junho and Hoyeol are working as detectives with limited time and resources. Hoyeol's presence especially adds needed levity. He's like the show's own eccentric little court jester (at least until season 2, where he becomes the show's own tortured little court jester). You don't know how much you're missing Hanyeol until he shows up and you're finally given some space to breathe.

This show's gotten a lot of praise for its realistic social commentary around the vicious cycle of bullying, hazing practices, corruption and abuse within the South Korean military. It's well written and fast-paced, and it definitely doesn't pull its punches. I probably wouldn't recommend this show were it not for the quality of its writing, its ability to balance the depressing subject matter with pockets of dark comedy and everyone's favourite dynamic duo Junho and Han Hoyeol. All the content warnings for this one.

Tropes: ptsd, abuse, brotherhood, idk man straight up not having a good time

Weak Hero Class (2022) Korea, 8 episodes, Viki Summary: Straight-A student and loner Yoon Sieun utilizes his wits and tools to defend himself from a boys school full of shit-heads. He slowly warms up to Ahn Sooho, the school's strongest fighter, and Oh Beomseuk, the new transfer Student.

Sieun is here to answer the age-old philosophical question: "Aren't you tired of being nice? Don't you just want to go apeshit?" Even though Sieun is physically lacking, he's very capable of baring his teeth and using his smarts to fight like hell. It's so cathartic to finally see a short, weak, bullied protagonist willing to go violently feral upon provocation.

This show's tone can get pretty dark and surprisingly violent. The true core behind why a lot of people love this show is Sieun and Sooho's friendship. Sieun starts off as a grumpy, glaring, withdrawn hermit with no interest in anything that isn't studying (honestly idk how Sieun keeps finding himself in these situations like. All the kid ever wanted was to hit the books). I won't spoil too much, but watching as Sooho slowly peels away that protective shell Sieun encases around himself is a thing of beauty. I strongly recommend you give the first episode a go (free on youtube).

Tropes: angst, bromance, badass bookworm, adults are useless, abusive parents

Detectives smashing you over the head repeatedly with gay subtext (not explicitly gay but if you have a brain and any semblance of a gaydar that thing is going to be going off like a geiger counter next to the elephant foot)

The Devil judge (2021) Korea, 16 episodes, Netflix and Viki Summary: Set in a dystopian version of present-day South Korea, the world is bereft of law and order and the court justice process has become like a reality tv show. Head Trial Judge Kang Yohan mercilessly punishes the guilty and corrupt, earning him the "Devil Judge" monicker. As bitter rivalry takes shape between Yohan and the highly ambitious Jung Sun-ah, who has risen from poverty to become a corporate social responsibility foundation director. Into this turbulent world enter two childhood friends on a mission for true justice and determined to discover the secret Yohan is hiding: rookie judge Kim Gaon and detective Yoon Su-hyun.

The Devil Judge tackles the concept of the anti-hero (battling evil with evil) and questions why these figures are idolized by the public. It also challenges the naive faith in the rule of law and whether or not the established systems should be upheld or not. The screenwriter has however made it very clear that he focused way more on the relationship between the characters than conveying his own message and boy oh boy is that reflected in whatever Yohan and Gaon have got going on (serious come-hither eyes, gratuitous physical touch, themes of power, justice and corruption, Yohan pressing Gaon up against the nearest hard surface on at least four separate occasions, etc.).

Kang Yohan, the titular anti-hero/main protagonist operates within a failed state and a corrupted judiciary. To a certain extent he knows the self-destructive path he walks is doomed to fail, but to right the system and take revenge, he's on the lookout for a someone that can out him as the Devil and become the messiah that Yohan himself cannot be. It does come off as very "anime" at times (theatrical presentation, tragic backstories, bad writing when it comes to women, naive characters and overly dramatic tone) but hey, if you have very few qualms with that, chances are you're going to have a blast.

Also the OST for this show absolutely fucks. It has no right being this good. Jung Se Rin really popped off. I have Enemy of Truth as a staple in a lot of my playlists.

Tropes: idealist vs jerkass pragmatist, anti-hero/vigilante, whump

The Worst of Evil (2023) Korea, 12 episodes Summary: Set in the 1990s, a former DJ starts selling a new powerful drug. Since the police know little about its origin, rural police officer Park Junmo is assigned to go undercover and infiltrate the criminal empire responsible for the drug trade between Korea, Japan, and China. Junmo later discovers that his wife, Yoo Euijung, also a detective, has volunteered to participate in this dangerous mission and seems to have a past with the underground drug king (and Junmo's boss), Jung Gicheul. The deeper Junmo entrenches himself as Gicheul's subordinate, the more unrecognisable he becomes to those closest to him.

Junmo could have let Gicheul die or slip away like several times in a row, indicates he has zero idea why he does this, then says the line verbatim "I look up to him and I like him and my body follows my heart". What am I supposed to take away from this. This show has everything. Early 90s homoerotic cigarette lighting, sodomy, incredible cinematography, betrayal, close-ups of Junmo's bloody face squished up against Gicheul's thigh. There's some scenes where Junmo is looking at both his wife and Gicheul framed in the same shot like the goddamn camera is daring you to question who he is more jealous of. My biggest complaint is that there was quite literally no need for a wife-stealing plot - the most compelling, messiest gay situationship was right there for the taking.

In episode 9 post-gang war hallway-slaughter, a blood-soaked Junmo hops up onto a table on all fours with a knife between his teeth, locks eyes with Gicheul then proceeds to slash a man's achilles tendon and if you listen closely enough you'll hear me in the background screaming YOU HAVE BECOME HIS DOG. 10/10 watch this show.

Tropes: mafia, undercover, bodyguard, make him worse, devotion and loyalty gone bad gone nuclear, maybe if they fucked nasty about it we wouldnt be in this mess

Beyond evil (2021) would also go here and has similar vibes to the above two, but I personally don't have much to say about it. Unhinged slutty old man, gay stuff going on over there, etc, etc. Citrinekay sums it up nicely here. Guardian (2018) would probably also go here. Definitely check these out if you enjoy/like the sound of these shows.

Lighthearted fun romance (I am not escaping the lesbian fujoshi accusations)

Cherry Magic (2020) Japan, 12 episodes Summary: Adachi is a salaryman with low confidence and a tendency for self-deprecation, resulting in him often acting awkward around others, not being sure how to assert himself in the workplace, and constantly comparing himself to the company's golden boy - Kurosawa. Things become further complicated when Adachi finds out after his thirtieth birthday that he has suddenly gained the magical power to hear people's thoughts if he touches them. Adachi struggles with his newfound touch telepathy when he accidentally discovers Kurosawa is in love with him.

Cherry Magic! Thirty Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard!? (Yes that is the full title, Japan you are killing me) is very sweet and wholesome and the humour hits and I believe in Kurosawa Yuichi supremacy. I know self-deprecating characters can be a downer for some people but Adachi comes off as very relatable and seeing him slowly gain more confidence in himself and his abilities is heartwarming. Great serotonin-booster. If you find this show's premise interesting there's a high likelihood you will enjoy it.

I didn't care so much for the second couple but if you're like me it's easy to skip through these scenes (you won't be missing anything).

Tropes: office romance, telepathy, pining

Semantic Error (2022) Korea, 8 episodes, Viki and Netflix (region-dependent) Summary: Cho Sangwoo is the epitome of an inflexible and strict rule-abiding person. When talented graphic design major Jaeyoung discovers Sangwoo is the cause for his delayed university graduation, he sets out to take revenge (by becoming Sangwoo's biggest, brightest daily annoyance). Jaeyoung finds himself in hot water when he inadvertently develops a crush, and junior computer science major Sangwoo is about to encounter some serious errors in his usual programming.

This is a classic polar opposites attract story, with Jaeyoung the loud, extroverted, brash foil to Sangwoo's reserved, withdrawn, morally black-and-white, logic-first persona. As much fun as it is to see Sangwoo's ordered world thrown into chaos, it's equally enjoyable to witness Jaeyoung jump from being obsessively committed to annoying Sangwoo, to being whipped for him (and the subsequent difficulties this causes for Jaeyoung - a popular, attractive, talented, bi artist used to getting his way - in trying to pursue a highly irritated and emotionally closed-off Sangwoo, who is being challenged with a side of himself he hasn't had to grapple with up until now). Also Jaeyoung has an incredibly hot lesbian best friend which was great. for me specifically.

An entertaining, cohesive story with great actors who have fantastic chemistry. What more can you ask for?

Tropes: enemies to lovers, opposites attract, university, pulling pigtails

Old Fashion Cupcake (2022) Japan, 5 episodes Summary: At the critical juncture of a mid-life crisis, Nozue, a 39-year-old office worker, is stuck in the dull, mundane grind of wake, work, sleep. But due to his age, he's convinced he's well past the point he can take risks by trying something new. As such, he continues to decline promotions at his job and romantic advances from potential partners. He confides one day in his 29-year-old subordinate, Togawa, making an off-hand comment about a desire to be like a young girl - capable of feeling excitement and joy in life again. In an attempt to inspire him to move forward, Togawa suggests an "anti-aging experiment" and the two of them go on a journey together to help Nozue feel young again.

First things first - a large portion of Togawa's proposed "ant-aging technique" involves frequenting dessert cafes and restaurants that are catered towards a younger female demographic and fuck me the food in this show always looks so goddamn good.

The boss/employee thing might turn people away from giving this a shot but what I really love about this show is that despite being Nozue's subordinate (and younger than him - which is a bigger deal in Japan), Togawa is extremely blunt and unafraid to tell Nozue exactly what he thinks (so long as Togawa believes it will ultimately benefit Nozue in the long run), and it's very clear that he does this because he has a strong sense of respect for Nozue (and because spoilers - Togawa is so down bad for his boss like okay boy DAMN. Go get your esoteric old man). This show is also great at conveying emotion and inner conflict without dialogue (I've enjoyed coming back for a re-watch and picking up on little nuisances in Togawa and Nozue's behaviour that I missed the first time around).

Overall this is a very cute, very wholesome coming of age/queerness story that reminds you that it's never too late to pursue what interests you, try something new, and enjoy life while you're at it.

Tropes: fingers in his mouth friday, pining, age gap, office romance, food as a love language

That's it! If you want more recs from a genre hit up my inbox, I had a fun time pulling this together and have many more in the chamber where that came from.

[facts-i-just-made-up]

Anniversary Gifts: Gothic Edition

Ever since Aleister Crowley wrote the definitive list of wedding anniversary gifts in 1899, the tradition has carried on with presents of Paper for the first anniversary, Gold for the 50th, Diamond for the 60th, and many fun ventures in between.

But what can the discerning goth give a loved one or polycule for their anniversary while avoiding the common Victorian tradition?

Here is the official list by the most famous goth of all, Orval Madden:

1- Spider-Themed Jewelry 2- Black Leather Or PVC 3- One (1) Vincent Price Movie On VHS 4- Barnes & Noble’s Leatherbound “Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe” 5- Cloth Cut From A Condemned Clergyman, Or A Nice Hourglass With A Little Silver Skull On It 10- Darkness, Sadness, And Pain (Written In Calligraphy On Framed Parchment) 20- Bloodborne for PS4, Or One (1) Tear From Your Cheek In A Glass Vial 30- Complete Skeleton Of A Small Animal, Or One (1) Human Bone 40- All Siouxsie “MixTape” On A Wax Phonograph Cylinder 50- Live Bats 60- Your First Childhood Toy, Damaged By Time And Neglect, Which Once Unveiled Reminds You Of The Last Time You Felt Hope And Grew Painfully Beyond it, Declaring That You Would No Longer Feel, Only Days Later Meeting Your True Love, Tragically Forever Unable To Embrace Them With Anything More Than A Sad Memory Of What You Once Believed Love Could Be. 66- Bela Lugosi’s Corpse

[aces-and-angels]

lunch break by the wonderfully talented @mimibayra (click for better quality)

hello friends✨

i am beyond honored to be sharing this amazing artwork i had done for @oh-so-youre-a-nerd and @saibug1022. elliott's done so many beautiful pieces for the windverse, it was about time i returned the favor🖤 mags is notorious for skipping meals, so to be sat down with wind over a basket of pastries is nothing short of a miracle 😂

this art was thanks to a donation i personally made to the following gfm campaign. i would like everyone to take the time to meet laila:

pictured above is laila and her four siblings; photo taken from laila's gfm page

(please read more below):

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an excerpt from laila's campaign (organized by ahmed shaqqoura, laila's uncle; note this is only a portion of what is written and i strongly encourage you to read the whole passage)

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from laila's tumblr @lailashaqoura:

a ss of one of laila's calligraphy pieces (full post here)

laila reached out to me three days ago (see here) asking to share her story with you all. her campaign has been vetted/verified by multiple sources that i've double checked:

source one // source two (laila's campaign is listed as #152 on the sheet made by @/nabulsi and @/el-shab-hussein) to learn more on how to double check if campaigns have been vetted/verified: read here

since my initial post (6/7), laila's family has raised $1,839. those additional funds were made possible by people continuing to spread laila's message. to stand with palestinians is to see them for who they are. to read their stories and understand that they are more than the horrific conditions they have endured for years. they are mothers- fathers- brothers- sisters- and so much more. laila is one of many brilliant lights that deserves to continue to showcase her talents as an artist with the world. she deserves to live out her dreams- as well as the rest of her family

@/mimibayra is currently offering her time and talents to making art like this for anyone who donates to not only laila's campaign, but others she has mentioned on her donation commission sheet. feel free to reach out to her for any questions you may have!

another artist i want to highlight here is @palentonga who is also offering art for those able to donate. i know a few of my moots here are dnd fans- and she specializes in making portraits for dnd characters. it was actually through her account that i was able to find @/mimibayra in the first place. visit her 📌 for more info on her donation commissions

while it is heartbreaking to read the stories coming from palestine, it is also a privilege to know them. i may never get to meet laila and her family face to face- but i still feel connected to them in a way that i never thought to be possible. there is beauty in knowing that you can care so deeply- feel as strongly- about their cause. to quote @/fairuzfan (a palestinian blogger):

"there is still hope. say it out loud. palestine will be free. the palestinian people will celebrate their culture and heritage with each other. we will love and be loved. do not fall into the trap of despair." read full post here

for anyone who can, please consider matching my donation:

and if you can't donate, please share laila's story and continue to make space for her and her family in your heart. stay present and engaged for them and everyone else in palestine. listen to those who are sharing their lives and experiences so openly whilst facing tremendous suffering, not just here on tumblr, but on any platform you may have. it is never to late to stand with them. because we are not free until they are all free

if you made it this far, thanks for sticking around 🖤

[pinkandgoldensoul]

MV#1 || Domestic Silence || tape a

Navigation|| Masterlist

: ̗̀➛ tape a of the 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝑒𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 series If this is your first time here on this blog, please check the Disclaimers here.

pairing: max verstappen x female!reader genre: established relationship, angst, fluff and comfort !tw!: swearing, mention of s*x without any description of it word count: 6.6k plot: drinking your disconnection from the world away, you forget your diary next to your glass of wine. Max can't help but read: what have you been hiding behind those lost and distant stares?

«I’m home!» Max locked the front door and sighed, tiredness nestling inside his bones, shoulders finally falling in relaxation. He had attended a dinner downtown with Horner, Marko and some representatives of a new sponsor willing to ride the wave of success at Red Bull. Because of the business-driven and extremely formal setting, Max had thought it would be better if you didn’t come along with him, since he knew how boring dinners like these could turn and how much you had grown to despise them, through your father’s work. Plus, throughout the night, he would be able to hold onto your thought, wondering what you were doing instead, and anticipating the moment he would reach you.

He turned around and followed the dim light of the living room, unconsciously switching on the light when he halted at the door frame. You were sat down on the floor, hands slowly brushing the rug until you would lose sensitivity and a soft burn would cover your skin. You clung onto that feeling as an anchor to the world, as a sign you were physically present, licking your lips drenched in wine. It had started like every other night: you had come home, opened the cabinet where you would usually store bottles and grabbed a glass, drinking to unplug, to disconnect from yourself and let the alcohol flow until a pleasant numbness would enclose your senses. Still, now you desperately wanted to escape your thoughts and embrace feeling once again. You weakly smiled when you noticed his standing figure. «Welcome home.» you said, looking around you. Leaning onto the glass coffee table of the living room, you clumsily placed your wet fingers on your spread-open diary, wrinkling the once smooth, yellowish paper soaked in with ink and words. There was no sweeter pleasure than jotting down a flow of consciousness without fully being yourself: you may cry, twist your face in pain, laugh and whine in frustration, but always perceiving the warm buzz of alcohol softening feelings’ sharp edges and blossoming on your cheeks. Any time you decided to use wine as your socially acceptable but private emotional outlet, your diary was always beside you.

Max stirred a smile, quickly eyeing all the cues of the room and piecing them together. «Seems like I’ve missed a fun party.» he joked, raising the bottle of wine you had opened. «You can join now!» you brought up your glass as an invitation. «Don’t tempt me, it’s time to go to sleep.» He crouched down, studying the lost look your eyes threw at him. Max found your drunk ways teasingly cute, too much for him to bear without smiling and feeling the most endearing swell in the middle of his chest. «Let’s get up.» He took your hands and quickly lifted you up, with such a force you bumped inside his arms, holding onto him, scared you could fall back down. «I’m tired…» you slurred. Max wiped your cheek while checking whether you were wearing makeup he would remove, happy to see your skin was bare. «We’re going to bed, don’t worry.»

Going back to the living room, he got near the coffee table and reached out to the bottle to put it away, but his eyes inevitably fell on your diary: he then let the glass bump against glass, enamored with your calligraphy. He stared at it long enough to acknowledge his curiosity and be taken over by it; he grabbed it and sat down on the couch in religious silence, afraid to break the spell of violation. He took in hand the glass of wine you had left still full and got comfortable, in search of peace after a consuming night spent condescending sponsors.

In the dark lit room, your eyes got used to the long gray shadows forming onto the rug beneath your thighs. You felt nothing but loneliness. With the lights off, it almost seemed like you were utterly alone on earth. The diary spread open, you were only able to write the same old shit every entry, because nothing has really changed: you still poured wine down your throat in search of disconnection, in search of peace, hoping it would help, knowing it wouldn’t. You didn’t know anything anymore. Every time you had tried to talk to Max about your feelings, words disappeared or got lost between your teeth, like you had never experienced or felt those things, so nothing was meant to be said. Max had shared anything with you, and you had too, for a while: but then something had inevitably shifted. Something had turned off, inside of you. Inside a bubble, you could only witness Max’s happiness without feeling included, him thinking he was living the same fairytale with you. How fucking miserable did you have to be? Getting drunk on the floor all by yourself, waiting for your boyfriend in the darkness, not able to be honest with him? What kind of future would your relationship have if you had completely lost the ability to connect with him, if you wouldn’t trust him?

Max’s brain shut off, slowly internalizing those words. He flipped some of the previous pages, reading the entries’ dates, surprised to find that many, completely unaware of your secret emotional life.

Throughout the dinner, gazing down his feet, he had anticipated the sweet scent of your shampoo he so dearly loved whenever he would press his lips onto your nape, the pearly white of your teeth blinding him with a smile, the velvet caress of your fingertips upon his skin. He felt a particular type of comfort in coming back home, in your apartment, and dismissing his front to embrace his full range of emotions, exploring them with you and being intimate. After years of gray, turning off the volume of his soul not to feel hurt, not to feel fear, not to feel anger, not to feel regret, after falling in love with you he had begun acknowledging his own feelings more, carefully unveiling them, allowing himself to experience them, in a safe environment. What had made it safe in the first place was you being honest and vulnerable as well. Max had perceived a subtle shift, which he considered effect of time, of habit. You seemed more closed off, but he had always known you were more onto the introverted side of the spectrum: he would have never imagined something deeper would be at the route. But now he needed to dig deeper; he needed to know.

He quickly reached the first page, written in a hurry, full of whirls and small spots of ink.

You hadn’t paid attention to the dress you had chosen for the night; you had been in a rush, since you had completely forgotten about the dinner your father was having, though he had profusely talked it out to you.

«It’s an important occasion, so I’d like you to be there with me.» «What is it? Boring investors?». «No, this time I am the investor. We’re hosting Christian Horner, do you remember him?» «Oh, yeah, I do. The energy drinkers.» Your dad deeply inhaled. «They’re… not, I’ve told you, they are running one of the most successful teams in motorsport.» «So… Are you trying to get on board and get a slice of success too? Bet they’re already packed with sponsors, if that’s the case.» «My investments and my plans for the future were compelling enough to persuade Red Bull’s team principal to hear about them even more as my guest, so I earned my slice with hard work. That’s real success, y/n.»

You had welcomed Horner and the small group of people accompanying him at the door; you had guided them through the glamourous hall of your family’s villa and reached the dining room with indifference; it was usual for you, an oiled ritual of circumstance smiles and premeditated words, calibrated. All predictable, except for the man who entered the room for last. A blue blazer, the shiniest white shirt and the most polished, neat and fine features you had ever seen in a human being. Ethereal, unreal, he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, hypnotizing your poor and lost eyes with such an insignificant gesture. «Y/n, I’m glad to introduce you to the best driver of the sport and the current world champion, Max Verstappen.» You completely neglected Horner’s words being directed towards you, as your attention was completely drawn to the enchanting eyes of that silent and unreadable creature, visibly contracted in attending such a formal event, yet relaxed and laid down. «Nice to meet you.» In a single second, your entire insensitive and confident façade had broken in pieces and let the sea of doubt water your thoughts: his polite manners made you feel inadequate and out of place, made you question everything about the way you looked, the way the dress fit, your choice of words, the judgement he had already formed about you. You had stopped being a lonely planet; you had entered his orb and started gravitating around him. «The dining room is this way.» you quietly breathed out, turning around and guiding them.

Anytime you were about to stuff a bite in your mouth or filled your glass, anytime you moved from your unfazed stillness, you felt a burning stare upon you, an unconditioned reflex of Max tracking you, scared to lose sight of you, curious about your gestures, and the burning would soon turn into ice blue whenever you crossed eyes. Studying each other from across the table, it was easy to stumble by chance on Max in the majestic balcony reserved for the guests to admire the garden your father had designed; it was easy to start a conversation, champagne in hand, and offer him a tour of your life wandering in the silent nature; it was easy to listen to his anecdotes and stories, hanging off his smiling lips, and it was definitely impossible not to rapidly fall in love with his charm, his unique humor, his both delicate and sharp ways, as he asked you to join him for a ride on his sportive car. Running away from business and obligations, on board with a stranger, you had never felt freer and safer in your whole life.

Sardinia’s sun was just about to rise, a deep red disc painting the clouds orange, rippling the slow waves with gold. Enchanted by the view, taking in the heavenly peace of the moment, you leaned your head against Max’s shoulder, who was sitting next to you. He had invited you on his yacht, giving you the chance to live an Italian summer in his company, and he had demanded you’d see the sunrise with him. Getting up early had definitely been worth it. Wrapped by the same beach towel, you had whispered a conversation waiting for the sky show, enamored with the calm setting: nobody was around when you arrived at the dock and had sailed unseen. Your cheek still pressed on his warm skin, you wondered how you had managed to be so lucky and get to spend precious time with such a precious person. You and Max weren’t official yet, but you both knew you weren’t simply engaging in a platonic relationship, and that had been clear since the beginning. Though, you were walking one step at a time, without rushing into things, taking time to savor every milestone, as if you both had a limitless amount of time ahead of you which you were sure to spend together.

#

The sun now burned bright and the sea had acquired its naturally bluish tint, speckled with white, luminous splinters of light. Coming back to your deck chair with a tube of sunscreen, you sat down and squeezed the plastic envelope to put some on and avoid a sunburn. «Do you want me to put it on your back?» «Oh, no, thanks! I can manage!» you said, patting a handful of cream behind your neck. Max looked at you, exhilarated, as you tried to reach with your fingertips your upper back, without great results. «Uhm… Maybe I could use some help…» Max shook his head in fake disapproval and sat behind you, carefully taking the tube away from your grab. «You gave up pretty fast.» he chuckled. «Just admit you wanted me to put suncream on you as soon as you walked on the deck.» Enjoying his gentle hands massaging and distributing the cream, you stuttered at his words. «What? No way. You were the one who was dying to and immediately offered help. You’re down for me so bad…» Max stopped his motions, leaving you hanging while he grabbed new cream upon his fingers, and surprised you both with the cold texture hitting your back and his reply. «You don’t need any more suncream, but you still haven’t stopped me and neither have you complained about it, so you must be down bad for me as well.» You both smiled without letting the other see it. That type of teasing had been going on for a few weeks already, and the small banters always ended with a silent, omitted, shared conclusion: you were in love with each other. It lingered in the air, but none of you had said it out loud yet. Letting Max’s arms encircle your shoulders while he leaned back into the deck chair taking you down onto his chest, softness dug into your heart: lost in the middle of the sea, cuddling together, kissed by the sun, nothing seemed as perfect. «I think I love you.» you whispered, hiding your flushed face against his arm. Max’s joyful giggle, paired with the quick peck he left on your cheek, made your heart flip around. «I love you too, silly! Thank God you said it, I couldn’t go on much more with this urge.» «Urge?» you asked. «Yes. The urge to say it. I’ve been thinking about it for a while.» he gazed in the distance. «Why did you wait then?» «Because I wanted to hear it from you first.» «You’re such a tease…» «And that’s why you love me, right?» You wished you could say he was wrong without shamelessly lying. After all, his carefree-self had brought a peace and gust of youth you would never give up on; the way Max was able to hit every soft spot amazed you, scared you, charmed you.

It never felt right. Every time you heard your father speaking through the phone, addressing you with confidence and composure, perfectly measured, you were never able to understand where his voice came from. You knew it wasn’t him. You knew it couldn’t be. Maybe you had only imagined the words he had reserved for you in the past; they weren’t actually directed at you, they were never spitted out between your dad’s teeth in the outraged tone you remembered, they were never accompanied by his accusing pointer finger. Maybe it had always been a dream, an illusion. He had asked you once again to attend a gala, sure you would eventually give in to his persistence, and counting on the fact you would follow in his businessman footsteps. You had turned down the invitation without hesitation, to his dismay and surprise. He had tried to talk it out with you on the phone, only aggravating the situation, insensitive to your choice, until you had mentioned you weren’t feeling quite good physically. Who would ever want a pale, bored out daughter sitting at the table next to prestigious colleagues? He had dropped the topic right as you excused yourself and demanded you to rest and recover.

A foot pushing down the cushions of the couch, one cheek resting onto your brought-up knee, you heard the shuffling noise of metal clashing against metal, a distant signal Max had come back home. «Thanks for helping me with the bags, y/n, always so attentive.» he joked, speaking from the kitchen. «Y/n?» His steps were inaudible, but his presence was clear to you the second he approached the door. There was no need to talk or prompt any more questions: Max acknowledged your silence with patience, carefully taking a seat next to you. He stared at you with softness, and you wished you could dare to look at him, but your eyes were lost in a point ahead of you. As soon as his fingers brushed your skin to put a strand of hair behind your hair, tender, in an uncontrolled reaction, you felt the need to justify your behavior. «Dad.» you whispered. «It’s okay.» he kept brushing locks of hair upon the first one. «We don’t have to talk about it.» Lulled by the repetitive movements, you were, though, totally unresponsive to them, both physically and emotionally. You could see your hair lightly dancing on your shoulder as he put it in place, but you felt trapped inside a glass bell. «…be alright. You know that?» Max’s question dropped in silence. It was rhetorical, but he expected some sort of reaction from you. Your eyes dodged him, none of your muscles moved under his fingertips. He had never seen you so distant. He carefully placed his hand on the side of your head and pulled you close to his chest, getting comfortable on the couch. If he couldn’t get you to talk, at least he would cuddle you until you fell asleep inside his arms, amongst small kisses to your temple and caresses. And it worked. He felt your cheeks gradually warming, blossoming in red life, your body slightly shifting in the embrace. A lump of words was stuck in your throat, but you wanted to say something to Max. You wanted to at least try describing the veil that had you trapped in numbness. «Max…» you groaned. He simply hummed, listening. Every word faltered as you began summoning them and you were left with the only comfortable ones, residues of your intentions. «I love you.» Max’s arms couldn’t help but tighten the grab in affection, while his lips sealed the gesture on the top of your head. «I love you too, y/n.»

Your dad never really understood that you hadn’t become Max’s girlfriend as an excellent entrepreneur choice, tying your surname to his and therefore strengthening a contract the two of you had no interest in. He would never understand what love felt like.

Max had anticipated a couple of scenarios as he entered the house party with his arm draped around your waist: he had imagined the two of you dancing together until dawn, drunk of joy for yet another race win; colorful shadows adorning your face in the dark of the floor, sure you would stand out and shine of light to his eyes; giggling as idiots while coming back home holding each other. He hadn’t anticipated the one he was in. Head buzzing, Max searched for your scent, for your clothes, for your hair, for your eyes through the packed venue, incapable of relief as you seemed to have disappeared without warning. He had already asked everybody about you, to no avail; he had checked the restroom at the ground floor, he had even waited for people to come out to see if you had simply gone to the bathroom, but you were nowhere to be found. Max’s head was starting to spin. Flinging his head in every direction to search for you clearly wasn’t helping.

He adventured upstairs and, annoyingly enough, it was quite easy to find you: one of the guestroom’s doors was open enough for him to recognize your shoes hanging off the bed. Max immediately pushed the knob and was inevitably left confused by what he saw. You were laying down on the white duvet, staring at the ceiling, without moving a muscle. «Y/n, what are you doing?» Max asked, swallowing as his head pulsed in pain. Instead of answering, a faint breath escaped your lips, and the shadow of a smile appeared on them. «Am I floating?» «Sorry?» Max kneeled down near the bed, in order to hear your mumbles. «Am I floating?» He got lost in the silence that followed, digging in your enlarged pupils, incapable of making sense of the soft words you muttered between unexplainable giggles. «I’m floating alone, Max. Look at me.» «Y/n, you’re…» On a bed, that’s what Max wanted to say; but his words died as soon as tears were springing from the corner of your eyes, crossing your temple. His eyebrows clashed in confusion and alarm, but your deaf laugh, concealing your sobs, worried him even more. «Are you okay? Y/n, what’s wrong?» The lightweight of his thumb swiping your tears came softened to your senses. «I can’t feel it…» «What are you talking about?» Max said, massaging his aching forehead in order to soothe his headache. «I can’t feel it, Max.» «What’s the matter? What aren’t you feeling?» The surrendered and pleading tone he addressed you with broke every wall. «I can’t feel anything.» It was a whisper, but Max didn’t let it slide easily: it played in his mind non-stop, incessant, oppressive, so hard to process it ran him mad. And the only reaction offered after an unmanageable and incomprehensible statement was frustration. «C’mon, let’s go home.» Your teary eyes looked at him for the first time since he had stepped into the room, left confused by the collected order. «Let’s go home, y/n.» he tried to persuade you with a calmer tone this time, gently helping you up into a sitting position. To be honest, you were too shit faced to even properly stand on your own, let alone walk out the house on your feet without Max’s help. His arms felt so warm and secure around you to the point you couldn’t help but scoff a smile while sniffing, going downstairs. And when his hands abandoned your body, you felt lost, like a kid at the store who can’t see her parents anymore around the countless shelves, scared of the unknown faces. «Give me a second and we’ll leave, okay? One second, I’ll be back.»

Max stormed into the large kitchen, now almost emptied due to the intense dancing happening in the living room: that only made his objective easier to accomplish. In a few strides, Max reached the counters and rummaged through the bottles, opened and closed the cabinets in furious motions, quickly scattering glass left and right, before turning towards the poor barman called for the evening and spitting out word of fire against him. «What the fuck did you give to my girlfriend?» He was desperately trying not to leash out on that young boy, visibly terrified at his accusation, but the trail of gin tonics he had downed throughout the night wouldn’t offer much help. «I-I don’t even know who she is…» the bartender answered, shaking. «Don’t fuck with me, you saw us here before the party even started.» Max got closer, boring his eyes into the man’s frightened ones. «She… She came here once and- and she asked if we had red wine, but I told her there wasn’t any.» «You didn’t pour for her any fancy high alcohol content shit you motherfuckers always hide, right?» «No, no, I swear! You can check anywhere, if you want!» «I’ve got no time to waste with you, dude.» Max snorted and shook his head as he walked off the kitchen and frantically searched for you; luckily, he immediately spotted you right where he had left you, lost, by the stairs. Only approaching you and feeling your tender hands gripping his forearms tight, glancing at him with glistening eyes, Max felt his heart cave and hurt for your state. «Can we please go home?» you asked with trembling voice. Max engulfed you in a hug and left a kiss on the side of your head, caressing your back while you quietly sobbed against his chest. «Yes. We’re going home.»

Max loved being invited to your father’s dinner nights. It wasn’t for his presence, of course: he actually quite despised the annoyed and avoidant look in your eyes, attributable to him. Max didn’t even fall in love with the spectacular mansion your dad would flaunt in front of his clients and partners, finely adorned with the most kitsch style he had witnessed in his life. Your dad’s cars could be appealing to him, though, but the collection definitely wasn’t what he enjoyed the most. If there was anything that those nights could provide the both of you with and that no other circumstance would ever top, it was the intense and inevitable sensual attraction building up throughout the evening between the two of you. The rapid glances thrown at each other, him knowing you couldn’t wait to run away from the set table, you buying into his unnoticeable smirks were the first signals of on-going teasing; then you would both unconsciously filling your glasses a bit more often, drinking smiles and desires away, before the two of you would excuses yourselves early and rush down the hall, under the disappointed but not surprised glance of your father, not leaving the house until you had released a bit of yearning with a sloppy kiss against the car door.

There was an unexplainable thrill coursing through Max’s fingers gripping the steering wheel in speeding back home, anticipating the sweetest ending to the night, breaths overlaying and filling up the car with tension, interrupted by your faint requests of slowing down. He knew none of you wanted the ride to last any second longer. And every time he would receive confirmation by the way you both assaulted each other’s lips as soon as the door clicked open, shutting down any other thought or worry. It was only you and him.

#

The teasing had grown unbearable for you that night. Not even being able to savor Max’s touch inside the walls of your cozy apartment could relieve your desire, always begging him to lean closer, to kiss deeper, to give you more of his undivided attention. «Please, Max…» you pleaded in-between the messy kiss. «I need you so bad.» Max was quick to reach behind your back and pull down the zip of your dress, covering every centimeter of the bare skin just exposed with the gesture right as it was displayed before his eager eyes. Fingers running through the locks of his hair, you had never seen him so passionate and utterly dedicated to pleasuring you as much as he could, never stopping the trail of open-mouthed kisses under your collarbone, slowly shifting down to your chest, tantalizing, taking his time. Quiet whines escaped your lips, fruit of dissatisfaction, obliging Max to lift his eyes up and address your unexpected behavior. «Am I doing something wrong?» The uncertainty in his words pained you enough to close the gap and warm his chest with a passionate kiss, while you desperately tried to shake off the feeling of restlessness tingling your body. You could see Max was doing everything just right; his hands were all over you, as much as his plump lips, as much as his eyes searching for your reaction to his touch. You were his only worry, his only care. But you couldn’t feel it. It was too late when you felt yourself slip away and look at the scene from above, over your head, in a timeless space, as an outsider, not in charge of your limbs anymore. You knew your hands were touching him, and that you were supposed to brush his fine strands of hair, the ones you’d get lost staring at while cuddling, but you were met with a stone-cold insensitivity. And every time Max whispered some sort of reassurance – “Do you like it, baby?” – or boldly murmured under his breath an “I’m going to make you feel good”, you gripped him tighter, you held him closer, without getting to be awarded by the warmth of his embrace which you were desperately seeking for. «Max…» There was no way you could prevent your voice from pleading, almost veiled with fear, since the idea of not feeling close to you the person you loved the most made you bare and naked, a shivering mess before the terrifying thought of loneliness. He slowly halted his movements, hovering his head upon yours, sweetly looking down at your furrowed brows. «I’m here.» His hot breath fanned on the crook of your neck, on which he left peppering kisses all over, trailing back down where he was, and you were left with a boiling lake of feelings both blooming in your stomach and in the middle of your chest, overwhelming.

Making love to him, you cried for the first time in front of him after months; he cradled you so softly, wiping tears away from your face pressed against his arm, as you plastered a kiss on it. He didn’t ask you anything, even though he had tried to stop as soon as he had noticed. Your hands pressing him back onto you, your lips whimpering and begging him to carry on had nurtured a caretaking love for you, tender, fragile, vulnerable, but uniquely crafted. It was only natural for the both of you to breathe out “I love you”s against each other’s skin right as you got off, resting tangled up, tired but satisfied, incapable of depriving yourselves of the warm touch. Finding peace staring at his flushed cheeks and at the blondish curve of his eyelashes, you bittersweetly came to terms with the fact that Max was the only one able to drag you out of numbness, lulling you into consciousness, wishing you would feel instead of wanting to drown out the world. And you had never been more scared in your life. There was no such a risk as not being able to perceive his touch, his painfully gentle caresses, his delightful kisses. His undying love. Cupping his cheek, you let another tear cross yours. He was tired, and you had neglected his feelings for a while. You wondered how he was capable of handling everything so well, perfectly dealing with being a Formula One world champion, an amazing partner, a beautiful human being. Compared to him, you felt miserable. Yet, you couldn’t help but wish he’d never notice, so that you could share that love a couple minutes more, nestled against him, completely safe within his hug.

The water was lukewarm. You wished it still emanated the boiling heat which comforted your soul and distended all your muscles, but you had been sitting still inside the bathtub for long enough to let it cool down. The soap had stopped plopping in bubbles, merged down the water, tinting it whitish. You had run the bath to relax, but tiredness weighed your limbs, resting on the ceramic as if rocks tied them down. Your eyes felt heavy. Nothing in your headspace. Nothing. Peace. «Nah, sorry, I’m not coming.» Max. You heard him talking on the phone. «… No, I’m not a child, you know?» You slowly stirred your fingers in the water, you shifted in your sitting position. «We talked about this already, I told you I’m busy.» Your knees buckled up, pressed against one another, with your palms resting upon them. «So what? If you have a problem with it, it’s your business, not mine.» Listening carefully to the conversation, you began running your soapery hands up and down your arms, rubbing your legs, your nape, your shoulders, ‘til a veil of pink showed through, beneath the bubbles. «I really don’t get what’s the point of this. What’s your problem?» Intensive rubbing needs rinsing: you dived down the water, hiding from chaos, refusing to listen to those words wakening rivulets of unwelcome memories. Lulled by the water, you tried to ignore the knot in your throat, the pressure of your father’s voice pulsing in your head like a drill, your lungs longing for air.

I wish you were a better daughter

A small slip of your brain, and water was crawling inside your nose, falling down your throat. Your hands frantically searched for the edge of the bathtub, gripping it as best as the wet skin could allow, propping you up with an abrupt motion which rocked the water in a violent wave. You coughed uncontrollably, immediately spitting the hate, the sorrow, the fear with the water you had inhaled. But how could you get rid of the fear at the bottom of your lungs, of the disgust at the pit of your stomach? «You okay?» Max knocked at the door. Trying to answer him, you kept coughing.

I didn’t have a kid to have her living at my expenses until I die

You dug your nails in your skin, leaned your forehead between your joined knees. Would you ever grow out of that nightmare? Would you ever live your life with your father completely out of the picture? «I’m coming in.» Why did he warn you? Why did he have to be so sickly respectful of you in any given circumstance? Why hadn’t you met him earlier? «Did you breathe water in?» He ran a hand on your wet hair, caressing it with care as you finally stopped coughing. You simply nodded, head still buried down. «Did you get scared?» You then finally looked at him. How on earth such a lovely and tender human being could blossom from such a traumatic upbringing? A little voice inside of you urged to answer “Yes, I did”: every time your dad had raised his voice against you, every time you had seen disapproval in his stare, every time you had hidden behind the wooden door of your room. You had lived in fear. And it was so difficult to experience such a pure and delicate love after hurt. «Do you want me to rinse your hair with the shower head? It’s still full of soap.» No parts of you opposed his hands moving your shoulders towards his side of the bathtub, so that he could properly see your scalp, while he rinsed off the white dust of memories from your head.

You had seen the day spiraling right as you had started it. Missed the flight, almost lost your luggage, failed to find the address of the hotel and had to ask Max, busy with media duties, to pick you up. Seeing him drop 16th in qualifying for mechanical issues caused during free practice was the last straw of a bad day. «I told them to check everything and still we had the same fucking issue! I fucking knew it! They were all joking and laughing when I entered the box at the beginning of Q1 and nobody did what they’re paid to do!» Max furiously paced up and down the preparation room, in which he had locked the two of you, trying to calm down. «Maybe they didn’t expect the damage to be that serious, since they haven’t had a lot of time to verify…» He dead stopped, looking at you with mad eyes. «I DON’T GIVE A FUCK, y/n! It’s their damn job! Why the fuck are you defending them?!» You swallowed hard, fingers opening and closing uncontrolled. It was the first time you had seen him getting furious and taking it out on you, something you clearly weren’t ready to face yet. A fire trail of words grew in your chest, fueled by an unknown rage, combined to the uncontrollable twitching of your chin. «Don’t ever talk to me like that again.» you whispered. Max, who had got back to walking back and forth passing a hand through his hair in frustration, turned towards you, taken by surprise. «Don’t ever yell at me again, understood?! I-I’m not someone who’s going to tolerate being screamed at! I’m not that type of person!» Coming down from his adrenaline high, Max’s brows clashed in a soft and regretful expression, slowly getting closer to you. «I would never withstand this kind of treatment, okay?!» His arms engulfed you in a hug full of sorry’s and exasperation, which you held on to. «I’m not weak!» you cried out. Max looked at you, eyes brimming in sadness, and carefully dried tears you didn’t know had been running down your skin. «You’ve been nice to me all day and I disrespected you in return… That was shitty of me. I’m sorry, I’m just- You didn’t deserve this. Nobody does.» Vanished. Your bravery was thrown to the wind by those simple words. Your fears, your anxiety all torn apart like scrap paper: Max transmuted every demon into a beautiful origami, solved, nicely crafted, snatched from chaos. Max pressed a kiss on your cheek and stared at you. «I’m cancelling any plan tonight so that we can stay together, if you’d like to, of course.» An involuntary smile bloomed on your lips. «As if I’d ever decline.»

Max, despite the effort, couldn’t stray his eyes away from the page. A myriad of questions, doubts and sad truths had invested him and dragged his body down towards the couch, paralyzing him. You didn’t like talking about your dad and he had always respected your choice, since the same went for him; but he had never imagined something deeper, something he both didn’t and did want to know more about was boiling beneath the surface. The thought you had been treated poorly as a daughter made him sick. «Max, can you come cuddle? I can’t sleep without-» He tilted his head towards your sleepy self, who had just walked in on him reading your diary comfortably sat in the living room, undisturbed. Clarity of mind lost in the drinking session of the evening, you bursted crying as soon as Max got up from the sofa and approached you with sorrow painted in his eyes. You didn’t know what he had read, but it was almost as if you did. His reaction was the biggest clue you could be ever given. «You no longer need to deal with him alone.» he planted a kiss on the side of your head. «We’ll face him together.» «I don’t want to face him…» you sobbed, grabbing his shirt tighter. «I’d like to never see him again.» «You don’t owe him a single thing, y/n. Financially providing for you was a duty, not something he can blackmail you with and make you feel guilty about.» Max said, placing a strand of your hair behind your ear. «I promise we’ll have a beautiful life and I’ll help you forget about him. You deserve so much better…» You leaned your wet cheek on his hand cupping your face, carved up by the love you felt for him. «I thought I couldn’t love you more.» you managed to say. Max captured your lips in a quick kiss, born from a raptus of affection he didn’t stop. «Let me love you like you do, then.»

Finally hereeeeeeee! Thanks for waiting with patience, as always! Huge props and a love shower (?) to whoever will leave a note of feedback ♥ You have no idea how much I appreciate those who do! ♥

If you haven't already, you can check tape b of this series here! Otherwise...

✧ ˚ · . Wish you a blissful day . · ˚✧

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[blushcoloreddreams]

What are the benefits of writing by hand

Do you still practice writing by hand? The practicality of technology has moved us away from paper and pen a little. But did you know that there are a series of benefits for those who write by hand? I'll mention some of them and, at the end of the post, give you a handwriting tip.

1- slowing down

Writing by hand forces you to slow down. You will be able to develop more solid arguments and more elaborate connections. By thinking slowly, you will think better.

2- identity

When you write by hand, you imprint traces of your personality in your writing. The content (what you say) will have in form (the handwriting) an affective and profound means of expression.

3- memory

Writing by hand exercises your memory. What you write by hand is more likely to stick in your memory than something you type.

4- Creativity

When you write by hand, it's not just the words that can express your creativity, but also the form they take. Calligraphy itself is an art form and an outlet for creative expression.

5- Examination of Conscience

Handwriting, without distractions, can organize your thoughts. You can do your soul-searching in writing.

How to practice writing by hand?

I want to recommend you a special exercise. You can dedicate yourself to writing the Morning Pages. Morning pages are three handwritten pages of free association thoughts - a kind of brain drainage. They are the simple act of moving your hand over the paper and writing anything that comes to mind. Just keep your hand filling the paper. Writing morning pages is a valid form of meditation. This gives us new perspectives and helps us make changes in our lives. Writing contributes to the contemplation of the mystery of life, to powerful associations that lead us to see the poetry of everyday life.

The convenience of cell phones and computers ended up making us put aside this practice that, not long ago, was the most common among people, at least during the school years.

Fortunately, some scholars decided to look into the benefits of handwritting. And there are many. In this post, I only present the main ones. If you haven't written by hand in a while, the idea is that these benefits catch your attention so that you remember some of them; some that you have already tried when you had the opportunity to write by hand. Annotating by hand is a personal exercise in many ways. It is a craft in the classic sense: a technique that has an end in mind and that, precisely because of the goodness of the end, must be carefully perfected. By trying to write by hand, and write better, we make an effort to improve ourselves as well.

[suguru-getos]

valentine’s week | rose day | 🌹

characters included: kaveh, ayato, alhaitham, diluc

kaveh: oh he knows, he knows it because he is the epitome of what could be called romantic. he knows what you like and what you don’t. he never misses the details. women’s day? check. valentines week? check. don’t be surprised when he spends one full night to create the most beautiful flowers out of his architectural skills using origami. all to present it to you the next day where every bit of paper has little notes which comprise of reasons why he loves you so much. why you matter to him so much, how lucky he is to have you. 101 the best man in the world pls never leave him. 🥺

ayato: lord kamisato waka sama is someone who heads the yashiro commission. granted these things wouldn’t stay in his mind but anything of cultural importance goes through him. so? when he receives a little letter for organising a valentine’s week fest between the recently married couples in inazuma. he had his own ideas for his wife. buying a gazillion roses would do the thing right? he doesn’t have time to spend a lot but maybe— just maybe— his heartfelt feelings in his own, honed to perfection calligraphy just might do it <3 so when you wake up with an odd smell of thousands of roses decorating your bedroom. you know who’s to blame ;)

alhaitham: the scribe collects information. which means he knows a lot of things. even this… however, he doesn’t really feel that there should be only one day where he gives you roses as a token of appreciation. as something he does which is an unspoken ‘thank you’ for tolerating him. for sticking by him. so what he decides that he would buy you a living, breathing sumeru rose. that outta show you that he is here to stay forever. he isn’t someone with a lot of words so you will see a finely typed note attached to the flower-pot which says, “happy rose day.” -haitham. 101 wins your heart hmph 😤

diluc: for some reason the wine tycoon is just too romantic, as someone who seems so aloof. his warmth is just as peaceful as his pyro vision. would probably take a huge ass bouquet for you with roses, walk to you and tries his best to hide the little blush dusted on his cheeks when he mumbles, “so- today- uh, adeline- no- someone said today is- uh, rose day. people often give their partners roses and so i thought—” please kiss him before he gets even more nervous kekeke

[your-lovely-rose]

“They’re cute” (Daki, Mukago & Nakime || Request by @cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme)

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: Mature

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Romance

➥ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭: Fluff || Hurt/Comfort || Dark fic

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: ±9.5k || +12.1k || ±15.8k

𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭:  38 min. || 49 min. || 1h

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: (Ume) Daki // (Lower Rank 4) Mukago // (Biwa Demon) Nakime x Human!Reader

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: Kimetsu no Yaiba

⚠ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Minor death (suggested & mentioned), Eating people (mentioned)/dead bodies, Threats, Blood, Severe injuries on the body (not Reader), Misogyny, Desecration of a human corpse, Larvae and flies, Blood, Falling into madness, Mental problems, Muzan's goal (Spoiler for: Episode 34/Chapter 67), Presented the character's past (from "Kimetsu no Yaiba Official Fanbook: Kisatsutai Kenbunroku 2"), Forbidden Love/Mutual Pining || NOT EDITED

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Before each story, I have included words that may cause readers difficulty. I tried to explain them in text, but if after reading something is still unclear then look there. I hope I've done good research and haven't misunderstood anything - if you have more knowledge on the subject, please correct me.

➵ “They’re cute” Part 2/2 (Nakime)

> (Ume) Daki Masterlist

> Mukago Masterlist

➻ Little dictionary:

Yūjo (遊女, lit. "Woman of pleasure") - common prostitutes, they could be found in brothels (hamirase).

Harimise (張見) - a kind of brothel, where sex workers lined up behind bars around 6 p.m. to attract potential customers.

Oiran (花魁, lit. "Leading flower" or "First flower", comes from the Japanese phrase: Oira no tokoro no nēsan (おいらの所の姉さん) which translates into "My elder sister") - is a collective term for the highest-ranking courtesans/prostitutes in Japanese. Unlike yūjo, in addition to their sexual services, they were artists and were expected to provide entertainment. They were highly skilled in the playing koto, shakuhachi, tsuzumi and shamisen (traditional Japanese instruments), igo (traditional Japanese board game), dance and poetry. They also had to learn from an early age classic Japanese, calligraphy, flower arranging (ikebana or kadō) and the tea ceremony (chadō). In addition, clients expected them to be knowledgeable in scholarly matters, and so it was essential that courtesans had the abilities to carry witty and intelligent conversation and write eloquently. Their art and fashions often set trends among the wealthy and, because of this, cultural aspects of oiran traditions continue to be preserved to this day.

Oiran dōchū (花魁道中, おいらん道中) - the impressive procession with which the oiran moved, surrounded by all the entourage and servants from their seirō. Example of oiran dōchū.

Maiko (舞妓) - is a young apprentice geisha in Kyoto. The equivalent of maiko in Tokyo is hangyoku.

Okāsan (お母さん, lit. "Mother") - that's how the courtesans called the owners of the brothels.

Seirō (青楼, "Green Houses") - refers to the yūkaku licensed pleasure quarters - specifically Yoshiwara. The place where they lived. The term seirō originated in Chinese to denote a pavilion in which a nobleman kept a mistress.

Chaya (茶屋, "Tea house") - oiran place to meet clients and work. To call an oiran, the customer must use a tea house as a mediator, but not just only ask the tea house, they had to spend a lot of money there beforehand. They had to prove that they had enough money and power to play with the oiran. Then, they had the right to call for an oiran.

Kanzashi (簪) - are hair ornaments used in traditional Japanese hairstyles. The term kanzashi refers to a wide variety of accessories, including long, rigid hairpins, barrettes, fabric flowers and fabric hair ties. // Hana-kanzashi - are ornaments usually in the shape of flowers worn by maiko. Each month is assigned a different theme.

Kusudama (薬玉) - spherical ornament made of, among others, artificial flowers or paper (e.g. origami method). Sometimes long colored ribbons or threads are attached to it from the bottom. In ancient Japan, a kusudama was a bag filled with scented substances designed to scare away evil spirits and demons, mainly during the annual "Children's Festival" (Tango no Sekku or Ayame no Hi (Iris Festival)) on May 5. Today, this decoration is used during various ceremonies, such as the opening of a new store or restaurant. Sometimes it serves as a gift. Kusudamas is considered a precursor of modular origami.

Futon (布団) - traditional japanese bedding. It consists of a mattress (shiki-buton) and a duvet (kake-buton). Futons after taking out for the night from the wall cabinet (oshiire) are laid on tatami. After they are rolled up and put in the wardrobe in the morning, you gain free space in the room for the day, which can be used for other purposes.

Tatami (畳) - is a type of mat used as a flooring material in traditional Japanese-style rooms. Because of the fact that they aren't cleaned, you cannot step on them with shoes/dirty feet.

Shōji (障子, しょうじ) - is a door, window or room divider used in traditional Japanese architecture, consisting of translucent (or transparent) sheets on a lattice frame. Shōji usually slide, but may occasionally be hung or hinged, especially in more rustic styles.

Kimono (着物, きもの, lit. "thing to wear") - is a traditional Japanese garment. The kimono is a wrapped-front garment with square sleeves and a rectangular body, and is worn left side wrapped over right, unless the wearer is deceased. Oiran wore multiple layers of silk kimono and her outfit sometimes weighed 20-30 kg (44-66 lb).

Genre: Romance || Fluff

Word count and reading time: ±9.5k (38 min.)

⚠ Warnings for this part of the request: Minor death (suggested), Eating people (mentioned), Threats, Misogyny, Forbidden Love/Mutual Pining,

Numerous lantern lights illuminated the streets of Yoshiwara revealing to many people a new face of Tokyo - which, because of their bright red color, was often called the Red Light District.

For some, it might have been associated with big, ripe fruit on the trees or the sunset after a beautiful day, but for you, it was associated with a woman’s red lipstick.

In the air there was a strong smell of various dishes and spices that could make you dizzy, as well as brewed green tea from chaya. The night was filled with the sounds of shamisen played by geisha for their audience in okiya, where all sorts of people gathered to rest with their charms, watching them dance, but you didn’t count among them.

Walking down a street full of harimise - brothels with a view inside through the bars, where a lots of prostitutes yūjo were sitting and urging you to visit them by their beautiful looks - and some shops, your eye hung on the colorful paper windmills and various richly decorated hair ornaments exhibited at the stalls.

Since it was still February you could mostly see the hana-kanzashi depicting plum blossoms for maiko. They were meant to remind us of the imminent arrival of spring and were replaced in March into bright yellow flowers of rapeseed and daffodil, pink peonies and peach flowers, as well as multicolored, delightful butterflies, when their true counterparts bloomed on the trees.

All the ornaments were shimmered from the metals they were made of. From gold and silver for the nobles, and brass for the common people. There were kanzashi with one spool, two; in the shape of combs, and many of them had red-pink petals attached to them. From a distance, they looked so real and fragile.

There were also those with white kusudama balls in different origami patterns giving off a strong, floral scent of perfume. To them below were attached long ribbons and threads blowing freely in the wind.

For a moment, you were wondering if you should buy something for her, but you immediately remembered that you have little more just to meet her.

Besides, she had much nicer ornaments and none of them matched her beauty. She was like a rare flower.

And she’s not a child anymore, she would probably laugh at a cheap toy.

“Are you buying something or..?” asked the fat salesman, looking at you in surprise. He’d never seen anyone who look at a piece of colored paper and a stick with such a dreamful and wide smile on face.

“Um, n-no.”

Getting caught watching toys for too long with embarrassment and a slight blush, you put it back. The man just shook his head with a slight laugh.

“Ah, love!” he said aloud with understanding. “Love… it does strange things to people,” he added after a moment of reflection, turning his back to you and waving his hand, but you didn’t see it because you walked away from his booth in embarrassment.

Love?

Do you love her?

Yes, you enjoyed spending time with her and talking to her, but would you call it love?

At the very thought, your cheeks became warmer and butterflies appeared in your stomach, causing a pleasant tickling in your gut…

After a moment’s reflection, you would admit that you might like her a little more than normal.

But you know you didn’t call it love - or rather, you both wouldn’t admit it. Besides, this relationship would never stand a chance, and it’s not just because of her profession…

When you finally stood in front of the tea house affiliated with Kyogoku House, you checked your clothes to see if they looked good and you smoothed your hair, which was messy by the cool, night wind.

Thinking you looked decent, you walked into the lobby and caught the eye of all the people there. As always, you politely greeted the owner of this place sitting at a low table and two hosts from the aforementioned house, sipping tea together.

You were a little surprised to see them - normally they should be in their house and a lobbygow from the chaya would bring them your request to meet after a short time. Then they would deliver your letter to Warabihime, and she would reply by other messenger boy.

Oiran can’t contact any of their clients directly, nor can they contact her - custom didn’t allow it, so you all had to use lobbygow. It was a long process, but you didn’t regret any moment or a coin spent on it.

Also, you couldn’t meet her whenever you wanted - you had to first ask her permission (in a letter) and wait for her answer. She could always disagree. It was the oiran, who decided if they wanted to take the client, not you or anybody else.

But she’s never said no to you. And the attitude of the hosts to you after a short time from satisfaction turned into concern.

Regardless of that, with a polite smile and a bow, holding a letter asking for a meeting in both hands, you handed it to them.

So far, you’ve been her longest-lived client… and her only one - after a few meetings with you, she started automatically refusing other people who wanted to see her.

The host’s wife, a woman named Omitsu, more than once felt anxious going to the demon’s room to deliver a handful of letters, all of which would soon end up shattered on tatami.

She looked at her with irritation written on her face as if she were a disgusting insect and tilted her head slightly to the right in her characteristic manner.

It never bode well…

- - -

When Daki’s patience ran out, she threatened Omitsu, that the next thing she’d tear apart would be her guts, if she brought more letters not from you.

What happened between the two of you during those meetings? Did you put a spell on her? Or is she the one who has some evil plans for you? The owner of Kyogoku House didn’t know and was becoming more and more disturbed about it.

Not feeling right under constant stress, she ordered one of the newly arrived girls to carry the long-awaited letter from you, and the other to massage her shoulders. Warabihime only made her still worry and added her gray hair.

“I will do it, Okāsan,” offered Hinatsuru, because she was nearby and the other workers were too scared.

With a kind smile on her painted lips, she took the letter and went upstairs to the woman’s room, feeling the grateful gaze of the rest of the girls on her back. She could hear their whispers full of concern and questions like: “Will she be okay?”

She saw that something was up - she had been here for a while and had been keeping a close eye on all the Kyogoku House employees. So far, there’s nothing she could do except to not accidentally alert demon about her.

As she walked slowly through the corridors, she read the sender’s name and memorized it so she could tell Tengen if anything happened - the main Oiran was her most likely target, and it is necessary to gather as much information as possible to fight the enemy.

Who were you? One of the demons? A man helping her keep up appearances? Or did you know nothing about her true nature? Can a demon love? Was she really a demon? Or maybe a hunch confounded her?

But even she felt the terror beating from this room and the creature hiding in it. As she approached, she felt like a prey going to a predator for slaughter.

Even the most beautiful purebred cat won’t deny its nature and stop hunting mice.

She knocked and waited for a moment for an answer. Inside, she saw the beautiful Warabihime sitting by the mirror, whom she had already seen several times strolling down the hallway or looking at her from the balcony - she watched as she went with the whole long retinue of dōchū to the tea house to meet her client.

[Frist Name] [Last Name].

She always walked with her head held high and proud, as if everything around her belonged to her. Probably her position allowed her to do a lot, but in the same way, being an oiran meant limitations. Pretending to be human, too.

For Hinatsuru, one small evidence was enough. Any proof. Just enough not to report to Lord Tengen only her unconfirmed hunches.

She wished, she knew how the work for Suma and Makio was going. Maybe if she had better contact with them, she could figure something out. But if the demon noticed or suspected something, they could easily die.

Without even looking at her, Warabihime asked what she wanted while was correcting a red lipstick applied to her lower lip with her little finger. She looked perfect, just like a porcelain doll or a moon goddess. Pale skin untainted by any scar reflected the light of candles giving her a phenomenal appearance - even in incomplete makeup and without ornaments in the hair no one could deny her beauty.

“Okāsan told me to bring you this.”

Hinatsuru pulled a letter from the purple-white kimono hidden in her sleeve and waved it lightly in the air.

She saw the woman suddenly stop in her activity and focus her gaze in reflection on the rolled paper.

“Put it on the table and leave.”

She tried to pretend not to be very interested, but as soon as the paper door shōji closed behind the new oiran, Daki was next to the letter in a second. The rush of air dropped several layers of kimono, ruining the outfit she had just worn, but she didn’t care. Up close, your scent was even more intense, filling her lungs. It was like an aphrodisiac to her.

“Why are you so excited?” Gyutaro asked, scratching his cheek and standing over his younger sister.

He stared on her with letter in hand with a deep frown on his face, not understanding her. He recognized your handwriting, and while it was clear that you were trying to write nicely, it didn’t hide your unskilled hand and your lack of talent for calligraphy.

He had felt a change in the girl for some time and could see how she reacted to the very mention about [Last Name].

When other women even mentioned your name, she’d instinctively keep an ear out to catch as much of the conversation as possible or she’d stand nearby to listen for a while, although when he asked, she’d always deny it.

He wasn’t sure whether he should be happy she found a new toy or worry more. Ever since she started meeting you, she’s become… softer.

Messy.

Defenceless.

He would even dare to say dreamy. Her thoughts wandered unconsciously all the time and were always focused only on you. You were the culmination of her every thought. What did you do? How did you feel? Have you had a rough day? Are you going to meet her today? Is… is there anyone else?

She was no longer thinking about her previous priorities or gaining strength. It began to irritate him and frustrate him. So much, so that to get away from her thoughts of you, he began to leave her body more often. He couldn’t bear to see your smiling face engraved on her mind like a burn scar.

Daki, unaware of how great his dislike for you was, only turned her head to her brother, looking at him with joy hidden in green irises and a broad, but sincere and kind smile - he asked nothing more.

• • •

Did you know her brother? Yes, although at first he was a passive observer through Daki’s eyes for most of your meetings.

Personally, he thought his sister deserved someone better, 'cause you were really average-looking. He wouldn’t say you were ugly like him or above average beautiful like one person with colorful, rainbow eyes…

But he’d still judge you as a mediocre, who doesn’t stand out in the crowd. You were just average. Ordinary. If he walked past you, it’s very likely he wouldn’t normally noticed or pay attention to you.

That’s why he wasn’t annoyed by your looks, but he was jealous of your talk. You talked freely to his sister and often made her laugh. You’ve probably misled more than one girl with that kind of talk.

The thought provoked an anger that even Daki felt. She silenced him in her thoughts and tried to pretend that everything was all right, but she felt under her skin how her brother’s emotions filled her and how they crawled under her skin like little worms spreading all over her body. His anger was like an unquenchable fire, and he made her feel hot. Soon after, she felt the sweat run down her exposed neck and asked you to open the window.

The cool air from the streets of Yoshiwara was like a deliverance to her, though it didn’t put out the fire inside. She didn’t understand him. Where did this anger suddenly come from in him?

To calm him, she grabbed her hand and squeezed the garment more tightly with the other. That didn’t help. She could barely contain her own trembling and keep a cheerful smile on her face, although she was also beginning to get angry.

But her anger wasn’t directed at you. It was directed at him.

Oh, how much she’d want him to sleep through that meeting with you, like he used to.

Fearing that something would happen to you, she ended the meeting sooner than she wanted and slowly returned to Kyogoku House. People watched her colourful procession of many, both male and female employees from her seirō, but she was the only one who stole everyone’s attention - she was like a diamond. Beautiful flower among weeds and grasses. Although she usually liked the attention she received, today it was unbearably annoying to her.

Her perfectly smooth forehead was flawed by the folds created by her tightly furrowed thin eyebrows.

She tried not to step out of her role and moved with a slow dance step towards her present place of residence, although she could easily get there within seconds even on her black high-soled geta.

After she returned to her seirō and locked in her room, they even quarreled over it all. Very seriously and rough. Although it took place without much damage to the furniture, several other girls said they heard an unknown male voice from her room. Some thought it was just her throat torn from Warabihime’s (no one knew her name except her brother and later you too) screams and it was still her voice, other say that she was insane or possessed by evil spirits.

To avoid do something he might regret later, Gyutaro went outside while the night was still young.

He wandered through side and dark streets killing drunks and couples, looking for some privacy to pick on them and release the accumulated negative emotions, but nothing could improve his mood.

Anger flowed through his veins under his skin, triggering an increasingly strong desire to scratch himself, and he gave in to it (not that he resisted much). He do it so hard that blood started dripping down his forehead and clavicle - he didn’t care about it because he’d regenerate in no time.

Then among the sounds of people walking in the streets, the roar of machines, and the sound of his rough skin torn by his black fingernails, he heard your voice. He looked out of the alley with curiosity and saw you walking in the company of a black-haired man.

You talked to him about something gesticulating vigorously, although the conversation itself didn’t interest him. Seeing your movements and hearing the annoying voice, an idea popped into his head - if you give him reason by which you could make his sister sad, he’ll kill you.

The thought brought a wide, menacing smile to his face, revealing sharp teeth and capable of shivering the body of more than one experienced Demon Slayer.

He knew Daki would be angry, but you were the reason for their argument and his sour mood right now. He felt like with your disappearance, so would his current problems.

The rest of the night he followed you jumping on the rooftops of buildings and listening to what you were talking about - despite his dislike for you, he even laughed a few times at your remarks and comments. He also found out that the man in the brown kimono and tied hair is your close friend Kaito.

• • •

It’s been a few days since he started following you and got to know you better - he already knew how you make a living and what your routine looks like. During the day he hid from the sun in a nearby house (whose owners suddenly disappeared under unexplained circumstances) and waited for dark to fall, when he could again follow you like a watchdog.

He didn’t even notice when all the hatred for you burned out inside him like an old bonfire, leaving nothing but smoking residue.

He was no longer actively looking for faults in you, and followed you more out of habit and curiosity. But he still had mixed feelings for you - maybe not as negative as at first.

Although he wouldn’t admit it to anyone (even to himself).

Your friend would show up at your place sometimes with a carriage full of stuff, and sometimes you’d go out with him for drinks at a cheap bar nearby. It was a good opportunity to see what you thought of his sister.

Was she just one of many women for you to play with? Have you been seeing anyone besides her? Did you really respect her? What are you saying about her behind her back?

Thoughts like this popped into his head, but he wasn’t worried about hearing something bad from you about her.

But the words of a drunk are the thoughts of a sober, and with that thought he put his ears to hear you better, when your friend dragged you home. He hasn’t drink to much, because of the experience he’s had with you.

“Ahh, I want to go to Warabihime!” You were whining and trying to get away from your friend. It was a poor attempt, but it was difficult for the demon to judge whether it was alcohol or you were always so weak.

“You’ve been here last time and you don’t have money to meet now. Besides, you have to get permission first,” the black-haired man admonished you, tired of your drunken self.

“No, I wanna now! Let me goooo.”

“If you want to go to prostitutes go to some cheaper yūjo. There are a lot of them in harimise. No one will even know.”

Kaito casually offered knowing the rules of the pleasure district - after all, he used their services not so long time ago.

If oiran chose you as her client after three (very expensive) meetings, during which you tried to convince her that you were worthy of her, you couldn’t use the services of other women. Especially some cheap prostitute or some other oiran - it would be an insult to her, and although you know perfectly well that she would probably never know about it, you couldn’t look her in the face afterwards.

“No, you don’t understand, I can’t. I want to go to Warabihime!”

You still whined like a baby, but no one paid attention. You’ve already moved far away from the Entertainment District. You were surrounded only by low family houses and dark streets lit only by the light of a full moon watching you silently from above. He wasn’t the only one, although the other observer showed more interest, hiding yourself in the shadow.

“Is she really that good?” asked older man without even looking at you and suddenly got hit on the head by you.

The hit wasn’t strong, but it was painful enough that he suddenly let you go and you fell flat to the ground. The scene surprised Gyutaro so much that he stopped breathing, and he might even laugh, if he wasn’t shock of your reaction.

“What was that?!” Kaito asked, screaming in anger.

If it wasn’t for the sake circulating in your veins and spinning in your head, you could see the veins coming out of his forehead and his tightly clenched fists tremble. Your friend hated being insulted. Even as a joke, and now you’re overreacting.

“What was that supposed to be? What’s gotten into you? Are you… A-ah,” he said after a moment understanding and laughed unexpectedly. He didn’t expect that from you. Especially from you.

Yes, he was still angry, but he knew what oiran and other women of her type were like - they said many beautiful words and promised even more just to keep a well-paid client. Their living piggy banks. And you’ve obviously fallen for it more than he thought.

Not long ago he had been dating one, but when the first enchantment had passed he saw how much he had been deceived and trifled. No one has ever humiliated and ridiculed him like that woman had.

To this day, he can still smell her perfume reminiscent of peaches and kept the letters he couldn’t burn. He tried not to get drunk because of you, to walk you home safely, although he would love to do it.

He’d like to keep his mind off the time he was seeing her. To those brightly colored and sunny times with sweet feelings like her lips, and yet… fake.

He would like to forget her unique hair color, looking like the sun and and the deep black of the night at the same time. Throw out a strand of golden curls from her bangs. Forget her loud laugh and her sometimes out of control temperament, which he loved so much. Forget about these light brown eyes, which never looked at him with affection.

Every gesture she made was taught by years of practice, and every sweet word devoid of feeling - she was like an empty porcelain doll, and he found out too late. He always thought she was thinking about someone else, when she was with him.

He learned that she was playing with him by chance, when he heard another drunk man telling about his oiran’s great love for him and showing her letters for proof. Kaito would always recognize the scent of her perfume and her writing style.

However, he hoped it was a mistake and went to Ogimoto House to listen to other women’s gossip. All he had to do was stand by the window and he could have found out everything. The sound of their laughter and mockery directed at him hurt him. Those kind night ladies voices said such bad things about him that he just wanted to curl up and die in shame.

From that day on, he never returned to tea house.

But sometimes he stood near her balcony, when unconsciously his legs led him again towards Ogimoto House, and he would looking with longing and chest pain.

Against his will, he waited for her to see her feisty face with sharp features and small cute nose or silky hair again.

He saw a black crow come to her every now and then, and she’d pick up a letter attached to its leg. She then unfolded the red kimono and hid a piece of paper under it - he could only guess how close it was to her heart and who her lover was…

Sometimes, however, it was she who secretly sent the letter, plunging Kaito even more into dark despair.

Was he angry? Of course, he was. Even mad, but he couldn’t stop loving Makio either.

“All right, it’s fine,” he helped you get up and cleared your clothes. He understood what a wonderful feeling it was to love and be loved, but some of the flowers that grew from the seeds of that love were… poisonous. “Come home and get some sleep.”

Kaito helped you get undressed and put you in a futon. Your grey kimono (not so official, worn only because you didn’t mind destroying or staining it) he cleaned out the sand and dust of the street. The man decided open the window for you, so you could sleep better and the air in the room wouldn’t get stale from your stinking breath.

He was your good friend, but he treated you like you were his younger sibling (although you two were almost the same age). He was also your business partner - he would bring in goods from the far reaches of Japan, and you would sell it on the busy streets.

When Kaito left you had a strange dream - you dreamed that a skinny, grotesque figure stood over you like one of worst nightmares.

His morbidly yellow eyes stared straight at you through a veil of fat, dark green hair, piercing you through like daggers.

Even though you were tucked under a duvet and covered with a blanket to keep you warm, you felt like you were instantly getting cold - probably through an open window (through which the stranger must have entered) illuminating his monstrous face.

He looked like Death or a being closely related to it - did he come for your soul? Maybe he was just a seriously ill homeless man looking for shelter on a cold night?

The stranger was looking at you with a mysterious grin on his face like he wasn’t satisfied with something and was wondering about something at the same time. You felt like a disgusting insect under his judgmental gaze. The man scratched himself on the gray skin on his cheek, causing a rough chill on your back.

Scratch, scratch, scratch echoed across the room when you looked at each other in silence.

For a moment, the thought crossed your drunken mind, that you might be able to fall asleep when your eyelids became too heavy to keep them open, but then the he spoke in a hoarse voice.

“You annoy and irritate me,” his voice was loud in the quiet room like the sound of a bell. “But for some reason I can’t hate you.”

The gray creature leaned over you so that your noses almost touched.

The strands of his bangs tickled your forehead and a piece of loose material hanging around his neck fell on your covered chest. You could smell his bad breath stinking like rotten flesh and blood.

“But if you hurt my sister, I’ll kill you.”

The threatening words sounded like a promise he was determined to keep. Although you had no idea how you’d know his sister.

Still, you picked up something in his voice that made you think he didn’t want to do it. As a trader, you had to be able to read your customers, and that’s why you knew who wanted what, when they were hiding something and when they were honest with you.

That’s why you knew Warabihime was completely honest with you about her behavior, although sometimes she seems to want to show you more than she can. Something keeps her from telling you about her worry, that makes her seem depressed sometimes and she masks it with a gentle smile.

You never asked about that because you didn’t want to spoil the atmosphere and lead to unpleasant situations between you two.

After the man’s words, you were able to sleep. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol circulating in your body or the fear helped you, but when you woke up next day, you almost forgot the night guest. A slight throbbing of your head in the morning and a dry mouth only helped you remember what you were doing early in the evening with Kaito. You remembered the rest when you sat on the futon and saw a huddled figure in the corner of the room.

He squatted with his elbows on his thighs and his fingers touching the floor between his legs. He was so crooked that just looking at him made your back hurt. You didn’t believe he was comfortable like that. You regretted that only piece of his wardrobe was baggy navy trousers and red pieces of fabric loosely tied around his shoulders - seeing his extremely skinny body and morbidly gray-green skin, you had another headache again and you were getting nauseous, which you somehow stopped with a stone face.

The creature looked at you with boredom as if you were an unexpected and even more unwanted guest than the other way around - he didn’t budge or even blink like a grotesque sculpture.

He reminded you of Kaito’s stories of horrible, ugly, stone figures placed on the rooftops of many temples and cathedrals in faraway lands that he’d heard from other people - whether it’s tourists or foreign traders. They called them chimeras or gargoyles, depending on their function.

Was he a product of your mind as a sign to stop drinking?

“Are you finally get up?”

He asked, interrupting the silence and tilting his head slightly in a way familiar to you, but all you could do was nod your head and issue from a clenched throat quietly “Uh”.

You noticed that the window was closed now by wooden shutters and he was sitting under the wall adjacent to it as far away from it as possible.

“Don’t you have work today?”

You swallowed your saliva and nodded your head again. Feeling like an unwanted pest in your own home, you got up and folded the sheets. You put it on the other side of the room (under the window) and moved into the kitchen feeling behind you the watchful gaze of the bulging eyes and the menacing aura of your guest.

You entered the kitchen (the largest room in the house), where you had a low table and a stone stove, but you didn’t use it. An iron kettle for boiling water you set over a small fire. You remember when you dug a hole by yourself and then you covered it with bricks for safety. You liked to use it.

When you looked back, you saw a caricature of a man standing at the entrance to the room, still hidden in the shadows. He watched you from semi closed eyelids with boredom.

Does he have a skin condition? Can the sun hurt him? Is he afraid? Or maybe, like a vampire, you have to invite him?

A distant memory flashed through your head - how, as a little kid, you overheard a conversation among adults about bloodthirsty creatures turning to dust while they were standing in the sunlight. At that time they told you to leave then so as not to scare you, but curiosity was stronger.

Why do you suddenly remember that after all these years?

You shook your head and closed the shutters. To make sure the wind wouldn’t open them, you pulled the metal lock too for safety.

The room was semi-darkness.

Why did you do that?

Just to avoid a worse headache, and he decided to take advantage of it by walking into the kitchen.

Close up, when his position didn’t hide too much from you so you could see how bad he was - appearing rough and sickly skin was marked by numerous black marks, and the abdomen was practically concave. There were also bony hips protruding from behind the his material trousers, and you could describe him as a living skeleton, although he had heavily scratched muscle tissue gathered around his shoulders.

You placed two small clay tea cups on the table (remembering that you still had some medicinal herbs left for a hangover) and caused a mischievous smile on your comrade’s face as if you had done something stupid.

Yet he sat beside you at the table with his legs crossed and watched in silence as you ate a piece of dry meat with buttered bread. You weren’t sure how you were able to swallow when his constant gaze on you made your throat clenched itself. He didn’t even blink.

You paid him back with the same, but you couldn’t stand it for a long time and you started looking into the space above him. When you looked at him, you felt some kind of regret that made you offer him a piece of meat in your hand.

With this you caused him a loud burst of laughter, from which you jumped up in your seat. You amused him so much that he closed his eyelids and covered his mouth full of sharp yellow teeth with one hand, and he started hitting his knee with the other.

You didn’t know what was funny about it, so you just sat in front of him with a disconcerting face and with your hand still out holding a piece of meat pointing at him, but now you felt like an animal who had done a trick.

Gyutaro amused the absurdity of the situation and this irony, as you, a human - practically defenseless against him and unaware of his initial intentions (he still judging you) offer him, the demon, who has killed hundreds of people, a piece of food. If he was hungry, you’d be the first course on his menu.

When he calmed down a little, the broad smile still didn’t come off his face revealing his big teeth and made small wrinkles near his eyes showing how cheerful he was now.

You had a shiver for a moment, but you decided not to show it. If he isn’t a vision of your sleepy mind induced by alcohol, then it was better not to provoke him and didn’t let him know you’re afraid of him.

The stranger, feeling comfortable enough with you, lay down on the floor on his left side and resting his head on his fists, watched your morning routine without moving.

When you went to the other room to pick up some clothes (your house had only three rooms, one of which was a storage room) he just turned his head towards you and again returning to his previous, bored posture.

Even though he wasn’t physically moving, his eyes followed you, tracking your every move.

Then you also had to set up your wooden stall and load the goods on it. Unfortunately, your mare died a few months ago and you had to pull the carriage on wheels to the nearest town. If it weren’t for your expensive encounters with Warabihime, you could probably buy another horse sooner…

Actually, you were planning on taking the day off, but your unexpected visitor made you not want to stay home.

When you came back late in the evening, the only sign of him was the untouched clay cup of cold tea that you put in front of him.

For a moment, you really believed it was just a hallucination, but he came back after a few days.

• • •

You came home again at night after another day’s work in a remote city and he was already waiting for you inside. When you closed the door behind you, cutting yourself off from the sound of crickets in the nearby fields, you heard a quiet, characteristic for him scratch, scratch, scratch carring over a small building. You didn’t have time to escape to the street because he showed up right next to you.

There were several deep wounds on the right side of his face caused by his nervous scratching. Seeing you seemed to upset him even more because his movements got even more intense.

“Ne, ne, where have you been? Why don’t you come to her?”

Completely surprised by his sudden appearance, you took your breath away and all you could do was just stupidly open and close your mouth like a fish pulled out of the water. It was probably the first time, when you didn’t know what to say.

“Daki is impatient. She’s been waiting long enough for you.”

The man said that with a grudge against you. He was mad at you for not trying harder and making his pretty sister angry.

“Who… Who is Daki?”

You only managed to mouthed through a clenched throat as the monster in your kitchen continued to scratch nervously. He paused for a moment, reminding himself that you didn’t know everything yet, so he just said:

“Warabihime.”

Her name made your heart beat a little faster and you started to wonder how much you really know about her? Why did he call her Daki? How much does she have to do with him and who is he?

But before you could ask him anything, he threw you on his shoulder. Afraid he would drop you (or roll over with you), you propped on his bony back, but he had a surprisingly strong grip for someone looking so hungry.

Holding you with one hand, he went out in front of your house, jumped high and landed on the roof of a nearby building. It happened so fast that you only felt a sudden rush of cold air and could see your wooden geta fall down where you were just now.

Surprised and even more frightened, you clung tighter to a man, who seemed to mock your fear. You could have sworn that for a brief moment before he ran on the rooftops toward the bright Yoshiwara District you could see a smile on his face.

The fact that he only held you with one hand didn’t help you calm down at all.

A few minutes later, you were facing your black-haired oiran at Kyogoku House. It was the first time you had been in her seirō - you had always only met in tea house, but you didn’t have a nerve now to look around the room.

She sat in front of you proudly like a princess on a tatami dressed in a beautiful, silk, white kimono with a broad smile on her painted lips and a joy dancing in her bright eyes. She seemed even more radiant with affection, when she saw you.

Unusually, she was dressed more skimpily than usual - when her clothes opened you saw that instead of many other colorful layers of attire she was wearing only pink and black, lace panties and a wide obi of a similar color in a floral pattern tied around her slim belly. Her breasts were covered only by two straps of black material held by the belt, and her long, slender legs were dressed in stockings to match her underwear.

The man who brought you here unceremoniously dropped you off his shoulder on the floor and looked at you as if you were his new problem.

You jumped with your gaze from a figure standing above you to a woman sitting nearby without knowing what to do or why they brought you here.

Finally, the green-skinned man turned on his heel and walked toward the window you just came through, saying:

“I think you two have a little talk to do.”

And he jumped outside. He expected you to be too embarrassed to talk to Daki when he was around (although he was there all the time during your previous meetings, not that you knew about it) and he wanted her to explain this all to you.

You certainly had a ton of questions, and whether you survive afterwards will depend only on you.

Gyutaro crouched over the open window listening attentively to every word. His hand instinctively found its way to his skinny clavicle and began to unconsciously scratch it to relieve the stress.

After a long and, it would seem, difficult conversation for both of you, there was finally a deaf silence. He wondered for a moment if she killed you and if he could come back now. Then you spoke again. You were insecure and nervous - he could tell from your voice, but you surprised him again.

You wanted to try and keep seeing her. Despite knowing they’re both bloodthirsty demons eating your kind.

Gyutaro couldn’t take much time to think about your decision because he saw the black ink sky slowly change to a bright blue and red-orange flashes of the sun appear on the horizon, reminiscent of lanterns hanging in the Entertainment District.

Suddenly interrupting for you two, he went inside and kidnapped you again (despite his sister’s protests) jumping out with you to the street - he didn’t have much time and because you lost your shoes earlier, he couldn’t just leave you there. He knew Daki would be even more upset with him.

- - -

You were at the entrance of your house in just a few minutes. He stopped on the roof and grabbed you tight under the armpits. Your [Hair Color] hair was blowing in every possible direction by the wind and your head was spinning slightly like you were drunk again.

He bowed his head slightly and the orange sky looked like hellish flames behind him. He looked at you from behind his black-green hair, narrowing his menacingly yellow eyes.

“Do you have any idea what will happen if you ever cheat on her?”

Already less intimidated by his appearance, you nodded and said loudly, “You’re going to kill me!” and he slightly tilted his head as if you were irritating his ears.

“At least you’re smart.”

After these words, he let you fall on the gravel road outside your door. You moaned from the pain of a beaten ass, but you didn’t break anything - fortunately the height was too low for that.

Gyutaro watched for a moment as you lay before he disappeared behind the edge of the roof and rushed back to Kyogoku House. You didn’t know why he didn’t stay with you if he’d been there before… unless he was bothered by being with you all day.

Before any of your neighbors could see you, you got up with difficulty and took the geta that had been left on the street. Maybe someday you’ll find another…

You looked over the buildings thinking you’d see a big dark figure running over them, but he was gone, and you still had in your head nervous voice Warabi– … No, it’s Daki.

She told you her real name and what she was. She told you about her older brother and their history. She didn’t plan to hide anything from you from now on and exposed herself to you more than to anyone else.

Many had seen her attractive, firm body hidden under many layers of silk, but no one had yet known her heart.

Could you ignore something like that?

• • •

And you tried to come more often anyway. You couldn’t break your routine, but sometimes she was so impatient that she would even give you money, so you could get there early. Of course, it would have been easier if she intimidated the homeowners, Omitsu and her husband into letting you meet whenever you wanted, but you forbade her.

You could understand eating people, you would be a hypocrite to condemn her for eating the only food she could when you ate beef, veal, chicken and fish, when you were hungry. So that you could live on your own, you ate the flesh of other beings like many other species, and the fact that demons could only eat human was not her fault.

But you couldn’t tolerate, much less accept, terrorizing others so that only for you could meet. You could never accept senseless bloodshed or hurting and scaring others.

Your first face-to-face meeting was two weeks later, and it was the first time you were with all two of them. Gyutaro was ready to go out and hide somewhere not to disturb you, but you stopped him. You didn’t feel embarrassed or disgusted by him, although when you first saw him, he terrified you.

“Huh?” he murmured and his hand raised to scratch his neck. He looked at you with a mixture of surprise and amazement, and Daki felt a pleasant warmth pouring into her interior. So far, only two people have been kind to her brother.

If it wasn’t for her full makeup, you might see her cheeks blushing with delight. She slightly opened her lips in surprise, and her eyes glazed in the light of candles - she looked like a child at the sight of an unexpected, dream gift.

The man looked at his sister to see if she was okay with it and, not seeing any objection, sat down, but still keeping his distance. As time went on, he began to sit closer and closer to you.

You didn’t always just talk - sometimes Daki played koto or shamisen, that already were in the tea house or you played a board game Go.

• • •

Gyutaro finally fully understood why she was so angry when he came back from his long absence smelling like blood and you.

At first she was just angry with him for leaving her alone and even tried to look for him (without success), but when she smelled your strong smell from him she feared the worst. This led to another fight, and this time she didn’t pay attention to the furniture or the appearance of pretending to be a human being.

Frightened Omitsu told all the girls to stay away from her room hearing the sound of broken wood and her screams.

Hinatsuru then became more suspicious of the demon’s identity, but she was unable to send Kasugai crow to Tengen with her suspicions. She had to wait for her, and due to the increased demon activity in the city, she might have been caught. It wouldn’t be hard for a strong demon to kill a bird and then her.

She couldn’t have made a mistake. And she needed a real proof so she wouldn’t accidentally bewray herself by pointing out the wrong person.

• • •

Honestly, you were doing pretty good right now. Your insistence on stil making appearances all the time irritated Daki, who, if she could, would see you every day. Her brother supported you, although on the other hand, he hated saying no to his sister.

However, they both noticed that someone was watching their every move, and not only at Kyogoku House, so they had to continue the farce, at least until they got rid of all the pests.

But back to the present…

After giving the letter of request, the man (the owner of the seirō and Omitsu’s husband, whose name you couldn’t remember) told you that Warabihime was already waiting for you on the floor of the tea house.

Kyogoku House was the residence of oiran, kamuro, shinzou, other workers and owners couples - the women never brought their clients there and specifically went only to the chaya associated with their houses.

Surprised by her impatience, you let him lead you to the room. The little girls (probably kamuro, supporter housekeepers who cleaned and learned the artistic part of oiran work) looked at you with curiosity as always, not knowing how you could want to meet someone as cruel as Warabihime.

Out of politeness, you smiled warmly at them and waved, recognizing a few faces. Behind them, you saw a woman with bright purple eyes, coming out of one of the rooms. Her kimono fit her violet eyes like metal clips grafted into her fantastically arranged long hair. Under her left eye, you saw a tiny beauty mark through the white make-up that adds charm to her.

You thought maybe Daki mentioned about her once or two - she didn’t like her and complained about her a lot. What did she do to her? She never said it, although it was very likely nothing. The demon sometimes acts like a spoiled child around you when she’s completely done pretending.

“So, [Last Name]” the old man began as he stood with you in front of the thin shōji door. “Why are you with Warabihime? What do you like so much about her?”

You answered without hesitation.

“She’s cute.”

And you heard a loud man’s laugh coming out from behind the door. Gyutaro laughed uncontrollably, making the man next to you pale and almost fall over. At the last minute, you grabbed him by the arm and didn’t let him.

He nervously wiped his forehead with a cloth handkerchief and, saying he could handle it now and ran to the frist floor to be as far away from the monster and this cursed room as possible.

When you went inside, you saw the green-skinned demon shaking all over, holding his belly and laughing, covering his mouth with his other hand, trying to be quiet (which he didn’t do very well). His yellow eyes narrowed and took the shape of crescent moon. You thought you saw a tear drops out of one of them.

Daki tried to silence him by standing over him with wrinkled eyebrows, repeating over and over “Shhhh, shhhh,” loudly with her finger pressed against her narrow lips, but it didn’t help. Despite the white foundation all over her face and neck (part of her oiran makeup), you could see her ears turning deep red.

Gyutaro’s amusement also came to you, and after a while you also began to laugh, enjoying the next meeting with the demonic siblings.

As always, you spent a few hours together. Daki was playing shamisen, and you and her brother were playing Go while you were talking. You could have sworn that the whole meeting, the black-haired girl was strangely thoughtful. When you caught her looking at you, she looked away fast and her ears turned red again.

• • •

After all, just as you were leaving, you were suddenly dragged by the shoulder into a dark room. It was one of the new oiran. What did Daki say her name was? Hinatsuru? Maybe a little different.

“Um, yes?”

You asked without knowing what she might want from you. Her eyebrows wrinkled with concern and her lips slightly extended as if she was still hesitating about what she was doing. She kept holding you under your arm, squeezing your clothes tighter.

She had thin and slender fingers, but her grip wasn’t delicate. If you didn’t know, you’d think you were caught by a hard-working young man.

“I–, I need help,” she whispered finally looking into your eyes. She looked desperate. “It’s important and only you can help me.”

“Excuse me?”

There was still a deep horror on her face, worrying you a little bit and making you wonder how you could help her? You had never spoken until now. But despite this, Hinatsuru knew you well - the girls at Kyogoku House talking about you, because you were probably the longest customer of cold Warabihime and now the only one.

She didn’t want to imply anything, but everything suggested that others might be dead, and she didn’t want anything to happen to you. Also, you must have gotten to know the cruel oiran very well by that time and you could help her in her mission.

She now had limited movements and lost contact with the other two women. She tried to send a message to Tengen some time ago by mices, but he still didn’t respond. Maybe the demon found out.

“Please come here tomorrow and meet me. You have to talk to me,” she said as quietly as before.

You were about to ask why, but when you saw the feelings in her eyes... You just nodded. It must have been something important if she insisted, and there was a reason why she couldn’t talk about it now.

Was she afraid of someone?

The first thing that came to your mind was Daki, but she promised you no more terrorizing the inhabitants of her seirō. Maybe you’re thinking too much about her secret and that’s why she’s the one that comes to mind. Maybe it’s not about her at all…

“And take it.”

She handed you a object wrapped in a purple fabric. You couldn’t tell from only the touch what it was, so you hid it smoothly behind your kimono and nodded again.

Now she let you go. And yet you walked out of there with a bad feeling and a heavy burden on your shoulders.

- - -

Hinatsuru breathed a sigh of relief when you said yes. She was hoping to save you. She waited a moment before leaving the room herself and the first thing she saw, was Warabihime’s face contorted in a grimace of anger.

Her head was slightly tilted to the right and she frown to form a wrinkle on her smooth forehead.

“What are you doing?” she asked through clenched teeth.

Suddenly, cold sweat sweated all over the woman and she was covered with goose bumps. Her whole body was screaming, “RUN, FIGHT!” but she couldn’t move a single limb. It was hard even for her to breathe.

“N-nothing.”

The oiran leaned dangerously close, so Hinatsuru could easily smell her delicate sakura perfume and she whispered into her ear.

“So don’t touch what’s not yours, or you’ll lose your hands.”

Daki stepped away from her, threateningly staring her in the eyes for a moment, and left to return to Kyogoku House. She still could her talking as she walked away:

“I heard some girls disappeared from Tokito House recently. Take care of yourself.”

Hinatsuru felt she had to get out of here. She instinctively squeezed a small dose of poison hidden in the sleeve of the kimono she took with her just in case to simulate illness.

Yes, it’s time to bring in Uzui.

➻ Little dictionary:

Kimono (着物, きもの, lit. "thing to wear") - is a traditional Japanese garment. The kimono is a wrapped-front garment with square sleeves and a rectangular body, and is worn left side wrapped over right, unless the wearer is deceased.

Futon (布団) - traditional japanese bedding. It consists of a mattress (shiki-buton) and a duvet (kake-buton). Futons after taking out for the night from the wall cabinet (oshiire) are laid on tatami. After they are rolled up and put in the wardrobe in the morning, you gain free space in the room for the day, which can be used for other purposes.

Zataku (座卓) - is the generic term for this kind of low table.

Onigiri (御握り) - is made of rice formed into a triangular or oval shape, sometimes wrapped in a nori (Japanese name for different species of edible seaweed). This dish is stuffed with, among others, marinated Japanese apricot, roe, shrimp, fish, etc. The stuffing is usually salty to protect the rice from spoilage.

Gyūdon (牛丼, Japanese Beef Rice Bowl) - is one of the most popular and inexpensive fast food dishes in Japan. Its name can be literally translated to beef bowl.

Ikejime (活け締め) - It is a technique of killing fish neutralizing the nervous system of a live animal from bleeding. This ancient practice, of Japanese origin, has the effect of reducing stress and pain in fish. His muscles are not as tight, his flesh holds better, and his taste qualities are better compared to the usual way of strangulation.

Genre: Romance || Hurt/Comfort

Word count and reading time: +12.1k (49 min.)

⚠ Warnings for this part of the request: Minor death, Eating dead body, Severe injuries (not Reader), Forbidden Love/Mutual Pining,

Mukago’s life as a member of Twelve Kizuki was… stressful. She thought if she could join a group of the most powerful demons in the world, it would be easier for her, but it’s just getting harder.

She felt the constant pressure exerted by Muzan, the Upper Ranks looked down on her with superiority and contempt, and she was constantly afraid to maintain her position as the Lower Four.

Rui, Lower Five, was strong and probably if he wasn’t interested in climbing the ranks of Twelve Kizuki he could easily beat her - she could feel it just by standing near him during meetings.

He gave off a dense and suffocating aura showing how many people he had eaten and illustrating how ruthless and insensitive he was.

Apparently, he didn’t spare even the members of his “family”, which Kibutsuji kindly allowed him to create. Its size changed very quickly and often - someone joined, someone left (usually from his white hand in monstrous torments) and a new replacement appeared again.

This made him Muzan’s favorite, and all the Lower Ranks looked at him with jealousy, although he didn’t seem to notice or care about it.

She wouldn’t have beaten him if he challenged her to the Blood Battle - she knew her abilities and the differences between their powers that divide them like a deep chasm.

This didn’t mean that she wouldn’t try to defend herself, she would be foolish to surrender without a fight.

He didn’t need weak and cowardly demons. He wanted nothing from them but boundless devotion and ruthlessness. It’s the only way she could go far as a demon, as Lower One and all the Upper Ranks have shown.

And that’s why she was relieved that the spider boy was indifferent to the rat race in the ranks of Twelve Kizuki. As a result, she could still live.

But even though she had been one of Kizuki for some time, she still didn’t feel like a member of their group. It’s like she totally doesn’t fit there.

The Kibutsuji once said that they all should get rid of their humanity. Their greatest weakness, but just because she was a demon doesn’t mean that she still has no human feelings - she could still laugh, cry and feel gratitude for the kindness showed for her.

That’s why she remembers with pleasure her first encounter with [Last Name], which she tries to hide even from the Kibutsuji, fearing how he might react.

She was wounded and running from the Demon Slayer. She hoped her Lower Rank 4 position would somehow deter him, but he was determined to kill her. Too late she noticed that he was one of the kinoe - hashire she would have sensed from afar long ago.

With dizzying speed she ran through the trees, hearing his footsteps behind her, not at all far behind her. He easily kept up with her.

Every time she heard him pull out his katana with a metallic sound, she tilted her head down or changed direction to avoid the colored blade. Once he managed to cut the tips of her horns. She felt sweat run all over her body and her hair stand on end.

This chase could go on indefinitely unless one coincidence - a cliff that neither she nor he noticed.

With the menacing sound of a katana cutting through the air, she tried to dodge once again and cover her head with her hands, but suddenly she lost ground under her feet.

She didn’t have time to scream when she started falling, with the Demon Slayer next to her.

In the dark she had much better eyesight than humans in the dark, and in the dim moonlight she could see a surprise painted on the boy’s face - he didn’t even understand, what was happening before he hit the stones below them with a crack.

The fall, despite appearances, was quiet - the sound of broken bones was no louder than the sound of breaking a dry branch. Neither of them screamed. The only thing that escaped their mouths was the air collected in their lungs, which came out stifled.

She landed on her abdomen - she felt pain in her bent limbs and collapsed lungs.

Her nerve endings were burning her throughout her body, sending a message to her brain about her numerous critical injuries, and liters of blood spilling from her wounds made her feel cold as if she were lying in the snow. The punctured lungs prevented her from breathing, and the blood flooding them from the inside would probably have drowned her long ago, if she hadn’t been a demon.

Either that, or she’d die of pain because, unfortunately, she fell frist on her feet.

The nameless Demon Slayer fell out of her line of sight, and it cost her too much effort to lift and turn her head to see where he lay.

She didn’t hear his groans or heavy, unsteady breathing indicative of an agonizing state of great pain, so she suspected he fell on his head and split his skull. He died quickly and probably painlessly, unlike her - she was waiting for a long and painful recovery now.

If she faints for a few hours it would be a grace, but her mind stubbornly kept her conscious.

After about thirty minutes (which seemed like an eternity to her), her throat regenerated, and although she was still in pain, she was able to emit squeaks of pain. She sounded pathetic even to her own ears - not like a member of the most powerful demons in the world, but like a mouse tormented by a cat.

Tears continued to flow from her eyes, like endless waterfalls, blurring the view of white flowers from her face. It hurt, everything hurt her so much.

Suddenly she heard footsteps approaching her, and then saw a brighter and brighter light illuminating everything in front of her. Rocks, trees, plants… For a moment she feared it would be a rising of the day, but she didn’t burn after standing in all its glory.

The person, who arrived, stood behind her back and she could only guess who it was - a lost trader in the mountains? Another demon? Or maybe another Demon Slayer?

In her present condition, she couldn’t escape. She was scared, but at the same time she wanted all the pain to end.

Will that be the end of her? Will she find peace? Will she go to hell for her sins? Will she be reborn and get a second chance?

The person stood over them for a moment and heard only the hiss of the fire burning land in the candle that human had brought and its faster breathing.

She saw how the light moving and long shadow on the stones in front of her as the mystery figure covered the flame.

The traveler was afraid. She was sure of it. Mugako didn’t have a sharpened sense of hearing as well as the Upper Moon, but the person’s heart was beating so hard that she could hear it as if she had an ear on their chest.

Despite panic, this heartbeat calmed her down a bit. With a sore throat in a hoarse, quiet voice she said:

“He-help…”

And finally, she began to float away into blissful unconsciousness, listening to the sound of a rapid heartbeat.

• • •

Mukago woke up some time later in an unfamiliar place. She didn’t see the black sky above her or even the surrounding her before mountain landscape, but the wooden ceiling of a small house. She lay on a soft futon tightly covered with numerous blankets to keep her warm.

Where was she? Did she die? This is reincarnation?

Her sense of smell was immediately attacked by the numerous sweet smells, which was mixing with each other and surrounding her from all sides. She couldn’t pick up one that would tell her where she was.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of sliding wooden doors and footsteps. With difficulty she turned her head and saw the figure standing in the dark - she knew from the smell that it was a human. Unfortunately, it was too dark for her to tell more about person from place where she lay. She’d have to get up and get closer, but her head (and all the limbs) seemed to weigh hundreds of kilograms.

The stranger gently put down the wicker baskets on the ground next to the entrance and went to the furnace nearby. As quietly as before, person threw in a few logs of wood and lit a fire.

Are you afraid of her? Is that why you were so careful? But then why would you take her to your home?

In the dim orange light from the stone furnace, she saw better the facial features of her new companion. You didn’t look like a Demon Slayer, and your worried, wrinkled eyebrows didn’t indicate bad intentions. More like regret.

Maybe you regretted your decision and wondered what to do next? What should you do with a dangerous demon under your roof?

Suddenly you noticed she was awake and with a quiet “oh!” you froze motionless. In the warm glow of fire, she saw the surprise that appeared on your face for a second and then how you looked at her with those [color] eyes with an expression she didn’t recognize for now. She hasn’t seen it on anyone’s face too long time to tell immediately what kind of emotion it is.

She knew perfectly well the fear hidden in the stiff faces of her dead victims or the sadness when they begged for mercy in tears. She had seen pain and anger, but this… It was something new.

“Are you still going to sleep? Are you all right?” you asked, confusing her even more.

Why would you ask that and care about her? With every moment she spent with you, she have more and more questions popping into her head, and the uncertainty of your intentions twisting her guts. She didn’t know what to expect from you.

She nodded hesitantly and again there was silence between you for a few minutes.

You turned your gaze away from her looking at a distant point in front of you, focusing on your thoughts, and she felt the atmosphere getting more thicker.

You didn’t look like you were planning on speaking anytime soon, so she decided to do it, but before she spoke she already knew that it wouldn’t be an easy - no sound would pass through her dry, sore throat, and her swollen like a sponge tongue, stuck to her palate.

She swallowed her saliva with difficulty a few times and opened her glued lips with a wet sound attracting your attention again.

“Where–?”

“At my house,” you said quickly and didn’t let her finish. “Don’t bother yourself, lie down. Try to get more sleep.”

She closed her mouth obediently and continued to stare at you with a startled look.

Unable to stand her attentive, unblinking gaze, you turned your head the other way and looked into space. You felt awkward when she did it.

The windows were closed with wooden shutters, so the only source of light in the small hut was the fire from the furnace, and the sound that interrupted the uncomfortable silence was the crackling of wood in the heat and your quiet breaths.

When you entered the house you noticed a change - her breathing was no longer as loud and whistling as at the beginning, when you found her.

Have her lungs already regenerated? If so, how long will it take for her to fully recover?

You tightened your lips in anger and frowned slightly in frustration. What are you gonna do next? What will she do?

How stupid you were…

You chastised yourself in your mind for your recklessness and wondered what you should do now, when the demon was watching you all the time.

She could see perfectly well how your face changed under the influence of emotion - honestly, anyone could read you like an open book, but she hoped you wouldn’t suddenly pull out a nichirin blade from somewhere to kill her.

She wasn’t sure, she would have been able to defend herself from you in this state.

- - -

The night passed for you… without much 'attraction' - you didn’t talk to Mukago anymore and after a few minutes you fell asleep by the stove through its warmth and she didn’t try to wake you up. She focused on regenerating as quickly as possible so she could leave.

But unfortunately, she couldn’t sleep at the same time anymore, so she just lay alone with her thoughts, staring at the ceiling. Hunger squeezed and twisted her guts, the recovering drained a lot of energy from her, and when she looked at you, saliva flowed into her mouth.

You looked so good with that calm face untainted by any worries when you were conscious. Your scent filled her nostrils until she got dizzy - she felt drunk from your scent. You weren’t a marechi, but everything in the cabin smelled like you - the floor, the furniture and even the sheets she was lying in.

The years spent in the wooden walls made the entire house to soak up your scent like a handkerchief thrown into the water, although you probably didn’t smell it - demons have a much more sensitive sense of smell than humans, and her hunger with numerous, severe injuries only made it worse.

You were like an aromatic, fat chicken covered in honey over a fire. With skin flushed from the warmth and slightly shiny from the sweat running down your forehead.

You were definitely well seasoned. Just looking at you, she could imagine the structure of your muscles, feel the distinct iron taste of blood on her tongue spiced with your emotions.

There were many chemical reactions in the human body that were also caused by hormones and enzymes - from what she remembered about butchering meat or fish, when she was still human. Apparently, fear killed the taste of meat by the adrenaline and acids released in muscle tissues during stressful situations, so now you were perfect. Hunters and fishermen tried to kill the animal as quickly and painlessly as possible to prevent it. This killing technique is called ikejime.

You weren’t special, but in her condition, you were everything she could have dreamed of right now.

Normally, she’d sneak up on you while you were asleep and kill you before you could react, but she couldn’t. She still had broken bones (not only in her legs) and too severe internal injuries. All she had left was to wait and suffer in the silence still lured by your scent like a bee to a flower.

You unknowingly tortured her and turned your little house into her own private hell. You were her executioner, even though you didn’t do anything to her.

Her belly murmured low and long for food like a dog waiting for a bone, but it was a sound too muffled by the blanket to wake you up. You didn’t even move in your position.

An unpleasant spasm passed through her bowels like a spear, and the emptiness in her stomach became even more painful. Even more saliva poured into her mouth and flowed down her unnaturally pale cheek to soak into the pillow under her head and into her messy hair.

All she could do now was looking at you with a deep hunger in her eyes.

- - -

Shortly after sunrise you woke up - although the shutter was tightly closed and covered with some material she could tell by the singing of the morning birds.

Your sleepy eyes slowly opened and you stretched your bones with a quiet crack. From being in an awkward position for hours, your back and neck hurt. You grabbed the back of your neck to massage your tense muscles and looked around with tired eyes into a dark room, but you didn’t saw anything - the fire from the furnace has long gone out, leaving behind a delicate smell of smoke.

Moving around in a small room using only your memory, you walked up to the door and a little opened it, letting light in - luckily for your adopted guest, they didn’t face east or west, so it was half-dark.

Now you could see a white horned head with silver hair around her like a halo from beneath your bedding. Her dark eyes stared at you, making you less comfortable with a constant observer.

Honestly, if you forgot her, you’d scream in terror until the nearest village heard you and waking everyone up.

How about you become a new legend about a ghost living in the mountains with a killing voice, hm?

Her eyes followed you wherever you went in a small room - whether you made yourself breakfast or a bento for lunch at work. You pretended you didn’t notice how the unnatural irises moved, tracking your every slightest movement. When you disappeared out of their area, she even struggled to move her whole head towards you.

Was it uncomfortable? Yes. Was that disturbing? Most of all.

And you could have left the door locked and forgotten about her… Or leave her in the mountains till morning to burn.

“I’m going to work, don’t destroy or touch anything,” you said coldly when you changed (hiding behind a curtain made from an old blanket and hung from the ceiling on a beam supporting the roof) clothes and turned to the exit.

You didn’t even look at her knowing she’d still stare at you quietly with those dark eyes.

- - -

To your surprise, when you came home that evening, the demon woman was still lying where you left her.

Demons don’t regenerate faster?

You thought slowly chewing an onigiri ball. A little white rice stuck to your cheeks around your lips, but you didn’t pay much attention to it when you were focused on the lying demon.

“You still can’t move?” you asked her, still standing in the red light of the setting sun.

You had a bag of groceries hanging loosely on your one shoulder and an axe in the other hand. You weren’t stupid enough to walk into a dark room with a predator without any weapons.

But you were stupid enough to let a monster in and fall asleep next to her.

You reprimanded yourself quietly in your mind, frowned at that and clenched the handle of the iron axe tighter.

And then you left her unsupervised.

Were you mad at yourself? Yeah, but you can’t change the time. You could only hope she was really too hurt to get to you.

“Hey, come on, move,” you ordered to her still not going inside.

“I-I can’t…” she said in a slightly hoarse voice. You couldn’t tell if it was because of her bad condition or the long time she hadn’t used it.

So far, her body has taken care of numerous internal injuries and setting her ribs in right place. Maybe if she had eaten in the meantime it would have gone faster, but she was completely alone all day without any food.

Unfortunately, despite healing most of the injuries from her body, she felt weaker because of the amount of energy it consumed from her. Probably even after she’s completely healed, she won’t be able to stand on her feet for a while.

“This better be true,” you threatened, and she could have seen your embrance on the wooden shaft of the tool tighten. She even heard the wood crackling quietly under your hand.

You were ready to attack her at any moment if she suddenly jumped at you, and she was sure you wouldn’t hesitate.

You went inside and put a white wrap from a fabric bag next to her. It emitted a strong odor that attracted her on the one hand and repelled her on the other. Like water in a poisoned lake, a dehydrated animal. Like a Venus flytrap bugs.

“Eat,” you said looking down at her, and the command acted on her like letting the dog off a leash.

She had one big word in her head: “FOOD” - she immediately turning to the bundle with a weak, pale hand ending with sharp claws and she tore the material.

It was meat.

She felt she was about to cry. She didn’t understand your kindness and she had many questions.

Who are you to her, after all? You helped her a lot, but your behavior shows her how much you despise her (or her kind). You still gave her mixed signals that caused her a headache.

If she still goes on like this, she’ll go crazy because of you.

With a trembling hand, she grabbed it and shoved it into her mouth, almost choking. The sudden sweetness that attacked her tongue turned into a bitter and tart taste, making her want to vomit.

She quickly spat out a large piece of meat and began coughing and spitting with effort to rid her mouth of the residue. When she looked up, she saw you looking at her frown in a grim grimace of discontent.

She knew that look, you reminded her… It’s better not to mention his name here. Even quietly, because he’d find out, and he’d be angry to see one of his moons in such a weak state. He would probably consider her unworthy of that rank.

And what would he do next? Would he downgrade her to a lower position? Would he expel her from Twelve Kizuki? Would he kill her?

Those thoughts gave her the creeps.

“What is it? Why can’t you eat?” You asked, and your voice sounded sharp in her ears. She lowered her head. She couldn’t look you in the face for some reason.

“You’re a demon, you eat meat,” you said as if you were stating the obvious, such as that it’s bright during the day and birds fly in the sky.

“I can’t,” she admitted quietly and reluctantly, still trembling. “I can’t eat an animal.”

Are you gonna kill her now? You gonna call a Demon Slayer? Why don’t you just expose her to sunlight?

All she heard was your unhappy sigh above her and saw how you take the bag of the rest of the meat from her. There was still probably kilo in there.

“Well, it’s sad, but it won’t go to waste.”

You turned away from her and sat by the stone oven with the dry twigs from the wicker basket. Moments later, you put a pot on it and started preparing food for yourself.

In the next few minutes, the hut was filled with aromas of spices and the sound of bubbling water for sauce. All your attention was turned to cooking and she could see your calm face again illuminated by a yellow, warm flame.

You looked as if you had forgotten about her presence and all your problems - now there was only you and your little cabin. Your home. The outside world didn’t exist. You probably didn’t even worry about the probable sudden intrusion of some dangerous intruder.

Mukago would like to have such a quiet haven. A place, where she can come and forget everything - about demons and people, the rest of Kizuki and about her Master, fear of whether she’ll survive another day or the slayer she encounters is stronger than she is.

But looking at you, she finally calmed herself - it was nice to see you at work, even when you weren’t doing anything special.

Lying in your futon and covered with a blanket (she could still smell your scent, even though it had begun to faded) watching you cook - this scene was almost family-like. Affectionate. Intimate.

If she were human, the smell would make her drool. Maybe you could eat together.

When you were done, you put your food in a clay dish and sat in the corner not far from the furnace that was still generating heat. Suddenly, as if you remembering something, you looked in her direction without moving.

“Are you going to watch me eat like that?” you asked hesitantly.

Surprised, she forgot she was staring at you so intensely. Slightly ashamed, she looked away and focused on the ceiling this time.

Now the roles were reversed and you were staring at her, slowly eating the steaming gyūdon and wondering what to do next.

You should have gotten rid of her this morning, thrown her in the sunlight. What went into your mind to take her with you? If not now, she’ll kill you the next time. The only thing demons can eat is human flesh, and now you’re sure, and she even confirmed it. She’s hungry, you can’t feed her anything else. The sooner you take care of this, the better it will be.

You thought as you put the dish next to you and turned to the door. The sun has already set.

With resignation, you promised yourself you’d get rid of her in the morning (even though you knew, you wouldn’t keep it as usual).

“How long will it take you to regenerate?”

You suddenly broke the silence. The horned demon looked at you and the fire reflected in her silver irises. The red sclera all around it made her look like she really came out of the depths of hell, but there was something endearing about her - if it weren’t for the unnaturally eyes color and horns, she would have been really lovely human.

“I don’t know.”

She admitted it honestly, because she had nothing else and asked instead what will you do with her, still not looking at you.

“I don’t know,” you said as if you wanted to tease her.

Although the way your body was tensed up and your pulse quickened, she knew you were lying, but there was nothing she could do about it.

- - -

Mukago suddenly felt her blanket lift. She wasn’t sleeping - she just lay there with her eyes closed trying to speed up her recovery by focusing on healing individual fractures and injuries rather than trying everything at once.

With her slightly open eyelids, she saw you squatting next to her, holding the same axe on your shoulder as before, and staring at her belly with squinted eyes.

She quickly raised her hands, trying to shield herself from the blows, squealing like any woman in the face of unexpected danger. Surprised she was awake, you shivered and dropped the covering her material. A deep blush of shame appeared on your cheeks from being caught in the act of disgrace.

“I was just checking to see if you’re recovering well,” you said right away so she wouldn’t have any bad ideas…

And you thought you could change the sheets soon, because lying in stains of dried blood leaking through the bandages didn’t seem too hygienic to you, but you never mentioned it.

You sounded like you needed to explain yourself to her.

And stupid.

When you realized it, your surprised (and definitely guilty) face turned into a grimace again. You made a loud “tsk!” with your tongue and walked away from her.

Before you left, you took a big basket with you, and in the first rays of the sun coming through the door, she saw your ears are still red.

She was alone.

Again.

She felt like the small progress you had made in your unexpected relationship had been reduced to zero, and even as if you had taken a few extra steps backwards. She felt guilty about it because you really seemed nice even though you were hiding under the hood of a rough person all the time. She wished she hadn’t kept her eyes closed or called you.

Although she had spent years as a demon, she had not had many opportunities to meet another person to talk to. Humans quickly ended up as her food, weaker demons fled or died fighting for rank, and Twelve Kizuki treated each other as enemies.

Why did she only now feel how lonely she was? Or maybe it’s by tasting a sweet a little bit of the other person’s company?

Is it gonna be hard for her to get back into her life now after that you’ve just walked into it so unexpectedly?

Will she be able to return to those cold, lonely nights surrounded only by the dead bodies of her enemies who only hated her? Who only wanted to kill her?

You never gave her the feeling that you wanted to hurt her or that you were angry with her. You made ugly faces sometimes, but she saw you were only mad at yourself.

You did it when you said or showed her too much. You pretend you don’t care about her, but she doesn’t think it’s true. You’re a good person.

And maybe you were lonely in those mountains too. In these four wooden walls, where it is futile to look for the smell or traces of any guests.

Will she forget the heat from your furnace? The smell of flowers surrounding your home? The sound of your clamly beating heart or quietly breathing while you sleep?

When will she forget your voice or the color of your eyes? Or all those faces, that even though she didn’t feel comfortable with you at first, she found it funny now.

Did you know that when you get nervous, your left temple pulsates?

Here it was so… Pleasant. Nice. Different.

- - -

“How much more time do you need?” you asked when you came to see her in the afternoon.

She was now able to sit up and hardly felt any pain in her abdomen. The only thing stopping her from leaving was the sunlight and the broken bones in her legs.

“About twelve hours.” However, after a moment of reflection, she added. “Maybe a little more.”

Hearing an answer that satisfied you, you nodded your head and put away the new dry branches and charcoal. The last one you got from a friendly family, and the rest you found on the way home from the city where you work.

Despite living near the woods and mountains, you were neither a hunter nor a lumberjack. This meant, you had to get up early in the morning and drive your carretela the next few kilometers to your workplace, but you liked it. The other employees were always nice and there was always a customer to whom you could please with your goods. An additional plus was the specific place where you live allowing you to experiment with it.

And what were you trading?

“What are you doing?” the girl asked, when she felt a little more confident and saw you pull a little wrap from behind your kimono.

“I’m planting.”

You sprinkled seeds from a small handkerchief into a pot and wrote the name of the plant with charcoal on it, before you pulled out a thin notebook from the book cabinet and starting to write something in it. She thought you wouldn’t want to talk to her, but after a while, you started more talking.

“My boss sometimes gives me different seeds to record the growth of plants under different conditions than in the greenhouse.” You paused for a moment to see if you wrote the name on the other page correctly. “And there are also plants that won’t grow anywhere else, but in the mountains because of this.”

“Are you a gardener?”

“I work in a flower shop, but yes - I’m also a gardener. I even have a nice garden in front of my house thanks to this.”

“Do you know a lot of plants?”

“Oh, yes, boss probably brings them from all over the world.” You said in a tone showing that you don’t consider it a great feat. Like you’d be better off without that knowledge. “He has many shops and contacts with abroad. He’s a businessman and lately he’s trying to make a deal for his services with some old family of pharmacists.”

“Is that why you were there? To study the growth of flowers in the mountains?”

The quiet shuffle of the grey pencil on the paper went silent when you looked at her. She was no longer hiding from your gaze - after all, she was Lower Rank 4.

“Yes, you fell into my Hayachineusuyukiso.” Seeing that the name doesn’t mean anything to her, you added. “Also called Edelweiss or Beautiful Star. A rare, white, mountain flower, not difficult to grow, but it was difficult for me to make suitable soil conditions for it.”

The only thing she answered was “oh” as an understanding of the subject of the plant, and then she added even louder and more confidently “Oh!” when she understood exactly what she had done.

She swooped in (along with the Demon Slayer) and destroyed your hard work to grow these flowers. She didn’t know what you had to do to get this, so she was even more worried. And you were probably doing it for your boss. She was hoping, he wouldn’t fire you for it.

“I’m sorry,” she said with guilt, putting her hands on the sheets covering her. There’s almost nothing left of your scent on it, replaced by her sweat and blood.

“You don’t have to, you can’t fix them with words.”

You lifted your eyes from the pages and saw the demon staring at her clenched hands. The bangs and longer strands of hair fell freely over her face, concealing her like a silver hood, but were still too short to cover her tightly held lips.

Was she clutching them out of hunger or guilt?

Even though the thought occurred in your head, you didn’t consider her a serious threat. She reminded you of a child, which somebody yelled at - sad and ashamed of their actions. Sitting in a corner for punishment and left with her thoughts to calmly reflect on her mistakes. Unwillingly, you added while closing the small notebook with a slam.

“I didn’t need them for anything anymore anyway - I just had to get the flowers to unfurl to confirm a theory.”

When you stood up, she followed you with her eyes, watching you slowly getting to leave, before you stopped for a moment.

You came back and put some similar notebooks in front of her.

“If you’re bored, you can read or draw on blank pages. I’d probably be bored to death with nothing to do here.”

“Are you going back to work?” she asked, hoping you’d stay with her.

“There’s a charcoal-burning family on the other side of the mountains, and I promised Tanjiro-kun I’d come and visit them after I checked on you.”

“Oh, okey.”

Her sad and disappointed tone made you feel like you just kicked a little cat. Before guilt and duty completely took over you, you left planning a meeting with the rest of the Kamado family, picking prettier flowers for a bouquet for Mrs. Kie and her two daughters.

- - -

“Any improvement?” you asked when you finally came back.

Although you left your friends before dark (knowing how treacherous mountain roads can be), you still reached the hut only after the sun had hidden behind the horizon.

The abdominal pain practically disappeared along with the dark blue and purple spots adorning her skin and she could move her toes, but it was still a problem for her to bend her knees. She still can’t walk on her own.

“I need a few more hours.”

“Is there any way to speed this up?”

“I could, but…”

She couldn’t finish a sentence knowing there was no way you’d say yes. She looked down and silver hair again obscured her view.

She heard you sighing and leaving. In the backyard, you threw something on a gravel road that gave off a metallic reverberation and dragged it, destroying a few of the stray little twigs.

Through the entrance to the cottage, she saw you standing in front of a wooden trailer. You harnessed a little brown horse to it and started pulling off the fabric bags and bringing them home, putting them in a corner.

She watched your actions with curiosity until you stopped, stood over her and asked with a neutral expression.

“If I help you, can you make it to the carriage?”

She looked at the vehicle one more time and then nodded at you. You uncovered her body, pulled her out of the futon - there was a large dark stain of clotted blood where she lay, but you’ve seen a significant improvement. You were involuntarily happy about it.

She reached out to you like a baby. You held her under her armpits and then you tried to put her hand across your neck. The last time, when you carried her home unconscious, she was definitely heavier and harder for you to maneuver.

Unlike the first time you met her, she was no longer cold - the gentle warmth of her body made you believe she was truly human, if it weren’t for her appearance.

Relying on you, she came to the carriage and you put her in the trailer. Her legs were still weak and flabby, but the fact that she could walk a few steps with the help was a good sign.

“Where are you taking me?”

She asked, watching you step forward and sit in the coachman’s seat. Holding the leather reins, you swung with it at the animal to make it move.

Not very glad with the night ride, the horse initially resisted, but after a few pulls, he finally moved. His clattering hooves resounded in silence along with his loud hisses, making it even less real.

When was the last time Mukago rode in a carriage? It must have been when she was still human.

Was she afraid? No, even though you didn’t answer her question and you kept your distance almost the whole time. She knew you weren’t bad.

And she knew it would finally come. She couldn’t hope that you would let her live with you - after all, you were natural enemies.

When after a long ride you stopped the horse before the entrance between the two mountains, she knew it was time to say goodbye.

You went around the carriage again to get to her and took her down, before you led her deep into a narrow, stone road and sat her on a big boulder.

“I can’t go any further.”

You said crouching at the height of her eyes. You pointed your finger at the dark behind her and added. “That’s where I found you, with any luck he should still be there, if the wild animals haven’t gotten him first.”

The demon nodded. She still didn’t understand what was inside your head and why you decided to helping her so much, but she was very grateful to you.

She looked at your back for a moment as you walked away from her and when your footsteps silenced in the other sounds of the night, she slowly crawl into the corpse of the Demon Slayer.

She had to make several stops along the way to rest, but she had all night to get there.

Surprisingly, the corpse was still lying where he fell. Flowers were arranged around it, as if someone was trying to make it up for the dead boy’s lack of burial.

As she got closer, she could see that the animals had found their way to him during those three days. His right hand was missing and in the place of his eyes were two black voids staring straight at her. The dried blood on his cheeks now looked like tears. Equally bad must have been the hole in his belly, where something was still moving under the stiff material of his uniform.

Unable to complain, she tried to ignore the horrible smell coming from the rotting body and after a few minutes she could walk normally again.

- - -

You didn’t leave from the entrance to the ravine long before dawn. What told you to stay? Guilt? Duty to a stranger’s girl?

No, it’s a demon. You can’t forget that.

But even your own admonitions didn’t move you. Your horse turned his head restlessly waiting for you to let him to turn back and lie down again in the dry straw in a small barn, but you waited.

For what? Until she finishes eating and comes back for you?

Tired, you rubbed your eyes and struggled with drowsiness. You decided to wait another ten minutes, and if she doesn’t signal that she needs help by then, you’ll leave.

- - -

You were awakened from a shallow sleep by the restlessness of the horse. The animal tromped its hooves and neighing, trying to wake you up and keep you away from the danger in front of you.

When you got up quickly, you grabbed the lantern next to you and lit your way, but you didn’t see anything. Not any demon or a wild animal.

Feeling a sudden movement of air next to you, you looked to the side, but there was nothing too. You could have tell someone was here a moment ago - you still felt the warmth on your shoulder.

Deciding you’d wasted too much time here, you ordered for the horse turn around, still looking back to see what would upset him so much. When you took a closer look, you saw on the road an elongated shape sliding slowly into the nearby bushes.

A snake? Well, at least it wasn’t your still hungry friend…

On the way home, you could have sworn that you felt a constant gaze stuck into you like two daggers. It wasn’t very pleasant, you could feel how its hidden owner buzzing with bad emotions and the desire to murder.

It gave you the creeps all over your body and all you could think about was getting back to a safe house as soon as possible.

Maybe it’s just your wild imagination? Being alone late at night in the dark woods are good food for it.

The only thing you heard that night (apart from the moaning of the wooden wheels of your carriage) was the loud flutter of the wings of some bird flying over your head, but because of the thick branches of the trees you couldn’t even see the starry sky above you. You knew something was there because once you even got hit in the head with a pine cone that broke off under his weight.

- - -

For the next few days you had some peace and quiet - no one fell to your flowers or needed your help.

The only people, who disturbed you were mysterious men in brown suits, who came to ask you for the way to the mountains. They explained that they worked for some organization and one of their members had a terrible accident nearby.

The road to this place was easy from your house, so you pointed them in the right direction.

All you saw was how they looked at each other through the gap in the material attached under their hats in understanding and they left you without a word.

The first time you came to this place, the view was terrible, now it must be a lot of worst especially after you left the corpse for decay, wild animals and brought there the starving demon.

But it’s not your problem anymore, although you could have sworn the birds that accompanied them looked at you like they knew what you’d done.

They looked at you with their black eyes, judging you quietly and with the intelligence you’ve never seen in any animal.

But maybe you were just imagining it? Maybe you’re just too paranoid?

- - -

Mukago thought no one would find out about her weak. That it would remain her little secret.

Oh, how wrong she could have been.

As much as she wanted to stay and be around you, she knew it would be too dangerous for both of you. Just thinking about you, no matter how pleasant, could get her (and not only her) into trouble.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard she tried, nothing could escape the attention of the Demon King.

One day he summoned her to Infinite Castle by a woman with biwa.

She was wandering through the forest and all she heard was an unexpected sharp tug of the strings of the instrument, when she suddenly stood in front of the cold face of Kibutsuji. The demon was dressed in white pants and a black suit still remaining in his current role of a good husband and father.

The demon has recently found a new family to serve as a cover for him, so he can hide from the Demon Slayer Corps.

What did he do to achieve this?

She couldn’t be sure, but she expected him to stain his hands again with the blood of an innocent person. People were nothing but food and tools to him, just like the members of Twelve Kizuki.

He stood in front of her, staring at her like she was an uninteresting animal. An insect. A miserable subspecies.

Seeing him, she immediately turned even more pale and fell on her knees before him, lowering her head as low as she could. Her forehead touched the hard, dark wood beneath her and she felt how sweat ran down her temples. Mukago barely holds back the trembling from nervousness.

His forehead was not tainted by any wrinkle created by furrowed brows. The man's posture, though it was and did not seem tense, she still could feel the dread floating in the air.

“What was that supposed to mean?” Muzan asked calmly but harshly, standing over her. As he always did when he gave the order for Twelve Kizuki.

“I–”

She didn’t know what to say. How was she supposed to explain all of this? Or was it about puncture the Demon Lord’s pride, thinking he wouldn’t know? Here, among the demons you could die for lesser offenses.

Or maybe she should already start apologizing and writing her last mental will?

“You had a perfect source of information right under your nose,” he started to speak, and his immaculate image began to break like a broken vessel. With every word, she could hear the anger rising within him. “How could you leave so easily? When others work hard to find even the slightest clue as to where Blue Spider Lily is, you just turn down the chance that fate has given you!”

With his scream, something glass snapped near them, making Mukago squirm even more. She trying to hide inside himself and shaking like a frightened rabbit.

She began to wonder if the next thing that snapped would be her skull.

This time, however, he spared her life. It just ended with an unpleasant reprimand that she won’t forget for long, really long time.

Black-haired woman barely teleported her to the vicinity of the wooded areas of the mountains, she already started instinctively running towards you with tears in her eyes.

Were those tears of fear? Relief from a life saved yet again by luck? Happiness of seeing you one more time?

Or maybe just a rush of cold air caused them?

Her whole body was still trembling and covered with goosebumps, the cloud of shock was just started leaving her mind, her heart was beating fast fueled by adrenaline, but there was also an unusual lightness in her legs, as if she weighed nothing.

Her feet carried her to the door of your hut, lured by the familiar scent of flowers from your garden, dug-up earth and…

You.

Mukago is alive.

For now…

- - -

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” Mukago heard your voice along with approaching footsteps.

She waited for you as usual, sitting on the wooden beam supporting the ceiling, that she had spent so much time staring at during her long convalescence.

She has been coming to see you almost every day since she had the conversation with her Master - sometimes she disappearing for a quick hunt.

She tried to deal with it quickly, but at the same time she chose villages a little further away from your home. She didn’t want to bring here another slayer or, even worse, a Hashira.

That would be too suspicious and it could lead them to you.

What would they do when they found out you were friends with a demon? With the murderer of countless people? One of the Kizuki?

She didn’t even want to think about it…

Another reason was a little selfish, because she didn’t want you to hear about her victims. She didn’t want you to start looking at her like everyone else, like the demon that she is.

But this time when you came back, you weren’t alone - she heard other footsteps too.

From the sounds she might have deduced your comrade was a man. He walked quietly, but confidently. She could hear the clatter of the scabbard on his katana slapping against his hip and belt when he was walking, and his calm breathing.

A hunter?

No, the slayer.

And from his strong aura, she could have infer that he must have been high-ranking. Perhaps, he was even a Kinoe.

Outside the door, she heard a man walk away from you. When you entered the hut, for a moment the orange rays of the sunset fell inside, drawing your long shadow on the ground. You immediately looked up expecting to see your guest there as usual.

And as usual, she was there. With a nice smile and soft eyes waiting for you. Just like a domestic cat.

A large, predatory cat that could easily devour you if she only wanted to. She was now like a wild tiger in her territory.

You no longer saw in her the same fear as before or the pretended confidence.

But tigers are big cats, who also like to lie down sometimes without stress.

She often watched you at work too. You didn’t know exactly why she came back to you or where her interest in plants came from, because she never made it clear before what she was interested in. When you asked her about it, she only said:

“Because I can’t and you know a lot about this.”

You sensed her sincerity at the time, even though you didn’t quite understand what she meant.

Maybe if you knew Muzan Kibutsuji you could understand, but she couldn’t tell you about him.

And her mission wasn’t the only reason why she couldn’t leave…

Sometimes you felt like you were playing a game with her, where you slowly discover more and more about each other.

It was nice talking to someone and not going back to an empty hut where no one was waiting for you, but it brought new problems for you.

You began to get attached to her presence and miss her when she was gone. Wait for her to come back to you, when she suddenly disappeared at night after you fell asleep.

How many times have you woken up in the dark and waited for her appear to the first rays of the sun?

How many more excuses are you gonna need for your eyes bags, when people ask for them? When will you stop worrying others with your absent-minded behavior, often getting lost in your thoughts and falling asleep in a quiet corner at work?

“Demons don’t feel love or empathy, they’re monsters.” Someone told you once, and you took those words to heart. “Bloodthirsty beasts, who only want to quench their hunger.”

But are all demons really evil?

Are there any good demons?

You followed the girl coming down from the wooden beam with your eyes. Even though she smiled at you, you could tell she was nervous.

Is it because of that guy with the katana?

Suddenly, remembering something, you asked her putting away your packages of things you bought in the city on the table next to the fireplace.

“There's been some missing in the area lately… Do you know anything about that?”

Mukago seemed surprised by your question - she turned pale (although you didn’t expect it to be possible) and a smile faded from her face, replaced by the uncertainty you saw in her during your first conversation.

“Um, no. I don't think so. Why?”

It didn’t sound very convincing and all you could do, was take her word for it.

Some time ago a child went missing and was found after two days - he had lost into the woods and fallen into an old, but deep bear pit.

Luckily, the villagers found him safe and healthy (not counting the fear and hunger he must have felt during that time, as well as the numerous abrasions he made, when he tried to climb on the slippery rocks).

Mr. Bear was probably on a trip or was long dead, killed by hunters.

Missing husbands were found drunk in pubs, and and young womens were found with their chosen ones not accepted by their families.

But there were also unsolved disappearances, where no clues have been found to tell what might have happened to the missing.

You didn’t dwell on the subject and unpacked your bag, carefully placing its contents in a locker nearby. These included various spices, rice, bread and meat, in addition to seeds from your boss.

You might have gone a little crazy, because you had an unusual customer, who come to see you in the morning.

A mysterious black-haired man in western clothes entered the flower shop before the sun came up and asked your friend Misaki (who was standing behind the counter) about flowers. He wanted to buy something for his wife and daughter as an apology for spending so much time at work.

When she disappeared into the other side of the store behind one of the larger plants to bring ribbons to tie the flowers stems, you saw him looking around, although you could tell from his eyes that he was bored rather than curious.

His red irises wandered along the shelves with vases and multicolored plants without any reaction - none of them surprised or delighted him, as if he had seen them all more than once.

Well, this place certainly weren’t the only store selling exotic plants, there were more of them in Tokyo for sure. The only difference between you and them is the price - because your boss tried to grow most of them here, the prices were much lower than those in the center of the capital.

You barely managed to keep your eyes open, sitting where you usually sit hidden in a corner on the windowsill.

Monstera deliciosa - an ornamental plant, imported from distant exotic forests, with large leaves in the usual heart shape was the perfect cover for you. From behind its jagged leaves, you could see who was going in and out without fear of being noticed. You liked working here, but didn't always feel like dealing with customers.

Misaki, with her open and warm personality, was the perfect worker for such tasks and kind enough to let you laze in your corner. Unlike you, she was unfamiliar with growing plants and thought you were digging up in mud every day. So with minimal work you could have had extra hours of sleep or read a book, sometimes aloud to pass the time for both of you.

But now she is gone and your slumber was interrupted by an unexpected nice voice.

“Excuse me,” the client said with a polite expression. He had an even nicer, smooth face and a gentle smile. “I’m also looking for something for my mother’s grave. She died just a few days ago.”

Surprised, he’s addressing to you, you just pointed your finger at Spider Lily standing nearby. The slender flowers already had their characteristic upward spindly stamens and corrugated petals, giving them their unique charm. They attracted by their furiously red color that matched his irises.

That color spoke loudly: danger! They made you as anxious as when a man turned his attention to you.

You were disturbed, when he talked about his dead relative like he didn’t care what happened to her and how fast he was right next to you. You didn’t hear any footsteps or the creaking of the wooden floor under his weight.

Even more puzzling was how he could see you hidden behind many large leaves in a dark corner of the store.

You wanted Misaki to come back and take him away from you, but undeterred by your unkindness behavior, the man continued.

“Yes, I thought about it, but she didn’t like red. She associated it with bad luck.”

He spoke, looking at other flowers, but you still somehow felt his gaze on you. It was as if he was trying to keep you within the corner of his eye so you wouldn’t escape him.

You didn’t know what they were associating with for her, but from now on for you, they were with his eyes. Red as fresh blood.

“Is it available in blue?”

You swallowed your saliva with difficulty and nodded insecurely, when his cat’s pupils landed on you again without even turning his head towards you. You weren’t even sure you heard him right - he hypnotized you like a snake.

He finally turned his head to you and closed his eyes gently. It seemed to shine its own light. “Where are they?”

“We don’t have them right now… It’s very hard to grow and maintain them.”

You finally managed to gather inside enough to speak up and come out smoothly from an unconscious lie.

The man’s smiling expression turned to disappointment when he frowned. He pulled out a small leather purse from his pocket and handed it to you. The coins inside clinked pleasantly with every shake.

“Well, if you ever manage to grow them, could you keep them for me?”

At the same time Misaki returned from the warehouse with colored ribbons and decorative paper.

He immediately drew all his attention to her as if he had never spoken to you and composed with her advice one lovely, little bouquet for his wife and one for his daughter.

When he finally left, he didn’t ask for a refund or tell you how to notify him when the job will be done.

You felt like you made a deal with the devil and that it was too late to withdraw.

So you did some more shopping after work. Your boss let you go home earlier seeing your fatigue written on your face (again) and thought you were sick.

By the time you returned home, the sun was already slowly sinking into the west, even though it was still early. The charms of the coming winter.

That’s when you ran into the Demon Slayer. Hashira. You’ve occasionally seen low-ranking slayers in the city passing through or staying to take a break there, but you’ve only seen Hashira twice.

Your first meeting wasn’t the most pleasant, and if you could, you’d erase it from your memory.

It was a few years ago, when you still had no idea of the importance of their uniforms and demons walking among humans as myths inserted between other fairy tales.

But one unlucky night, your… friend was turned into a demon.

Terrified and badly wounded, she escaped from her home where the attack took place, but soon after, she was transformed into these things. Driven probably by hunger and instinct, she ran to you - to the place, where she felt most safe and where she knew, she could get help.

In the middle of the night you suddenly heard a loud sound, waking you from a deep sleep. Rubbing your eyes, you weren’t sure what it was until you heard it again.

It sounded more like the roar of a wounded animal than the weeping of a woman - through the thin walls you could hear her heavy gasp and squeak, when she stood in front of your house.

Why didn’t she attack you right away? Was she out of strength? Did she sense anything else? Something stronger than her?

Or was she fighting with herself?

Are there any good demons?

With the only weapon you had (and it was a metal fire poker) you opened the shōji door. There you saw in the full moonlight your friend lying in a pool of blood, curling in pain.

Without thinking, you ran to help her. Your head was empty, all you could think about was your friend. Wounded.

You didn't even have time to kneel beside her when she suddenly threw herself at you knocking you over onto the mud. You tried to push her away with a metal tool, but it was like a new force came into her.

Her jaw snapped in your face, almost biting your nose off. Saliva dripped from her mouth and chin splashing you, but you barely felt it.

Nor did you feel the strong gust of wind blowing her hair and knocking her head off her neck.

Suddenly she froze and her head hit you before fell to the ground next to you. Still on the poker, you held the rest of her inert body, which became even heavier.

“Oi, move.”

He said in a cold tone as he hid the katana in the cover - the green sheen of its blade blinded you for a second.

"Oi, you can't hear what I'm saying to you!? Get out of here!"

He saw you open and close your mouth before you muttered something, still in shock, looking back at the stagnant corpse in front of you.

“You...ed her... Mur...”

"Hmm?" He asked without hearing what you said. He sounded harsh and cold, like what he did was just killing a worm. "What?"

“A murder! You kill, killed her! Mur–!”

You weren't allowed to finish because a stranger punched you in the jaw and you fell face down again into the dirt beneath you mixed with her blood. Then stranger tugged you by the shoulder, dragging you to stand on your knees to look at him.

The air between you, besides the stench of blood, was filled with the strong smell of smoke and decomposing flesh.

"She wasn't a human anymore," he began unconsciously squeezing you by the shoulder and other hand. He almost broke your arm. You tried to wrestle, but you were too weak. "It's a demon!"

"No! It was–"

"It doesn't matter what or who she was to you before," he interrupted you violently and shook you again.

It made you feel some of the shock go away, allowing you to focus more on the man and the environment. You saw he was covered with numerous ugly scars. He reminded you of the monster the old women of your village warned about.

"Demons don't feel love or empathy, they're monsters. Bloodthirsty beasts who only want to quench their hunger."

When he let you go, you fell back to your knees. In an instant, your safe picture of the world crumbled into a million tiny pieces.

Tears slowly flowed into your eyes, but before they blurred your vision, you saw her body crumbling into dust.

Was that true or nightmare?

With nothing more to do for you, the man left. You didn't even notice, when he walked away from you. He left you alone to mourn your friend.

Although that's what he let you do.

Crying loudly, you didn't know what to do. You tried to lift her head, but you couldn't. You were still scared and shaking. You felt an invisible hand clutching your heart and throat as if it were about to crush them.

But you were still alive.

And she was falling apart right in front of you.

When the moon looked out from behind the thick clouds, you saw wet, shiny marks on her crumbling cheeks.

Are there good demons?

And when the sun came out of the horizon, there was nothing left of her but her bloody clothes. The only proof of what happened here.

After what happened and the mourning you shared with her family at the funeral, where you buried only her clothes, you wanted to know more.

You found out who white-haired man is and more about demons, but you didn't become a Demon Slayer.

The first ones killed your friend, the second hurt.

Since then, you've been trying to live your normal life, and you've started asking yourself...

Are there good demons?

You shake your head trying to get back to the present. That was long time ago, and you've get over with it, even though the memories still haunt you.

"I've brought some new seeds, but we'll probably plant them in the spring." You turned to the girl standing behind you.

She smiled at you gently nodding her head. Her silver hair swayed with her movement, reflecting the light of fire.

She looked amazing.

- - -

Your joint meeting was interrupted by a sudden knock and a vigorous shout of your name through the door.

It was Tanjiro Kamado.

Surprised by his visit, you went outside the cabin so he wouldn't see your guest. The snow fell quietly beneath your feet. In the mountains, winter came faster, and in the higher areas it can last even the whole year.

"Hello, Kamado-kun" you greeted him. The frost pinched your face and a small cloud of steam came out of your mouth. "What brings you here?"

"Ohayō!" Younger boy bowed to you. His nose, cheeks, and ears were fiercely red despite wearing a shawl on his head. "I thought you might be running out of coal and I wanted to see how you were doing."

Sweeten by his kindness and sincerity, you thanked him for his efforts. You both lived on the same mountain, but your cabin was on the other side. To reach it, he had to go down to the village, and then walk for a long time along a path circling the mountain before he started climbing again.

The road wasn't hard, but it was a long one, which is why you preferred to buy coal from him when you were downstairs so as not to bother him.

If you were alone, you'd have offered him in and tea. Maybe even the overnight stay, so he wouldn't have to come home in the dark and in the morning you would have escorted him to the village before you went to work.

"Oh, thank you. I'll pay you right away..."

You were reaching for your belt looking for a purse of money when suddenly he asked.

"Do you have a visitor?"

"Um, yes." You've been spin around trying to count the coins, but you've had a hard time doing it without feeling your fingertips.

You figured he must have sensed Mukago. The red-haired boy, as long as you can remember, had a perfect sense of smell. You wondered what exactly he sensed.

"The same one you took care of when she was sick?"

You nodded and didn't stop counting.

"What's she like?"

He asked unexpectedly. He knew a lot of smells, including the smell of human sadness, sorrow, or joy, but this one was completely new to him, so he couldn't determine who your mystery guest was.

"Oh, she's..." You've been thinking about trying to decide which term might best fit Mukago.

To a man-eating demon, who likes to wait for you in your attic. A demon who likes to watch you work on flowers and ask a lot of questions about them. A demon who, when she thinks you're asleep, strokes your hair or cheek gently.

"She's cute."

The boy nodded understandingly, knowing you were completely sincere. Then he stood with you for a while, trying to give you back some of the coins you gave him extra for coming all the way to your house, and you watched him leave happy.

The sun was half hidden behind the horizon and he didn't have time to get home before dark, but you weren't afraid for him. As far as you know, demons are very territorial, and Mukago's presence should deter weaker demons.

You didn't even think of the possibility that there might be a demon more powerful than her nearby...

But you weren't supposed to find out until the next morning from the other villagers and see two survivors disappear among the massacred bodies.

But that's not until tomorrow. Today, blissfully unaware, you returned to the inside of your home and your guest stiffly seated at your low table.

You could tell right away that she was more dreamy looking at you with her slightly spread lips showing white fangs, dilated pupils and...

You weren't sure, but is that the blush on her cheeks? She didn't hear you talking to Tanjiro, did she?

Right?

[vivi-miya]

i’m only human can’t you see?

summary: because you’re the chosen to the chosen one, with voice so powerful it made his cock stand.

never be like you - flume

tags: enemies to lovers, academic rivals, college/university au, office au, mommy kink undertones, breeding kink, office sex, spanking, nipple play, sexual tension, gojo’s naughty imagination p in v, fem! reader, no beta we die like jjk men

gojo satoru shaked the world with his birth that his whole clan celebrated the emergence of the next head possessing the favor of gods with his ocean blue eyes and snow mane.

being the moisture to their drought became the answer to their declining power in the corporate world that everyone tried to rival for the last decades. so every vassals—board of directors—are immensed in joy for their future leader that is not even ripe yet to be in position of pulling their descending morals.

naturally, it's only just to have everything what he requests because he's a miracle baby to a couple who keeps on trying to conceive. especially since he's a boy and the sole heir to own it all. from the constant pressure that the media named them in tabloids after tabloids, they want nothing but to catch their child's indifferent tastes and appear perfect in the eyes of the public.

with the boy in present, of course everyone tried to appease his tantrums and respond to his whims just to be graced with his good side. going as far as to act all mutt-like running at his beck and call twenty four-seven. it's kind of exhilarating, he can say.

at first, gojo satoru likes that. he lives off with the idea that he holds so much power with just his appearance alone. he doesn't speak yet, but everyone wants their name to be uttered at least once in the gojo family dinner.

he can't even hold a pencil properly and everyone expects their name to be written in their company records. so the fun slowly turns into disdain that quickly turned into disgust.

how appalling.

it's shifting into something mad, it's making his head burn in fury. with the constant urge to attend this martial arts school, violin practice this, calligraphy that, horse riding, and some uptight nouveau shits to attend to with sticks far up their asses, just being an elementary made it easier for gojo satoru to realize that the world is a clock.

it's constantly running and everyone plays the role of a cog, or at least the hands and number in display. as for him? he'll never be the same. he refused to be the subject of anyone's expectations to their fast-paced attitude.

he's born to be a clocksmith, why would he succumb to the likes of someone miniscule to bring him down? because of that, gojo satoru in elementary silently starts a rebellion inside his heart.

years passed, his highschool days came. it become a little better, a little endurable for him. because he have suguru and shoko now. the pillar to his strongest, the support to the chosen one.

he never felt like spending his days contemplating his purpose inside a huge stuffy room. he don't entertain himself with every tabloid that speaks badly about him anymore. he finally have the memories he desperately dream of from all of the movies he binge watched alone.

he may not entirely free but at least he could roam the streets a little frequent, a little late. went inside a convenience store just to buy all of the sweets his handmaids hid from him and ignore the lessons his parents kept on pushing him into.

gojo satoru could finally laugh and break free from his self-sabotaging rebellion, even for a moment.

at least that's what he thinks because he may went a little overboard. and he knows he went a little off the road but will he fix his attitude? nope. will he make everyone adjust to him like the spoiled manchild that he is? yes.

gojo satoru at twenty is a business management major with a sexy body and a face you wanna sit on—everybody is dying to get inside his pants or marry him. who wouldn't? a newly appointed ceo with genes to make you a fucking hotshot? of course everybody wants him. it's high, it's a compliment. there's everything in him that the world has to offer, it's a big win.

and he thinks that too, until he tried to run for the school president with the opponent being you.

gojo satoru is high up on his horse that his parents refused to climb and knock some sense into their only child, too scared to lose all favor from their moron of a son. perhaps a form of his upbringing or solely based on his narcissistic attitude, he don't know you exists and neither do you to him.

yet the idea of anyone not knowing who is the strongest infuriates him more than being an election rival does. you're not even required to memorize all of the names of every wannabe famous and real populars, so what got his panties in a twist? why do you get into his nerves?

with that, he set his very own goal—to remove you from the position's sight and ingrain his name into your dna. so that you won't be all silly smiles pretending that you're sorry for bumping into him when the school committee just announced him as your rival. if he successfully made you lose your position, then maybe, maybe he'll have the answer his heart seeks.

you may be acting dumb or genuinely have no idea who he is made it clear that it's the first sense swipe from his foggy brain in years. no one dared to cross his crown when they're usually busy kissing his ass, men and women alike.

finally, someone who refused to acknowledge the presence of the chosen one. suguru teased his friend.

maybe in that predicament you're the chosen one for the chosen one and he doesn't like that. he's petty and he wants to start a one-sided beef that his friend knows it's useless because you have the crowd's good graces on your side. he's not only just the apple of the eye of the gods, you are many. and many is you.

his plan commenced with a little digging first, he doesn't care if it's undermine or not. he's like a crazy stalker trying to breath your air with the exasperating information about your background. you didn't even came from a good family, your surname's not sublime. your mom's dead and your father is a deadbeat. you have little siblings to support and an eldest sister at that.

beauty with an attitude. the smart cookie with a spanky demeanor he desperately wanna break whenever he sees your sarcastic smirk from a mile away.

how come you have the time to maintain that straight a's after mothering your younger siblings? do you even work or is there someone supporting you financially? maybe you're a hoe? nah, he bet you're a virgin with how uptight you are.

what's your secret? what makes you higher than him? what makes you more favourable? what makes you the number one to his two in tests and first to every events you participate in? where do you get the time to burn and support everyone?

the more gojo satoru thinks, the more he observes you, and the more he realizes a lot of things that he's glad he only knows about.

he's elated to know your nape is ticklish, to know that you're a great cook and someone who has a very hot commanding voice. his heart is pumping at the fact that you're stricter that he thought.

maybe he's crazy? did he finally lose all his marbles? why is his pants tightening at the sight of your sweaty appearance? seriously, you're giving concrete demands to your org members and he's nothing but a dead weight to his own, star-strucked gazing at you.

his change bothered everyone, thinking you'll finally lose your cool. he's extra annoying to you, double the attention seeking tendencies. he wanna rise a reaction, he wants something. and you know about that, yet you're not giving it to him. what's even the purpose of annoying in the first place? 'cause he completely forgot about it.

he's a slave to technology and to his libido. that his search engine consists of porn commanding women ordering him to obey.

ah, what did you do to him?

why is he fucking his fist at the picture of you in a polo shirt full of mud and sweat from the intramural race? why is he moaning your name when you just got into his nerve? he don't even know what's hotter! the idea of obeying your orders or you, obeying his.

he desperately wants control, he desperately needs his title of the chosen one back. the name became dull after he realize that there's a few that managed to shake his carefree attitude and give him the ick just by defying his nature.

fine, if he can't control you in college then he'll gladly do that now.

how the odds still favors him even after during your prime in college. how the universe shifted you both as the secretary to his ceo. how he'll finally able to shoot his shot after letting you get away because he let his pride win.

but he'll accept you as you are, he'll gladly accept how you act all bossy when he's higher by order. he'll let you run your smart mouth again and again and again to scold him like you always does.

because this blue-eyed king missed you.

he missed your frown, your sardonic smile. the comebacks he thinks you practice because it burns like hell everytime. the food he tried when he once visited your home, witnessing your first cry because your father embarrassed you in front of your classmates, including him. he missed your uptightness, the curve of your ass, your subtle scent, and your hot palm that once tried to tease his dick.

if you even as went far as to rub his rod, you're probably the next mrs. gojo, carrying his babe. thank yourself for not letting your attitude win and palm him further during that one night in a college party suguru threw. thank him that he still has an ounce of respect to your begging body that he stopped himself from bending you over and fucking you full of his cum.

thank the universe for letting your forget what you fucking did. if you ever make him remember any of that, he'll do all of things he's been imagining since day one. because he doesn't forget and he find it a little bad that he didn't push his luck with persuasion.

your crying face is a beauty he'll never have the guts to erase in his mind that makes him feel bad that he's not sorry for having the thoughts.

carry on with nagging, ms. smart mouth. you'll never know that you're moaning his name as your skirt bunches around you waist, buttons undone and pussy wetter than ever.

did you see it coming as you always does with your data? do you have any of the idea how his fist fucking made him spent so much that he tried to look for where you are after graduation? the ladies are never you, the body is never yours. so once he feel your pussy, there's no going back.

because you're the chosen to the chosen one, with voice so powerful it made his cock stand. he have to let your pussy know that the next shape it will take is the curve of his dick. so he inserted three, bringing you to the seventh heaven with every prod of his fingers on your g-spot.

yes, moan his name! call him sir and submit yourself to him. there's nothing more hotter than having your tongue out, completely fucked out of your mind.

that night inside his office changed everything. you'll never gonna able to look at him the same way after his long and deft fingers went inside your slit without remembering how he fingered you facing the floor to ceiling glass of the high rise building, risking an audience to look your way.

how his fingers played with your nipples and breast it became too sore to wear a bra. how he'll always let you remember what you do to him by his finger of a come hit her motion.

and he'll never make you forget how hard he became after pretending to kneel infront of him, arching your back for his eyes to feast, teasing him with that smile that got him hook, line and sinker just to pull out a pen that rolled under his desk. you're always a tease and thinks you'll not gonna change anytime soon.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

at least let him have a good night's sleep and don't go ringing his apartment on a friday night, wearing nothing but a see-through lingerie under that coat.

don't push his button when he's respectfully asking you to leave. because once his temper snap, you'll never leave his apartment until you're sore and aching for his whole.

don't pretend and act you're tipsy when he knows you're not one to drink. all this mixed signals is sending his mind to overdrive.

fuck consequences, you're an adult. you know what you're going through when you signed up to show in his apartment, seducing the blue-eyed young man. you know his sanity is barely hanging by a thread when you unwrapped yourself to him like present his parents won't be able to give him.

so when he snapped and claim your lips, kiss him back with the same fervor. show him that you're craving him the way he does. don't make it one sided and hurt his feelings because it's you who he's been dreaming of. it's you. not the company, nor the other beautiful ladies or the world who loves to kiss his ass.

it's you. his own mind machine who fucks him up everytime in office. you, his school rival who won every single thing he's second to. it's you, the overachieving eldest daughter that catered your sibling's needs. you, the strength to his strongest.

and he's not gonna able to see the other end of the red string when it's tied to your pinky. his destined, his beloved. accept his flaws as he is, and he'll worship you the way you deserve.

so when you went down on your knees, brought his hand to guide your hair in a pony, he finally lose the control his libido is fighting with. you suck so fucking good, your mouth is so warm. it's heaven and hell in one body. he like you better when you're this silent, taking all of his inside your mouth than running them, making his ears bleed.

he moans when you snaked your hands, massaging his balls. god, fuck. you're a good giver and good givers deserves a prize.

after stilling your head, releasing all of his cum in your mouth, you swallowed it, letting him know that you're his good girl.

he's glad you're still the same responsive woman he likes to tease in college. other people might think you're unbothered by his antics, but in every behind the libraries scenario, there you are, trying to resist his rippling muscles and whispers on your nape.

he knows your shudders and sensitive spot. how your body writhe while he licks a stripe from your ears to your bare shoulder. how you trash under him when he started to suck on your nipple. you're a moaner. he's glad that it's not happening inside his office like before. because now, he doesn't have to hold your sultry moans back. you are loud and that's a music to his ears as he nibble on your breast alternately.

“damn, you're all over me,”

he teases as he propped you against his chest, fucking your slit with three of his fingers. his other one is busy twisting pulling your nipples. he'll never get tired of giving you service if it's a key to the gates of your orgasm and submission.

but all fun has come to an end when he sheathed his cock inside your pussy while you're about come down from your high, prompting another strong orgasm from you. ah, just when he thinks nothing catches you off guard, he's wrong. his cock is answer to your wetness—the place where you're weak at.

“what? i can't hear you, baby? you need to be louder hahaha.”

still going with his ministrations, he's been edging you after fucking your pussy full force and toying your clit. you can't take it anymore. fuck pride, you need to fucking come on his dick.

so when he felt you squirt on him, his cum followed suit, plugging you full and round for months to come. he'll make sure this will not be the last time as he imagine how white suits you the best.

“can't wait for our little ones.”

[shiraishi--kanade]

;; i wanna hear about some of your 30+ proseka ocs!! if you wanna talk about them 👀

I'm hesitant, because I barely have any accurate artwork of them (and what I do have isn't drawn by me, actually), but it would be kind of hypocritical and silly for me to shy away from the question after that post, so...

In total I have about 30 proseka ocs and they keep on multiplying, but here's my focus for the time being.

[ yeah, I don't have a fancy logo or anything like this. I'm not at all a visual artist, unfortunately ]

Kawaakari Orchestra, or KWKO for stort, is a unit of 6 classical musicians that participate in chamber music/classical music competition on a national level in Japan; however, there's a twist - the competition is specifically designed to modernize and revolutionise the approach to how classical music is presented to the general public, so there's a lot of non-traditional elements both during performances and in between them.

In short, this is not what they signed up for (with some of the members even being picked up somewhat involuntarily), and the competition is fierce and nobody is having fun on the journey to victory - but also self-exploration, healing and mending their relationship with their lives and each other.

More info under the cut!

Their sekai is Conservatory Sekai, which is similar to Leo/need's school set up but instead of empty classrooms there are empty lecture halls and practice rooms; one main practice room which is very spacious and open and several smaller, more private ones. All the Virtual Singers are the same as in canon and all play the same instruments the cast does.

There are also two new schools for all OCs to attend because I wanted more creative freedom over that!

Meeting the sillies!

[surname - name. Keep in mind that picrew designs can be inaccurate to various degrees. All follow proseka wiki template!]

Unit leader/2nd Violin: Saitsu Maki

Gender: Female

Birthday: June 1st (♊)

School: Miyaji Girls Academy (1-A)

Committee: Library

Club: Undecided

Part-time job: None

Hobbies: Travelling, Meeting new People, Reading

Speciality: Photographic memory; English

Favourite food: Soba noodles

Least favourite food: Anything spicy

Dislikes: Insects

1st Violin: Kozaki Karin

Gender: Female

Birthday: August 4th (♌)

School: Miyaji Girls Academy (1-A)

Committee: Class Representative

Club: Go

Part-time job: Bookshop

Hobbies: Strategy games

Speciality: Time management

Favourite food: Shiitake fried rice

Least favourite food: Eggs

Dislikes: Idleness

Piano: Shimizu Kairi

Gender: Male

Birthday: March 11 (♓)

School: Hakkei High School (1-C)

Committee: Disciplinary

Club: Chamber Music

Part-time job: None

Hobbies: Collecting Stationery, Journaling

Speciality: Aesthetic Notetaking

Favourite food: White tayaki

Least favourite food: Prawns

Dislikes: Crowded places

Cello: Ekuro Suzuka

Gender: Female

Birthday: November 21 (♏)

School: Miyaji Girls Academy (1-B)

Committee: Health

Club: Photography

Part-time job: Freelance photographer

Hobbies: Arts & Crafts; Baking

Speciality: First Aid & Nursing

Favourite food: Panna cotta, Blueberry sauce

Least favourite food: Salads

Dislikes: Hospitals

[sorry for the very bad quality for the next two ones, I can't afford making a neka.cc account right now. Maybe Someday!]

Viola: Kaedehara Akari

Gender: Female

Birthday: September 30 (♎)

School: Hakkei High School (2-D)

Committee: Greening

Club: Gardening

Part-time job: None

Hobbies: Going on morning walks, Tending to her potted plants

Speciality: Flower language

Favourite food: Pizza

Least favourite food: Tomatoes

Dislikes: Viola

Flute: Fujisaki Reishi

Gender: Male

Birthday: December 28 (♑)

School: Hakkei High School (2-A)

Committee: Beauticarion

Club: None

Part-time job: None

Hobbies: Composing music, Shopping

Speciality: Music theory; Calligraphy

Favourite food: French fries, Instant noodles

Least favourite food: Pickled foods

Dislikes: Criticism

picrews/neka cc used: 1-2, 3, 4, 5, 6

~~~

Some very important infographics to understand the dynamics of the group (4koma cutouts courtesy of @the-one-that-weeps):

They have a lot stuff going on, and so far I've planned a series for the that goes over from the main story up to their World Link event; but a lot of this is still Subject To Change and WIP, of course. So this is all I'm going to say so far in order to keep things interesting if I do happen to write about them at some point.

Hope you all like them, even if they're surface level, they mean the world to me. If you have proseka fan oc, this is the cue for you to talk about them as well. Let's re-populate the tag. Cringe culture is dead. Fan Units is where it's at.

[allthelittlecreepycrawlies]

For Gift-Giving

From Huaisang having to convince Meng Yao to accept even a simple gift to Jin Guangyao casually drowning Huaisang in gifts just because he (finally) can.

"Okay, then. I propose we play a game."

Meng Yao glanced over, registered the determination shining in Nie Huaisang's eyes, then sighed and put down his brush. "What game does gongzi have in mind?"

"If I can give you a reasonable, logistics-related argument why you need whatever the thing is I'm trying to give you, then you won't get all deflective 'oh, but I don't deserve it' on me and take it."

Meng Yao could immediately see the ruse behind the rules.

And... honestly... the fact that Nie Huaisang had thought up the ruse in the first place didn't bother him as much as he would have expected. Quite the opposite, actually. The fact that his young master was going out of his way to create an excuse that would cut down on both sect gossip and any potential grumbling from Nie Mingjue was clever.

The fact that Nie Huaisang had come up with this specifically for him was rather endearing.

And whether Nie Huaisang knew it or not, the logic game could potentially sidestep another problem.

He had learned at a very young age that unless it actually came directly from his mother, there was no such thing as a 'gift'. There were loans and other words that implied a demand for payment or repayment later. Or there were promises that would be broken at the first convenience.

Even now, after living in the Unclean Realms for several months, it was hard for him to accept that Nie Huaisang didn't want any other, more tangible, payment besides his company. That gifts were indeed gifts.

If Nie Huaisang presented them as job necessities instead... could he...?

"Fine. We'll try it your way."

Nie Huaisang perked up, then promptly produced a package from behind his back and plopped it on Meng Yao's desk.

With a total lack of surprise, Meng Yao unbound it and peeled open the paper to find a set of simple, but evidently high-quality brushes, and a flat box that contained both ink stones and pigment stones.

Ignoring both the immediate knotting of his stomach at how much they must have cost and the flutter in his chest at the fact that Nie Huaisang had seen him as worth getting them for, he looked up and raised an eyebrow at Nie Huaisang to give his reasoning.

"With better brushes and ink, your calligraphy will be smoother and less splotchy, which means you won't have to spend extra time on corrections and your paperwork will look more professional," Nie Huaisang replied, still grinning as he folded his hands behind his back again.

... Well. It really was a good argument.

"Thank you, gongzi," Meng Yao said politely as he opened the center drawer of his desk and laid the brushes and box inside next to the pot of oil he used for mixing ink.

Practically beaming now, Nie Huaisang spun with a cheerful wave, then left.

Meng Yao finished the document he'd been drafting before Nie Huaisang had arrived.

Then he dropped the brush he'd been using into the waste basket at his feet and selected one of the new ones, unable to keep from smiling a little when he found it really did handle even the overly thick ink still left in the bowl much more elegantly.

---

"Aah? What are these?" Nie Huaisang asked curiously as they stopped at a cluster of intricately carved little granite pedestals, and Jin Guangyao gave a noncommittal shrug to hide how his heart was almost vibrating with anticipation.

Nie Huaisang went to examine the bowls of varying sizes that had been cut into the tops, stone vines holding them in place. "These would be good for- oh! They're for watering and feeding birds, aren't they? I should order..."

He trailed off and looked up, and Jin Guangyao couldn't help grinning at the expression on Huaisang's face when he connected the pieces.

Ah, yes. Now he understood why Huaisang had always been so eager to give him gifts.

"San-ge! These must have cost-"

"If you set them up in your aviary, you won't have to worry about your birds breaking the bowls from the kitchens anymore. Or your brother yelling at you when they do."

Nie Huaisang was sharper than others gave him credit for. Those green eyes immediately flickered in recognition of their old 'game'.

With how much had changed in the last three years, Jin Guangyao didn't exactly know how Nie Huaisang felt about that game these days. So he was more than a little relieved when Huaisang started laughing and rushed to hug him in delighted gratitude.

Perhaps he would next choose something a little less utilitarian... just because.

[prime-adeptus]

Okay, first of all: I WAS SO HAPPY WHEN I SAW YOU DIS MY REQUEST!!! 😍 Secondly: I'm back to order another one if you don't mind. Hanzo x reader where reader worked/lived in the Shimada mansion as a child because reader's family is a family that has served the Shimadas for centuries. Hanzo reader and Genji were friends when they were kids, they played together in secret and everything. Hanzo had a crush on Reader, but as Reader was not from a noble family he knew that this relationship would never be accepted, so he hid his feelings (although Genji knew because come on Hanzo you can't look at them with love eyes and think that he won't notice). Years pass and what we already know happens between Hanzo and Genji happens, now in the present, in the Overwatch recall Genji called Hanzo to be part of Overwatch and he went, even hesitantly, but what he didn't expect was to find reader there, also being part of Overwatch. Basically a scenario of their reunion and how Hanzo's feelings never died, but now more than ever he don't think he is worthy reader love, even though the reader also likes him (extra points if Genji tries to play cupid between the two).

The Winds of Tomorrow [1/3]

In which you find that Hanzo, the man who’d become a stranger over the years, becomes a loved one once again.

✧ PAIRING: Hanzo Shimada x GN!Reader

✦ CONTENT: Childhood friends to lovers, class differences, blood and violence, drifting apart, reunions, hopeful ending. AU - Canon divergent.

✧ NOTES: HI ANON I’M SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO GET TO THIS, I’ve been really uninspired and;; but I’ve been playing Overwatch again and I WILL feed you these crumbs. Hanzo loves you he’s just a little quiet about it

AO3 | Masterlist | @houseofsolisoccasum @interstellar-inn

Hanzo has always had a special place in your heart since you were children.

You remember it clear as day — you, much younger than you are now with a flower tucked behind your ear and a toothy grin as you drag him through yet another clearing with joy. It was a sunny afternoon and your parents were away doing their respective duties. The elders weren’t quite happy with a servant child being so comfortable with the future successor of the Shimada clan, but that never stopped you. Master Sojiro, for one, was glad to see that his sons had a friend and got to have some semblance of a normal childhood.

It wasn’t as if you were unaware of the things those elders said. It wasn’t as if they were afraid to say it to your face, either. But your mother taught you to hold your head up high and ignore them, because what mattered was that you were happy and the brothers were too.

Genji was away for his tutoring session (“Seriously? I want to train with them!”) and Hanzo had fulfilled his duties for the day, leaving him available for your shenanigans. Your parents were helping take care of the guests whose arrival was imminent. All they told you to do was stay out of trouble.

Hanzo sat cross-legged under the cherry blossom tree with his arms over his chest, a small pout forming at his lips as you attentively adorned his hairs with flowers you’d found. He had a hidden love from the arts. It showed in his calligraphy and poetry, but he was also one to take his image seriously. It never mattered much to you. He was your only other friend, which left him no choice. Though he made it seem like an obligation, you knew he liked spending his downtime with you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have let you read some of his works or play with his hair like this.

“I can’t return to the manor like this,” he grumbled. You grinned to yourself, gently tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. “What will they think of me?”

“They’ll think you look like a prince!” you chirped. “Come on, do me next!”

Memories of your childhood have become a blur, but you remember this very well. How comforting it felt to feel his fingers running through your hair, how he’d huff every time you cracked a joke. It was one of the last moments of peace you’d ever have.

The next time you saw him beneath that tree, blood was dripping off of his hands. He held on to the sword so tightly that his knuckles turned white and his shoulders were shaking as the rain poured and washed away his doing. You were watching him from behind the corner, a frown tugging at your lips before you dragged yourself away. You couldn’t bear to see him in such a sorry state, but a greater part of you was furious — furious that he cared more about honour and duty than his family.

And so, you left. With everyone you loved dead and gone, there was nothing left for you in Hanamura.

[intercomkris]

🍅🦇 @birdietrait did someone say vampire ?

Josiah, formerly known as Jafaar, carries the weight of centuries on his shoulders, a vampire born in the desolate landscapes of Somalia, forever bound to the shadows after a fateful encounter in the mid-1720s. Captured and turned by a Syrian vampire, he was whisked away to the unfamiliar terrain of Syria, where he was reluctantly introduced to a royal vampire family.

In his formative years, Josiah immersed himself in the pursuit of knowledge, studying languages and literature, and clandestinely devising intricate plans for the royal family that held him captive. However, the flame of his ambition was extinguished when the longing to find his birth parents, a desire he had harbored since adolescence, was abruptly silenced.

Growing up as an oppressed and envious teenager, Josiah transformed into a bitter young adult, seeking refuge in the intellectual haven of Europe—specifically England—during the mid-1840s. University life exposed him to capitalist and economist ideologies, molding his worldview as he delved into the intricacies of societal structures.

His journey into the nocturnal realm began with a sinister twist, as his first taste of blood was drawn from one of his professors. A predator in the shadows, he continued his nocturnal pursuits without ever being exposed. As the decades unfolded, he evolved with the changing times, returning to Somalia in the 1970s with a desperate quest to reunite with his birth parents, only to be met with the harsh reality of their long-departed lives.

Returning to the United States, Josiah adapted to the ever-evolving social landscape of the 21st century, attempting to blend in with the trends and norms of the time while clinging to his deep-seated beliefs. His younger sister, a relentless force of change, compelled him to undergo a transformation – tattoos, piercings, a new hairdo, and a wardrobe overhaul – all in an attempt to assimilate into contemporary society. Yet, beneath the superficial alterations, Josiah longs for the simplicity of his original attire, appearing almost robotic in his detachment from the ever-changing fashions.

In the present day of 2023, Josiah finds himself in the forgotten hollow, a place that holds a singular purpose for him. With an enigmatic goal set firmly in his immortal mind, he navigates the delicate balance between adapting to the current era and preserving the essence of his timeless existence, forever haunted by the echoes of his past and the insatiable thirst for the unknown.

TRIVIA:

Fashionable Anachronism: Despite his sister's attempts to modernize his appearance, Josiah secretly hoards a collection of clothing from various eras, finding comfort in the timeless elegance of garments that reflect the epochs he has traversed.

Literary Pursuits: Josiah's love for languages and literature extends beyond his mortal life. He has amassed a private library filled with rare manuscripts, preserving the stories that have shaped his understanding of the world. One of his prized possessions is an ancient tome written in a language long forgotten by mortals.

Musical Tastes: While he outwardly adapts to the music of the modern era, Josiah secretly cherishes classical compositions from his youth. He has been known to haunt hidden concert halls, drawn to the haunting melodies that echo the melancholy of his immortal existence.

Hidden Talents: Josiah possesses a keen talent for calligraphy, a skill he developed during his youth while studying languages. He often spends the quiet hours of the night crafting intricate scripts and inscriptions, each stroke a testament to his centuries-long pursuit of perfection.

Artistic Reflections: In a concealed chamber of his dwelling, Josiah maintains a gallery of portraits capturing moments from his past. Each painting tells a silent tale of the people he has encountered and the cities he has watched evolve, providing a haunting backdrop to his eternal existence.

Nocturnal Philanthropy: Unbeknownst to the mortal world, Josiah channels his capitalist inclinations into philanthropic endeavors during the night. He discreetly funds projects that align with his vision of societal improvement, drawing from the wealth accumulated over centuries.

Unquenchable Thirst for Knowledge: Josiah is a perpetual student of the world, and he continually enrolls in university courses under various aliases. His insatiable thirst for knowledge spans disciplines, from cutting-edge technology to ancient philosophies, allowing him to seamlessly blend into different intellectual circles over the years.

Classical Arabic: Being born in Somalia and later taken to Syria, Josiah mastered Classical Arabic, delving into its rich literature and linguistic nuances.

Syriac: A language with historical significance in the region, Josiah became fluent in Syriac during his time in Syria, connecting with the ancient roots of the supernatural world.

Latin: As a young adult in Europe during the mid-1840s, Josiah immersed himself in the study of Latin, a language that granted him access to the scholarly and philosophical works of the time.

English: Moving to England for university, Josiah not only learned English but excelled in it. His linguistic proficiency allowed him to navigate the rapidly evolving social and intellectual landscape of 19th-century England.

French: Embracing the cultural diversity of Europe, Josiah added French to his repertoire, finding himself captivated by the elegance of the language and its literary treasures.

Somali: Despite his nomadic existence, Josiah retained a deep connection to his roots, maintaining fluency in Somali to honor his heritage and communicate with those from his homeland.

Italian: In his pursuit of art and culture, Josiah picked up Italian during the Renaissance, allowing him to appreciate the masterpieces of the era and connect with the intellectual elite.

Spanish: Venturing into the exploration of the New World, Josiah acquired fluency in Spanish, enabling him to engage with the diverse cultures and civilizations flourishing in the Americas.

German: With a keen interest in the economic and philosophical discourse of the time, Josiah became fluent in German, immersing himself in the works of influential thinkers from the German-speaking world.

Mandarin Chinese: Embracing the advancements of the 20th century, Josiah learned Mandarin Chinese, recognizing its growing importance on the global stage and adapting to the changing geopolitical landscape.