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casspurrjoybell-23 · 1 year ago

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The Raven - Chapter 15

*Warning Adult Content*

In the quiet stillness of the room, the only sound that can be heard is the loud thumping of the raven's erratically beating heart.

The tension in the air is palpable, something he could physically reach out and grasp if he were not so preoccupied staring into Henry's sparkling blue eyes.

They shine in the poorly lit tower, the moonlight filtering in through the singular window and reflecting within them, however, the light is dim compared to the brilliance of the emotions swirling within their depths.

Caleb finds himself getting lost in them, contentedly drowning in the endless oceans of blue, he could stare into them forever.

Softly, Henry caresses Caleb's cheek as his gaze falls from the dark-haired boy's eyes to his lips.

"You are so beautiful," he whispers, his voice taking on a husky tone that fills Caleb's stomach with an unfamiliar heat.

The prince's fingers follow his eyes, gently tracing over the raven's lips before his thumb tenderly presses into his plump bottom lip.

Henry cannot help but lean in closer, desperate to have a taste of him.

Caleb's breath catches in his throat when the prince's warm, minty breath fans over his face, his body tensing in ways it never has before.

He is not entirely sure what is happening but he knows he does not want it to stop.

The blond boy's hand slides down to cup the other's chin, lifting the raven's face up to meet his.

With the space between them suddenly gone, Henry takes a moment to search Caleb's enchanting scarlet eyes before finally closing the minuscule gap remaining.

Lips touching in a feather-light kiss, the raven stares briefly into the pools of blue before succumbing to the pleasure shooting through his body, his eyes fluttering closed.

Henry takes this as a sign of approval and presses his lips more firmly to Caleb's, wrapping his arms around the dark-haired boy's waist and pulling him impossibly closer until they have practically merged into one.

He takes a step backward, seating himself on the bed.

With the raven still in his embrace, his body follows until he is unexpectedly sitting in the prince's lap.

Although he is quite surprised by the movement, Caleb does not allow it to stop the kiss, reveling in the electric shocks that are coursing through his body.

His hands travel up Henry's chest, the taut muscles quivering under his touch before his fingers tangle themselves in that golden blond hair.

Caleb melts into him, his body relaxing as their mouths continue to move more fervently against each other.

A slight movement beneath him has Caleb gasping, his mouth removing itself from Henry's in his shock.

Henry's rigid appendage twitches against him again at the same time the prince's lips meet the tender flesh of his neck and the raven is overwhelmed with an emotion he cannot identify.

His head falls back and his eyes close, a soft noise escaping his throat as he presses himself more firmly into Henry's lap.

A groan rumbles through the prince's chest, reverberating through Caleb's own body in the most tantalizing way.

"I love you, Caleb," Henry murmurs into the other boy's neck, his lips barely leaving his exposed skin.

A sound that could only be described as a cross between a contented sigh and a needy whimper follows the words, the raven holding his prince more tightly against his body, if that is even possible.

He relishes the moment, wishing that somehow it could last forever.

It is as if all of his dreams are coming true.

Caleb opens his mouth to reply, to tell Henry that he loves him, as well but no words escape him.

Instead, the shrill voice of the raven's mother calls him, waking him from his slumber.

Caleb slowly and wholly regretfully opens his eyes, utter disappointment washing over him upon realizing that it had only been a dream.

A beautiful dream.

He is quite startled when he gets out of bed to find that a particular part of his anatomy has not yet discovered that the arousing scene playing out before his eyes had not been real.

Quickly, he changes into his raven form, thankful that the embarrassing view could be so easily taken care of before his mother steps into the room, Caleb is not sure he could live with himself if that ever happened.

Shaking his head, he attempts to remove all remnants of the dream from his mind, with his mother's presence close by, Caleb cannot afford to be caught dreaming about a particular handsome prince.

It is not worth the risk.

He would prefer not to be punished for things out of his control today, especially after the erotic, entirely inappropriate and somewhat nonsensical dream he just had.

It could not be possible for Prince Henry to love him, not so soon after their first meeting.

Although, perhaps that specific word could be applied to the raven's own feelings, is that what love is?

The instant and overwhelming connection to Henry?

The powerful and heated desire to be as close as possible to him?

The need to learn everything there is to know about him, the ache in his chest to ensure the prince's happiness?

To protect him from all things wicked in the world?

The raven would not know.

He has never known love before, not even from the very woman who gave him life and raised him for eighteen years.

How could he possibly know what love feels like?

What it means?

Caleb is not sure but he would be willing to wager that whatever he feels for Henry could someday soon turn into it.

And he would let it, he would stand back and watch himself fall hopelessly and entirely in love with the prince.

He would do so willingly and unhesitatingly and without rumination.

Warmth spreads through his body as he suddenly discovers that it is inevitable.

He will surely fall in love with Henry at some point, he can feel it.

Whatever this invisible bond between them is, it will undoubtedly lead him down that path someday.

And even if it turns out to be the opposite of his favorite fairy-tales and they do not live happily ever after, even if it crushes him, the raven will not regret a single moment of it.

How he hopes someday Prince Henry will love him in return.

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aangussca · 11 months ago

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Art Studio 1 Research: Soundscape Ecology (IDEA 1) PART 1

What is soundscape ecology?

Soundscape ecology: The study of sounds, particularly in the interactions occurring within landscapes (natural, built, internal, etc.).

This term is considered under the umbrella term of sensory ecology (using your senses to understand the interactions occurring within landscapes).

While it is important to see what happens and changes in the world (particularly in ecological landscapes), it is equally important to listen.

Categories of soundscape ecology

Soundscape ecologist Bernie Krause proposed 3 different 'sound categories' to consider:

Biophony

Geophony

Anthropophony

In his book, A Book of Noises: Notes on the Auraculous, Caspar Henderson proposed a fourth one: Cosmophony.

Below is a summary of what each category entails (in the order they are described in Henderson's book):

Cosmophony: Sounds made by space (planets, stars, etc.).

Geophony: Sounds made by non-biological, natural phenomenon (wind, water, rocks, weather, etc.).

Biophony: Sounds made by living organisms except for humans.

Anthropophony: Sounds made by humans.

What constitutes biophony?

Biophony focuses on non-human organisms.

This can encompass things including, but aren't limited to:

Animal calls

Other sounds of the body (heartbeat, breathing, borborygmus, etc.), which can indicate health or sickness

Movement (walking, flying and swimming)

Electrical signals produced by plants/fungi, which can be converted into sound

In the natural world, sounds are just as important as visual indicators in investigating environmental changes.

In the case of animal calls, they do share a similar function to different forms (spoken language, vocalisations, music/singing) of anthropophony: communication. Here are some examples:

Songbirds (Interestingly, they evolved from a common ancestor in Australia.)

Other birds (parrots, finches, hummingbirds, magpies, etc.)

Sea creatures (Due to travelling faster through water than air, sound is used to communicate or help them to find food (whales, fish, seals, crustaceans, etc.).)

Insects (cicadas, bees, crickets, grasshoppers, etc.)

Bats

Frogs

As one of the stories (of the beaver father - see video below), animals can be just as capable as humans of emotional expression through sounds.

Below is a 2013 Ted Talk by Bernie Krause, which elaborates on the importance of biophony (both in the natural world and as an emotional/sensory experience):

youtube

What constitutes anthropophony?

Anthropophony concerns any and all sounds produced by humans.

While many think of music and singing, other forms of anthropohony include, but aren't limited to:

Spoken language and other kinds of vocalisations

Other sounds of the body (heartbeat, breathing, borborygmus, etc.), which can indicate health or sickness

Machines and other technology (cars/trains, boats, factory machines, computers, power tools, etc.), which are responsible for noise pollution

Poetry and other forms of literature have integrated sound into writing. One example of this is Bashō's haiku, which reflect the sounds and sights of the natural world.

Music encompasses both physical (acoustic instruments, etc.) and digital (synths, etc.) instruments.

Interesting note: Gabriel Garcia Marquez's 'A Man with Enormous Wings' (as detailed in Henderson's book)

This short story is about an angel who falls to earth, landing into a small Columbian town. Not only is he an outsider/foreigner, but he proves to be a source of curiosity (for better or for worse).

Some of the townspeople turn to the angel for help with their bizarre ailments: from a woman losing count of her heartbeats to a man who can't sleep due to constantly hearing the sounds of stars.

The angel himself has some oddities too. This becomes apparent when the local doctor hears whistling inside the angel's chest instead of a heartbeat, wondering how the angel is still alive.

In relation to sound, this story has three things:

An outsider in a new environment = new perspective?

An outsider listening to the sounds around them, both in the town and from the plights of the townsfolk.

An outsider additionally forced to confront the strangeness of their own sounds ('foreign language', 'heart-whistling', etc.).

Perhaps I could incorporate that into concepts for my work?

References

BirdLife Oz. “Bird Finder: Top 40 bird songs.” Birds in Backyards. Accessed March 1, 2024. https://www.birdsinbackyards.net/birds/featured/Top-40-Bird-Songs

Henderson, Caspar. A Book of Noises: Notes on the Auraculous. London: Granta Books, 2023.

Joseph, Leo. “The Sweet Hum of Songbirds.” CSIRO. Published September 10, 2021. https://www.csiro.au/en/news/All/Articles/2021/September/evolution-songbirds

Krause, Bernie. Voices of the Wild: Animal Songs, Human Din, and the Call to save Natural Soundscapes. London: Yale University Press, 2015.

Pijanowski, Bryan C., Luis J. Villanueva-Rivera, Sarah L. Dumyahn, Almo Farina, Bernie Krause, Brian M. Napoletano, Stuart H. Gage, and Nadia Pieretti. “Soundscape Ecology: The Science of Sound in the Landscape.” BioScience 61, no. 3 (March 2011): 203-216.

Ocean X Media. “Fish Sounds: Do fish talk to each other?.” Published April 6, 2018. YouTube video, 6:46. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=POITH02VVrw

TED Ed. “Bernie Krause: The Voice of the Natural World.” Published July 16, 2013. YouTube video, 14:48. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTbA-mxo858

#sca projects #aa sca yr 3 sem 1 week 3 #year 3 art studio project 1 #aa sca yr 3 sem 1 week 2

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talbottoresnick · 1 year ago

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Valeria Sandino Exhibition Review

The photography exhibition I decided to visit was Shelley Niro’s 500 Year Itch exhibition at the National Museum of the American Indian, open from May 27, 2023 until January 1, 2023. At the exhibit there were approximately 30 or 40 works at the show, all relatively on the larger side; rough estimation of 24 by 30 inches. The installation was interesting to say the least. It may be described as unorthodox in its array of artistic creativity; not only were there photographs but also artworks such as paintings, clothing, and even a short film projected in an isolated enclosure. It was neither a huge or small exhibition space, viewers were able to waltz around the different spaces in the gallery and even sit at a small padded bench within the space exhibiting her paintings, allowing people to gaze comfortably. The installation dives into her nativity; Niro spreads conscious knowledge about her Six Nations Kanyen’kehá:ka (Mohawk) community’s history to a broad audience and instills healing through her art in evoking human emotions such as laughter.

Two photographs which stood out to me; or rather an ensemble of five photographs (similar to a triptych but instead, made up of five photographs) and a single photograph caught my attention instantly. I was so happy to see another artist revisit and revive the six The Lady and the Unicorn tapestries into their own adaptation of art. The beautiful tapestries were created during the Middle Ages; I adore these enormous tapestries and could not forget about them days and weeks after viewing them, held in the Musée de Cluny in Paris. I was so inspired and drawn to them that over the summer I made a short film that was majorly inspired by these tapestries. Since I could not film inside of a Gothic, Opus Francigenum, architecture styled church and focus on those themes of the human body paralleling the architecture (I took an architecture field study course during my time abroad in Paris) I focused on how they represent humanity and their mythical connection to spirituality or a higher power through our 5 senses. This 5 photograph kind of triptych that Niro named The Essential Sensuality of Ceremony (2001) depicted those same five senses; smell, taste, sight, touch, and hearing. Niro described these works as a series of ‘Haudenosaunee rituals’ to aid a person in transitioning from a negative to positive, healthy state of mind. She is reinventing the woman in the photographs as a ‘peacemaker and healer, physically through the actions and the senses’ which is very akin to what The Lady and the Unicorn tapestries were extrapolating. I found it very interesting and lovely, yet to someone who does not know of these tapestries they might have thought something completely different than me. The style of the series of these photographs is very simple and composed of close-ups and one medium shot; they are gelatin silver prints on paper. The style exudes simplicity when paralleled to the incredibly intricate tapestries. The simplicity could be conveying how these senses are disregarded as daily and monotone activities we partake in as humans through our daily lives yet there lay a bigger meaning behind these ‘simple’ senses as without them, who and what would we be?

The next photograph I was very happy to see was another very simple photograph of an extremely close-up tree trunk that Niro named Sorrow. I also made a short film about trees and their parallels to human nature as amid the surrealist movement, Luis Buñuel, the most distinguished pioneer to create surrealist films birthed L’Âge d’Or (1930). My short film was very much inspired by this film; I found his way of beginning the film focusing on scorpions as an allusion to the aggressive/animalistic nature occurring during that period, it being a counterpoint to the human world and its sick consciousness extremely interesting. Buñuel was indicating how scorpions are merely animals; they do not know ‘right’ and ‘wrong,’ just violence. In this way, I was inspired to begin my film in a similar way by focusing on a tree, and later including the three parts of it (roots, extreme close-up of a tree trunk, and branches/leaves) throughout the short film. I love nature and I was hugely inspired by my love for trees and forests as well. I wanted to include nature vs nurture, man vs nature, sadness, and family as themes for the film and parallel how we are all natural beings on this planet, as every living thing is composed of cells. I instantly connected to the photograph of the tree trunk as the short film I made was also black and white and also featured a shot of an extreme close-up of a tree trunk to parallel the midpoint of the short film/midpoint of a person’s life progression. Niro’s depiction of this photograph conveyed the tree as a vessel for a ‘collective memory’ of lost homelands and hope for the future. I believe its simplicity is an attempt to instill how normal war, violence, and the disregard for nature is in the world and that instead of being regarded as a grand nightmare it is normal in society.

Overall, I believe the project exhibited by Shelley Niro was beautiful. Most of the photographs were simple but I felt very connected to most of the works of art she chose to exhibit, as I also, obviously also a woman, hold a part of me that lies within another community’s history, near Patagonia, in Bariloche, Argentina. I loved the use of nature within her works, her sense of individuality and disregard for conventional exhibition works. I cannot say I loved every piece in her exhibition but I do admire and appreciate her views and art. I also visited Rodney Smith’s exhibition, a much more refined and high-art execution, but I felt as though I related to Niro’s more. I also thought most of his works were too perfect and some too whimsical as if they were out of a children’s book (such as the photograph of the male subject with clock glasses on) even though I love Tim Burton and Alice in Wonderland, which he drew inspiration from, I felt they were too perfectly dull and conveyed little emotion to me.

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alexd-l · 1 year ago

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Digital Journal #1: Performance

Over the past two weeks, our class participated in the Otzö Kazo workshops. When the idea of the movement workshops was first introduced, I was filled with many apprehensions––dance has never been my “thing” and I’m not sure why but dance has had a tendency to make me self-conscious regarding other’s perceptions of my movement. Going into these workshops, I recognized that I wasn’t the most excited about them but either way, I decided to keep an open mind with this workshop. This self-consciousness was only heightened during the first workshop with Ari when I joined virtually over Zoom.

When I tuned into the workshop, I tuned in from what I thought was a hidden and secluded hallway at the Clarice. I thought it was the perfect spot to move around and tap into movement but the exact opposite ended up happening. As I tuned into the workshop from the hallway, there were students and other faculty members passing through and I found myself having to stop going “full out” and became distracted anytime I heard the door open. Because of this, I could not devote myself completely to the workshop. My attention was undoubtedly distracted and I certainly did not make the most out of that workshop.

This is why when I found out that we would be continuing the workshop in person this past Tuesday, I was really looking forward to that experience and almost saw it as my personal redemption and goal to at least try and make the most out of it. Last workshop, the space that I was in presented a huge hindrance to being able to fully immerse and participate in the workshop. Going into the workshop on Tuesday, I knew that a change of scenery would make this experience more enjoyable––and this proved to be true. While I felt nervous about going into the workshop, I was comforted in knowing that there would be others participating in the same event and also dancing––so no judgment here!

Looking back at the workshop on Tuesday and comparing it to the workshop that we had last week, I really enjoyed Tuesday’s workshop because I found the music to be particularly helpful in connecting with my emotions and channeling the music (and the rhythm emanating) through my physicality. I also found the music to be grounding. It grounded me in my moment and I felt a more natural energy radiate throughout my body, which allowed my movements to be a lot more organic––my body had something to respond to. Compared to the first workshop that I tuned into, I had a really hard time letting go and had difficulty translating Ari’s description of the characters into my movement. While Ari was descriptive of the emotions and characteristics of each character, it was hard for me to find a connection with what she was describing. However, I found the music to really help with tuning out any extra noise, and for me, I saw the music as an invitation for my body to really listen to the rhythm and follow the emotions that were associated with the specific sounds.

The character that I felt a connection with was Azueli. I think I could connect with Azueli because Azueli’s form is in the form of the ocean. Azueli’s character gave me a visualization that I could connect to. I thought a lot about the ocean and the movement of the waves. As Peggy Phelan states in The Ontology of Performance: The Politics of Performance, “In performance, the body is metonymic of self, of character, of voice, of ‘presence.” Thus, in some capacity, as the performer (in the case of the workshop), I “disappeared” and “represented” “something else––dance, movement, sound, character, art” (Phelan, 150). Because Azueli is not aware of her existence, I remember trying to translate this through my physicality. I remember starting off by gently swaying side to side with a sort of gentle ease. Once Azueli has a realization that she exists, I remember expanding my movement and using my arms to make wave ripples with my hands.

I’m not sure why but when thinking about Azueli, I had flashbacks to Moana (maybe because water is such a focal point of the movie, but also because of how therapeutic and tranquil I find the scenery to be in that movie). During the workshop, there were moments that definitely surprised me. For most of the story, I kept moving my eyes closed (for me personally, closing my eyes allows me to really connect with myself and really focus on my hearing sense). However, towards the end of the story, I found myself going down on the floor. Truth be told, I felt a little tired and could use the rest but something about the shift in low deep grave tone coming from the music made me associate a lower level with my body. When I started to go down, I remember opening my eyes and seeing about half the room dancing on the floor. It was so surprising to see the room's similar and collective response to energy.

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rocorambles · 4 years ago

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Reciprocate

Pairing: Akaashi x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Mafia AU, Kidnapping, Rape/Non-Con, Forced Impregnation, Objectification, Degradation, Humiliation

Summary: You should have known better than to think you could ever truly escape from him, especially when you carry something he treasures so dearly inside of you.

You reminisce on the early days when you had met the beautiful dark-haired man, when you had been swept off your feet by striking blue eyes and a serene composure.

Akaashi had never been just normal to you and you remember how he had made your head spin with the air of mystery he carried around him, how your heart whipped back and forth between the always surprising mixture of sharp blunt words and eloquent poetry he entrapped you with. He was a man full of surprises, truly multi-faceted and you remember watching in awe at how quickly he could go from easily and agilely maneuvering his toned athletic body in the gym to lazily reading classic literature with a hand posessively but gently wrapped around your waist as you curled up besides him on the couch.

There are many words you could have used to describe Akaashi. But dangerous? Dangerous was not one of them.

Funny how quickly things can change.

Even as careful as Akaashi is, even he can’t foresee unexpected circumstances, especially when you are more entangled in the webs of his life than he ever meant for you to be. And he is forced to reveal who he truly is to you or kill you when you get caught up in things and with people who shouldn’t have ever even known you existed.

You wouldn’t be the first woman he’s killed and his mind flickers to numerous dead bodies, corpses of prostitutes and other unfortunate women strewn about when things became too complicated, when they threatened his position and the safety of his clan. But he can’t bring himself to pull the trigger, can’t even bring himself to think about aiming at you.

You’re not like the other fleeting distractions and for the first time ever, Akaashi Keiji breaks Fukurodani policies by revealing everything to you in the hopes that you’ll accept him as everything he is, that you’ll join him for the long run.

Blue eyes storm over when you don’t look at him with the love and acceptance he expected of you, only fear and disappointment apparent in your eyes, and his hands instinctively clench into fists when you flinch away from him, scrambling to create space between the two of you when he reaches out to reassure you that underneath the terrifying family name and insignia, he’s still just him.

Fine. You’re scared? He’ll give you something to actually be scared of.

His fingers dig deeper than necessary as they roughly drag and shove you, movements harsh and rough enough to make a very clear point, but never enough to permanently mark you. He likes his possessions as pristine as possible after all. And he smiles at how quick you are to go limp in his arms, obediently letting yourself be led when Akaashi’s silky voice patronizingly tells you what a shame it would be for your beautiful body to be decorated with bullet holes.

You know who Boktuo Koutarou is, even if you’ve never physically met him. Everyone in your city knows who he is, his name whispered and murmured in the streets, tales of his erratic temperament and ruthless wildness spread far and wide. The Fukurodani clan has always been a powerhouse in the underground world, has always controlled your city with an iron fist, and Bokuto, even by Fukurodani standards, has more than risen to the challenge of continuing his family’s undeniable reign, garnering respect and fear even among the monsters that share his insignia. So even though you’ve never met him, you know exactly who you’re shoved to your knees in front of, who Akaashi reverently speaks to and asks for permission from to keep you at the base as his pet, and you don’t dare open your mouth or raise your head, absolute terror paralyzing you.

Gold eyes peer at you in interest. Whores aren’t uncommon in the base, lewd moans and slick sounds sometimes making the base seem more like a brothel than the home of illicit dangerous business and Bokuto has always encouraged and rewarded his men with the best cunts money can buy especially after particularly successful or tiresome raids. But for as long as he’s known Akaashi, he can count the number of times the younger man has partaken in those base pleasures on just his fingers and even then, they’ve always been one night stands, brief flings. So he’s surprised, to say the least, when the dark haired man asks to keep you around as his little toy and he has a gut feeling that you’ll become a permanent extension of the family, but how can he deny the man who’s resolutely stayed by his side all these years, who’s pledged his life and loyalty to him? Akaashi asks for so little and if all he wants is for Bokuto to provide protection and surveillance for one more body to be happy, then so be it.

You’re no stranger to sharing a bed with Akaashi, but this is different. You had always thought that he had been holding back with you, swearing that you saw a hint of something darker gleaming behind blue orbs only for it to dissolve away as you were swept away by sensual languid pleasure and gentle, attentive words. And you hate that you were right, voice going hoarse as you scream at the top of your lungs as you’re ruthlessly taken over and over again, a coldness in the eyes you had once loved that pierces deep within you, animalistic possessiveness in the way he marks you, long slender fingers leaving bruises in their wake as he holds your writhing body in place as he thrusts in and out of your abused lower lips.

Day in, day out. All you know is a fitful sumber that exhaustion forces you into and Akaashi. His scent, his touch, his voice. You’re drowning in his essence. Dying. No. That would be preferable. At least there would be an end. And you silently grieve, unable to even cry real tears anymore when you wonder when this will ever end, if this will ever end.

As much as Akaashi would love to permanently lay beside you, duty and appearances do call from time to time and he reclines across from Bokuto, watching the black and white haired man boisterously chat with Kuroo Tetsurou, the current head of Nekoma as scantily clad women surround the two men, dragging fingernails down their chests and shamelessly shoving their breasts into their faces in the hopes of gaining their favor. They sure do seem to be enjoying themselves and Akaashi grimaces when one of the prostitutes begins to loudly moan as she grinds against his leader’s swelling erection which doesn’t go unnoticed by sharp eyes.

“Akaashi, don’t be so uptight. Why don’t I send some of them to your room tonight to help you loosen up?”

Bokuto knowingly smiles in amusement when he’s promptly rejected.

“Ah, that’s right. You still have your cute pet. But you know Akaashi, pets are temporary. Don’t you think it’s time to make it a little more permanent? Maybe put a ring on it? Hell, I love kids. I wouldn’t mind having a few runts running around the base, especially if they’re yours.”

Their conversation is interrupted by a rude scoff and Bokuto snarls at Kuroo’s taunting words.

“Because God knows Bokuto isn’t having kids anytime soon. No woman could stand bearing his kids and listening to his loudmouth for the rest of her life.”

Akaashi tunes out their bickering as the gears in his mind churn.

He had kept you on your birth control pills, not wanting to disturb his time with you as he broke you in and figured out exactly what his plan for you is. He knows he loves you, knows there’s no life for him without you. But he wasn’t a dreamer. He’s fully aware just how dangerous his life is, how impossible it is for the both of you to be able to grow old together, how much more likely it’ll be that both of you end up dead side by side in a turf war gone wrong. Yet now all he can think of is what you’d be like as a mother, how you’d look pregnant with his children and when your pills run low, he tears your prescription to shreds in front of your eyes.

You have more fight left in you than he thought you would and he’s enraged by how much you despise the thought of carrying his children, every desperate plea for him to not cum inside of you while you’re unprotected, a direct insult to him and his love for you. All he sees is red as he breeds you over and over again, stuffing you full of his cock and his seed, never stopping until you’re filled to the brim with the sticky proof of his adoration, stomach heavy and sloshing with his declared affection.

Turbulent emotions ransack you and you wish you could blame it solely on the hormones raging throughout your impregnated body, but you know it’s deeper than that. It had been so easy to become numb to being used, being known as nothing more than Akaashi’s pretty pet, being the victim of a cold, ruthless stranger you realize now that you never really knew. But it’s agonizing to once again see the hints of the man you had fallen in love with and your heart aches at how gentle and considerate Akaashi is to you once more as your belly begins to swell, a comforting hand rubbing your back and holding your hair away from your face as morning sickness has you heaving over the toilet bowl. And you feel something break and shatter into a million pieces inside of you when one night, as your due date quickly approaches, he kneels in front of you, slipping the engagement ring of your dreams onto your trembling hand.

“I know this isn’t how you dreamed of any of this happening, but I promise you, once the child is born, I’m going to give you the wedding you always wanted and do my best to be the husband and father you deserve and want. I love you.”

You sob, tightly returning Akaashi’s embrace, burying your face in his chest, wishing with all your heart that things could have been different, that you could go back to those early days, that everything in between was a dream, a nightmare.

But this is reality and as you cradle your baby bump, you know that you need to do something, anything, now that it’s not just your life on the line anymore.

For the first time in a long time, it seems like fortune is finally on your side as Akaashi relinquishes his leash on you, trusting that your growing bump will permanently tie you to him, that you won’t even think of trying to escape in your current state. And you play your role perfectly, smiling and leaning into his careful touches, accepting the gifts and attention he lavishes you with, looking to all the world like an excited expecting mother perfectly matched with her doting fiance.

Akaashi resumes taking up longer projects and jobs, no longer seeing a need to keep as careful of a watch over you or a need to remind you of your place besides him every night. And seeing one of their higher-ups relax makes everyone else careless, no one paying you much attention, no more armed men outside your door and windows when Akaashi is away.

Really, it’s embarrassingly easy for you to escape, so easy that you wonder if this is a trap, almost expecting Akaashi to appear from around every corner and drag you back to the prison he had created for you, and you shudder when you can almost feel his hands against your skin, his voice murmuring cruel cutting words into your ear.

But no one stops you and you slowly, but steadily make the long journey to Inarizaki territory, discreetly settling in and making a new home for yourself, starting a new life. Inarizaki and Fukurodani have never dealt much with each other, their territories so far apart that it’s pointless to clash or ally with each other when there are so many other enemies and friends closer to both their homes to deal with. You pray that it’s enough to hide you, to allow you to leave your wretched past behind.

It seems like your prayers are answered as month after month passes, as your belly grows and grows, as you give birth to a beautiful baby girl. You can barely remember a life outside of motherhood, your heart overwhelmingly full of love and happiness as you watch your daughter grow. And as you watch her take her first few wobbly steps as her first birthday passes, you let yourself finally believe that you can really move on and look forward, locking the blue-eyed demon of your past behind you once and for all.

Except that demon doesn’t want to be locked up, that demon is far too strong and cunning for your flimsy padlock, and you clutch your daughter to your chest when your door slams open one night and your apartment is swarmed by men with the Fukurodani insignia, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes when one last final figure makes their way past your threshold and you stare into familiar blue eyes.

As if your daughter can sense your anxiety, your fear, your hopelessness, she begins to loudly wail and bawl, wrapping her little arms around your neck and drenching your neck and shirt with her tears and snot, reminding you just how much is at stake right now.

You do your best to fake some semblance of calmness, drawing on your maternal instincts to still the quivering of your voice as you gently whisper soothing words in her ear, telling her everything will be fine, telling her that these are just mommy’s old friends, all the while watching your ex-lover gracefully make his way towards the two of you, subtly shielding her little body with yours as he approaches.

Realistically you know there’s not much you can do if he does mean harm to her, but you’d gladly die defending her to the best of your abilities if it came down to it, already ready to beg for her to be spared and for just you to be punished for your transgressions and your betrayal. You finch when you feel his weight settle besides you on the bed as he sits on the edge of the mattress, heart pounding as you feel his familiar presence, and you quickly turn to face him, only to be completely stunned by the softness in his eyes as he gazes at your daughter.

Relief floods through you and you hesitantly shift, allowing him easier access to see her, something bittersweet trickling inside of you as long slender fingers gently reach out to caress tear-stained cheeks, as your daughter’s sobs die down and curious eyes peer at the stranger who’s touching her. And deep inside you know Akaashi won’t harm her, will fiercely love her, as he tugs her out of your arms and pulls her into his lap, a sad smile pulling on your lips as you watch father and daughter reunite.

Deep inside you also know that you won’t be as lucky and your fears are confirmed when Akaashi stands, still cradling your giggling daughter in his arms, blue eyes pinning you down with a look you recognize all too well. There’ll be hell to pay for your actions.

You feel nauseous, body already aching and throbbing in anticipation of your punishment. But you plaster on a smile for your daughter as she happily plays with one of her favorite toys in the backseat of the car between Akaashi and you, peppering her tiny face with kisses as Akaashi and you tuck her into the gorgeous nursery he’s prepared for her, and wishing her good night as Akaashi leads you back out, continuously waving until the nursery door is firmly closed. And only then does your act drop and you sob as a hand harshly grips your wrist, tears only flooding down more as you recognize the hallway you’re being dragged down, body shaking when you’re shoved into a room and a bed you had tried so hard to forget.

Clothes are being torn from your body and you thrash around as lips descend upon you, a mouth hungrily molding with yours, yelping when teeth harshly bite on your lower lip before pulling apart. You feel so exposed, so helpless, so vulnerable as icy blue eyes glare down at you, Akaashi’s body pinning you in place as he takes in your figure, scrutinizing every line and curve of your body, mapping every familiarity and difference from the last time he’s seen you. But you lay still, wincing when his grip on your wrist becomes bone crushing when you try to instinctively cover yourself from him.

“I trusted you. I love you. And this is how you repay me? Running away from me? Keeping my daughter away from me?”

You open your mouth to stutter out some feeble excuse, but gasp when a hand wraps around your neck, warningly tightening before relaxing. The weight of his palm still against your throat keeps you silent.

“There’s no excuse for what you did. But I promised you that I’d be a good husband, so I’ll forgive you if you show me how sorry you are.”

You nervously watch as he completely lets go of you, eyes trailing after him as he settles his back against the headboard of the bed, beckoning you over to him with a single finger. And you can’t help but feel like foolish prey walking into a trap as you obey, body quivering in fear as he pulls you in and positions you so that your legs straddle his thighs, back arching and a cry slipping past your lips as he teasingly captures one of your nipples in his mouth and sucks.

“Still so sensitive.”

You hate how well he’s trained your body, how easily your body betrays you even after being separated from him for over a year, how well he knows every inch of you inside and out and shame and humiliation lance through you when a long digit easily slides into your already dripping heat.

“I think you’re more than ready, darling.”

Even past your wanton moans, the clanging metal of his belt unbuckling echoes throughout the room and you whimper as something hard presses against your entrance.

“Come on, love. It’s time for you to apologize. Do you know how much effort and time I spent searching for you?”

You yelp as the hands resting on your waist dig into your flesh before relaxing and rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

“But it’s okay because you’re here now, you and our daughter are here now, and neither of you are ever leaving me again. Right?”

You vigorously nod your head as blue eyes sharply stare at you, relaxing when they soften and a small smile plays on his lips.

“Good girl. Now prove it to me.”

You almost wish Akaashi had just forced himself upon you, finding it so much more demeaning to sink down on his cock all by yourself as he impassively sits back and watches you. But you’re sure that’s the whole point of this, for you to show your submission and acceptance through your actions. After all, nothing he ever does is meaningless.

And you truly do feel broken, like nothing more than a good wife, a good pet as you wildly shake your hips, bouncing up and down on his cock in a way that makes your breasts jiggle, pussy clenching even tighter and gushing even more when he orders you to look him in the eyes all the while.

“You’re making me feel so good, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful. You were made for my cock, made for me. Tell me who you belong to.”

In hindsight you’ll be embarrassed by how quick you are to babble his name over and over again in response. But here and now? All you can think about is the warmth in your chest as he praises you, the warmth in your belly as something pleasant and overwhelming builds inside of you. And Akaashi groans at how tightly you squeeze around him as your peak nears, almost cumming from just the hazed over arousal in your lust-filled eyes, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss and swallowing your cries of ecstasy as you reach your high, body convulsing and twitching in his arms as he holds you steady, lips still locked with yours as he thrusts up a few more times before finding his own release and spilling deep inside of you.

You slump onto him, exhausted body collapsing and still twitching from the onslaught of pleasure. But as the fog from your mind begins to ebb away, you involuntarily tense at the whispered “I love you” that sounds like nails scraping against a chalkboard, hesitating too long to respond in kind. And you know you’ve made a huge mistake when blue eyes are coldly regarding you once more, shivering from both the cold and fear as he pulls back from you before shoving you onto your back and settling between your legs.

“Looks like you need a little more encouragement to reciprocate my feelings. That’s okay. We have all the time in the world for me to show you just how much I love you.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere akaashi #haikyuu smut #yandere akaashi x reader #akaashi x reader #tw: noncon #tw: rape #tw: pregnancy #tw: yandere #tw: impregnation

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0celesteisthebest0 · 3 years ago

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Take a Chance On Me

Word count: 2,472

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x Fem! Reader(no y/n)

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Warnings: stress about future events, reminiscing on the past, fluff.

Author’s notes: SOOO hi again, yes I’m back again. Sorry for the inconsistency peeps, I’ve just been overthinking about the series and I realized that I wasn’t having fun writing because of posting. Those notes tend to haunt you on bad days and I had a lot of those so I took the executive decision to stop until I got my shit together. I’m spacing out my updates too to limit that feeling sooooo I hope that explanation makes sense for my two month break in uploading. Other than that I hope you enjoy this chapter, I cried while writing it... IT’S NOT SAD NECESARILY I’m just emotional!!

Chapter 29: Picture Perfect

It’s been a weird couple of days, you couldn’t quite describe what you were feeling but you knew the sensation of it was too familiar. The pulling in your chest causes the ceaseless anxiety of the situation that you’re in to take a physical effect instead of a purely mental one.

It was Thursday once again and maybe it seemed to your body that it was physically preparing itself to take on more stress. You told both Isaac and Liz to take a break today because the pair have not stopped working since Saturday. You need to take your own advice and let yourself relax.

The plans were already set in place, Isaac was going with you to Chicago, you’d drive with the van, make contact with Felix, and if that didn’t pan out… you sighed to yourself. You guys have a backup plan for a reason, you’d make contact with Vanessa to see if she still knew dirt about some people around. Hopefully she had dirt on Austin, hope was all that you got at this point and you couldn’t help but worry.

Your body wanted to be in constant movement but your mind wanted to sleep so that’s what you were trying to do. Forgo any responsibilities for some good quality rest. But again that feeling in your chest didn’t leave and it’s become increasingly difficult to stay still. That’s it, you had to get up to move even if it was just to pace because laying made the thrumming worse. Laying makes you feel stagnant.

It felt too foreign to stop for a moment and rest. It felt that the thrumming was your body's way to tune yourself and try to relax. You paced out of your room and straight to the living room in hopes that the change of atmosphere will calm the stress. What were the others doing on their day off again? Isaac said something about going out and visiting some new restaurant he’s been wanting to try. Liz said she was gonna stay in and read with Tara by her side keeping her company.

You were just planning to sleep in but that thrumming was picking at you and you were afraid you’d unravel. Take a break damn it, take a break. Why couldn’t you just do that! It was a simple task to just unwind, right? What did you do to unwind…

Did you forget how to…you stopped pacing at this realization and took a moment to reflect. How long have you pushed yourself? How many years has it been since you’ve told yourself that you could relax? You’ve convinced yourself that this thrumming was normal.

The statue that you built over the years has crumbled and now you are picking up the pieces to knit them back together. You now only realize that it’s been broken for centuries now. It didn’t crumble until it was shoved into. You didn’t realize the damage that caused you to harden and crumble took away the vices you used to relax.

You closed your eyes and went off to your room with a mission in mind. You knew it was somewhere in here. You went off to your closet and sat on the floor looking for the item to wield the pieces back. Old boxes with trinkets you didn’t have the heart to throw away.

Boxes that contained things that would be nonsensical to anyone who ventured foot in your closet but you kept anyway. Ticket stubs, scribbled notes with barely legible handwriting but words that meant the world, letters from the past, old yet meaningful tattered books, nostalgia filled comics with bent pages, and the item that you looked for.

It was cracked but you could still use it, cracked at the lens. You tilted the dusty camera around to see if there was any more damage and the crack was the only thing that was of notice. You hummed to yourself to see if the battery still worked and luckily enough it turned on.

You made a squeal of excitement and the battery was at low percent but you could manage to see if the lens was that bad. You sighed to yourself but still inspected the remains of a forgotten time of your life and decided to look at the photos in the memory card. What happened when you pressed the past photos was a flood of memories that you somehow forgot. You looked intensely at the pictures of old friends huddled together for a somewhat blurry picture. You choked back a wet chuckle as you looked at more and more pictures from events you can’t believe you’ve forgotten. Images zipping through your mind sending you back to the past.

Every event you recalled with pride as you picked apart when and why it took place. Most of them were taken in the apartments of your friends or for special occasions. You laughed a little because they insisted on you taking the pictures even though you repeatedly told them they’d come out wonky.

“Oh but moonpie, it’s a perfect picture to look back on. Just take the picture,” the whisper of a ghost spoke in your ear as you recalled the day clear as that cold November night.

“Stop calling me that you-you big ol’ dork,” you muttered back at the group trying to convince you to take the picture. You ultimately conceded and you are forever grateful that you did.

“Moonpie,” you giggled to yourself, setting down the camera that was going to be a little project to expel excess energy.

The tears that stung at the corners of your eyes dampened on your sleeve. It was nice to remember the times that you could but it still grabbed onto your throat as a reminder of what was gone. You decided to indulge yourself with the memories from your box and so you held the bits of ticket stubs in your fingertips to remind yourself that you were tangible. You hummed to yourself as you looked back at old writings and feelings that were easing the dread from your chest. The thrumming turned into buzzing that pooled to your arms flowing into your fingertips; where the unease seeped out of your system as you perused down memory lane going through things you used to do. You shouldn’t have stopped these things…maybe you could pick them up again, act like no time has passed.

Exhaustion gripped your body and you decided to pad off to your bed to finally sleep in and you reached for your phone to see if you could find a new lens for that specific camera. The relay of different messages greeted you as you unlocked your phone. You giggled at the images of Moss that Liz sent you telling you that she was doing fine. You hummed happily at the news and told her that you were glad she was resting.

Then there was Isaac who sent you excited messages about the day of break he had.

Isaac: do you think I could make a decision on take out next time we’re at your place

Isaac: don’t answer that I know what you’ll say and it’s obviously yes

Isaac: oh shit I forget you fell asleep uh anyway the sauce!?!? so good!?!?! please can we eat here as a group I want to try so much more things

You giggled again at the text messages that illuminated your face in the darkness of your room and just as you were about to respond a familiar face enveloped your screen. A blurry picture that he took of himself, you loved his goofy grin. To say you didn't answer it in a heartbeat was a ridiculous statement.

“Well howdy, how’s my favorite cowboy,” you grinned and the soft chuckle that you grew familiar with rang in your ears. You knew he’s been busy these past days since he’s left so he hasn’t had time to call over the phone. It was a lot of texting back and forth between the two and you grinned to be able to hear him again.

“My sweet, sweet girl, I’m doin’ a thousand times better now that I can hear you. How are you my love,” his tired voice seeped out of the screen causing you to wonder about the amount of work they piled on him.

“I’m doing better that's…” you stared at the camera that you left on the floor of your room. “That’s for sure, I’ve been a bit on high alert but I think I got things to keep me busy.”

“If it’s more things related to the mission I don’t think that’s somethin’ that’ll help you get out of your head,” his tired voice muttered out.

“Not mission-related, I promise. I have a little project that I wanna fix up,” you confessed to him somewhat at ease being able to express a thing that lets you not think about anything too important. He made a noise of intrigue.

“What’s this little project, my dear?”

“I wanted to fix up my old camera,” you moved the phone closer to you hoping you could hear him better.

“Camera? Didn’t know you were a photographer, is the camera up to par?” He was curious about the situation and you were happy to answer all his questions.

“I wasn’t a photographer, but I can sure take better pictures than you,” you heard a noise from Jack and immediately giggled.

“I have a perfectly steady hand,” he argued, causing your cheeks to hurt from how hard you were grinning.

“You do have steady hands…which are very nice to look at but you can’t focus the image with them,” you confessed absently. “It’s okay though, you can steady it and I’ll help keep focus.”

“That’s why we make a good team darlin’,” he yawned sleepily and you grinned at the yawn after darling.

“Baby do you want to go to sleep? I know you’ve been swamped in New York so it’s alright to get some rest. We can talk later?” You knew you had a busy weekend ahead of both of you so taking up those extra hours of rest would be crucial.

“Mmm in a minute my dear, wanted to tell you somethin’ important that couldn’t wait till mornin’,” his tiredness was pushed down and replaced by excitement.

“Oh? What is it?” You couldn’t for the life of you figure out what he wanted to tell you at the moment.

“I booked a reservation tomorrow ‘round seven, for one of my favorite restaurants,” he said with what you assumed was a grin and you hummed at the fact he was treating himself for a day to enjoy himself at a restaurant in New York.

“That’s great my love! You can have a nice and easy day eating what you want when you’re still over there,” finding moments, where it wasn’t just work, were moments to enjoy and you were glad he’d be able to do that.

“No darlin’ you misunderstand me. Lemme rephrase that. I booked a reservation tomorrow ‘round seven for us,'' you blinked repeatedly to make sure you weren’t reading into things.

“Me and you?” You just needed a verbal confirmation that this was indeed reality and not something that your brain was misconstruing.

A soft chuckle traveled in your ear and immediately the excitement at Jack coming back bubbled to the surface.

“Yes me and you…just me and you.”

You couldn’t believe it. You genuinely believed that he was going to stay in New York for the total of this month, not a handful of days.

“How-how are you able to come back so soon,” you knew when Champ issued a punishment he meant it. So the ability to just come back so soon amazed you.

“Pulled some strings, wanted to see my girl,” you grinned wider than you ever did before. He promised you a date when he got back and you were so glad he kept that promise.

“Are you flying out tomorrow?”

“Mhm, gonna see you soon my dear, gonna take you ‘round the town,” he hummed trying to paint the picture of what tomorrow’s going to look like.

“I can’t believe it! I’m just so excited “ you didn’t know what to say, you haven’t been on a date in years and the idea of going to one of his favorite places to unwind sounded dreamlike. “I love you.”

“I love you too darlin’,” you hummed at those lovely words.

“I’ll pick you up ‘round 6:30? Give you enough time to get dolled up, then the rest of the night we have a moment to ourselves,” you bit your bottom lip in thought at the moment alone comment. Hoping you could just have more than an afternoon with him but you’d have to leave for the mission the next day.

“Darlin’,” you realized you were silent for a bit too long.

“All that sounds good Casanova,” you huffed because you wanted to say more. You needed to let yourself say more. “I was thinking, that maybe you could stay the night tomorrow, “ you let it slip out taking the anxiety with it.

“Dinner and gettin’ to sleep next to you is all I need to survive my dear so I’d very much like to stay the night.” He yawned out and you couldn’t help but giggle at the fact he was still trying his best to stay up and charm you at the same time.

“My love, go to sleep. I’m going to see you tomorrow, remember?” You stated the last part for yourself because you were still in awe of the fact you’ll be able to see him. His voice rumbled out a reply that you couldn’t quite hear. “What?”

“You’re amazin’, you know that love? Such a captivatin’ soul.'' Oh yeah, he was officially out of it. You haven’t seen him this tired since you accidentally woke him up on the jet years back. It was a small mission and you remember waking him and those dark crinkled eyes shined up at you and in his words, he thought you were the “brightest thing in the sky.”

It was something that you routinely brushed off back then but remembering those small moments made you smile now. What a dork.

“Loverboy, get some shut-eye. I’ll see you tomorrow,” his sleepy voice hummed at going to bed.

“I love you doll.”

“I love you too my sweet boy,” you ended the call to let Jack rest and you sighed happily at being able to see him soon. You knew that your dreams for the night were going to consist of scenarios where days and feelings like this was the norm. Oh, how you wished those dreams would come true for you.

Taglist: @shadowolf993 @salome-c @marydjarin @captainstormborn @athalien

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x female reader #kingsman the golden circle #take a chance on me #fluff #my fanfiction

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 4 years ago

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My Liability, My Deadweight

Fandom: The Chronicles of Riddick

Collection/Series: My Liability, My Deadweight

Pairing: Richard B Riddick x Female Fat + Glasses Wearing Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: T (Swearing, Riddick is Riddick, violence)

Warnings: Swearing, violence towards deadly alien creatures, violence from deadly alien creatures towards the reader

Summary: None of this was supposed to happen. You were supposed to be on a holiday resort planet, relaxing by glistening waters and forgetting your troubles. Not traipsing through a deadly jungle on an uncharted planet with a just as deadly companion who seems torn between helping you and hating you.

Notes: So I guess this is going to be similar to Western AU Din in that i’ll probably write some stuff in the same sort of world/vein as this. I’m just interested in the idea of Riddick with a reader who is the opposite of a survivalist, who isn’t fit or strong, who is scared. The idea of Furyans having mates or soulmates that they don’t really get to choose and the idea of Riddick having to come to terms with the idea that the person he wants to protect so bad needs his protection more than most is interesting to me.

This is probably such a niche thing to write, not only because the fandom is tiny, but also because people tend to write Riddick fanfic where the reader or OC is extremely capable, but I wanted to write it. So self-indulgent fic coming up.

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Kratos is a horror show of a planet. It’s the sort of planet you’d never thought you’d end up on, the sort of planet that you saw on horror vids and read about in the tales of survivors of tragedy. You weren’t supposed to be on it. You were just on a short trip, just supposed to go to a stupid holiday planet, at the insistence of your boss that you needed a break from your desk, that you worked too hard. You were a city slicker, an urban citizen, not an outdoorsman or an adventurer, certainly not the sort of person who’d come to a planet like this. But, your pilot had needed to make a stop, said there was a problem with the fuel cells that he needed to check out. So you’d made a pit stop on a barely charted planet. Nothing good ever happens on a barely charted planet.

Covered in dense, muggy jungle, the planet would have been beautiful had it not been trying to kill you and your, for want of a better word, companion at every turn. It was covered in vibrant green forest, tropical plants, exotic and brightly coloured flowers (many of which, it turns out, were deadly themselves). There were brightly coloured bird-like creatures and primitive mammals that scurried through the trees and across the ground. It would have been beautiful, except for the limp in your walk from the burning claw marks deep in your thick thigh, except for the blood that followed in your wake, the dead bodies of the crew you’d left behind, and the yellow eyes that seemed to follow the two of you under the dark canopy.

After a stupid decision by your group to go out into the jungle to try and find a settlement of some sort, just because it had seemed like (as if there was any real reason to leave), you’d been picked off one by one. You could only describe the beasts as fucked up panthers. Two tails with stingers at the end, sharp spindly spines along their backs, an elongated neck, venomous fangs and sharp teeth and claws. They were hard to spot, silent in the underbrush and decidedly and most definitely deadly. The only reason you were still even alive was because of Riddick, because for some unknown reason the man, the murderer, had decided to stick close to you, like glue. You weren’t complaining.

At the time of boarding the ship for your trip it had seemed horrifying, to know that you were travelling on the same transport as Richard B. Riddick, escaped convict, known murder, predator. He was the sort of man your parents whispered about, the sort of man that you never wanted to meet. He was someone from your worst nightmare. Now he is your saving grace and surprisingly not what you had expected of a notorious big bad. While he meets many of your expectations, crude at times, harsh, and physically intimidating, he defies them too. He is at times oddly gentle with you and, the mere fact he cares about someone’s survival other than his own, is in itself a surprise. A fortunate one for you.

“Are we nearly back to the ship?” You ask because your leg is killing you, because you so desperately just want to get off this planet even if it means being stuck in a confined space with a convicted murderer. You hate this planet, you hate the constant feeling of fear and of uselessness. You hate the truth of it all, that you are weak, vulnerable, prey not the predator. It has you realising your many weaknesses, many vulnerabilities, many failings.

“Shhh…” Riddick raises his hand out in front of you, a universal sign to stop, while the other comes to his lips in a shushing motion. If he were a dog, his ears might very well have pricked up at the slightest sound.

To you nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There were no unusual sounds or movement in the brush. You couldn’t see anything out of place. Just as you begin to notice the silence, the lack of sound, that is the moment everything goes terribly wrong.

“Riddic-” You were cut off by your own scream.

Things happen so fast that you don’t really have time to process them. One minute you are standing behind Riddick attempting to get his attention, the next a dark shape crashes into you and you’re on the jungle floor a heavy weight pressing on your chest and stopping your breathing. Your hands reach up instinctively, pushing against the creature in an effort to keep sharp gnashing teeth from your face, but you’re not strong and you’re not a fighter and you can feel your arms beginning to collapse already. Can hear yourself screaming for Riddick even as part of you thinks he’ll leave you there, abandon you to be eaten alive. There is a deep fear that this is it, this is the end. That it shall be painful, terrifying, lonely, and unfamiliar.

Claws scratch at your arms, blood runs over your skin in rivulets as you scrabble in the dirt. Then as suddenly as the weight came it was gone, hefted off of you with an angry roar and the sound of a knife hitting flesh over and over again. You don’t look, can’t bring yourself to look, just lie there and breathe, in and out. You don’t want to see him do what he’s good at, don’t want to see alien blood, a dying creature, the parts of him that are less than gentle. So you stare up at the canopy and catch your breath, feeling the blood flow down your arms, the bruises that ache over your stomach, hips and legs. Feel the relief flow through you, combat the shock, as you realise you are not dead, you are alive, and he did not leave you to die.

You’re rather numb in truth until you hear him muttering above you, “goddamn liability, deadweight…”, it shouldn’t upset you because it’s true. But it does, it upsets and angers you because you didn’t want to be here, you didn’t want any of this and you didn’t ask him to hang around, didn’t ask him to help you. You had no say in this. This was not your idea of a holiday, your idea of fun, or your fault.

It forces you to your feet, forces you, despite the blood dripping from your wounds, to stand and face him, despite the bruises, despite the pain, despite the fear. You find yourself planting your feet even as you sway unsteadily, standing with hands on your wide hips and a scowl aimed at a man that could kill you easily. For the first time you’re too angry to overthink your actions towards the man. For a moment you stop thinking and start acting.

“If i’m such a goddamn liability, then just leave me here! I didn’t ask for you to stay, Riddick! I didn’t ask for your help! If it’s such a fucking chore to have me along, if i’m really dead weight then leave me! Go!” You didn’t normally scream at anyone, it wasn’t your personality type. You were quiet, shy, retiring. A wallflower. You didn’t scream. You didn’t start fights. You didn’t do any of that. Anger wasn’t your natural response to anything. Fear was. But after being hunted down, time and time again by giant alien cats with venomous fangs and an uncanny ability to hide on a jungle planet, all while being called a liability, a dead weight by the one person you had to rely on, well, you were finally at your wits end. You were in pain, you were upset, frustrated and ready to just go home.

You didn’t understand it. Why Riddick even bothered with you, practically a stranger. You knew you were a liability, that’s why it hurt so much when he said it. You were soft, emotionally and physically. You were a slow runner, a poor fighter, had terrible eyesight that required glasses, you weren’t light on your feet or graceful and you certainly didn’t know much about survival. You were overweight, unfit and unsure on your feet. You were prone to panic and tears, you were easily emotionally and physically unbalanced. Until this trip from hell you’d been content in the inner rim, working a normal job, a safe life. Your day to day had been comfortable, safe. Easy. You weren’t cut out for this, for danger and potential death and had Riddick, this known criminal, one of the most sought after murderers in the verse, not decided to stick by your side you’d have died at least ten times already. It didn’t make any sense and your frustration at yourself, the situation and at him had tears pooling in your eyes. You didn’t ask for any of this.

“I can’t.” He’s so impassive, so calm, that it pisses you off more. It pisses you off how hard it is to read him, how he hides his eyes behind black goggles that stop you understanding him. How he hides all emotion from you so easily. How is he okay with this? How is he so calm when everything around the two of you wants to kill you, when he could have left this goddamn planet already if you weren’t slowing him down at every turn? How could he stand there above the body of some hell spawn creature and just stare at you like that, like everything was just fine, just normal? Like he wasn’t covered in it’s blood. Like you weren’t dripping in your own. Like you hadn’t almost died. Again.

“I..I don’t get it…? What do you mean you can’t? You could walk the fuck away right now. I can’t stop you! No one else is here to stop you! If you want to leave, leave! No one’s holding you back, Riddick! No one is going to stop you! I can’t bloody well can’t! Look at me!” You sound hysterical even to your own ears but you can’t help it. You are so scared, so confused, so frustrated, so panicked by all that’s happened, all that could happen. You gesture down to yourself, to the bloody coating you, the way you protectively hold yourself off of your hurt leg, the sheer stature different between the two of you. All the things that make it very abundantly clear that if he chose to simply walk away you couldn’t stop him.

“Listen, princess, it’s not that fucking simple!” The snap is almost relieving, that he’s not as cold, not as impassive as you thought. That he could break too. That he could be angry, that he could be upset, that this wasn’t just normal. Even as his steps closer cause your back to hunch, cause you to second guess your antagonist behaviour.

“I don’t understand!”

With a growl he’s crowding you against a tree, thick arms caging you in. He’s imposing, large, a head taller than you and the action has him taking over every one of your senses. He never touches you in anger and while the display is intimidating, it oddly enough doesn’t scare you. It almost feels secure. Perhaps because not once has he done anything to suggest to you that he would hurt you, every move he’s made has been to keep you safe. Every time he’s touched you has been to pull you from danger or bring you back to your feet. Despite his harsh appearance, his foul language and the deadliness that he displays at every turn, he has never once given you cause to fear him. To fear how he would treat you.

“You’re my mate, got it?! I don’t get to choose, I don’t get a choice! I can’t leave you! I just fucking can’t, so you’re a fucking liability and dead weight, but you’re my dead weight, got it? I ain’t fucking leaving you, we either both get off this motherfucking planet or we both get eaten by these fucks, princess. There’s no inbetween, understand?” Silver eyes flash at you as he tears the goggles from his eyes, his brow furrows and the muscles in his thick neck and broad shoulders bunch and move with every piece of tension that bursts through him. You are distinctly and sharply reminded that Riddick is a predator in every sense of the word, while you are prey. You are on two separate ends of the spectrum.

“Mate…?” Your eyes flit across the landscape behind his head, trying to process all those words and all their meanings. You don’t understand, you don’t understand any of it. But, those words soothe you in a way you can’t explain. He isn’t going to leave you. For whatever reason, for whatever this is, whatever he means, he isn’t going to leave you. You let out a breath you didn’t even realise you’d been holding. He’s not leaving, even if you’re a liability, a deadweight. Even when things get bad, he’s not leaving. He is, at this point, your only chance at getting home, getting away from him, of surviving. The panic in you begins to soothe, calm and settle.

“We don’t have time for this.” You’re startled by the sudden display of affection as the man cups the back of your neck and presses his forehead into your own, “Just trust me.”

“I do, Riddick, I trust you” It’s hard to explain, the trust you feel for him, the safety as you let him lead you once more through the jungle. You are bleeding, in pain and still ever so aware of the dangers around you, but you have an implicit belief that with Riddick you are as safe as you can be. That if there was ever a person to carry you through this it would be him.

You might still be confused, might not understand what he means by you being his mate or by his obligation towards you, but you know that he isn't leaving you for dead and that is enough right now. That is more than enough.

------------------------------

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@charradelange @belfry-bat @gabile18 @beccaboo929 @trasheater

#riddick x reader #richard b riddick x reader #chronicles of riddick #richard b riddick #plus size reader #my liability my deadweight #fat reader #readerinsert #reader insert

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anna-justice · 3 years ago

Text

like i’m gonna lose you

summary: my take on the fall out of 8x16.

read on a03

...

“Get your hands off of me”

Hailey stirred in her chair, her grip on Jay’s hand tightening a bit. They couldn’t bring themselves to care about appearances as they sat in the waiting room of MED, anxiously awaiting news on Kim. Hailey had dozed off on Jay’s shoulder pretty quickly, not that he minded. He was sure she had had a rough few hours, despite her vague responses.

“You knew exactly what to expect when you came here.”

There was a soft moan from beside him and Jay looked down to find his girlfriend’s eyebrows laced together. Her knee shook slightly, grabbing his attention. “Hailey?” He whispered, earning no response.

“This is what it feels like.”

Hailey flinched hard in her sleep, her bottom lip beginning to quiver, Jay’s heart dropped into his stomach. She was having a nightmare. He shifted slightly, bringing his free hand to her hair and tightening his grip on her hand. “I’m here Hailes, come back to me.” He said softly in her ear as he ran his fingers through her hair.

The movement startled her, causing her to flinch again. “I saw.” She muttered - still asleep - a stray tear falling down her cheek, “I saw-” Before Jay could react, she shot up, grabbing the attention of too many people around her.

Jay’s hand immediately found her shoulder, “Hey, you’re good. It was just a dream, you’re safe.” He took note of the half nod she gave him, the fake smile, the way her blue eyes were clouded with tears. Hailey looked down at their intertwined hands, pulling hers close to her body. “Hailey?” He asked, a little hurt.

She looked like she had seen a ghost, and honestly, she felt like she had. The only way to describe the feeling in the pit of her stomach was absolute terror: she was scared that Voight would walk through the sliding glass doors, she was scared of what she had become, she was scared of what Jay would think of her. She was absolutely terrified of the shell of a person he would leave behind when he finally came to his senses and walked away. “I-uh-I,” She stuttered, standing slowly, “I need some air.” She barely got the words out before running out of the building.

Jay stood to follow her, he had always been good at giving her space, letting her handle things on her own first, but this was killing him. She was spiraling, he could see it. She had spotted it in him so many times before. He was sick of standing on the sidelines while she fought alone but she wouldn’t let him in, not this time. And as much as he wanted to be her husband, he knew the proposal was only a product of whatever the hell had happened, he just never got the chance to ask what that was.

“I don’t want to be without you.” Hailey said, her sad eyes locked on his. He knew (or at least he thought he knew) what she was getting at. He remembered the way he felt when she was kidnapped, he remembers the panic that set in on her face when he was shot.

Jay felt the tears forming in his own, squinting a bit. It almost wrecked him to see her like this, so scared of losing what they had. He understood, he felt the exact same way, but it was different. He knew that no one else had ever stayed for her, no one else every cared, and he was determined to be the one that did. “You’re not gonna be.” He said, because how the was he supposed to say everything that he tried to push into those 4 little words? How could he make her believe that she was it for him?

Hailey searched his face for any sign of regret or inconsistency, but she found none. Somehow though, she still wasn’t one hundred perfect sure. She couldn’t bear to lose him, she wouldn’t survive it. How could she ever feel secure when she had so much to lose? The second the thought crossed her mind, the words tumbled from between her lips, shocking her as much as him. “Maybe we should get married.”

Jay looked at her blankly, obviously in shock. She could see it all over his face, he couldn’t believe what she was saying, she couldn’t either. “I’m serious, let’s get married.”

In a split second, Jay saw it all. The life they would have: the white wedding, the lazy saturdays, the holidays, the kids, the house, the dog, the years they would spend growing old together, the family trips to the cabin. He saw it all, and it was in reach. He never believed that he would could have any of it, but with Hailey, he wanted everything. He would marry her tomorrow, but not like this. Not when the love of his life was standing in front of him so broken down that the only way she thought she could keep him was through a meaningless certificate.

Hailey watched his smile fade, causing the panic to set in. “Jay, we can elope. We don’t have to wait. We can fly to Mexico or Hawaii or anywhere. Hell let’s do it here, I just want to be with you-”

“Hailey, breathe.” He said delicately, placing his hand on her cheek to keep her grounded. He leaned in, kissing her gently before pulling away to look her in the eyes, which were focused on anything but his. “Look at me, please.” She did - reluctantly - taking a deep breath when she realized his soft smile had reappeared. “I love you. And I will love you for the rest of my life. Nothing is going to change that. All I want to do is be with you, please believe me.”

Hailey shook her head, tears beginning to fall. “I love you so much-”

“Baby, tell me what’s going on. I want to help. Let me help you.” He was practically begging her.

She shook her head again, “Jay,” She gasped, “I can’t. Not until you say yes. I need you-”

Suddenly, his phone began to ring. If it was any other day, he would ignore it, but today was not any other day. “It’s Kev.”

Jay talked quietly on the phone for a minute or two. Hailey took the time to compose herself, to prepare for the worst: the end of her relationship. By the time Jay turned back around the light in her eyes was gone and there was a fake smile on her face, one that only he could see through. “Is she okay?” Hailey asked.

“Uh yeah, he just wants us to come so that he can go switch with Adam.” Hailey nodded, grabbing her phone off the table along with her keys. He cautiously followed her to the door. “We’re gonna be okay Hailes, no matter what.” He said, knowing full and well that this conversation was far from over.

Hailey nodded, “I know.” The left the apartment, and Hailey did her best to ignore the feeling of dread deep in her chest, but it was inescapable. No one could walk away clean from she had done, not her, not even Voight.

Hailey leaned against the wall outside of MED, trying to catch her breath. Her heart was racing and her eyes were burning, she clenched them shut to dull the ache, but every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was a gun pointed in her face.

“Just because your stomach can’t handle it.”

Hailey gagged, doubling over and leaning against the concrete wall.

“Cause you’re scared.”

She emptied the content of her stomach into the grass, choking and coughing violently as tears continued to stream down her face. Her vision clouded again, images of Voight’s face splattered with blood as he approached her running through her head. It felt so familiar.

Maybe it was her father’s reappearance in her life, but she felt like she was a child again. Hiding behind the couch or in her room, him screaming at her and her brothers as they ran scared. Her past was taunting her, like it was trying to prove to her that she would never be rid of it. That history would always repeat itself.

Jay followed her, watching from the doorway as she threw up. He rushed to her, “Hailey-” His hand touched her shoulder and she gasped, pulling away quickly and facing him, her arms shielding her face. Jay took a step back, caught off guard by the terror clearly shown on her face. She was frozen, panting hard.

“I-I’m sorry-I,” She said softly, slowly bringing her hands down to her sides. Jay watched as her gaze fell to the ground, his heart dropping into his stomach. He took a cautious step forward. “I’m not, I’m not afraid of you, I-”

Jay’s expression softened, “I know, I know. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He was hurt, sure, but this wasn’t about him. It was so much bigger than him.

Hailey wasn’t sure what emotion was more overwhelming: the fear, the guilt or the physical pain she felt in her chest. He looked so defeated, and it was her fault. He thought she was afraid of him.

He took another step forward, “Can I?” He motioned to his outstretched hand, holding it out to her. Hailey nodded, slipping her hand into his. He slowly pulled her into to him, her arms snaking around his waist and her cheek pressed against his chest. She took a deep breath, instantly calming her. “Hailey?” She hummed in response. “Can you please tell me what happened? You’re starting to scare me.”

Hailey took a step back, looking him straight in the eye, memorizing the way they were looking at her, in case it was the last time they ever showed that much love. She nodded, grabbing his hand and pulling him to a bench further away from the hospital. This was the last place she wanted to tell him, but he obviously couldn’t wait any longer, he shouldn’t have to. She couldn’t be selfish with him.

They sat down, facing each other. Hailey let her hand fall out of his, folding hers in her lap. “Voight did find a lead.” She said, shrugging. “Ruzek and I didn’t know, he gave us the legit addresses. Adam, he um, he kind of lost it so I told him to go be with Mackayla, and he did. So, I went to find Voight.”

Jay’s eyebrows were cinched together, listening intently. “He was at some warehouse, he had Roy. I walked in and he, uh he, he pulled his gun on me.” Jay’s jaw clenched, but he kept his cool (barely), letting her continue. “He was beating information out of Roy, then you radioed that you found Kim, but-but he was going to kill him anyway. We fought.” Hailey took a breath, but continued to ramble, “I convinced him to bring him in. I wanted to do it the right way, we were going to do it the right way, like you. I wanted to do it right, like you, Jay. But then, then-then he reached for Voight’s gun and, Jay I swear he was going to shoot Voight, so I-” Hailey choked out a sob, unable to look her partner in the eye.

Jay slid his hands in Hailey’s lap, wrapping them around hers. Hailey’s head shot up, shock written all over it, “So you shot him, to protect your Sargeant.” Jay finished for her. She risked her career to protect him even though Voight had no care for hers.

Hailey shuddered, “I promise, I tried. I told him to drop the weapon. I saw him, he had the gun in his hand. I wanted to do it right.”

“Shhh,” Jay said, pulling her to him. “It was a good shoot Hailes, you did it right.” He held her as her tears soaked his shirt, running a hand through her hair. He was trying to soothe her, but he was seething. He couldn’t believe Voight had put her in that situation. Voight had been on the job a long time, he knew better than to come into close contact with a violent offender with an exposed weapon.

Once he wrapped his brain around his anger, it hit him.

“No Jay, not until you say yes.”

Hailey was scared that he would blame her, or leave her over this. He held her a little tighter, his own tears gathering in his eyes as he held her. “I love you.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That grabbed Hailey’s attention. She peered up at him, her blue eyes filled with tears and hope. “Really?” She asked quietly, her voice breaking.

Jay nodded, not trusting his own voice. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. Hailey’s eyes fluttered closed, this time, no flashbacks plaguing her mind. His hand settled on her cheek, brushing his thumb over her cheek. Jay pulled away and rested his forehead against hers. “Really,” He whispered

There was a cough beside them, and Jay looked up first. Hank Voight was standing before them. “How’s she doing?” He asked.

Hailey stared at him in shock. He looked like he always did. He was no longer wearing his tactical gear and his face was no longer splattered with blood. He was Voight, like nothing had happened. For a split second Hailey envied him, his ability to walk away unscathed, like it was any other Wednesday night and the only thing wrong was Kim’s life was hanging in the balance. Then she looked at Jay, whose jaw was clenched and his eyes were stuck on sergeant. He was just as strong, maybe even stronger, and he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. If he could do it, so could she.

Jay stood, looking like a force to be reckoned with. “You need to leave.”

Voight scoffed, quickly glancing at Hailey, “Excuse me.”

“You heard me Sarge, leave. Now.” Jay said. His voice staying low, but intimidating nonetheless.

“I have a right to be here Jay, to see Burgess,” Voight said, his words becoming louder as he took a step forward.

“Then go, be the leader you’re supposed to be, but don’t you dare go near her.” Hailey’s breath caught in the back of her throat, her heart swelling at the sight in front of her. Voight glared at Jay, nodding shortly. Jay took another step forward, so that their faces were level, “And if she is brought into this, in any way, I will bury you.” He never raised his voice, or made any move to physically escalate the situation. The last thig he wanted to do was scare Hailey more than she already was.

“Understood,” Voight said, with a trace of venom that could have been deadly.

They parted ways, Voight entering the hospital doors and jay turning to face his girlfriend, who had been silent. “Are you okay?” He asked.

Hailey nodded, “Yeah, I’m okay.” She met his concerned gaze. “Thank you.”

Jay gave her a soft smile, “Of course.” She glanced between him and the hospital doors, a nervous look on her face. Jay held out his hand, which she gladly took. “Come on, we can come back in the morning.”

Hailey sighed in relief, standing. He guided them down the sidewalk, wrapping his arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her temple. “Let’s go home Hailes.”

“Hold on.” Hailey said, her anxiety getting the best of her again. She turned to face him, their eyes locking. She felt tears gather in eyes once again at the look in his, the one she had memorized, that she had prayed would never disappear. She smiled as he eyed her. “Ok, I’m good.” She grabbed his hand, pulling him in the direction of his truck. “Let’s go home.”

…

A/N: I couldn’t help myself, I had to haha. I can’t believe the premieres are only a month away! Thanks for reading <3

#jay halstead #hailey upton #upstead #upstead one shot #8x16 #chiacgo pd #one chicago #hank voight

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rumblelibrary · 4 years ago

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The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and a minor depiction of a fight. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: I am a nerd for a good Victorian novel and a sexy Alienist.I have always been charmed by Laszlo’s mind and inner conflicts. So I took the chance and tried to have a run into that rollercoaster. The story is placed between season 1 and season 2.

Diary belonging to Dr. Laszlo Kreizler. This is a professional book of annotations over medical treatments of an alienist toward his patients. Do not disclose and send it back to the address if found: Kreizler’s Institute, xxxxxx, New York City (NY) L.K.

Samuel Griswold Goodrich, Illustrated Natural History of the Animal Kingdom (c1859). Contributed for digitization by University Library, University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign.

Schiller in his “Die Weltweisen” wrote: So long as philosophy keeps together the structure of the Universe so long does it maintain the world’s machinery by hunger and love. From the philosopher point of view sexual life takes a subordinate position in human’s life, from recent studies pushed by European philosophers, everything is about sexuality and its development. I like to think of the experience of being an alienist as the process of Queen Penelope that, while waiting for her husband Ulysses return, undoes her craftwork every night. I undo the fabulous constructs of people’s beliefs to go back to the rough sketch that stands at the beginning of their loss, their complex, their pain. Maybe that’s why working with children is so motivating and fascinating. They can be saved and yet, I am well aware, some of those sketches already traced in their young lives equal to scars that not even the most advanced theories could cure. But I can sooth them. I can prevent them the torment, the anguish, the recollection at night of those monsters. I feel like a poet would be a better alienist than a philosopher, but I have got no poetry nor philosophy in my veins, but the cold experience of the razor blade judgment of Life itself.

Today I observed a fight among the children at the Institute. Age range between 10 and 12. Boys. The fight was over the possession of a side of the playground, the territory of a pack of youngsters formed under the name of Steven. Peculiar lad, coming from a military background finds comfort in replicating the schemes he lived in his family. He takes the role of the Father/Captain of the team and subjects children that come from a similar background story, but do not posses his same attitude to the command. All quiet on the front, until the space he declared is own spot got affected by the presence of others. Intruders. I knowingly let the events unfold to see how Steven would react to his challenged authority. His reaction was, at first, worded, a sketch, a stage-play of an action he witnessed over and over, and he knew the part so well that some of the contending kids lowered their stance against him. Among considering to mildly intervene into this pyramid scheme of authority, another boy, Jan, calls himself on the role of the educator and hero of the masses and proceeds to unfold a wild and well assessed punch on the newly declared dictator face. Balance is established again. No need for me to arbitrate, once more the laws of nature seem to apply to children as in a state of nature.

Meet John Moore over lunch. His job at the newspaper is picking up, he is charmed by the spirits and the wits that he finds in his shared office with all the other writers. He mentions many, goes on and on over qualities and troubles, gossips and tendencies, and even little scandals here and there. To be aware of all those details gives me no interest, but to see a dear friend so invested clearly gives me something to pick up. To consider also the amount of details and the way he describes this or that member of the journal, I can do a small exercise of analysis. It is almost too easy because John is painfully genuine, even some of the kids at the institute would beat him hands down in a battle of lies. The more he likes somebody, the more he goes on about all the details and the characteristics, often letting aside the physical appearance. When he doesn’t like somebody he has a couple of adjectives for the wits and around four or five for the physical aspects that usually indulge on some repulsive idiosyncrasies. John is a man that painfully fits in the storyline of The Picture of Dorian Gray: to him physical beauty is spiritual beauty and, of course, the other way around. This part of him surely intrigues me, makes me want to tease more from him. But, as a friend, it concerns me as John is way too prone to purposelessly decide that somebody with good eyes is also a good human being, which is a very romantic and admirably naive way of judging matters. I noticed some names that keep repeating in his narration. I dread that it is synonymous of a soon encounter from my side with the objects of his admiration. Fetiches, I dare to say, that I will have to annihilate before they sediment into his mind, perpetuating a narration that soon sees John being mislead by others.

Reserved: Tickets for the Eroica, Symphony n. 3 by Ludwig van Beethoven. Thursday evening.

Note on the show: the first movement lacked the pathos needed to begin with, I am not sure that the guest orchestra really managed to portray the wider emotional ground needed to withstand the whole representation. As the evening progressed there were some outstanding performances by the cellists. Still not approving the choice of reprising the early quick finale movement against the lengthy set of variations and fugue that we are used to in presence of the Eroica. Underwhelming the performance of the horn and oboe, vital in the comprehension of the genius of Beethoven.

Niki is a new addition of the Institute, quite old for the standards. He is already 16, he will leave when summer ends to some expensive college his family meant him to stay. His parents expect me to make him “normal” in the time we are allowed together. He is Austrian and I let him act it out like I don’t understand German for the first week of hist stay until today. I believe I hit his pride, which is good, in the moment I answered back to one of his sneaky comments. Now he knows. He is not safe from me, he doesn’t like it. The young man has a tendency to danger, risky tasks and edgy situations. In his mother’s own words “Niki is not afraid of anything”. The phrase didn’t raise any excitement in the father, rather some sort of painful acceptance that is role as the alpha male of the house is probably not only being challenged, but already diminished, if not abolished. I have taken in consideration that Niki will break himself a bone or two in the process of the therapy, probably out of the spite of boredom or rebellion. It took him less than few days to turn himself into an outcast among the outcasts, which only drives me closer to analyse the complexity of his narcissistic wall of self defence. I gave him a physical challenge to lift a certain weight, he is a pretty skinny one, he didn’t like the challenge, but I am sure he will take it. He is a brainy guy, he hates to be questioned on unfamiliar ground. He won’t sleep at night thinking about it. A challenge, in this first phase, can only bring me closer to the ease of his pains. To continue the observation.

It is a sad privilege of medicine, in particular the one I practice, to be able to witness the weaknesses of the human nature and the reverse side of life. Nevertheless, I oblige this same privilege of the study as life moves into shades of darkness. To be aware of it gives more solace to my soul than to be victim of patiently waiting for the inevitable unfolding of the events. To be able to understand more about psychology would bring more comfort and elevation to any human being, the times might not be there yet, but eventually something will move into the direction of a more wholesome approach.

Dinner meeting with Sara Howard, at the restaurant Jardin Des Cygnes, 7 pm sharp. Do not expect to reach the dessert. Do not know if John will be participating due to undeniable tension among the two and the fatal despise of John over French cuisine.

The case that Sara unfolded tonight to my ears feels more and more like pulled out from some gothic book or from the mind of a Roman historian that needed to justify the godly origins of an Emperor. One killing, apparently random, a very constructed iconography over the body. Signs and insults, shapes and drawings. Is this a work of art? Does the killer wants his victim to be his Mona Lisa? His David? I am charmed and destabilised. If this was a murder like any other, then why to spend so much time into it? Based on the description the act of killing itself was quick: a sharp cut over the throat, almost like not wanting to ruin too much the surface to use as base for, what? I keep rerunning those symbols over and over as Sara described them to me, my mind is flooded with the designs of greek philosophers that needed to explain themselves why the sky is above our head and never collapses on us. Hilarious how, no matter the science advancement, in the mind of many the sky stands inevitably overt their shoulders, suffocates them, brings them to a death of the soul and not of the body. Is all this graphic charade indeed only a form to scream for attention? To stress the eyes of an unaware viewer? It seems ridiculously elaborate, a scream for attention would be quick, it would be like guided by instinct, not reasoning, craftwork. Any man with a knife can paint in blood red the walls of a room and that’s asking for attention. That is the primal howl: look at me! I am here! But this one. I don’t know yet.

Spent the early morning reading anew my copy of The Metamorphosis by Ovid. Didn’t touch it in a long time and I got bedazzled by the world of terrible sensuality, anger and selfishness of those gods and mortals. I think back at all the deviances and weaknesses of human kind and I try to relate it to all of those humanoid figures. Niki would be a minotaur, the lonesome son left in the labyrinth and his strive for success is his bull’s head. Or maybe a centaur, because of his wits and strategic thinking. I might keep up the process, maybe this is the way to understand my patients better, to understand the killer better. Must remember not to romanticise it. Greek gods were probably the first form of self indulging of a society that needed gods to be forgiving and allowing favours and punishments, but only in exchange of sacrifices. But the sacrifice never comes from the God’s will, but from the will of the man that perpetuates the act of killing. To sacrifice someone or something is the sadistic response to a lack of love deeply inherited in human mind that becomes neurotic. Is the killer giving the God of his own neurosis a body to feast upon?

I talked with Jan this morning. The young boy is about 10, but he acts like a full grown adult. I could easily asses that’s the reason why he could challenge Steven in that fight. Two children mimicking adults situations they know too well. Jan is son of an industrial man, but he is also son of the dialectics of the industrial revolution. He sounds like he swallowed some of those books about working class rights and communism, probably pushed by a resentful surrounding (mother?uncle? the midwife?) over the social role of his father. As much as incredibly smart and lectured, Jan lost most of his early occasions in life by spending a considerable amount of time using his fists. The anger ever present in the young boy always surprises me, he seems to be holding a power, a strength of a full grown man in those tiny arms. Nevertheless, he is already the tallest of the group. He is surely an idealist, which makes him also tragically fragile. His strength mixed with his heart of gold can make him the best of the heroes or the worst of the villains. He apologised for the fight, he specified how he didn’t like the sound of Steven’s voice, more than the sound, the level of pitch. I can’t stand somebody shouting orders, I just don’t listen anymore. He is so mature even about his own feelings, almost a gentleman in his chivalry toward the weaker children, honest with his open heart and resentful against any form of injustice. I am not spared by his ways, he would come at me whenever he feels like I was being partial over some of the kids, his sense of justice blinds him and transform a perfectly balanced boy into a ranging animal.

Ordered book, to be delivered around tomorrow evening: Introduction à la méthode de Léonard de Vinci by Paul Valéry. Suddenly feeling myself as a gross ignorant in art themes. I always regarded myself aware of the artistic personalities and tendencies of present and past, but this new amount of perceptions over the human figure and the human body leads me to document myself more. I could ask John for advice, but he wouldn’t take things at matter that seriously. I can almost hear him say how I can make gruesome a pleasant topic such as art. I should probably wait to see the body to push any further aesthetic study, but I find myself not being able to stop. I reckon, I can allow myself a vice or two.

Today I saw the body of the killed man, courtesy of the Isaacson's. To be fair, I had underestimated it. In Sara’s descriptions, probably due to her more analytic mind, all the charm of the representation got lost in favour of a less cryptic and reasonable understanding of the act. Sara got what some alienists will call a masculine mind, which I don’t perfectly agree on. If I apply that same approach John would be a very feminine mind, all wrapped up in romanticising even the ugliest. I guess that dividing the world in “fragile and gentle” and “strong and powerful” is just easier to explain the fluctuation of something that doesn’t need a real name or a category like human inclinations on thoughts. I got a feverish sense of patience by looking at the body. Each symbol traced with sapient slowness, dense of the time that the killer spent with the body. That is a work of hours, he had time and meaning. He had resources and was able to spend not less than the time he needed to reach, a vision? An ideal? A message? Is it the message meant to be understood? Am I supposed to unravel it or it is maybe just the way the killer communicates within himself? And if I do decifrate the code, will that bring me closer to him? Or to his next victim?

Reminder: ask John to replicate all the symbols on the bodies in the correct measure and order. It might be needed some hard convincing. Addition: scheduled meeting, his house, 3 pm.

It wasn’t a day like any other when I met you. Or maybe it was, and that’s why I got so struck by it and now I am here playing it over and over through what my memory clung on so desperately. In my own experience, life was often similar to swimming in a lake. Those rich, dense lakes in the north of (illegible cancelled word) were my father used to bring us during summer. I still feel the pull, the draw down toward the abyss. It ashamed me, in a way, the fear that such a simple feeling aroused in my young mind, unaware nevertheless, that such a feeling would follow me through all my existence. It was a prophecy and, like most of the prophecies, was a riddle. I cradle in my heart the charm of those days, the mindless happiness. The foolish feeling of freedom. Little I knew that freedom would be taken away from me that soon, that the body that used to navigate me over the dense waters, helping me to fight the haul toward the unknown, would become my own cage. That day. Today. The day where I met you, the day I was afloat. The child gasping for air felt the wrench become a gentle push and now he is floating on his back over the scary waters of reality and malice. It gave me relief and it gave me terror, because since that very moment I knew that I would never be able to move on from the sight of you. From the feeling of your eyes lingering on me. From the smile you so easily shone upon me. From the whiff of imported perfume that hit me when you turned on side exploding that swan like neck. And nothing, not even my stern look, could dim that wave of hope that your sole presence washed over me. The abyss roars, calls me to a home of damnation and terror and curses my name and yet you repeated that hell-bound name of mine after me and I felt safe.

John told me so much about you, it feels like I have always known you.

The rope is gone from my neck, the guillotine won’t fall on me, I am spared, I am free.

I have read your latest article, I am thrilled to help with the case.

I am in disbelief.

Your voice.

Dr. Kreizler

How dare you? How dare you to come into my life, to appear, like a vision, mystical, in a way I despised at University when all those theology students talked about the divine. In this very moment I can’t recollect much of what you said, something about the case, about going with John at the obituary. It feels confusing, I feel overstimulated, my memory fails me, I am not sure anymore. I write these few lines and it is passed the hour of the witches and I wish, I demand, to never see you again, because life should never grant hope to a condemned man.

#dr laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler imagine #dr laszlo kreizler x reader #dr laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler headcanons #laszlo kreizler x reader #the alienist fanfic #victorian age #v writes #the diary of doctor laszlo kreizler

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nanaminokanojo · 4 years ago

Text

Play the Game | Nanami Kento X You | Part 2/8

collection masterlist

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight

"Play the Game" Masterlist

The sun hasn’t even risen when Nanami came to consciousness as usual. It did not matter whether he was on vacation or working, he just automatically wakes up at the same time each and every morning without miss. It’s regardless of whether he slept enough or not. He saw no point in tarrying in bed – it was unproductive – and immediately got up without skipping a beat in his routine.

“You’re too vanilla,” he remembered you commenting when you stayed one weekend at his place in the city for an art symposium, having met him on the hallway on your way to bed after staying up all night playing video games. He just brushed your remark off with a grunt back then, but at present, he couldn’t help but muse over the fact that everything he did reminded him of you.

It was a bit light outside when he emerged from the adjoining bath of the guest room. He threw on a pair of grey sweats and a white shirt and grabbed a water bottle and a small towel on his way out of the room, mind set on going for a run. If there was something great about staying at Gojo Manor, it was the fact that it was surrounded with acres of grassland and forest with trails great for walks and jogs.

Nanami particularly grew fond of the path that led to the lake at the bottom of the hill where the mansion stood. There was a direct view of it from the balcony at the back of the structure, appearing like a jewel in the middle of the woods, and it had always been his favorite spot. The late former clan head told him it was man-made and has been there for more than a century that it became a natural feature of the estate. It was a spot in the property with a great history and great value to the clan, thus his gravitation towards it.

It’s her favorite place in the whole estate, too, he thought indulgently.

Inhaling deeply, he set out to the back doors that led to the patio and the walled gardens, starting in a slow jog before building his momentum as he reached open grounds.

And thus, his day began as such.

He came back from his run when it was already too hot, heaving deep breaths and desperate for a shower as his white shirt and grey sweats stuck to his body, drenched in sweat. His leg muscles ached, but it had been a good run.

Greetings from the staff met him as he reentered the manor which he returned with polite nods. He was headed to the stairs when he passed by the breakfast room and happened to hear Gojo talking to you. It went against his principles to eavesdrop in an evidently private conversation but he stayed rooted on his spot upon hearing you speak.

Despite your seeming foul temper upon leaving him the previous night, you seemed to have bounced back to your usual self, your tone sounding more jovial than usual. Your words were at odds to your tone as you told Gojo not to piss you off so early in the morning.

"Are you sure there's nothing going on between you and Kento?" Gojo asked just as the person in question was about to pass the doorway.

"It's really none of your business," you responded, voice devoid of any emotions. He did it, Gojo. He finally fouled up your mood.

"But I'm your brother!" Gojo protested, acting all dumb around you again. He just had that complex where you were concerned. He has always been very soft on you yet he was also fiercely protective. You hated his attention though. Yours was a strange dynamic.

"Worry about your wedding, will you? Geez. Don’t you have a luncheon to host?"

"Why did you kiss him then? On the mouth no less!"

Nanami’s heart skipped a beat, anticipation rising like cold water from his toes going up his chest. He wanted to hear what you had to say. Fuck principles. He needed his answers, too. It did not matter in what way he was getting them at that rate. He was secretly hoping you will say something a little bit more revealing about what goes inside your head given that he cannot just pry inside it even if he wanted to.

"Because I wanted to." You stated it so matter-of-factly that Gojo was at a loss for words for a moment. “Didn’t you hear me? I was dying to do that since he arrived.”

“You’re not serious, are you?”

“You tell me.” That’s becoming your signature line. “You won’t understand unless you kiss, Nanamin, too,” the tenor of your words turning fanciful. “He has such an alluring taste to him.”

What is this woman on about?

“Oh, god, stop it!”

"You should have seen the looks on your faces though. I was half expecting your eyeballs to roll on the floor. Wouldn’t that have been grand? It’s definitely shocking but a good subject for art if not a medium." At that, you laughed, the sound hitting Nanami like tinkling bells. It was such a happy sound that reminded him of better days although the thought that prompted it was utterly macabre. “Maybe that should inspire my next work. It would be like Munch’s The Scream, the next of its kind.”

"Hmm. Good point…” Gojo mumbled, sidetracked, obviously sharing your sentiments on the idea of such grotesqueness, but regained his composure just as quickly. “It's not funny!"

"But it is." Your laughter subsided as quickly as it erupted from your throat as if it wasn't even there to begin with. Your capricious nature was surfacing once more, and if there was something that was more frightening than your strong, habitual liking for trifling with people, it was that. "So what if I have other intentions behind it? Are you gonna get mad at me or something?”

"Well, do you?!" Gojo sounded like a manatee on the throes of death.

“But what are you going to do, brother? Stop me perhaps?"

He of all people should know just how unstoppable you were when you have set yourself into doing something. “N-no –”

“And what if Nanamin has the same intentions? What will you do then?”

“Hey, that’s enough of you. I know you’re trying to trap me into saying something again.” He clucked his tongue. “I seem to be the only one who isn’t in on your games, and if it is one, I have to know. You’re just way too outrageous these days that I cannot tell what’s serious and what’s not anymore.”

Gojo took a deep breath, sounding distressed as he exhaled. “Is there something else going on?”

"Maybe,” you answered noncommittally.

"That's not an answer at all!" he snapped.

You clucked your tongue, sounding irritated. "Stop screaming, Satoru."

"Do you like him?"

“Is your emphasis on that word supposed to change its meaning?”

If Nanami’s heart was skipping earlier, it has now stopped completely, robbing him of air as it seemed to have affected his lungs, too. You were maddening, not only to Gojo but to him as well. It was evident that you were in your gaming mood again, and although you were only intentionally riling your brother, he was also directly in your line of assault.

Gojo sighed in defeat, mirroring Nanami’s feelings. “Y/N, please, just answer the question,” he whined.

“I guess.” There was a pause then you said, "I mean, what's not to like?"

"What?!"

“Like it or not, Nanamin is a very excellent specimen of the male populace. He’s fucking irresistible and that’s an understatement.” You scoffed. "Even you like him."

Your voice was followed by your footsteps as you neared the door. In a daze at your vocal expression of how you find him physically attractive, instead of backtracking, Nanami stepped forward and collided with your form, nearly knocking you off your feet. He was after all twice your size and a good foot taller than you.

"Careful," he said between deep breaths, one arm securing you by the waist while his other arm gripped onto the door jamb, the position making the veins and sinews of his arm rather pronounced.

“Speak of the devil…” You straightened up, not making any effort to hide the fact that you were checking him out. Your head turned towards the direction of the breakfast room, making him mimic the action only to see Gojo standing slack-jawed, watching what was unfolding before him with eyes wide with shock. Nanami could've sworn his best friend just went into a state of catatonia.

"Didn't see you there," you said, addressing Nanami, your blue eyes assessing him as if in suspicion.

"I'm sorry," he muttered under his breath, feeling the tips of his ears heating up. Before you could notice, he stepped aside, heading towards the direction of the stairs.

"Hey, Nanamin," you suddenly called, making him halt and turn his head to your direction. You were smirking at the direction of your brother as you said, "Nice ass."

He shook his head. It was really just a ploy to get to Gojo’s nerves, and he was your pawn.

The sound of graphite scratching on paper like a harsh slash of sword punctuated the impending absence of thought in your mind. Nothing mattered but the sight of your hand gripping a pencil as it created unintelligible strokes on the plain page of the sketchbook on your lap. It progressed to furious scribbling, your movements becoming faster, the sound dominating your corner of the room. Everything has been drowned out – the endless chattering, the sound of porcelain and silverware hitting each other in chaotic cacophony – heightening in a painful crescendo of auditory abomination and dying in the air, overwhelmed by the picture you were creating on the blank expanse of space.

“You must be so proud of your daughter.”

Scratch.

“Who wouldn’t be? It must be great to have geniuses for children”

Scratch.

“She’s just as famous as Satoru.”

Scratch.

Just like that, they didn't exist. The room was empty save for you and the view outside the window coming to life on paper. Your eyes darted from your sketch to the familiar yet equally exhilarating view just outside the parlor. Gojo was animatedly talking about something, easily excitable as always. His fiancée laughed on the side while Nanami was witheringly eyeing him, stoic as always. Shoko, who arrived the previous evening, also joined the group. All that was missing was Geto. You wondered if you should draw him somewhere in the sketch.

The image before you reminded you of those days when reality seemed far away, back when Gojo was still a student, exceptional as always but still young, not the renowned genius tycoon he was at present. His friends would always be around him, lounging around the manor like they hadn't a care in the world.

His crowd grew in number with Geto and Nanami being the two closest pals he had. Shoko joined in shortly in middle school. On the other hand, Utahime came during his university days, also starting off as Gojo’s friend and eventually becoming his girlfriend. Now they were about to get married and it seemed to punctuate all the changes that came with being the grown-ups that they are.

It scared you.

Fact is, growing up and growing old and the changes that come with it was terrifying. Even if you yourself were already twenty four, seemingly had your life together and appearing to have matured without a hitch, that wasn’t the case at all. Genius or not, your brother also had his issues even while he was rising to his current position in society.

The problem was within you, you knew it. That and the fact that you did not really know what growing means. Your work grew, matured like crazy. You didn’t think you yourself grew, stuck in those days when everything was relatively easier. At least then, you only had to worry about your classmates hating on you. Now a part of the public did.

Looking at Gojo and his gang, they’ve all handled that well, making you wonder how they did it. He is one of the youngest CEOs in the country, having built his business empire at just seventeen. Your future sister-in-law is a professor, Geto is a sought-after model and Shoko is a forensic pathologist. They were all great at what they did, struggled as well, but came out with perfect grace.

However, you think the best one out of them was none other than the object of your pining – Nanami Kento. The man made transitioning to adulthood look rather easy. Maybe it was because he had always been mature and held himself in perfect equilibrium. Sure, he was no Gojo Satoru, but he was innately intelligent and became one of the youngest barristers who held the position of a famous attorney’s partner. He handled controversial cases and is one of the best prosecutors in the country with a high winning percentage. His work aside, he seemed to have the least struggle out of everyone.

Your lips curled up at the corners at the thought of the man. Your gaze flicked to him from the sketchbook, sitting there with a beverage in his hand, the noon sun glimmering on his hair and the planes of his face, looking more laid back without a blazer on. He was dressed rather casually in a pair of khaki trousers and dusty blue button-ups, but he still looked smart. He always dressed that way which you found very attractive although seeing him in more casual clothes like that morning was another level of hot altogether. He’s quite a bit formal, making him seem monotonous, but it’s that consistency that you liked about him. It was only a bonus that he was devastatingly handsome with those sharp features and the suits made him look so sexy in that it left everything about his real physique to imagination.

One just could not get enough of him, at least you couldn’t, but you did see how his partner’s paralegal eyeballed him all the time. (You secretly wanted to gouge her eyes out.) That’s the kind of man Nanami was. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does, it leaves profound dents to one’s psyche. And man, was he hot in court! He’s fucking sarcastic when he wants to be, to the point of being vile, but one just can’t get offended with the kind of logic he has. Once he speaks his mind, one wishes he wouldn’t stop, but he does and leaves that person craving more, his hypnotic, deep voice a rare treat. He wasn’t big on actions, wasn’t expressive, but when he does something, it’s always with purpose and precision, never over the top and always with disciplined stoicism.

You chuckled quietly, your pencil drawing perfect strokes of his hair when you were pulled out of your trance.

“Yuuji!” you heard Gojo say, pulling your attention to the direction of the window.

You broke into a grin at the mention of the name, hurriedly getting on your feet and running out of the room, deaf to your mother’s protests against your unladylike behavior – the commotion foreign to the ladies in the room who moved with the minutest rustles. You made your way out to the patio, that familiar tuft of pink hair coming into your line of vision. You sprinted through the glass doors towards the person whose name your brother called, smile wide and genuine.

“You kept me waiting long enough,” you called out, voice louder than usual. You’re hardly ever giddy nor were you easily excitable like your brother, but Itadori Yuuji was a different story altogether. You loved the boy with a fierceness akin to a mother and were always ecstatic to be around him but suppressed it by acting gruff. You were crazy like that.

“That’s because you won’t help me with my final requirements,” he retorted good-naturedly, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and nuzzling the back of your head as if you were a fuzzy plush toy, making you drop your drawing implements. Well, you were considerably smaller than him, and he was probably the only one who could do that to you and get away unscathed.

You rolled your eyes, noticing how Gojo had picked up your stuff, looking at the page where it was opened. “You should exert yourself more. You’re no genius after all.”

“That’s mean!”

You smirked at him, your eyes straying to your brother who was smiling at your drawing. He had such a proud, fond look on his face that you couldn’t do anything but stare. He has always been ever since you first held crayons and drew him as a cat. “You even included Suguru,” he cooed, pointing at the missing person you included then proceeding to show it off to his friends. “Guys, look. My baby sister drew us.”

“Surprise, surprise,” you sallied, but you were happy that he’s always showing you off.

Utahime and Shoko stood beside him, also looking at the sketch. The latter raised a thumb at your direction. “Damn, kid. You’re really great at what you do. How do you make things come alive with just a pencil?”

You smiled awkwardly. “I –”

“Give it here,” Nanami suddenly butted in, hand reaching for the sketchpad which Gojo promptly handed him.

You felt Yuuji elbowing you while you stood there, observing the man who was in possession of your drawing.

Nanami blinked then, handing it back to you. “How come I don’t have a face?” he asked, expression expectant of your response.

Annoyed, you snatched it back from him.

“It’s obviously not finished yet,” Shoko commented, but she couldn’t have been more wrong.

It was not that you cannot, but you would never draw his face. Ever. You tried tons of times if the tens of pages of sketchpads at your apartment filled with different angles and parts of him would be a basis for that. You could draw everything else about him, just not his face. No amount of contemplation and practice helped you to know why, but you attributed it to the fact that you could not do his face justice, at least in the sense that you would not be able to bring it to life as Shoko said.

Finally, you said, “I didn’t feel like drawing your face.” You turned away, dragging Yuuji with you. The boy was still giggling like a hyena until you got to the second-floor balcony where you propped yourself up on the balustrade, looking sulky.

"You might fall there, you know," he commented, jumping up the marble balustrade to join you.

"I can say the same for you," came your quiet reply. "Where's Megumi?"

“He’ll be here before lunch.” Yuuji leaned close to you with a mischievous grin on his face. “What, or rather who, is that look on your face for?”

"I think you know the answer to that."

"Did you tell Nanamin?" He addressed the man just as you did and got away with it, too, for some reason.

"Tell him what?"

He scoffed playfully. "Are you seriously playing this game with me? I'm your best buddy. I know everything."

"As irritating as that is, it's true."

Yuuji pouted at you. "I heard what you did yesterday. Why do you have to make games out of everything?"

"That's how I communicate. I thought you knew everything."

Harsh as always, he thought. "Be a normal person for once and just tell him." His brows knit together. "Well, you're anything but normal," he mused aloud. “I meant that nicely.”

You blew a raspberry. "You're just as normal as I am if you claim to be my best friend. Which you are. No take backs."

Yuuji couldn't help but smile at that. You have always been a loner and you did not mind being alone. He was grateful you wanted him around despite that.

"But you should stop doing this. He wants you. It's obvious."

"It's not that simple."

"What isn't simple? If it's Satoru, he'll understand for sure if you just try to be honest. I'm sure he just isn't for it more because he doesn't know how you feel. I mean, if I were him, I'll also protect my baby sister from my male friends. That's just how it is."

You blinked, pivoting your whole body so you were facing him.

"Well, of course, Nanamin needs to fight for it, too," he was quick to throw in, rambling to himself when he suddenly felt you reach out towards him, gently running your fingers through his pink hair. He leaned towards your touch, smiling contentedly.

"Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

"I'm not –"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Are you seriously playing this game with me?" you asked, mimicking his words earlier. "I'm your best buddy. I know everything, one of them being the fact that you worry worse than my mother."

Yuuji jumped off the balustrade, reaching out to grab you in a bear hug despite your protestations. Just like how you were with everyone else, you shunned his affection, but he knew better than to let go when you were saying exactly that. He found that trait of yours adorable.

"You're so irritating," you hissed, flipping your platinum white hair over your shoulder when you finally managed to get off his grip but he wrapped an arm over your shoulder nonetheless, undeterred by your words.

"You know you love me."

"Shut up."

Yuuji pouted. "You sound like Megumi."

"I heard that," the person in question suddenly spoke from the direction of the entry, his deep voice making you and Yuuji turn towards him. "They're calling everyone for lunch."

Yuuji followed behind as you approached Megumi, also one of your closest friends and practically your brother, keeping you in check more than Gojo ever can.

"Guess what," Megumi said to you as you walked beside him. In one of the rare moments you would see it, he grinned and you knew it wasn't because of anything good.

"What?" you and Yuuji, who thought the same by the look on his face, chorused.

"Nobara switched your name card with Miwa's. You're now seated next to your man candy. You're welcome."

“Isn’t that more of a perk for Miwa? She’s scared shitless of Nanamin, you know.”

The three of you laughed while Yuuji could just shake his head at the inescapable trouble that will follow. His only consolation was that it’s fun when it involves you.

What were the odds, Nanami thought to himself. He didn't have to look twice to see whose name it was on the card on the spot next to him. He exhaled loudly, unfolding the napkin and placing it on his lap. This could only lead to hullabaloo he was not exactly in the mood to deal with especially after you just told him you did not feel like drawing his face. You sure were mean when you wanted to be.

He surveyed his vicinity. Your father, the current head of the clan from whence your blue eyes came from, was seated at the head of the table, your mother to his right, while Utahime’s parents sat to his left. It seemed to have been the only formalities observed in the arrangement. From across Nanami sat Utahime and Gojo while on his right were a couple he only knew as cousins to the Gojo main family.

He was internally pinching the bridge of his nose. You really had to be the one seated next to him and right across your annoying brother, too.

The luncheon started without you. It wasn't a formal gathering after all except they were serving a full-course meal. It was more of a way to get everyone to know one another over the week for some reason he cannot fathom, and he was glad that only your father was the one who had engaged him in a conversation, mostly about work. It was easy enough to deal with.

"Where are Y/N and her friends?" your mother asked Gojo out of the blue.

Utahime, answering for the clueless person beside her, pointed towards the direction of the door to the banquet hall where you were leisurely walking towards your designated seat with Yuuji and Megumi. The former rounded the table to sit next to Gojo.

"Still managing to be late even when you're already at the venue, baby sis?" Nanami heard Gojo say as you assumed your seat. It was evident in the way his eyes shifted from Nanami to you that your tardiness wasn't exactly the problem.

You blatantly ignored his comment and turned your attention to Nanami. "Had a good run this morning, Nanamin?"

"Just so," he answered, side-glancing at you.

"Yeah. You looked super hot this morning," you said just as Gojo was taking a sip from his wine glass.

Megumi snorted when the older male started choking on his drink while Yuuji was trying hard not to laugh.

Nanami knew he would have reacted the same way except that he had been bracing himself for whatever you will say the moment Gojo opened his mouth. Of course you will use him in your counter attack. It's yet another game, not that he was less affected by your words.

"You should have seen him, Iori," you continued, addressing your brother's fiancée. "He looks so much less uptight in casual clothes."

It didn't escape Nanami’s notice how Gojo was looking at him. He looked about ready to drop onto the floor, but paid him no mind as he leveled his mouth to your ear. "Y/N, let's not make your dear brother snap, shall we?"

"Oh, sweetheart, maybe that's what he needs right now," you deadpanned, meeting his gaze squarely, your disposition unreadable as you let your eyes linger on him longer than was deemed appropriate.

Yuuji finally laughed, earning him a kick to the shins under the table courtesy of Megumi.

What it was about you that made everything else irrelevant and nonexistent when you’re that close to him was something beyond him. You always made him lose control, tempted him to break the rules. He only knew he couldn't act on it. Most of the time anyway. He also felt like laughing, oddly enough.

Utahime just chuckled good-naturedly breaking the tension. "Since the two of you are here, I should tell you that the final fitting for your clothes for the wedding is this afternoon. So, you better go together at the shop."

"Traitor." Gojo pouted at Utahime but nobody was really paying attention to him anymore. For someone so important to society with a flawless image, the closest people around him sure were good at disregarding him when they deemed it fit.

"Okay," Nanami said, looking at you for confirmation.

It was you who looked away this time. "I'm free."

"That's set then." Utahime clapped her hands and to Nanami she cheekily said, "Maybe wear something less formal."

At that, you grinned wickedly at him. So much for avoiding trouble with you.

-end of part 2-

*I used “you” here, but since my character is Gojo’s little sister who is established to be his female clone for reasons essential to the plot, she possesses the same blue eyes and white hair. I did not exactly want to create an OC (although technically, I did by describing Y/N), but I opted for the best of both worlds in this fic, leaning more towards the literary aspect of it as opposed to it just being reader/you-oriented. I hope this isn’t iffy to anyone, and yeah, i’m not being exclusive or whatever.

If you want to be included in the tag list, please DM me :)

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

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stellarstarwarsimagines · 4 years ago

Text

To Be Alone With You

Pairing - Din Djarin x Reader

Summary - You had only had guesses, brief moments in time where you thought that Din might reciprocate the feelings that you have for him. Now, he’s about to make it very clear he does.

Word Count - 4.8k

Warnings - Soft smut, 18+, Unprotected sex, Star Wars cuss words?

There weren’t words to describe it, how the tension that had been building for so long between the two of you snapped like a rubber band that had been stretched to its limits. You weren’t even sure what had triggered it. One moment you had been telling Din that the kid was fine. He was now sleeping it off, comfortable in his cradle. The rogue bounty hunter who had tried to take him was now knocked unconscious and lying in a ditch somewhere after you had stunned him with a blaster.

The next moment your back was against the wall of the Crest with Din’s gloved hands tight on your hips, no space to speak of between the two of you other than the hard beskar protecting every vulnerable part of him, inside and out. His actions left you breathless, your heart in palpitations from the closeness of him. You had been close before, it was hard not to be on a cramped ship like this, but this time it was different. It was purposeful. His presence had always intoxicated you to your very core, making your whole body feel weak with so much as a tilt of that helmet in your direction. To have him take up every inch of the space around you with his towering presence left you dizzy. “Din?” You whispered, your voice breathless in the silent room filled with the sounds of hyperspace around you. You weren’t sure what you were asking, but it seemed as if he didn’t need to know your unspoken question.

“I-I want you.” Din’s hands tightened on you, as if afraid you would vanish between his fingertips if he didn’t hold on to you. “Can I -?”

His words, so simple, meant so much. He wanted you. There was no other way to take those words other than that. “Yes,” you interrupted. He didn’t need to say anything else, because as embarrassing as it was, you would let Din Djarin do anything he wanted to you. That was how bad you wanted him to.

While you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew that they were focused on you, watching every emotion that you couldn’t hide on your face and measuring it. It was always as if he was expecting you to take off at a run from him. Like he was going to scare you away.

But you had seen the man behind the mask, not physically, but deeper than that. There was no way you were ever going to run from him.

With a quick movement from one of Din’s gauntlets, the whole ship was plunged into pitch black darkness. Surprised at the suddenness of it, your hands reached out to grab him, clutching onto the beskar as his hands let go of you. “Din, what are you-?”

There was the unmistakable sound of beskar hitting the floor, and you were sure that your heart stopped.

Had he . . . ? Then you felt his hot breath caressing your lips and there was no doubt what he had done. Even in the blackness where you had no hope of seeing even a glimpse of his face, your eyes closed in panic. The temptation was too much. You clenched your hands bunching into fists in the fabric of his clothes, telling yourself over and over not to reach out and touch his face, that face you had been aching to see, the face you had imagined in your dreams over and over. Here it was, right there in front of you, and yet . . . you couldn’t do that to him. You weren’t even sure if anyone had ever touched his face like you wanted to.

It was as if he could read your mind. “I can’t - I can’t let you see my face, but I wanted you to hear me. Just me. Not through the helmet.”

You’re not prepared for the smoothness of his voice, the emotion in it, the way it makes you cling to his arms harder to remind yourself that this is happening. You’re hearing his pure, unfiltered voice for the first time, and it’s already making you fall even more in love with him. It would seem like something so small to anyone else, just hearing a voice, but it was Din, and anything he chose to trust you with was a gift. “I want whatever you’re comfortable giving me, Din.” You told him, letting out a gasp as you felt a stubbled jaw brush against your neck, followed by a full set of lips.

“Mesh’la,” The Mandalorian word coming from his voice combined with the softest touch of his lips against your bare skin had your hands trembling. “You have no idea how bad I want you.” He murmured.

It was at that moment that you realized that Din Djarin was going to wreck you, and he had no clue. “Show me,” you replied, clinging to him to make sure you could stay steady. His words had such an effect on you, you weren’t sure you could stand by yourself. “Whatever you want, you can have it. I’ve wanted you for so long.” You admitted even though you knew you sounded desperate. If you could rewind and hear your own voice, you knew you would be embarrassed, but right now his lips, his lips, were so close to your own you couldn’t even begin to think straight.

He let out an actual groan at your words, hoarse and deep as his breath came out in a huff against your neck. “Touch me,” he requested, his voice rough and strangled. “Please, cyar’ika, touch my face.”

Well, he wasn’t going to have to tell you twice. Your hands let go of his clothes, sliding up to place your hands on the exposed skin that you couldn’t see, but you found with your eyes closed, you could almost imagine it. As you had already felt, his jawline was splattered with stubble, so your trembling fingers traveled higher. The skin wasn’t smooth, but you hadn’t expected it to be, not in his line of work. When you felt eyelashes fluttering against the tips of your fingers, you spoke, soft so as to not break the moment. “What color are they?” You couldn’t help but ask, knowing he didn’t have to answer.

But he didn’t hesitate. “Brown.”

A little smile formed on your face even though he couldn’t see it. “Knew it.”

The most beautiful sound, a soft chuckle, natural and raw, filled your ears, and you sucked in a breath as you felt him turn his head in your hand so those full lips could place a kiss on your palm. Warmth spread from your hand throughout your whole body from the touch, and your heart was filled with longing, wanting nothing more than to feel those lips against your own. “Can I kiss you?” You asked, your hand moving down so you could brush your fingertips against the heat of his lips.

Din didn’t respond. He didn’t even give himself the chance to. Not in words anyway. His hand grabbed yours, putting it back against his cheek as his lips found your own with surprising accuracy in the dark.

You had imagined this several times since you had met Din Djarin. All in various places for different reasons. You had imagined it to be mind blowing, dizzying. You had imagined it to be filled with passion and tension that had finally exploded, and it was all those things.

But it was also sort of . . . timid. That probably wasn’t the right word, because you had no doubts that Din wanted to kiss you. The way his hands clutched at you, holding you as close as he could against his hard beskar told you that, but it was almost as if he didn’t know what to do, and that’s when the realization struck you. If he had never taken off his helmet in front of someone before . . .

Had he ever been kissed?

Realizing this, you decided to take the lead, setting a rhythm with your lips that he followed without hesitation. You altered the pressure of your lips every so often, soft kisses leading to hard ones, hard ones fading back to soft, slipping your tongue into his mouth and moaning with encouragement and pleasure when he did the same. He got the hang of it very quickly, like the fast learner he was, and pretty soon you were nothing but putty under his touch, weak and boneless with every touch of his lips.

Your hands slid up from his cheeks into his hair, surprised by how soft and long the tresses seemed to be, and the man in front of you practically whimpered. His hand slid around your back, dipping under your shirt until his gloved hand was against your bare skin. You gasped at the sensation and almost immediately he jerked back as if he had burnt you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“No!” You reached out blindly for his arms, which you were thankful to find, and tugged them back around you, slipping his hand back under your shirt and shivering when he came back into contact with your skin. “It feels good.”

Din seemed to relax somewhat, and you felt his nose bump into yours as he searched for your lips again, but you turned your head, tightening your grip on his arms.

“Do - do you want me to take it off?” You asked, your voice breathless at the thought, but also not wanting to push it if he didn’t want to go any further.

While you couldn’t see it, you could feel the way that he tensed once more, the tightening of his arms, and then the nod, his nose brushing up and down against your cheek. “Can I?” He asked.

Like you were going to deny him that. “Yes,” You replied, and lifted your arms over your head to help him out.

But his hands let go of you and didn’t grab your shirt. Instead there was a bit of shuffling around for a moment, and you heard something get tossed to the floor in the dark. When his hands returned to you, you realized what he had done. Because no longer were you feeling the rough leather of gloves against your skin, but warm, calloused hands instead. He held them at your hips for a moment, kneading the skin, and then you heard the sound of beskar hitting the floor once more. This time he hadn’t taken anything off though. Instead he had sunk to his knees in front of you, bringing his lips to the softness of your belly, and as he lifted your shirt, he kissed every new bit of skin that was revealed to the cold air.

By the time that he had lifted the shirt off of you, your chest was heaving with your breath. You felt the cool beskar of the mudhorn necklace he had given you fall onto your overheated skin and small tremors exploded over your body as his fingers brushed the pendant that marked you as part of his clan. You reached for that hand, keeping a light grip in case he wanted to pull it away, and brought it back to your skin. “Now touch me,” you told him, letting go of his hand.

His fingers spread across your skin as if he was trying to touch as much of you as he could. You closed your eyes at the feeling, your head falling back against the wall behind you as he explored your body. As heated as you already were, his hands were more so, massaging into your skin while he dropped his head onto your shoulder, whispering beautiful words in Mando’a into your ear. You had no idea what he was saying, he could be talking about the weather for all you knew, but it didn’t matter. You were savoring the sound of his unfiltered voice, committing it and the way his hands felt on your skin to memory.

When his leg slipped between your thighs, you didn’t think it was on purpose, and you tried to control the desperate urge you had to grind down on his thigh, unsure of what his reaction to that would be. Moments later, you felt his thumb brush across your nipple, and you couldn’t control yourself. Determined to let the pleasure keep building inside of you, you found yourself pressing down against the beskar of his thigh, surprised at how nice it felt against your skin. It felt so good you couldn’t hold back a whimper as Din’s hand cupped your breast, squeezing it. “Does - Does that feel good?” He asked, rubbing his thumb across your nipple once more.

“So good, Din,” you reassured, tugging on his hair a bit and shivering at the groan that came out of his lips from it. “You feel so good,” You added, and used the grip you had in his hair to tug his lips back into a kiss. When you did, there was no hesitation this time in his lips. They moved in perfect sync to your own, and you pulled on his hair once more in pleasure.

That got an immediate reaction. You frowned a bit as he pulled away from you and removed his hand from your chest. You wondered if you had somehow done something to offend him, but that thought was taken from your head at once when Din’s hands found their way back to you, lifting you up in the air so that he didn’t have to bend down to kiss you anymore.

It would have been one of the sexiest things anyone had ever done to you, especially when you felt how hot and hard he was against your thigh, if he hadn’t lifted you too high, and you hit your head on the ceiling. “Ow, dank farrik!” You groaned, dropping your head on top of Din’s.

Din let out a sigh, and you felt him bury his face in your skin. “I’m terrible at this.” You heard him murmur.

Terrible? The man had you so worked up you couldn’t think straight, and he thought he was doing terrible. You knew he wouldn’t be thinking that if he could feel how wet you were for him right now. “You’re the farthest thing from terrible, Din Djarin, but . . . this might be better on the bed. If you want to . . .”

You felt him nod against your chest, leaving a soft kiss against your skin. Instead of putting you down, he gripped your thighs, and much better than you could have in the dark, he carried you over to his too small cot, putting you down on it as if you were made of glass. When he did, you waited for him to join you, but he didn’t. When the moment became longer, an irrational fear that he had somehow snuck out, too embarrassed to tell you he wasn’t interested any more crept into your mind. You sat up on your elbows, and whispered his name into the dark, wishing you could see him.

“Just a minute,” his soothing voice replied, putting your fears at ease. In the dark, with your vision gone, your hearing seemed to amplify, and you had your suspicions about what he was doing. They were confirmed when Din finally joined you, no longer covered in hard beskar, but instead the only article of clothing he seemed to be wearing was his pants. With such a thin layer of material separating the two of you, you tugged him as close as you could, and he complied, slipping between your legs and kissing up your stomach until he found your lips once more. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of kissing you, which you were thankful for, because you couldn’t get enough of kissing him either.

No longer afraid to let your hands wander, you let them, sliding over the hardest and softest parts of his chest, shoulders and back. You let your hands trace over every scar, and swallowed every groan and gasp you drew out of him with your lips. There was something symbolic, you thought, about how this man had shed all the parts that protected himself for you, in more ways than one. He was being vulnerable with you, and it was almost as if he was trusting you to keep him safe this time.

It was a job you would gladly take on.

You could have laid there for hours, covered in the comfort of his body and eased by the soothingness of his kisses, but then he began a slow grind with his hips against yours that left you whimpering and craving more. Realizing you could now show him how well he had been doing, you took his wrist in your hand, and slid it down the loose elastic of your pants. You heard his nails dig into the blankets by your head as you did so, and kept moving his hand down until it was against your underwear. The groan he made into your ear was downright sinful as you dragged his fingers up and down the wet fabric. “See how good you are? You did all of this. This is all for you cyar’ika.” You added on. You didn’t speak Mando’a, but you had heard him call you that enough times you hoped you said it correctly.

The word for sure got a reaction out of him. He withdrew his hand from you, gripping the waistband of your pants in his fist. “Can I?” Din asked, his voice desperate and weak as he tugged on them to make sure you knew what he was talking about.

Instead of answering, you lifted your hips, and he got the message. Within seconds you were laid out bare beneath the Mandalorian, and even though you knew that he couldn’t see you, you had never felt more exposed. His hands slid back up your legs at an agonizing pace, occasionally pausing to knead or smooth some of your muscles, until his hands were back at your hips. “You’re sure you want to do this?” Din asked, leaning down and brushing his lips against yours.

Was that even a question? The man above you was someone you had been longing for, aching for, and dreaming of when you slept in your cot at night. Din Djarin was everything you could ever hope for and want in a partner, and there was nothing more in the galaxy that you wanted right now than to be with him in every way possible. You reached up until you found his face with your fingers, cupping his cheeks and brushing your thumbs across his cheekbones. “Yes, I want this. I want you.”

You felt his nose brush against yours for a moment, nuzzling against it. “You’ve had me for a long time, my runi.” He told you, but before you could ask what that word meant, he captured your lips in a kiss full of passion and intensity, distracting you as he shuffled to get the rest of his clothes off. Of course it was an even bigger distraction, in more ways than one, when your bodies met for the first time with nothing in between them.

There was a jump in your heart as you felt his size, and you slid your hand down his body to grip him in your hand. You hadn’t known what to expect, but it was more than you had ever had without question.

As soon as you touched him, he let out a grunt, thrusting his hips into your hand and letting out an even louder groan as you brushed his tip with your thumb, capturing some of the essence from it and using it to stroke him. “Shh . . . You’ll wake up the kid,” you teased, pulling away from his lips to kiss a line down his neck.

“Your fault.” Din murmured, his body tense against yours as you continued your stroking. This was a man who you had seen not the least bit tired after chasing a bounty all over a town, but was now panting against the top of your head as if he had run across the whole galaxy in a minute. You had that much of an effect on him, and it went straight to your head.

“Do you trust me?” You whispered, your hands sliding down his face to press against his chest.

“Yes,” he answered, his voice breathless and rough from your touch.

You pushed on his chest until he was on his back, and you threw a leg across him, settling on his hips. You both let out a moan when you settled on top of him and began to slide up and down, getting him soaked through your folds. The friction felt so good and delicious you almost didn’t want to stop, but then you felt his hand on your back, tugging you down enough so that he was able to find your breast with his mouth. You knew you had to get him inside of you.

When you gripped him this time, Din’s hands tightened on you, and you took a deep breath as you lifted your hips and began sinking down on him. You could feel his muscles tense where your hand was keeping your balance on his shoulder, and you had to force your own body to relax, knowing it would go much easier if you did.

It was a tight fit. Din was not only long, but thick as well, and every inch you slipped down him felt like there couldn’t be any more, but then there was. Thankfully, the pleasure more than outweighed any pain you might have felt. The ache of the stretch he put you through had you leaving nail marks in his shoulder, but when you settled on his hips with him fully inside of you, it was more than worth it.

Never had you felt so filled, so stuffed, and in pure bliss. You now had both of your hands on Din’s strong chest, and you could feel how hard his heart was beating underneath it. When you grabbed a hold of his hair to tug him back up to you, your forehead pressed against his. The cold metal of your necklace pressing against both of your chests. “Are you okay?” He asked, and you could hear the strain in his voice, the stiffness in his muscles, and you knew that he was holding himself back. He was keeping himself from hurting you.

“Yeah, Din, I just . . . I just want to stay here a second.” You said, giving yourself a minute to adjust as you ran your fingers through his hair.

You felt him nod, and he kissed you with such softness for a hard man. You melted into him, clinging to him and letting him spread more of those kisses across each bit of skin that he could reach with those full lips. After a few moments, you had caught your breath somewhat and lifted yourself off of him. Even if it was just for a moment, the emptiness he left inside of you left you wanting more, and you slid back down him with a roll of your hips.

He let out a muffled groan into your neck, biting into your skin somewhat before soothing over it with his tongue. His hand that was wrapped around you held you tighter against his body, his fingers digging into your skin so hard you were sure there were going to be marks tomorrow. You heard the creak of his other hand settling on the bed, and he must have used it to help support himself because he met you on your next downward thrust, and it made stars appear behind your eyelids. “Kriff,” you gasped out. “That feels so good.”

“You feel so good,” Din replied, his voice rougher than you had ever heard, and the sound of it went straight between your legs, clenching down on him the next time he met your thrust. He let out another strained groan as you did, “I’m not - I’m not going to last much longer.” Din warned as he picked up the speed of his thrusts, “so tight.” He grunted.

“It’s okay,” You told him, fingers tugging at his hair as you did so, and it was okay. You could care less right now if you had an orgasm. Being with him in this way was more than enough. “Let go, cyar’ika.” You told him, remembering the effect you speaking Mando’a had on him earlier.

It was almost as if the words had a power over him, and his hips stuttered in their rhythm with yours. With a few more hard thrusts inside of you, there was a warmth that filled you up. You fell backwards with him on the bed, and decided to leave your own little kisses across his face, trying to imagine what he would look like right now if the lights were on. His hand had loosened its grip, but stroked up and down your back in long, languid lines. After he caught his breath, you felt his hand on your cheek, and turned into the touch, leaving a kiss on his palm. “You didn’t-?“

“It’s okay,” You reassured him, “It felt so good to have -”

Before you could say another word, he had flipped you over on your back and was kissing down your stomach. “‘S not okay. I’m going to take care of you.” Din said, his large hands spreading about your thighs as he settled there in what couldn’t have been a comfortable position. “Tell me what feels good.” He said, and you felt him bend down, lifting your legs over his strong shoulders.

For someone asking for you to tell him what felt good, Din Djarin sure did have amazing instincts. Your head fell back against the pillow and your hips arched towards his face as you let out a gasp. Din did not waste any time, his tongue gliding up your folds, and then sliding inside of you. Your hands felt around until you found his hair once more, and you started using it to guide his movements. He seemed eager to please, and it wasn’t long until you were clenching down on his tongue and grinding against his face. “Din,” You gasped out. “Fingers. Please use your fingers.” You begged him.

He did so at once, moving his lips out of the way so that he could slide three of his large fingers inside of you. You moaned his name out, moving your hips in time with his fingers. You didn’t feel as full as you had when he was inside of you, but it was more than enough. With your hands, you guided him to that spot that made your toes curl, and he took it into his mouth, sucking lightly. Pleasure shot through your whole body, and you found yourself edging closer and closer to a climax. When Din reached up with his free hand and squeezed your breast, that was all you needed.

You pulsed around his fingers, pleasure washing over your body in a wave, your muscles tensing and releasing as your hips rode it out. Din extended it for as long as possible, not stopping his mouth until you pushed him away with tired arms.

He kissed his way back up your body, and then he turned you to face the wall, squeezing into the space behind you. You let out a satisfied smile as he left kisses on your shoulder and in your hair, his hand running up and down your arm like he didn’t want to stop touching you yet.

When you had woken up this morning, you had never dreamed this was how the day was going to end. You had never thought that Din cared for you as much as you did for him. There had been hints, the lingering touches, the fierceness with which he protected you, the nicknames in Mando’a . . . “Din?” You spoke up, your hand finding his in the dark and covering it with your own.

“Mhmm?” He replied, his stubble scratching against your skin in the best way.

“What does runi mean? I haven’t heard you use that one before.” You asked, your voice a mere whisper in the dark room.

Din was quiet for several moments, but his thumb began to stroke your hand now, so you knew he was awake. “It’s not a common word. It’s used mostly in poetry and songs.” He pressed another soft kiss on your neck. “It means soul.”

That took your breath away. Your hand squeezed his tight as you spoke. “You care about me that much?”

There was no pause, no thinking in his response. “More.”

#din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #mandalorian x you #star wars imagine

271 notes · View notes

intangibly-here · 4 years ago

Text

if I'm let go now (i’ll just fade to blue)

xiao x gn!reader

⁃ scenario; 1.7k words ⁃ forest child!reader ⁃ angst ⁃ hurt no comfort

————————————————————

he holds your heart (warm red, steadily beating) in his palms without even knowing.

title from chevy - floating.

————————————————————

your first memory is one of a forest.

the emerald green canopy of draping leaves, the mossy trails dotted with mushrooms. the singing of birds, small sparrows and rounded bluejays, filling the skies. the dry bark pressed against your back, but a small form nestled in the hollow of a tree stump.

you are a child of the forest.

and as a child of the forest, one without origin, one without mortal ties, one that only knows itself and it’s own longing - you know deep inside your soul there is only one thing you’re looking for.

what that thing is, you’re unsure of;

nonetheless,

you must look for it.

and so you pick yourself up and travel.

distantly, you know you’ve lived these lives over and over again.

the very first one was as a sand-built traveler of the desert, born encircled by a patch of cacti. in that life, you had searched for an oasis, a single child by your side.

the child spoke of a land where plumes of magic spiraled through the lands, where islands remained suspended in time, hovering over grounds unchanging.

you smiled and patted the child on the head.

upon arriving at the oasis and returning the child to their family, you felt a tug. the tug was not one of great strength and painful efforts, but one of a gravitational force that exceeded physical abilities of all kinds.

you followed it, retracing your steps back to the ring of cacti.

where everything begins, everything similarly ends.

you crumble and dissolve into golden pools of sand.

of the endless trail of lives you’ve lived, most have become inescapably forgotten, merged into a blur that made them indistinguishable from one another.

the most memorable would be the one you’d lived last, as a wisp of a spirit clinging to the shoulder of an ethereal woman.

though in the midst of war, she remained a gentle, kind, innovative soul, always seeking to change for the better.

she was stunning.

and as you watched her live her life out, eventually (inevitably) returning once more to the field of glaze lilies, lain on the flowering plants to drift away, you wondered.

wondered how immortal beings could care so much about loss, when endings were only the relieving path of entering the cycle of reincarnation. the path to wipe clean the slate of life and start anew.

staring at the regal man kneeling by the goddess’ side, silent tears running down his face, you disappear with the wind.

as you travel, you slowly realize the world you’ve manifested in is not one of roaring vehicles nor bustling machinery like several before, but of the last one you’d visited, the one of the goddess and the heartbroken man.

you make your way back to the same land, where once stood a ruined fortress now stands a flourishing city. you can see how stalls line the sidewalks, even from where you stand on the cliffs of the outskirts, paved pathing making for a guide towards the entrance of the harbor.

as you’re thinking about how far this city has grown since you last walked the land, you catch sight of a quick-footed figure, alert and patrolling the vast land that is liyue.

this is who you’ve been looking for.

at first, it was just an obligatory interest. one that is duty-bound, directed by a play-writer hidden behind the boundaries of the world and tied together by the strings of fate.

then, as the weeks, months, and then years go by, you find yourself watching the little things he does, inadvertently noticing things you wouldn’t have realized without paying even closer attention.

the way that he protects the city both day and night, even when there are hundreds of other adventurers like yourself (a side job you’d picked up where you’d complete commissions whenever you were free) to do that.

the way he lets his short hair flow loose and untamed, the mark on his forehead only drawing out the elegance he exudes.

the way he’s quiet, caring even in the silence when he still suffers. the hope that you can ease his pain, even if only for a moment, with a comfortable silence.

it all makes your mind spiral out of control, your emotions coming undone from the container you had them sealed in.

you wonder what it is.

(you might have an inkling of the answer already.)

“today’s your birthday?”

you turn around, brightening slightly at the sight of the adeptus. you could get lost in the mirrors of his eyes if he would let you.

maybe he would let you.

“..something like that.”

you’d only revealed it last year when mrs. goldet had asked. it’s been a few years since you’ve made your way to this inn when you think about it.

he shifts where he stands for a moment, maybe a little nervously, and then presents you with a neatly wrapped gift box. he must’ve taken time with it.

“may i open it?”

he gives you a brief, confirming nod of his head.

when you undo the ribbon and carefully open the lid of the small box, you come to see a finely weaved butterfly of leaves.

you lift your gaze from the tiny creation, and xiao immediately looks to the side.

“take it. it’s an adepti amulet- staves off evil.”

you look at the reddened tips of his ears and the defensive scowl on his face and file it into the archive of your memories.

“thank you, xiao.”

“please hand this to xiao.”

you look at the packet the geo archon (zhongli, you learn he’s called) presses into your palms with utmost sincerity.

“it’s... to relieve his pain.”

your eyes soften unconsciously, and you dip your head in silent agreement. now, to look for him.

ah, so this is where he was.

your heart aches, the feeling of an overwhelming, all-consuming urge to cry rising up in you.

the wind picks up, tree leaves swaying in the breeze, following the movements of the two figures residing in the hollow of the forest.

a safe place for just the two of them.

you are intruding.

the longer you stand, watching, staring, unable to look away no matter how desperately you wish to, the more your chest throbs, the bone-deep ache of wanting to disappear spreading throughout your body.

the sound of a flute, clear and sweet, floats through the air, slim fingers smoothing over the sides and playing with skill you could never imitate.

the figure you’ve been looking for, upright and powerful and all that you have ever seen (all that he has ever allowed you to see), is relaxed for once. you can see it in the way his shoulders slump, the way his spear is left untouched, rested upright against the trunk of a tree at the edges of the clearing.

you do not belong here.

then, to the sound of the flute, xiao begins to dance. the field of flowers blooms with his gentle, languid movements, petals surrounding him as he flows around the serene space.

it is exactly as he’d described to you once before, that his sweet dream would be to dance in a field of flowers to the sound of a flute.

his dream has become a beautiful reality.

you cannot dream that it would be you he dances with anymore.

as he spins around, a stunning dance that displays his years of experience with agile movement, he turns, takes off his mask, and smiles, the genuine kind that is both awkward due to disuse and tooth-rottingly sweet at the same time. a full blush covers his face warmly.

you should’ve realized long ago whose flute he was imagining.

you blink once, twice, and the tears start to fall, ones you never thought you would cry.

if you could, you would offer your entire being up to him, your heart, these thoughts, these new feelings, on a platter for him to keep, stored away from where anyone could ever reach them. it is not theirs’ to see, only his. it would never be anyone else’s, only his.

(he does not need them, not your heart, nor the medicine.)

the pain in your chest doubles over.

(he does not want them - except it’s only your heart he does not want.)

you understand now what morax had understood hundreds of years ago, where you as an immortal spirit did not.

(he does not want you.)

your gaze tilts upwards from where you stand in the shadows of the greenery, watching the picturesque scene in front of you unfold.

you are a child of the forest, but for once, this forest is not for you.

the moment you walk back to the inn, you feel the otherworldly tug.

how convenient.

(oh. you love him.)

it’s to be expected. your time here is up.

you smile at the owner, and maybe she sees something in your eyes because when you hand her the packet (“give this to xiao when he returns, please.”), she nods and says nothing.

(love, love.)

and so you return to your forest, steady footsteps over hills and plains and lakes and rivers. the blue of the sky melts to orange-reds, then to navy-blacks, then back to orange-reds once more, and the cycle repeats over and over and over again.

(lovelovelovelove-)

the moss greets you first, shifting under your feet in semblance of the way his eyes would whenever you met his gaze.

then, it’s the birds, singing slow melodies you know he loves, their clear song a reminder of how he would hum familiar tunes.

finally, it’s the trees, their leaves falling and submerging you softly, like how you would to him with blankets when he fell asleep out on the balcony, tired from the weariness of an immortal life.

you too, are now tired.

for one last time, you sob your heart out, sitting on the forest floor with nothing around you but the animals and plants.

what do you cry for? the birth of these painful feelings? the lack of reciprocation?

(you’re unsure.)

(maybe it is for your unimportant existence.)

you blink your eyes closed for the final time, and your body falls to the ground with a thump.

the butterfly of leaves drifts out of your clutches and fades with a desolate glow.

where everything begins, everything similarly ends.

(may you stay asleep for eternity so you don’t have to remember.)

you disappear.

#angst #hurt no comfort #xiao #genshin impact #cecilia #xiao x gn!reader

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gateway-to-glimmer · 4 years ago

Text

A Guide to Dream Work

Dream States

Sleep states are fun to consciously control for various reasons. They can be used to view and analyze our memory and sense of self in an indirect way. The feelings and ideas produced by sleep feel profound and vivid, and can be used for creative inspiration.

The characters and places we encounter in our dreams are reflective of the things we have experienced and imagined. We have dedicated systems of memory for things like our stereotypes of people and places, as well as our relationship to our environment and to ourselves. When we are in a dream state, we see the boundaries between ideas contained within our memory distort and change, leading to the experience of a world created entirely from the contents of our knowledge and memory.

Sleep is essential for functioning. Contrary to what one would expect, the brain is active even during sleep. When we sleep, the brain goes through a process of regulating physical and mental functions. Sleep is essential for memory consolidation. It is difficult to retain and recall information that hasn’t yet been consolidated during sleep.

There are several distinct stages of sleep. Older psychological texts used to break these up into five stages of sleep. Today, most researchers divide the stages of sleep into four stages: NREM 1, NREM 2, NREM 3, and REM sleep. REM stands for rapid-eye movement. During REM sleep, the eyes move back and forth quickly, hence the name. NREM stands for non-rapid eye movement. In these stages of sleep, the eyes are still, unlike in REM sleep.

Staying lucid during the different stages of sleep is an interesting experience that many enjoy and find thought provoking. Each stage of sleep is experienced by the dreamer in a different way. Studies have been conducted on participants who were woken up during the different stages of sleep and asked what their dreams were like. People who were woken up during light sleep felt as though they had entered an immersive daydream but hadn’t quite fallen asleep. People woken up during deep sleep (NREM 3) reported feeling fully immersed in their mind, but that the dream felt more thought-like and involved mundane subjects, activities, and places. People who were woken up during REM sleep reported vivid, surreal, and fantastical dreams.

Different mystical traditions delineate between three distinct types of dream-work which map onto lucid dreaming during the three stages of sleep. Hedgecrossing occurs during NREM 1 and NREM 2 sleep. During this stage of sleep, if the dreamer is lucid, their thoughts become random, vivid, immersive, and contain spontaneous events that feel profound. Their thoughts feel out of their control. Spiritual traditions use this stage of sleep for the purpose of contacting spirits or interpreting some aspect of their lives.

Lucid dreaming during deep sleep is experienced as astral projection. Astral projection stereotypically involves the perception of leaving the body and walking into the world just outside of the self. Traditionally, the world becomes more random and mystical as the person moves further from their body, which maps onto the idea that the change in sleep states causes a subjectively perceived change in experience while lucid dreaming.

Lucid dreaming during REM sleep is what people traditionally think of when they think of lucid dreaming. REM sleep dreams depart from the normal laws of reality the most severely of all of the stages of sleep. Because of this, lucid dreaming can easily be used to generate creative ideas or to explore themes from one’s life through the vivid feelings produced by the dream. In addition, it is possible to attain some degree of psychological healing through dreams because of their connection to our memory, and because dream experiences feel vivid and thus their content and our reaction to them can significantly impact us even when we are awake.

I will describe how to attain each dream state in the next section. In a subsequent section, I will explain how spiritual practitioners approach dream work. I will then explain how to use dream experiences in a constructive way (such as through dream analysis, creative inspiration, and overcoming traumas and internal conflicts through dream role play) as an alternative psychological technique.

Hedgecrossing

Hedgecrossing refers to the state of mind that occurs when one is lucid during light sleep. This state of mind is useful for spiritual and psychological work. People who subscribe to a mystical belief system may use this state of mind to contact spirits or perform a ritual or detect something about the world. People who see these states of mind as psychological tools may use this state of mind to access parts of their memory - similar to using hypnotherapy techniques.

Procedure

The general procedure for hedgecrossing is to meditate in a comfortable position until the mind begins to enter a sleeping state. There are certain tells that the mind has entered such a state - the thoughts that automatically come to us become random, nonsensical. As with all dream-based work, it is important to try many times to attain and work with these states. It is very easy to fall asleep or to fail to enter into a dream state at all and this can be discouraging for many people. Hedgecrossing is the easiest lucid dream state to attain because it takes place in the first stage of sleep, so it is the first dream state entered. People don’t feel as though they have left their body but they do feel like their imagination has taken on a mind of its own and it can surprise them with moments of insight and inspiration.

We will be creating a specific mental place inside for each of the three lucid dream states. Eventually, our brains come to associate this internal mental space with the state of mind provoked by each type of dream state. Over time, as the association becomes stronger, this helps us enter into a particular dream state more easily.

Lay down in a comfortable place that you ordinarily sleep in. Practicing good sleep hygiene, especially the step where you only sleep in the room/area you sleep in so that your mind can associate that area with sleeping, can help. Beginning at a time where you are naturally tired and normally go to bed helps. This state is prompted by entering the first stages of sleep, light sleep.

Clear your mind as though you are meditating. Enter your mind’s eye and focus solely on the experience of being inside of your imagination. Ignore external thoughts and sensations as they come up, letting go of them and turning back inside. You are free to develop your own set of visualizations. The general framework for developing your own system of visualizations to distract you until you enter light sleep is, more or less, this: enter the first of your visualizations and ground yourself in your 5 senses; leave the area to a second room associated with hedgecrossing; leave to a third room where you engage in a repetitive (hypnotic) motion; then leave to a final room where you can walk endlessly until you enter a hedgecrossing state/light sleep state. I will give an example below.

Enter your mind’s eye at the foot of a blue cliff with the opening to a black cave. Feel the blue grass beneath your feet. Drink from a nearby pool of clear water above pastel blue sand. Look at the deep blue sky above and listen to the wind blow through the blue leaves coming off the black trees behind you, smelling the cool, chilly, evening air. Enter the cave.

Enter a black room with blue steps leading down. Blue stars line the walls of the cave, approximating the complexity of the universe. Look at them as you continue downwards. At the bottom of the stairs is a glowing blue number one on the walls instead of stars. This mental state, hedgecrossing, is associated with the star symbol as well as the color blue and the number 1. Giving specific symbols meaning like this helps make entering this state from this mental location easier in the future. There is a door with a large blue A glowing on it. Walk through the door, feeling the texture of the doorknob in your hand.

Enter a room with blue crystals and a pool of water with a waterfall. Watch the waterfall flow endlessly into the pool of water, feeling the cool water wash over your hands. Listen to the sound of the water flowing into the pool. Dive into the water.

After entering the water, enter a room without water. This area is a maze. Ankle deep water and blue crystals and stars line the walls. Walk through the cave, taking random turns, until the area begins to randomize and things begin to change outside of your control. You will have entered the state informally called hedgecrossing (lucid dreaming during light sleep) when the area and things inside of it are partially outside of your control.

Some people find it helpful to take a small amount of caffeine; others find this does not help at all. Stimulants can make it easier to maintain lucidity, but also harder to fall asleep. I have narcolepsy and I’m prescribed Ritalin and I accidentally lucid dream on it all of the time because of this.

Uses

Soul retrieval and hypnotherapy both force the practitioner into a trance that is similar to light sleep or near light sleep in order to enter into and manipulate the mind in a deeper way than is normally possible in a waking state. This allows us to cross mental barriers, such as the barriers that keep memories repressed, and view normally forbidden materials in our mind. This also means that, since our emotions are more vivid, the things that we think and the way we interact in our mind leaves a stronger impression than is normally possible during a waking state where our emotions are more repressed. The increased emotional vividness serves as a flag to our mind that what we are thinking is more important than normal.

The following techniques can be practiced in other sleep states, although the form they take may differ between stages of sleep. Because it is difficult to remember information between a waking and sleeping state, it is essential to keep a journal nearby in order to write down important thoughts. Get into a habit of writing about the contents of every lucid dream, regardless of which stage of sleep it occurred in, as soon as you wake up. Write down every regular dream, as well.

Symbols are important elements of our mind. Symbols serve as associative cues to different places in our memory. When we hedgecross, we enter into a state of mind where we are closer to our memory, almost living in it as we do when we are deeply sleeping. We can use symbols to interact with our mind. When we are hedgecrossing, we can call up a symbol. Say, the color red. We visualize this color, and because our thoughts have become more random, they will warp and respond to the introduction of this cue. We could randomly remember a memory connected to the color red. Or we could spontaneously imagine a character or the beginning of a story prompted by thinking about the color red.

We think about the world in certain ways that are connected to our different types of memories. We have special neurological processes dedicated to processing things like narratives, relationships, time, other people, cultural stereotypes, and places. These elements become easy to notice when we engage in dream work. We become immersed in the components of our memory, and the types of components we can think in become obvious quickly. Elements that frequently recur in dreams often have some significance, and it is worth it to interact with these symbols - doing so can reveal old memories and can allow us to interact with these ideas to inspire or change the self. This is the process of dream analysis. By interacting with these symbols, characters, and other ideas, we can see their meaning. Dream analysis books offer interpretations based on cultural symbolism. This is helpful to some extent, but personal symbolism is what matters the most, and it can be quite contextual and idiosyncratic. It is possible to interact with an idea or symbol in a dream and to talk to it, touch it, see what is inspired by interacting with it. The ideas that spring up from interacting with this element can be used to analyze its meaning.

Interacting with symbols in the mind can be used as a hypnotherapy tool. If someone has a troubling thought loop or memory, they can interact with it in a dream state to learn more about it and to gain mastery over the memory. However, it is possible to trigger nightmares in doing so. That is the risk of good dream work - there is some element of difficulty to it, and one must be willing to face and master difficult thoughts to proceed. This can be used to identify core thoughts and traumas and integrate with them in the course of dealing with difficult personal experiences and thoughts.

Astral Projection

Astral projection is the act of lucid dreaming during deep sleep. Qualitatively, this state feels more mundane than a traditional lucid dream, and it feels more thought-like. As we enter deep sleep, we finally feel ourselves leave our body. Paradoxically, we are actually entering our memory, completely cut off from the external world. For a moment, we haven’t yet forgotten the rules of external reality or the context we fell asleep in. Our short term memory takes a short amount of time to clear, and in that time when we first enter an astral state we experience ourselves as leaving our body where we left off before we forget where we were when we fell asleep as our previous circumstance is cleared from our short term memory. Some people feel vibrations; other people feel nothing at all as they transition from light sleep to deep sleep.

The general framework for astral projecting is as follows: lay down in a comfortable location; focus on staying awake as you slowly fall asleep. Eventually, you will become overwhelmingly tired that it is almost beyond your capability to hang on to your conscious awareness. Continue to stay focused and eventually, your body will feel strange in some way. Different people experience this change differently. It can be difficult to get up and to exit the body; no longer being able to move the body means you are in an astral state. Eventually, if you stay awake and keep trying to interact with the world, you will leave your body.

This is a good framework, although to properly associate this state of mind for your deliberate use later, I recommend a slight permutation to the classic technique. Before laying down to astral project, enter into your mind’s eye. See a green glowing 2 in the middle of a field of green roses. The sky above is filled with green petals. Turn around and see a door with the letter B glowing green. Reflect on your intention and enter the door; it should be dark. This signals to your mind that you are beginning to focus with the intention of astral projecting. Some people might want to stay immersed in the mind’s eye and imagine a green landscape beyond the door; a green hedge maze with infinite twists and turns, and green marble fountains and benches. You will completely enter your internal landscape when you fall into a deep sleep. This is similar to hedgecrossing, and it is easy to get stuck in a hedgecrossing state and it can be hard to transition to an astral state, although some do it this way. It is important to fall asleep in astral projection, whereas in hedgecrossing it is important to stay aware as you are near sleep. In an astral state, you completely lose touch with the external world and your internal world becomes your entire reality.

Uses

Astral projection is fun. The vivid emotions provoked by this state of mind can be entertaining. It is interesting to watch the changes in cognition that accompany the different stages of sleep. It is possible to use lucid dreaming states in order to solve or work on personal problems. As in hedgecrossing, analyzing and interacting with the content of dreams can be highly meaningful and symbolic.

Some people use dreams to help deal with psychological issues. Profound visions, such as religious experiences and positive dreams, can be used to help improve mood even if one isn’t spiritual. It is possible re-enact difficult memories or scary situations and to master them in dreams, which leads to one feeling more comfortable with that memory or situation in waking life.

Because of the way we think, we often encounter certain types of forms when we astral project. These forms reflect the way our brain encodes and interacts with the world around us in our memory. We have specific types of memory rather than just one unified type of memory; we have memories for knowledge, behaviors, habits, associations between ideas, and events. We also have further subdivisions in our memory for our perception of ourselves, others, places, cultural stereotypes, objects - and our relationships (which can take the form of opinions, a perception of personality, narrative plots, and themes) to these things. We can interact with these elements of our mind in a literal way in dream states and understand how our memory itself is structured.

People ��often encounter elements of our memory- and its ability to create novel versions of things it has introjected- in specific forms in our dreams. Some people refer to these constructs as deities or spirits, others see them as thoughtforms depending on if they subscribe to a spiritual belief system or not. We can perceive other people or ideals as characters that feel emotionally profound; we can perceive otherworldly places that feel as though they are beyond us. We can perceive the elements of our memory in a vivid way that is highly creative because of the memory shuffling that is occurring during memory consolidation which happens during sleep. I am convinced that dreaming is people watching the process of (some part of) memory consolidation in a literal way.

Lucid Dreaming

Lucid dreaming takes place during REM sleep. In a normal person who isn’t sleep deprived, REM sleep sets in after about 90 minutes. This makes entering a lucid dream through the traditional way of meditating through the previous sleep states difficult, although it is possible. Some people attempt to enter REM sleep directly by waking themselves up and then going back to bed again; because their mind is interrupted mid-sleep cycle, they may enter REM again quickly.

The best way to attain lucidity during REM sleep, in my opinion, is to engage in reality checks. Reality checks train us to check during dreams automatically to see if we are sleeping or not. We pick some detail about dreams that sets them apart from reality, and during the day we check several times to see whether or not we are sleeping. Eventually, this habit carries over into dreams and we naturally question whether or not we are dreaming - which prompts us to enter a lucid dream if we ask this question while we are dreaming.

Here are some examples of reality checks: dreams constantly change and shift, so if you look at something, look away, and then look back - if you are dreaming, it should have changed. If you aren’t dreaming, it will stay constant. In dreams, you can manipulate things with your mind; try changing some element of the scenery as you would in a dream, or try to fly. Trying to do these mental exercises from a waking state feels silly and doesn’t work, but in a dream it can trigger you to realize you are dreaming if you check to see if you can do these things and you can. Regularly check to see if you are dreaming during the day, and check for these properties found only in dreams. Eventually, you will ask the question during a dream and will become lucid.

Intentions are helpful for the attainment of lucid dreaming. Before bed, enter into your mind’s eye and find yourself on a red beach with a large red 3. A door with a glowing red C awaits you. Enter it, holding your intention to lucid dream that night as you allow yourself to fall asleep. When you attain lucidity, think back on the red C and the red 3. This will associate these concepts with sleep. You can think on these red concepts in order to help with dream recall. These is called an anchor. Anchors can be used to help keep you present during the dream and remind you that you are lucid. Regularly think back on the red room with the C; create a glowing C or 3 in your hand. The action of doing this grounds you in your dream and prevents you from losing your lucidity or from waking up.

Additionally, you can check your dream journal for patterns you are encountering during your natural dreams. These should be your REM sleep dreams as these are the easiest to recall if you weren’t lucid during them. Recognizing common types of dreams and dream locations can help you recognize that you are dreaming.

Uses

Lucid dreaming is fun. REM sleep dreams are vivid and highly creative. Lucid dream states can be used to flesh out story ideas or to obtain inspiration. The emotional vividness and the surreal ideas encountered in this state of mind are ideal for creative inspiration, like to get inspiration for an otherworldly landscape to draw or for a fictional place or character for a story.

If you are going to use a lucid dream state for some purpose, set your intention ahead of time. It can be fun to explore dreams without an intention, but for goal directed purposes it is important to set your intention or else you will forget while you are maintaining your hold on your lucidity. Do you want to work on a story idea? Okay. Do you want to focus on the plot, the setting, the theme, or the characters?

You can focus on one element of your story that you want to flesh out, or several. You can focus on them one at a time, or all at once. It is difficult to hold many ideas in mind at once. Reminding yourself of your story world, or the characters, or a scene will cause it to manifest in your dream. Because dreams constantly shift and evolve, it will immediately come to life and go in a direction you barely control. This can be used for creative inspiration. That is how one uses dreams - anything that manifests in the dreams suddenly comes to life and takes on a mind of its own during a dream state. Interacting with it intensifies this effect, leading to interesting ideas and feelings.

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