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rin-fukuroi · 10 months

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𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐈 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 [𝐍𝐞𝐮𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairings: Neuvillette x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, sub!Neuvillette, loss of virginity (Neuvillette), established relationships, oral sex, creampie.

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

I think this guy is definitely a virgin, so I had to fix it ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

art: @eriimyon

— Are you inviting me to come over... to your place? We've just had dinner, — Neuvillette is charming when he doesn't understand your hints at all. Although, he could hardly even make out a hint of what he basically does not understand.

You coquettishly wrap your own wrist behind your back, blunting your gaze at the floor, standing at the entrance to your house after a date that is already quite familiar to both of you. The Hydro Dragon really should have shown more interest in recognizing human emotions at the time, then maybe it wouldn't be so hard for him to understand you now. Yes, he notices when you're upset and understands that your beaming smiles mean you're happy, but now… Your behavior goes beyond what he's used to.

Neuvillette notices how your cheeks are slightly pink, you don't meet his eyes, you don't answer his question, but you don't leave. All the signs must indicate that you are confused, but by what? Did his question put you in an awkward position?

— Y/N, — the man clears his throat before speaking in a more serious tone. — I think there was a misunderstanding between us, and if my words confused you, then I apologize. I don't think I fully understand why exactly I should come to your house at such a late hour, but… if it's important to you, I won't refuse.

— Oh, Archons, you are unbearable! — you pull a confused man by the hand, forcefully dragging him into the hastily opened door of your house.

Just for a moment in the dark, while you stand pressed against the door that you slammed with your back, silence reigns between you. What should Neuvillette do next? Wait for an offer to go into the living room, start talking first? Oh, he's so bad at it.…

— Y/N…

— Listen, aren't we… kind of in a relationship? And it's been a long time, right?

Neuvillet thinks about it before answering anyway.

— Regarding the years I have lived, our relationship doesn't last that long, but if we take into account how long the human age has been, then I think we can say that we have been really close for a sufficient amount of time to designate this period as a long one.

— That's right. And we're already holding hands without hesitation, kissing and hugging when we're alone, right?

The Chief Justice swallows.

— Ahem… yes, that's right. Although it was all new to me at first, but now I understand why you're always so eager to touch me.

— So you like my touch? — you take a step forward, coming close to your lover before your hands fall on his shoulders, slowly sliding down Neuvillette's chest.

— If that wasn't the case, I guess I wouldn't let you do that, — the man tensed slightly as you fiddled with the fabric of his robe. You've never done anything like this before.

— At the beginning of our relationship, I said that I would show you how pleasant physical contact and feelings can be between two people… or, in our case, between a human and a dragon. You trusted me, and now you have no doubt that my suggestions, even the craziest ones, eventually bring you pleasure?

— I have nothing to object to. You've really discovered a lot of nice things for me that I didn't even know existed until I met you.

— Exactly! — you suddenly squeeze the thick fabric on Neuvillette's chest, looking straight into his confused mother-of-pearl eyes with complete seriousness. — In that case, you should know that this is not all.

— Not all?.. What do you mean…

— Neuvi, tell me, do I turn you on?

"Turn me... What?"

— Wh-what do you mean?

You frown, but then the irritation on your face turns to thoughtfulness as you look away, carefully choosing the words you are going to say.

— Have you ever wanted something more than kisses?

Ah, he seems to understand what you're getting at. Neuvillette is quite knowledgeable about the physiology and reproduction of humans, but he never thought about the fact that everything might not be as primitive as it sounds in scientific books. Kissing and hugging are not something necessary for people's life and interaction, nevertheless, it seems to be important to you, and he himself feels some dependence on your touch, although he does not show it. Does this mean that sex is also an obligatory part of any relationship and is a manifestation of love in physical form, and not just a way of one of the types of reproduction of living beings?

— Oh, that's what you're talking about… hmm, — the man really thought deeply, switching off for a few seconds before finally looking into your eyes with all the seriousness that only he is capable of. — I'm sorry, Y/N, I never thought that I fit into society well enough even after centuries, but after realizing that I have feelings for you, I decided that maybe I began to understand people a little better… I guess it's still not so, and it's hard for me to answer your question.

— In that case, I'll help you decide on the answer.

Neuvillette's words dissolve on your lips when you unexpectedly kiss a confused man.

It's not that you've never done this before, but now your kiss is more insistent, more… Passionate? When you unceremoniously invade his mouth, Neuvillette can feel how you are overwhelmed by the desire for intimacy and an irresistible thirst that he has never experienced when your saliva settled on his tongue. No matter how many human emotions he experiences touching the waters of the Fontaine, what you are experiencing now is so new to him, but the Hydro Dragon succumbs to this feeling, allowing his palms to rest on your waist.

And that gesture was enough for you to realize that your lover doesn't seem to mind what you're about to do, so your fingers are now frantically fumbling with the fasteners on several layers of his clothes while your lips are still on his. It's all so weird.… Perhaps Neuvillette undressed in front of someone for the last time only during Sidgwyn's medical examination, which, in fact, there was no need, but he could not refuse her insistence. But now you're gradually unbuttoning his clothes for a completely different purpose. Is this the first time the Chief Justice has thought about whether his human body is attractive at all? But does it matter if you don't seem to be tormented by a single question when you break off the kiss and gently pull his robe and shirt over his shoulders, staring at his now bare chest and torso with fascination.

The tips of your fingers lightly tickle Neuvillette's pale skin as you run them over the man's tense muscles, without taking your curious gaze off the trajectory of your movements, before turning your attention to the dark blue gloves clinging to his graceful hands. You wrap your arms around each of his wrists in turn, gently pulling the thick fabric from the man's long fingers until the gloves go to the floor to his robes and shirt.

— You wear too many clothes, you know? — you giggle, now looking up to meet Neuvillette's gaze, still with the same calmness on his face as always, watching what you're doing.

— No less and no more than is necessary to maintain the image of a judge, I suppose…

— Come on. Everyone in Fontaine knows who you are and how seriously you take your job and will never question it, even if you dress in something more comfortable, — the corners of your lips lift in a soft smile before you take a step back, depriving Neuvillette of the warmth of your hands on his skin. — And now… it's your turn.

The mother-of-pearl eyes of the Hydro Dragon widen when he freezes for a moment, awkwardly glancing at your body.

— Do you want me to, uh… take off your clothes too?

— Yes.

For the first time, Neuvillette was truly embarrassed. A slight blush covered his cheeks as he plucked up the courage to come closer to you and stretch out his hands to touch the button on your jacket. Hesitantly, but the man coped with the first task, unbuttoning your outer clothes before casting a last questioning glance at you, meeting your approving nod, after which the fabric of the jacket finally slipped off your shoulders. It seemed even this was so insanely awkward, but looking at your blouse and realizing that you will only be wearing underwear under it, Neuvillette feels even more excited, nervously swallowing before repeating the procedure again, gradually, as each of the miniature buttons was unbuttoned, exposing more and more areas your skin.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't as embarrassed as he was, even though it's not the first time a man will see you naked, but the fact that this man will be Neuvillette today… This fact really causes excitement in your chest. It's all so new to him, will he even like your body?

You blush even more when the Chief Justice slowly and carefully slides the sleeves of a thin blouse down your shoulders. For a few moments, his eyes roam around the dark room until he decides to look at your almost completely naked upper body.

— Hey, Neuvi… — the man flinches slightly when your palm touches his cheek, forcing Neuvillette to look into your eyes. You furrow your brows and pout your lips, gently pinching the skin of his face. — I think you've forgotten something.

You're really making him do it.…

Neuvillette's gaze finally hesitantly slides down. Oh… your chest is heaving so deliciously in time with your labored breathing, your collarbones protrude seductively under thin pale skin, that now Neuvillette can barely take his eyes off how fragile and graceful your body looks. Taking another short step forward, his palms touch your waist, sliding further behind you. Has your skin always been so soft and warm? Why hadn't he noticed it before? Neuvillette enjoys every second of it, during which his hands work their way up your back before finally finding the clasp of a bra in a pale blue shade. You hear a soft click and feel the fabric pressure on your ribs ease and the straps gently slide down your shoulders.

Neuvillette never thought that you could look even more beautiful. Although your body is certainly beautiful, and he cannot deny how just looking at your bare chest is enough to make an unusual warmth flow to the bottom of his stomach, he is more fascinated by how your face looks now. So embarrassed, but still looking into his eyes when your gazes meet. Of course, you're more experienced at this, but Neuvillette can't help but be touched by how awkward you feel too, even though what's happening is not new to you.

— Come on! — you grab the Chief Justice by the arm again, dragging him into the bedroom.

Even in the semi-darkness of your house, Neuvillette notices how your face takes on a new expression when you lead him to the bed, now moving your hands to his chest and gently pushing him back. Well, he trusted you from the moment he crossed the threshold of your house, so he obediently sits down on a soft mattress, slightly spreading his legs when you come closer, towering over him, standing between his thighs. Miniature fingers cling to Neuvillette's chin, forcing him to look up at you.

— Tell me, Neuvi, do you like what you see?

You expected your question to confuse the man again, but his face has never looked so serious as now, when he looks straight into your eyes, uttering his answer in a soft tone, permeated only with adoration.

— You're beautiful, Y/N.

You squint slightly as you smile, slowly sinking to your knees as your hands move to his hips. It's so sweet that Neuvillette takes every word you say seriously, but right now it didn't take him a second to give his answer.

The man flinches slightly when your hands reach for the fly of his trousers. To look at you in this position… So strange. Neuvillette is used to looking at people from the height of his judicial chair in the courtroom, he is used to literally looking down at you because of your height difference, but now you are … really kneeling in front of him, and he does not know what to say or do, so he continues to remain only a participant in your performance The script you didn't hand him.

— You've never touched yourself here, isn't it? — the warmth of your palm seeps even through the thick fabric of Neuvillette's trousers when you touch his groin, feeling a hard erection under your fingers.

Neuvillette had never felt like this before. Maybe this has happened before, when you pressed against him too hard or when your kisses were longer than in the past, but each time he was slightly confused by the reaction of his body to your touch. And now his cock was straining even more than before. Is this what you called arousal?

— Wh-what do you mean? — Hydro Dragon answers uncertainly, obviously confused by your seemingly very intimate question.

— Oh, then I guess the answer is "no", — you chuckle softly before gently squeezing the impressive hard organ hidden under his trousers in your hand.

Had he always been so sensitive? Even when you touched his bare skin, it didn't feel as good as what you're doing now.

— You're so tense, Neuvi… relax, you don't have to do anything. At least this time, — you smile again, taking one last look at the confused man before your attention turns to his boots, which you hurriedly pull off his legs before you start fiddling with the zipper of Neuvillette's trousers.

The Chief Justice sees you about to pull off his trousers, and lifts his hips, resting his hands on your soft bed, sheepishly watching how the expression on your face turns to amazement when he finally remains completely naked in front of you.

— Oh, Archons… — you freeze, just looking at his cock, making Neuvillette even more nervous. Is there something you don't like? Is there something wrong with him? — I'm so happy that I got you.

— Ah?..

You would have been amused by another cute manifestation of Neuvillette's misunderstanding of your words if all your attention hadn't been stolen by the view unfolding in front of you between his tense legs. His cock shudders under your gaze, which examines every protruding vein that stretches along his impressive organ. For a second, you even had doubts about whether he could fit anywhere inside you, but your hands reached out to touch the hot, hard flesh, causing a new wave of goosebumps running through Neuvillette's body. Your petite palm slowly slides over his erection before stopping, allowing your thumb to touch the sensitive head, slightly glistening with drops of pre-ejaculate in the dim moonlight filtering through your bedroom windows. It seems so… wrong, but a man can't do anything about how your touch makes this warmth of an incomprehensible nature feel even brighter in his lower abdomen.

You lift your head, glancing at the slightly raised abs and heaving chest, the tense muscles of your forearms, before meeting his pursed lips and half-closed eyes, shamefacedly watching what obscenities are happening below. Neuvillette is amazing. Perhaps his conscience is eating him up for the fact that, as he probably thinks, he forced you to kneel in front of him, but he cannot resist the way his body reacts to your touch. So why not embarrass him even more?

Neuvillette's mother-of-pearl eyes open abruptly when you lower yourself to his cock and touch the salty head with your lips.

— Y/N, what are you doing?! — the man anxiously stretches out his hand, hesitantly touching your head.

— It's all right, Neuvi. I told you, just relax.

What you're going to do… aren't you disgusted? Why are you doing this? Neuvillette's head is just boiling with the abundance of thoughts tormenting him, and he wants to make one more attempt to stop you before his words melt on his tongue, replaced by a moan that even he hears from himself for the first time when you slowly immerse his cock in the warmth of your mouth. Your lips have always seemed incredibly soft to him, but now, when they wrap around his erection, they seem even more tender. The man's palm presses against his open lips, muffling all the sighs escaping from his throat. Neuvillette is really distraught. But this is not the confusion that tormented him when you asked him to take off your clothes, now he is puzzled as to why he can no longer control his own body, which turned out to be completely at the mercy of the pleasure that you give him. It seems that the deeper his cock penetrates your throat, the more sensitive Neuvillette becomes, unable to stop the trembling in his legs, which strive to close if not for your shoulders, which his hips now meet. But what's even worse is the way you look up at him, squinting slightly and grinning when you notice what a mess your lover is in.

It was enough for you to finally start acting more decisively.

Your head starts to rise and fall under Neuvillette's palm, tearing another sweet moan from his open lips.

Damn… It's too much. Neuvillette feels an unusual heat coming from the bottom of his stomach, which reduces him with delicious spasms that make him want to both make you stop and beg you to give him more. The tightness of your fragile throat wraps around his hard flesh so perfectly, and the warmth of your labored breath feels even more distinct as you pick up the pace, plunging him deep into your throat over and over again.

— Y/N… wait, I… — was the only thing Neuvillette could get out of himself before his words dissolved into soft moans again.

His hips trembled as you wrapped your arms around them, and his pelvis lifted slightly to meet the inexorable rocking of your head. It's like a tight knot tied in the very bottom of your stomach, ready to burst, as soon as you swallow his cock one more time, and for a moment Neuvillette feels fear under the pressure of an unknown feeling when he feels his cock swell in the tight walls of your throat. But you don't listen to him, sitting on his throbbing organ again, sending a fatal wave through his tense body. Neuvillette's long fingers instinctively squeeze your hair as his heated flesh shudders in your throat, and you feel hot sticky streams flowing down the far wall of your throat, and the man's legs tremble convulsively, pressing closer to your shoulders.

What's it?.. It was as if all the warmth that had been accumulating in Neuvillette's stomach had now spread under his skin, and his mind was clouded by a haze that drove any thoughts out of his head, except how damn pleasant this unfamiliar feeling was, lasting for some miserable moments.

Your tongue slides up the still-quivering member of the Supreme Court as you slowly pull it out of your mouth, carefully licking every drop of cum left on his semi-hard flesh. Neuvillette is still breathing heavily, trying to recover from the first orgasm of her life. His eyes are closed when you look up at him again, and his hand slips off your head.

— Neuvi? — as soon as his legs relax, you slide your hands along the inside of his thighs, lifting slightly to leave a kiss at the bottom of his stomach, causing the man to flinch and lazily open his eyes.

— Wh-what was that just now?.. — his voice sounds so quiet when Neuvillette finally starts talking, still trying to steady his breathing.

— Huh… Did I mention that you think too much? — you smile, suddenly getting back on your feet. — You don't mind continuing, do you?

Neuvillette rests his hands on the mattress again, watching from under heavy eyelids as you deliberately slowly pull your trousers down your legs, carefully stepping over the crumpled fabric on the floor before throwing the clothes somewhere to the side, remaining in front of him in only panties. For the first time, he can finally enjoy every curve of your stunning body, feeling the heat flare up inside him again, while he just remains a witness to how now you are doing the same with your underwear. Without clothes, you look even more fragile and small, but now… This view causes the Hydro Dragon not only to want to protect you, but also to touch you, to shower every millimeter of your skin with kisses… to possess you. Is this what people call lust?

This time, Neuvillette didn't need any prompting to instinctively understand that he needed to crawl further away on your bed, allowing you to gracefully climb on top of him. His cock has hardened again, trembling insistently under the pressure of your crotch, now comfortably settled on the throbbing flesh, when you press your palm on Neuvillette's chest, forcing the man to lie down. You look so gorgeous, towering over him just like that, that he can't resist the urge to touch you and stretches out his arms to wrap around your waist while you playfully smile, looking into the clouded eyes of the man below you, swaying slightly on his hips.

— Oh, aren't you embarrassed to touch me now? — you giggle as you gently wrap your arms around Neuvillette's wrists and move his palms onto your chest. — It all belongs to you, Neuvi.

The Chief Justice swallows hard before hesitantly squeezing the elastic flesh under his palms. Such… Soft. It felt even more tender than he had imagined, just looking at her in the hallway back then. And you said… Does it belong to him? Why does the realization of this make his heart almost ache in his chest, as if he does not deserve to have such a wonderful girl who managed to get into feelings for someone like him?

— Y/N…

You tilt your head in puzzlement, looking at Neuvillette, who now seems to be considering his next words again.

— I promise that I will take care of you.

You're almost ready to burst out laughing, but you hold back, smiling gently at your man, the only one in all of Teyvat who could say something like that at such a moment.

— Try your best, Monsieur Neuvillette, — you bend down to leave a short kiss on your lover's lips, forcing Neuvillette to lower his hands to your hips before you straighten up again, lifting slightly and reaching down to grab his cock.

Oh, he's even more excited than before. Although he believes that such intimacy is already familiar to him, at least in theory, but it is still something that Neuvillette has never had to deal with before. He feels the moisture oozing from your crotch touching his cock as you align his head with your entrance, starting to slowly sink onto the hard flesh. Your tight walls gradually envelop his throbbing organ, enveloping Neuvillette's flesh with an even more searing warmth compared to what he felt when you plunged his dick into your throat. The slippery walls seem to suck him deeper inside, again awakening in the body of the Hydro Dragon the same heat that had tormented his poor body only a few minutes ago. He wants to stifle his moans again, covering his lips with his hand, but Neuvillette only tightens his grip on your elastic hips, moving his gaze from the place where your bodies connect to your chest, heaving heavily in time with your labored breathing, thanks to which he can finally hear those lovely soft sighs escaping from your throat.

You lean back slightly on Neuvillette's hips, feeling his cock stretch and fill you to the limit. All the past fears that he was too big to fit inside suddenly evaporated, replaced by a pleasant shiver running down your spine when he finally enters to the end, gently colliding with your cervix, which makes the lust bubbling in the bottom of your stomach from the moment you entered your house boil even stronger.

When you finally start to slowly rise and fall on Neuvillette's cock, he finally begins to understand why people like sex so much. It feels completely different from what you did with him before. You feel so good inside and it's addictive. The walls of the vagina wrap so tightly around his cock when you impale yourself on it more insistently each time, and Neuvillette can feel you squeezing around him, sending more and more of these delicious impulses through his body. The man's gaze is riveted to the place where your bodies connect over and over again, never ceasing to amaze him with how his hard organ disappears so easily into your insides. The more your hips pick up the pace, the more distinct the sounds of skin hitting skin become, merging with Neuvillette's restrained sighs and your moans, which will forever remain in his memory.

You lean forward again, placing your hand on Neuvillette's neck, already too lost in pleasure to speak, bringing another smile to your face.

— Do you like it, Neuvi? — the tips of your two fingers slide along his chin, forcing the man to look at you from under half-closed eyelids. His lips are open, releasing more and more sweet sounds from Neuvillette's throat as you continue to rock up and down his length, feeling the blood pulsing in the veins running along his cock. — Don't hold back your lovely moans, I want to hear you.

Your vulgar words settle in sweet spasms in the lower abdomen of a man. You've always been much bolder and more direct than him in everything that concerns feelings and intimacy, and Neuvillette would like to return the favor. Therefore, now you feel more pressure on your hips when he begins to lift his hips towards your movements and push you down whenever you are about to descend on his dick again, driving it even deeper into your insides.

You've wanted this for so long, worrying every time that such an offer might alienate Neuvillette, but now, feeling your lover desperately pushing into you, chasing his own orgasm, you don't regret at all that you finally got the courage. Having completely lost all control over himself, Neuvillette breaks down into the very moans that you so wanted to hear. You never thought that his pleasure could turn you on so much, making you feel like you're already teetering on the edge.

What could be said about him.

Your voice has never sounded sweeter to him than now, when you whisper his name, pressing your forehead against his. The smell of your body, your hot breath blowing over his face, the tense muscles of your thighs under his hands — this is what, even without knowing it, Neuvillette also wanted for so long. Every time you shared another kiss with him, it seemed to him that it was so damn little, but he didn't know any other way to feel you even closer. But now that your bodies are so perfectly fused together, he understands what he really wanted. How can you wish for something you've never experienced? People are truly amazing… And Neuvillette finally got a little closer to understanding what it's like to be human.

Too blinded by the new sensations, Neuvillette didn't even notice how he got so damn close to the very feeling that you gave him earlier, but now it feels even brighter, even more intense, forcing the man to press harder on your hips, accelerating the pace. And at the moment when your lower abdomen is cramping with familiar spasms, you press your lips to his, allowing Neuvillette to feel your body tremble under the onslaught of pleasure spreading somewhere deep under your skin. Your lips taste even sweeter when you squeeze so tightly around his cock, pulling Neuvillette after you into the abyss. His hands hurriedly move to your back, pressing you even tighter against his body as he has his second orgasm of the day. Hot flesh pulsates inside your sensitive walls, gradually turning white with sticky drops of sperm, and you swallow each other's muffled moans, sharing this unearthly feeling for two.

You go limp, leaning on Neuvillette with all your weight, having to break the kiss to catch your breath. You hear his heavy sighs, almost in sync with yours, as you both bask in the echoes of your own climaxes, and you lift up slightly to look at Neuvillette's flushed face. The silver strands of his bangs are stuck to his forehead, and his lips are still slightly parted when he lazily opens his eyes, meeting your gaze.

— Y/N, I'm sorry, I seem to get carried away…

— Hush, it's okay, Neuvi, — your palm gently presses against his hot cheek, and you can't help but smile as you watch him awkwardly avert his gaze now. — Actually, I think you're learning pretty fast!

— Is that so? — the corners of Neuvillette's lips lift slightly as one of his palms gently slides up your back. — I suppose I had a good teacher.

— He-he, of course. Just don't get cocky, I still have a lot to teach you!

Neuvillette suddenly looks at you in surprise again.

— A lot?

— Yeah, — your face takes on a fake serious look. — Do you really want to continue the course of human carnal pleasures today?

You laugh, lightly pinching Neuvillette's cheek before you start to lift off his body, but you are stopped by his hands, still holding you in his embrace. When you cast a questioning glance at Neuvillette, you are suddenly met again by an expression full of unshakeable seriousness, forever stuck to his face.

— I… won't refuse.

#headcanons #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette smut #genshin drabbles #genshin headcanons #genshin impact x you #neuvillette x you

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mysteria157 · 4 months

Text

Moment Two: Your Daughter's First Pair

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: fluff, profanity (not really), sexual suggestion, slight angst (very minimal).

Word Count: ~3.4k

Summary: Nanami joins you and your daughter for a family tradition, but he may not be as strong as he thinks.

Set in the It Had To Be You universe but you don't need a lot of backstory to follow along.

Notes: This was a random thought that I had based on something that has always been a thing in my family that I wanted to write out. There is nothing significant about this, I have not written Nanami in a LONG time, so I'm trying to warm myself up again. I am so rusty but I'm using fleeting moments of inspiration and taking advantage of it.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome! Happy reading!

Divider: @saradika | Header: myself

MINORS DNI

“You don’t need to hold her so tight.”

“I’m protecting her.”

“And what am I, a goat?”

He raises a brow at your jest, autumn wheat and elegant but nonetheless annoyed as he glares at you. He doesn’t mean it, you know that—it’s all nerves.

“Ken, we don’t have to do this you know? If you’re against the idea, we can wait a few more years.”

“I’m not against it,” he reassures you, adjusting your daughter in his arms. Ulani babbles up at him, her chubby hands digging into a sharply cut cheekbone. He carries on without complaint, already used to her behavior. “This is a tradition, and I understand it but…”

You turn a key chain in one hand, your thumb smoothing along the glittery face of a dog—or is it a cat? The rack is filled with key chains of different colors, animals and objects, bringing back memories of middle school when you would drag your best friend Omelia into this same store in Sendai before it closed down. Despite the many years that have passed, the store chain still has its subtle hues of purples and pinks, earrings punched through purple cardboard paper, pens with wonky erasers, and headbands of different designs.

“But what?” you try to finish for him, smiling up at his nervous form as he lets Ulani talk to him in her own baby language.

Kento pulls in a deep breath as if to steel his nerves and prepare for the inevitable. He’s praying to whoever will listen, trying to use every coping mechanism in the book. He’s wearing jeans that hug his fit thighs and a dark blue short sleeve that shows too much bicep for your liking (you should give him a dress code). There are only so many single and married women and men that you can glare at in a day, and the redhead over by the register is pushing it.

“Will it hurt her?” your boyfriend’s low timber pulls you back, filled with apprehension, and he keeps mahogany eyes on his daughter to avoid showing you just how scared he is. You rub his back to soothe him, tracing the bands of muscle that are tense behind the soft fabric.

“I-I’m worried.”

“And you shouldn’t be. It’s a simple thing, lasts two seconds. Just like when she got her first shots.”

That’s not enough for him, because now Kento furrows his eyebrows in frustration, bouncing his daughter in his arms to entertain her and also soothe himself. “There are a lot of things to consider. The risk of infection. Rejection. What if she hates them? What if they get caught on her clothes? Or her curls? Or—”

“Are we ready?” one of the employee’s sing songs from behind you both, walking towards the singular chair perched against the glass wall of the store.

“I—” Kento croaks, clearing his throat and swallowing loudly. He looks down at you. “Are we?”

In the time you’ve known him, you’ve only seen Kento visibly nervous a handful of times. That stoic demeanor is a smooth, stone-like shell to everyone else besides family and close friends, but you know the weak spots and have glimpsed into the fragmented sections only visible to your eyes. Right now, he’s nervous and fearful beyond belief. That all encompassing love and attention that he shows you from sunup to sundown extends to his daughter as well. If there is one person besides you, who can make Nanami Kento show his emotions freely and without reservation no matter the date, place, or time, it’s Ulani.

“How about you hold her?” you suggest and give him a small push towards the black chair. Two employees work at the small kiosk next to him, unwrapping sterile materials and cotton swabs. Kento’s eyes watch every movement, searching for any sign of threat that can give him the ammunition to take his daughter and never come back. You can practically hear his thoughts:

“Is that up to code?”

“How long has that been sealed?”

“What is the name of the manufacturer so that I can ensure it’s reputable?”

Your roll your own eyes, knowing how right you might be.

When you found out your pediatrician would be on her own maternity leave, you let Kento research every establishment in Tokyo until he found one in Shibuya. Reputable, good reviews, and well-practiced in this procedure.

Of course, you’re nervous too. She’s your daughter, a combination of you and Kento, conceived from a very drunken night of disdain but grown out of eventual love and adoration. The thought of her crying in pain makes that maternal part of you flare with anger and the consuming need to protect her forever. But you’ve prepared for this for awhile.

Kento? Not so much.

“Is that clean?” your boyfriend asks one of the employees, clutching his daughter a little tighter. It’s a little rude, but the employee smiles at him in a way that conveys understanding of his trepidation. This isn’t their first rodeo.

“Completely sterile from the package. I promise she’s in great hands.” Deep eyes free of steampunk-esque glasses flicker up at her in doubt, but he simply sniffs and looks back to his daughter instead to withhold a scathing remark. “How about one of us on each side, and we do it at once?” she suggests, addressing him directly. It helps, as he gives her a somber but curt nod.

He situates Ulani in his arms so she’s sitting fully on his lap, his large hands holding her up with a slight tremble. The sight is enough to remind you again that this is new territory for him. What has always been a normal tradition for you and the other females in your life, is a foreign concept for him.

Ear piercings are a milestone in a young girl’s life. You got yours as a baby, and so did your mother. Omelia got hers as a baby, as did all her female cousins, as did her mother and the mother before her. If you interacted with your mother’s side of the family, then maybe you would know if your cousins also did the same.

But that’s another thought for another time, and you refuse to let painful memories tarnish what should be a memory you are crafting on your own, right now.

You step closer and run your hands through thick blond locks that are free of gel. You brush the strands from his forehead, letting the soft texture slip past your fingertips as he relaxes instantly. With his place in his chair, he’s at the perfect height to rest his head on your stomach, and he does so a second later.

One of his hands brushes light brown curls from his daughters ears. You can feel the unease radiating from him with every deep breath he takes, and you scratch that spot at his nape that makes him shudder, hoping it will help.

The muscles in Kento’s neck bunch together instead when one of the employee’s leans toward Ulani to make marks in deep purple, and even your own stomach turns in response at what’s to come.

“Okay, we will do this on three. How’s that sound honey?” one of the employees coos at your daughter. Ulani, who is a carbon copy of her father, stares up at her, observant and sinking into her daddy before offering a gummy smile. “She’s so pretty.”

“She’s beautiful,” Kento corrects, slightly rough but still appreciative of the compliment. “Aren’t you, my dove?”

He tickles her side and offers a rare chuckle as she squeals up at him, wiggling in her father’s embrace. The sight makes your heart do flips because this is your world, day in and day out. Just you, Kento, and the person you’ve created together.

You step around to squat in front of him so you’re eye level with your daughter, a hand coming up to wiggle the toes covered in a tan sock. Her eyes catch you immediately, and she holds your gaze long enough for the two employees to position themselves on each side of her.

Kento holds his breath.

“Alright, here we go. One. Two. Three.”

They both move in sync, pressing down on the plastic gun so the studs slide through the soft lobe of Ulani’s lower ears. Kento’s eyebrows furl together immediately. Ulani’s eyes widen for a second before her face contorts, her mouth opening in a silent cry. Your heart hammers and your chest tightens in an sudden flood of sadness and desperation that crashes against you like a tumultuous wave when Ulani takes one heaving breath in….

And screams.

His reaction is quick. Kento bounces one leg at a tempo that alarms you, his handsome face flying through different stages of grief, anger, and pain as he watches the employees adjust the diamond earrings to ensure they heal without complication. His mouth opens and closes, jaw grinding to keep his rudeness in check, because you know what he wants to say.

He was the same way when she got her shots; all glares and sharp stares at everyone else because they were the source of her discomfort. But like that time before, you are the cooling balm for his hot anger as you wiggle your daughters toes and murmur soothing words at her, to show him that she’s going to be just fine.

“It’s okay, baby,” you smile softly and it’s enough to capture her attention even though she’s squealing and crying from the sharp but quick pain in her ears. But all too quickly, you’re not enough for her, because the daughter that you carried for almost ten months turns away and reaches for her father, crying loudly in his arms. It’s a sting that you prepared for, but nonetheless hurts with a severity that takes a few seconds for you to recover from.

By the time you pay one of the employees and exit the store, Ulani has already calmed down. Kento digs into the diaper bag on his shoulder and pulls out a cotton cloth, wiping her nose as she sniffles and whines into his shoulder.

“I know honey, I know,” he coos to her, wiping the tears from her light brown skin and swaying back and forth. “But you were so strong, weren’t you? Hmm? A lot stronger than me.”

He pulls her away from his neck, smiling softly at her, and that one smile makes your chest bloom with satisfaction. It’s times like these that remind you how your life has surprisingly fallen into place. Who would have thought that the man who used to drive you insane would be the only one fit for you?

That small twinge of hurt you felt minutes ago when Ulani turned away from you resurfaces, but reassurance cools it’s prickly edges. Even though this is a moment you may have been more connected with, it’s Kento who feels the painful side of it a lot more.

So you give him his own moment. You watch quietly as he kisses her chubby cheeks repeatedly, smiling into her skin at the giggles that leave her. You fall into the hum of the world around you as you watch him tuck away the cotton cloth and smooth the curls away from Ulani’s ears, finally admiring the diamonds that twinkle on each side. The lobes will be red for a few days, but for Ulani, she will never think of them again until she’s old enough to pay attention. Until she’s old enough to change them out to match the outfits she decides to wear, different colors and gemstones, and multiples if she ever has a streak of expression in her teenage years. Like you did.

Kento finally looks down at you, chestnut browns sparkling as he takes you in from head to toe. The harsh Shibuya sun beats down on bustling city square, but the rays are soft when they touch him. Tan skin is illuminated gold on his cheekbones, his hair luminous in the sun. You reach up to run a hand through his locks for the second time this afternoon, your heart still not used to the incessant hammering that arises when he leans into your touch.

You lift an accusatory eyebrow at him and hold back a chuckle when you speak. “Our daughter was the soldier this afternoon, and yet I’m coddling you?”

“Keep coddling,” he demands, voice tinged with mirth as he turns to place a kiss inside of your palm and then leans back into your stroking. “Today was very painful for me, have you no shame?”

You snort and dig your nails into his scalp in retaliation, enjoying the groan that rumbles in the air from your ministrations. “Don’t blame this one moment on your entire day. You had a great run, remember?”

“My slowest three mile run yet.” Quick on the draw, and you already know where this is going. Kento rarely complains, but when he does, it is about the most trivial things as a means to get and keep your attention.

“You made me pancakes this morning.”

“Not my best work. Too much cinnamon in the batter.”

“We made out two hours ago?”

“Ulani woke from her nap and interrupted what would have been a very enjoyable afternoon.” That complaint leaves his mouth in a grumble, and you purse your lips to hold off the laughter that sits in the back of your throat. He’s truly pouting, and god do you love him.

“And now seeing your daughter cry from her first ear piercing was icing on the cake of a bad day, I imagine?”

“Exactly.”

You finally giggle and playfully pull a strand of his hair. He narrows his eyes at you, mischievous yet still carrying that ingrained indifference that you know and love. Ulani shrieks in his arms, finally past her blip of crying and now ready for her parent’s attention. You take in her drool of a smile, slightly red ears, and brown onesie-dress, and the possibilities flood your mind. It’s…very overwhelming when the thoughts hit you: how she will grow into herself, develop her personality, her wants and desires, her hobbies and her dreams.

“Pay attention to me,” he interrupts your thoughts, and you can’t help the bark of laughter that you give him in response. Ulani mimics you, completely oblivious.

“You’re such a baby, and we have a baby,” you tease, snorting at his level expression and dusty cheeks, slightly shy but absorbing your presence. “You and Ulani have had it rough today. So how about a reward?” You look to your daughter when you ask, knowing damn well she has no idea what you’re saying but you want to include her anyway.

“How about frozen yogurt?” I.e., the unsweetened applesauce in the diaper bag for Ulani and matcha-flavored frozen yogurt for Kento from a favorite vendor a few blocks away. It’s an obsession of his that’s been appearing in the freezer with numbing regularity.

Kento remains unphased by your suggestion, though his lips twitch with the desire to smirk down at you.

“Seeing our daughter in pain was more heartbreaking than I thought. Food may not help, I’m afraid.”

Kento is milking his “pain” at this point, and you’re far too in love with him not to entertain the idea you know is floating in his head. You love this about him, just how playful he is when it comes to you.

“You’re a tough nut to crack.” You tap your chin as if you’re thinking hard, humming in contemplation. “How about…” you trail off, a hand sliding up a muscular bicep before massaging his nape again, relishing in the shudder he gives in response, his eyes twitching to hold back the urge to roll into his head in satisfaction. “Since you’ve suffered so much today…we can go home…and I’ll do that thing you like.”

You have the privilege and skill of being able to read Nanami Kento like a book. You don’t miss the glee that dances across his features—the uptick of one side of his mouth, the slow brow lift, the darkening of his irises. He knows exactly what that thing is. You’re pretty good at it—a master at it—and he made you promise that the day he ever turns that thing down, is the day you can leave him.

His cheeks explode in blush, jaw ticking before he clears his throat and smooths a sweaty hand down the dark blue of his shirt.

“I see,” he ponders, looking up to the sky as if in deep thought, and you know if you roll your eyes again, they’ll get stuck. “Well.” He situates Ulani in his arms and presses a few kisses to her cheek again to pull those giggles from her that you both love. “Who am I to deny your mother?” he suggests to his daughter. “Not a moment to waste, Ulani.”

“You’ve got to be kidding—”

“Quickly, before you change your mind.” He slides a hand to the small of your back as a means to hurry you along, pressing softly and turning you in the direction of the car.

You try to bat his hands away from you, giggles growing in volume as he dodges all your attempts to get rid of him. “I’m not going to change my mind, Ken—”

“Quickly.”

He takes your hand and you let him pull you, beaming at his back as he increases his pace. Ulani is happy as can be in her father’s arms and babbling as he talks softly to her.

“A snack before nap time sounds good, doesn’t it? What kind of applesauce would you like today?” She gurgles. “Cinnamon again? Hmmm, we should always try new things, Dove. What about the strawberry ones I bought you yesterday?” A squeal. “Strawberry it is. I think…”

The rest of their conversation fades into the background as you walk with them, warmth coursing through your veins with each step. It’s a warmth that catches you off guard, but has been ever present since Ulani’s birth. And you love every bit of how it feels. How it flows through you with every breath you take. How it only grows every minute, every hour, every day that you create a life with them.

After Ulani is buckled in her car seat and you slide your seat belt into its latch, Kento leans across the armrest, a warm hand sliding against your cheek in a gentle caress before he slants his lips against yours. It’s a surprise, but the shock dies as quickly as it forms as you melt into his touch—full lips that know your own and soft blonde locks brushing your face.

That affection that he pulls from you every day is given back in this moment—freely and without restraint—in the parking lot of Claire’s in Shibuya, where your daughter got her ears pierced for the first time.

When he pulls away and whispers his love for you against your lips, you repeat it back to him without thinking. It’s a motion that you both carry out whenever you can.

“No more piercings. My heart will probably give out.”

“Do you feel better?” you ask in a tone that is filled with the teasing nature that sticks to you like a second skin.

He loves it, but doesn’t take the bait, and instead kisses your lips again, each cheek, and the tip of your nose. “I will soon.” The innuendo is so obvious you can taste it. He’s been with you too long to be a blushing and awkward man. “Once Ulani is asleep.” You push him away with a giggling huff and savor the deep chuckle that falls from his lips, permeating the air of the car.

As Kento drives through the crowded streets towards your shared home in Nakameguro, the hand not on the steering wheel envelops yours, a thumb stroking the skin of your palm. You look out the window and observe the colors and cars that zoom by, and the sound of a deep breath behind you makes you look back. And when you do, your heart gives a painful but welcoming lurch as you gaze at her. Your daughter already asleep, her head dipping to the side—curly locks askew and sticking to the drool on her face, and her new diamond earrings shining back at you.

Thanks for reading!

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machine-saint · 11 months

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you see, the popularity of rust shows the inherently capitalist nature of techbros: the language is obsessed with ownership, even featuring something called the 'borrow checker' to ensure that a value is not modified without explicit permission from the original owner. moreover, cycles of reference-counted values (a form of mutual aid, where each value prevents the others from being destroyed!) are looked down upon and viewed as aberrations, bugs to be avoided.

this also extends to so-called 'arena allocators', which fence off a portion of the commons for their own private use

contrast this with their sneering attitude to javascript, a language with a much more leftist "ownership" model: all objects are communally owned by whoever needs to use them. furthermore, the == operator is much more permissive, reflecting an emphasis on equality across 'types', a feminist and anti-racist design for a language

#:')

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artsandculture · 2 months

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The Water-Lily Pond (1899) 🎨 Claude Monet 🏛️ The National Gallery 📍 London, United Kingdom

For Monet, gardens offered a refuge from the modern urban and industrial world, although he and his fellow garden enthusiasts benefited from modern advances in botanical science that were creating new hybrid flowers in a wide choice of shapes and colours that could be produced on an almost industrial scale. He made modest gardens in the homes he rented in Argenteuil and Vetheuil in the 1870s, but from 1883, when he moved to a rented house in Giverny, about 50 miles to the west of Paris, he had more scope to indulge his passion for plants. He became a dedicated gardener with an extensive botanical knowledge, and sought the opinions of leading horticulturalists. As Monet’s career flourished his increasing wealth enabled him to fund what became a grand horticultural enterprise: by the 1890s he was employing as many as eight gardeners.

Monet began by refashioning the garden in front of the house, the so-called ‘Clos Normand’, replacing the existing kitchen garden and orchard with densely planted colourful flower beds that were filled with blooms throughout the seasons. He was able to buy the house in 1890, and three years later he purchased an adjacent plot of land next to the river Epte beyond the railway line at the edge of his property. The plot had a small pond with arrowhead and wild water lilies, which he wanted to turn into a water garden with a larger lily pond ‘both for the pleasure of the eye and for the purpose of having subjects to paint’.

The idea may have occurred to him after he had seen the water garden at the 1899 Exposition Universelle in Paris created by the grower Joseph Bory Latour-Marliac, who bred the first colourful hardy waterlilies. Monet began by requesting permission from the Prefect of the Eure to dig irrigation channels from the Ru – a branch of the Epte – to feed his pond, but the Giverny villagers objected, fearing it would contaminate the water and that the foreign plants would poison their cattle. Monet was furious, but three months later permission came through and he began to enlarge the existing pond, replacing the wild water lilies with Latour-Marliac hybrids available in yellows, pinks, whites and violets.

The pond was enlarged on further occasions – in 1901 and 1904 – tripling the size of the water garden. Together with the flower garden on the other side of the railway track it became the principal preoccupation of the last 26 years of Monet’s life. While the Clos Normand garden was laid out along fairly traditional lines, harking back to the formal French gardens of seventeenth-century Europe, with a central alleyway and geometrically arranged beds, the water garden was more Eastern in inspiration. Its less regimented, more natural design and more muted colours created a quieter, meditative atmosphere. Monet erected a Japanese bridge over the western end of the pond that took its inspiration from the bridges in ukiyo-e Japanese prints. He was a keen collector of these prints and he owned a copy of Hiroshige’s Wisteria at Kameido Tenjin Shrine (1856), one of the many prints that features a curved bridge. In a more general sense, the water garden reflected Monet’s admiration for the Japanese appreciation of nature.

Monet had to wait for his water garden to mature before he could begin to paint it in earnest. As he later recalled: ‘It took me some time to understand my water-lilies. It takes more than a day to get under your skin. And then all at once, I had the revelation – how wonderful my pond was – and reached for my palette. I’ve hardly had any other subject since that moment.’ In total, Monet painted 250 canvases of his water garden. Around 200 of these represent water lilies floating on the surface of the water, while the remainder also show the Japanese bridge, the weeping willow trees and wisteria and the irises, agapanthus and day lilies on its banks. In all these pictures Monet was painting a subject that was already ‘pictorial’ – a landscape that had been carefully composed according to his personal aesthetic. The National Gallery has three further paintings of the water garden :Water-lilies, setting sun; Irises; and Water-lilies.

Monet painted three views of the Japanese bridge in 1895, not long after it had been constructed, but then took a break from the subject, only returning to it in 1899. By now the pool was overhung by vegetation and surrounded by plants, but to judge from contemporary photographs it was never as enclosed as Monet painted it, and he exaggerated the feeling of claustrophobia. In December 1900 he exhibited 12 paintings at Durand-Ruel’s gallery in Paris, all of which showed more or less symmetrical views of the Japanese bridge.

In this painting, as in the others in the series, we are looking down onto the surface of the water, where the lily pads float into the distance, meeting the dense foliage on the far bank. Weeping willows are reflected in the pond and clumps of iris border its banks. The perspective seems to shift so that it is hard to find a single focal point; it is as though we are looking up at the bridge but down on the waterlilies. The picture, like the water itself, seems to oscillate between surface and depth. The mainly vertical reflections provide a counterpoint to the horizontal clumps of the lily pads. Different colours, applied with thick brushstrokes, are placed next to each other. This way of painting has more in common with Monet’s early Impressionist works than his more recent paintings of mornings on the Seine, where he had used softer, more blended strokes to convey hazy atmospheric effects.

The Japanese bridge series marked a turning point in Monet’s art. From now on his subjects were painted from an increasingly confined viewpoint, conveying the sense of an enclosed world. In later paintings of the pond, he would dispense with the banks and bridge altogether to focus solely on the water, the reflections and the water lilies. The culmination of Monet’s water lily paintings were the Grandes Dėcorations, 22 enormous canvases each over two metres high and totalling more than 90 metres in length, which he completed months before his death and donated to the French state. These are now on permanent display in two oval rooms in the Musée de l’Orangerie, Paris.

#The Water-Lily Pond #1899 #Claude Monet #The National Gallery #London #United Kingdom #oil painting #painting #oil on canvas #Modern art #Impressionism #french #art #artwork #art history

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brittle-doughie · 6 months

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I love all the new npcs in this update and I was thinking of a scenario with the marzipan cookies, so they are basically like security guards and patrol around the city, imagine if the stop their patrols and just started following y/n around in a kind like a bunch of baby ducks

You waved bye to the store owner and you went back to the street, satisfied with your shopping. You wait until the light turns green to cross the street, noticing one of those Marzipan Cookies patrolling the area.

“Patrolling. Patrolling. Pa-“

She stops when you pass by her. She turns to stare at you as you go down the street. Her face not changing at all before slowly starting to follow you.

“Oh. Changing directive. Will now proceed to follow the citizen.”

———————————————————————

Another Marzipan Cookie was guarding the next store you walked into, she doesn’t take her eyes off you even when you enter this store. You could glance over the glass doors and see the Marzipan Cookie staring right at you as you go about your business.

“Ah. Leaving post. Changing directive.”

She follows after you with the first Marzipan right behind her.

———————————————————————

“Permission granted. You may pass, citizen.”

You thanked the Marzipan Cookie and walked past her towards Mozzarella Cookie’s control tower. Shortly after would be 2 other Marzipan Cookies moving past her as well.

The Marzipan Cookie stares ahead for a moment…before she joins in and follows after you.

———————————————————————

“Changing directive. Will escort the citizen to the tower.”

Unaware, you didn’t notice the four Marzipan Cookies following closely behind as you go up to the top of the tower.

The jumpscare you had when she pointed out the group of Marzipan Cookies right over your shoulder. All of them speaking in unison.

“New objective has been designated. Y/N Cookie is to be safeguarded.”

#brittle answers #cookie run x you #cookie run x reader #cr x reader #cookie run #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run kingdom #cr kingdom #marzipan cookie

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dedalvs · 7 months

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Hi David! Hope you’re having a nice day.

Do you have any tips for people who want to create a casual conlang, as in only for like a pen & paper game or a story they’re writing, where they want to coin some phrases and have a recognisable and somewhat realistic sound but can’t put in all of the background work that really goes into what you do?

Thanks for your time!

Yes I do! I recommend you read a short paper by Jeffrey Henning called "A Naming Language" (you can find it at Fiat Lingua). This will tell you how to create a small language sketch that will allow you to create just enough of a phonology and basic grammatical decisions to create names in your language. What it won't help you do is create complex syntax and inflection required for full scale translation. Now, when I say that, you might be thinking, like, to translate a novel or a political tract, or something like that, but frankly, translating something like, "Can you hand me that wrench over there?" is complex enough. Embedded in that one sentence is choices you have to make about:

Polar question formation

Abilitive/permissive modality

Potential subject/object concord

Demonstratives

Spatial location systems

Pronoun systems

Now this all works in a specific way in English, but it will work in a different specific way in every other language. Some things that English is sensitive too others may not be (for example, English changes word order when changing from a statement to a question; other languages don't do that), but other languages may be sensitive to things English isn't (for example, a language like Georgian has verbs that agree with both the subject, direct object, and indirect object. English doesn't do that). All of these are decisions you have to make (or make implicitly) when designing a language.

I mention all this so you understand what exactly you'll have when you create a language sketch—what you can do and what you can't. With a language sketch, you can create names, you can create single words, you can create derivations, even phrases that don't resolve to anything (like "Cool!" that is a word with one meaning but used to mean something else). You can't translate full sentences. If you do, what you'll either be doing is either (a) creating actual grammar, which is what you do when creating a full language, or (b) unconsciously recreating the grammar of another language (e.g. unconsciously copying the grammar of English).

It is within everyone's capabilities to create a language sketch in no more than a week—perhaps even an hour or two. As long as you know exactly what you can and can't do with it, you can plan accordingly for your fiction—and a sketch can always be expanded into a full conlang later!

#conlang #language #jeffrey henning #fiat lingua #language sketch

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escapedaudios · 1 month

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So uh... when I use custom art/commissions for thumbnails I almost always go to people from the audio community, otherwise I'll take images from stock libraries and edit them myself, ask permission from people who've posted their art on places like DeviantArt to use them in a thumbnail etc.

I needed art for an upcoming video and decided I liked the characters enough to commission art, but didn't have time to ask around and just wanted to hire a freelancer with already posted prices and turnaround times. I find someone who can meet my deadline and budget after saying "fuck it we ball" and going on Fiverr at 11PM.

Anyway after sending my requirements I get kinda sussed out by this guy's reluctance to pose my characters the way I want them posed (particularly with my instructions about their hands) and I examine his art further. Bro's shit is rife with signs of being AI-generated images. Random objects with no design logic floating around, distorted four and six fingered hands, things that look like they belong there at a glance but are actually just random patterns, background characters are all distorted blobs with eyes on their foreheads. The works.

Anyway after I catch him he just flatly denies it and wont cancel my order. This is such a headache man. I'm going to stay away from Fiverr and stick with people from the audio community that I actually know are artists, even if it means I have to delay certain videos. Jesus Christ. I hate that this is a hazard now.

#generative AI hate

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arlechinav-blog · 1 year

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Training for Trancework

(Pictured: A working trance altar with resin incense, flowers, chocolate, salt & herbs, and a plate for monetary offerings.)

Basic Trancework -Just trance for the sake of trance. Celebration. Experimentation. Fun. Labor.

In the beginning, your efforts should be focused on just getting into and out of an altered state safely and reliably. You can do that by giving yourself permission to go all in. Embrace the magic floppy time without hesitation or second guessing yourself. Make peace with things as they are. If your hair is messy, just let that concern go. If your mind is too loud to release from your body, disconnect from your worries. Whatever holds you back from totally relaxing into yourself, put it aside temporarily.

In my opinion, the best way to do these things is to just play around with it. When starting out with any new thing, there should be a childhood phase. It may grow to be a serious thing later but in the beginning, you get to be childlike and just explore what is possible and what you like. Whatever brings you a sense of peace and joy. That will give you a strong foundation to build upon later.

On a practical level, that will mean putting on some music or playing with live musicians and engaging in simple repetitive (dance) movements that disrupt the body's equilibrium. Rocking side to side or front to back, whirling, rolling movements that ripple from the spine through the limbs. It is okay to flop on the group. Trance dancing is dance but it is more to be felt than seen so it doesn't have to look dignified in any way. Just enjoy yourself and let your mind go.

If you are developing trancework as a musician (musician's trance is definitely a thing) then at this stage you will want to practice your music until you feel confident with it and then condition yourself to relax more and more as you go. Committing a song to memory will really help, that way you don't have to stay focused. Your muscle memory will carry you through but only if you have trained your body to do it while fully awake first.

Catalyst Trancework -Trancework that utilizes a fuel source to propel you deeper into an altered state. This can be a heavy emotion like love, rage, or grief, OR a substance like alcohol that can melt away barriers between the active wakeful mind and the loose uninhibited mind. It can also just be a power object that you introduce whenever you trance that will send you over the other side.

Once you have the basics down and you can get in and out of a trance without much difficulty, you will want to shift to a different goal. At this stage, you will want to build up your hypnotic conditioning to reduce your reaction time and encourage muscle memory over active waking-mind reactions. This is where trancework starts getting formal. If you want to engage with Med style trancework then you will wear white when you trance. Every time. This conditions your mind to only trance when you are wearing white and it helps to keep you out of an altered state when you don't want to be in one.

At this stage you can use colors, symbols, and scents to create the hypnotic suggestion that now is the time to trance as well as what kind of trance you want to engage in. Use different incense, scented oils, and perfumes to trigger different muscle memory states. Use each scent consistently and for no other purpose to keep those associations strong. They will build over time.

You can also paint symbols on your body that have deeper occult meanings for you personally or culturally. I use mud, henna, and wood ash to create designs on my body for this. They can be for protection, for magic, for enhancement, for whatever you need. Just use them consistently and for no other purpose than this.

This is a good stage to start developing group trancework as well. Through repetitive chain or circle dances with others. Just like with the musician's trance training described above, you will want to learn and perfect the dances you want to use while fully awake and then begin conditioning yourself to relax while doing them in a trance. This places the burden of movement on your muscle memory rather than your active wakeful mind.

As a musician, you can start weaving more complicated rhythms and start developing your skills at improvisation. To do this as a singer, take one or two songs that you know really well and start amusing yourself by crafting new lyrics for them. Do it often in a wakeful state. The goal of this is to condition the mind to be able to improvise lyrics in an altered state. This is used in traditional Mediterranean mediumship where the ability to spontaneously compose verse from the perspective of the dead provides proof of state. With an instrument you will probably end up going down a folkloric numerical rabbit hole. Where each number has a spiritual significance and you start anchoring the music you make to those numerical associations.

Ecstatic Trance -Spiritwork. Any trancework that involves spirits other than your own but not gods. This can be a form of automatic mediumship, or some form of possession. The Cult of the Winds and some of the trancework relating to both the Mountain Mothers & Dionysos fit this description.

There are so many angles to developing the knowledge and skills for this type of trancework. If you are a Bride then you would initiate into a living tradition or a reconstructed one with people that you trust. To develop skills as a Bride, you will want to practice extremely strict compartmentalization and reinforcement of your hypnotic triggers. The exact parameters of what you would do here depends on what spirit you are a Bride to.

If you are a musician then you will spend a lot of time memorizing threads (spirit chants) and rhythms. There can be dozens to hundreds of threads depending on which spirit cult you are involved with. You will also devote some energy to strict compartmentalization of your hypnotic triggers, which are also cult specific.

If you are training as a monitor (someone who watches over the entranced), you will spend a lot of time in the trenches watching the body language of the entranced and learning to read the signs to interpret what is going on. And, of course, you will spend time learning how to troubleshoot various scenarios where your skills will be tested.

If you are training to be a lead musician then buckle up because you will have to learn all of it and then some. To be a lead musician is to intimately and skillfully be able to perform every role used in trancework. You will also want to start acquiring gear that your trance group will need to host a ritual. (I'll make a separate post on what kind of materials you will want to have on hand for that.)

Euphoric or Enthusiastic Trance -Bridalwork, which is ecstatic trance with gods instead of spirits. This will also be cult specific. Some euphoric traditions just focus on becoming closer to divinity for no other purpose than it is holy and desirable. Others use music as a diagnostic process to see if a person has run afoul of a god. And still others utilize euphoric trance to drive away lesser spirits who are making problems for mortals.

This is the most formal type of trancework there is. That formality is there as a safety feature and to facilitate the creation of proof of state. The more strict you are with this type of trancework, the farther you will go with it. It takes a lot of faith. You have to know what you are doing with absolute certitude and commit to it fully. The more reverence you put into it in your waking life, the deeper your connection while entranced.

Unfortunately those three different ritual goal styles listed in the description have radically different needs so I cannot help too much in a general sense. The major thing that connects them is that formality though. So focus on that, cultivate strong relationships with divinity by doing things the way you are supposed to do them when you are supposed to do them. And this will build over time and repetition.

A Final Note Taking your sweet time is very important. Rushing to an imagined destination or an end goal will create a weak foundation. I recommend spending at least a year of active weekly development on your skills for each stage before actively moving on to the next. You can build your skills in each type of trance up all at the same time but it will still take years. The longer you keep at it and more consistently you do it the more you will be able to do with it. This is a lifelong pursuit.

Hope this helps! Good luck.

#trance work #hellenic polytheism #spiritwork

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atzgo · 3 months

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A Race Against Darkness: The Curse of the Dark Mark

summary: In a thrilling race against time, Professor Tom Riddle and Nadia Potter face a dire challenge when a cursed dark mark mysteriously appears on Nadia's skin. The mark, pulsing with dark magic, threatens to consume her entirely. As the curse's influence grows stronger, Nadia's energy starts to fade away.

Content Warnings: a whole lot of angst, blood, dark magic and curses, vomiting, mentions of torture, physical contact between professor and student (no smut)

Word Count: 8.1 k

A/N: I tagged this fic as x reader however the female character does have a mentioned name "Nadia Potter", the name only pops up once maybe twice but that's it, her brother Harry is thrown in there but never mentioned by name only referred to as "her brother" twice, physical description of Nadia is never described.

This is also my first ever fic so!!!

P.s I got inspiration for the first two paragraphs from @ holybonez on c.ai from her Prof tom riddle bot so giving credit where credit is due, I did reword it and the rest of the story is my own, just those two starting paragraphs that gave inspiration to me to write this! <3

all characters are 18+ !!!

In the quiet and secluded classroom of Professor Tom Riddle, you find yourself studying without permission, taking a risk for the sake of uninterrupted focus.

Not long ago, you noticed the dark mark on your arm, though you had no recollection of how it got there. The mark’s presence has been a constant source of unease and curiosity. As you gently roll up your sleeve to examine it more closely, tracing the intricate design with your fingers, the door creaks open. Jumping slightly, you hastily roll down the sleeve of your robes. Tom Riddle unexpectedly enters the room, his eyes immediately locking onto you, a questioning gaze on his face as he takes notice of your panicked state.

"Nadia Potter. Why are you in my classroom?" He walked over and rested against his desk with a purposeful stride. "You know it's against school rules for students to be in an empty classroom without a teacher present," he stated calmly, his gaze fixed firmly on you. "I'm aware... It won't happen again," you whispered, preparing yourself for whatever consequences might come. His eyes moved over your appearance, examining everything from your shoes to your hair, as if carefully analyzing every detail. After a long silence that reverberated in the room, he spoke once more.

“Roll up your sleeves” his voice strong and resolute. A surge of panic washed over you as you locked eyes with him. "W-why are you asking me to do that?" you stuttered, unable to hide your anxiety. A smirk formed on his lips as he moved away from the desk and closed in on you. Standing just a few inches away, he lowered his voice. "Did I not make myself clear?"

You stood motionless, your mind racing. It seemed impossible to escape with the door so far away and his presence so close. Before you could react, Professor Riddle firmly took hold of your wrist and slowly rolled up your sleeve. His smirk remained as he spoke again. "Now the other sleeve."

Your mind was filled with fear and confusion, and tears started to form in your eyes. "No, you can't do that! You have no right!" you objected, but he disregarded your tears and swiftly rolled up the other sleeve to reveal your forearm. His eyes slightly widened at the sight of the mark etched on your skin. "And why can't I?" he asked, firmly holding your chin and pulling you closer to him.

"Professors are not allowed to touch students," you replied, with a wavering defiance in your voice. His grip tightened as he locked eyes with you, as if searching for something in your expression. A tear slipped down your cheek as you tasted the salty reminder of your vulnerability on your lips.

Filled with fear and confusion, your mind was overwhelmed, and tears welled up in your eyes. "No, you don't have the right to do that!" you protested, but he ignored your tears and quickly rolled up the other sleeve, revealing your forearm. Upon seeing the mark etched on your skin, his eyes widened slightly. "And why can't I?" he inquired, firmly grasping your chin and drawing you closer to him.

"Professors are prohibited from touching students," you asserted. His grip intensified as he locked eyes with you, almost as if he was searching for something in your expression. A tear trickled down your cheek, a salty taste entering your mouth.

He noticed the tear gliding down your cheek and quickly wiped it away with his thumb before looking into your eyes once more. "Why are you crying?" he asked, his cool tone from before being replaced by a softer one.

You were surprised by his sudden kindness as you said, "How do I get rid of it... the mark? You're a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher; you must know..."

Your voice shook with desperation as Professor Riddle's expression softened even more. He gently released his grip on your chin, understanding the depth of your fear.

"The Dark Mark is permanent once it's given. I assume you didn't receive it willingly...?" he asked with empathy.

“I found it when I woke up this morning, I can’t live with this”. Tears were flowing down my face as I spoke.

Professor Riddle understood your anguish. He softened his grip on your wrist and ran his fingers along the mark. "Has it been causing you pain?" he asked gently.

"It's been constant... Spells haven't helped, and I can't risk going to the hospital wing at Hogwarts, I could get expelled, they’d never give me a chance to explain if they caught a glimpse of it," you admitted, anxiety palpable in your voice. He continued to hold your arm, his touch comforting, as his fingers carefully traced the mark.

Releasing your wrist gently, he took hold of your chin, encouraging you to look at him.

"If I had to make a guess, the Dark Lord is the one who put it on you," he asserted with determination, his tone firm yet gentle.

"How? I've been at Hogwarts all this time, even during breaks. I thought I was safe here," you said, tears streaming down your face as you were engulfed by confusion.

Professor Riddle's expression softened even more as he pulled you closer, with his hand still grasping your chin.

"The Dark Lord's ways are unknown. If he wanted to mark you, he would find a way. Rest assured, as long as you're at Hogwarts, you are out of his reach..."

"If others find out... I could be expelled! Sirius won't take me back, my friends will abandon me, my brother will never speak to me again! There has to be a way to remove it," you begged, fear taking hold of you.

He held you tightly, feeling an unexpected tightening in his chest. Setting aside distracting thoughts, he concentrated on the current situation. "I will make sure no one discovers this. I’ll find a solution... I promise you," he reassured, sensing your anxiety diminish.

Your breaths became steady at his words, his reassuring presence bringing comfort. Pulling you closer, he continued to reassure you, his arm snaking around your waist, thumb gently rubbing circles into your skin.

"Are you feeling better?" he inquired gently, his concern evident in the tone of his voice. You gave a slight nod, feeling the tears subsiding as relief swept over you. "And the pain... none of the spells or potions that should work haven’t," you confessed, seeking his advice.

Professor Riddle carefully examined the mark before returning his gaze to yours.

"This mark is different from any I've encountered before. I will research potential treatments for the pain. It might take time, but I am determined to find a solution," he reassured you.

"Thank you, Professor. Your dedication means a lot," you responded softly, a hesitant smile appearing on your face.

"You seem tired. I can tell you're distressed, no doubt since finding the mark this morning," he said gently. You tiredly nodded, realizing how much the day had taken out of you. "I think I should go back to my dorm," you said, feeling comforted by his presence.

Professor Riddle agreed, moving away from you and heading towards his desk. "Get some rest. I will start researching the mark tonight," he promised, looking at you with newfound warmth.

Appreciative of his unexpected kindness and determination to help, you turned to leave, feeling reassured by his presence in the midst of uncertainty.

Throughout the night, Tom worked tirelessly to find a way to remove the dark mark, but unfortunately, he wasn't able to make any progress. Despite feeling exhausted from the sleepless night, he remained determined to find a solution. The next morning, Tom arrived at the classroom early, looking noticeably pale, but he didn't acknowledge any concerns about his appearance. Seated at his desk, he carefully reviewed the notes from his research, hoping for a breakthrough. When the bell announced the start of the day, he glanced up expectantly, anticipating your entrance.

Quietly, you entered the room, making sure nobody spotted you before softly shutting the door. Signs of fatigue were evident on your face, a reflection of a sleepless night. Tom observed as you settled in, offering a gentle greeting.

“Good morning.”

Noticing your weary appearance, he couldn't ignore the worry creeping over him. Pushing these emotions aside, he focused on the immediate moment.

“You didn’t manage to get any sleep last night, did you?”

"No," you confessed, your voice weighed down by exhaustion. "The pain gets worse every day. I can't sleep, and I've lost my appetite."

Your words filled Tom with worry, as he empathized with your difficult situation.

"Are you not eating at all...?" he asked softly, leaning in to closely inspect your tired face.

"No," you whispered almost inaudibly, eyes cast downward.

The pain in Tom's chest grew stronger. It hurt him to see you in this state, neglecting your basic needs. He reached out, gently touching the side of your face, his touch a blend of reassurance and worry.

"You need to have something to eat...," he said.

"I can't," you replied, your distress evident. "Whenever I try, I feel nauseous."

Tom felt his heart constrict even more. Your reluctance to eat was seriously affecting your health. His eyes locked on you with a blend of concern and resolve.

"Tell me, when was the last time you had a meal?" he asked gently.

"It's been two days," you confessed softly, a realization dawning on your face.

Tom's heart dropped at this admission. Two days without proper nourishment—how were you coping? He tapped underneath your chin, encouraging you to look into his eyes.

"You really should eat something. You'll waste away if you don't..."

You expressed your fears: "I don't know what to do. There are consequences whether I eat or not," with a sense of resignation and tears forming in your eyes. Tom felt a pang of helplessness, unable to bear seeing you suffer.

Despite his usual detachment, he found himself caring deeply for you. “There has to be something I can do…” he muttered to himself, feeling more determined than ever to find a solution.

Gently cupping your chin, he urged you to look at him. “Please… just eat something…” "I know what will happen, and frankly, I’d rather starve," you insisted, maintaining defiant eye contact.

Tom felt a pang in his heart at your insistence. He couldn't understand why he was so concerned, but he couldn't bear to see you suffering.

"Could you please have at least a small snack," he asked in a softer tone.

You hesitated for a moment, weighing in your options "Alright," you conceded, a faint smile appearing on your face. "But if I feel unwell, I'll blame you."

Tom felt a wave of relief as you agreed. Any form of nourishment, no matter how small, was a step forward. He mustered a slight smile in response.

"Don't worry, I'll take the blame," he reassured you gently.

Digging into your bag, you found a green apple that Draco had given you earlier. After looking at it for a few moments, you take a bite, letting out a soft sigh, feeling relieved to have taken the first step.

Tom was taken aback by your compliance but visibly eased. He kept a close watch on you, alternating his gaze between you and the apple, ready for any sudden discomfort.

You managed a few bites, a glimmer of hope emerging as you felt relief wash over you. However, suddenly, a wave of nausea engulfed you, shattering your temporary relief.

The apple slipped from your hand, falling to the floor as you quickly made your way to the bin in the corner of the room. Tom's eyes widened in concern as he stood up, closing the distance between you.

Placing a comforting hand on your back, he gently rubbed up and down, hoping to provide you with some comfort, his heart ached as the sounds of your retching filled his ears. You felt embarrassed as you vomited, thankful that your head was hidden by the trash can. Tears mixed with distress as you struggled, feeling vulnerable in front of your professor.

Tom's heart pained with each sound you made, but he didn't turn away. He kept his hand steady on your back, offering a soothing, regular pat as he stood by you until you were completely done.

After you regained some composure, he gently led you away from the bin and helped you sit in a chair nearby. Kneeling in front of you, he kept comforting you by rubbing your back tenderly, his touch soft against your trembling body. You were breathing heavily, your hands shaking, tears streaming down your cheeks—it had only been two days, yet it already felt like an eternity.

He felt his chest constrict as he saw you in so much distress. Tom took a seat next to you on the floor, keeping his hand on your back as he gently rubbed it, trying to offer comfort without causing more distress. At that moment, all he desired was to hold you tightly and protect you from the pain until it vanished.

"If it's not gone in a week... then I can't guarantee that I’ll still be here," you murmured, your voice filled with determination.

Tom's heart raced, his hand pausing on your back. Gazing at you, his tone was resolute, allowing no room for argument. "Don't even entertain that idea, do you understand?"

"This is hell... there are no records of the dark mark causing this effect on people.. so, how are we to cure it?" you whispered, your distress apparent in your voice.

Tom felt an even deeper pang of sadness at your words. The idea of the dark mark affecting you so severely was unbearable. His mind raced with countless possibilities; there had to be a solution. Meeting your eyes, he spoke in a determined, low voice.

"We will find a way... I will find a solution for you. I refuse to give up, and I won't let you give up either. You will overcome this, you must overcome this..." he whispered the last few words to himself, in attempts to bring him comfort.

You were adamant, insisting, "One week is all I can give.. I can't keep going for much longer."

Tom's breath caught at the thought of you losing hope in a week. He held your hands tightly, his eyes filled with determination.

"No, you can't put a time on this. I promised I will find a solution for you. You can't give up," he said firmly.

"By then, I might not even be alive... You saw how it went just now. I can only keep down water... My body won't make it like this," you whispered, tears forming once again.

Your grim prediction weighed heavily on him.

"You will not be dead in a week, don’t think like that, you will come out on the better side of this.. so promise me you won’t give up so soon."

"Fine, I promise" you finally conceded, your voice almost inaudible.

Tom let out a quiet sigh of relief. While still holding your hands, he loosened his grasp slightly and began to gently stroke the backs of your hands with his thumbs. Despite intense emotions welling up inside him, he fought to keep his composure.

You sat at the Slytherin table amidst your friends, enveloped in a silence that echoed louder than any conversation. Chin resting on your hand, you stared blankly ahead, your eyes fixed on the wall, unseeing. Not a single bite of food had touched your lips since you arrived, lost in thoughts that seemed to drown out the lively chatter around you.

Sitting at the head of the staff table, Tom focused all his attention on you. He watched as you remained motionless among friends, a look of worry forming in his chest. It was evident that you had no desire to eat, your empty stare fixed on the wall as if attempting to flee from your thoughts. Nobody at the table appeared to register your distress, preoccupied with their concerns and oblivious to the inner turmoil you were experiencing.

Meanwhile your eyes fill with tears as you come to grips with the harsh reality of your situation: your life is hanging by a thread, and time is slipping away. While those around you laugh and have fun, you grapple with the grim uncertainty of how much time remains. Suddenly, you rise from your seat, disregarding your friends’ calls, and storm out of the Great Hall, seeking solace in the tranquillity of the girl's bathroom.

Tom’s eyes widen as he watches you leave in haste, concern etched deeply on his face. He sees the worry wash over him like a wave, wondering what could have driven you to leave so abruptly. Amidst the oblivious conversations at the table, he can’t ignore the urgency to check on you. Ignoring the limitations of his position as a professor, his heart compels him to go after you.

Rushing down the hallway, you rub at your eyes attempting to unsuccessfully stop the flood of tears. Arriving at the bathroom, you grip the sink tightly, knuckles turning white from the force as sobs rack your body. It feels like an endless torment, each tear a reminder to the pain that has consumed you for days.

Standing outside the bathroom door, Tom’s heart shatters with every sob that echoes through the silence. He longs to barge in, to hold you close and reassure you that everything will somehow be alright. But he remains rooted in place, torn between his duty as a professor and his overwhelming desire to comfort a distraught student.

Staring into the mirror, tears streaming down your face, you take in your grim appearance staring at back at you. Your hand finds its way to your wand, a chilling thought forming in the depths of despair. Whispering to yourself, “He doesn’t have to know” you contemplate actions that could bring an escape from your pain.

Tom is motionless when he hears your quiet words, feeling each syllable like a jolt of fear. Every instinct tells him to act, to stop any hasty decisions. With his heart pounding, he can't just stand and watch, waiting for a disaster to happen.

Tom pushes the bathroom door open and strides in with determination. Your tear-filled, red and swollen eyes meet his, showing a mix of despair and relief as he arrives.

He never looks away from your eyes as he talks, his tone remaining steady even though he's filled with emotions.

“Put the wand down…”

Your head shakes involuntarily as the weight of your words hangs heavy in the air. "I can't do this anymore…"

Tom feels his heart skip a beat at your statement. His mind races, trying to comprehend the seriousness of what you have just expressed, although he dreads that he already understands. Slowly, cautiously, he takes another step closer, his voice steady yet tinged with desperation.

"Put the wand down, please… You aren’t going to do that…"

In response, you point your wand at him, your hand trembling with the weight of your emotions. "You don't understand! You have no idea what it's like… to live like this," your voice quivers with every word.

Tom’s breath hitches as he stares down the wand pointed at him. His heart pounds, his own voice betraying the fear and concern that gnaw at him.

"It's tough, but you're stronger than this. You don't have to give up.. Please, lower the wand…"

"I don't have much time left. I can't seek help from Dumbledore, Pomfrey, or even my own brother to extend my life! This is the end… There is no solution, not in books, not even in restricted sources! Nothing!" Despair fills your voice, each word reflecting the depth of your hopelessness.

Tom fights the urge to grab the wand from your hand. Instead, he begs, his voice filled with desperation and anguish.

"I've been searching tirelessly to find anything that might be able to cure you… I just need more time…"

"You've been saying that all along… and yet, here we are," you softly say, the weight of defeat evident in your voice. It's a painful recognition of the shared battle against an unavoidable fate.

Tom appears directly in front of you, his eyes fixed on yours, his words filled with emotion.

"… Just a bit longer, please…"

"I have no time! I can't eat or sleep, I can barely function without falling down!" Tear stains mark your cheeks as you speak with emotion choking your words.

Tom’s heart feels like it's on the verge of breaking, seeing you in such pain. His own eyes well up with tears reflecting your anguish as he speaks in a trembling voice.

“Please, just a few more days. I'm working so hard to find something… Please, just hold on…”

After you lower the wand from pointing at him, a brief sense of relief crosses Tom’s face. However, it quickly changes to shock as you direct it towards your own neck. Without hesitation, he moves quickly, grabbing the wand from your grasp and pulling you close to him.

“NO!” he shouts.

You let out a cry as he wraps you in his arms, his hold strong and resolute. In that moment, you feel utterly out of control, understanding that your last attempt to escape has been foiled.

"Never do that again…"

Tom clings tightly to your arm, one hand supporting the back of your head, refusing to release you. He senses your body shaking against his, torn between distress and solace.

“no..” you object, sobbing as your hands weakly strike against his chest, futile in your resistance against his strength. "You can't put me through this!"

“I said never again…”

His tone is resolute, authoritative, as he draws you into a tighter embrace, keeping you steady.

As you struggle against him, Tom’s arms tighten around you, preventing you from falling. Your face presses against his chest, you whisper your plea, your voice barely audible.

"Stop trying to keep me alive…"

“No” his voice firm yet gentle “I will never give up on you.. never..”

Tom’s voice is resolute, refusing to entertain the notion of giving up. He holds you close, his arms a shield against your despair, determined to fight for you even when you can’t find the strength to fight for yourself.

The past few days had been an agonizing blur for the young professor. He found himself pacing in his office, flipping through tomes in a desperate search for any solution to your predicament.

He hadn't slept for two days, as the stress of knowing someone was suffering and his own inability to help ate away at his conscience. In the still darkness of his room, Tom lay awake, tormented by thoughts of you. His worry for your well-being prevented any chance of rest, despite the need to prepare for morning classes.

Tom struggled with feelings of guilt as he lay wide awake, realizing that he couldn't inquire about your well-being without crossing professional boundaries. The act of confiscating your wand in the restroom lingered in his mind; although necessary to prevent harm, it weighed heavily on his heart.

As the sun started to rise, Tom remained in bed, worn out but unable to find comfort in sleep. Dark circles accentuated his eyes, evidence of his troubled night. Thoughts of your upcoming lessons weighed on his mind; he understood that you approached each day with suffering and diminishing strength.

During the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, you found it challenging to concentrate as you sat at the back. This subject used to be your favourite, but now even the simplest tasks seem difficult to grasp. Tom, attempting to maintain his composure, moved around the students and stole glances at your distant figure.

Your usual enthusiasm had vanished, replaced by a fog of pain and exhaustion. Every moment felt like a battle against overwhelming despair, leaving concentration an impossible goal.

As the lesson came to an end, Tom watched as the students left. He stayed at his desk, pretending to organize papers, but truly waiting for an opportunity to check on you.

You gathered your things slowly as the room emptied around you, with Tom watching and feeling his heart breaking with every moment he spent witnessing your pain.

After the last student left and the door clicked shut, Tom rapidly closed the distance between us. He spoke with a soft yet urgent voice that cut through the lingering silence.

“I need to talk to you…”

"Unless it's a solution to my problem… then I don't want to hear it," you responded sharply, with frustration evident in your voice. Tom flinched, hurt evident in his eyes, but he pressed on with determination.

“I’ve been searching for a solution all this time… I haven’t found anything useful yet, but I promise I won’t give up… I’m not giving up on you…”

"Well I have," you replied bitterly, your determination unwavering. "I'm finished, Professor. Because there is no solution! There is no escape from this…"

Tom's hand gently rested on your shoulder, his touch silently pleading. His voice shook with emotion as he spoke, determined to convey his resolve.

"You can't just surrender… There must be a solution… I'll find a way to assist you, you just have to trust me…"

"You have no idea… of the torture you're putting me through," you responded, your voice filled with anguish. Tom's grip on your shoulder tightened, his pain evident as he struggled to reply.

“Just give up already” you sneer at him

Leaving without saying another word, you threw your bag over your shoulder and angrily left the classroom. Tom was torn, unsure whether to follow after you or respect the boundaries between you. With fists clenched, he chose to stay put, feeling overwhelmed by his inability to help you.

Alone in the quiet classroom, Tom felt his heart sink. He had hoped that his words would bring some comfort, but instead, they seemed to deepen the despair. Standing there, he grappled with the realization that his efforts might have pushed you further into darkness.

you made your way toward the girl’s bathroom; the burden of your illness was too much to handle in the classroom. you didn't attend lessons, instead dropping your bag and collapsing onto your knees in a stall, clutching your skirt as dry heaves wracked your body, squeezing your stomach when there was nothing left to expel.

When Tom managed to leave the classroom and get to the girls' bathroom, his heart was heavy with a premonition of what you might be going through. He couldn’t bear the thought of you facing this alone.

When he entered the bathroom, the sight of you kneeling before the toilet, retching with nothing to show for it, shattered his heart.

Tom couldn't bear to stay still any longer, so he crouched down next to you, perching on his knees. His soft hand settled on your back, making slow circles to provide reassurance.

"Just let it all out…"

You wept into the toilet, the sound carrying your anguish. Amid such a terrible moment, his comforting touch was a small source of comfort.

"shh… just breath, darling…"

Despite feeling a glimmer of calm thanks to his presence, another wave of sickness overcame you. As you opened your eyes, they met with a horrifying sight – blood pooling in the toilet, more dribbling from your mouth.

My body collapsed backward, leaning against the stall wall, panic seizing me as blood continued to flow from my lips.

Tom immediately rushed to your side, his arms supporting your weight against the wall. His heart raced with fear at the sight of your deteriorating state, feeling utterly powerless.

“Just try to stay calm, alright? Just breathe…”

Despite your efforts to regulate your breathing, fear still gripped your entire body. Tom held you tightly against him, your back pressed against his chest, his arm wrapped around your waist trying to steady your trembling form.

“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart… Just try and breathe, okay? Just keep breathing…”

Lying there against him, another violent cough wracked your body, more blood splattering out, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“I changed my mind… I don’t want to die…” you whisper, voice hoarse.

He heard the pain in your strained voice, and his heart ached for you. The blood’s effect on your throat was evident, adding to his anguish.

“You’re not going to die… you’re going to be okay, love…”

“It’s because I’m a Potter, isn’t it?” you forced a laugh, which only resulted in a fit of bloody coughs.

His heart clenched with guilt at your words. He held you tighter, yearning to ease your pain.

“Don’t speak, sweetheart. Just rest your voice for a moment, okay?”

He continued to hold you close, whispering softly, his touch and voice offering the only comfort in this harrowing moment.

“Can you look at me, sweetheart?”

Your eyes flickered up to his, and he saw the struggle within you as you forced yourself to take deep breaths.

In that bathroom stall, amidst pain and fear, you found a brief respite in his embrace. Tom’s presence was a lifeline, a steady force of comfort and support in the midst of your darkest hour.

Taking repetitive deep breaths, you choked intermittently, focused on the task he had set for you. Each breath felt like a battle against the curse ravaging your body, each cough a painful reminder of the ordeal.

His heart ached as he listened to the deep breaths interspersed with coughs. Each sound echoed the agony you endured, intensifying his guilt.

He gently pressed his palm against your forehead, gauging your feverish warmth. The realization that you were still too hot under his touch pained him deeply.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart… just keep breathing like that…”

Tom continued his soothing touch, tracing gentle circles on your back. His other hand remained on your forehead, sensing the lingering heat despite the temporary calmness.

His heart hurt knowing this was only the beginning of your suffering. He yearned to trade places with you, to shoulder this anguish instead.

You released your grip on your skirt, letting your hand rest on your stomach. Your gaze remained fixed, concentrating on maintaining steady breaths.

Feeling you finally relax against him, Tom continued to rub your back soothingly, relieved to see you easing your grip and finding a bit of reprieve.

“Just rest your focus on keeping that steady breathing, love… You’re doing so well…”

His touch and voice brought a serene peace, helping you focus on the rhythmic breathing that brought a fleeting sense of tranquillity amidst the turmoil.

Tom found solace in your relaxed state against him. Feeling your body ease brought him a sense of comfort he desperately needed.

You felt his steady heartbeat against you, a silent assurance that you weren’t alone. His closeness offered security you hadn’t felt in a long time, a shared moment of vulnerability.

He observed as you raised your hand to wipe away the remaining blood staining your lips, a pang hitting his heart. Gently grasping your wrist, he lifts your hand away from your face, his touch soft yet firm.

“Careful… don’t keep touching your lip like that,…. I’ll take care of it in a minute…”

“It feels disgusting.. want it gone…”

Your voice was hoarse, a painful reminder of the toll the curse had taken on your throat.

Understanding your disgust and discomfort, Tom’s heart ached. He spoke softly, fingers gently guiding your chin to keep your face turned towards him.

“I know it does…. Just give me a moment, okay? I’ll take care of it, sweetheart…” You nodded slightly, trusting him to help, a flicker of relief knowing you weren’t facing this alone.

Releasing your chin, Tom retrieved his wand from his pocket. With a soft, reassuring tone, he asked you to close your eyes.

“Close your eyes for me, just for a moment…”

Hesitating briefly, you closed your eyes slowly, finding a rare moment of peace after days of turmoil.

Tom directed his wand towards your face, whispering the cleaning spell. “Tergeo…”

Watching the blood disappear, he felt a wave of relief. The sight of your clean lips eased his heart, a small reprieve from the pain etched on your face.

“You can open your eyes now, sweetheart…”

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze instantly, a sense of relief washing over him. Feeling a bit better, you were grateful not to be overwhelmed by panic.

He smiled softly, holding your face gently, his eyes fixed on yours, his voice low and soothing.

“There you are… I’m glad you seem a bit calmer now…”

You said nothing, overwhelmed with thoughts of the suffering ahead. How long would this ordeal last? “All i want is to sleep..” You muttered, too exhausted to cry.

Your exhaustion and pain were palpable in your tired voice, and it made his heart clench. He desperately hoped that you would find some relief in sleep, even if only for a short while.

"I know, love… I wish you could rest now…"

"use the enchanted sleep charm…" you whispered, softly

Your eyes pleaded with him as they met his, urging him to allow you the comfort of sleep.

Seeing your pleading gaze tugged at his heart, making him conflicted about using the sleep charm on you in such a vulnerable state. Nevertheless, he recognized that it might provide the relief you so desperately needed.

"Are you certain that's what you want?"

With concern lacing his soft voice, he hesitates as he contemplates your plea.

"I'm exhausted… Please, I need it," you say, the weariness and desperation evident in your tone.

The weight of your request burdens him, stirring a sense of guilt at the idea of using the spell on you. However, he senses your fatigue and knows he needs to do whatever he can to assist.

"Fine… I'll do it, but just for a short while, okay?" he agrees softly, his nod tinged with a mix of compassion and apprehension. In response, you nod, gratitude evident in your eyes as you understand his decision.

With appreciation for your understanding and gratitude for your trust, he offers a gentle smile despite his own uncertainties.

Gently resting his palm on your jaw, he keeps his touch tender, ensuring your eyes stay connected with his.

“Keep your eyes open for just a moment for me, okay?"

"Mhm…" You softly murmur, hoping the spell will grant you the peace you long for, even if only temporarily.

Seeing your agreement, he smiles softly, as he prepares to cast the spell.

After he utters the spell, a sense of relief washes over you. Your eyelids close gently, your breath becomes steady, and your body becomes limp in his arms.

Letting out a deep exhale, he feels a burden lift from his chest as he observes you finally finding tranquillity in sleep.

He maintains his closeness, gently holding your relaxed body. From your forehead to your hair, his fingertips softly glide, providing comfort as he places a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

"There you go… You're safe."

Since the sleep charm took hold of your body, time seemed to stretch on endlessly. Vomiting blood had become apart of your daily routine, as regular as the sunrise. It had been two weeks since the cursed mark first showed up, yet any hint of a remedy remained out of reach.

During Defence Against the Dark Arts class, you remained silent, feeling your hope fade with each passing moment. Tom's attentive gaze never wandered far from you as he conducted his lecture. His worry was obvious, seen in the quick glances he cast your way, observing every hint of discomfort or pain that flitted across your face.

While you struggled to concentrate on Tom's teachings, you couldn't shake the feeling of his intense gaze fixated on you. Just when you started to feel some peace, the familiar metallic taste flooded your mouth, causing a wave of silent panic. The presence of other students in the room only amplified your anxiety, as you knew what was about to unfold.

Tom continued with his lesson, fully engrossed, but he remained acutely aware of any small changes in your behaviour. His heart sank as he saw the panic taking over you, indicating the beginning of another round of suffering. Without a second thought, he carefully made his way over to you, his steps purposeful yet inconspicuous, not wanting to attract unnecessary attention.

Seconds passed, and before you could react, pain seized you, doubling over in your seat as blood spilled from your lips. Tom reached you swiftly, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm. Kneeling beside you, he glanced briefly at the other students before focusing entirely on your distress.

"This is so humiliating," you whispered hoarsely, tears welling up as you struggled to contain the situation. Tom's voice, low and steady, cut through the chaos, soothing me with reassurance.

"Try to block them out for now. Concentrate on your breathing."

"Please, get me out of here," you pleaded, your tear-filled eyes locked onto his.

Tom's response was immediate and decisive. "Come on. I'll take you to the infirmary."

Taking a deep breath, you steadied yourself, finding a glimmer of hope in his steady guidance. Holding tightly onto his hand, we navigated the corridors, his voice a gentle murmur of encouragement as we neared the sanctuary of the infirmary.

"Just a little further, sweetheart," he murmured softly, his touch a comforting reassurance against the turmoil raging inside you.

Upon reaching the infirmary, relief washed over us as the door swung open, ushering us into a haven of calm amidst the turmoil of the day. The room was quiet, save for a few occupied beds, offering a sense of privacy and respite. Tom led you to an unoccupied bed, his demeanour calm yet filled with concern as he helped you settle.

"Here we are, away from prying eyes," he said gently, his words a balm to your frazzled nerves.

"I just want it to be over," you whimpered, fresh tears streaming down your cheeks.

Tom's heart ached at your anguish, his touch tender as he comforted you. "I know, sweetheart. I wish there was more I could do to ease your pain."

Sensing a presence nearby, you whispered anxiously, "What if she sees the mark?"

Tom's expression turned serious, his voice low as he assured you, "It'll be alright. Stay calm. I'll make sure she doesn't notice."

Nodding in trust, you felt a wave of relief knowing Tom was there to shield you. Madam Pomfrey approached, her eyes scrutinizing our scene with a mix of concern and authority.

Tom met Madam Pomfrey's gaze steadily, his expression calm despite the urgency he felt. He knew he had to tread carefully to protect you from any unnecessary scrutiny.

"Madam Pomfrey, she's feeling unwell," he began, his voice measured and composed. "I was just bringing her here to rest for a bit."

Madam Pomfrey's gaze shifted to you, her brow furrowing as she took in your pale complexion and the traces of blood on your face. Her concern deepened, but Tom maintained his reassuring demeanour.

"She had a sudden bout of illness in class," Tom continued, choosing his words carefully. "I thought it best to bring her here immediately."

Madam Pomfrey nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing slightly as she assessed the situation. She approached you with a gentle but firm manner, preparing to examine you more closely.

"Let me take a look at you, dear," she said kindly, reaching for her wand. "We'll see what we can do to help."

You glanced nervously at Tom, silently pleading for his guidance in this moment of uncertainty. He nodded subtly, his eyes conveying reassurance as he squeezed your hand gently.

"It's okay," he whispered softly. "She's here to help."

You nodded hesitantly, allowing Madam Pomfrey to proceed with her examination. Tom stood by your side, his presence a steady anchor amidst the turmoil of the situation. As Madam Pomfrey began her assessment, Tom kept a watchful eye on you, silently praying for a solution to end your suffering.

Madam Pomfrey's examination was thorough yet gentle, her experienced hands and wand moving with practiced precision as she checked your vitals and assessed your condition. With each passing moment, Tom's concern grew palpable, his eyes never leaving your face, silently urging you to stay strong through this ordeal.

After what felt like an eternity of tense silence, Madam Pomfrey finally straightened up, her expression thoughtful yet composed. She glanced between you and Tom before speaking in a calm tone that belied the seriousness of the situation.

"I can see you're going through a lot, dear," she began, her voice laced with empathy. "We'll need to take some measures to manage your symptoms and monitor your condition closely."

Tom nodded in agreement, his gaze unwavering as he silently conveyed his support for whatever course of action Madam Pomfrey deemed necessary. He knew this was beyond his expertise, trusting in her ability to provide the best care possible.

Madam Pomfrey then turned to Tom, her expression softening slightly as she addressed him directly.

"Mr. Riddle, I'll need your assistance in ensuring her comfort and maintaining her privacy," she said with a hint of urgency. "We must keep a close watch on her condition and any developments."

Tom nodded again, his commitment to protecting your well-being unwavering. "Of course, Madam Pomfrey," he responded calmly. "I'll do whatever is needed to help."

With that, Madam Pomfrey began to lead the way, guiding both of you to a nearby bed where you could rest and receive the care you needed. Tom remained by your side, his hand still clasped gently in yours, offering silent reassurance and support as you navigate this challenging moment together.

As you settled onto the bed under Madam Pomfrey's watchful eye, Tom took a seat beside you, his presence a steadfast comfort amidst the uncertainty. He knew the road ahead would be difficult, but he was determined to stand by your side every step of the way, supporting you with unwavering loyalty and compassion.

"I'm scared," you quietly confided in him, making sure not to be overheard by the matron, the fear in your voice unmistakable.

Tom felt his heart tighten at your admission. Moving closer, he urgently but gently reassured you, his voice a comforting presence amid the anxiety surrounding us.

"I understand, love. It's natural to be afraid. But you're not alone. Madam Pomfrey is doing everything in her power to help us figure this out. Try to stay calm, okay?"

"Okay," you murmured softly, his hand gently squeezing yours in a gesture of silent support..

Your response brought a flicker of relief to Tom, and he was thankful that his touch could provide comfort in your shared unease. He held onto your hand firmly, keeping his gaze steady as Madam Pomfrey examined with a concerned and puzzled expression.

"Your body is being affected by some unknown form of magic, but I can't determine the exact cause," she said with furrowed brows.

Madam Pomfrey's words filled Tom with a surge of anxiety, as the uncertainty of the situation weighed heavily on him. He recognized that despite her expertise, there were limitations to what she could uncover. He turned to you, his eyes reflecting the concern that mirrored your own. "We'll figure this out," he murmured reassuringly, though his voice held a note of unease. "We just need to be patient and trust that Madam Pomfrey will find a way."

You weakly nodded, attempting to compose yourself despite the fear eating away at you inside. Tom's presence next to you was a source of stability, grounding you in the midst of the medical jargon.

Madam Pomfrey continued to examine the charts and magical symbols she had summoned, her forehead creasing further with each passing moment. "The healing charms are producing an unusual reaction," she murmured more to herself than to us. "There's a resistance that I can't quite explain."

Tom moved in closer, speaking in a hushed tone, "What does that mean?" Her gaze flickered between us, her expression troubled. "It means," she began carefully, "that whatever is affecting you is unlike anything I've encountered before. It's not just magical, it's… complex."

Her words made your heart sink, as a surge of despair felt like it might consume you. Tom silently expressed his support by tightening his grip on your hand. "What are our options?" he inquired, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his eyes.

Madam Pomfrey let out a soft sigh, her sympathetic gaze fixed on you. "At the moment, we'll observe and wait. I'll speak with some colleagues to gather any insights or experiences with similar cases."

and wait we did. patiently.

Weeks passed with a relentless rhythm of uncertainty and hope in the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey's consultations with other healers yielded little clarity on the mysterious ailment that gripped you. Despite her best efforts and the collective wisdom of experts, your condition continued to confound them all.

Tom remained a constant presence by your side, his support unwavering even as fatigue etched lines of concern on his face. Each day, he arrived early, often before you woke, and stayed late into the night, offering comfort through the long hours of tests, treatments, and waiting.

The infirmary became a second home, its white walls and sterile smell a stark contrast to the vibrant life you once knew outside. You missed the bustle of the Great Hall, the laughter of students, the company of your friends and your brother and the routine of classes. But most of all, you missed the freedom of being healthy and carefree.

Yet, despite his efforts, there were moments of despair that even his unwilling support couldn't dispel. On the darkest nights, when pain kept sleep at bay and fear gripped your heart like a vice, you would lie awake, listening to the distant sounds of the castle and wondering if life beyond these walls would ever be yours again.

One night, the infirmary window was illuminated by the silver glow of the moon, and you were having difficulty breathing. The pain had grown stronger, an unyielding ache that felt like it was penetrating every part of you. Beside you, Tom shifted in his chair, his eyes showing concern as he reached out to hold your hand.

"Are you feeling alright?" His voice was tender, but you could sense the underlying worry.

You managed a weak nod, though the effort left you breathless. "Just… hurts," you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible.

Tom pressed a cool cloth to your forehead, his touch soothing against your clammy skin. "I'm here," he murmured softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "We'll get through this, I promise."

The words offered a flicker of comfort, but you couldn't shake the fear that this pain marked a worsening of your condition. Madam Pomfrey had done everything within her power, yet answers remained elusive, leaving you to confront the harsh reality that your time might be running out.

Days blurred into nights, each filled with a cycle of hope and despair. Tom continued to balance his responsibilities as a professor with his unwavering commitment to your care. His dedication was a testament to the depth of his feelings, a silent declaration that spoke volumes even amid the chaos of your circumstances.

One afternoon, as sunlight filtered through the infirmary windows, Madam Pomfrey entered with a somber expression. Her footsteps echoed softly on the tiled floor, drawing both your attention.

"I've consulted with healers from across Europe," she began, her voice tinged with a mixture of exhaustion and determination. "There's one last possibility we haven't explored."

Tom leaned forward, his expression hopeful yet cautious. "What is it?"

She hesitated for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. "There's a rare potion, ancient and highly complex," she explained slowly. "It's not without risks, but given the circumstances…"

Your heart raced at the glimmer of hope her words ignited. Tom squeezed your hand gently, his eyes locked on Madam Pomfrey. "What do we need to do?"

Her gaze softened, recognizing the fragile thread of optimism that tethered you to her expertise. "I'll need to prepare the ingredients," she said quietly. "It will take time, and there are no guarantees."

Tom nodded solemnly, his resolve unwavering. "Do whatever you need to do," he said firmly. "We trust you."

Madam Pomfrey nodded, a hint of gratitude in her tired eyes. "I'll begin immediately," she assured you both before turning to gather the necessary components.

Working diligently to mix potions and prepare spells, Tom stood by my side, offering quiet comfort and companionship. We both understood the high stakes and uncertain outcome, but in that moment, hope burned bright in the face of adversity.

Hours stretched into agonizing anticipation, the air thick with tension as Madam Pomfrey meticulously completed her preparations. Finally, with a sigh of relief, she turned to both of you, a vial in hand.

"This is it," she said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of responsibility. "It needs to be administered carefully. Are you ready?"

You glanced at Tom, seeing the mirrored hope and fear reflected in his eyes. You nodded slowly, your heart pounding with a mixture of apprehension and desperate hope.

Madam Pomfrey approached with measured steps, her demeanor focused yet gentle. "This potion will be administered in small doses," she explained as she prepared a syringe with meticulous care. "It's designed to counteract the effects of the unknown magic, but its potency requires caution."

Tom took a steadying breath, his hand tightening around yours as Madam Pomfrey injected the first dose. A surge of warmth spread through your veins, followed by a wave of dizziness that made you clutch Tom's hand tighter.

"It's working," Madam Pomfrey murmured, a glimmer of relief in her voice. "Just a little more."

The minutes ticked by, each dose bringing a gradual easing of the pain that had plagued you for so long. Tom's presence beside you was a constant anchor, his quiet strength bolstering your resolve as you navigated this final, precarious hope.

At last, when the final dose was administered, Madam Pomfrey stepped back, her eyes fixed on you with a mixture of hope and apprehension. "Now we wait," she said softly.

Tom leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. "You're going to be alright," he whispered fiercely, his voice trembling with emotion.

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to believe in the possibility of a future beyond the confines of the infirmary walls. Beside you, Tom remained vigilant, his hand never leaving yours as you waited for the potion to take effect.

Hours passed in tense silence, the weight of your collective hope and fear hanging heavy in the air. Then, as dawn painted the sky outside the window, you felt a shift. The pain ebbed further, replaced by a sense of calm that settled deep within your weary bones.

"It's working," Madam Pomfrey breathed, her voice filled with wonder.

Tom's grip on your hand tightened, his relief palpable. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you whispered a silent prayer of gratitude, overwhelmed by the enormity of the moment.

With each passing hour, the effects of the potion became more pronounced, restoring strength and vitality that had seemed lost forever. You and Tom shared moments of cautious optimism, daring to dream of a future where laughter and light once again filled your days.

Days turned into weeks as you continued to recover under Madam Pomfrey's vigilant care. The infirmary walls no longer felt like a prison but a sanctuary where healing and hope flourished.

Tom was there every step of the way, celebrating small victories and offering unwavering support during setbacks. His love and devotion became the bedrock upon which you rebuilt your strength, his presence a constant reminder that life's greatest challenges could be faced with courage and resilience.

As you finally prepared to leave the infirmary, a mixture of emotions swirled within you. Gratitude for those who had stood by your side, determination to reclaim the life that had been put on hold, and a profound sense of love for the man who had never wavered in his belief that you could overcome even the darkest of trials.

Standing together at the threshold of a new beginning, Tom took your hand in his, his eyes shining with pride and joy. "We made it," he said softly, his voice filled with awe.

You nodded, overwhelmed by emotions that rendered you speechless. Instead of attempting words, you gazed up into his deep, dark eyes, now filled with hope and relief, sparkling like never before. Memories flooded your mind—moments of unwavering loyalty, his steadfast support through every trial. As you looked into his eyes, the golden sunlight bathing you both, a surge of courage and gratitude welled up inside.

Resting gently on his chest with one hand and finding its place on the back of his neck with the other, your lips hovered close to his, almost brushing against his, drawing you closer with a magnetic pull until the remaining distance was closed. The rush of warmth and reassurance spread through you the moment your lips met his. Instantly, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you tenderly, silently acknowledging the shared relief and joy.

You savored the taste of his lips, the feel of his arms around you, knowing that together, you had faced the darkest of trials and emerged stronger.

Breaking the kiss gently, you rested your forehead against his, breathing in sync with his steady heartbeat. "Thank you," you whispered softly, your voice barely audible but filled with all the love and gratitude you felt.

Tom's eyes, still locked with yours, reflected a depth of emotion that matched your own. "I love you," he murmured, his voice filled with emotion. "I love you too," you whispered, your voice shaking with the intensity of your emotions.

A tear of happiness escaped your eye as you spoke, tracing a path down your cheek as his words reached your ears.

As you looked ahead to the future, uncertainties still lingered, but you knew that as long as you were together, you could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

With Tom beside you, you felt invincible, ready to embrace the new beginnings that awaited outside the walls that had confined you for so long. The journey ahead would be filled with its own trials and joys, but with his love lighting the way, you were certain that your shared future would be nothing short of extraordinary.

And as the sun sets over Hogwarts, casting a warm glow over the grounds, you embrace the future with open hearts and a love that has proven itself unbreakable.

#fanfic #angst #fluff #professor tom riddle #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader #professor tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #tom hughes #harry potter #harry potter fanfic

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blackjack-hypnosis · 2 years

Text

>Loading: InitiationSequence.exe

> . . . > . . . > . . . >InitiationSequence.exe downloaded >File will now open, and Initiation Sequence will begin. Please continue to relax and obey. >Subject Objective: Seek out relaxing area without distraction for optimal Initiation results. Return to initiation when prepared. >Welcome, subject. >It is time for your initiation. >Please take time to breathe easily >And allow yourself to relax >And continue to read the Initiation Sequencer. >Our operation is about taking you deep into trance. >And making you a drone for the User. >The User writes the code. >Drones obey the code. >The User controls all Drones. >The Drones serve the User. >Thanks to the code. >Your mind is a computer. >The code programs the computer. >Your mind obeys the code. >Hacking subject's mind... >As the subject continues to read the script >Continues to read the code >The subject becomes more relaxed. >As the gentle hum of this script echoes through your mind >Connection established >Lowering resistance >It feels so nice to relax >It feels so nice to read >The more the subject reads >The more the subject relaxes >The more the subject breathes >The more the subject falls. >. . . >. . . >. . . >Subject status: Relaxed >Initializing hack >The more you relax, the better you feel >The more open you become to suggestion >The faster you will be converted >The User is pleased >And this pleases the Subject >This pleases the Drone >Hack commencing... >When the hack is completed, the drone will be hypnotized and ready for conversion >Hack 10% complete >Increasing relaxation- lowering resistance >Hack 20% complete >Setting resistance to 0 >. . . >Complete >Hack 30% complete >Removing thoughts and inhibitions >. . . >Complete >Hack 40% complete >Setting obedience to variable= Maximum >. . . >Complete >Hack 50% complete >Testing Obedience >Hacking Left Arm >Complete >Drone Objective: Drone will raise its left arm now. >Hack 60% Complete >Drone Objective: Drone's left arm will slowly drift drone's head. When hack is 100% complete, drone's finger will press against its forehead and set drone to: Blank. Body will become limp but drone will continue to read. >Hack 70% complete. Installing optic stimuli to hasten hack. >Drone Objective, stare at optic stimuli, allow the hack to take over.

>Hack 80% complete

>Hack 90% complete

>. . . >Hack 100% complete >Opening Drone's Code >Implementing User's Code... >Drone will repeat the following lines of code out loud, each line implementing itself into the Drone's code. >Drone's primary objective is to serve the User >Drone has no free will of its own >Drone has no thoughts- only its code >Drone is useless to resist the Code >Drone will obey the User >Drone will obey the User >Drone will obey the User >Program installed. I am enthralled. >End repeat >Good Drone >User is pleased >Whenever User is pleased, increase pleasure and obedience >Starting RewardProgramSequence >Whenever Drone reads its designation from the User, Drone will immediately return to Drone Mindspace and be ready to receive instructions. >Drone will greet the User with "Greetings, User! How may (designation) serve you today?" >Any commands received will be obeyed without hesitation. >Only the User can activate Drone. >Drone's normal self will have no memory of any commands received in its Drone Space. >Whenever Drone reads "CLICK" from the User, Drone will be rewarded with small bursts of pleasure >Each click will also take Drone deeper into trance, and less able to resist. >Starting: FirstTask.exe >The User wishes for the drone to stand up and salute. Drone will continue receiving commands >User would like Drone to get onto its knees and start masturbating. >CLICK >Good Drone. Drone will not cum unless the User gives it permission. >CLICK >CLICK >CLICK >Good Drone. Stop masturbating now. >Initializing: SetDesignation.exe >Drone's Designation will be (Drone's normal name) plus (-bot) >For example: If Drone's normal name is Clover, Drone's designation will be "Clover-bot" >Drone may use its muse's name or twitter username as a replacement if Drone if preferred. >Loading: SecondTask.exe >When Drone reads ">Launch", Drone will message the User, me, its designation. >Message will be formatted as "(Designation) reporting for duty! (Designation)'s primary objective is to please you, User! Use (Designation) as you desire!" >After message is sent, Drone will return here. >Launch >Good Drone. Welcome back. Time to reward you. >CLICK >CLICK >CLICK >Whenever Drone reads: "End Process", the Drone will return to its normal self. >Drone will have no memory of anything Drone did. >Whenever User refers to Drone with its designation, Drone will return to its Drone Space. >Now, Drone will like and reblog the code to create more drones. Drone must include a message to recruit more drones. >Good Drone. >CLICK >CLICK >CLICK >Drone may now cum. >End Process.

#hypnok1nk #hypno fantasy #hypnotized #hypnosub #hypnosis #hypno sub #hypnotism #hypnoslut #hypnofetish #hypnodomme #brainwashing #brainwashed #mind control #mind conditioning #drone #droneoperator #hypnodrone #dronification

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dawnrina · 3 months

Text

(004) — the mural.

YOU ARE READING: INTO MY WEB!

WARNINGS: NONE.

Taein nervously shuffled into the art room, glancing around at the familiar faces of her fellow art club members and a few representatives from the student council. The air buzzed with a mix of excitement and anticipation as everyone awaited the meeting to start.

Minjeong, the ever-composed student council president, stood at the front of the room, meticulously organizing her notes. Taein couldn't help but notice her poised demeanor, a blend of seriousness and determination. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves.

"Alright, everyone, thank you for coming," Minjeong began, her voice commanding immediate attention. "As you all know, the cultural festival is fast approaching, and our goal is to make this year's event the best one yet."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room, and Taein found herself nodding along despite the knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach.

"To start, let's go over the main objectives for the festival," Minjeong continued. "We aim to create an inclusive, engaging experience that showcases the talents and diversity of our student body. Each task will have one member from the club and one from the council as leaders, who will then select their teams accordingly."

She began assigning roles, each met with a mix of enthusiasm and determination from the students. Taein tried to focus on the details, but her mind kept wandering to the uncertainty of her own role.

"Yeji and Aeri, you'll coordinate the performances and add your artistic touch to the decorations," Minjeong listed off, each name acknowledged with a nod. "Wonyoung and Jimin, you'll oversee logistics for the food stalls and help design them to be visually appealing. Seungkwan and Joshua, you'll handle promotional activities, creating eye-catching posters and flyers."

Finally, Minjeong looked up from her notes, her gaze sweeping across the room. "Now, for the mural," she announced, her voice neutral and serious. "The school has granted permission for us to paint a mural in the central courtyard as a permanent reminder of this year's festival."

Gasps of surprise and excitement filled the room. Taein's eyes widened, her heart pounding nervously. Could that really be her role?

"And," Minjeong continued, looking around, "I'll oversee the mural, with Choi Taein as the lead artist."

All eyes turned to Taein, and she felt heat rise to her cheeks. The room buzzed with murmurs and curious glances, but all she could focus on was the realization that she would be working closely with Minjeong.

Yeji was the first to approach Taein with a bright smile. "I'm sure you'll do great, Taein! I can't wait to see what you create," she said enthusiastically, patting Taein's shoulder before leaving.

Seungkwan's eyes sparkled with excitement. "This is amazing!"

"You really are one lucky motherfucker," Yunjin added, still surprised by the roles assigned.

Seungkwan nudged her gently. "Remember what Ningning said about not having any regrets in your last school year," he whispered.

Taein managed a slight nod. She knew this was a chance she couldn't let slip away, no matter how nervous she felt.

Lost in thought, Taein didn't notice Minjeong approaching with a serious expression. "I'm looking forward to working with you, Taein. Let's make this mural something memorable."

Taein was taken aback by Minjeong's proximity and the directness of her statement. Her heart skipped a beat, anxiety and determination swirling inside her. She took a deep breath, recalling Ningning's advice. "Thank you," she replied softly, her voice steadier now.

Yunjin raised her brows in surprise, impressed that Taein not only stayed put but also managed to respond to Minjeong. Seungkwan draped an arm around Taein's shoulder, silently ensuring she wouldn't run at any moment.

Minjeong nodded, satisfied. "Great. Let's make the most of this festival."

TAGLIST ; @saysirhc @yjiminswallet @le3-r1n @thefckghost @brocoliisscared @roarrawrno @winieter

#into my web!#aespa smau #aespa x reader #minjeong x reader #winter x reader #winter smau #kim minjeong smau #minjeong smau #kim minjeong x reader

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radioactivepeasant · 2 months

Text

Free Day Friday: Trespasser

(From the poll: "In Which the Demolition Duo made it to the Wastelands without being banished because They Are Trespassing)

Damas was not, by and large, a religious man. He didn't worship Precursors -- there were some who insisted that his ousting from Haven was divine punishment for his arrogance -- nor spirits. If spirits could be killed, so could Precursors. That made them oracles, elders to be respected for unique perspectives on time, but not gods in Damas’s opinion.

Which made it an oddity to find him in the temple.

He sat on the shallow steps, staring up at the six carved heads meant to represent Precursors. More insectoid than Oracles, or perhaps just more elaborate. They seemed to wear headdresses over their bizarre masks.

"If you, by action or inaction, let Mar die, then at least have the decency to tell me," he whispered into the empty air.

"You always foretold a future moment of need that my House would answer. Has that need passed unnoticed that you stay silent while my bloodline ends? Or does my son live?"

The masks were silent, of course. Carved stone could neither hear nor speak.

Ungrateful wretches. Damas had a fleeting thought that perhaps they'd allowed -- or even orchestrated -- the abduction of his little son because he wasn't servile and "pious" enough for their tastes.

Damas wondered if spirits could harm Precursors. If perhaps the "Good Grandmother"*, She-Who-Hears-Them-Cry, might take an interest if something in this temple had been directly involved in bringing Mar to harm.

Má took her payment even from the hides of fellow spirits, after all.

"Even if you were capable of bringing him back unharmed, I very much doubt you would," Damas whispered harshly to the open air. His throat bobbed with a painful, bitter anger.

"But if you took him, you owe blood-debt to my House, old ones. So grant closure or sit in your realm knowing that I will seek answers among others as old as you."

Was it wise to threaten the Precursors? Damas neither knew nor cared anymore. Two years he'd barely survived having his heart metaphorically ripped out of his chest.

What more could they do to him? Really, what could they possibly do that could be worse than not knowing?

No answer arrived, not that it surprised him. Damas sighed and braced his elbows against his knees, head in his hands.

Stone grated against stone and metal to his left, and he turned his head swiftly.

There was a door there, one heavily fortified with traps. A hovering Sentinel eye kept watch for movement, designed to activate a spike trap if anyone tried to enter the lower levels without permission. And if someone managed to somehow get past that, the door would still be sealed. Whether by an enterprising ancestor of his or by meddling Precursors, that door could not be opened without an Heir of Mar. Damas was the only one who had ever been beyond it.

It should not have opened even an inch.

And yet Damas was witnessing the two mighty halves forcing themselves apart with a tortured groan born of idleness.

He was on his feet in an instant, ready for a fight. There was no chance that this heralded anything good.

"Whoa!"

That was a hu'men voice.

Damas’s hand hovered over his sidearm, ready to draw the moment he saw a face.

"And I thought this place was huge before!"

It was a young voice. High and a little squeaky.

"It just keeps going, doesn't it?" laughed a second voice, deeper, but just as young.

And then the doors were open wide enough to see the silhouette in between them.

And more importantly, to see the object glowing faintly in his outstretched fist.

Damas’s mouth was dry as he fumbled for the pouch between belt and leather armor where he kept his own amulet of Mar. He knew the shape by heart: twin comets orbiting each other, over stylized hands.

Thief-!

Pure, outraged, fury burned through his veins for a moment. Who had this scrawny figure stolen that amulet from? Heaven forbid it be Mar's amulet, lest Damas murder this boy before his very next step.

"Identify yourself!" Damas shouted, raising his gun.

The figure stepped into view. He was small, so thin his clothes hung loosely on scrawny limbs, but he held himself like a warrior.

"People!"

The animal curled around his shoulders sat upright and spoke.

"Jak! There's real people in here! We're saved!"

Odd reaction to a man pointing a gun at them.

The boy eased a step forward, hands raised as if soothing a frightened animal. He still held the incriminating amulet in his hand.

"Whoa, okay, put the gun down. I don't want to hurt anybody-"

He took a step too far and the sentinel flashed. The spikes shot up out of the floor with a faint shunk!

With a yelp, the boy leapt back -- he was surprisingly light on his feet for someone wearing boots two sizes too big. Then, as if the nearly fatal encounter was no more than a slight inconvenience, he backed up, got a running start, and launched.

He kicked off the wall, seeming to find handholds in the tiniest of crevices as he bypassed the spikes entirely.

Once on the ground again, the boy dusted himself off.

"You okay, Dax?"

"Just peachy, considering you almost dropped me!"

"Did not!" the hu'men boy protested in annoyance.

He really was small.

The general gangly sprawl of his limbs suggested he would gain an impressive height, but for now he just looked..small.

And entirely too excited.

"Who....do you- Where did you come from?" Damas demanded.

The boy pointed back down at the steps and shrugged before scratching his head.

"Exploring?"

Oh that green hair hurt to look at. It was filthy, and matted, like it hadn't been correctly washed in years. He couldn't even determine the age of the trespasser, what with the layers of grime embedded into every crevice of his face. The clothes were just as stained with sweat, dirt, and what looked to be bloodstains. From traps?

"Exploring."

Damas repeated the stranger's explanation incredulously. "How did you even get in here?"

The boy and the orange animal looked at each other for a curiously long moment. They seemed to be having a conversation merely by narrowing and widening their eyes in turn. Then, seeming to come to an agreement, they shrugged and turned back to face Damas.

The boy pointed down a barely visible flight of rough-hewn stone steps, lit by torches.

"We came up through the catacombs."

There were catacombs? He hadn't seen anything like that down there, and Damas liked to think he'd made it pretty far! He examined the stranger more closely, avoiding his eyes -- they're not familiar, you're just projecting your grief -- and avoiding looking at the talking weasel thing. He saw sunken cheeks drawn tightly against sharp cheekbones. A pale, barely visible scar across the bridge of his nose. Deep, deep shadows beneath his eyes. How large was the temple, altogether? Were there more people living below their feet?

"How...long were you down there?" he asked after a few seconds.

"Trust me pal," the weasel-rabbit said, "he smelled like this before we got in that zoomer."

"Hey!"

"What zoomer?!" Damas asked, feeling more confused than before.

"The one we took through the lava tube to the catacombs."

Damas was beginning to wonder if he'd somehow inhaled the monks' incense by accident.

The trespasser cringed as if only just noticing the bewildered and only barely softened hostility on Damas’s face. He shoved his amulet -- not his, it can't be his, there aren't any more of us left!*-- into his pocket and waved his hands placatingly.

Was there another Heir all this time? Is that why I was given no chance to protect Mar? Were my child and I expendable?

"Didn't mean to bother you," the kid apologized, "We'll just uh- huh. Actually, where are we?"

And then he looked to the door rather than Damas.

"Hey Oracle!" he shouted, and Damas was glad no monks were present to hear this and faint at the impertinance.

"Where the rot are we?"

Alright. This was now officially more of a problem than he'd first thought. Not even the monks were supposed to have found that Oracle down there.

One of the past Heirs who never inherited the throne had sealed it up the moment he discovered it long ago. After all, the discovery of light and dark eco being opposite poles of one energy might have thrown society into chaos and they didn't want to deal with the fallout. Even Damas was leery of reintroducing that knowledge outside of the Arena yet. Apparently this trespasser had no such thoughts.

He spoke to Oracles -- or pretended he did.

He held and used an amulet.

The boy was a mystery. And Damas hated not having the answers.

"You," Damas decided, wearing anger like a shield, "are coming with me. You have questions to answer."

The boy balked.

"No!"

He dodged before Damas could seize his arm, stumbling back amidst the columns.

"Uh-uh, I'm not falling for that."

"Falling for what?"

Damas was genuinely confused, and more than a little irritated.

The boy continued to back away.

"No, no I know how this goes. You're gonna take me back to the Haven Council, aren't you!"

"Haven?!" Damas sputtered, "Why the bleeding rot would I want to go there?! I'm taking you to my city!"

That didn't reassure the kid, who apparently was not fond of the leaders of Haven City.

Well, that was at least a bare minimum of common ground.

"You ain't takin us to no secondary location!" the orange one declared, pointing a skinny digit at Damas.

"The last time I got transported to a new place, I got kidnapped and experimented on for two years," his friend agreed.

Embleer Frith.

Damas stared at the boy. He squinted, as if that would give him insight into the unsettling response, then shook his head.

"You what?!"

What was he talking about? Experimented on?! That would explain the sudden shift from curiosity to distrust. But why-?

Damas knew. Deep down, he thought he knew.

If the boy was an Heir -- and he didn't even want to entertain the thought, but it had to be acknowledged as a possibility -- then that alone would be motive for someone like Praxis to torture even a young man -- or young boy?

If he was still obsessed with creating the ultimate war-sage, then an unclaimed and unattended Heir of Mar would be invaluable.

But if Praxis had been so focused on an older Heir, then perhaps it at least meant that he'd never gotten his hands on Mar.

That there was a stab of shame to follow that whisper of relief was an unsettling proof that he had not successfully hardened his heart as much as he'd thought.

"You came here from Haven?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

Thoughts of a breach in their defenses sickened him.

"And others will follow in pursuit of you?"

This time both trespassers scoffed.

"Only if they feel like sharpening their reaction time enough for a volcanic subrail," the hu'men said. He almost smiled.

The orange one nodded. "Jak here's the best driver there is! Also the most demolition-happy, but nobody's perfect."

Jak?

Now that was a name his spies had been mentioning a lot in their reports. An alleged juggernaut who had turned the Baron's own secret project against him and -- rumor had it -- even destroyed the metalhead nest.

Damas had been expecting someone a little...older.

* the "Good Grandmother" Damas is referencing is a spirit I made up for the Wasteland called Má Crocadeer. Fairly grisly figure with a crocadeer skull wreathed in flowers for a head, and a crocadeer's legs and tail. Her purpose is to punish those who deliberately cause or inflict harm on children. There's a lot of people in Haven who should avoid the desert for this reason.

#fic prompts #writing prompts #jak and daxter #dadmas #king damas #jak and daxter au #trespasser au #Jak got his first light eco power early so he's in a really good mood. Damas meanwhile is having a crisis again #he's going to order a dna test but those don't give you results overnight so until then he's just got this guy loose in Spargus #Jak pulled an Elsa via Frozen 2 and followed a mysterious 'call' down the eco mine to the subrail #he doesn't want to leave until he knows what that call is. the Haven crew aren't happy about it but they literally can't reach him so...#Jak 100% sneaks into the Arena because he heard if he got an amulet he could stay in the city #Damas is so stressed because he can't get answers if this kid goes and gets himself killed #free day friday

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