#will it even be possible to convey the emotions within him

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hiiii

Can you do something about the batboys (specially Tim and Damian cuz they are my fav)?

With a reader who loves hugs, like A LOT

And it is simply spontaneous to want to hug.

Dick

He loves your spontaneity and your hugs.

He finally has someone who can eagerly accept his out of nowhere hugs by reciprocating with your own hugs.

You have a hug off to see who can hug the other the most as it never fails to make both of your days better, and it acts like a really good pick me up when you both need it most.

Dick could stay in your arms forever if he could and hopes that you feel the same as it acts as a way of communicating without the usage of words. Dick can convey how he felt to you in certain situations throughout all types of hugs possible.

Tight hugs for when he thought he wasn’t going to come back home to you, or when he fears that you wouldn’t love him anymore or for times where he just needed to feel you against him.

Soft, gently, comforting hugs for when he feels like being more affectionate with you, maybe even playful and or wanting to just show you that he cares about you as while he’s a charmer, meaningful words tend to fail him on multiple occasions.

Protective, ‘don’t touch them or else’ hugs where he keeps a tight and firm grip on you as he pushes your head into his neck while he poetically cocoons you in his arms as to keep you out of sight of anyone he thinks is no good for you.

Other then them, dick will always await for you with open arms almost instinctively, knowing he’s going to get the best hug of a lifetime as thought you haven’t seen each other in a long time and not five minutes. Dick just loves you and your spontaneous hugs.

Damian

Fight instincts are strong in Damian.

So when you first try to hug him, his sword was drawn within inches of your face as fast as you could blink. He’d never hurt you, no. It’s just that his body was tuned to react within seconds to any potential danger against him, and unfortunately his mind made him think that your hugs were threats.

So once he realises what he had done on impulse, he apologise and sheathed his sword and tells you that he’s not yet use to your kind of affection due to his upbringing and that he’ll try to become accustomed to it eventually; Which he does but his response to your hugs is rather stiff and almost robotic but you were more then happy to take what you get, and if this is the most he can do right now then you’ll accept it.

However when he does start to get use to your hugs and doesn’t feel like he has to draw his sword every time, but he tends to melt into your touch like a stray cat being shown love for the first time. He closes his eyes and burrows his head into your neck as he tightened his grip on you, as though you’d vanish if he were to ever let up his hold.

He doesn’t want you to hug him in public, he’s not comfortable with it as he would when you’re hugging him in private, but he couldn’t fault you if you were to hug him after an highly emotional moment where you thought you’d loose him, Damian understands but he just prefers to have you hug him in private overall.

It also lessens the teasing potential for his brothers and he gets the alone time with you like he so wished for.

Tim

Finds comfort and reassurance in your hugs.

Seriously your hugs are what Tim needs after a long and arduous mission alongside his brothers and sisters.

He doesn’t even flinch at how out of the blue your hugs are, he just accepts your hugs no matter what and will sigh heavily as he practically falls asleep in your arms.

Please help this man get some proper sleep for once in his life, the detective stuff can wait, it’s not going to go anywhere anytime soon just please take a break.

He’s more then reciprocal of your hugs and appreciates the love you pour into them as they help ease the worries within his head as he rests his head against yours, allowing himself to slow down and appreciate what was in front of him.

Your hugs -despite their spontaneity- have a calming affect on him and they worked wonders for when he needs sleep as his mind tends to keep him up at night. So now with you it’s a bit more bearable as you would cradle his head to your chest, letting him focus in on your breathing and your heart until that’s all the last thing he remembered before drifting off to sleep.

Jason

It takes Jason some time to get use to your spontaneous hug feasts. At first he flinches and almost shies away from your hugs as he doesn’t acquaint any physical contact as soft, or warm or comforting like you did. In fact he viewed it as the opposite.

So it takes time for Jason to become comfortable with your spontaneous hugs and once he stops flinching and shying away from them, he grows addicted to your hugs and awaits each and every time that you decided he looked like he needed a little hug or cuddle.

He -much like Damian- would melt into your hugs, tighten his grip on you and would find that everything fades away the moment he’s in your arms; His mind clears of all stress and all he can think about was how perfect each and every one of your hugs were every single time.

He also never wants to leave your embrace, ever, he just refuses and claims he needs five more minutes in your arms and would groan in annoyance if you were to attempt to pull away.

‘Stop moving away from me.’ He’d groan. ‘You wanted to hug me so hug me!’

You chuckle at him whenever he got like this but oblige to his wishes regardless as you didn’t have to heart to stop hugging Jason when he’s practically clinging onto you like a koala bear. So you just remain where you are until five minutes become a full day and you and Jason are shuffling towards the bedroom together to cuddle until you feel asleep.

Needles to say Jason grows to love your hugs however they come and when they come, for they help him get through the day.

Bruce

He’s not use to your hugs yet either and it takes him just as long-if not longer- as Jason to get use to them overtime.

His muscles would tense and that’s about it.

He’s use to being hugged by the likes of Jason and Damian and Dick when he got older but your hugs were different then theirs, and sooner or later Bruce had developed a sixth sense for whenever you’re going to hug him, and would smile to himself whenever he heard your footsteps and little giggles before bracing himself for you hug.

‘You heard me didn’t you.’ You’d always ask and without hesitation Bruce replied with in a playful manner; ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about my dear.’ Which only made you pout as you tightened your grip on him while burrowing your face into his broad back.

There would even be times where you’re about to hug him, but Bruce moves just in times as you were going to hug his waist and stares at you for a bit before opening his arms and letting you run into his chest. He doesn’t mind your hugs now and then when he’s not busy as he doesn’t like neglecting you for his work; So he tries to at least let you get all your hugs out while you could before he had to indulge in his work that takes up a huge amount of his time.

Like Damian he likes to have you hug him in private, he’s a well know public figure and Gotham isn’t exactly safe and so he prioritised your safety above all else. So while he’ll interlock his pinky with yours or have your arm locked in his in public, he’ll let you hang off of him as reward in private while he rests his hands over your own in means of keeping you there.

Alfred finds it sweet seeing Bruce be affectionate with you and probably has a picture where Bruce is embracing you fully, his head resting atop of yours while your face was smothered against his chest, your face bearing the widest smile possible in comparison to Bruce’s face of calm serenity.

[zapreportsblog]

I'd love to request Emmtt with a mute mate, when she's changed he gets to hear her voice for the first time. She lost her voice in an accident just before she met him. Please and thank you!

Wow this is really creative, hope you enjoy it :)

↳ finding my voice ↲

➘ summary : Emmett’s mate lost her voice a while back but now as a newborn vampire will she find it once more

➘ a/n : you can not tell me this man doesn’t look crazy, like sir it’s giving yandere emmett

➘ emmett cullen x reader , twilight x reader

In the heart of the lush forests of Forks, the Cullen family existed as a unique coven of vampires who sought to lead a life far removed from their bloodthirsty nature. Among them was Emmett Cullen, known for his boisterous laughter and zest for life. He was a beacon of energy and strength within the family, his larger-than-life personality a stark contrast to his supernatural abilities.

However, it was a quiet and unassuming presence that would forever change the course of Emmett's existence. (Y/N), a human woman with an unbreakable spirit, had captured his heart in ways he never thought possible.

(Y/N) had been through more than most in her short life. A childhood accident had stolen her ability to speak, rendering her voiceless. Yet, her vibrant eyes spoke volumes, and the grace with which she moved resonated with the essence of her character.

It was during a chance encounter in the small town of Forks that Emmett first saw (Y/N). She was sitting on a park bench, reading a book, her fingers delicately tracing the words as if to hold onto every sentence. Intrigued by her quiet demeanor, Emmett approached, and as their eyes met, a connection sparked between them that transcended words.

(Y/N)'s accident had robbed her of her voice, but it hadn't taken away her ability to communicate. With the delicate yet deliberate movements of her hands, she wove intricate patterns in the air - a language known only to those who understood the power of silence. Emmett, captivated by this unique form of communication, found himself drawn into a world where words were unnecessary.

As days turned into weeks, Emmett and (Y/N)'s bond deepened. Their connection was formed through the silent exchange of signs, each movement carrying a weight of emotion that words could never convey. (Y/N) showed Emmett the beauty of patience and understanding, while Emmett brought laughter and adventure into her life.

The Cullen family embraced (Y/N) as one of their own, her presence bringing a sense of tranquility to their immortal existence. Alice, with her visions, often foresaw moments of joy between Emmett and (Y/N), and Jasper, with his empathy, felt the genuine love that radiated between them. Even Rosalie, known for her guarded nature, found herself warming to (Y/N)'s genuine spirit.

As their relationship flourished, the Cullens marveled at the profound connection Emmett and (Y/N) shared. They watched as the two of them communicated through touch, through shared glances, and through the intimate dance of their fingers in the air. The family respected and cherished this unique bond that transcended the limitations of speech.

And so, in the heart of the Cullen family's haven, an unconventional love story was written. Emmett and (Y/N) proved that words were not the only means of conveying love, and that sometimes, the most profound connections were formed through silence - through the quiet whispers of the heart.

Within the tranquil embrace of the Cullen family home, Emmett and (Y/N)'s bond continued to flourish. Their love story unfolded through gestures and expressions that spoke to the depth of their connection.

Emmett's boisterous laughter and playful antics were matched by (Y/N)'s radiant smiles and the light that danced within her eyes. He would often invent wild stories, acting them out with exaggerated gestures that made (Y/N) giggle in response. In return, (Y/N) would share her thoughts and feelings through a symphony of delicate hand movements, her eloquence in sign language surpassing the limitations of spoken words.

The Cullen family marveled at the harmony that Emmett and (Y/N) brought to their midst. Esme, the nurturing matriarch, had a soft spot for their unique relationship, seeing the purity of their connection as a testament to the power of love itself. Carlisle, the patriarch, respected the understanding they shared, acknowledging that true communication extended far beyond verbal expression.

Alice's visions of their future were painted with joy and warmth, while Jasper felt the serenity that emanated from their union, a tranquility that often eluded even the most harmonious of couples. Even Edward, with his mind-reading abilities, could not grasp the full depth of their emotions, for their love existed in a realm untouched by words.

As time went on, (Y/N) became an integral part of the Cullen family, her presence weaving seamlessly into their immortal lives. She brought a sense of serenity that balanced the frenetic energy of her vampire companions. The family gathered around as Emmett and (Y/N) recounted their adventures with animated gestures and subtle touches, their joy infectious and genuine.

But as with any love story, challenges arose that put their bond to the test. A threat from the outside world loomed, casting shadows over their peaceful existence. The Cullens' sanctuary faced danger, and the unity they had fostered was put in jeopardy.

Emmett's protective nature flared, a fierce determination in his eyes as he vowed to shield (Y/N) from harm. And through the intricate language of signs, she assured him that she was by his side, ready to face whatever challenges came their way.

As the Cullen family rallied together to protect their home, Emmett and (Y/N)'s silent communication proved to be an asset, allowing them to strategize and coordinate with a precision that transcended spoken words. The battles they fought were not only physical but also emotional, as they navigated the turmoil while leaning on the strength of their connection.

And so, as twilight bathed the tranquil forest in shades of gold, the Cullen family and their unique couple stood together, united against the storm that raged both within and around them. The echoes of emotion that passed between Emmett and (Y/N) resonated with a love that needed no spoken words to be understood. As they faced the trials ahead, their silent bond remained unbreakable, a testament to the enduring power of love and the strength found in shared silence.

As the threat to the Cullen family grew, so did Emmett's determination to protect (Y/N). He had witnessed firsthand the dangers that lurked in their supernatural world, and the thought of leaving her vulnerable and alone, especially considering her inability to call for help, was something he couldn't bear. He knew he couldn't protect her indefinitely as a human, and a sense of urgency pushed him to consider an unconventional solution.

One evening, as twilight painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, Emmett led (Y/N) to a quiet corner of the Cullen family home. He looked into her eyes, his expression serious yet filled with concern. Using the fluid language of sign, he conveyed his thoughts to her, his fingers forming each word with care.

"(Y/N), love," he began, his hands moving gracefully, "I can't stand the thought of you being in danger. I won't leave you unprotected like Edward did to Bella. I want to keep you safe."

He continued to explain his plan - the idea that (Y/N) could become a vampire, a creature like them, impervious to harm and capable of defending herself. His eyes held a mix of worry and hope, his love for her evident in every gesture he made.

(Y/N)'s heart swelled with emotion as she listened to Emmett's proposal. The idea of becoming a vampire was both daunting and enticing. She had already embraced the supernatural world through her relationship with Emmett and the Cullens, and the prospect of eternal life by his side seemed like a gift she couldn't refuse.

With a soft smile, she signed her response, her fingers moving in delicate patterns. "I agree. I want to be with you, Emmett, no matter the form."

Emmett's eyes lit up with relief and joy, his heart swelling at her willingness to share eternity with him. He took her hands in his, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. Their silent exchange spoke volumes, a testament to the depth of their bond.

With their decision made, they turned to Carlisle, the family's patriarch and a skilled doctor who had experience in transforming humans into vampires. He led them through the process, explaining the changes that would occur and the challenges they would face.

For (Y/N), the transformation was a journey of physical and emotional trials. She faced pain and power, vulnerability and strength, as her human life faded away and her vampiric existence began. Emmett stood by her side through every step, offering his unwavering support and reassurance, their silent communication speaking louder than words ever could.

As the transformation neared its completion, (Y/N) felt the rush of new senses and abilities course through her, her body adjusting to its immortal form. Her eyes opened to a world painted in vivid colors and heightened details, a realm she had only glimpsed through Emmett's descriptions.

And as the first rays of dawn bathed the room in light, (Y/N) opened her newly enhanced eyes to lock onto Emmett's gaze. In that moment, their silent connection spoke of a love that had transcended the boundaries of time and form, a bond that was now sealed for eternity.

With a tender smile, Emmett extended his hand to her, his fingers inviting her to join him in this new existence. She reached out and took his hand, their fingers intertwining, a silent promise exchanged between them.

And so, as the sun's rays touched their skin, the journey of a new life began - one filled with challenges and triumphs, shared by a couple whose love had conquered the limitations of sound and words. In the embrace of their family and each other, they faced the future with a strength that defied the silence that once defined them.

In the days following (Y/N)'s transformation, a sense of renewal and exhilaration coursed through her veins. She marveled at the new world around her, her senses heightened to levels she had never imagined. The bond between her and Emmett seemed to have deepened, the unspoken connection between them now accompanied by a symphony of shared experiences.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the Cullen family gathered, a hush fell over the room. Emmett and (Y/N) stood at the center, their hands entwined. The air was charged with a palpable energy, a feeling that something extraordinary was about to unfold.

As everyone's eyes turned toward (Y/N), she took a deep breath, feeling a newfound strength coursing through her. And then, to the astonishment of all, she began to speak.

"Thank you," her voice, melodious and clear, filled the room, resonating with an ethereal quality that left everyone speechless. The sound was as enchanting as it was unexpected, a testament to the transformative power of their supernatural world.

Emmett's eyes widened in awe, his grip on her hand tightening as he listened to her speak for the first time. The joy that radiated from him was infectious, his laughter bubbling up like a spring of unrestrained happiness.

The Cullen family exchanged astonished glances, their eyes filled with wonder and amazement. Edward, whose mind-reading abilities were unparalleled, couldn't help but smile as he realized the extent of the change that had occurred within (Y/N). Alice's visions had not foreseen this, a delightful surprise that warmed her heart.

"(Y/N), your voice," Esme's eyes glistened with tears of happiness, her motherly love radiating through the room. "It's beautiful."

Carlisle, who had been studying (Y/N)'s transformation with a scientist's curiosity, stepped forward, his expression one of genuine awe. "It appears that your vocal cords have been restored during the transformation," he mused, a mix of fascination and delight in his voice.

As the room filled with applause and exclamations of joy, (Y/N) felt a sense of liberation she had never known. She shared laughter with Alice, exchanged words of friendship with Jasper, and even engaged in conversation with Edward, her voice a gift that allowed her to fully participate in the world around her.

But it was Emmett's reaction that touched her heart the most. His eyes shone with unbridled pride and love, his arms enveloping her in an embrace that spoke of a connection that had grown even stronger. They shared whispered words of love, their voices now harmonizing in a way that seemed to echo the bond they had always shared.

In that moment, the Cullen family celebrated not only the transformation of (Y/N) into a vampire but also the rebirth of her voice. Her words became a melody that resonated through the hearts of all who heard, a reminder of the remarkable journey that had brought her into their supernatural world.

And as the stars painted the night sky with their brilliance, the Cullen family reveled in the beauty of (Y/N)'s newfound voice, a testament to the enduring power of love and the extraordinary transformations that were possible within their extraordinary world.

[fullsandwichmiracle]

Passionate fight

Paring: Joost Klein x female!reader 

Description: rough makeup sex with Joost 

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut, fingering, oral receiving, PnV, unprotected, rough, Joost being dominant, one shot

Word count: 1.5K+

You stormed into the house, slamming the door so hard it rattled the frame. Joost darted in after you, throwing the door back open, you spun around, eyes blazing with fury.

"I'm sorry, Lejfe!" he pleaded, reaching out, but you wrenched your hand away.

"How dare you," you hissed, your voice trembling with a raw mix of hurt and rage. "After everything we've been through, you betray me like this?"

Joost's face fell, but he squared his shoulders defiantly. "I made a mistake, okay? But you're not perfect either!"

The accusation cut deep, and you scoffed bitterly. "Don't you dare turn this around on me. This is about your betrayal, not my flaws."

He shook his head, frustration crackling in his voice. "I never meant to hurt you, Lejfe. Can't you see that?"

Tears welled up, but you refused to let them fall. "I trusted you," you screamed, voice hoarse with pain. "And you threw it all away."

Joost stepped closer, desperation lacing his words. "Please, let's talk about this. We can work through it."

Your hand shot up, ready to jab him in the chest, but Joost's grip tightened around your wrist, stopping you mid-action and yanking you closer. His eyes bore into yours, a fierce mix of desperation and determination.

You could feel his breath against your skin, hot and urgent, the closeness electrifying the air between you. Every muscle in your body tensed, ready to push him away, yet an undeniable pull kept you rooted to the spot.

The pent-up frustration you felt found a new outlet as his lips met yours in an intense, unexpected kiss. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, and all the anger and tension dissolved in the passionate embrace.

The kiss was unexpected, a collision of conflicting emotions—anger, desire, betrayal, and love all tangled together. For a moment, you resisted, trying to pull away, but Joost's arms wrapped around you, holding you tight.

His kiss was desperate, pleading, as if he could convey through it all the regret and longing he couldn't put into words. Slowly, reluctantly, you began to melt into the kiss, the heat of it searing through your anger.

Your mind raced, torn between the desire to give in and the anger that still burned within you. For a moment, the world faded away, and all that mattered was the raw, unspoken emotion between you two. His touch, his scent, everything about him drew you in, even as your heart resisted.

But then you pushed him away forcefully, breaking the kiss. "I hate you," you gasped, breathless from the intensity of the moment. Your chest heaved, filled with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, the echo of his kiss lingering on your lips.

"I love you!" Joost replied passionately, his voice tinged with desperation, before pulling you close again. His hands moved to your hips, silently urging you to jump into his arms.

You hesitated, torn between the tumult of emotions raging within you. Joost's kiss had stirred a maelstrom of conflicting feelings—anger, hurt, and a lingering love that refused to be extinguished. His grip on your hips was firm yet gentle, a silent plea for understanding. You could feel his heart racing against yours, a testament to the sincerity of his words. For a moment, you stood there, suspended between the past and the possibility of a future, uncertain of which way to turn.

"I hate you," you repeated, your voice wavering as you struggled against the pull of his touch. Joost's eyes bore into yours, filled with a mixture of sorrow and determination. "I know," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek. "But I can't let you go."

Before you could protest further, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms, holding you close as he kissed you again, his lips seeking solace in yours. The intensity of his embrace threatened to overwhelm you, and for a fleeting moment, you surrendered to the familiarity of his touch. The world around you seemed to blur, and all that existed was the undeniable connection between you and Joost.

But as reality crashed back in, you shoved against his chest, breaking free from his kiss but still entwined around his hips. "Stop!" you snarled, eyes blazing with anger. "This isn't right!"

"Fuck you," Joost snapped, tossing you onto the bed, causing you to gasp. He swiftly unbuttoned his pants and removed them, towering over you as he swiftly took off yours.

His strong hands restrained you while he hovered above, his intent evident in his piercing stare. You didn't fight against his hold, only repeating, "I said I hate you," before his lips silenced you with a kiss on your neck, eliciting an involuntary moan. Your mind battled between resistance and the undeniable pull of his touch, each kiss blurring the lines of your emotions even further.

Your heart raced with a mixture of revulsion and dread as his lips moved from your neck to your ear, whispering, "I'm going to fuck you until you love me again," sending chills down your spine. His grip tightened, his touch growing more invasive by the second. One of his hands reached down, applying pressure to your clit through the fabric of your panties, making a moan slip out of your mouth. "Joost," you gasped, the sound a confusing blend of anger and reluctant desire.

You loved the way his touch made you feel; even when it was rough, you felt his love. When he tore away your panties, you heard them rip from the force. His intensity took your breath away, the action filled with a fervor that left you trembling. The sound of the fabric tearing echoed in the room, amplifying the raw urgency between you.

His hand returned to your wet folds, slipping a finger inside as he kneeled down. He placed a kiss on your sensitive spot before beginning to suck and lick with hungry insistence, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

Every touch was forceful, every caress rough, fueling a primal fire within you that clashed with the turmoil in your mind. You wanted to resist, to push him away, but his demanding touch threatened to overwhelm your willpower. Each thrust of his finger and swirl of his tongue sent waves of intense sensation coursing through you, drawing out guttural moans that mingled with the sound of your ragged breaths.

Despite your inner turmoil, a part of you craved this rough intimacy, this raw connection that only he seemed able to awaken. As he continued to explore your depths with a relentless hunger that both frustrated and thrilled you, you struggled to reconcile the conflicting emotions swirling within you.

His relentless assault on your senses pushed you to the edge, igniting a primal desire that fought against your rational thoughts. The intensity of his touch was both punishing and intoxicating, leaving you gasping for air as pleasure and pain blurred into one.

You clenched the sheets, torn between wanting him to stop and craving more of his rough affection. His fingers delved deeper, his tongue tracing circles of need on your most sensitive parts. Each movement sent shockwaves through your body, building an ache that demanded release.

You moaned his name, a plea and a curse, as he drove you closer to the edge. His grip on your hips tightened, his movements becoming more urgent and insistent. With each thrust and lick, he claimed you with a ferocity that bordered on possessiveness, marking you as his in this moment of raw, unbridled passion.

In the midst of the storm he stirred within you, you struggled to resist the overwhelming pull he exerted, even as your mind screamed for restraint. The line between resistance and surrender blurred, and despite your earlier protestations, you found yourself unable to deny the pleasure he awakened in you.

You felt his mouth and finger leave, the sudden absence replaced by the cold air that prickled your skin. Then, you felt his hard length penetrate you, eliciting a deep, involuntary moan. Your body tensed as he entered you, his movements rough and unyielding. Each forceful thrust pushed you deeper into a realm where pleasure mingled with a hint of pain. The sensation of him filling you completely overwhelmed your senses.

You gasped and writhed against him, caught between the raw desire ignited by his possession and the primal urge to resist. His hands gripped your hips with bruising intensity, guiding the rhythm with a relentless determination that matched the piercing intensity of his gaze. With each aggressive thrust, he drove you towards an edge of ecstasy, rough and unapologetic in his dominance.

As he continued to claim you with a fierce hunger, your moans became desperate, echoing off the walls as a testament to the raw, carnal passion between you. The urgency of his movements mirrored the frantic beat of your heart, each plunge pushing you closer to a climax that promised both liberation and submission to his rough embrace.

He withdrew abruptly grunting “Turn around” and swiftly maneuvered his grip on your hips as he positioned you on all fours, the air thick with anticipation and the scent of desire. You felt exposed and vulnerable, yet a primal thrill surged through you at his commanding presence.

Without hesitation, he pressed against you from behind, his hardness pressing eagerly against your entrance. The urgency in his movements spoke volumes of his need, his control slipping as he drove himself into you with unbridled force. Each thrust rocked through your body, sending waves of pleasure and intensity coursing through every nerve.

Your hands gripped the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as you surrendered to the rough, primal rhythm he set. The sound of your mingled moans filled the room, a symphony of passion and lust echoing off the walls.

Joost's hand shot up and came down sharply on your ass, the impact making it jiggle enticingly beneath his touch. The sudden spank sent a thrill through you, his touch both surprising and arousing as you felt the sting meld with a rush of heat, awakening desire in unexpected ways. His nails gripped your skin fiercely, eliciting a moan as he quickened his pace. The sting of his touch intensified the sensation, heightening your pleasure with each movement. 

Your head snapped back as your entire body arched in response to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. Every nerve tingled with sensation as you surrendered to the exquisite ecstasy of the moment. His hand tangled in your hair, using it for leverage as he thrust harder and deeper into you, intensifying each passionate movement.

His hand twisted in your hair, yanking it back as he drove himself harder and deeper into you. Each forceful thrust sent shivers down your spine, mixing pain with raw pleasure. Your breath hitched with each rough pull, your body surrendering to the intense rhythm of his dominance. The friction between you fueled a primal hunger, igniting a fire that consumed every inch of your being. 

He yanked your hair, forcing you onto only your knees, while his other hand wrapped around your neck, tightening with a slick grip that left you breathless. Your body tensed with a mix of fear and excitement as he exerted control over you. The pressure on your neck intensified, sending a surge of adrenaline through your veins. You were completely at his mercy, lost in the dizzying sensation of submission and desire.  

Joost thrust into you forcefully, gripping your hair and tightening his hold around your neck, eliciting a mix of screams and moans. "“ohh. my… ffffuucking shit”.  

He leaned close to your ear, his forceful thrusts continuing as he whispered with heavy breath, "Say you love me, liefje “. His voice was thick with desire and a hint of command, his breath hot against your ear. Each word sent a shiver down your spine as his relentless rhythm stirred a mixture of longing and submission within you. His request hung in the air, a tantalizing dare that begged for a response, your heart racing with the intensity of the moment. 

As you hesitated, he pulled your hair harder and thrust forcefully. "Come on, liefje," he urged, his voice laced with impatience and desire. You felt his grip tighten, a mix of pleasure and urgency driving his movements. Each thrust was a demand, pushing you closer to the edge of surrender. His commanding tone spurred you on, and with a moan, you gasped out, "Joost, I love you." His pace quickened, releasing his grip on your hair and neck, forcefully pushing your head down onto the bed as he grasped your hips with unyielding intensity. 

Your body yielded to his dominance, each thrust driving you deeper into a primal state of desire. His hands on your hips held you firmly in place, his movements growing more urgent and rough. You gasped as the intensity of his desire pushed you to the brink of ecstasy. His relentless pace and firm grip on your hips left you breathless, your senses consumed by the raw, exhilarating energy between you. The sensation of being taken so forcefully ignited a fierce craving within you, your moans mingling with his fervent whispers and the sound of skin against skin.

Lost in the throes of passion, you surrendered completely to his primal dominance. Each powerful thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, igniting a fire that burned hotter with every moment. His hands, firm on your hips, guided your movements, intensifying the connection between you. The room filled with the intoxicating scent of sweat and desire as you both gave in to the relentless hunger driving you towards an explosive climax. 

Your breath quickened as the intensity reached a crescendo, the rhythm of your bodies syncing in a primal dance. With each thrust, a symphony of gasps and moans escaped your lips. The world around you faded into a blur as pleasure surged through every nerve ending, drawing you closer to a shared release that promised to be nothing short of euphoric.

Your senses were overwhelmed by the relentless passion and heat between you. With each breathless moment, you felt an exhilarating rush that seemed to pull you deeper into a realm where only the two of you existed. His grip on your hips tightened, guiding you through waves of pleasure that crashed over you both like a storm. The tightening sensation in your stomach grew as you gasped, "I'm coming, don't stop.". 

His movements grew more urgent, driven by your plea. The intensity of his touch and the building pressure inside you pushed you closer to the edge of release. With each powerful thrust, you felt yourself teetering on the brink of ecstasy, the anticipation heightening as you surrendered completely to the overwhelming pleasure. Your body arched uncontrollably, every nerve tingling with the impending climax. His pace quickened, his grip on your hips becoming almost possessive as he drove you towards the peak of ecstasy. 

You moaned loudly as you were driven to climax, your body tightening around him as he thrust quickly into you with a ragged rhythm. You came, unable to withstand his relentless pace any longer, your release enveloping his entire length. 

The heightened wetness drove Joost wild, spurring him to thrust harder into you, guiding you through your climax as he reached his own. He twitched upon release, his fluid filling you, accompanied by grunts of satisfaction. His hand slammed onto your ass once more, eliciting a whimper from you, the sensation pushing you to the edge of overstimulation. He thrusted a few more times as he reached the peak of his orgasm, before collapsing beside you.  

"I love you, liefje," Joost panted, trying to catch his breath as he pulled you into a tight hug. You melted into his touch, now so soft and gentle, the anger slowly dissipating as you felt his sincerity.

Taking a deep breath, you looked into his eyes, seeing the remorse and love there. With a sigh, you whispered softly, "I love you too, Joost."

[blitzwhore]

wait, i don't understand, can u please if u want explain why they scrapped the "Stolitz Montage" song?

Yeah, I can explain! I actually have a lot of thoughts about these songs.

For context, at the beginning of Sinsmas, a song called Day By Day plays in the background while Blitz and Stolas run errands. Originally, a different song (untitled, so Sam Haft—the composer—unofficially called it Stolitz Montage) was going to play during these scenes, but they ended up scrapping it. I mentioned in the tags of a different post that I understood why they'd made this decision.

If you don't want to keep reading, my TL;DR is that I believe the tone and mood of Stolitz Montage doesn't fit Stolas' emotional journey in Sinsmas as well as Day By Day does.

If you do want to read my full personal analysis, keep reading below the cut!

-

(Note: I'm going to focus on the songs' lyrics, because I'm not knowledgeable enough about music to analyse the musical aspect of the songs. If anyone else wants to add their thoughts in that regard, be my guest!)

Let's start by taking a look at the lyrics of the scrapped song, Stolitz Montage:

So you're having a bad time

You're stressing and everything all seems much so

You've been having a sad time

And your family probably hates your fucking guts so

The song starts by describing Stolas' situation and emotional state in the days following the trial: he is sad and overwhelmed, everything feels like "too much", and his family probably hates him.

It's pretty clear from the get-go that they wanted a song for this montage that conveyed Stolas' struggle to adapt to life as a commoner, away from everything he's known, and having gone cold turkey on his depression meds (the lack of which is emphasised visually throughout the song).

The song is also in second person: Stolas isn't him, or me, he's you. This is something both songs have in common. It keeps the song at a slight emotional distance from Stolas. Whereas a first-person song would make the feelings too personal—would make Stolas too aware of his own struggle—and a third-person song wound be too distant, the second person allows Stolas to be only passively aware of his emotional state. He's not the one singing; he's the one being sung about. What he's feeling is being pointed out to him by an external, seemingly omniscient voice.

The song continues:

Ooooh-oh oooh ooh

I know you feel it too

You lost your way

And just can't fake it for another day

It's hard to take it

Just pretend you're gonna be okay

Here is where I think the tone of the song starts to deviate from what they wanted to convey in this montage.

At first glance, this is a continuation of the previous verses, and mostly expands on Stolas' emotional state: "it's hard to take it"; "you lost your way".

The key difference is that the lyrical voice now plays an actual role in that emotional state.

First, it states that it shares Stolas' feelings ("I know you feel it too"—implying that Stolas isn't the only one who feels this way). Thus, the lyrical voice starts shifting into an active character within the scene. And not any kind of character—one that can relate to Stolas and, more importantly, one that can offer some comfort.

Then, there's the line "just pretend you're gonna be okay". Now, I see two possible interpretations for this line. It can either be a piece of advice for Stolas (hey, I know it's hard, but just pretend), or another description of his struggle, a continuation of the previous line: "(it's hard to) just pretend you're gonna be okay". Personally, I lean slightly towards the former interpretation, especially because the lyrical voice's intention to offer comfort and advice becomes clearer in the next line of the song:

You're not okay and that's okay

This is where the focus of the song shifts fully towards a hopeful, even optimistic view of Stolas' situation.

Now, I get where they were going with this. "It's okay to not be okay" is a very powerful thing to say to someone who's struggling with mental illness and hard life circumstances, and it's one Stolas badly needs to hear.

In fact, it is a message that is conveyed to Stolas multiple times throughout the episode. By Blitz. Not through words, of course—but through actions. In the montage itself, as well as throughout the rest of the episode, Blitz constantly stands by Stolas' side, offers him company and comfort, meets him where he's at emotionally, doesn't pressure him to be okay, and (especially at the end in their apartment) gives room for Stolas' sadness and grief to exist. He hugs Stolas, puts his hands on Stolas' arms, and opens up emotionally about his own sister, and those are all ways of showing Stolas that it's okay that Stolas isn't okay.

But here's the thing. The knowledge that it's okay to not be okay is Blitz's, not Stolas'. That is Blitz's emotional state, not Stolas'. Stolas doesn't know it's okay to not be okay, and even though Blitz keeps conveying this message to him, he's not able to hear it just yet. Not this early in his descent to rock bottom.

In fact, learning that it's okay to not be okay is a journey that Stolas only begins at the end of the episode. By then, Stolas still isn't okay, but he begins to come to terms with the fact that that's alright. And he does this by allowing Blitz to sit in silence with him, to dance with him, to pry a laugh from him, to hold him without any expectations of being held back. The final scene of the episode is all about them both being okay even though Stolas isn't. We see this in the fact that Stolas lets himself stay in Blitz's arms, going as far as closing his eyes. He's there. He's finally in the moment. He's finally allowing the "not okay" feelings in his body to just be.

The Stolitz Montage song ends with:

You put one foot in front of the other

Then you take it day by day

Knowing you got nothing

You still got each other

Ooooh-oh oooh ooh

Again, most of these lines do match Stolas' emotional state. In fact, the notion of just living life one day at a time, just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, is very representative of what a depressive episode can and does feel like.

But, in the very last line, the song shifts right back to a reassuring tone: "you still got each other".

Now, not only does the hopeful, optimistic sentiment of this line belong—once again—to Blitz's emotional state, it also goes directly against what the emotional arc of the episode aims to achieve.

Sinsmas isn't about them having each other—Sinsmas is about Stolas having Blitz.

It takes him all episode to realise this, too. At the beginning, when the montage takes place, Stolas is just going through the motions. As stated above, he's just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other—he's fully on survival mode. During the fight with Andrealphus, Stolas is shocked that Blitz came to save him, that he risked his life. That is the moment Stolas begins to truly comprehend that he can lean on Blitz. And then, after they get home, he slowly continues to learn it, as explained above. By the end of the episode, he's only just starting to allow himself to lean emotionally on Blitz.

And significantly, Blitz doesn't lean on Stolas. Because he's at a very different part of his own character arc, and he already had his opportunity to lean emotionally on those around him with Millie in Ghostfuckers, and to a lesser extent, with all his employees during their mission on Sinsmas.

Blitz has gone through enough pain, character growth, and healing to both understand exactly where Stolas is at, and be able to meet him there and be a rock for Stolas to lean on.

So the reason that line—that last line, positioned strategically to drive home its message that it's all gonna be okay—doesn't work for the montage is twofold. Firstly, because Stolas isn't ready to see that he has Blitz. Secondly, because it is now Blitz's turn to give comfort without needing to receive it in exchange.

And, if we take a look at the whole song, the reason it doesn't work for the scene is because it doesn't meet Stolas where he's at. The song says, "yes, you're sad, but—" and shifts to optimism. It doesn't fully allow Stolas to simply not be okay. To not be there yet. It doesn't fully allow his depression to just suck. The feelings of sadness and overwhelmingness are shadowed by a positivity and hope that belong to Blitz, and not Stolas.

Let's now take a look at Day By Day, and at which ideas from the original song were kept, which ones were changed, how, and why it works:

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

You take it day by day

You got everything that you had thought you wanted

But you still feel so blue

And you don't know what to do

Right off the bat, the lyrics are very similar in tone to the ones at the beginning of Stolitz Montage. Once again, a lyrical voice in the second person describes Stolas' emotional state: he's blue (sad), he's taking it day by day.

But there's already a change. "You have everything you thought you wanted, but you still feel so blue".

The fact that Stolas had always wanted a life with Blitz is something the previous song doesn't touch on whatsoever. And it matters, because "what Stolas thought he wanted" is a central part of his arc in the episode. It comes back during his breakdown at the office: "and I did it for what?! These stupid, foolish fantasies?" And it comes back again when Blitz saves him from Andrealphus, and when Blitz dances with him and their eyes meet afterwards.

As stated above, this is the episode where it dawns on Stolas that he has Blitz. But he isn't there yet at the beginning of the episode, and so he still believes what he and Blitz had was just a fantasy of his. And because he's never had anything with Blitz that wasn't a fantasy, because fantasy is all he knows, he doesn't immediately know what to do with the real thing. With the domesticity, and the errands. He doesn't recognise the signs Blitz is sending his way that he's got Blitz to lean on.

These two lines are also important because they bring forth another aspect of depression that the previous song doesn't: that love doesn't cure depression, or make it magically go away. That going cold turkey on your meds and having a massive depressive episode is going to suck no matter how many good things you have in this life, because depression is a biological process, not a state of mind. Depression takes away your ability to find joy in things that used to bring you it. It takes away your feelings, your energy, your strength.

Notice that Stolas doesn't seem apathetic or hollow inside on the night of the trial and the morning after. Yes, he's had his title and power stripped, he's been physically assaulted in the street, and yes, he's worried about Octavia. Obviously, he shows signs of being dissociated, and he's exhausted. But, emotionally, he's still hanging on. He still thanks Blitz for everything, and he talks to Blitz in the morning, and smiles when Blitz offers to get him rats. Before the effects of going cold turkey on his meds start to kick in, he's grateful to be around Blitz.

It's during the montage, as the days go by, that he starts feeling blue. Because depression is very quickly taking away the joy he found in Blitz's company.

And that's why, even in the first few lines, this song conveys Stolas' state of mind so much better than the previous one. Because while the message in Stolitz Montage was "yes, you're sad, but—", the message in Day By Day is "yes, you should be happy, but."

It lets the sad win over the happy. It lets depression take Stolas down with it, it lets him feel helpless and lost. "You still feel so blue, and you don't know what to do."

The song continues:

You're sitting at the end of the rainbow, but the pain grows

And you can't help let the strain show

'Cause what else are you to do?

These lines emphasise the ideas presented in the previous ones: that Stolas should be happy, but he isn't. That the pain that has planted itself in Stolas is growing. So much so that he can't help but let it show.

Stolas' helplessness, his slow descent into misery, are given the room to exist. Everything around him seems fine, but he's not fine. And he's not told that it's okay to not be fine. Because this is Stolas' emotional state we're exploring, and for him, it's not okay to not be fine right now. He's too busy going through the motions to grant himself that kind of mercy.

The song finishes:

Keep it calm, life goes on, and on, and on

Nothing's wrong, nothing's wrong

So why do I still feel this way?

Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh

You take it day by day

And, much like in the previous song, we get a small hint of what could be interpreted either as advice/reassurance from the lyrical voice, or as Stolas actively telling himself to pretend to be okay. "keep it calm, life goes on, nothing's wrong". In this case, though, I lean towards the latter interpretation for a very simple reason: the next line shifts to first person. "So why do I still feel this way?"

And that's the thing: once again, the hope and calm he's trying to make himself feel are immediately overpowered by his feelings of sadness. Once again, it's the sadness that wins over, and not the happiness. His depression is given room to drag him down, take him slowly towards rock bottom.

And once again, the last line—at least the last one before the chorus is repeated—is used to drive home the message of the song. But this time, the message is that, despite it all, despite having what he wanted, despite sitting at the end of the rainbow, despite trying to convince himself he's okay, he still feels sad. Because that's what depression does. No matter how many good things you have in your life, it drags you down.

And that message, in that last line, is delivered in the form of a question. "Why do I still feel this way?" This matters for two reasons. The first one is that it shows that Stolas isn't (fully) aware of what's happening to him. He obviously knows he needs his meds, he knows he should be taking them. We see him reach out for them. But he is also living his emotions, and not just experiencing them from the outside. And as the emotions take over, he loses perspective of where they come from, too caught up in how they're drowning him.

The second reason this matters is because the song and the lyrical voice don't offer Stolas answers.

In Stolitz Montage, Stolas gets an answer to his struggle: that, ultimately, [Blitz and Stolas] still got each other.

But in Day By Day, all Stolas gets are questions. What else are you to do? Why do I still feel this way?

Day By Day meets Stolas where he's at during the days leading up to Sinsmas after the trial. It allows for these questions to exist without an answer; it lets the answers come later in the episode. It lets his journey through the episode play out, allowing him to learn that he has Blitz, that he needs his meds, and that he has to be okay with the fact that things are not okay.

By the end of the episode, he can acknowledge that he made his choices and has to deal with the consequences. He starts to understand Blitz is by his side, willing to help him through this. That his relationship with Blitz might not feel like he thought it would, because he's too mentally ill and heart-broken to be there—but that they still have each other, they still love each other, and they'll be okay.

But during the montage, he's not there yet, and it wouldn't make sense for the song to be there, either.

So, yes, as cute and optimistic as Stolitz Montage is, and as glad as I am they released it anyways for us to enjoy, I believe the writers made the right decision by scrapping it for the episode.

If you read this far, thank you for your time! Please treat yourself to a glass of water for me, and feel free to share your thoughts ❤️

[esteljune]

P showing affection headcanons {P x reader}

For P, displays of affection are not something familiar, canonical, or automatic, even if there is a clear emotional bond between you.

In general, at first there may be nothing really physical between you, but a lot of eye contact. At first only furtive glances that would become increasingly intense and obvious over time. For Pinocchio, observing you is something that makes him feel extremely close to you.

He may initially have difficulty touching you for fear of not being able to control his force and hurting you, especially with his Legion arm.

Over time, his displays of affection would begin to become more explicit and physical, but they would still be a bit unusual and instinctive gestures, such as, for example, kissing a lock of your hair while you are facing away just to feel its scent.

Resting his head on your shoulder like a sleepy child, or pressing his forehead against yours when you are within kissing distance.

For him, feeling your breath, the warmth of your skin, and the beating of your heart is already something extremely intimate, something that helps him to approach what is human in you.

So don't be surprised if he wants to feel your heart beating under his palm or at his ear. Not only is it fascinating for him, but it is also extremely soothing. He would like to have the same tangible proof of his emotions.

Expressions are not his strong point, so his face would always remain rather neutral even in the most tender moments, but the faster ticking in his chest is an unmistakable sign of the effect you have on him.

If he ever saw two lovers depicted somewhere, he would end up replicating with you what he saw, such as a kiss on the hand or an invitation to dance, but they would probably be sweetly awkward or out of context gestures.

A clear sign of interest in you would be his willingness to listen to you. P is generally a good listener, but in your case, he would do nothing but seek your company just to hear what you have to say or tell him. He might even ask you to sing for him or to read him some books.

He would always come back to you, at any cost, in any physical condition he would do anything to see you again.

Pinocchio is a silent type, but he would show his affection by calling your name or trying to communicate with you as much as possible through words. Especially by asking you questions.

By playing the piano for you. Feelings are something completely new to P, but through music he would definitely be able to convey much of his own emotion.

By trying in any way to alleviate your suffering, no matter how trivial it may be. Your pain and your tears cause him a disturbance that he cannot fully grasp, so his solution could be to physically remove you from a situation of danger or suffering.

In the same way, if there is something you want, that you miss from your life in Krat, he will do anything to get it or find it again. You'd better not tell him you love cats or you might find the Hotel invaded by stray cats he's brought back from his outings.

He would trust you blindly, so much so that he would entrust you with his heart.

[johaerys-writes]

....the Iliad doesn’t have anything explicit, or even implicit, about our heroes having sex. Patroclus and Achilles sleep in the same tent, but the narrator tells us that each of the men has an enslaved woman at his side. I felt I had to respond to the reader’s possible expectations and possible disappointment in two ways. One was to discuss the Patrochilles relationship fairly extensively in the introduction and notes, and make clear the ways that it’s taken absolutely seriously, and is at the emotional heart of Achilles’ narrative arc. In the introduction, I also discuss the fact that the Iliad doesn’t treat sex as a measure of closeness or love—so the fact that the poem doesn’t tell us that Achilles and Patroclus had sex is in no way a sign that they’re less than everything to each other. The characters who do have sex in the Iliad—Helen and Paris, Hera and Zeus, and various warriors with the enslaved women whom they regularly rape—are not exactly doing so out of “love.” 

Within the translation itself, I knew that I had to convey the profound intimacy and love of Achilles and Patroclus; the reader or listener has to understand on a deep emotional level that Patroclus is Achilles’ person, and that without him, he is all but dead himself—and he also knows that his death is at least partly his own fault. You, the reader or listener, should feel his devastation.

“My friend Patroclus, whom I loved, is dead.

I loved him more than any other comrade.

I loved him like my head, my life, myself.

I lost him, killed him…. “

By the time you get to Book 18, if you don’t feel the full horror of that moment with your whole being, I’ve failed.

Excerpt from Enduring Epics: Emily Wilson and Madeline Miller on Breathing New Life Into Ancient Classics on Literary Hub

[shreddedhumanity]

Hi !! I know you said you're feeling burnt out, so no worries if not, but if you're interested and up to it, would you possibly write some Vergil taking care of a depressed reader?

── .✦ Your Tears Aren’t Your Weakness ☆

𖥻 Pairings ; Vergil/GN Reader, Vergil/You.

𖥻 Content Warnings ; Angst, the reader is depressed, discussions of depression and mental health, brief mention of suicide, pure sadness and anxiety here folks.

𖥻 A/N ; Okay I’ve had this lovely lovely request in my asks since like.. September. I hit a horrific writing block and couldn’t get out of it until recently, whoever requested this, I hope you see this and I hope you enjoy it!! Also, this wasn’t as beta read as my usual writings as I’m trying to get back into writing fully again, so please, please, please let me know if you see any spelling errors!! All that aside, I’m backkkk! Hope you all enjoy.

Vacant. Aimless. Unoccupied by proper thought.

Life bore meaning and, yet, you find no consolation within the word.

Meaning meant success, accomplishment, happiness—but, were you even happy? The space you inhabit—did you find yourself happy within the walls that closed you in so rigid? The people you spoke to? Did you find delight within the company, the community around you?

And even now, you continue to haul yourself from your bed, dragging through the days—or had it been months now?—to work, regardless of your tampering health. You manage to dress, and will yourself down the hallway to the main lobby of the Devil May Cry building.

Upon turning the corner to enter the lobby, you yelp when you find the eldest Sparda brother waiting there—expression unreadable, though you could only assume a form of concern?—lips pressing into a firm line, his eyes narrow, brows lowered in a sharp glare. Vergil was undeniably obscure when it came to conveying emotion. His body language did not appear any better, arms lay cross over his chest, body leaning on the wall as if he had been anticipative of your presence.

“You’ve been dejected lately,” he establishes aloud, voice unwavering as he openly discusses your mental health, “and I’d like to know why.”

“How did you know I was awake?” You manage, his gaze remains trained on you; intense, concentrated, you feel timid under his eyes.

“I don’t believe that is what I asked of you,” Vergil continues, “I asked why you’ve been miserable lately.”

“Just tired. Nothing important.” Satisfied with your answer, and mind elsewhere, such as getting through your day with no troubles, you attempt to brush past him only to be met with his eyes once more. It was within one step that his body was in front of yours, his stance unyielding, arms encasing his chest; expression depicting concern more clear.

“It must be important if it’s hindering you from your work.” He presses further. “And if you need to speak to someone, I’m here.”

༄

Life was vacant, aimless; to express that in words was laborious. The unaffected remained clueless, the ones that were bitten by the tempst of depression often drowned seeking aid. Words weren’t enough to describe the feeling—the numbness, the need.

The eyes that met yours were soft, understanding, comforting. When Vergil had invited you to his room that night to discuss your troubles, you hadn’t expected him to grant you such a concealed side of himself.

The man sat beside you, watching as the tears ran down your face. You spoke of your troubles so freely now, and he knew exactly what weighed your conscience so heavy; the consistent battle of your own mind.

His hand shifts to rest on your face, taking in your sorrowed expression. His free hand seeks purchase in yours, encasing it tightly. And the eyes that met his gaze were soft, understanding, comforting.

“If I knew,” his voice was gentle, no longer holding his usual demeanor; the rough tone so familiar now long buried away, “I would have helped you sooner.”

The walls you held so high crashes in that moment. Fully expecting the reaction, his hand reaches around to cup your face, allowing you to focus your weight in his grip, keeping you steady as you break into tears; the hand gripping yours would hold firm, tracing comforting circles into the skin.

“You amaze me everyday,” he spoke, “and I know you’ll continue to do so.”

Vergil Sparda, the half demonic being; the man who swore his humanity away, claiming it reduced him to weakness, to sorrow—but the sorrow, clear on your face, was not of fragility—it was of strength, the courage to fight an endless war against the enemy within you; and he realizes. You were only human, and it was okay to struggle, it was okay to ask for help.

“You’re such a strong individual and I’m impressed you deal with these battles each day.” He concludes rigidly.

The praise is welcomed; the unfamiliar concept of warmth and love, and yet it results in the tears flowing more freely. Your body aches, eyes burning from the inflow of your tears, breath coming out sharp and painful.

God, your chest hurt so bad, it hurt to breathe, but the tears feels so clearing, like a sudden relief compared to the usual feeling of trapping the pain within.

“If you have any thoughts, such as harming yourself, or ending your own life—you can speak to me.” The words pierces your thoughts. “While I don’t understand your inner troubles, I can grant you this… I care about you, and I’m here for you.”

And now it all made sense—and as the half demon stares into your tear flooded eyes, it’s clear that he means it. You were only human. The struggle wasn’t forever, you could breathe, you could fall, you could cry, you could feel.

Humanity wasn’t a weakness, and your depression wasn’t a battle you couldn’t win, and the fingers encasing yours offers a comfort through the realization amongst your thoughts.

Maybe.

Just maybe you could fight the inner war within your thoughts.

And just maybe, you could be you again.

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Saccharine Recoveries.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

series masterlist.

authors note - a part two was highly requested, so here you all go! not going to lie to you all, i’m not the happiest with how this turned out, but writers block is a total bitch. i’m sorry if it doesn’t live up to your standards. 🫶

word count - 7.9k

in which, after being in a medically induced coma for the past four days, your eyes are finally open, just when your husband thinks that everything is rosie, trials and tribulations occur once again making the processes of your recovery ten times harder, but he’s optimistic and always looks on the bright side , even when that all comes crashing down.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Recovery Day One. — 15th August, 2022.

19:03pm.

“(Y/N)?” Harry spoke in a hushed whisper as you tried to smile at him.

The sensation of the tube in your throat was uncomfortable, a reminder of the ordeal you had endured. You instinctively reached for your voice, your lips parting to form words, but the effects of the coma lingered, rendering your efforts into silence.

A group of doctors entered the room, and your heart skipped a beat as they approached your bed. Dr. Parker, his eyes kind and understanding, stepped forward.

"Hello, Mrs. Styles," he greeted you with a gentle smile. "I'm glad to see you awake."

Your gaze shifted to Harry and Alfie, their expressions a mix of hope and concern. Your fingers trembled slightly as you lifted your hand, pointing toward them. A stray tear slid down the side of your face, its path traced by a mixture of emotions – relief, gratitude, and the unspoken words that your voice couldn't yet express.

Dr. Parker followed your gesture, his gaze softening as he understood. "Harry and Alfie are right here with you. They've been waiting for you to wake up."

Your lips curved into a faint smile, your eyes locking onto Harry's and then Alfie's. Your heart seemed to speak for you, conveying the depth of your emotions and the overwhelming love that surged within you. Your hand trembled slightly as it remained pointed toward them, the tear on your cheek a testament to the profound connection that held your family together.

Dr. Parker's voice carried a note of reassurance. "It's okay, Mrs. Styles. Take your time. Your body is still recovering from the coma, and your voice will return when it's ready."

As Dr. Parker finished his conversation with you, his gaze turned gentle and concerned. "Are you experiencing any pain, Mrs. Styles?"

You managed to summon the energy to nod your head slightly, a subtle indication that discomfort still lingered. The faintest flicker of concern crossed Harry's features as he watched your response.

"Where are you feeling the pain?" Dr. Parker's voice was soothing, his attention focused solely on your well-being.

Harry's grip on your hand tightened, his gaze fixated on you. "M’love, where does it ‘urt?"

You shifted slightly, your gaze fixed on Dr. Parker. Weakly, you managed to lift your hand and gesture toward your chest and ribs, the source of your discomfort.

Dr. Parker's expression turned thoughtful, and he nodded. "Thank you for letting me know. I'll make sure you receive the appropriate pain relief."

With a gentle smile, he turned to leave the room, leaving you and your two boys alone once again. Harry's eyes never left your face, his concern palpable.

"Darlin’, are y’okay?" Harry's voice was laced with worry, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

You managed a weak smile, your gaze never leaving his. The silent exchange between you carried a wealth of emotions, unspoken words of comfort and reassurance.

Dr. Parker returned with a nurse who began administering the prescribed pain relief. As the nurse worked, Dr. Parker approached your bedside once again.

"We'll make sure you're as comfortable as possible," Dr. Parker assured you. "Your body has been through a lot, and it's important that you're not in pain."

Harry's voice was a mixture of gratitude and concern. "Thank you, Doc."

Dr. Parker nodded, his attention shifting to you. "Rest is crucial for your recovery. If you need anything, don't hesitate to let us know."

As the nurse finished administering the pain relief, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. The tension in your body began to ease, and you gave Harry a small smile – a silent acknowledgment of his unwavering presence by your side.

"We'll be here with you, love," Harry's voice was filled with determination. "Every step of the way."

And as Dr. Parker and the nurse left the room, you found comfort in the knowledge that your journey to healing was not one you had to travel alone.

The doctors then turned their attention to the monitors, checking your vitals and heart rate. Their movements were methodical and practised, their focus on ensuring your well-being.

Satisfied with their assessments, Dr. Parker looked at you with a reassuring smile. "Your vitals are looking stable, (Y/N). Your body is responding well."

You managed a weak smile, your voice still struggling to find its strength.

"We're going to give you a moment with your family now," Dr. Parker continued, his tone considerate. "Harry and Alfie are here with you."

As the doctors began to step away, Harry's presence came into view. His eyes were fixed on you, a mixture of relief and emotion evident in his gaze. Alfie stood beside him, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

" ‘ey, m’sun," Harry's voice was a soft, soothing balm. "How are’y’feeling?"

You managed a faint smile, your fingers reaching out to Harry's hand. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes – a silent reassurance of your connection.

Alfie shuffled closer, his eyes wide with wonder. "Mummy?"

You offered Alfie a tender smile, your hand extending toward him. Your fingers lightly brushed against his, a gentle touch that conveyed your love and presence.

Harry's voice was a mixture of encouragement and understanding. "Y’safe now, (Y/N). We're all here with ya’.”

As the doctors left the room, the atmosphere settled into a quieter, more intimate calm. The warmth of Harry's hand in yours was a constant reassurance, a lifeline that tethered you to the present.

Harry's eyes, filled with a mixture of love and concern, never left your face. His voice, gentle and soothing, filled the silence. "Y’been asleep f’a lil’while, m’love. There's some catching up t’do."

Your gaze locked onto his, a flicker of anticipation in your eyes.

"M’postponed the American leg ‘f the tour," Harry began, his voice carrying the weight of the decision. "It jus’didn't feel right being on t’road without ya’."

The news hit you like a shockwave, and your eyes widened in disbelief. A tremor ran through your body, and you started to shake your head, your voice struggling to find its strength.

Harry reached for your hand, his touch grounding you. "M’know it's a lot, m’sun, but it was necessary. Our family comes first."

You searched his eyes, finding reassurance in the depth of his gaze. The unspoken promise of unity and support between you was unwavering.

Harry continued, his voice soft and filled with emotion. "M’mum flew over as soon as she heard. She wanted t’be here f’us, for Alfie. And Gem, she's flying out soon too. We're all in this together."

A sense of gratitude swelled within you, knowing that your family was rallying around you during this challenging time. The bond you shared with Harry and the love you held for your son were at the heart of it all.

As the conversation with Harry continued, Alfie, who had been sitting patiently by his father's side, leaned in and whispered something into Harry's ear. The words were hushed and filled with earnestness.

"Can I go and sit next to mummy?"

Harry's eyes softened with understanding as he glanced at his son. He nodded, a tender smile playing at the corners of his lips. " ‘f course, buddy."

With gentle hands, Harry lifted Alfie from his spot by his side and carefully placed him on the bed beside you. Alfie's little frame nestled against your side, and he instinctively shifted closer, seeking the comfort of your presence.

Your heart swelled with emotion as you felt Alfie's warmth against your body. The tenderness in his touch and the trust in his eyes were a testament to the special bond you shared. It was a moment of quiet connection, and even though you lacked the energy to cuddle him back, the love that flowed between you was palpable.

Harry watched the two of you with a soft smile, his heart undoubtedly touched by the sight of his son seeking solace in the arms of his recovering mother. It was a moment of unity, a reaffirmation of the strength of your family's bond.

19:30pm.

In the quiet stillness of the hospital room, Harry leaned in, his lips poised to share a deeply personal revelation. The weight of the secret he held had been on his shoulders for too long, and he was determined to share it with you. His eyes, full of anticipation and love, met yours.

Just as the words were about to leave his lips, the door to the room opened, and the nurse, entered with gentle steps, entered at precisely seven-thirty. Her presence was unobtrusive, and her warm smile radiated compassion as she approached your bedside.

You greeted her with a subtle nod, your curiosity piqued by her arrival. Harry, ever the vigilant protector, looked up from his tender embrace of Alfie, his concern mirrored in his eyes.

"Good evening, Mrs. Styles," the nurse greeted you softly, her voice a soothing balm to the quiet room. "It's usually dinner time now, but given your recent awakening from the coma, we need to proceed cautiously with your diet for the time being."

Your gaze remained focused on her, a silent invitation for her to continue. Harry, still cradling Alfie with the care of a seasoned parent, nodded in acknowledgment, his concern for your well-being unwavering.

The nurse, her eyes kind and reassuring, continued to explain, "Your digestive system may need some time to regain its strength after the period of inactivity. Therefore, we've decided to provide you with a special formula through your IV. This way, we can ensure that you're receiving the right nutrients and proper hydration."

Harry's response was immediate, his voice laced with gratitude and trust. "Whatevers best f’her, Nurse. We want t’make sure she's getting ‘hat she needs."

You managed a faint but appreciative smile, your eyes conveying the depth of your gratitude for their unwavering support and care. Despite your current inability to speak, the silent bond between you and your family spoke volumes.

The nurse proceeded with her preparations, her skilled hands deftly checking the IV line to ensure its proper function. Throughout the process, Alfie remained fast asleep in Harry's embrace, his peaceful slumber a testament to the exhausting day he had experienced.

With her preparations complete, the nurse offered one final reassurance. "We will be closely monitoring your progress, (Y/N). This is just a temporary measure to aid in your recovery."

The nurse had just left the room, her instructions regarding the specialised IV and dietary changes echoing in the air. Harry, sensing the moment was right, leaned in closer, his eyes filled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Alfie was securely cradled in his arms as he gently took your hands, his gaze never leaving yours.

With a soft, reassuring smile, Harry spoke the words you had both longed to hear. "Y’pregnant, m’sun."

You reacted with a swift, adamant shake of your head, your eyes wide with disbelief. The shock and confusion etched across your face were undeniable.

But Harry, determined to share this moment with you, leaned forward, ensuring that Alfie remained comfortably nestled in his embrace. He spoke with a tender reassurance, his voice a soothing balm amidst the swirling emotions.

"Yes, y’are," Harry affirmed, his voice steady and filled with unwavering love. "T’doctors said y’thirteen weeks along, ‘n’everything's fine, m’love. T’baby is fine."

Overwhelmed by the weight of this revelation, tears welled up in your eyes. Emotions surged within you, a mixture of astonishment, vulnerability, and joy. The reality of the situation began to set in, and you couldn't contain the flood of tears that followed.

With Alfie nestled between you both, Harry's comforting presence and the assurance that your family was growing filled the room with an overwhelming sense of love and unity.

Harry continued to hold you close, his soothing words offering comfort amidst your tears. "We're in this together, (Y/N). You, me, Alfie, ‘n’our little one on t’way. We’ll face everything together, just like we always do."

20:07pm.

As the evening hours continued to pass, the time for Harry and Alfie to leave the hospital room drew near. Harry turned to you, his eyes filled with both longing and a sense of duty.

"Alf’s goin’ school in the morning," he explained gently, his voice soft and reassuring. "But I'll be back straight after I've dropped him off, alright?"

You nodded your head in understanding, your silent agreement filled with trust and love. Leaning in closer, you pressed a gentle kiss to Alfie's head, your lips conveying all the warmth and affection you felt for your precious son.

Harry's heart swelled with love as he watched you share that tender moment with Alfie, a silent promise of your presence and love even in his absence.

Turning his attention back to you, Harry then leaned in to press a loving kiss to your lips, a feeling that both of you had missed dearly during this challenging time. The warmth of your kiss was a poignant reminder of the deep connection you shared, a source of strength that would carry you through the days ahead.

With one last loving glance, Harry and Alfie left the room, the door closing softly behind them.

As the door gently closed behind Harry and Alfie, you found yourself alone in the dimly lit hospital room. The silence of the space enveloped you, broken only by the soft hum of medical equipment. It was in this solitary moment that you finally allowed yourself to embrace the vulnerability that had been suppressed for too long.

With one hand instinctively resting on your stomach, you pulled the hospital blanket closer to your body with the other. Its warmth and softness provided a semblance of comfort in the stark, clinical environment.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and, without hesitation, they began to flow. They traced a path down your cheeks, unburdening the emotions that had been building within you. These tears were not borne of despair but were simply a release, an acknowledgment of the pain and uncertainty you had endured.

Your ribs ached with each breath, serving as a constant reminder of the accident, and your throat still bore the discomfort of the breathing tube that had sustained you during your coma. The physical pain mirrored the emotional turmoil that had gripped you since that fateful day.

As you allowed yourself to cry, the hospital room witnessed the rawness of your feelings. The tears, like a cleansing rain, carried away the weight of your journey, drop by drop. In their silent descent, you found a sense of relief, a moment to acknowledge your strength in facing adversity and to grieve for the challenges you had encountered.

Recovery Day Two. — 16th August, 2022.

08:31am.

The new morning painted the world with a sense of hope and renewal. Harry and Alfie, hand in hand, approached the grand entrance of Alfie's primary school. The sun's gentle rays played through the leaves of towering trees, casting intricate patterns on the path they trod.

Alfie's backpack, on his petite frame, appeared comically oversized, an emblem of his premature birth three months prior. It slung over his shoulders, almost grazing the ground with its weight. Yet, it was a symbol of his resilience, a testament to his eagerness to embrace this new day.

Harry, looking down at his son and offered a warm, reassuring smile.

"Y’going t’do great today, Alf," he encouraged, his voice infused with love and unwavering support. He couldn't help but marvel at the little boy who had already faced so much in his young life.

Alfie, his tiny hand holding on to his father's with a mixture of trust and nervousness, clung to the familiarity of his touch. The weight of his backpack seemed nothing compared to the emotional burden he carried on his first day back at school since you had been hospitalised.

"I'm scared, Daddy," Alfie finally admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. The uncertainty of returning to school after an extended absence weighed heavily on his young heart.

Harry knelt down, coming to eye level with his son, his eyes mirroring Alfie's with a gentle understanding.

"S’okay t’feel scared, buddy," he assured, his words carrying the reassurance of a father's love. "But remember, y’not alone. Y’friends ‘n’teachers are here f’you, ‘n’Mommy will be so proud ‘f y’when she hears ‘bout y’first day back."

Alfie nodded, a glimmer of determination shining through his eyes. With a deep, steadying breath, he took that brave step through the school gates.

As they approached the classroom door, Mrs. Lucas stood outside, offering warm greetings to the arriving students and parents. Alfie's steps grew slower, and his grip on Harry's hand became hesitant. Mrs. Lucas, with a kind smile, extended her welcome to them.

"Good morning, Alfie," she greeted with genuine warmth. "It's so good to have you back."

But when those words reached Alfie's ears, his steps came to an abrupt halt. He turned to his father, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The plea in his gaze was clear – he needed to be picked up.

Harry tilted his head in concern as he knelt down to Alfie's level. Without hesitation, he gently lifted his son into his arms, Alfie clutching him tightly. Tears began to flow down Alfie's cheeks as he buried his face in Harry's shoulder.

With genuine worry, Harry asked,

"S’wrong, buddy?" His voice was soft, a comforting presence in this moment of turmoil.

Alfie, his voice quivering with emotion, didn't immediately respond. He simply continued to cry, his tiny frame trembling in his father's embrace.

With Alfie still nestled in his arms, Harry tried once more to coax words from his son.

Amidst the sympathetic gazes of the other parents, Alfie's tears continued to stream down his cheeks, his sobs growing more intense with each passing moment. Harry's heart ached as he held his son close, longing to soothe the pain that had gripped the young boy's heart.

"S’wrong, Alfie?" Harry asked once more, his voice tender and filled with empathy. He knew that Alfie needed to express his feelings, to release the emotions that had built up during the time when his mother was in the hospital.

Alfie hiccupped, struggling to find his words through his tears. Finally, in a soft, quivering voice, he managed to convey his deep longing, "I don't want to go to school... I want Mommy."

Harry's heart felt like it had shattered into a million pieces as he held his son tighter. He understood Alfie's pain all too well, and he wished he could make it all better. In that moment, he felt the weight of your absence more than ever.

Harry held Alfie close, his arms wrapped around his trembling son as they stood outside the classroom door. Alfie's tears still glistened in his eyes, and his grip on his father remained firm.

In a soft, soothing voice, Harry began to speak. "Y’know, Alfie, t’second I pick y’up after school, we can go’n’see Mommy. But right now, it's important f’y’t’go t’school’n’learn all sorts of new things."

Alfie's response was a shaky, tearful shake of his head. He reached up to play with the soft peach fuzz at the back of his father's neck, a comforting gesture that harkened back to his baby days.

Harry, understanding the depth of his son's reluctance, tried a different approach. "Y’remember y’best friend Casey, right? Well, he's in y’class already’n’his daddy texted me last night sayin’ that Casey really missed ya’ Do y’think y’could go in’n’see him today?"

Alfie considered this for a moment, his watery eyes reflecting the uncertainty he felt. Eventually, he nodded his head, a small but significant step toward the classroom.

Harry gently wiped away the tears under Alfie's eyes, his heart full of love and pride for his brave little boy. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to Alfie's forehead, their foreheads touching briefly.

"I love you, Alfie," Harry whispered.

"I love you too, Daddy," Alfie replied, his voice filled with trust and affection. With that final exchange of words, Harry lowered his son down to the floor.

Watching Alfie take those uncertain steps toward the classroom, Harry couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for his brave boy.

After Alfie had taken those hesitant steps into the classroom, Harry turned his attention to Mrs. Lucas, his expression a mixture of concern and determination. He approached her with a polite smile, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy.

"Mrs. Lucas," he began, his voice soft and earnest, "I just wanted t’let y’know that if, at any point during the day, Alfie starts getting upset or, well, anything happens, please don't hesitate t’give me a call."

Mrs. Lucas regarded him with a curious yet understanding gaze, her concern evident. She knew that something had been amiss, but she also respected Harry's discretion.

“Of course, Harry," she replied kindly. "I'll keep an eye on him and be sure to reach out if he needs you."

Harry nodded, a sense of relief washing over him. He appreciated Mrs. Lucas's willingness to support Alfie during this challenging time. However, when she inquired further, her voice gentle, about what had happened, Harry hesitated.

"I'd rather not discuss it," he said quietly, his gaze momentarily distant. "Just, please, call me if Alfie gets upset. That's all I ask."

Mrs. Lucas nodded in understanding, recognizing the importance of respecting their privacy. She gave Harry an understanding smile, appreciating the depth of his concern for Alfie's well-being.

"Of course, Mr. Styles," she reassured him once more. "We'll take good care of Alfie here."

With that, Harry offered his gratitude with a nod and turned to leave the school, knowing that, despite the challenges ahead, Alfie was in capable and caring hands.

09:00am.

The room was bathed in the gentle morning light as the clock on the wall struck nine. It marked the beginning of another day in the hospital, a new chapter in your journey towards recovery.

A soft knock at the door signalled the arrival of a specialist, a man named James. His presence was a breath of fresh air, a beacon of hope in the sterile environment of the hospital room. With a warm smile, he approached your bedside, his eyes filled with empathy and reassurance.

"Good morning," he greeted, his voice carrying the calm confidence of someone experienced in helping patients on their path to recovery. "I'm James, and I'm a speech therapist. How are you feeling today?"

You nodded in response, your eyes locked onto James, eager to hear his guidance and reassured by his professional demeanour.

James continued, his words measured and encouraging. "I want you to know that since your coma was relatively short, only three days, your speech should recover quite well. It might take some time and effort, but we'll work together to help you regain your full communication abilities."

James gently pulled his briefcase onto the bed, a sense of purpose in his movements. From it, he carefully extracted a pack of flashcards, each adorned with colorful images. He placed them on a small table beside the bed, arranging them neatly.

With a kind and encouraging tone, James explained the exercise ahead.

"We're going to start with something simple," he said, his voice soothing. "I'll show you some pictures, and I'd like you to try and name what's on each of them."

As he revealed the first flashcard, you looked at the image, your eyes focused. A glimmer of determination flickered in your gaze as you attempted to find the words within you. You opened your mouth, trying to conjure the sounds, but it was a formidable challenge.

The effort required to speak felt overwhelming, and a wave of frustration washed over you. Your body seemed to slump into the bed behind you, the weight of the task pulling you down.

James observed your struggle with empathy, recognizing the immense effort you were putting into this seemingly simple task.

Seeing your struggle and the evident frustration it brought, James reached for a glass and a jug of water from the bedside table. With careful movements, he filled the glass, and then he placed a straw inside it.

"Let's take a little break," he suggested kindly, offering you the glass. "Having some water will help keep your vocal cords hydrated, which can make speaking a bit easier."

He held the glass to your lips, allowing you to sip the cool water through the straw at your own pace. It was a small but essential gesture, a reminder that the journey towards recovery was a series of steps, each one significant in its own way.

James sat on the edge of the bed, his presence calm and reassuring. He held up the flashcards once more, looking at you with encouragement in his eyes.

"Would you like to try again?" he asked gently.

You hesitated for a moment, the memory of your previous attempt still fresh. But deep down, the determination burned, and you nodded your head, a sign that you were willing to give it another shot.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for the task at hand. As you looked at the first flashcard, your lips parted, and you began to speak. However, the words that emerged were not the smooth, effortless ones you once knew. Instead, they came out in stutters and hesitations, like a rusty engine struggling to turn over.

"Th-th-that's... a b-b...bird," you managed, your voice breaking into a series of stutters.

James listened attentively, his expression unwavering.

James, ever patient and understanding, held up another flashcard, maintaining his reassuring presence. He had seen your determination and knew that progress was often marked by small, steady steps.

You looked at the new image on the flashcard, gathering your resolve once again. The previous stuttering attempt had not deterred you. With a deep breath and a sense of focus, you tried again.

"That's a... c-c-cat," you stammered, your voice still marked by hesitations and stutters.

James nodded approvingly, acknowledging your effort with a warm smile. Each word, no matter how challenging, was a testament to your resilience and determination.

James lifted another flashcard, his calm demeanor providing a reassuring backdrop for your efforts. He understood the significance of these small steps on your path to recovery and was there to support you every step of the way.

You focused on the new image before you, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. With a deep breath, you began to speak once more, your voice still marked by stutters and hesitations.

"That's a... d-d...dog," you managed, your determination shining through despite the challenges.

James nodded encouragingly, his smile warm and appreciative.

James, the dedicated speech therapist, held up a total of ten flashcards, one after the other. Each image presented a new challenge, a test of your ability to express yourself despite the obstacles in your path.

With unwavering patience, you faced each card, taking a deep breath before speaking. Your words, though marked by stutters and hesitations, emerged with determination and clarity. Ten times, you summoned the strength to name each object before you, each success a hard-earned victory in your journey to reclaim your voice.

James observed your progress with a sense of satisfaction, recognizing the strides you had made. He wore a gentle smile as he leaned in slightly, his voice filled with encouragement.

"Now, I'd like to take it a step further," he began, his tone still reassuring. "I'd like you to try speaking a few sentences. I believe you can do it."

You nodded your head, your confidence bolstered by the progress you had made with the flashcards. This felt like a significant step forward.

James handed you a piece of paper with several phrases on it. The sentences gradually grew longer, each one challenging you a bit more. It was a carefully crafted exercise to help you regain your ability to construct sentences and express yourself more fully.

He looked at you, offering his support.

"Whenever you're ready," he said, ready to listen and guide you through this next phase of your recovery.

The phrases on the page seemed like stepping stones on your path to recovery.

You looked at the first sentence, its simplicity contrasting with the complexity of your journey.

With a deep breath, you began to read it aloud, your voice still carrying the echoes of your previous stuttering attempts.

"I... like... to... pick... flowers," you managed, your voice steadier than before.

James nodded approvingly, his eyes filled with encouragement. The progress you had made in the short time you had been working together was remarkable.

He pointed to the next sentence, which was longer and more challenging.

"Take your time," he encouraged, ready to offer guidance if needed.

James, encouraged by your progress, nodded and presented another sentence. This time, the sentence was a bit longer, intended to further challenge your speaking abilities.

"Let's try this one," he said with a supportive smile, handing you the piece of paper. "Take your time, and whenever you're ready, go ahead and read it aloud."

You accepted the paper, your determination shining in your eyes. With a deep breath, you focused on the sentence before you, prepared to tackle this new challenge head-on.

“Exploring... new... horizons... broadens... our... perspectives.” you said, your words coming out with more fluency than before.

James nodded, his smile growing wider with pride.

"That was wonderful," he praised. "Your progress is truly remarkable."

He pointed to the next sentence on the page, which was even longer, yet he had full confidence that you were up to the challenge.

"Whenever you're ready," he encouraged, providing you with the space and support you needed to continue improving your speech.

James, the dedicated speech therapist, observed your readiness for the next challenge. With a supportive smile, he handed you the paper with the new sentence.

"Let's work on this one," he suggested kindly. "Remember to take your time and speak at your own pace."

You accepted the paper, your determination unwavering. You focused on the sentence, recognizing that it was longer than the previous ones but confident in your ability to meet the challenge.

With a deep breath, you began to speak, your voice gaining strength and fluency with each word. James watched, filled with pride at your progress, ready to offer guidance and support whenever you needed it.

As you finished reading the longer sentence, James couldn't contain his excitement. He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing with a sense of accomplishment. You looked up at him, tilting your head inquisitively.

With a beaming smile, James leaned in closer to you and spoke with genuine enthusiasm. "Your stutter has gone, and you're saying the sentences in full!"

Your eyes widened with joy and realisation. It was a moment of triumph, a sign that your journey to reclaim your voice was progressing even better than you had hoped. Your excitement bubbled over, and James, equally thrilled, wrapped you in a quick but heartfelt hug. It was a gesture of celebration and encouragement, a recognition of the significant strides you had made in your speech therapy.

With a warm smile, James expressed his delight at your progress. "I'm going to go inform the nurses at the station about your incredible improvement," he said. "And I'll be back in a few days to check up on you."

He then couldn't resist adding a lighthearted touch to the conversation. "You know," he chuckled, "when your husband comes into the room, you can surprise him with your newfound voice. I'm sure he'll be amazed."

James's positive energy and humor added a sense of camaraderie to your sessions, and you nodded with gratitude for his support. His dedication to your recovery was evident, and you looked forward to the day you could indeed surprise your husband with your progress.

12:07pm.

Around lunchtime, the door to your hospital room gently swung open, and in walked Harry, carrying a bag of Raising Cane's, the scent of delicious fried chicken filling the air. He had a warm smile on his face, relief and affection evident in his eyes as he saw you awake and alert.

He carefully placed the bag of food on the tray table, positioned at the edge of the bed, ensuring it was within your reach. Then, his eyes fixed on you, he leaned forward, closing the distance between you and placed a tender kiss on your lips. It was a kiss filled with love and longing, a silent expression of how much he had missed you during your recovery.

As he pulled away, he gazed into your eyes, his voice soft and filled with emotion.

"I brought y’favourite," he said, a hint of excitement in his tone, eager to share this moment with you. The sight of you awake and engaged was a testament to your resilience and strength, something he admired deeply.

Harry turned to refill your glass of water, his heart lighter with the knowledge that you were awake and speaking. As he poured the water, his mind was already occupied with thoughts of the delicious meal he had brought for you.

However, when he heard your voice, a voice he hadn't heard in days, his movements froze. The glass hovered over the pitcher, and his hands trembled ever so slightly. His eyes widened in astonishment as he slowly turned to look at you, a mixture of shock and joy dancing in his gaze.

"I didn't think I was allowed to eat," you said, your voice a little raspy but undeniably yours.

Harry's heart soared at the sound of your voice, and his lips curved into a wide, elated smile. He took a few steps closer to your bedside, setting the glass down with a gentle clink. Overwhelmed with emotion, he reached for your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours.

"Y’speakin’," he whispered, his voice filled with awe and relief, as if he had been granted a miracle.

Harry's heart raced as he rushed over to your bedside, his eyes fixed on you in disbelief. Carefully, he sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to pick up your hands. Gently, he brought them close to his face, pressing tender kisses to your wrists as if to confirm that this moment was real.

Tears glistened in his eyes as he looked at you, his voice quivering with emotion.

"Can’t believe it," he murmured, his breath hitching. "V’been ‘ere f’days, prayin’ t’hear y’voice again."

Even though you had been awake for a day, one thing he was craving was the sound of your voice, it was the one thing that made him feel same.

Before the accident, when he would get home from a heavy day full of meetings and executive decisions revolving the tour, he would come home exhausted and collapse onto either the sofa or the bed you shared, wherever you were that night and would lay his head on your lap, your hands running through his hair and your voice lulling him to a slumber with tales of what you did throughout the day, it was as if he was the same age as Alf.

His eyes never left yours, and he continued to place sweet kisses on your skin, each one a testament to the overwhelming relief and love he felt in that moment.

"Y’ave n’idea how much I missed you," he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper, filled with a mix of gratitude and love.

Harry's fingers gently traced patterns on your palms as he leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours.

"Was so scared," he confessed, his voice cracking with vulnerability. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

He pressed his lips to your forehead, a gentle and reassuring gesture.

"But y’here," he said, his voice steadier now, filled with determination. "And y’speaking, and m’so, so grateful."

Harry couldn't stop himself from leaning in and capturing your lips in a sweet, loving kiss. It was a kiss filled with months of worry, days of longing, and the promise of a future together. In that moment, he held you close, cherishing every second as if it were a precious gift.

As you pulled away from the sweet, lingering kiss, your fingers tenderly brushed under Harry's eyes, wiping away the glistening tear tracks that had formed there. You couldn't help but chuckle softly as you gazed at him, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Why did you bring food?" you asked, your voice filled with light-hearted amusement. "I thought I wasn't allowed to eat. The nurse explained about the IV and all."

Harry held onto your hands, his eyes never leaving yours. He chuckled, a warm, melodious sound that filled the room.

"Well," he began, his voice playful, "Was walking through t’ward, Nurse Lauren came up to me." He paused for dramatic effect, his lips curving into a mischievous grin. "S’told me they reviewed y’vitals’n’explained that y’could eat solid foods again."

You blinked in surprise, a smile spreading across your face. "They did?"

Harry nodded eagerly, his eyes filled with excitement.

"Ye’, they did. S’practically sprinted t’the Cane's next door, knowing s’y’absolute favorite."

You couldn't help but laugh, feeling a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading throughout your heart. "You really know how to make a girl feel special, don't you?"

Harry's smile grew wider, and he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"Only the very special ones," he whispered, his voice filled with love and adoration, "like you."

Recovery Day Three. — 17th August, 2023.

14:54pm.

The next day painted a stark contrast to the peacefulness of the previous day. As late afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, it did little to alleviate the tension in the room. Your face, contorted in anguish, told a different story.

You had decided to try and have a little nap whilst Harry departed your side to go and get your little love bug, you were tired, you would wake up during the night confused about where you were and just decided to close your eyes, even if it was for five minutes.

Lying in the hospital bed, you were locked in the grip of a restless nightmare. Your brow was furrowed, and a faint sheen of sweat clung to your forehead. The morning sun, instead of casting a gentle glow, seemed to intensify the torment of your dream.

Outside, the world buzzed with life, oblivious to the turmoil within. Your slumber was anything but serene, as you wrestled with unseen demons in the depths of your subconscious. The room, too, held its breath, but not in quietude; rather, it was a silent witness to the tumultuous nightmare that held you captive.

Despite the sunlight's attempt to illuminate the room, a pall of unease lingered, a stark reminder of the night's torment. In that moment, the hospital room became a battleground between your deepest fears and the fragile flicker of hope that sought to break through the darkness.

In the depths of this haunting nightmare, you found yourself ensnared in a nightmarish tableau. Behind the wheel, your hands clenched the steering wheel with an iron grip. Alfie was in the backseat, his voice a haunting crescendo of terror as he called out to you.

"Mommy! Mommy!" His tiny voice trembled with fear, echoing through the confines of the car.

Beside him, a baby girl, a chilling glimpse of the child growing within your belly, wailed inconsolably. Her cries were a haunting lament, a stark reminder of the fragile life depending on your protection.

The world outside the car window blurred into a nightmarish frenzy, colors blending into an incomprehensible whirl. Tires screeched, a discordant symphony of desperation. The vehicle careened out of control, spinning and swerving as if propelled by malevolent forces.

Then came the deafening crash, a cataclysmic collision that reverberated through your very core. The world exploded into chaos, metal screeching against metal, an eruption of sound and fury.

In this nightmare, you teetered on the edge of consciousness, imprisoned within the nightmarish wreckage of the car. Through half-shut eyes, you beheld the unimaginable horror unfurling in the backseat. Flames danced, fierce and relentless, licking at the edges of the car seats. Orange tendrils of death reached hungrily toward Alfie and the tiny, wailing baby girl.

"Mommy, help me!" Alfie's desperate pleas were a chilling refrain, his voice tinged with terror and helplessness.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you strained against the invisible chains that bound you to the twisted metal. You could feel the unbearable heat, the scorching breath of the flames inching closer with every passing second.

The baby's cries grew louder, a heart-rending symphony of fear and agony. In this agonizing nightmare, you reached out a trembling hand, your fingers desperate to soothe the infant, to cradle her in safety. But the inferno was relentless, its searing fingers inching ever closer.

"Please, Mommy," Alfie's voice cracked with fear, his eyes wide with terror.

"I'm trying, Alfie," you whispered through trembling lips, your voice barely more than a quiver.

In this nightmarish realm, the scent of smoke filled your nostrils, the acrid taste of fear clinging to your tongue. Your heart pounded in your chest like a relentless drumbeat, and the weight of powerlessness bore down on you like an unyielding stone.

Flames engulfed the backseat, painting a hellish tableau of despair. It was a nightmare you couldn't escape, an agonizing loop of terror that clawed at your very soul. Your mind screamed for action, for salvation, but your body remained pinned, an immovable captive.

The cries of the baby grew louder, her tiny voice a heartbreaking plea for rescue. You stretched out your trembling hand, fingers straining toward her, a silent promise of protection. Yet, the flames danced ever nearer, their scalding touch tormenting your outstretched arm.

"Please, baby," you whispered, your voice choked with desperation.

In the midst of this living nightmare, you were rendered powerless, a witness to a tragedy unfolding before your eyes. The world dissolved into a surreal nightmare, where time seemed to stand still, and the relentless flames threatened to consume all you held dear.

The shrill, frantic beeping of the heart monitor filled the room, a discordant symphony of alarm that pierced the air. It was as though the nightmare from your dream had spilled into reality, an unrelenting cacophony of distress.

In an instant, the tranquility of the hospital room shattered. The door flew open, and a team of doctors and nurses rushed in, their faces etched with urgency and concern.

"What's happening?!" one of the doctors exclaimed, his voice taut with anxiety as he approached the bedside, his eyes darting between the monitor and your face.

Another nurse swiftly checked the vitals monitor, her fingers dancing over the buttons. "Her heart rate is skyrocketing! We need to stabilize her!"

A palpable tension filled the room as medical personnel worked in unison, their practiced movements a testament to their training. They adjusted IV lines, administered medications, and conferred in hurried, hushed tones.

Amidst the frantic activity, you felt a profound sense of helplessness, trapped within the confines of your own body. Your heart raced uncontrollably, its furious pounding echoing in your ears.

The lead doctor, a seasoned figure with a commanding presence, addressed the team. "We need to get this under control now. Administer sedatives if necessary, and prepare for an EKG. We can't afford to lose her."

With a sense of urgency, they acted swiftly, the room becoming a whirlwind of activity. Amid the commotion, your fear and desperation were evident in your wide, frightened eyes.

Just when the doctors and nurses thought your condition had stabilized, a sudden jolt coursed through your body. Your limbs convulsed uncontrollably, your fingers clawing at the sheets, and your eyes rolled back as a seizure gripped you with merciless force.

Panic filled the room once more as medical professionals scrambled into action. They lowered the bed's side rails to prevent you from falling, their faces tense with worry.

15:10pm.

Harry leaned against the school gates, patiently waiting for the school day to end. His eyes scanned the children as they poured out of the building, searching for Alfie among the crowd.

As he stood there, a woman with a confident stride approached him. She flashed a flirtatious smile and initiated a conversation, "Well, hello there. You must be Alfie's dad, right?"

Harry nodded, offering a polite smile. "Ye’, S’me. M’here t’pick ‘im up."

The woman, her tone flirtatious and forward, continued, "I've seen you here a few times before. You're a handsome dad, you know. What's your name?"

Harry chuckled nervously, feeling a bit taken aback by her directness. "M’Harry. Nice t’meet ya’."

She leaned in closer, her gaze fixed on his left hand. "Harry, huh? And are you married, Harry?"

Harry held up his left hand, showing his wedding ring. "Ye’, M’happily married,been married almost five years in fact."

Undeterred, the woman's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Happily, you say? Well, you know, sometimes a little excitement outside of marriage can be... refreshing."

Harry raised an eyebrow, a clear signal that her advances were unwelcome. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm quite committed t’m’wife."

The woman seemed slightly disappointed but didn't give up easily. "Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me."

The bell rang, and the main doors of the school swung open, releasing a flood of excited children, all eager to reunite with their parents. Among the crowd, Alfie emerged, his face lighting up as soon as he spotted his father.

With a joyful shout of "Daddy!" Alfie dashed toward Harry, his small feet carrying him as fast as they could. Harry crouched down, ready to catch his son, and as Alfie reached him, he scooped him up in a warm embrace.

"Daddy's ‘ere, buddy," Harry said with a grin, feeling the energy of Alfie's hug and seeing the paint stains on his school uniform. "Did y’have a good day at school?"

Alfie nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah, we painted today! Look at this, Daddy!" He proudly displayed his hands, covered in a rainbow of paint colors.

Harry chuckled, looking at his son's colorful hands. "Wow, y’quite the artist, Alf! Let's get y’cleaned up before we go see mummy."

15:27pm.

Harry and Alfie had just entered the bustling ward when a sudden commotion erupted from your room. Doctors and nurses hurried in and out, their faces filled with urgency, and the chaotic energy in the corridor was palpable. Harry's heart clenched with worry as he instinctively tightened his grip on Alfie's hand.

Harry and Alfie quickened their pace, the corridor seeming to stretch endlessly as they rushed toward your room. The knot of dread in Harry's stomach tightened with every step. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

As they reached the doorway, Harry's heart plummeted in his chest. There, on the hospital bed, you were having a seizure, your body convulsing uncontrollably. The sight was both horrifying and heart-wrenching. Harry's legs felt like lead, but he forced himself to move closer, his grip on Alfie's hand never wavering.

The sight of you having a seizure was too much for Harry to bear. In that harrowing moment, he couldn't maintain his composure any longer. He released Alfie's hand, and his legs gave way beneath him. Harry fell to his knees outside your hospital room, his hands trembling as he watched you convulsing, unable to do anything but feel the sheer helplessness wash over him.

Alfie stood there, wide-eyed and frightened, looking at his father on the floor and then back at you. His small world was unravelling before his eyes, and he had no idea how to make sense of it. Harry wanted to be strong for his son, but the overwhelming fear and concern for you had shattered his resolve, leaving him vulnerable and devastated.

A doctor yelled above all the commotion that was taking place, directing his speech to one of the nurses. His voice sounded desperate, he needed to help you as quickly as possible.

"Seizure activity!" one of the nurses called out, her voice strained as she rushed to retrieve necessary medications and equipment.

The lead doctor called for additional assistance, his voice urgent and commanding. "We need a crash cart, now!"

tag-list: @itsgigikay @kuntxrgraudunkelbunt @emgoldenharry @cat-loves-music @be-with-me-so-happily @cherrycolas-things @white-wolf-buckaroo @gem1712 @sleutherclaw @viktorialah @woody32271 @alienorknight @psicoatyles

[deus-sema]

The discourse surrounding Sauron and Galadriel about love and obsession has been rather interesting to catch up with so far. After going through the perspectives of both those who like this pairing and those who don’t, I think both sides can unite in agreement over this one fact, if nothing else: obsession, without any shred of doubt, exists between them. It exists on both sides for she has been obsessed with him long before he was with her. Yes, it was motivated by unadulterated hatred and a desire for vengeance, but he occupied her thoughts for the better or worse. Now, she has planted herself in his mind too.

Then comes the question of whether whatever there is between them can be considered romantic or not. Is it appropriate to label it as love or not? Here it is a matter of preference which differs from person to person. What will be interpreted as romantic by one may not be so by another and vice versa. It is completely understandable why many will be uncomfortable with the notion of obsession being associated with love. Obsession – over anything and anyone – is usually an unhealthy emotion. Unwanted and unpredictable, it can prove detrimental to both the individual experiencing it as well as the people around them. In the real world, it needs to be recognized for what it is and addressed for the betterment of everyone.

But, herein lies the difference between the world we exist in and fictional worlds. Every work of fiction, regardless of genre, exists on a different plane whose happenings have no bearing on our reality. Fiction is a realm of infinite possibilities which is the reason why people use it for wish fulfillment. People can’t fly or use magic for real but they can do so in a make-believe world. People can cheat death and turn over a new leaf. Foes can become friends and overcome their grievances. They can live happily ever after without any worries about betrayal or loss. It is a place where ideal and unconditional love is allowed to thrive. Simultaneously, it is also where love can exist in flawed, twisted and, even, perverse forms. It can be greedy, possessive, selfish, and warped while still retaining its essence. That is probably the reason why many, myself included, are fascinated with the idea of stories with obsessive love. With the idea of an all-consuming desire and yearning on one character’s part for another that can go on to be destructive. With the concept of evil beings experiencing love. It is why obsession fueled by love, whether executed properly or not, is an integral component of many dark romances. Within stories, it is permitted to be what it is most certainly not in reality. In real life, no emotion – not even what we believe to be love – should override our individual well being or anyone else’s. This is why fiction is a safe space to explore fantasies. Even the most incredulous ones of all.

Now, about how I interpret Sauron and Galadriel, specifically, within the context of this show: It is love. They developed feelings for each other when their paths crossed unexpectedly and they forged an unlikely bond because of the circumstances they faced together. Simple. Unintentionally, Galadriel began to care for her greatest enemy and believed him to be her friend. She is still obsessed with defeating him but whatever she felt for Halbrand now exists alongside her hatred for Sauron. Meanwhile, Sauron is still pretty much evil. He is working to further his own interests or,rather,what he thinks to best for Middle Earth. But, at the same time, he desires Galadriel. Both were visibly attracted to one another in the first season. Even though no words were said, Charlie and Morfydd, being the phenomenally talented and intelligent actors that they are, conveyed it beautifully through their expressions and body language. I don’t think it is a betrayal to the characters either for the show, more or less, took Sauron’s canonical obsession with Galadriel and her persistent defiance against him and added to it a layer of romance which is doomed because of who they are. I don’t claim to know what the show plans on doing with them in future and it is not in my hands. We can only speculate, engage in wishful thinking and write fanfics and AUs if things don’t go the way we want them to.

RoP is a show I’m enjoying so far in all its aspects and I’m not exaggerating when I say that its fandom is one of the most chilled-out and relaxing ones I’ve engaged with in recent times. I’ve gotten to interact with many amazing posts. However I’m well aware that where there is more than one person, there are differences in opinions. Where there are differences, there will be disagreements. Where there are disagreements, there will be clashes. Clashes will lead to fanwars. Fanwars have high chances of turning toxic. I know the drill for I have undergone it in many fandoms. I’ve been carried away by the toxicity and have made my fair share of mistakes too. Those experiences have taught me some important lessons. One mistake I made, rather repeatedly, during my…..enthusiastic….stanning phase was to engage in fights with people whose opinions on a certain topic or fictional character differed from mine. All factions believe their interpretation of whichever nonexistent character they like in whatever made-up story they are into, is the correct one and many a times they can substantiate their claims with reasons. Sometimes, these contrasting opinions lead to some riveting and respectful discussions between people which, to be honest, is the entire point behind a public platform. Sometimes, they result in nasty fights.

Ideally, the feelings of real people should be prioritized over seemingly trivial issues like different preferences in fiction. But if we were capable of that we would all be perfect but, as we all know, perfection exists only in Valinor. Fictional works are dearer to us than some random stranger on the internet. So, when we encounter a radically different opinion about something we are passionate about, the first reaction is usually one of annoyance. Depending on whether it is mild or severe, this annoyance can make us petty. We crave the satisfaction of one-upping those who disagree with us, of validating our perspective over their’s and, as a result, we don’t realize if someone’s feelings get hurt in the process. Or even if we do, the euphoria of ‘winning’ in the discourse makes it easier to sweep the adverse effects under the rug. I don’t believe we need to withhold our opinions to make others happy. We are not bound to understand each other's opinions, much less agree every time. But we do owe it to each other to be civil if not anything else. As for me, what I’m going to try and do is to ignore the takes I disagree with and mind my own business. If it gets too much then I am going to press the block button. I advise those who dislike my opinions and takes to do the same. It’s nothing personal and we all deserve to enjoy in our own spaces while choosing what content we wish to see and engage with without suppressing our thoughts. We deserve to vent as well for it is healthy. I cannot guarantee that I’ll be successful right away for there are still instances when I end up behaving in a manner that is plain immature. But, to paraphrase the late Diarmid who once tried to counsel Sauron (Eru bless his soul), I simply have to keep trying until it becomes a habit.

So, take care everyone, and I hope you all are doing well wherever you are.

[lvxiferianemblem]

Lvxi SMC character analysis (SMC isn't one dimensional)

As promised, I'm putting down all my thoughts regarding SMC, including general analysis and personal interpretation. This is just an amalgam of all my recent thoughts, but I'll do my best to make it as coherent as possible.

There's no such thing as 'evil for the sake of it.' Despite what most cartoon villains tell you, there will always be a reason for why someone does things, even if those reasons are as shallow as brief entertainment. In this case, however, I don't think SMC fits either of those bills.

Going back to the origin of SMC himself, we have to understand what exactly his story is trying to convey---or at least to the best of our ability.

It's common knowledge that before everything, the apostles of evil were embodiments of virtues, and SMC's virtue, in particular, was knowledge, before he spiraled into the power of 'deceit.' However, I think it's important that we look deeper into this and what his symbolism is trying to convey.

In the Beast Yeast storyline, we see that PV describes SMC as having lived an isolated path previous to becoming what he is now and that being the figure of truth is a damning one. His statue is regal and important, bearing the appearance of a monarch rather than anything like the jester we're familiar with, and it stands tall like an idol of worship.

This statue is old. And it's quite clear that within an amount of time, something drastic has occurred to SMC that caused him to make that shift, so the question is, what exactly was it? In CRK, we know that SMC essentially fell victim to corruption of sorts, and details around it are cloudy at best and vague at worst, but we have background information to assist with that.

As Dark Enchantress Cookie's story tells us, the heaviest burden that will drive one insane is the truth of everything and the knowledge of the purpose of their creation. SMC, being the apostle of knowledge and truth, would no doubt harbor this knowledge.

But how do you tell an entire society this truth? In a world where no one wants to hear you and nobody is willing to follow you in the first place, how do you convince them of something they don't want to hear? You beg and plead for them to listen, but they only call you a liar. They call you a deceiver and a traitor, and they turn their backs on you. So what else can you do but fulfill their wish?

After all, in the court, the jester is the only role that can mock the king without judgment, because no one takes him seriously.

SMC makes it very clear throughout his story that his values are not only his own and that they're more accurately a representation of other people as a whole. He says that people would 'much rather believe a sweet lie' and that the world operates on deceit. He does what he does not only because it's fun but also because that is the only way people will listen to him.

SMC is a liar and sweet talker, but he's also a performer and an entertainer. Everything he does is based on 'audience participation'. It's a social art.

Isolated by his own talents, SMC inevitably falls into corruption through a self-made spiral.

He sets the stage to sing truths hidden in sweetened lies, and his audience only watches to see him dance, but by god, they're finally looking at him, and everything feels less lonely.

As time goes on, SMC becomes a creature of habit and is no longer a last-resort performer. He no longer forces himself to don the mask of a fool to garner listeners, and instead, he cares only for shallow company to fill the void of isolation he is so desperate to always be free from. He loses himself to it and falls into corruption, becoming more and more willing to lie to others and himself just to keep a captive audience. It becomes about his emotional needs rather than his logical ones, and his power over others pushes him to go to further extremes to keep them close, becoming exceedingly cruel as a result.

Everything is easier if he lies. He doesn't have to think about the truth or the horrors of it, and everyone will love him if he does.

Throughout the story, everything SMC does screams LOOK AT ME, yet also insecurity and fear. He mocks people in deflection when he's panicked or confused, he gets extremely aggressive when people threaten his imprisonment again, and he demeans PV when talking about how he took his soul jam. Everything he does is an emotional reaction to what seems to be very deep-rooted fears.

Despite his confident persona, SMC is desperate for everything to go his way, and if they don't, he quickly unravels under it all. He needs to be seen, and he needs to be heard, or he might lose himself altogether.

In his story, he never even attempts to kill PV. Instead, he corrupts him to see the world as he does, desperate that the closest thing to him might understand what is now his own truth and that, in this twisted companionship, he will never truly be alone again.

Unlike the Ancients, the Beasts were not 'tested' for their power. They were created with expectations, not proof of function. They fail because of this.

You give a warrior a sword and they slay your enemies, give a child a sword and they slay everyone without caution or understanding.

Or maybe they're just cookies idk.

[nectardaddy]

notebook paper | hinata shoyo

chapter seventeen | doomed [ ✎ ]

masterlist

no smau parts in this one, she's long.

cw/notes: HURT/COMFORT IM SORRY, metaphor using choking, once again that feeling when the stress hits you all at once (but more like feelings this time), feelings of inadequacy, repetition used on purpose, (heavy) drinking, I haven't added music to any other chapters, but take a listen to what's up I've listened to it for every chapter thus far and I think it fits the vibe of everything.

Happiness. Always fleeting, and always coming and going, the eb and flow reckless and disorderly. Thrashing her, yanking her down, and spitting her back out. A, rather silly, concept to her through years of grit, and a semester taking her by the throat and squeezing. Choking and heaving for just a singular breath of air, chest tight and lungs burning from a work load that weighed on her and a painted on smile.

It was her job to be happy - to be ok. To bring joy to other students, all the while she crumbled. She opted to spilling her guts when the door slammed shut to her room, only to wipe her eyes and continue on like nothing ever happened; to work as if she hadn't broke down completely - if she ignored it long enough it would go away.

So a part of her slipped, and fell hard, when she caught herself thinking about the man; ginger hair and brown eyes wedging their way into her life easily. Slender fingers taking a hammer to walls she had built up and swinging, allowing the crash to happen right in front of her eyes with baited breath, all the while he didn't realize it. Fuck, it felt good.

Maybe it was the way he looked at her, eyes widening every time like she was the only person in the world that ever mattered. Or it was the fleeting touches always filled with care, possibly even the way he kissed her. Unraveling herself completely every time his lips brushed over hers, because, how was it possible to convey such adoration through an action like that? She was utterly doomed.

Doomed when she danced with him, strong hands taking her own and spinning her only to pull her closer to him after. A drunken grin upon his lips that made her weak, scraping her knees raw, in that moment, with how hard she fell for him. Doomed when, shot after shot after drink after drink, he was all she could think about that night despite the haze in her mind.

She almost lost her breath when she felt his hand on the middle of her back, "I'll be right back. I promise." A reassurance before he stepped away, losing himself in a crowd of people at a house party.

"He's obsessed with you, y'know that, right?" She turned her head to look at the woman beside her. Not realizing Kiyoko had found her within the sea of people, she took a small breath.

"I know."

"You're obsessed with him too."

"I know."

"You should date him then."

A pause. Drunken thoughts came and went, desperately trying to piece together a response - but nothing came. Beer and liquor heightening her emotions she felt herself slip further, so she didn't realize the tears that slipped down her cheeks. A bad drinking habit of the woman - crying. Always finding herself pouring herself out completely when only nudged by alcohol; she would always throw herself off the cliff of her sentiments.

Kiyoko called her name once, and again, until finally taking her hand. "Let's go outside."

Everything around her was hot and sticky, a humidity that hung in the air from sweat and liquor; one of the many downsides of house parties in general. And her skin felt scorched against Kiyoko's cold hand, but nonetheless, she followed. "But Sho-"

"I'll text Suga to tell him where we are." She nodded and didn't question anymore.

Drunk and crying. Embarrassing, she told herself. But the outdoors felt nice as soon as it washed over her, fresh air hitting her in a wave once the door was opened and she was pulled out. Following behind the other woman, head spinning and steps haphazard, drunk out of her mind. Kiyoko sat down on the curb, so did she.

Letting go, her tears didn't stop. Streaming down her face, cheeks hot from liquor and head reeling from overstimulation of feelings, she caught her breath with a sharp inhale before letting a sob rack her body. "What the fuck is wrong with me, Kiyoko?" Speak slurred through distressed cries and inebriation. "Why can't I let myself be happy? He makes me happy, why can't I just let myself be happy and date him?"

She took a breath and looked up from her phone with worried eyes, sending a text to Suga quickly before pulling her into a hug. Met with silence, because what should someone say to another pouring their heart out? The two women remained like that as moments passed, Kiyoko allowing the woman to wet her shoulder with tears, holding her like her life depended on it. The other, wearing her heart on her sleeve, intoxicated, and fully allowing herself to feel the feelings she pushed down for the man.

But there was a door slam, cursing, and loud steps taken on tentative feet that pulled both of their attention. Blurry, wet eyes looking up to see the cause of such an outburst; thinking to herself that she didn't want to be labeled as "that drunk crying girl" if anyone else were to see her.

Hinata Shoyo.

She almost let out a sad, drunken laugh at him, even despite her situation. Belligerently drunk, tripping over himself, but running to her regardless. A lovesick fool, sprinting to see what on earth was wrong as soon as the text 'yn is crying outside' hit his notifications.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying?" Stumbling over words as he reached her, out of breath, and putting his hands on his knees. Brown eyes swimming with concern, flickering his gaze between her and Kiyoko.

Maybe it was the way he looked at her, panic written on his features, and racking his brain for how to fix the situation. To see the smile that made his heart melt every time he saw it. Or it could've been when he sat down with her, taking Kiyoko's place, as to give them space, and gave her a drunken, sad smile. Possibly even the way he wrapped his arms around her without question, letting her cry without a second thought because it was what she needed. Allowing him to share the space with her, moments passed as all she could do was cry, and he held her regardless.

He felt his heart chip and shatter as she looked over to him, tear stained cheeks searing into his mind - an image that shook him to his core. "What's wrong?" Asking again as she took a deep breath, tears slowing now that the moment had passed.

"I really like you and I'm scared of how happy you make me. It terrifies me to think you'll leave when you realize I'm not worth it."

Another pause. Brown eyes flickering over every feature of her face, a drunk mind trying to decipher what to say. But he smiled, regardless of the woozy feeling of falling deeper and deeper.

"You're worth everything. I think you're stuck with me."

I SOBBED writing this

it's ok to not be ok sometimes <3 you're allowed to feel your feelings

next chapter is the last one and I'm going to ugly cry when it's over

taglist under cut

@muyyie @wyrcan @eggyrocks @eclecticeggknightpsychic @nbcvs

@marzzn @naweirdo @yukii-1 @girlkissersco @yuminako @kunimix

@empress-pug-pug @cherrypieyourface @lvtilzs @punkhazardlaw @localgaytrainwreck

@crownj1min @sereniteav @madiexuberant @st4rdusttx @chizunata

@le000xxgrd @iheartpinky @muskratlove @mollyrolls @cryptictheseus

@theycallmenanamisgirl @jaeminsbuckethat @deluluforcarlos55 @bunninio @jeonsfizz

@causenessus @hermaeusmorax @guitarstringed-scars @whosmiadotcom @softpia

[doumadono]

Emergency Request! Could you possibly do headcanons for Dabi and/or Gojo going with reader to a family dinner and how they would react to reader’s mother just tearing her down at every opportunity? I’ve spent the past few days being eviscerated (with extremely brutal words) and the thought of one of these characters standing up for me is so comforting. Thank you.

Dabi & s/o with mother tearing her down

A/N: I'm truly sorry to hear that you've been going through such a difficult time. Words can be incredibly powerful, and it's understandable that you're seeking comfort. I hope these headcanons will bring you some comfort.

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

Dabi reluctantly consents to join you for a family dinner, setting aside his typical disdain for such gatherings. His aversion is rooted in the tumultuous relationships within his own family, having witnessed too many dramas unfold over his own childhood dinner table.

He's dressed in his usual dark attire with an uninterested expression.

You introduce Dabi to your family, who eyes him with skepticism and disapproval.

The atmosphere is tense as you arrive at your home, where a seemingly normal family dinner awaits.

Dabi remains reserved, observing the dynamics at play while subtly noting the tension in the air.

Your mother initially appears polite but quickly reveals a passive-aggressive demeanor.

As the evening progresses, Dabi picks up on the subtle jabs and undermining comments directed at you by your mother.

His irritation simmers beneath the surface, and he becomes increasingly protective of you.

Your discomfort is palpable, conveyed through subtle glances and nervous fidgeting.

Dabi, attuned to your emotions, senses your distress and begins formulating a plan.

When the mother's comments escalate, Dabi decides he's had enough. He doesn't raise his voice but delivers sharp retorts, exposing the flaws in the mother's arguments while maintaining his composed demeanor. "You talk a lot for someone who doesn't know a damn thing, lady."

Your mother scoffs, "You know, dear, you could have done so much better. Why are you with someone like... him?"

Dabi cooed, "Funny, I was thinking the same thing. Your definition of 'better' needs a reality check. You really think insulting your own blood at the dinner table is the height of sophistication? Must be a charming family tradition, tearing each other down over mashed potatoes."

You, initially shocked by Dabi's boldness, finds solace in his defense.

As the evening concludes, Dabi, having made his point, chooses to leave without causing further disruption.

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, offering a last piece of advice, "Don't let anyone belittle you. You're worth more than this. If you ever want a real family dinner, one without the passive-aggressive drama, my place has a better ambiance." He then kisses your forehead.

[colibrie]

Confrontations: Friendly Fire

Credit to resident art genius (and Donatello consultant) @trilobitepunch.

Keep your head centered, and shoulders down. Align hips, knees, and ankles to ensure even weight distribution. Space feet twelve inches apart…

“You good Don?” Raph whispered, his deep voice rumbling like thunder in the dense hush of the corridor.

“Fine,” Donatello replied, eyes trained carefully forward as stark gray walls loomed large and cold around them. Dull steel gleamed weakly in sterile light, painting the world in somber shades as the brothers moved swiftly towards their destination.

Arms to the side, hands open. Do not fidget or flex your fingers. Chin at a 45-degree angle to the chest. Eyes following the same line to the floor. Facial muscles must remain in neutral position three. No chewing of the lips, cheek, or tongue. Blinking limited to fifteen to twenty times a minute. Respiration rate will hold steady at twelve to eighteen breaths per minute.

“Ya sure?” Raph prompted; an emotion Donatello could not identify at the moment slipping hesitantly into his tone. “I know things got kinda crazy out there for you. I can give the report this-”

“No,” Donatello quickly cut in, neck muscles groaning with tension as he jerkily shook his head. “I already told you; I am fine. Further, you conveying the report will only arouse suspicions.”

“Oh…right.”

Keep your voice at neutral level one. Present the data, and only data. Maintain calm. Maintain control.

Carefully he gathered those volatile elements within him. Emotions, incomprehensibly sharp and barbed, hazardous as an untested solution. Once he had them, he reached for the box that he kept in the deepest recesses of his mind, the only other survivor of his time within the temple. It was a heavy thing, reinforced in layers of steel and will and sealed with a thousand locks. Its fathomless depths swallowed his burden, stripping away the unwanted and unnecessary to allow data to flow through his thoughts uninterrupted. The ache in his heart deadened, permitting his body to shift and morph in accordance with his thoughts.

“Everything is alright Raphael,” he assured, allowing himself the space of one heartbeat to feel relief as his words came out with the desired lack of inflection before he shut that emotion down too and locked it away with the rest. The door at the end of the hall loomed large, a maw reaching out to swallow them as they passed through “I will handle it.”

I will do this.

I can do this.

“Inquisitors.”

He bit down on the urge to shiver, steeling his spine as both he and Raph snapped to attention. He carefully kept his eyes forward and breaths measured as his superior’s exoskeleton stepped from the gloom of his inner office. Burning yellow eyes swept over them, a long mechanical tail lazily swiping from right to left as clawed hands folded behind his back.

“Inquisitor Krang,” they intoned together, dropping into identical salute that their leader dismissed with a lazy flick of his tail.

“Back so soon,” Krang mused, baritone voice dangerously light in comparison to the baleful red eye that glared unceasingly down at them.

The claws of one hand rose to casually trace his metal faceplate, producing a shrill screech that stretched the uncomfortable silence. Beside him Raph shifted slightly, discomfort evident as the permission to speak continued to be withheld, but Donatello resisted. His posture remained perfect, his face still and breathing metered as the sound assaulted his eardrums. He knew this game. He had played and lost so many times before. This time, this time he would win.

I can do this.

“Report.”

He closed his eyes and took half a step forward.

 “Sir. Following the reports of possible Jedi in sector 4B, we deployed and identified two individuals. Upon confrontation…”

Carefully chosen words poured past his lips, a clinical and concise script that outlined events in as few details as possible.

I can do this.

In his mind the box shivered, the tiniest of cracks opening.

Mikey eyes reflecting fear and a lack of recognition for the strangers who shared his blood.

I can…

Leo, frozen. So close but so far…

No.

He pushed the images back, forcing them into the box.

I can do this.

“…Neither target demonstrated force related abilities, even when pressed. It is possible that the informant was wrong or lied to curry favor with the Empire.”

“And where are these subjects now?”

“We were separated from them when the building came down. They escaped.”

“Oh?”

Such a soft syllable, yet it sent a bolt of icy fear through his gut. He forced down the urge to swallow as Krang turned away, claws rasping stridently against the floor. His shoulders hitched half a centimeter upward before he could stop them.

“Two potential force sensitives, ostensibly untrained, managed to thwart two fully trained inquisitors. Unusual, given the lack of displayed talent. Tell me more about these two subjects.”

“They-”

“Not you.”

Wh…What?

Lightning speared him, eyes flaring wide as his thoughts ground to a halt. In the corner of his eye Raph flinched, shock telegraphed for the whole galaxy to read.

“M-me?”

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

“N-no sir. Sorry.”

 Raphael stepped forward, shoulder to shoulder with Donatello once more.

No.

This wasn’t right. Krang never asked Raph to report. Why was he asking Raph? What had he done wrong?

Stay calm. Stay calm. You can fix this, just…

“The subjects were like us. Looked and acted like they were siblings. The older one was Donatello’s height, bright green, with red crescent markings on his face and blue face mask. The younger one came up to the first one’s shoulder, was a darker green, and had an orange face mask.”

Sweat broke out along the back of his neck, the muted lights within the room becoming painful as the images of his twin and baby brother broke free from the box once more. His eyes slammed shut against his will, squeezing tight as he fought to push them back down.

He knows what they look like… oh force he knows what they look like.

Mikey’s sweet round cheeks, the left one smudged with hints of orange and yellow paints. Leo’s brilliant red crescents, his pride and joy, perfectly framing dark eyes that mirrored Don’s own.  

Stay calm. Stay. Calm. It’s fine. Appearances can be altered. Breathe. BreatheBreatheBreathe. You can turn this around. You can do-

“And how did they act upon encountering you?” Krang prompted. Even with his back to them, Don could feel the weight of those eyes, yellow and red, bearing down to delicately carve his nerves from their protective sheaths. Pins and needles prickled down his arms and legs, stinging and nipping the tips of his fingers and toes as his armor chaffed against unbearably sensitive skin.

Don’t answer that, Raph. Don’t…

“They were surprised. The older one kinda froze up when he saw us. It was like he was looking at a ghost, or something. The little one seemed clueless and freaked out. He tried to get the older one to leave, but, uh, we moved to separate them. I took the little one, Donatello handled the older one. The little guy had a lot of agility. Looking back, that might have been from some force abilities. Not trained though. Kid was running on instinct. I didn’t see the older one fight, but he survived getting thrown around Donatello, so he could be-”

Don’tdon’tdon’tshutupraphhowcouldyou-

Nothisisyourfaultyourfaulthowcouldyounotprepareforthis?

His hands clenched, nails biting deep into the meat of his palms in search of something grounding. An anchor against the sensations crawling through his veins like sludge.

StopstopstophowdoIstopthis?

The crack in the box grew a little longer.

Mikey. Effervescent and unguarded, brighter than a star. His baby brother, force signature bubbling with innocence and raw ability, defenseless against shadows that would snuff out his firework soul within a heartbeat.

Leo. Shattered and fragile and vulnerable within the force. No shields or walls to hide behind. A cracked shell that would be obliterated with a flick Krangs claws.   

Donatello could not let that happen. And that meant he had to pull himself together.

He forced himself to suck in a subtle breath, ignoring how the air shredded his throat on contact.

Calm. Down. You are probably giving away more than Raph is at this point. It’s just Krang playing games to get under your skin. Stop giving in. All these details are inconsequential so long as he does not have the context to put it all together. He doesn’t know. No one knows. And that gives you the advantage.  

"Interesting," Krang purred as he turned back to them, slit pupiled eyes flickering over Donatello’s body as though it were a particularly intriguing holopad.

He does not know. Breathe. Stay calm. Don't give in. He doesn't know. He can't know...

Krangs smirk deepened to as he caught and held Donatello’s gaze, a cruel sneer that shone with wicked delight as his superior’s gaze then slid pointedly to Raphael.

"Very interesting."

He knows...

All the air in the room disappeared, evacuating his lungs as a wave of terror swallowed his thoughts. His limbs locked; muscles durasteel ridged as Krang sauntered away. The lights in the room were lasers, piercing flesh, and bone to shred his brain. Every tap of Krangs claws crashed against his ears like cymbals, deafening him to all but the pounding of his heart. In his periphery Raph’s gaze bore down on him, the silent questions within it pinning him down as the guillotine hung high overhead, doom preparing to drop.

“Your failure might have revealed a unique opportunity,” Krang mused, the barb at the tip of his tail flashing like a knife as he strode back towards his desk. “I must decide the best course of action regarding it. Your punishments will have to be decided later.”

“Yes, sir” he mumbled, the words barely whispering past his lips as his throat threatened to close around them.

“You two are temporarily dismissed.”

[lxmelle]

Just some thoughts about chapter 236 after reading 261. I’ve talked about it elsewhere but I’m going to post it here too.

The whole North South thing has been a huge thing to unpick. As had been the human and jujutsu pervert thing.

But, after 261, it seems to be about reconciliation - between Gojo’s Human side and his Monster side. Perhaps the ongoing theme for Gojo since his enlightenment - is he Gojo Satoru who is Strong or does being Strong define him as Gojo Satoru?

From that premise, that’s why he talked about himself and emotion with Geto - elaborating on “satisfaction” etc. Nobody else was there when they did. It could be a representation of who is within the line Gojo drew. Others are flowers who couldn’t understand him / he didn’t wish to understand him. (I believe Gojo too didn’t want to be saved but lived since birth as if he were to be the saviour due to six eyes + limitless ). Even if at some point he felt like a creature, he has always only been Geto who he wanted to stand beside him as his best friend. He caught up to him, right? They face in the same direction.

The benches is something to take note of too imho: the symbolism of Nanami & Haibara being on the other side of the benches perhaps is meant to represent the Monster Gojo (ie Strongest Gojo Satoru).

So Nanami and Haibara highlight his perverse, jujutsu mad side. They reflect how he could be viewed, or even what he could’ve become. It’s not nice to hear at all. He worked hard not to be that, hence, I think, his facial expression there. But, Gojo accepts it as a part of who he is too. Geto roasts him and echoes that based on what he admitted - practically having fun fighting the death?? Oh dear 😅 But, it shows how Gojo in death reconciled between his two halves. With the aid of his friends.

The North South thing after 261 seems to be thematically similar - going back to being more Human. Gojo’s monstrous side had fun and he has relinquished the Title of being the strongest. So his choice was to go South because that’s where happiness is for him. He understood that love changed him and that it had allowed him to not be lonely as the strongest in the end, having people around him, having purpose, etc. which he wanted to convey to Sukuna. He could have been a monster / calamity Sukuna but thankfully he knew love and could connect with those “beneath his feet” (this was in direct contrast to Hajime’s battle / convo with Sukuna).

It makes me sad to think that it is possible that this interpretation doesn’t allow for a Shinto-like afterlife and they all have to get onto the plane to reincarnate.

Or. It was really a death fantasy after all... aligned with Bardo Thodol...

…and all we can take comfort in is that Gojo was at peace?

Ah, I’m going to make myself depressed thinking about it 😭 we probably won’t get answers from Gege anytime soon so I’ll stubbornly choose to believe there is a Shinto-like afterlife and if they want to reincarnate they can go meet Emma-O to discuss things - like... you know, reincarnating together 😉

Just my two cents... any thoughts or theories?

[wonyowonyo]

Straightforward - 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

The classroom was bathed in the fading light of late afternoon, the golden hues streaming through the large windows and pooling across the wooden desks. Dust particles floated lazily in the sunbeams, as if frozen in time. The once-lively chatter of students was now muffled, distant, a faint echo coming from the hallway. Inside the nearly empty room, Minju sat at her desk, her arms folded tightly across its surface, her chin resting on them.

Her eyes lingered on the scene outside the window. A boy and a girl stood by the lockers, talking and laughing freely. The girl tugged lightly at the boy's sleeve, her smile radiant and carefree. The boy leaned in, his expression warm and attentive. Their interaction felt natural, effortless, as if the world around them didn't matter.

Minju's gaze dropped to her hands, her fingers curling slightly into fists. Her breath hitched, and her lips trembled as she exhaled, her chest heavy with unspoken frustration.

"I was so close..." the thought gnawed at her mind. Her face grew warm at the memory of her hand hovering so close to Y/N's. She could still feel the nervous energy coursing through her, the way her heart had raced faster than she thought possible. And then, just like that, the gym teacher's voice had shattered the moment. She'd darted away like a startled bird, too embarrassed to even glance back at him. Her nails pressed lightly into her palms as her shoulders tensed. "Ugh... I can't."

She shut her eyes for a moment, willing herself to suppress the bitter wave of emotions swelling within her. But when she opened them again, her gaze was drawn back to a couple outside, their lighthearted exchange tugging at something deep within her.

"I wish I could behave like that," she thought wistfully, her expression softening. A faint pang of envy flickered in her chest before it was drowned out by the familiar ache of self-doubt.

The sound of the door creaking open broke her reverie. Startled, she straightened, her heart skipping a beat as footsteps approached. She didn't need to look up to know who it was. The rhythm of his steps was too familiar.

Y/N's tall figure came into view as he walked toward her desk. His dark hair caught the golden light, giving him an almost ethereal glow. Yet, his expression was as calm and composed as ever, the slight furrow of his brow the only indication of his intent.

"Minju-ssi," he said softly, his voice cutting through the quiet air like a gentle breeze.

Minju blinked, her hands fumbling as she hurriedly reached for her bag. "Oh, sorry! I'll get ready to go..." Her words came out rushed, her tone uneven.

But Y/N's tone didn't waver. "I'm sorry..."

"...Could you... go home without me today?"

Minju froze. Her hands stilled on her bag's strap, and she finally looked up at him. His gaze was steady, unwavering. She tilted her head slightly, her eyebrows knitting together in concern. "Huh...? Why?"

. "Our teacher asked me to help him with something," Y/n said, his voice came soft, in hope of trying to convey his sincerity. "I don't know when I'll be finished with that."

Minju's lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to protest, but she said nothing. Instead, her gaze softened, though a flicker of disappointment clouded her expression..

"I wanted to go home with you, but..." Y/n's voice trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air.

Minju forced herself to meet his eyes, though it felt like the hardest thing she'd done all day. "Don't worry," she said, her tone too bright, too unnatural. "Come on, you should go."

For a moment, he lingered, his hesitation palpable. His mouth opened as if to say something more, but then he closed it again, nodding slightly.

"Okay, then," he said softly, the faintest trace of a smile touching his lips. "Minju-ssi. See you tomorrow."

With that, he turned and walked toward the door. His steps were measured, deliberate, the faint sound of his shoes against the wooden floor echoing in her ears. She watched him until he disappeared through the doorway, her heart sinking as the noise of the hallway swallowed him up.

The room felt impossibly still in his absence. The golden light, once warm and inviting, now seemed heavy and oppressive. Minju slumped back in her seat, her shoulders sagging as her hands fell limply to her lap.

"...He's gone," she whispered to herself, the words barely audible, carried away by the stillness of the empty room.

The late afternoon light was fading fast, painting the hallway in soft golds and deep shadows. Y/N's figure grew smaller in the distance as he walked away, his deliberate steps echoing faintly in the quiet.

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, his words ringing in her ears like a haunting melody.

"I wanted to go home with you, but..."

She bit her lip, her brows furrowing as she hugged her bag tightly to her chest. The way he had looked at her—earnest yet distant, as if holding something back—lingered in her mind. Her fingers trembled as they gripped the strap of her bag. The warmth in his voice, the softness of his expression, the slight hesitation in his words... it was all so clear now.

Her chest tightened. Why didn't I say anything? Why did I let him leave like that?The regret was suffocating, clawing at her insides until she couldn't stand it anymore. She took one shaky step forward, then another, her breaths coming faster as her legs moved on their own.

Before she knew it, she was running.

The hallway felt endless, the sound of her hurried footsteps bouncing off the walls and mingling with the fading echoes of Y/N's. Her heartbeat roared in her ears, drowning out everything else. The weight of her emotions pushed her forward, even as doubt whispered cruelly in the back of her mind.

What am I doing? What if he doesn't want to hear it?

But the memory of his expression—the faint sadness in his eyes as he turned away—pushed her onward. She couldn't let this end here. She wouldn't.

"Y/N!" she called out, her voice loud and trembling as it cut through the stillness of the empty corridor.

He stopped.

The sound of his footsteps ceased, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Slowly, he turned to face her, his dark eyes wide with surprise. The golden light streaming through the windows framed his figure, making him seem almost unreachable.

Minju threw her herself unto Y/N, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Minju clinged unto Y/n's arm, her knuckles white as he tugged the fabric of his uniform. Her hair, slightly disheveled from the sudden sprint, framed her flushed face as she looked up at him.

"Minju-ssi?" he asked softly, his voice laced with concern, while his expression was calm but questioning.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Her heart pounded so loudly it drowned out her thoughts. For a fleeting moment, her courage wavered, and she looked down, her gaze fixed on the floor.

But then she clenched her fists, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "Y/N," she said, her voice shaky but determined. "I... I changed my mind."

He blinked, his brows furrowing slightly. "Changed your mind?" he echoed, his tone cautious.

Minju's cheeks burned, but she pressed on, her voice growing steadier with each word. "I'll wait. For however long it takes, I'll wait until you're finished." Her grip tightened as she stepped closer, her gaze unwavering. "I don't care how long it is. I'll wait for you."

Y/N's eyes widened, his composure faltering. His lips parted slightly, but no words came. He simply stared at her, as though trying to process the weight of her confession.

"I... I want to go home with you, Y/N," she added, her voice barely above a whisper now. Her hands trembled at her sides, but her gaze never left his. "I'll wait for you. So... don't leave me behind."

Silence hung in the air, stretching between them like a taut string. Her breath hitched as she started to second-guess herself. Had she said too much? Was this too sudden? Minju's heart hammered in her chest as she held her breath, waiting for him to say something—anything.

Y/N finally exhaled, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came at first. He adjusted his glasses, his movements slow and deliberate, as if trying to buy himself time. "Minju-ssi..." he began, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "What are you saying all of a sudden?"

Minju's heart pounded so loudly, she was sure he could hear it. Her hands tightened their grip, and her gaze darted to the floor as her mind raced. "Wh-what?! I mean—!" she stammered, her voice rising in embarrassment. "Forget I said that! I didn't mean it like that! Or maybe I did, but—!"

Her words tumbled out in a frantic rush, and she clasped her hands over her mouth, her face burning with mortification.

Y/N's lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile as he watched her flustered reaction. Her honesty, her vulnerability, it was all... endearing. He reached out, his hand brushing against hers. The simple gesture was enough to make her freeze.

"Minju-ssi," he said gently, his tone steady, like a quiet anchor in the chaos of her emotions.

.

.

"Can I hug you?"

Minju froze, her eyes widening as if she couldn't believe what she had just heard. Her breath caught in her throat, and the blush on her cheeks deepened. "Wh-what?!" she squeaked, her voice rising an octave. "Did you just—?!"

The hallway seemed to fade away, blurring into a soft haze of sunlight and distant murmurs. When Y/N stepped closer, there was an unspoken tenderness in his movements, as though he were afraid that any sudden gesture might shatter the fragile moment between them. His arms lifted hesitantly, hovering for the briefest of seconds before he wrapped them around Minju with a gentle yet firm embrace.

It wasn't rushed or awkward—it was deliberate, meaningful, as though he was trying to say everything he couldn't put into words. His hands rested lightly on her back, his touch warm and steady, a quiet reassurance that he was there for her. He pulled her closer, just enough to let her feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, strong and certain, a silent promise that she wasn't alone.

Minju's breath caught as she felt the warmth of his arms encircle her. The world seemed to stop. Her cheeks burned, and her heart raced, but the moment his embrace tightened ever so slightly, a wave of calm washed over her. It was the kind of hug that melted away every worry, every doubt—a hug that made her feel protected, cherished, and understood.

Minju's breath caught. "Y-Y/N...!" she squeaked, her voice muffled against his shoulder. Her arms dangled awkwardly at her sides, her mind racing. She was acutely aware of the warmth radiating from him, the steady beat of his heart against her ear. "Wait, we're in the hallway! Someone might see us..."

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "I couldn't resist."

Her hands trembled as they slowly rose to rest against his chest before clutching onto the fabric of his blazer, as though holding onto him would keep her grounded. She buried her face into his shoulder, her soft hair brushing against his neck, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself relax.

Y/n's eye widened from the sudden contact.

*Fwip*

Y/N would pull away from the embrace, his dark, calm eyes fixed on her with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "Minju-ssi... Something did happen to you today, didn't it?" His voice was soft, but it carried a weight that made her pulse quicken.

Minju's gaze flickered, her lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no words came. She felt exposed under his steady stare, her emotions threatening to spill over. Her golden hair, slightly tousled, caught the sunlight, softening her expression. She finally managed to whisper, "Why...? Am I that weird today?"

Y/N tilted his head slightly, his brows furrowing. "What?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine confusion. His analytical side kicked in, his eyes narrowing as he studied her closely. "Yes, you are. The usual Minju-ssi would..." He paused, his tone teasing yet thoughtful. "...get shy and resist more."

Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and she looked away, biting her lip. "Ugh..." she groaned softly, the embarrassment bubbling up inside her. She couldn't believe how easily he could read her, how effortlessly he unraveled the walls she tried so hard to maintain.

Y/N's smirk softened as he added, "Cuz...?"

The word hung in the air like a fragile thread, and Minju's breath hitched. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as her emotions swirled chaotically. Her voice trembled as she interrupted him, her words spilling out in a rush. "If I'm being shy and not sweet... If I'm acting like this... it's because..." She hesitated, the lump in her throat making it hard to continue. Her gaze dropped to the floor, her hair falling to hide her face. "...I didn't want you to get sick of me."

Y/N's eyes widened slightly, his composure faltering for a brief moment. "What...?" he muttered, his tone shifting to one of quiet surprise.

Minju took a shaky breath, forcing herself to look up at him. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and her voice cracked as she continued, "You'll get sick of me... like my ex did..."

The words hung heavy between them, the vulnerability in her voice slicing through the tension like a knife. The sunlight seemed to dim, the shadows in the hallway growing longer as the weight of her confession settled around them.

"So..." she added, her voice barely above a whisper, "...I thought if I acted differently... maybe you wouldn't..."

Y/N's lips parted slightly, his expression softening as he processed her words. He puts his finger under his chin, clarifying Minju's words and intent. "So... you were trying to be sweet... because you didn't want me to get sick of you..."

"R-Right!!" Minju suddenly blurted out, her voice cracking slightly with the force of her outburst. She stomped her foot lightly, her emotions spilling over as she struggled to form coherent sentences. "I couldn't do it well, though!!" Her voice echoed down the empty hallway, and her fiery frustration was only matched by the embarrassed tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

Y/N blinked at her outburst, his calm demeanor barely shifting as he tilted his head slightly, studying her. His dark eyes softened as he took in her flushed cheeks, her trembling lips, and the sheer determination in her voice despite her obvious embarrassment. Standing just a few steps away, he let out a long, drawn-out sigh. "Haah..."

Minju's head shot up at the sound, her cheeks burning red. He sighed?! she thought, her embarrassment and frustration bubbling to the surface.

"...What are you trying to do?" he asked quietly, his voice low and steady. His tone wasn't mocking, but it carried a hint of genuine curiosity that made Minju's chest tighten.

Her breath hitched as her eyes darted up to meet his gaze. His expression was calm, but there was something in his eyes — a flicker of warmth, of understanding — that made her heart skip a beat. She felt the weight of his question settle heavily on her, her emotions swirling chaotically inside her.

"I..." she started, her voice barely above a whisper. Her lips trembled, and her fingers tightened around the hem of her skirt. She couldn't find the words to explain herself, the vulnerability of the moment making her feel small and exposed.

Y/N's gaze remained fixed on her, his dark eyes unwavering as he took a slow step closer. His fingers brushed lightly against his chin as he tilted his head slightly, his expression softening even more. A faint, almost imperceptible smile played at the corners of his lips as he murmured, 

"...That's too cute."

Minju froze, her eyes widening in shock. Her cheeks, already flushed, turned an even deeper shade of red as his words registered. "W-What?!" she stammered, her voice high-pitched and full of disbelief. Her wide eyes searched his face for any hint of teasing, but his calm, genuine expression left her completely speechless.

"Minju-ssi..." he began, his voice low and serious, yet tinged with hesitation. His hand rose to adjust his glasses before he continued, his eyes meeting hers directly. "Let me tell you now..."

Minju blinked, startled by the weight in his tone. Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited, unsure of what he was about to say.

"I don't want you to think..." Y/N paused for a moment, his gaze softening as he searched for the right words. "...that I'm the same as your exes."

Minju's breath hitched, her eyes widening in surprise. The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. For a moment, all she could hear was the faint echo of footsteps down the distant hall and the quiet thud of her own heartbeat.

Y/N straightened, his hands slipping into his pockets as he continued, his voice steady but earnest. "There's no way I'll get sick of you... so you don't have to worry."

Minju felt her chest tighten, a swirl of emotions rising within her—relief, disbelief, and an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. She could only stare at him, her cheeks burning with a deep blush.

He took a step closer, closing the space between them just enough for her to feel the warmth of his presence. His dark eyes softened, his expression sincere. "I mean it," he said, his voice quieter now, almost a murmur. "You're different, Minju-ssi. I want you to know that."

Minju swallowed hard, her face felt like it was on fire, and she was sure that if she spoke, her voice would betray how flustered she was. "O-Okay..." she finally managed to whisper, her voice barely audible.

Y/N's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, though his gaze remained steady. He tilted his head slightly, as if contemplating something, before he spoke again. "Honestly... Minju-ssi is too cute today." His cheeks flushed faintly as he said it, the faintest crack in his usual calm demeanor.

"Huh?!" Minju's voice came out in a startled squeak, her blush deepening. She took a small step back, her wide eyes fixed on him in disbelief. "W-What are you saying?!"

Y/N chuckled softly, his hand rising to adjust his glasses again, a familiar and endearing gesture. "I've been wanting to touch you," he admitted, his voice so straightforward it left Minju completely speechless.

Her heart felt like it had stopped for a moment. "W-Wait!" she stammered, holding her hands up defensively as she took another step back. "What kind of thing is that to say?!"

Y/N took a step forward, his expression calm yet tinged with amusement at her flustered reaction. "Can I hug you again?" he asked, his tone so earnest and matter-of-fact that it only made Minju's heart race even faster.

"H-Huh?!" she sputtered, her voice cracking as she stumbled over her words. Her mind spun, trying to process what he had just said. "You're really honest, aren't you?!"

Y/N's faint smile widened just a bit, a rare and gentle expression that caught Minju off guard. "Is that a no?" he teased lightly, his voice soft but with a playful edge.

"That's enough for today!" Minju practically shouted, her embarrassment reaching its peak. She turned sharply on her heel, her blond hair swishing behind her as she began to walk away, her face still burning. "It's way too embarrassing!" she added, her voice louder than she intended.

Y/N stayed where he was, watching her retreating figure with a mix of amusement and affection. The sunlight streaming through the windows cast long shadows along the hallway, and for a moment, everything felt still.

"Minju-ssi," he called softly, his voice carrying just enough for her to hear. She stopped but didn't turn around, her shoulders tense. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, his tone gentle and firm, as though it was a promise.

Y/N tilted his head slightly, he seemed completely unfazed by her outburst, as though he had expected it. "I can't today," he said, his tone even and deliberate. "Which means... I can do it tomorrow, right?"

Minju's breath hitched. Her wide eyes darted toward him, her lips parting slightly in surprise. He said it so casually, so matter-of-factly, as though his words didn't leave her chest tightening with every beat of her heart.

She clenched her fists at her sides, trying to steady herself. "Why do you say things like that so easily...?" she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her face burned with embarrassment and frustration—not at him, but at herself for always reacting this way.

Y/N took a step forward, closing the distance between them ever so slightly. His calm gaze softened, though his expression remained composed. "Because it's true," he replied, his voice steady, almost gentle. "I mean what I say."

Minju's face turned even redder, a wave of warmth spreading from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. She bit her lip and looked away, unable to meet his steady gaze any longer. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

'Oh gosh.

I'm no match for Y/N'

< series front page next >

[mirai-e-jump]

Hero Vision Vol.9 (2003/Winter) ft. Kamen Rider Ryuki Cast Members Pre-Final Episode Interviews (translations below)

Takamasa Suga (Shinji Kido) Interview (page 22,25)

"Recollections, within the calm after the war" Takamasa Suga

After a year of playing the star role of the protagonist in "Kamen Rider Ryuki," Suga-kun finally has time to get back to regular life…

Looking back, from season to season, what were the most emotional scenes that still remain in his mind? On an off day before recording the final episode, we asked him to look back on those passionate days.

...

"I always wanted to die. I wanted to fulfill my role within the show"

...

Suga: (niho~)

If the sound of Suga-kun's smile could be written out, it would look like that. It gives off a calm, quiet and tender feeling. At first glance, the main character of Ryuki, the annoying (?) Shinji Kido, doesn't seem to resemble him, but as the story progresses, we think they are very similar on the inside. It's impressive in the fact that he always tries his best to think about the challenges that appear before him while also moving forward, even when he "doesn't know what to do," he somehow manages to find integrity within the many possibilities, and puts them into action.

"You were so busy this past year, that you didn't even have much time to sleep. What memorable moments will stay with you forever?"

Suga: What made me happy was the movie "Episode Final." I'm very happy I was given the opportunity to play the lead role again, and that it was released nationwide. Since becoming an actor, it had been a dream of mine to do opening day stage greetings.

"However, in parallel to shooting the TV version, the movie was performed within a hellish schedule. It wasn't enough to just act happy or even be "enraged" about it, rather, it was physically demanding."

Suga: Man~ I couldn't understand the reason for anything that was happening at the time (laughs). Filming for the movie would start in the morning, then we would return to the hotel at midnight, sleep for about an hour, and then start filming on location again for the TV series.

"Every day, you had almost no private time. But even so, you said you never felt stressed because "doing the performance in and of itself was fun."

Suga: It's an unusual experience for an actor my age to be able to devote an entire year to a single role, isn't it? When playing a role, conveying the "joy" and "fun" of something was much greater than the "difficult."

"I see. It seems that Suga-kun's "pleasure" is being an actor itself. Then, on the other hand, were there any sad moments?"

Suga: Hmmm…The scene where Ren dies in the TV Special was really sad. While we were filming, I was thinking about everything that had happened up until that point…it felt like it was the final episode.

"There are multiple final episodes of Ryuki. There's the movie, the special, and the main show. As those who have seen the broadcast already know, there was an unprecedented development in the main story where the main character dies before the final episode."

Suga: I always wanted to die. If I could die in the show, then I could fulfill my role within in it…is the feeling I had. I didn't know I was actually going to die until I finally saw the episode's script. I read it for the first time on the travel bus, and cried straight throughout. As for the way in which he dies, it's entirely convincing.

Shinji, who had been in agony up untill that point, was finally able to let go of the burden he carried for so long and die. Shinji followed what he believed in, and in the end death awaited him…or rather, Shinji's Survive, wasn't it? (laughs).

Before, I would've been lost in all my choices, but now I was finally able to choose and follow through with what I believe in…like Shinji, I'm satisfied with it. Shinji had "nothing to point to," but in the end, I think he was able to show off "the strength that comes from having nothing"…is what I feel when filming (laughs). That's the point I hope to get across.

"You said you thought deeply about the theme of Ryuki for a while, and when producer Shirakura explained that among other things, the show was made based on the recent terrorist attacks in New York, you read articles on the subject."

Suga: It's becoming more difficult for people to understand what is "justice" and what is "evil" in the world. The same can be said about the world of Ryuki. I can't say for certain if what Shinji says is right. I can't really say if what Ren says is right either. Even now, I still don't have a clear answer as to what's right or wrong. But, I have a feeling like I'm starting to understand. For this, I think it's important for each and every one of us to ask ourselves, "What is justice?" I hope that through Ryuki, we've been able to convey these feelings to the audience.

"Many of the themes dealt with in ordinary televised dramas are that of love affairs. It's unique because usually, we only see such major themes taken seriously in longer running programs."

Suga: That's right. It can be hard for people to watch things that they don't understand. Even so, it's something that everyone should think about more!

The way Suga-kun makes his strong arguments seem to overlap with Shinji. His manager looked at him and laughed saying, "He seems to have grown a lot as a person over the past year." He was also praised on the set of another production, saying, "You're young, but you're good!" He feels that he has gotten alot out of Ryuki.

Suga: Even after the broadcast is over, I hope people will remember that this show existed and think, "This is what they were trying to say." As time passes and children become adults, I hope that they will still remember.

_

Satoshi Matsuda (Akiyama Ren) Interview (page 27,29)

"As human" Satoshi Matsuda

At a glance, Akiyama Ren of Kamen Rider Ryuki looks really cool. But, he is in fact, a very compassionate person. So what kind of person is Matsuda-kun, who played the role, really like? He says, "I don't like showing my true self," and we felt that there were no lies or bad faith in his words.

…

"In the past, I always looked at the people around me as rivals. It's much easier to think of them as enemies"

…

Matsuda: Good Morning.

The way he arrived made us feel as if an old acquaintance had come to visit. After hearing his voice, the nervous staff on set became oddly relaxed. He seems to be an unusual type an actor. When I told him that he was very natural, he laughed and said, "Yeah, my managers used to tell me that alot, they said I should become aware that I'm a celebrity.

Seeing him with relaxed shoulders, people say, he's a "nice guy," and "looks full of confidence." But what kind of person is the real Satoshi Matsuda?

"You write essays once a week on your blog "Matsuda Lab." Even when we read it, we can't see your true emotions."

Matsuda: Is that so? In the "lab" I intentionally write in such a way that the "image of Matsuda" is not particularly set. I thought it wouldn't be interesting to show my true character. If I did, I would lose the image of playing the role of "Akiyama Ren."

"Since the Fall, he's appeared in the Kansai regional TV program "Asa Cafe," which is an informational program, but he's also an actor, as he acts as the viewer's lover."

"Every 2 weeks he shoots 2 episodes while also filming Kamen Rider Ryuki. The opposite of Ren's character, he plays an upbeat and energetic character that speaks for 30 minutes straight. It's also understood that the script is as long as one episode of Ryuki."

Matsuda: At first I was under a lot of pressure, because all those lines were my lines. The crew comes from Osaka to Tokyo to shoot the program, and if they push back because the scene is NG (no good), they won't be able to make the last train home.

"Although he's busy filming every day, he's had his own TV show and has been featured in magazines and other media, over the past year, his popularity has increased rapidly."

Matsuda: I have to admit that the sudden boom worried me. I never thought I would be on an 8 a.m. Sunday morning show and not be able to walk the streets like a normal person…hmm.

"He had been aware of the recent tokusatsu boom from its start, which is why he took the audition. He had actually hoped this would boost his popularity. Still, he was baffled by the public frenzy."

Matsuda: One time, I was on site with a fever of 40C (104F). With the exception of the scenes I appeared in, I had to sit in a chair and cool my head with ice due to how bad it was. Then suddenly, while laying down, a random fan lifted my head with her hand and took a picture next to me. She and her friends then left saying, 'bye, until next time~." At the time, I got really angry. I was skeptical that such intense fans even existed…

"When something like that happens, I think, "What a weird world we're living in." On the flipside, he also has plenty of supportive fans that are loyal and kind."

Matsuda: I like to play games of catch when meeting with fans. I also write on the official fan site every day, so I'm close to them (laughs). I write at least 30 replies to fan letters every week.

"By the way, when you write for "Matsuda Lab," you don't reply to letters that end with "please reply."

Matsuda: I think that's what makes even the most favorable messages feel dull. I can't help but think they're thinking more about themselves than about me.

"He doesn't acknowledge those who call him "Knight," as he thinks, "they don't even know my name." Matsuda-kun is very sensitive to other people's feelings. Whenever someone offers true affection, he is almost like a cat, looking up at you as if asking, "Do you really mean it?"

Matsuda: I've always been sensitive to other people's feelings. Since I come from a single mother household, I felt as though I had to support my mother and sister. In the past, I always looked at the people around me as rivals. It was much easier to think of them as enemies. Especially when competing……

"Competing? Have you always competed with friends and the very world around you?"

Matsuda: I always thought so. However, when I came to Tokyo……on that day, I realized. I've noticed that "those guys I don't get along with," I ended up getting along with well later on. I thought to myself, "I've wasted time." Since then, I've never made assumptions about other people by our first meetings. I'm having a lot of fun meeting people, and opening one new door after another.

"And Ryuki, which brought you many good encounters, has also come to an end."

Matsuda: By the time this issue releases, the broadcast will be over. I wonder how everyone did…..There's always a discrepancy between the performance I imagine in my mind and the one that I actually do. This has been a difficult time for me, as I've been in a slump for over a month. The TV Special was the one were I made the least mistakes. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that I was able to create exactly what I had imagined in my mind. Where do I go from here? I have to develop into the person I see in my mind.

We're still uncertain of the type of person he is really is, but we really sensed his sincerity.

_

Ryohei x Takashi Hagino Interviews (Page 31)

"Heinous Men" Ryohei x Takashi Hagino

Zolda (Kitaoka) and Ouja (Asakura), arrived as two dark "Kamen Riders." Evil men who fight not for justice, but for the sake of his own desire. Money, appearance and of course, power. They already have these things, but are still hungry for more. And yet……women, for some reason, find men like them attractive? …

"I was certain I was a rider who would die much earlier (laughs)" "Well, it's a good thing you didn't die so easily"

… Hagino: Have you seen the script yet?

Hagino-san called out to Ryohei-san as soon as he arrived at the studio. He appears to be very enthusiastic. It's no surprise, the script for the ending had been delivered just yesterday. From the start, I asked them a very important question.

"Did you ever think that Asakura (Takashi Hagino) and Kitaoka (Ryohei) would be among the last riders that made it to the end?"

Hagino: Ah, no, not really (laughs)

Ryohei: Honestly, until just recently, I was certain I was a rider who would die much earlier (laughs).

Hagino: Well, it's a good thing you didn't die so easily (laughs). Don't you think overall, it expanded the story and made it more interesting?

"Asakura and Kitaoka are very involved with each other, but what kind of relationship do these two really have?"

Ryohei: I think maybe Asakura is instinctive, while Kitaoka is rational? They always get involved with each other because they're complete opposites. That's the kind of relationship they have.

Hagino: "Asakura is the kind of guy who just wants to fight. He thinks fighting has meaning, and will go off like a tea kettle at a moment's notice. So, when he goes to Kitaoka he'll say, "Oi, let's fight."

Ryohei: Kitaoka didn't want to help Asakura with his sentence, so he's the kind of guy who'll fight just for that reason. On top of that, Kitaoka is always provoking me (laughs).

Hagino: Yeah, and no matter how many times I'm caught, I'll just keep breaking out (laughs). In the first scene when Kitaoka and Asakura meet, the contrast between the inside and outside world, with a sheet of glass separating them, was very interesting to see.

"Come to think of it, it was impressive to see Asakura wearing a seat belt while driving the hijacked vehicle as he was trying to escape from prison (laughs)."

Hagino: Yeah, Asakura likes to wear a seat belt or even straitjackets. Even when he sleeps, he needs to be tied to something in order to feel safe (laughs).

"Regarding Asakura's character, wouldn't he have had plenty of chances to kill Kitaoka when he was in person?"

Ryohei: Like when he was on his knees (laughs). But for Asakura, fighting as a rider is far more pleasurable for him than fighting untransformed. That's why he brings out his Card Deck.

Hagino: Asakura naturally chooses to fight for the superior pleasure of fighting. He isn't afraid of dying, much less surviving to the end as a rider.

Ryohei: That's the difference between Kitaoka's and Asakura's fighting style. Kitaoka, who is fixated on living, tries to win by fighting as little as possible.

"Leaving the roles of Asakura and Kitaoka aside, how do Hagino-san and Ryohei-san feel about each other?"

Hagino: This type of question, it's not really a conversation, saying such stuff in front of each other like, "Well, Ryohei-san is (…), isn't he?"

"…No, that is a conversation (laughs)."

Hagino: "Well, Ryohei-san is cheerful and is the complete opposite of me. His character is so loud, that I once told him to shut up (laughs). But, I can't remember what he said in response.

Ryohei: Hagino-san doesn't say much, but his personality is that of a big brother.

Hagino: "Eh?! That's just not true. I'm just lonely. But, Ryohei, he makes everyone feel at ease."

"Do the two of you ever discuss your roles together?"

Hagino: We don't, and it's because I don't want to. If we talk about what we want to do or how we want to do it, how we plan on performing may need to be constantly adjusted. I think it's interesting to see how the two of us have developed separately when we end up bumping into each other. If the action is going to be intense, we'll talk about it beforehand.

Ryohei: I have no prior experience as an actor, so I just have to rely on my intuition. I didn't really understand the process of creating a role. But, thanks to the influence of Hagino-san, I think I'm beginning to understand a little more now.

"Finally, What are both of your future prospects, as well as a message to your fans."

Ryohei: Specifically, I'm scheduled to perform on stage this coming March, and would like to try out the realism of a live performance. I have not yet decided how I will proceed as an actor, so I'd like to challenge various other projects and improve my career in order to decide where I'd like to go from here.

Hagino: Any message for the fans?

Ryohei: "Ah, I will do my best in the future, so please lend me your support.

Hagino: Hey now, answer more thoroughly (laughs). I'll be releasing a photobook, so you'll be able to see Takashi Hagino from various different angles. I would like to play different roles in the future, so please continue to support me! To all the fans of the Ouja, I will show you all the final special attack of Genocider! It's going to be a blood bath…… I haven't seen Black Hole myself because it's CG, so I'm looking forward to the airing, and I'd personally love to put all the fans in that hole! (laughs).