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un-lawliet · 6 months

Note

I recently found your blog and <3

I’ve been having some health issues lately and have been struggling so I decided to leave a request! Obviously don’t feel pressured to write! If the prompt doesn’t stick feel free to ignore!

High school Satoru X female reader who had a crush on him in for ages but she’s so shy and Gojos so popular so they don’t really interact. BUT she decides to bake him sweets and leave them on his desk and somehow he finds out it was her and asks her on a date.

CHEESY I KNOW >~< I feel like we don’t have enough fics of reader being head over heels in love with Gojo and it’s a must!

ANYWAY- again this is a ramble feel free to ignore MWAH

hi anon !!! id absolutely LOVE to write this ITS NO PRESSURE AT ALL :) thank you so so so much for the request- i hope you’re ok ! and i’m always here incase u need to talk <3

“Pretty.”

— in which Gojo has a secret admirer.

“Did you hear? Satoru Gojo has a secret admirer.”

“Oh Yea? Who?”

“Dunno, ‘pparently he’s going mad tryna find ‘em though.”

…

Your face was definitely burning, hands sweating and jaw clenched as you listen to the chatter of your classmates. Their voices morphing into the background of your busy mind, blending seamlessly into the slight disarray of (as you would describe it) your dire situation.

Blinking, you raise your hand to scratch the base of your neck, trying to pull yourself together less you reveal your crimes of admiration out-loud to classroom full of people who barely knew of your name.

You could see him, from where you sat, hunched over in your seat at the back of the classroom, your eyes squinted ever so slightly as the unforgiving sun spread her light through the window, gracefully imposing on your face falling directly into your peering eyes.

Leaning against the smudged glass of the vending machine, he had his head tilted back, laughing boisterously at a joke from his friend (the one who was always trying to hide the smoke from her lit cigarette)

In one hand you could see a can of soda you knew was far too sweet for anyone but himself, and in the other, you saw the small tin, decorated with the white and yellow details of pretty flowers and bee’s. Lid concealing the sweets in which you had baked just a day prior, sweets that you had hoped would act as a silent confession of your- oh you’re blushing again.

Your feelings for Satoru Gojo were undeniable, however unspoken. And you doubt you would ever get to a point where you would voice them out-loud to anyone let alone Gojo himself.

But you are unfortunately, still human, and humans have a tendency to want to be acknowledged, and after years of harbouring unheard feelings for someone, the bitter grasp of your own human desire overpowered your confident resolve of silence.

And so, you left a tiny box of chocolates with a tiny pretty note tucked in the back, with a silently cheeky “Enjoy” written in pink pen.

Glancing over to the vending machine once more, you watched as Satoru Gojo waved a hand in-front of his face, pouting as he tried pathetically to dodge the smoke blown at him by his friend, who grinned cheekily in response, flicking the now finished bunt towards the ground and stepping on it, moving her foot side to side to kill the remains of the flame.

You smile.

You had met Gojo two years ago, but had known of him far longer.

In the words of yourself (and probably everyone else who knew him) he was the epitome of perfection. Good in class, the best in any sport he took up and God he was beautiful.

Everyone knew him, the exact opposite to you.

You who quietly stumbles around her own feet, and apologises for even the slightest thing, despite it mostly never being your fault.

You were incomprehensibly shy, and so incredibly frustrated with your own reticence.

And yet two years ago, Satoru Gojo had asked you for a pen, you for a pen.

He had leaned back in his chair, during your math class, turned his head and nudged you instead of everyone else around him.

A pretty grin on his face as he sheepishly explained that he forgot to bring his own, and you had stammered and nodded handing him a pen as you gently said “You can keep it for the rest of the day, I don’t mind.”

“Huh? You serious?” He had replied, his head cocking slightly eyes crinkling under his sun glasses.

“Yea? I mean uh- yes!” Looking away from his gaze shyly. “It’s just a pen you know? I have plenty.”

He laughed, and you couldn’t help but look right back at him, your heart basically stopping as he winked, right at you.

“Thanks pretty.”

And your sure you had died, right then and there. Watching the back of his head as he turned back around, uncapping your pen as he moved.

Since then, Gojo had always smiled at you when he saw you walking past, and always without fail, you would sheepishly smile back, the familiar feeling of butterflies tickling the confines of your stomach every damn time.

The shrill sound of the bell rang throughout the classroom, and you stand up, taking your books with you with a sigh.

The clatters of chairs and bags zipping filtered through your thoughts and pulled you out of your self induced daydreaming stupor, calling you to join the rest of your classmates in exiting the confines of your classroom.

You glance back out the window once more before you move towards the door, and instantly your eyebrows lifted and you almost loose grasp of your balance as Gojo Satoru stares right back at you.

Simultaneously he smiles, lifting a hand as if greeting you and you scramble away from the window, head down, entirely embarrassed.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Could you be anymore useless in your “acting cool” facade.

Ever since you had placed your sweets on Satoru Gojo’s desk you had been a nervous wreck, terrified that at any second your feelings would be exposed and the entire school would point and laugh at your sweaty, flushed face.

Sniffing, you rub your eyes with the heel of your hands, trailing behind your peers through the halls, on their way home.

The lockers were always so crowded at the end of the day and you hated it.

You had no group to hide you from the conversations involving Gojo and his “secret admirer” have to hear every single in and pretend not to care.

“It’s creepy don’t you think? I mean why not just tell him you like him?”

“Maybe they’re nervous?”

“Of course they are? It’s Satoru Gojo for Christ’s sake, man’s beautiful.”

You close your locker, clutching the books and papers you need for your later homework, your bag left abandoned on the floor beside you.

Turning to reach for your bag, you feel another student collide into you. Your books crash to the ground, and you stare mortified as pages fly out, scattering everywhere.

The student doesn’t stop, just calls out that he’s sorry and that he’s late for a bus, you sigh.

You have to drop out, you think, there’s no recovering from this.

You bend down, apologising quietly to those around you who just glanced at you and continued on their way, and start to gather all your papers and books, heat burning your face.

“You ok?” You heard him just before you saw him, his teasing voice making your hands shake.

Satoru Gojo stood, a smile on his face as he leaned down to get closer to you, your eyes widen and you lean back on your knees.

“Um, yea-Yes everything’s good here..just dropped my stuff..” You trail off and end your broken speech with a fake, ugly laugh, internally you die as he nods and bends down to help.

“No, no you really don’t have to do that, I can manage!” You exclaim, hands moving rapidly in-front of you and he just laughs.

“I don’t mind helping ya, ‘kay?” He’s picking up random papers, no longer looking at you, his eyes glossing over your hand writing- a cheeky grin that you do not see flickers across his face.

You’re in a trance, watching as Gojo helps you, jumping when he glances at you and catches you staring, you busy yourself with stacking your books back into your bag, “Ok well, If you’re sure.”

“M’sure.” He’s handing you a stack of papers, ‘I’m very sure.”

The locker area door closes, signalling the absence of everyone else, you gulp.

“Suprised nobody helped you.” Gojo muses, standing up and raising a hand for you to hold.

You blush as you grasp it, it’s warm, you hope your palms aren’t sweating.

“It’s home time, people wanna get home.” You smile, rising to your feet using his hand has leverage.

Gojo let’s his hold linger before he lets go, you don’t notice, too focused on readjusting your top, fiddling with the fabric.

His sunglasses fall down his nose a little revealing the crystallised blue of his eyes, you swear the light causes them to glow as it catches his pupil.

You smile, eyes corrugating with what you hope looks like appreciation.

“Thanks Gojo.” And he smiles right back at you.

“Hey you know..” Gojo says, turning to ruffle in his bag, your eyes follow his movements, you watch as he pulls out a familiar box.

“Someone left these in my desk this morning, they’re really good..You wanna try?”

Your heart stops in your chest.

Your sure you’re bloods turning blue in your arteries.

Act casual, casual Y/N.

“O-oh that’s nice of them.” You mumble, your voice breaking slightly.

He offers you the box again, shaking it slightly to entice you with your own chocolates.

“Um are you sure? I don’t wanna take something that was made for you..” You look away from his sweet face to stare at the floor, then the ceiling and then back to the floor, there’s a crack right below your shoe.

Someone should really fix that.

“Oh come on! They taste great.” He grins, taking a chocolate and popping it into his mouth, letting out a dramatic “Mmm” as he chews.

“I’m sure they are..” You scratch your arm and then move your hand to the box, reaching in.

Your chocolates do taste nice, but you knew that already. Your taste testers from yesterday remaining as memory to your taste buds.

“Well?” His voice is teasing again, and you smile at him.

“They’re delicious.”

“Mhm.. and you know what else?”

He’s leaning closer to you, you try to stop yourself from leaning away, pushing aside your inane awkwardness, willing yourself to stay where you stand.

“They left a note too, wrote it in a pretty pink pen.”

“Oh?..How, how very uh- nice? of them.” You’re scrambling for sentence structure, staring at his stupidly handsome face.

He takes a page from your arms, and turns it towards himself, then lifts your note from out of his pocket.

Your eyes widen in realisation, and you step back, head turning to the door.

“Oh well, I have to go haha..” You trail off, shoving your stuff in your bag and beginning to walk to the door.

“You made me chocolates?” He asks, and you freeze, your eyes falling back onto him, and the soft face he regards you with.

He had turned the note and your paper around, your handwriting obviously present on both, you chastise yourself for such a huge oversight.

How can you deny it now? Oh God He has you cornered.

Embarrassment bubbles in the back of your throat and you desperately try to explain.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt, hands reaching out in-front of you as if begging him to hear you out.

“Huh-”

You don’t let him finish.

“I didnt mean to come off creepy, it’s just I- Well I- I think you’re really sweet, and you- You smile at me..sometimes, I just wanted you to let you know? And I’m sorry for how-”

“Hey, hey, hey.” He says, his face falling, “You don’t need to apologise for nothing, I’m not mad.”

He walks towards you, “I’m just glad they came from you, that’s all.”

Hope? Is that what you’re feeling right now?

You dare to look at him, only to see him already looking at you.

“I-”

“I ‘smile at you sometimes’?” He nudges, “You made me chocolates cause I smile?”

“..It’s a very nice smile.” You reply, head dropping.

He’s laughing, it’s a sound that makes your heart flicker, and warms your chest, scarce of mocking you feel yourself breathe normally again.

Gojo tilts his head to look at you, his face glowing with joy, as he asks, “I was planning on going to the cafe just down the street..Wanna come?”

You pause.

“What.”

Standing up straight, he hands you the note and your papers, you hold them and stare.

“A date, I’m asking you on a date Y/N.”

Is this real?

Is this happening?

“Are you serious?” Your voice comes out shocked and slightly higher than normal, you don’t understand.

“They’re very nice sweets.” He repeats with a grin “And they come from a very nice girl no? Why wouldn’t I be serious?”

“I- I just-”

Gojo, pulls the strap of your bag off your shoulder and slings it over his own, walking towards the door.

“C’mon let’s go pretty.” And he’s looking back at you, waiting “Else you won’t have a bag for tomorrow.”

You jump and follow, eyes still wide and mouth slightly parted.

And Gojo pulls you towards him the second you get close enough to touch, grasping your hand and tugging you with him, a soft smile on his face as he does so.

All is well.

masterlist <3

feel free the leave a request <3

a/n : all is not well, i’m sick as all balls right now- thank you my dear for the request..i know it’s taken me about 58 years to write this but i hope you enjoy it <33 i loved writing it and sorry for the wait. i love you !!!

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jjk leaks #gojo satoru x reader #jjk manga spoilers #jjk #soft gojo #gojo fluff #gojo smut #gojou satoru x reader #gojo comfort

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gothhabiba · 8 months

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[ID: a tumblr post containing a screenshot. Text in the screenshot reads “lol @ academics on twitter dotcom once again handwringing over students using chatgpt to write essays. don’t work for the enforcement of access barriers institution and then get mad when people try to elide or mitigate the access barriers, hope this helps.” The OP of the post adds this commentary to their screenshot: “I think the access barrier is the borderline incomprehensible amount of money you need to pay them to let you matriculate (this was about america). not the fact that you’re expected to be interested in the course once there.” end ID]

some people are so allergic to questioning anything they consider to be “common sense” it’s pathetic. worshipping meritocracy and the supposedly automatically edifying qualities of “effort” and suffering while also proclaiming oneself to be some flavour of progressive. sheesh

also I know this isn’t the point but it never stops being fascinating to me that so many people with this “you need to learn to Be Literate In The Correct Ways, Which Is An Easy Thing That Anyone Can Easily Do” sort of attitude (the elision between “think in the incredibly specific way and write in the highly specific way required to complete an essay that adheres to this particular school of thought about what essays should be like” and “be interested in the course” is telling here) are also, like... not great at reading comprehension imo.

it was super clear, even just in this ungenerous cropping of a longer point, that the original post was (among other things) criticising academia as a whole for being intended to institute access barriers to accumulating wealth, prestige &c. such that skills the university considers necessary (& performance within the limits afforded by university disability ‘accommodations,’ which are a joke) are considered automatically necessary, unquestionable, unimpeachable &c. as though the academy and its conception of “literary” are natural and inherent facts of life, rather than representing a particular interpretation of which “skills” are needed and how those skills are evaluated based on what the institution of academia is intended to do, economically / politically / socially, within a given society (cf earlier discussions on my blog about the material circumstances under which the field of literary studies arises)

which is simply basic materialist analysis. but most people in the notes were again too busy being outraged at the people trying to “game” this already highly rigged system to be able to comprehend a criticism of the highly rigged nature of said system

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creative-caramel-coffee · 10 months

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Chesty coughs and cuddles

Pairings: Wanda x R

Prompt: “You’ve kept that cough through two colds and it sounds like you’re on your third.” (From Sombre Sapphics blog prompts)

Word count: 738

Summary: you have a cough that wont go away.

TW: chest infection, fever, almost fainting, infirmary, medical check up

A/n I might post two fics today because their both a bit short.

“You’ve kept that cough through two colds and it sounds like you’re on your third.” Wanda frowned as you hunched over on the couch coughs wracking your form.

“Forth” you croaked when you had finally stopped.

“What?” Wanda asked unsure she had heard you correctly

“Forth cold.” You clarified

“right. we’re going to Bruce” wanda said pulling you into a sitting position.

“Nooo i was comfy.” You whined.

“Babe this isn’t normal. You need to see a doctor.” Wanda reasoned pulling you to your feet. When you were upright your vision swam and you stumbled forward, luckily wanda wrapped her arms around you to stop you from falling flat on your face.

“Woah there tiger, nice and easy.” She said. “Wrap your legs around my waist love and I’ll carry you.” So you did. Like a toddler your head rested by her neck and your arms around her neck with your flying flush to her torso. She held you up under your thighs, but you were too tired to care.

“Baby girl, you feel a bit warm sweets. Have you taken your temperature lately?” She cooed. You buried your face in her neck and mumbled softly

“‘M not a baby.” You whined

“Ok love.” She chuckled realising you were a bit too far gone to response in your hazy fevered state. “I’ll get Bruce to check when we see him.” She cooed. And you whined at the mention of going to the sick bay.

“Baby trust me it’ll make you feel better.” She soothed.

“Don’t wanna.” You whined hearing Jarvis announce you were here.

Wanda carefully set you down on the bed, having to sit down herself as you clung to her and refused to let go.

“What can i do for you two girls today?” Bruce asked wiping his hands on his lab coat.

“Y/n/n’s had a cough for about three colds-“

“Four”

“Four colds and i think she has a fever, i was just hoping you could check her out to make sure its nothing serious.” Wanda said patting your back as you began to squirm.

“Ok. Y/n/n can you look at me for a sec.” Bruce asked, running the tip of the thermometer over your forehead.

“Hmm 100.7 not dangerous but still a fever id like to keep an eye on.” Bruce said more to himself than anyone else.

“Has she had any meds?” He asked grabbing a stethoscope.

“Not yet i don’t think.”

“Give her a Tylenol and see how her fever reacts” he said slipping the metal tip under your shirt and unto your back. You squirmed at the cool metal and wanda held you tighter shushing you softly.

“Hmm her breathing sounds a bit crackly. I think she has a chest infection, ill need to do more tests.” He said. “Jarvis scan Y/n’s chest and send the report to my lab computer.” He said walking over to his desk.

“Scan complete.” Jarvis said.

“It seems i was right, Ms L/n has a nasty chest infection.” He said as you began coughing again.

“I’ll give her some antibiotics and when she finishes the course bring her back for another check up to see if its cleared.” He said pressing a box of green and white pills into Wanda’s palm.

“For now she needs rest and to keep an eye on her temp. Let me or Jarvis know if it gets above 103 and I’ll give her an ice bath if needed. If you like i can have Jarvis send live updates of her stats to my computer if that makes you feel better.”

“That would be great thanks Bruce.” Wanda said. “Well i better get this one to bed.” Wanda said as you nuzzled into her neck again.

“Thanks again Bruce.” Wanda said and you slurred something incomprehensible.

“Its alright girls don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything at all.”

You must have fallen asleep sometime on the way back because the next thing you knew you were asleep in your bed with your girlfriend.

Life was good, even if it was hard to breathe.

MASTERLIST

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lychniis · 3 months

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⚘— ( i ) AND THIS ALL CONSUMING HUNGER // JING YUAN.

i. SYNOPSIS : guides will be guides and men will be men. you've tested against madness and tempered the poison power brings. the general of the luofu is a new assignment and you swallow your fear. ( jing yuan x reader )

ii. WARNING(S) : was previously a long one shot but hey look, a part one to a tentative snapsot series hahahahaha i'm so inconsistent. allusions to workplace exploitation, guideverse au, sentinel jing yuan and guide reader, guys i promise i'll try to explain soon, a bit rushed imo and i hope to fix that in later parts, reader is not in the best place, pre-canon events, this goes a little farther back.

i. A BLACK HOLE. That is what the cloud knight called him as he led you down the long walk — endless, old and hungry; eternally hungry as it devours the moons and the stars and the very matter of space.

A black hole. The words rattle in your skull. It sparks alarm ( more than once ), of morbid thoughts and funerals without a body to grieve for. It makes you feel many, many things, and think of near insanity, and fingers that claw at sheets with a hunger that is never sated, a hunger that rends flesh and bone and grips at you with emaciated hands, begging begging begging.

You shrug it off with little success. Black holes were black holes, men were men and guides were guides. There was no place for fear in your line of work, not when you’ve gazed at madness in the eye and coaxed it away.

The knight looks at you with pity behind his visored helm. “You could always back off.” he offers, after a moment of tense silence. Your nails dig into your skin. Maybe he saw your anxiety. Maybe he smells it. Maybe he’s played this song and danced this dance so often he’s grown used to the jittering and the shuffling.

How many people has he seen off? How many of those faces returned with none of the brokenness? How many returned at all?

“I doubt that would be an appropriate thing to do.” you speak up, hating how raw you sound, how diminutive. It was the right thing to say. That company booklet says so, with its corporate graphics and white toothed smiles plastered on the cover. It screams the gradual rotting of old art and passion. It makes you miss your home world and the murals long painted over with billboard signs.

He shakes his head.

“The General holds no qualms in letting guides go. He encourages it, in fact…” his chipper attitude fades to a subdued sort of expectancy.

But we cannot, he almost says. This, this you know. He sounds reluctant in a way that is mired by guilt and entrenched in suffocating marshland, and his voice trembles with hidden desperation. Your hands twitch. A part of you wishes to indulge in cowardice for once, to run.

( Fool. Fool, you should leave. Walk away while the door is still open.

Fear holds no place here, you tell that voice sternly. It scuffles and spits. It wants to live, to keep living. It is a cornered animal with its teeth borne and its claws laid out. It was you, deep down and you despise it, this selfishness. You wished it erased away, bit by bit, piece by piece till its ashes were sifted to the floor and forgotten. )

He relaxes a bit when you don’t budge, satisfied with this seeming bravery, or wild idiocy. He pauses by the gates and hands you an ID card. There is a quiet beat; it’s like the world is dissolving, into static and incomprehension, like you were sinking too deep into something you’d rather stay away from. Your throat is parched. You wonder if you could ask for a drink of water before taking up your duties.

The cloud knight’s name was Yutie. He tells you he’s been the general’s guard for years uncountable. You don’t try to sum it up in your mind. To the Xianzhou natives, a decade was a passing moment. To you, it felt like eternity upon eternities.

“It’s never been this bad,” he explains, tapping at the keypad. The doors let out a mechanical whirr whirr whirr, like they were going to fall apart any second. He swears, slamming his fist on the device ( you were ashamed to admit you flinched — he looks a tad bit apologetic, at least ). They slide open easier this time. “The General usually keeps his health in check. The most he needs are top-ups to prevent any unnecessary accidents…”

Accidents.

Dead guides. Guides sucked dry, dry of everything, from their soul to their very essence to their life itself. Guides like you. Guides lulled in, offered money, offered a job, guides like you perhaps, at the cusp of desperation. What are you doing here, why did you agree to this —

“What changed?” you ask, drumming staccato against the surface of the card.

Yutie dips his head down. You see another flash of his gaze beneath his helmet and the faintest wisps of dark hair. “There was an expedition.” his tone softens. He sees demons beyond the world in front of him, the kind you see in your nightmares. “It was long, and painful…the General returned victorious, but he expended too much and now…”

Yutie swallows. You could practically feel the nervous energy buzzing off of him.

“...and now he’s like…this.” you finish helpfully.

“And now he’s like this.” he nods. “Will you help him?”

You purse your lips, and that twisting ache in your chest deepens into a gaping pit. A black hole. The word itself scares you. To you, it feels like something deep, empty, vast. It feels like sinking underwater, down trenches with no end. It feels stifling and it shrinks you down to something small and swallowable.

Men were men, guides were guides and fear was a passing glance. You shut your eyes and mutter it over and over. “I’ll try. I don’t know if I can…but I will try." It's a sincere enough effort, every trembling syllable hanging heavy like lead, like titanium. “I will try.” you repeat. You fool yourself into it. You repeat it, over and over. You will try, you will try, you will try.

He looks down. You feel the nervousness break away and fragment into a somber hint, and a hopeful one. You wonder what kind of man Jing Yuan may be for his guard to care about him so.

You hope he is kind.

Aeons, you hope he is kind.

ii. YOU FEEL IT BEFORE you see it, the cloying smokiness, the stench of ozone, the buzz against your skin. It was lightning in a bottle set loose, the beginnings of a storm, a hurricane that could rattle the roofs of houses and blow away trees from their roots. It was danger, and your throat burns against it.

Help him, that part of you screams as instinct overtakes fear. You don’t have to look at him to know the extent of his corruption — not with how cold his hand was when you took it. Not with how you tremble beneath that shuddering weight and push past the initial barrier. It slips and pushes you back, once, twice, thrice. You wheedle your way in, grabbing at whatever you could find.

What you find is emptiness.

You panic. You feel tugged and frayed at the corners. You feel like you’re unraveling —

— you keep going, your fingers pressed against his palm as your essence filters through.

You don’t want to look at the pale faced illness that would have settled over him or the fragility his bones move with. That was always the hardest part, crying for the ones you could never save, letting their faces creep into your mind at night. You do not want to give him a face. You do not want him to haunt you, if this twists into something unwantable.

( You could die too. The thought springs forth like a scathing mockery. It smiles — if thoughts could smile — and it bears a sharp toothed edge to it. You stop thinking immediately, no no no, no more of that. )

He devours it, then demands more, more, more. You don’t have more. You doubt you have more, and you, a fool and bleeding heart in its pathetic entirety — you let him take.

Reality begins slipping into a jumbled mess of shapes and words. You tamp down the deluge. Your head feels light, and you feel heavy. For a moment, you imagine the stars in front of you, and hurtling through space watching constellations being rendered down and broken apart.

A hand fixes round your wrist. The grasp is clumsy, weak yet warm against your skin ( and it’s gentle and it’s kind. You want to tear it off of you. You want to cry and cling to it ). The line is severed and you double over, your breaths strained, haggard like someone untangled that painful web growing in your chest. You think you taste iron in your mouth.

“Enough.” There is a finality in the way he speaks and you obey, stunned and dissonant. When you look up, the General is staring back, the gold in his eyes, hazy, sickly though tugged free of the madness. He hasn’t recovered, not fully — he was still a smeared painting in that sense with none of that fine refining or rendering. A face still legible, still knowable but lost in its definition and depth.

Oh…oh, you wonder how he dares to still be so beautiful.

Harsh aureate softens to mellow honey. His fingers brush against your palm, the touch featherlight, the brush of wings against skin. “You have done enough.” he says, softly, gently. “Go, get some rest.”

The manual sinks at the back of your eyes, all clinical white smiles and lifeless art. Their instructions were drilled in like second instinct, like some sick mantra. “I haven’t — ” you barely let the words out. You were tired. You want to sleep.

“Go.” he repeats ( stop being so insistent, you nearly snap. Your voice crackles and crumbles — thankfully ). “We can talk later.”

There were parts of you that were tugged at with phantom hands, parts you never wished to be torn at. For a moment, you stand, your mind nothing but hazy static. He looks apologetic. The situation sinks in, the hunger, a black hole. That visceral feeling in your gut, the surreality, the terror.

You had almost died.

Bitten lips part. A choked cry tumbles out. It’s numb emptiness. It’s everything at once.

You almost died.

It settles in thick and you feel parts of you fall away, left behind in that room. You hear attendants call out in worry as they fuss over the man. You feel Yutie’s hand on your back. You look back and see the chasmous guilt in Jing Yuan. An attendant says something. He smiles, nods, pulling on an air so free of distress — you wish you were a good liar like him. Maybe you could lie to yourself and think of a you and a life that didn’t feel so empty.

The glimpse is gone. You see walls now. His voice fades away as the distance grows.

“Thank you.” says Yutie. There is a silent awe in the way he speaks to you, like you were some godling sent from the heavens itself. You do not understand that — you were only doing your job. But you also see why too. He was kind. He was kind in a way you had least expected and he was tender, so painfully tender. General Jing Yuan is the Luofu’s beloved in that sense and to care for a man like him was no surprise.

( It’s loyalty, the type of loyalty so deeply ingrained into their bones and their instincts — an iron that refuses to rust. It is impressive, you mindfully nod at this, just a little touched at the sight. At least someone was loved. It may not be you, but it was still someone, and it lets you see that the universe, no matter the horrors it holds beneath it;s shroud, was still capable of the kinder, tender things. )

Despite that, the sinking feeling remains. Your contract wasn’t finished with. You had a long way to go. That iciness returns. It’s constricting around your neck. It does not leave. Death had left its mark on you, a permanent reminder of your fragility.

You know what it was, your old friend, a bedmate, a shadow hovering over your shoulders and taking and tearing and grinning as it sets fire to what sanity you hold close. It holds the ashes. It scatters them and laughs.

You do not utter its name. Demons had a nasty habit of showing their faces when called.

iii. THE NEXT DAY, you don a coat, lock your room door and head back to Jing Yuan’s estate from Petrichor Inn. The Luofu’s nightlife has bled away to silence and the world feels asleep around you. You try not to make a sound lest you disturb it; it feels like something you had little right to tread upon this stillness with heavy footfalls.

Yesterday repeats itself. You meet Yutie at the entrance. He hands you your ID. He leads you to Jing Yuan. He stays behind at the doorway and gives you an encouraging nod. You curl your fingers and take a step in, incense stimulating the senses — it eases you a bit. It smells nice. It smells familiar ( jasmine and hibiscus and sandalwood ).

He’s awake. You wonder if he’s slept at all ( he’s not, with the way his shoulders slope ). Your muscles itch. The air is still saturated with that uncomfortable buzz. It’s less staggering, less like the upended chaos that stormed through placidity and more like a subtle shift, the waves slowly creeping up with the onset of the coming tide.

Breathe.

He’s smiling at you. That is good. It is better than latent annoyance. It is better than that voracity.

“Good morning.” You greet. You gather yourself and your lips tug at the corners. It was a professional, distant, but it;s a smile of your own.

“Good morning.” He hums. “Have you eaten?”

A strange thing to ask right off the bat, but the small talk between the awkward silence is a buffer you welcome. Anything to lay in the incoming conversation as gently as possible ( you brace yourself. You tell yourself to be brave, be brave, be brave ). “Not yet.” you admit. “I’d like to see this through first.”

“Your payment?” Jing Yuan wasn’t being rude with the context at hand. You still stiffen. It’s instinctive, and you despise how it makes your hands cold like fractured ice and stale snow.

“Your guiding.” You clarify, stilling the tremble. “You're…in need of some more help if you wish to make a quicker recovery. I could help schedule some appointments during my stay here.”

He considers you with a cool look. You feel like a butterfly gutted through and pinned up to be ogled at. “You hardly seem eager to take that stand yourself.” he notes with a wry tilt to his head.

You’d have argued back at his response, but his shrewdness claws away the words and leaves you gaping at his bedside. Jing Yuan peers down at his sheets, then shuts his eyes. There is an impatient twitch to his fingers. You wonder if he wants to strangle someone ( or maybe it’s you. Maybe you feel stripped away raw and your only instinct was to scream ).

Your chest rises and falls. “If there is any issue you have with me, I could put a word in and call another guide.” An innocent suggestion, uttered too quickly. You want to wince.

“No, no, it’s not you.” He’s quick to shut it down. There is a mixed amusement there, tugging at his lips. It’s like he knows something you don’t, or sees something you can’t. It’s frustrating. “Heavens, it's not you at all. Your performance was hardly what I’d call subpar…” you wait for the ‘but’.

“...but I am sure you are aware that I'll suck you dry, yes?” Yes you were, and even you were selfishly terrified of death ( and you feel stupid. So stupid ). Jing Yuan could smell fear, it was a blatant point to him, something you chide yourself for ( you should have hidden it away better ) — and his offer for freedom, ah it was tempting. You could walk away now and wash your hands of it. You could leave this behind and think little of it.

…at least until your boss brings about the questions. The chiding. The reminders, your training. It makes you feel sick.

( There is something else too.

Perhaps a naive voice, a young child who once told someone they wanted to help people. A child from a world before the strain, the strife, the hours overtime — where greed was never quite a concept beyond wanting more chocolate after dinner. )

“I’m not sure if I'm in the position to refuse.” you admit. “I’m under contract. Your recovery is of utmost importance and I cannot afford any violations.” It’s the tamest way you could lay out your reasoning. You don’t want to get into the messier details, where the ink bleeds and splatters through the pages. Those are the parts most try hiding.

He softens up. There’s less of a regimented edge to him. You relax your shoulders, let your nerves soothe. “So you’ll stay.” he says this with a heavy sort of acceptance. You catch a taste of melancholy ( bitter, like dark chocolate ). “In that case, you may proceed.”

“Alright.” you patter closer and pull up a chair next to him. Jing Yuan watches you; he always watches you and your jittering returns as the seconds tick by. The clock feels a little too loud. The lights feel a little too bright. He holds out his arm. You smooth your fingers over his skin, feel the tautness of muscle and the faint brittleness of bones underneath.

( Alive. )

Your thumb stops above his pulse. It’s beating fast — a little too fast. “You’re nervous.” you whisper.

“Am I?” he smiles. His pulse slows as he breathes. Shrewd man.

“You’re still nervous.” you point out. “You’re just good at hiding it.” He chuckles. The sun seems to reflect in his eyes. It would be easy to consider him something else, something a little less human. But you feel his warmth in your hands. You feel his pulse and you try smiling. It’s gentle, as gentle as you could muster forth. “It’s alright. You can try talking about things. They’re good distractions.”

Jing Yuan only seems more amused. “You’re acting like I'm a petulant child. In my experience, guiding is far more pleasant than say, needles poking at flesh.” ( He turns his hand over and the feel of his pulse slips away. His fingertips are calloused. There are no scars. The Xianzhou natives never live with those. )

You often wonder what it’s like to receive it, guiding. Then you banish those thoughts. They are not yours, never yours to mull over beneath the eyes of the night.

His eyes slip shut. You fall into the void, feel the devouring beneath the surface with its too tight grasp and the hunger it holds. Your chest stirs. You guide him.

iv. HIS MONOLOGUE :

There is touching. More touching than what he’s used to. And it’s not enough, never enough. It’s fleeting, featherlight. He’d call it that sensation — in how a plum blossom would fall, would brush against his cheek. In how the rain patters against his hair.

He watches you. It’s interesting, he reasons, between the whitewashed walls of his room and the creaking of his bed. Your eyes barely meet his. Your hands, they flutter over his arm, over his pulse. It’s surgical, precise, he’s tugged apart and opened and he tries to think of the things you might see as you slip inside.

Gentle. You’re gentle. Jing Yuan feels you hold his soul. It’s warm. The monster stills. Some of that creeping emptiness disappears. There was a dissonance there, once upon a time. It was devastation and it was a weight. Jing Yuan despised it, despised its cries, despised how it took more than it should.

He feels light.

When you pull away, he feels greedy. He almost asks you to come back ( to stay, maybe a little longer, maybe forever ).

You’re tired. There is a newer burden, a newer nervousness dragging you down. Jing Yuan watches you leave. A bitterness floods his tongue, edged with iron.

( Stay. )

❪⠀🎬⠀❫ AINE SPEAKS ;;

"aine it's been ages, are you on hiatus?" "nah i'm just lazy."

so my ideas and concepts for this au basically peaked, spilled over and i settled on the horrifying thought that this cannot be a single oneshot anymore.

so uh, hey here's a snapshot series. there's no actual plot to it, thank god ( you ;long fic writers...you awe and scare me ) but i plan on writing a few tied in oneshots here and there when i feel like to expand on it. consider this in introductory post??? a meet cute.

now to clear the air, what is guideverse? okay so it's kind of an au where there are sentinels, beings with supernatural power juice and guides who make sure the sentinels don't get too drunk on the supernatural power juice and do an oopsie.

that's the most barebones way of explaining it, but there are a few writers who have explained it better i think XD. in short, guides calm sentinels down and stop them from corrupting. in this case, the reader tends to the mara encroaching on jing. yes yes.

in the famous words of shaoji, don't worry "this story will be heartwarming and wholesome :))))))." trust me bro. my sources are so valid.

if you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill this form up!

taglist — @dustofthedailylife @meimeimeirin @silentmoths @crystalflygeo @ofoceansandtombsanew @ollieink @chiyoso @hleb-chan-sky @thesparklingwriter @localplaguenurse @khxii-i @laughterofthetombs @euniveve @meritamiau @achy-boo @dumbitchpdf @timeofsilversstuff @pearlsxandxpeonies @francisnyx @cynicalmusings @iridescene

AINE | 2024. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

#&&. my writing !!#jing yuan x reader #jing yuan #jing yuan x you #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #x reader #jing yuan x y/n #my god guys this took way too long to finish lol #help help XD #i'm done though thank god #guideverse #guideverse x reader

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tomhollandisabae · 1 year

Text

a mistake - simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | pt. i

masterlist

fandom; call of duty

summary; simon and his wife are unable to control their feelings so they make some bad decisions that are going to affect their future on the long-run

warnings; angst, pregnancy, giving birth (descriptions of a very painful situation), mature language

words; 1.6k

a/n; so I've been gone since like december, but now I'm finally back!! yayy!! 😊 so anyways this is going to be a three- part story so stay tuned!! love y'all!!🥰

Y/n had just arrived at the hospital as she had just gone into labour. The pain was incomprehensible and all she wished for was for everything to be over soon. However, she was missing someone... her husband.

Ghost was on a mission, but not far away from home. He, obviously, hadn’t thought about the chance of his wife giving birth before her due date.

So, the first think she did when she got to the hospital was to call him, as she hoped that she could be able to talk to him between her screams of pain.

Thankfully, Ghost was keeping his phone with him, in case something happened to her, so he could get to her as soon as possible. That was also the reason why he was on a mission close to where he was leaving.

So, when Ghost’s phone rings and he see his wife's name on the caller ID, he immediately picks up.

“Aye, what’s app?” he says once he answers the phone.

However, this pisses Y/n off, as she finds his tone annoying and between screams, she yells at him;

“WHAT’S UP?! YOU DARE TO SAY ‘WHAT’S UP?! I’M IN FUCKING LABOUR, SIMON! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!”

“Calm down, Y/n, calm down. What the blazes happened?” Ghost says, while he is heard grabbing his rifle and pistol. He makes a few adjustments to his equipment and throws on his plate carrier and tactical vest.

“ARE YOU ON A FUCKING MISSION RIGHT NOW? ARE YOU SERIOUS?! I’M IN THE FUCKING HOSPITAL GIVING BIRTH TO YOUR DAUGHTER AND YOU’RE ON A MISSION? ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS, SIMON?!” Y/n yells at him once again through the phone, while the pain she’s experiencing is worsening as time goes by.

“Calm down, I got it, I got you. What’s your current location?” He says as he grabs his helmet, mask and his radio.

“Price, I’m out. Y/n’s in labour.” He informs his Captain through the radio.

“I JUST TOLD YOU; I’M IN THE FUCKING HOSPITAL!” Y/n screams painfully loud as she yells at her husband “I’M CURRENTLY PUSHING YOUR DAUGHTER OUT OF MY VAGINA! IS THAT ENOUGH STATUS?” She ironically says, without lowering her tone not even for just one second.

“Alright, keep calm, Y/n. Keep calm. I’m on my way to you.” He hangs up the phone and grabs his gear and throws it into the back of his SUV, he makes a mad dash towards the hospital. He walks quickly into the lobby asking the receptionist where his wife is and he rashes to her room.

The door to Y/n's hospital room bursts open and Simon walks in.

“Y/n! Y/n, are you alright?” He asks panicked as he makes his way next to her.

She looks at him like a madwoman, ready to cut his head off and says;

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU! I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU SIMON!” She screams at him while pushing, trying to give birth.

Her breathing picks up.

“I HATE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH!” Tears are now streaming on her cheeks as the pain is maddening.

“Calm down! Calm down, Y/n!” He gives her a comforting hug as he speaks “You’re going to be okay. I’m here now, please just relax.”

However, this doesn’t help fix things up as his wife clearly can’t think straight anymore and as she screams into his face, through gritted teeth she tells him;

“You’re not getting out of here alive, Simon. Do you hear me? You’re NOT getting out of this room alive!” She cries out once again and another scream is heard.

Ghost’s mask shakes as he starts to get frustrated and yells at her;

“Shut up, Y/n. Calm down.” A tear can be seen rolling down his mask. He looks into her eyes and continues “You can and will do this, you’re stronger than you think, the pain is only temporary, and it’ll be worth it in the end. This is all for our little girl.”

Y/n gasps at Simon’s tone and she grabs his hands, digging her nails into his skin, while she starts pushing and screaming again.

“Fuck you Simon...” She tells him as tears are keep on escaping from her eyes.

Ghost pulls his hand out of her grasp and looks her dead in the eye.

“Y/n, if you scream at me one more time, I swear to God, I will leave you here to have this child alone!” He tells her, words coming out of his mouth without him realising it.

Once again, she gasps at his words as she’s now sobbing.

“Leave!” She yells at him “FUCKING LEAVE SIMON! BUT DON’T YOU DARE SOME BACK ASKING TO SEE YOUR DAUGHTER!”

At this point, the doctors and nurses, that are assisting her, watch the entire scene unfold in front of them as if it is a out of a soap opera.

Ghost grits his teeth together and clenches his jaw.

“Fine... If that’s what you want...” He stands up and turns around.

He walks away but stops and turns back to his wife as tears fill his eyes, but he just stands there silently and walks away and out of the building, closing the hospital door behind him. No words are said between them as he walks away once and for all.

A doctor that has witness everything, though, runs after him trying to stop him.

“Sir! Please, sir, slow down!” The doctor yells at him.

Simon stops and turns around to face the doctor and he says absolutely nothing as he stares into the doctor’s eyes. He has a look of despair on his face. He looks like he’s about to start crying or burst into uncontrollable rage.

“Sir, you must understand that women tend to say those things when they’re in labour. They’re experiencing the worst pain anyone can ever go through and the way they’re showing it to others is, most of the times, through hateful words, but you must know that these words are never true.” The doctor tries to explain.

Ghost is still silent, but his expression softens as he listens to the doctor speaking.

“I understand...” He says in a quiet voice as he fights back more tears.

“You decide whether you stay or leave, it’s your choice, but I just had to let you know.” The doctor looks sympathetically at him as he turns around and heads back into the hospital.

Simon just stands there for a few seconds and takes deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. He finally makes a decision, turns around, heads back into the hospital and gets to Y/n's room.

Once Y/n sees him, though, her eyes fill with so much hate.

“Why did you come back? Leave! Please, someone get him out of here!” She yells frantically as she sobs “LEAVE!” The nurses are trying to calm her down and one of them tells her; “Ma’am you have to keep pushing, otherwise the baby will suffocate, it’s been way too long.”

Ghost walks over to her and kneels beside her bed. He reaches out and grabs her hand gently.

“I don’t care how much you yell at me, how much you hate me... I’m not leaving you until this baby is born...” Tears are running down on his cheeks.

Lucy looks at him and while breathing hard she tells him;

“Once the baby is born, you’re leaving.”

He just nods, while still holding her hand.

“Okay... Y/n... just... just do your best... alright?... I’ll be right here...”

Now, Simon, can barely hold himself together, but he has to stay strong... for her.

Y/n takes her hand out of his and without looking at him she says;

“Don’t touch me.”

Simon nods, but says nothing, he stands there silently until the baby is born.

And indeed, half an hour later his beautiful girl has finally arrived. With a sadden expression he takes out a piece of paper from his pocket and begins writing something on it as he looks at his wife and their newborn daughter, trying to capture this image in his mind, because this image will be the only thing that he will have left.

Half an hour later, Y/n has finally calm down and she looks around trying to find her husband. However, he’s nowhere to be seen. On the bedside table she notices a piece of paper folded up and her name written on it. She takes it in her hands, unfolds it and starts reading it.

The paper reads;

“I’m sorry for ruing this special moment. I made a huge mistake and I accept the consequences of my actions. I love you, Y/n. I will always love you, no matter what.

I understand if you don’t want me in your life anymore, but at least think of me as the father of our beautiful daughter.

Love you always,

Simon”

Tears are running once again down on her cheeks as she sobs and rips the paper into pieces.

“I hate you...” She whispers to herself, but the words are no longer directed to her long-gone husband anymore. They’re directed to herself.

Finally, a doctor walks over to her and says;

“Excuse me, ma’am, but we need to take your daughter to the nursery for a quick evaluation. If the baby is healthy then we are free to let her stay with you for the rest of your recovery. This is one of the most special moments of a new parent’s life, you deserve to have your child with you for this. Is that okay with you?”

She can form no words anymore, so she simply nods at the doctor.

“I’m giving you some privacy for the moment. If you have any questions or concerns, or need anything, don’t hesitate to ask the nursing staff. I’ll back shortly.” The doctor leaves and as she does so, Y/n is left alone to bond with her newborn daughter.

All by herself...

*Four years later*

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dysaniadisorder · 1 year

Text

I meant to make a post like "mob is one of those characters that's any gender" but it quickly dissolved into only trans girl mob .

[ID: A page of digital doodles of Mob from Mob Psycho. There's a full body one of her that's colored, and she's wearing a very big hoodie with a cat on it. There's a trans pin on the hood. She's wearing a long green dotted skirt and socks. She's wearing earrings. The there's a doodle of her wearing an agender flag sweater while Tome messes with her hair. Tome is talking a lot and incomprehensibly and all Mob says in response is "uh-huh". There's another doodle of her in her regular school uniform, looking at a phone. The phone is pulled up to the wikipedia page for transgender, and under her is red lettering that just says "92%". Then there's a small doodle of her putting on a fake braid that says next to it "I hope this doesn't awaken anything in me..." and under it is a smaller doodle of her with actual braids labeled 'highschool'. The last is just a doodle of her with one eye covered by a large nonbinary flag. end ID]

#drawings.exe #doodles.png #mob psycho 100 #mp100 #mob mp100 #shigeo kageyama #trans girl mob #trans mob #nonbinary mob #image id #tome kurata #.save #OKAY GN ITS 10:30 ND I GOT SCHOOL .

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just-wublrful · 1 year

Photo

a conversation between a man condemned and his devotee

(ID under the cut)

[ID: A collection of quotes from various sources.

1. Dear So-and-So, I’m sorry I couldn’t come to your party. / Dear So-and-So, I’m sorry I came to your party / and seduced you / and left you bruised and ruined, you poor sad thing.

2. We met out the back of the bar, and you smiled, all knives. Said, You don’t know me yet, but you will. We’re going to be so dangerous, babe, I can feel it. Found out biblically wasn’t the only way to know someone when I prised open your chest, looking for burning.

3. I wanted to know what I looked like to you. A sin committed and a prayer answered, you said.

4. I say, I promise I won’t do anything awful, / and he says, you are something awful, / but I’m keeping you anyway. / does that make me your bad thing? your wild / thing? something worth hunting across the county? / you want to kill me more than anyone else. / That’s what love is, baby.

5. It’d be the good kind of fire. More purgatory, less witch hunt. / I could try burn all this shame out of me. / It’d work as well as you think it would, / meaning, not at all.

6. I’m scared of the love I have for you. Because I know it will ruin me. And I also know that I will let it.

7. I will never admit what he means to / me. Will say / he was simply a game I / could not pass up. Love / is a death wish between you / and the you you’re / becoming. I will never admit to / him that his love feels like a tease / from God. A gift I / only deserve as prelude to punishment. Love / is a bluff between goodbye and forever. You

8. & vicious. & lovely. So when God asks / me about love, I respond with cruelty. I know / no other answer / I know no other question. I’m

9. And when one of us had finished confessing, we’d fall into the others orbit. And the other could always be relied upon to keep us there. / So when we asked the question in out own convoluted way, (will you love me anyway?)

10. It’s your privilege to find me incomprehensible. I gave you my minutes; let them remain ours. I hope I haunt you.

11. "Hell," I said, "I love you enough now. What do you want to do? Ruin me?" / "Yes. I want to ruin you." / "Good," I said. "That's what I want too.”

12. And I pick up the phone, dial your number and wait / And shine like my petals once shone / And just as it's ringing, I whisper aloud to my saint / "Oh, we, we're gonna get on"

End ID.]

#webweaving #web weaving #i know i have 4 yves olades in here I KNOW #aiden #eli #p tag #god. beast im glad its done.#wubweaving

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kerubimcrepin · 17 days

Text

Dofus: The Production - reviewing the Xa and Tot interview

pictured: 7yo Joris, 10yo Joris, 60yo Joris, and 584-585yo Joris.

Funnily enough, this interview will touch onto something already mentioned in the artbook I already reviewed.

The origins of Joris as a character.

Sadly, it is machine translated, but I think we'll understand it well enough.

Here we learn that Joris was inspired by Vivi from Final Fantasy. I am sad to report I had never played Final Fantasy, and all my knowledge of him comes from hearsay at best, but Id do find there to be some very funny and twisted parallels between Vivi and Joris, beyond their troubles with lifespans (Vivi's being extremely short, Joris's the opposite...)

Like lol. Lmao even. (laughs fondly at the memory of having drawn fanart of Kerubim and Joris cannibalising one another as symbolism for Kerubim's selfish exploitation of Joris for his own emotional needs and regrets, — and Joris growing to derive pleasure from being exploited by Kerubim, and being a willing participant in the mixture of parentification and infantilization he experiences after the 600 years of living with his dad.)

Anyway,

Joris's progression as a character being "joke character -> character Xa created to be cool and awesome in a moment of inspiration, despite Tot's brief -> he bewitches them both fully" is so funny to me.

I always found it funny that Tot doesn't really see the forest (dofus aux tresors de kerubim) for the trees (child neglect and the psychological horror of Joris Jurgen's entire existence).

Not even going to comment on not knowing what the hell "epic-burlesque" is supposed to mean.

Now we move onto my favourite part of this interview: Tot's thoughts on Joris as a character.

I'm glad he said that they've worked on his life story through multiple centuries. Gives me hope that Tot has given thought to Joris's experiences during Leorictus Sheran-Sharms silly, perhaps even whacky reign.

I want to note the word choice here, — Joris isn't mysterious, but jaded. All of his caginess and "mystique" is attributable in equal part to his distrust of others, cynicism, and exhaustion with the horrible things he has seen throughout his life.

Which would very likely include being cagy even about his class, considering the whole "huppermage gencocide" thing that happened after Leorictus Sheran-Sharm.

The thing about Joris is that it is hard to appraise him from our own point of view. I had always liked how this franchise treats immortal characters, — they are beings with feelings, who make mistakes, who have issues.

But it does not make them any less incomprehensible.

In a way, he is so compelling to me, because I find his existence terrifying — Joris is someone who started out with all these ideas of kindness and justice, but can someone who is 600 years old really uphold them?

Judging from Waven, we know the answer to this question.

I think that with Joris's character, as well as Kerubim and Atcham, one of the major themes is stagnation.

While at times their immortality, and the freedom it provides, is referred to in a bit of an "optimistic nihilism" way,

Especially with the themes and motifs referenced in Aux Tresors de Kerubim, (especially with the ending directly referencing Diane Ardant's monologue,)

It's such a painful mixture of stagnation and endless freedom. There's a horror of never being able to escape, — not from having to experience the horrors of history, not from your own childhood house.

And then there's the horror of moving on from everyone you ever loved. While Kerubim and Joris share this one, I associate it more with Kerubim simply because he is so obsessed with the stories of his youth. It feels as if what was two hundred years ago is just yesterday, to him...

While with Atcham it's just speculation and my own headcanons, the sort of immortality, stagnation related horror I associate with him is dependency. He is not the same, strong person he used to be when he was alone. If he had to go back to Brakmar after all this time, he wouldn't be able to adjust. It's like all this time has declawed him.

Joris never really knew a life outside the all-consuming relationship he has with Kerubim and Atcham, but for Atcham it's different. And with every unchanging year that passes, he settles more and more into this peaceful existence, — and if he were torn away from it, just like Joris and Kerubim, he would not be able to function.

I think that the theoretical endpoint of where Kerubim, Joris, and Atcham could end up is whatever is going between Qilby and Shinonome.

Being one another's only meaning, in a world devoid of meaning, for better or for worse. Probably for worse.

#ro liveblogs dofus #dofus #wakfu #krosmoz #kerubim crepin #joris jurgen #atcham crepin #moviehistory #i prommy next or the after-next post will be about some of the stuff from film's production. heart <3.

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