#reader is just lonely and sad

[plush-rabbit]

part two to the unnamed chapter from like a few days ago!! honestly, im suprised people liked it. like i didnt think it would get good stuff. like i dindt think it was bad, but im like the hype has died down anyways!! we meet the man, the myth, the devil himself!!

Word Count: 4.8K

You can hardly keep your eyes open. Even with the soft yellow glow of the light, it's far too bright for you. Shutting your eyes only brings you a bit of solace. You're somewhere soft, something light and feathery pulled over you, and you shift your shoulder blades to pull your wings closer to your body, and instead you sob, the pain sharp and unforgiving to your frail body.

Did you fall? No, maybe you slept on them wrong. You don’t have to think about stretching your wings, it was always second nature, as easy as blinking and as easy as moving your arm. You’d stretch your wings, and you’d ask Adam to help you preen your wings. You shift, and something feels empty, it feels light, lighter than air. You can’t remember your wings feeling so light, not unless you were flying. You’d hate to have messed up your wings over something as frivolous as falling.

Memories rush in, fragmented, only the beginning pieces clear enough for you to remember. Your eyes snap, and you’re met with harsh lighting. You see nothing but wood and stone, and a home that is not yours, and you groan into something soft under you. Moving your arm is painful, it feels bent and sore, and you reach for feathers, and find nothing. Your cries bury themselves into something plush, something that soaks your tears and drool and leaves only a patch behind. A hand pats softly against your arm, and you flinch. 

A voice shushes out to calm you. “It's okay. You're safe. I'm not here to hurt you,” they whisper. “Just relax, and try not to move. You still haven't recovered.”

Even if they speak softly to you, it's far too loud. The words echo in your head, and attempting to think about where you are and who you're with is making you nauseous. Or perhaps it's the sickly honeyed scent that is thick in the air. 

“‘S too sweet,” you slur, clawing at fabric beneath you. You regret speaking, the movement making your already sore jaw ache further, the joints pushing into your splitting skull. Your head pulses and your mouth is cotton filled, thick and impossible to speak. “Where?” You hope that someone will give you an answer to where you are. Or at least what you're on.

“Oh, thank you,” a voice chirps. 

“Don't think it was a compliment Bee,” a thick accent says in a hushed voice.

“Well I'm taking it as one,” the voice huffs.

“You're at my home,” the gentle voice is back. “You're in a spare bed. Just try to relax.” You can’t relax with all the sound, and when you try to tell him that, you only murmur, slurring letters together. “I know, I know.” He doesn’t, but you can’t correct him. “Just try not to move so much.” It's quiet again, a silence that stretches and fills the void with nothingness. The smell and the shuffling of bodies is the only indication that you aren’t alone, that you haven’t been left yet. 

“Luci, mate, you sure it's a good idea to have an angel laying around?” You hear the chime of bells, and you want everything to stop. 

“They aren't an angel,” a voice retorts. A hand places itself over your bicep, and squeezes you softly.

“Yeah, but like, it’s still a bit dangerous, isn’t it?” The voice is much more feminine, and you can hear a buzz when they speak, a low hum that doesn’t stop. “Having one of them just on your bed.”

“A spare bed,” the voice corrects. The bed dips beside you, your fingers tap against the mattress. “It was dangerous when we were first here,” snapping at the other, before sighing. “It’s been a long time since another angel has fallen.” 

“Lucifer, honey,” this voice is smoother than the others, and you wish they would all stop talking. “What’s the plan here?” Someone makes a noise of confusion. “They aren’t an angel anymore, if anything, they’re a walking target. We don’t even know if they’re an Exorcist.”

“Heaven hasn’t cast out an Angel in so long,” the voice says softly, a finger tracing shapes onto your arm. “And I highly doubt they’re an Exorcist. I can almost- I’m positive that they aren’t.”

An Exorcist. That’s what they think. Lute flashes in your mind, and Adam follows, weapons ready, and thinking hurts far too much. You groan, nuzzling into the pillow, trying to tune out the sounds. You need them to stop talking.

A hand pats at your arm, and soon you feel fingers tangle themselves into your hair. Fingertips ghost alongside the tender part of your scalp. The voice hushes you, lulling you back into a state of unconsciousness. “I’m sorry,” they whisper, “we must be too loud for you.”

“Lucifer, I know you’re still-” the person pauses- “upset-” they sound unsure of the word they’re using- “about the last few years, but you can’t take on a pity project.”

Lucifer. They keep saying- oh shit. You let out a whimper. You don’t know if you’re thankful for being found by him, or if it’s a curse to be found by him. He shushes you once more, massaging gently at your scalp. 

“Yeah-” the buzzing is louder this time- “you know, if you were lonely, you could have just said something. I got some cute little hounds that need loving homes, ya know? And uh, they’re cute-” they hiss that word and you furrow your brows- “and practically housebroken.”

“Luci, it’s not like they’re worth much. I mean look at ‘em. I don’t even think I remember seein’ them back up when we were there, so they gotta be new or somethin’.”

The hands still, fingertips pressing into the tenderness of your head. You let out a low sound, and give a soft nudge of your head for the person- Lucifer you presume, to let go. He apologizes, soothing over the spot where he’s touched. “It’s not- They aren’t a pity project. This isn’t that. Don’t you remember how bad it was. How painful it was to fall. At least we had each other. We were stronger than most angels.” You wish they would all stop talking. Especially when they refer to falling, you can't stand to hear it. “They have no one. This is- I just want them to feel safe.” His words come to a slow stand, and if it didn’t hurt to cry, you’d sob at the reminder of your punishment. “Their wings were ripped from them, they weren’t even allowed to heal.”

“Well it ain’t like Heaven is known for their leniency.”

“Listen, Lucifer, we’re just saying that you’ve been having a lot of big emotions recently, and maybe nursing someone back to health isn’t what you need right now.” Lucifer- at least you’re assuming- makes a noise in protest at what the other voice is stating. “What’s the long-term plan, hm? You fix them and then what? Do they live here? Do you kick them out? Take them over to Charlie?”

The room is still, the buzzing has quieted down to a hum, and you feel sleep grasp onto you once more. “You should all go.” The group protests immediately, voices overlapping one another, the buzzing higher, and scent of sweets and leather grows and irritates you further. Your head pounds, banging against your skull. You shift, pulling at the wounds, and a cry muffles itself into your pillow. “It’s okay, you’re okay” the voice says in a hushed voice, palms pressed flat against you, cooling your feverish body. “I’ll give you something right now to help the pain.” He clears his throat away from you. “I have to think about things. I’ll make sure to give you updates as they come along, but for now, I’ve taken up enough of your time.” He pauses. “You should return back to your rings.”

The buzzing quiets down, and footsteps shuffle out. It's a mess of steps, puttering and pattering along the floor, and the sound is [welcomed] by silence. A door clicks shut, and you hear no lock. 

Thinking if you're a prisoner or not is too much of a task right now. The strength of the saccharine scent has left with its owner, and instead now gently wafts in the air. Somewhere on the other side of the room, you hear a sigh.

“I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have been having that conversation with you in the room.” You let out a short huff in response. “It won’t happen again, okay? We must have been loud for you, huh?” With all the strength that you can muster, you give a short nod. “Let me go get you something for the pain, okay?” You feel a soft hand over your bicep, giving you a soft squeeze. The hand lingers with fingertips that kiss over your skin in feather light touches as they pull away. 

You drift between consciousness and unconsciousness, unable to fully sleep, but you don’t register anything that happens. All that you’re aware of is that someone is back in the room with you. He’s beside you, something plastic touching against your lips and the thick taste of medicine is bitter on your tongue. 

“I’m going to light some incense, okay?” You’d rather he give you water or anything else to wash the taste off. “You just let me know if it’s too much.” The scent is much calmer compared to the sickly sweet one from earlier. “I had Belphegor send me some sleeping aids. I believe it’s the only reason you’re able to get some actual rest.” Your lips mouth the words “thank you”. Something soft and warm covers you, and you feel yourself sink further into the mattress. “I don’t know how much of your power was stripped, or how much you even had to begin with. Mammon was right about that, you are a newer angel, you might not even be able to do much other than heal.” His voice is growing harder to understand, it’s fading into the back, and sleep pulls you further in. “However, I wouldn’t ask you to even attempt to heal yourself- not in this state,” he whispers.

“Taste bad,” is all that you can mutter. Your head pounds, and it feels like it’s swelling. Each word that you speak is laid thick and slurred together. Every syllable only brings you sickness and an ache in your skull.

“I know,” he sighs. “The medicine here doesn’t taste good, but there’s not much that I can do about it.” A cloth dabs at your mouth. “Hell is supposed to be a punishment after all,” he says with a humorless laugh. “I’m- I’m sure that Heaven’s medicine is still divine as ever,” they mumble with a heavy weight on the words. 

“Like nectar,” you speak softly, the memory of it faint on your tongue. 

Something brushes along your face, and you feel the pull of sleep. “Yeah,” he breathes out, “like nectar.”

-

Knocking on the door disrupts your sleep. Something gargles sounds on the other side of the door. In your mind, it’s too faint to make anything out. You hear the squeak of the door open, and through bleary eyes, you make out two tall figures. Again, they speak to you, and you nod back to sleep.

You feel the latex of gloves touch your body, knuckles the brush against the nape of your neck and hands that grab your arms, ready to still you as you tense. “We’re just changing your bandages.” You shake your head. “It’ll be quick, just stay still.” You’d rather deal with an infection than with how the doctors treat you. You recall a voice making an argument that you’re not welcomed here, that you're an angel in a land of sin. 

“No, no,” you mutter, tears staining your face and wetting the pillow. You feel the cold breeze on your back, whispering over your wounds. The stickiness of the gauze peels away from you, and you can smell the stench of it- metallic, rich and earthy. Something so sweet, and it disgusts you and the doctors. 

Their hands grip tighter onto you, holding you down and you yelp. “Stay still.” You recall many moons ago how Lute told you something similar. How her words were laced with sorrow and false bravado. These doctors, these demons, spit the words at you, and hold you down. 

Your hands claw at the mattress, your screams echoing against the wall, bouncing and ringing in your ears. Light blinds you immediately as your eyes flash open, and your head is head, pushed down onto the mattress, as curses are spit onto you. You’re in Hell. Your teeth find themselves tearing into the pillow, drool pooling into a puddle and tears slipping down.

“Just,” they grunt, and press firmly down on your back, “stay still.” You gasp for breath, kicking and digging your knees into the bed. “Please,” they beg, and you fall, your body limp and heavy on the bed. 

As quick as it started, it ends just as quick. You’re left sobbing, gasping for breath, and despite the pain, and tearing open the wound, you hug yourself, your nails scratching against the cloth. They’ve placed it far too tight for you. 

-

Only a few weeks pass when you’re finally cognitive. When your head isn’t splitting at every noise, and you can move somewhat without risking any pain or even your fear of opening the wounds back open. You stay as still as possible, and try not to do any sudden movement that would stretch your back. Lucifer has attempted to reassure you that you’re fine now, that combined with Hell’s magic and his own blessing, you should be fit to move around. Of course, you will be sore, that can only go away with time. 

“You’ll be left with scars. That can’t be helped,” he told you, his eyes focused on how your hands fist the blanket, “but you’ll be okay.” He gives you a tender smile, and you cling to it in the night.

Once you were in a proper headspace, you knew you shouldn’t have been surprised to know that it was him taking care of you. From what you can faintly recall in one of the many conversations that he’s had in the room as you recovered, he knows what it’s like to be cast out. 

However, you are surprised at how caring and patient he is. That despite you being able to do most things on your own without stumbling, he is still beside you, keeping you company and comforting you when he has to change the bandages. He hardly lets anyone else do it after you complained about doctors accidentally wrapping the bandages too tight. His gentleness is a mask for his pity, and he can never meet your eyes without looking away. 

-

You’re laid on your stomach, and your only entertainment is wondering what could be inside the bedside drawers. While moving does not cause as much discomfort as it once did, you don’t risk stretching. You sit straight, and you look at the wall, and dare not to stretch your arms. Pillows have been fluffed and placed to create a soft barrier between you and the headboard of the bed. Knuckles rap against the door in a rhythm, and you stare at the wall in front of you. You wait for a second, and with a breath, you allow for the person to enter. 

“Hello,” Lucifer calls. “I’ve brought you some fruit. I’m sure that you must have been feeling peckish.” You give no reply. “I uh- I also brought some books.” The bowl of fruit is balanced above the small stack of books. “I was thinking that I’ll get you a television or something soon. But maybe some literature would be good for you.” He rests the tower on the dresser, and grabs the bowl between his hands. 

You should reply to him. You should tell him thank you- not just for the books and the bowl of fruit, but for housing you, for caring for you. But you cannot. Not when he’s a constant reminder of where you are. 

“I was wondering if there was any type of genre that you might like.” He sounds hopeful, wanting to continue a conversation with the husk in front of him. “It would be no trouble to get them to you.” 

His smile is stretched thin, and it looks painful. All of this is painful. Your eyes flitter over to the fruit bowl, and you wonder how you’d feed yourself when stretching your arms still pulls at the scars. 

“Would you like some?” He leans towards you, and you have the mental image of being some hurt bird being nursed back to health. “I had some demons go over to Earth and get some for you. I thought you’d prefer this over the food that we have here. Since you aren’t accustomed to Hell’s food, yet.” You stay silent, and after a moment he sighs. His heels click against the floor, and the bowl is placed on your lap. “You know,” he starts, “it would help if you talked. I know what you’re going through, and you can’t- you shouldn’t isolate yourself.” When you refuse to answer, he sighs. “Well, if you need something, just let me know.”

Despite not wanting to be here, of not having any need to want to continue your existence, you have grown a strong dislike of being alone in this room. You have no idea if he’s isolating for your own safety, or for some other nefarious reason. He clasps the door knob around his hand, and twists it. You wet your lips, and you need someone to talk to. 

“Lucifer?” You croak out, and you surprise yourself with your voice. You hadn’t heard it in so long, past the screaming and the tears. He turns to you, taking a step closer, and his hand returns the door knob to its closed position. “Can you stay?” You feel sick looking at the fruit. “Please?”

With a gentle smile, he nods his head. “Of course.” He grabs a chain from the corner of the room and carries it to sit beside you. It’s a deep wooden color, intricate designs carved into the legs of the chair, and a deep red cushion that is stitched into the seat and the back. 

The silence between the two of you is broken by the crunch of the fruit. You pierce a grape with the silver tines of the fork, and your body aches with the movement to bring it up to your mouth. The sweet juice does nothing to aide in your brooding and the awkward silence. 

He’s right, and you know that. You have to try. He’s the only contact that you have. Adam always hated how you’d hide your emotions, how you rather shut the world off, and at least that hasn’t changed since your falling. You need to talk to him. You can see the attempt that Lucifer has been making in order to keep you happy, to make your time here just a bit more bearable. You suck in your lower lip, and let your tongue brush over where your teeth have grazed.

“I was promised a trial,” you start. His eyes are on you, and you see him fiddle with his tie. “They promised it would have been fair.” You frown, and shake your head, an ache heavy in your chest. “I was so hopeful that it would have been.” The fruit is bitter on your tongue and you force yourself to swallow it.

After a moment’s silence, he speaks. “Who would have been the judge?”

The apple is pierced between your teeth, the skin ripping from the flesh of the apple. It was cute with care, no hint of the core tarnishing the fruit, ripe and perfect, only to be mauled by your teeth. “Father.” You swallow the fruit. “Or perhaps one of the Virtues.” Oranges are peeled, torn apart from the other slices, the piths of white removed. “I was worried that I would have fallen, even before I was given my verdict. My-” you look at Lucifer, and you remember who he has stolen- “I feared that I would have fallen, because I didn't matter. No one questions Heaven’s beliefs, not since-” you glance at him, and he turns his head- “I was sure I would have met the same fate.” The sweetness of the strawberries make your jaw tingle and ache. “And I did.”

“I’m sorry.” You hold the fork tightly, the silver pressing into the flesh of your palms. “The fear you had must have been,” he pauses, “intense.”

There is no one better who understands, other than Lucifer himself. You nod, and let the fork ding against the glass of the bowl. “I was good. I did what was needed of me, I didn’t dare speak out of turn.” You think of how Adam would run his mouth, how every other word would be a curse, would be of anything lewd. “Perhaps I wasn’t as good as I thought I was. Not if a question were enough to have me expelled from Heaven.” 

A gloved hand reaches, and falls just before your thigh. A gold band hugs at his finger, and you’re surprised to have yet seen his wife. Feeling your stare, he turns his hand, and lets the other fingers hide the symbol of matrimony. 

“Sometimes, that’s all it takes,” he says quietly, his tone soft, and wistful. “But, if it makes you feel any better, Hell has some redeeming qualities. It’s not all pain and suffering.” You look at him, and he gives you a smile. “We have an amusement park. There’s a uh-” he scratches the back of his neck, his gaze pointed elsewhere and checks flushing- “ride modeled after me.”

The corners of your lips turn, and you narrow your eyes at him. “After you?” You ask, an elfish tinge laced into your words.

“Shaped like my head.” A finger makes a circle in front of his face.

You scoff out a laugh, and the sound surprises you. You attempt to hide the smile, but when the corners still turn upwards, you look at your lap. “You are the Avatar of Pride after all,” you tell him, the lilt faint on your words.

“It’s actually very impressive,” he points out. “A whole ride dedicated to my likeness.”

“The line for it must be awful.” The juice of the fruit is thin on your tongue. “Heaven has zoos. There’s an area where you get to feed the birds out of the palm of your hand.” You push the fork upwards with the knuckle of your index. “They hardly ever peck your palm, but when they do, we call them kisses from one of Father’s creations.”

He snorts, and shakes his head. His smile is soft, and there's a lingering sadness to it before it falls. “Down in the Wrath ring, there are livestock shows where you’ll find horse bucking and catching the flamed greased pig.” You give him a look, and he smiles. “It’s not as nice as the zoo, I’m sure, but it’s just as entertaining.” He leans back on his chair. “Sometimes I would take my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” You knew of his wife, but you hadn’t realized that they had a child. “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

He winces, and nods sheepishly. “Charlie,” he tells you her name. “I think you’d like her- she’s peppy.” He gives you a tense smile, and looks away. “We don’t talk as much as we used to.”

You frown. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He shakes his head, and lets out a sigh. He sits straighter, and pulls his shoulders back. “How are the bandages?” You roll your ankles, unsure what to make of the sudden shift in conversation. “They’re not too tight are they?” It’s not your place to pry, and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable when he’s the one caring for you.

“No, Lucifer,” you answer. “They’re fine. Thank you.”

He nods, and you can tell he’s grown uncomfortable now. You don’t blame him. “Of course. I wanted to make sure that you were comfortable. As much as possible.” 

A silence befalls between the two of you. You bite into the fruit, and force yourself to swallow it. The nectar is sweet and makes your jaw ache. Beside you, Lucifer clears his throat, and you turn to him.He looks away, his eyes trained on the walls.

“If I may ask, I- Well you see, you know my name-” he looks at you again, and you tap your nails against the glass- “and I don’t know yours.” Your eyes widen, and you try to think back on when you might have whispered your name to him, but you can’t recall it. “I just- I was thinking since you’re here, and I’ve changed your bandages, I thought, that I should be calling you by your name.”

“My name?” You whisper, and you feel silly for keeping it close to you. For just a fraction of a second, for some far away thought to be held, that you didn’t want to share the last thing that ties you to Heaven.

“If only that’s okay. If not, we can come up with a nickname or something.”

You shake your head. You’ve kept your name to yourself, and you wonder if your pain-induced haze, if he’s ever asked you for it. You stretch your lips, and wet your tongue. “Did you ever ask for it,” you hold the words on your tongue, and they are heavy like wine, “when I was in and out?”

“Yes,” he confesses. “You wouldn’t answer.”

A name given by Heaven; whispered to you gently in the arms of Father, as sunlight shined down upon you and warmth surrounded you in your creation. It’s silly, and childish to cling to it, to hold onto it like a child holds onto their blanket, but it’s all that you have left. Everything else was stripped from you, taken and tossed aside, and you wonder if your name even holds any significance back home. 

You turn to Lucifer, and your name is heavy on your tongue, bitter like wine, and it’s your name, fitting you like a glove that will fit no other. 

Lucifer repeats your name, whispering it under his breath, tasting it between his canines and tongue, and you watch him. Chills run down your spine, and the feeling is not unpleasant. He catches your eyes, and his cheeks flush, the red spots darkening, under your gaze. He calls your name once more, louder and clearer, want held between the vowels, as if to savor your name, to savor what you’ve given to him. 

You nod, your chest aflame, as if you’ve done something scandalous. You can’t trust your voice, not when he's looking at you. Your knuckles feel as if it’s on pins, tingling and having you scratch against the bowl. 

He glances at your lap. “Are you done?” 

“Yes,” you breathe out rather quickly. 

He reaches for the bowl, grabbing it by the rim and stands from his chair. You watch in silence as he pushes the chair back, letting it block one of the drawers from the nightstand. The bowl clinks against the mahogany of the dresser, and he grabs the books, flush against his chest. 

“I hadn’t meant to leave the books so far from you,” he says, placing them on the nightstand. “They’ll be closer within your reach.” You nod, and peek over, reading the title of the first book. “I’ll be back in a few hours, if you need anything, feel free to call out. I’ll make sure to hear it.”

He walks away, his heels clicking against the floor, and you don’t want to be alone anymore. “Lucifer,” you call out, fisting the blankets in your hand. He turns around, pressing the bowl against his body, his hand wrapped tight around the doorknob, already opening it and stepping into the rest of his domain. You swallow nothing, and try not to think of anything other than gratitude.  “Thank you for everything,” you tell him, sending him a thinned smile. 

“Of course,” he calls your name in a sweet tone. “Whatever you need, just let me know.”

The door closes shut, and you let out a breath. Your hands fist at your shirt, grasping and you bite the inner corners of your lips, feeling the soft flesh of it be pierced by your teeth. It’s been far too long since you’ve had a gentle hand, since you’ve had someone be gentle with you. A hand reaches out and scratches along your bicep, pulling the skin and leaving soft arches across. 

You hadn’t realized how much you would miss Adam.

[jade-len]

i think it'd be funny if someone transmigrated as xin mo. the goddamn evil sword. instead of taking it seriously, they just really fucked around with bingge. and, somehow, ended up having the opposite effect of what it's supposedly rumored to do.

picture this: bingge, on the quest for revenge and power, comes across the almighty xin mo. this demonic sword killed everyone that dared to even try wielding it. and, the few who were lucky enough to have it by their side, eventually succumbed to the swords' will.

it is said that the sword is unlike any other, that it etches into your head and eats away your brain, until eventually it consumes you whole. it whispers, speaking in lust, greed, and hatred. it slowly beckons the wielder into giving in to the worst part of themselves and feeds off of pure sin. but to him, it is no matter; luo bingge will surely tame it.

and then he gets to the sword.

demonic qi practically oozes from xin mo. the aura surrounding it makes every part of luo bingge scream, "run; get away, away from that monster." his gut prods at him, begging bingge that this is probably a really bad idea. it's a little terrifying, how even luo bingge, the determined, vengeful demon, is now getting second thoughts about wielding xin mo from just being in its presence alone.

but luo bingge is too, a monster. so he ignores the screams of plea; pushing every thought of doubt in the back of his head, and tightly grips onto the handle. the world around him seems to spin and shake, tumble and crack, from the amount of force bingge needs to use in order to pull the sword of sin out of its place.

when bingge finally has it perfectly fit into the palms of his calloused hands, he hears whispering. he knows that the sword has accepted him as its new host.

the sword's language crawls up to him, as if it were feeling around his body and mind. checking every nook and cranny for it to settle into bingge's form, truly becoming one with the embodiment of sin. the words flow through his brain like a tragically broken guqin, a melody that holds him in a frighteningly familiar trance - all while simultaneously eating away at his brain in the worst ways possible, akin to a child and their favorite snack. it seems to beckon something, but even with luo bingge's impressive hearing, he cannot make out any words from the tone-deaf musical notes xin mo sings.

and then, it is clear. the land around him settles, and everything is still. xin mo itself seems to be.. content. at least, that is what luo bingge believes.

the language of this wretched sword reflects the state around these two monsters.

luo bingge expects it to demand for bloodshed, for the erotic ecstasy of multiple women, for bingge to steal the last of the finest gems of these horrible, vast lands.

instead, he hears this:

"yoooo damn that shit was crazy. did you see what i did there? man, you know, it feels so fucking good to get out of the dirt. hey, do you know if people can like, feed their swords or something? i'm kinda craving something spicy. we never know, in this wack world! wait, don't hold me like that, buddy. it'll make things real awkward."

but luo bingge is determined to get his revenge, so he puts up with the swords' constant rambling about.. whatever the hell it's thinking.

"wait, dude, did you seriously fuck a dying girl? that's wild. yeah, like i know she was dying but it doesn't sound like you wanted it. yo, listen to me, consent is very sexy."

"HAHA hey, dude, sir, man. you wanna play some 'i spy'? we don't have anything else to do. no? too bad, we're playing it. i spy a loser who doesn't wanna play i spy. hint: he's holding me right now."

"okay i know i'm supposed to be this super evil sword and beg to be used - woah that sounded real wrong - but can you at least clean me when you're done killing shit? if you don't, i'm gonna refuse to respond to you and you'll look like a dumbass trying to wield me."

"i can't hear you lalalalalalala you're not being very it girl right now lallalalaalalalla-"

somehow, this is worse than if xin mo was actually eating away at his brain.

weirdly enough though, as luo bingge starts spending more time with this weird ass, seemingly possessed sword, it starts to become more of a.. comfort to have it by his side than pure annoyance. he finds himself responding to it more, like, actually having full on conversations with it. it puts him at ease, wielding xin mo. the hatred doesn't consume him, instead, it seems to soothe the burning rage (and, admittedly, just replace it with small irritation) that holds onto his darkened heart.

xin mo is actually quite kind and caring, for a sword that's supposed represent and be the literal embodiment of sin. sure, it is a hassle to have it cooperate with him sometimes, and it does just ramble on and on about the most random things ever, not giving a single shit if bingge was in the middle of sleeping with maidens and slaying those who get in his way. for the first time, bingge feels so comfortable around something.

it's.. odd. what was supposed to be the turning point in his life, a big step in his plan for revenge, is now something akin to an... acquaintance. not like mobei-jun, or any of the women he's come across, but an actual, dare he say, friend.

sometimes, he finds himself thinking all of this delusional. is this what people were driven mad by? perhaps they simply could not handle dealing with a talking sword. he understands that xin mo was undoubtedly unbearable to be around at the beginning of their alliance, but it has never actually beckoned for blood, power, and sex. if anything, it does the opposite.

maybe he's the delusional one. maybe this is xin mo's way of getting to him.

maybe, xin mo should be considered a thing. the thought feels terribly laughable, as if he were witnessing a person horribly explain themselves. it also makes his teeth grind together in pure agitation.

"hey, you know, you didn't deserve any of the things they did. it wasn't your fault, binghe. the fact that you're half heavenly demon doesn't make you a monster, or any of that wild stuff.. uh, i'm here for you, okay? i know you don't really like talking about all of this or opening up, but i just want you to know that you can.. talk about it. it's not like i can tell anyone else, anyways.

hey- shit i didn't mean to make you cry! wait, wait it's okay to cry! you need to let it out anyways, i promise it doesn't make you weak. there, there. i don't have any hands, so me patting you on the head with my handle will have to do. there, there.. everything will be alright, you'll be okay. i'll be here every step of the way, even if you want to get rid of me."

xin mo, the demonic sword, is more of a person - a good person - than anyone he'd ever come across.

...and then bingge and the xin mo transmigrator become besties or he falls for the damn sword. knowing him, he probably doesn't even know the difference between platonic and romantic attraction anyways. maybe bingge gets a plant body for xin mo using airplane's wack writing. idk i typed all of this down in one sitting.

(plot twist: it's not that the transmigrator xin mo had the opposite effect, it was literally just a placebo effect. luo bingge thought that, and thus it actually did help him lmao)

[heich0e]

Okkkk I need to see more about Emperor Sukuna as Prince Yuuji’s dad

he's not winning any father of the year awards i'll tell u what

[pnwellie]

cuddles with abby where she holds you in her arms and plays with your hair and kisses the top of your head!!! she’d take such good care of you especially when you’re sad and can’t sleep or when you’ve had a long day, she just loves taking care of her girl :( she’d say “c’mere baby, i’ve got you” and pull your head into the crook of her neck and she’d hold your hand and rub soft circles on your skin. after a while of sitting in silence just enjoying being together, you’d look up at her and she’d smile so sweetly at you and tell you how pretty and perfect you are, probably kissing you gently on your nose or forehead. eventually you’d fall asleep together all cuddled on top of each other, which i think is definitely abby’s favorite way to sleep, she loves holding onto you like a teddy bear :(

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

We ALL petty on this spaceship 😌

aka everyone in this au is emotionally incompetent and Reader needs a break

(bonus stream chat related doodle,)

[greg-montgomery]

Lonely

Aaron Hotchner x Gn!Reader

Summary: Just a little hurt/comfort fic. It's one of those days where nothing feels okay, but to your surprise, your boss Aaron Hotchner is there to comfort you.

Soft!Hotch my beloved <333

TW: The reader talks about struggling with their mental health.

Words: 1.1 k

It was only you who was left at the office. You thought that occupying your mind with some boring paperwork would help you distract yourself from the painful feeling on your chest. It was one of those days where something as simple as a smile was impossible to fake. It was one of those days where a headache was creeping up by you forcing your tears not to spill all day.

If someone were to ask you why you were feeling that way, you would have an extremely hard time to explain. You couldn’t even explain it to yourself. You were just feeling sad. And feeling sad made you feel lonely.

The noise of a door closing made you drop your pen and turn your head to that direction. Yes, everyone else had left, but the word ‘everyone’ did not include your boss. Ever. At least for you.

 “Y/N, what are you still doing here? It’s almost eleven,” he asked, approaching your desk. Looking up at him you immediately recognized concern in his expression.

“I thought I could just finish this all up tonight. You know, so I don’t have it on my mind all week.” You tried to sound casual, but you were pretty certain he was already not buying it.

“I don’t want you to overwork yourself. Especially for something as meaningless as paperwork. You already go through enough when we have a case.”

You sighed, figuring there was no reason to fight him on this. If you agreed he would just drop it. “You’re right.”

You started collecting your things to put them in your bag, expecting Aaron to wish you goodnight and leave. Instead you felt him staring at you in silence.

Bringing your bag to your lap, after securing all your personal things in it, you turned to the side ready to get up. You hadn’t realized that he had moved closer though - to the point where if you stood up, your face would bump into his chest. That’s why you decided to stay seated.

You looked up at him and took a deep breath, trying to calm your heartbeat that was going crazy, because he was completely towering over you.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Is everything okay?” There it was again. That same expression of concern. You hated the way he could see right through you. Aaron was known for being able to read people – he was good at his job and you admired him for it – but it was never fun to be on the receiving end of his talent. It made you feel bare and vulnerable.

“Yes, everything’s good.”

He slowly squatted down so he could be at the same level as you. Your height difference hadn’t allowed your faces to be this close to each other before. Looking into his eyes from this new angle felt different.

“Listen,” he started. “I can understand why I would not be the first person you’d choose to talk to about a personal issue. I know I’m much older than you and might act a little like a drill sergeant sometimes, but I’m always here if you need to talk. I would love to help. About whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

You smiled sadly at him because, deep down, if you could choose one person in the world to open your heart to it would be him. But how could you randomly start talking about your feelings to your boss of all people? How does one get the chance to do so?

Except now you had the perfect chance. He was offering it to you.

“I don’t think I’m gonna make any sense, Hotch,” you answered; your voice small and ready to break.

“You don’t have to. This isn’t an exam, you know. You can just tell me how you feel. No need to explain.”

Tears started to blur your vision at his words. Your feelings for him got a hundred times more intense than they were before.

“I’m lonely,” you broke, crying properly now. “I’m so lonely.”

His hand reached out to take yours and his thumb started to move in a soothing motion. It helped.

“And I’m not saying I’m alone,” you continued. “I have my family, my friends, our team... I know I have people in my life who care for me, I really do. And I recognize how ungrateful I sound for saying that it’s not enough. But it’s not. I’m still lonely. And I’m still sad. And I don’t know why.”

“Sweetheart…” he whispered, his free hand cupping your cheek so he could wipe away the tears.

“I’m so tired of thinking I’m okay and then feeling awful again. It never ends,” you sobbed, leaning into his touch without really thinking about it. “I just feel so helpless when it gets bad. Like nothing can help.”

As soon as you finished your sentence he pulled you into his arms. The fingers of his one hand got lost between your hair, while his other hand was rubbing circles on your back. “Maybe this can help,” he said, kissing the top of your head.

You completely melted in his embrace. Your sobs got louder and your body was shaking, but it felt like release.

“Hotch,” you cried, “I just wanna be okay.”

“You will be, I promise.”

You pushed away, just enough so you could look at his face again. His eyes were red and your heart clenched at the thought of him caring for you enough to be this moved by your sadness.

His palms were cupping your cheeks again and his handsome smile made its appearance, looking sweeter than ever.

“Thank you,” you smiled back. It was through tears, but it was the only genuine smile you had given anyone all day.

“Of course,” he replied, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead. “And now…” He dragged out the sentence, while standing up.

You missed his touch already. You didn’t want him to leave you alone. But you prepared yourself for his next words. He probably had to get home to Jack, you thought.

“How about we go get some ice cream?” he asked instead.

Your eyes lit up like a kid which made him laugh.

“I know a place that’s open all night. Let me drive us there,” he said offering his hand, and you took it without a second thought.

“I’d love that.”

You started walking towards the elevator, holding hands.

“Nothing like some ice cream after a good cry, right?” he joked and you giggled.

His hand dropped yours, only for his arm to wrap itself around your neck, pulling you close to his chest.

Maybe you could learn to love the way Aaron could see right through you. It made you feel cared for and understood.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

ghost!toji x reader ….. hmmmm hm hm hm

[sailxrmxrs]

hi hello this is my formal application to join the vampire diluc enjoyers club. i love vampires and i love diluc. putting the two together is just recipe for a breakdown of the greatest proportions (in a good way). so enjoy the result of my brain exploding over my keyboard and manifesting the exact brand of hurt/comfort, mildly angsty diluc that i need in these desperate times. also secret pining and slowly building tension that is so palpable you can feel it deep in every corner of your brain. bc it's tasty. anyway enjoy the vampire diluc goodness bc wowie i need to take a minute after this. cw for blood and injury and the usual vampire behaviours!

When adventuring in unfamiliar territory, one must always pay close mind to their surroundings and take note of any nearby points of interest. A small town, a lone cottage, anything that signified safety and civilisation. If you became too complacent, there was no telling who or what you might stumble upon along your travels, or the danger they might possess. Such a reality came to fruition during your ventures through the lands of Mondstadt. You, a lone adventurer out in the world with little but the clothes on your back and some quickly dwindling supplies. The experience had been mostly peaceful, your lack of companionship offering a quietness that kept you safe from imminent harm. That was, however, until you happened across a band of Treasure Hoarders making your way toward Springvale. Trying to fend them off had proved difficult considering you were wildly outnumbered. Treasure Hoarders weren't known for their amicable dispositions nor their willingness to leave a lone stranger who happened upon their camp unscathed. One glance at the stack of treasures they'd undoubtedly stolen and your fate was sealed—they hadn't killed you at least, but remaining alive meant little when your body was so battered and broken in their wake. They'd left plenty of deep cuts and scratches along with an array of purplish bruises where their fists had struck true. The worst of all your injuries, however, was the small throwing knife lodged in the side of your knee and the sprained ankle that swiftly followed when you collided with the ground. They'd left you alone after that, tossing your aching body back onto the dirt road before laughing amongst themselves and returning to the warm air of their campfire. Laughter had never sparked such a furious rage in your chest than in that very moment. But what could you do? There was no one else around to come to your aid, nor could you fight them off in your condition. To attempt such an endeavour would only guarantee your death. And so all that you could do was muster up enough strength to rise to your feet and find shelter of some kind. Anything was better than laying in the road and risking the Treasure Hoarders return for a second round.

Walking blindly along, gait unsteady and slow, the sprain in your ankle soon began to feel more like a fracture. The uneven ground along with the tiredness that seeped in your bones made you feel weak beyond belief. To think just one chance encounter would upend your travels so drastically was beyond prediction. And yet, here you were, making your way through the wilds in search of any sign of help. That was when you emerged from a forested clearing and caught sight of a mansion of sorts sitting in the sprawling hills of its surrounding landscape. There was no sign of it being occupied yet it had not fallen into a state of disrepair. Someone must tend to the area else it wouldn't look so invitingly pristine. But even as you neared the stone steps leading up onto the mansion's grounds, there were no maids nor groundskeepers in sight. All that stood was a towering building of unbelievable proportions compared to the homely cottages and makeshift campsites you'd come across since first reaching Mondstadt. Judging by the rows of grapes that lined the mansion's perimeter, the master of the house, whoever that may be, ran some sort of establishment that dealt with wines. That, or he just rather quite liked grapes. Either way, whoever resided here was your only chance at securing a safe place to rest your head until you could make a full recovery. Or, at least, recover enough to head out for Springvale and onto the City of Freedom itself.

When you reached the heavy wooden doors, it took almost all of your remaining energy to knock hard enough to be heard from inside the mansion. Agonising seconds passed, each moment that you remained alone weighing heavier and heavier on your shoulders. Was there even anyone in there to hear the desperate call for help in your weakened knock? Would they even care to aid a lone adventurer who had trespassed onto their land? Question and doubt plagued you as you stood staring at the stillness of the doors, what small semblance of hope they had granted now beginning to rapidly fade away. Just as that flickering flame was about to extinguish itself, a loud creaking sounded as the doors opened a crack. Anticipation rose at the thought as the mansion's occupant made themself known. Standing before you was a man with hair that could only be described as flame red. His hair tumbled over his shoulders in curled waves that shone even bright in the moonlight. He wore a white linen blouse, framed by a long, dark jacket that lay slightly crooked on his body—perhaps the only sign of dishevelment upon his entire being. The top button of his blouse was undone, revealing a small triangle of his pale complexion. His skin was so clear it seemed almost iridescent under the moon's opaline light. Something about him was hauntingly beautiful, down to the dark amber of his eyes and the almost scowl that failed to mar his grievous beauty. In your distraction, you barely noticed how his eyes trailed every inch of you searching for something in your clothes that might identify who had approached his home. Even after registering his intrigue, it took a moment to come to your senses, realising this mysterious man was waiting for you to offer some explanation as to your arrival.

"I apologise for disturbing you so late, sir. I ran into some trouble with a band of Treasure Hoarders and don't have the strength to get myself to safety. If it isn't too much trouble, might I rest here for the night?"

He remained silent as he examined your condition, gaze settling on the throwing knife that remained lodged in your skin. Safer to keep it there than risk bleeding out. Something in his stance shifted, his nose crinkling for a fraction of a second before he opened the door further and gestured for you to enter. What lay before your eyes only heightened your curiosity. Despite the grounds being empty, you had expected to see at least a few members of staff walking about the place, dusting off bookshelves or fetching the master a late night beverage. But there was nothing of the sort in sight. Instead, you were greeted with an open room decorated with the finest opulence—evidence of your host's wealth. This man you had happened upon and his home were most unusual, and yet you couldn't stave off the intrigue that tingled each of your senses, whispering in your ear how you mustn't run. It was so invitingly warm compared to the howling winds; a beaconing safe haven you couldn't possibly walk away from even if your injuries weren't preventing you from doing so.

Your host directed you toward a pair of cushioned sofas, having closed the heavy doors with ease. For a man so draped in elegance, he was certainly stronger than he seemed. Even the way he walked was captivating, as though each and every step was perfectly calculated and orchestrated so that he always presented an image of divine excellence. So much of him seemed to embody a sense of refinement that could capture and control a room with a mere glance. This was not some ordinary businessman residing in these walls.

"Here. Take a seat while I see what supplies I have." He was certainly a man of few words, though you couldn't fathom why when his voice sounded so velvet smooth. There was something otherworldly in the way he spoke, as though he did not truly belong here. Was this perhaps just an affectation of the countrymen in Mondstadt? There was no use dwelling on who your host might be, names and history of the nation all too unknown to mean little more than idle chatter to you. Still, there was always the chance he might indulge the questions swarming your mind. When he returned, apologising for the wait, he kneeled down to tend to the worst of your injuries. Namely the wound from the throwing knife that throbbed with each minute movement of your leg. He was careful not to aggravate the spot too much, carefully removing it and tossing the blade aside once it was finally free. A large, yet cool, hand pressed gauze against the now open wound. The pressure was uncomfortable, but a necessary price to pay for the reward of recovery.

"You're lucky you came here. Not everyone would know or possess the materials to close this wound of yours." His eyes met yours, candlelight reflecting in the deep colour of his irises. Before they had looked almost brown but the soft golden glow illuminating this corner of the room was enough to show their true colour—whorls of gold embedded among amber. He soon averted his gaze to focus on your injuries, leaving you mildly dazed from how you reeled at the short moments of eye contact. It felt like it lasted far longer than it had.

"Then it's a good job I found your home, isn't it?" You offered a smile, hoping that even a fraction of your gratitude came across in the gesture. A whispering echo of his own smile twitched in his lips as he remained focused on your leg. The pain had dulled somewhat, though the discomfort still remained, but it was nothing you couldn't endure. You let your eyes wander, surveying the room around you while your host stitched the wound back together. It was then that you began to notice the signs of his solitude; stacks of books were piled on the floors, a thin veneer of dust covering the leatherbound volumes. They looked old even ignoring their dusty state and how the pages had yellowed with age. In fact everything around you seemed a little too old fashioned to be considered coincidence. Perhaps he had inherited the mansion from family and simply hadn't bothered to redecorate? There was no telling just what secrets might lie in the cracks and crevices of this aged mansion or the man inhabiting it. Still, it wasn't as if you planned to stay for too much longer so no doubt all those mysteries would remain buried in the walls for as long as he willed them to.

By the time he had finished stitching your wound and tending to your ankle which, as luck would have it, had indeed worsened to a fracture, you could feel sleep tugging at every extremity in your body. The pain was not a distant echo though you still felt rather fragile as you lay back on the cushions. Your host and healer had not long left to discard the now-used materials. He had remained quiet for the most part, only offering small warnings to prepare for a spike of pain. Everything about him, his name included, was shrouded in mystery and there was nothing you longed for more than to pull back the curtain concealing so much of himself from your gaze. When he returned, you barely registered his voice in your ears as sleep crept closer and closer.

"Luckily for you I have a spare room in suitable condition for a guest. Your ankle will need some time to heal so I'm afraid you might need to stay here longer than you intended." You mumbled out a mostly incoherent reply, falling unconscious shortly after a pair of strong arms lifted you from the sofa and carried you away while sleep took its hold.

The following day sunlight poured over your skin, gently waking you in an unfamiliar room. You were laying in a large bed wearing clothes you didn't recognise. The room was not overly decorated, though it wasn't too minimalist either; a bookshelf piled high sat along the back wall and there was a set of drawers beneath the open window and a flowerpot nestled in the middle, its leaves gently moving in the breeze. The air was fresh and invigorating, slowly pulling you out of the hazy drowsiness of your slumber. Memories of the previous night were a slight bit too far out of your grasp, as though a film of fog was clouding the snapshot pictures of all you saw. It was only as you slowly found consciousness and energy creeping back, along with the persisting aches, that everything settled in your mind. You'd been badly injured, stumbled upon an almost uninhabited manor and found yourself in the care of an unknown lord. It almost sounded too fantastical to be real but the sudden knock at the door and immediate entrance of your host proved this was not some elaborate dream you'd manifested while asleep.

"Ah, you're awake. How do you feel?" He carried a tray in hand, laden with food and some water.

"Sore. But good. What time is it?" One bite was enough to make you realise just how much you needed this meal.

"Early afternoon. You're a heavy sleeper." His lips upturned in a small smile as he perched at the foot of the bed. Today he looked more prepared for guests than the previous night. The deep maroon of his corset only accentuated the brightness of his hair and he seemed a fraction more composed than when he'd first laid eyes on you. A moment passed when the state of your undress registered in your mind, warming your cheeks as you tried to sit up despite the persistent twinge of pain striking your leg.

"Ah, ah. None of that. I'm prescribing you a few days of bedrest. Your ankle is in rather poor condition and I'd rather not have you become a permanent resident in my home for it."

Worry that you might be imposing began to rise. The last thing you wanted was to be bothersome or interrupt any plans he might have had.

He held out a hand, as if sensing your inner turmoil. "Your face is an open book. Relax. I'd rather see you fully healed than send you away into danger. I live alone here so the company might be rather pleasant for a time. Still, I do not wish to rob you of your independence so I intend to arrange for a walking aid so that you can venture the manor at your leisure. Until then I ask that you remain in here."

You nodded, accepting that the both of you had little choice in the matter. After all, you did come to Mondstadt with the intention of seeking adventure and new sights. This was just another chapter, one that was entirely unplanned and unexpected, but an adventure all the same. Over the following week you found yourself growing closer to the man who'd aided you. Diluc, you'd learnt was his name, was a private man, only offering small titbits of himself whenever you asked. He was most amicable in the evenings, frequently joining you upon your request to read under the waning remnants of sunlight. It was then you'd learnt about his lucrative wine business, something he'd inherited from family though he had divulged no more than that. Where his family was now you could only assume from the pained crease in his brow that the story was not one that possessed a happy ending. Much of Diluc's existence seemed to suggest his was a life of difficulty despite the lavish furnishings of his home. Even a wealthy estate felt barren if you were the only one to occupy it.

In spite of how fond you had grown of Diluc, much of him was still shrouded in mystery. Even his day-to-day routine sparkled ounces of curiosity within you—specifically because you were privy to so little of it. Even after acquiring a walking aid and gaining access to the manor in its entirety, you still felt as though you barely knew the man hosting you. He'd served your meals while bedridden but had encouraged you to help yourself to all the supplies in his pantry and inform him of anything else you might need. Yet you had never seen him eat. If ever you commented, he would reassure you not to worry and would swiftly change the subject; if he wasn't an expert at diverting conversation before, he certainly was now. And it wasn't just around eating, Diluc would also dismiss any and all inquiries about his sleeping schedule. Whenever you rose in the morning, Diluc would be about the mansion having already started his day. And come evening time when you were fighting to stave off sleepy yawns. Diluc seemed to possess just as much energy as he did in the mornings. Perhaps he fuelled himself on an abundance of coffee, but you had yet to see him take even a sip of the stuff. There was also the fact you could have sworn you heard him leaving the manor late at night. Maybe it was just the sound of the wind, but it sounded a little too loud even for the sweeping winds of Mondstadt. Diluc's evasive nature and his perplexing schedule certainly explained the ghostly paleness of his complexion but a small voice in the back of your mind whispered that there was something else. Something that he was so deftly hiding from you that was just out of reach. Perhaps if you reached a little further, you could grasp the truth in your hands.

Such a moment came in the dead of night, the sky an abyssal pool of oblivion black with its smattering of stars. Even blanketed in darkness, you could just about make out the peak of Dragonspine looming in the heights of the horizon. It was truly a sight to behold under night's comforting silence. Still, as beautiful as the night's scenery was, you longed to be tucked away in bed and dreaming of far off places. But in spite of the tiredness clinging to your person, such respite still would not come. It was as though there was some pervasive force impeding your conscious thoughts, luring you toward the answer to a question you didn't realise you'd asked. Restlessness had you fumbling your way in the dark through the house, now much more accustomed to your walking aids as your ankle slowly healed. Silence consumed the manor, even more so than usual. The unsettling feeling accompanying the darkness soon ebbed at the faint glow from behind a closed door. Diluc was still awake. Not bothering to knock, you gently pushed the door into the kitchen open. Diluc was leaning against the counter, blood staining his clothes. Fear sank deep under your skin, propelling you close to him in an urgent need to ensure he was okay. Your walking aids were abandoned, your weight causing a dull throb in your ankle but that was of little importance. His coat had been tossed beside him, blood staining the beige material though it paled in comparison to the starkness of the deep crimson against the crisp white of his linen shirt.

"What happened. Are you okay?" Your words were frantic, worry and concern taking over ever rational thought in your body. Your shaking hands fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, only able to unfasten two before Diluc's hand covered them. The porcelain of his chest revealed no sign of injury. But the blood must have come from somewhere. He placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch gentle and any trace of his initial alarm fading away into acceptance for the situation he now found himself in.

"I'm fine. The blood isn't mine. You should be more concerned for that ankle. I am not worth risking yourself over." He stepped out of your grasp to retrieve what you had forgotten, only speaking again once you had taken the weight off your injury. Looking into his eyes, you thought there was something like regret there, as though he'd made some grievous mistake that had finally caught up on him.

"What do you mean it isn't yours? Whose is it? Where have you even been this late at night. Diluc, I—I don't understand what's going on here."

He was quiet, hesitance clinging to the crease in his brow as he weighed his options. "That is not your concern. My business is my own."

"Not my concern? I have put my trust in you. Stayed in your home when I had no other choice. I have put my life in your hands and suddenly your whereabouts are not my concern? Surely you are not so brazen as to think I would accept that?"

"It isn't so simple—"

"No, Diluc. No. I'm not accepting that. I've overlooked a lot of strangeness going on here and I think I'm due some kind of explanation. You barely seem to sleep, you never eat around me, you seem to be awake at all hours. Then you leave in the middle of the night and come home covered in blood that you claim isn't your own. What are you, some sort of vampire?" You had intended your final comment as an incredulous joke to demonstrate the absurdity of all that seemed to be going on at Dawn Winery. Yet, Diluc's expression turned dark as if some deplorable secret had been unearthed and laid bare in the candlelit glow of the kitchen.

"Diluc. Now is not the time for morbid jokes."

"I have never been more serious." His face certainly seemed to reflect his words.

A mangled concoction of confusion and fear bubbled its way up to your throat, stealing any and all words that might have tried to leave. Surely not. Surely this was all some elaborate joke Diluc was pulling and he was about to laugh it off and assure you that all this talk of vampires was nonsensical. But he didn't. He remained quiet and stoic, waiting for you to make the next move.

"But...No...What?" The world felt as though it was shifting around you as every moment of your time with Diluc replayed in your mind's eye. Diluc's apparent confession to being a vampire certainly explained a lot of things, but how could it be true? Vampires were in books and children's tales, not real life. Yet, it was also the only plausible and logical explanation for Diluc's bizarre living situation.

"I need a moment. A few moments, actually. Sorry. This is a lot of take in."

Diluc laid a reassuring hand on your wrist. "Please, take some rest. But know that I do not wish your harm, nor do I wish to take advantage of this situation. You may not believe this right now, but you can trust me."

You offered a meek nod, taking your leave of the kitchen to return to your own room and let sleep carry you away. You wanted to believe his words. A small part of you did. But a larger part was overwhelmed by it all. Vampires truly existed? Was this why Diluc lived alone in the manor? To hide his secret and keep innocent bystanders from harm? But then, how did he sustain himself? In all the stories, vampires did not eat as humans did. A shudder shot through you at the thought before your eyelids grew heavy and sleep finally washed over you.

Over the coming days, Diluc kept his distance. It was evident he was waiting for you to initiate conversation, letting you come to terms with the revelation of his vampiric status. It somehow felt as though it were both real and a fabrication of Diluc's invention. Still, even if it didn't feel entirely real, you missed Diluc's companionship. In the time you'd spent living with him, you'd grown fond of the man and that fact had not changed. So you tentatively took those extra steps to return to normality. You would take a seat beside him, bringing up some story of your time growing up to which Diluc would respond with a story of his own. Somehow it was as if a barrier had come down. The restraint and caution of secrecy that once shackled Diluc was no longer present, so now he could indulge in stories of his childhood, his former self. He was far from an open book, of course, but there was something softer about the way he spoke. As if he finally felt comfortable. As if he no longer had to hide who he was. He would answer your questions, entertaining the fantastical stereotypes with teasing remarks. It wasn't long before things felt normal again, or rather, felt better than normal. He no longer felt out of reach, but rather like someone you could bond with on a much deeper level. It was nice. There was still much about Diluc that remained a total mystery, but more so than ever you hoped to crack what remained of his exterior. Even if it took weeks, months, however long Diluc needed to shed what remained of his apprehensions. Thoughts of what might happen once your ankle fully healed were a muted whisper in the back of your mind, so miniscule you'd barely even considered that future. Living in the present was so much more exciting, after all.

One evening you and Diluc were sat together before the crackling warmth of the fireplace. The sun had long since set and the only light in the room was that of the fire and the candles dotted about the room. A gentle cosiness wrapped like a blanket around you, leaving you content and satisfied. Diluc was reading from a book he'd bought while out earlier that day. He'd been doing some business related to the Winery, though had spared you of the boring details that came with manufacturing and distributing wines. Diluc had told you of the tavern his family used to run and the commerce that made it flourish but upon his becoming a vampire he lost almost all interest in keeping the business running. He'd sold the place off to the highest bidder and become somewhat of a recluse in the manor, only keeping the supply of wine going so as not to rouse attention from the city folk. It was a quiet existence he'd sought out and a quiet existence he'd received in return.

"Can I ask a question?"

Diluc didn't lift an eye from his page as he answered, "You just did."

Huffing a sigh, you moved to lower his book and force his attention on you. "Your jokes are as dull as your taste in literature. But I'm going to take that as a yes. How averse are you to answering questions about how vampires, um, feed?"

"Don't tell me you're getting ideas." Diluc's voice rang with amusement, but he placed the book down to give you his full attention. "I'm afraid I can't answer as in-depth as you might like. I've never met another vampire. The one who created me barely stuck around long enough to witness my full transformation let alone answer any questions I might have had."

"Then, how does it work? Do you use human vessels or...?"

"Vessels? You make it sound as though I have some poor human sequestered to my basement for regular mealtimes."

"I don't know how it works, maybe you do. Who knows what you get up to in the dead of night."

Diluc's laugh was melodic, his head tipping back into the cushion of the sofa, his hair spilling like wildfire. "No human vessels. I actually make a point not to drink human blood. Not unless absolutely necessary." Diluc paused for a moment, sensing your earnest desire to pry further. He sighed, preparing himself to lay bare parts of himself he'd kept locked away from all eyes—except yours. "Not long after I was turned, I learned that drinking the blood of animals was enough to keep the agony of hunger at bay. It does not satiate like human blood does, but it is enough to sustain oneself for a good long while. I enjoy it that way."

"Have you ever drank from a human before?"

"Yes. Only a few times. The first, I would rather not discuss. It was a moment of blinded thirst that consumed every rational thought and bone in my body. I had no control and did things I wish to forget. Since then I have restrained as much as my body will allow." His eyes seemed to grow colder at the mention of his first taste of human blood, a distant echo of pain misting over the amber hue and turning them mute. He did not explain further, nor did he need to. There was a reason he had no family, and you could sense from the roiling anguish that it was not unconnected.

"Since then it has only been once or twice when I couldn't bare the pain any longer."

You edged a little closer, reaching a hand to cover his so that he knew you weren't afraid. The last thing you wanted was for him to back away from such a vulnerable state of being and recede into the iron shell he'd once donned. "Would you ever consider it? If someone were to offer?"

He shook his head. "I'm not sure that I could. It has always been this necessary evil so to indulge in a way that suggested a choice feels far too close. Too intimate." The way he whispered sent goosebumps shivering over your skin. The air was thick with a tension so palpable you swore you could see it. Could touch it. "I don't wish to forget that part of myself. It serves as a reminder of who I am—what I am. Dangerous. I am no longer human and I must live with that for the rest of eternity."

"Perhaps. But that does not mean you have committed some egregious sin for which you must atone. This was not your choice. You had this life thrust upon you with no warning nor guidance, Diluc. There is need to punish yourself for that."

His laugh was cold, lacking any respect or sympathy for himself. "You only think that way because you believe I am still human in some way. You claim I have committed no sin but you have not seen all that I have done."

"You're right, I haven't. But all of that history, both good and bad, only makes me more certain." You reached to turn Diluc's face toward you. He seemed withdrawn, full to the brim with self-hatred and contempt. An anger burned within him, but it was all directed inward; none of it was for you. "To become a vampire does not erase the human life you led. Nor does it eradicate the humanity that guides your every choice. If you were so soulless you wouldn't have taken me in and helped me. You would have carried me over your doorstep and stolen what life I had left. But you didn't."

"Saving one human is hardly atonement," Diluc scoffed, eyes raging at he stared at nothing. There was a pain so deep and dark it cleaved your heart in two. Partially for the turmoil that plagued Diluc's every step but also for the inability to soothe even a small fraction of that everlasting despair. There were years of tumultuous agony raging behind Diluc's eyes, a pain that you couldn't touch nor take away no matter how much you wished to. Words of comfort felt far too insignificant, yet what else could you offer? This was hardly your field of expertise. Though that did not stop your wandering hands from taking his in their hold, a physical reminder that you were there and you were not afraid. No matter how Diluc lamented for his lacking humanity, you had no intention to leave his side. Your touch managed to pull Diluc away from his spiralling thoughts, his eyes fixed on yours, all anguish and pain. Though there was a rising warmth the moment your eyes met his, as if he could hear all the words you hadn't said. Could sense exactly how much you wished to help him, comfort him, in the same way he had helped you. Perhaps it was all futile. Perhaps it meant little in the grand scheme of things. But that was a distant thought, utterly meaningless as you sat in silence with Diluc's gaze searing your skin. In all the time you'd been staying at Dawn Winery, you'd grown close with him but this felt different. A sparking energy flowed through each of you, an electric current passing through the point where your hands met. It was almost a little too much.

As if reading those thoughts, or perhaps hearing your heartbeat quicken, Diluc cleared his throat and broke off that eye contact, removing his hands from yours in the process. It was like a bucket of ice water had been thrown over you, reality finally coming into focus again leaving only the tingling remnants that were the memories of his hands touching yours. He mentioned something about it getting late—empty words to excuse himself. You could only half hear him bidding you a good night as he left for his room. Your heart pounded in your ears as you sat in contemplation. You had learned much of Diluc's past tonight, had peered into the vast depths of his inner thoughts. There was so much left unspoken yet it was enough to piece together what had happened to him and what he had done to culminate in the tragedy that seemed to shadow him. There was also something else that had shifted that night. The scorching feel of his eyes on yours and the electricity that his touch brought. It brought about feelings you couldn't quite fathom nor fully comprehend, but they also brought with them a sense of excitement—a sense of anticipation for what the future might bring.

The following evening you were leaving your room to fetch a pot of tea to accompany you as you prepared to settle down for the night. Even with your injury healing as well as it was, you still required the walking aids to keep the weight from erasing all your progress. You'd grown rather deft with them, able to walk at a decent pace about the manor. But in spite of your adept control over them, fate had something else in mind as you walked down the stairs and caught the carpet, sending you off balance and about to fall down the remaining few steps. You braced for the impact of the hard wood floors but it never came. Instead, a warm pair of arms wrapped around your frame, holding you up and against Diluc's sturdy body. His eyes flashed with alarm, sudden worry for your wellbeing spurring his actions and keeping you held tightly against him. Words evaded you, unable to tear your eyes away from Diluc's face. It seemed he was just as entranced with the way his gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips. No words were uttered and yet his thoughts were as clear as the morning sky. Suddenly his lips crashed to yours, his last piece of self-restraint falling away as he pulled you even closer. Your walking aids fell to the ground, rendered completely useless as Diluc held you in his arms. His lips were warm, soft, and utterly irresistible. All the scary stories about a vampire's thrall were true. Perhaps not in the way they were intended to be, but there was no denying the spell Diluc had you under. Not that he was entirely ready to admit it, but Diluc was just as bewitched by you. Your presence, your touch. All of it was enchanting to him. He believed himself entirely undeserving of it, but he was also selfish. Giving up such a divine act was unthinkable.

Then your lips parted, breaths heavy and heated as your eyes met again. It had been easy to miss the building tension that had grown over your time with Diluc, but now that it had come crumbling down the absence felt stark. Suddenly everything didn't feel quite so muted, as though you were seeing in colour for the first time. Despite the clarity of the world around you, your thoughts felt clouded and hazy, distracted by the way Diluc's lips had melded so perfectly over yours. Something like fear rose in his eyes, scared he may have overstepped a line or acted out of turn. He was soon soothed by the hand that brushed his cheek, guiding him back to your lips in a fleeting kiss. It was all the sign he needed to kiss you again, deeper this time, exploring all that you offered to him. Then his hands were sweeping you up into his hold, carrying you back up the stairs you'd just walked down. But he did not make to return you to your room and instead carried you into his own bedroom. Your heart raced with each step that Diluc took, never having been inside before, but his smile was warm and comforting, erasing any nerves that threatened to pull you out of this infinitely seraphic moment. He was gentle as he placed you down before climbing up beside you. His arms cradled around your body, warm and inviting as he held you close, his lips leaving gentle kisses at your temple.

"Your heart is beating so fast," he mused, voice barely audible above a whisper despite being the only two people in a sizable radius.

"Perhaps that is because I have just been ravished by a vampire who then carried me off to his bed." You couldn't help the teasing laughs at the way Diluc froze, suddenly realising how his actions might be interpreted. His hands left your body, which now felt cold in his absence, as he sat up and started to move away before you reached out for him and pulled him back down.

"No. Stay," you murmured, guiding his hands back to wrap around you.

His porcelain skin remained its usual pale shade, but you knew his face would be a blushing inferno if it were capable. He stumbled over his words, struggling to regain his composure. "You should know my intentions were only pure."

"I trust you. Regardless of your intentions, I am grateful to be here. Even if only because you feel so warm."

Diluc's laugh was a welcome sound. "Then please, feel free to use me as you see fit. So long as you stay here for the night."

"I think I can grant that request. Since you asked so nicely."

"I am forever indebted to you," he said before bringing his lips to yours again. Something about the way he so confidently moved was enthralling. Diluc had truly ensnared you in every way, though the same could be said about your own hold over him.

"In all my years I have never felt so whole. I don't think I realised just how lonely this place was. Or how lonely I was. Until you. Thank you."

Taken aback by his sudden confession, you hesitated a moment. His fingers toyed with yours, admiring the way your hand fit against his as he waited for you to speak. "Somehow it almost feels like destiny. As if the gods were waiting for the exact moment to lead me here."

"Whether it was some god-given blessing or merely lady luck on our side, I will be eternally grateful." Silence descended upon the two of you, comfortable and cosy as you lay in each other's hold. Time felt as though it had frozen, bestowing you the chance to bathe in this bliss for as long as you desired. It was only the growing tiredness that proved the world was still turning even as you remained there.

"You know," you spoke between sleepy yawns. "I've been wondering about something. Do vampires sleep?"

Diluc chuckled, a low hum that made your heart skip a beat. "We can, though we have no need. It isn't quite like your human slumbers, but rather a meditative rest that does little more than clear the mind for a time. We can take periods of rest, though they usually last weeks or months, sometimes even years. They are not needed quite so frequently, nor am in desperate need. Besides, I have a human to care for." He stroked a gentle finger against your cheek, his touch feather light as if he was scared he might shatter the serene moment with anything stronger.

"Hm, most interesting."

"You sound like you're conducting a study." Diluc made to tease you a little more until you yawned again, sleep desperately calling for you. "Close your eyes. I won't leave your side."

"Promise?"

"Promise," he replied as your consciousness waned and the most peaceful sleep you'd perhaps ever had washed over you.

That night was not the last you spent with Diluc. In fact, it soon became rare to be apart from him when you slept. His presence brought a soothing peace to your nights, allowing you to rest even more soundly. Since that first night he'd started to open up bit-by-bit, letting you in to even more of his previous life, including his family. A raw pain would cloud his face each time he told you of his brother, Kaeya, and the memories they shared as children running about the winery. But he no longer shied away from the pain that reopening those old wounds brought and instead kept it on display for you to witness. He wasn't scared anymore to have someone see him for all that he is and was; wasn't scared to let you see every piece of his past no matter how light or dark. His soul was yours to hold and cherish. Even when the inevitable night came for Diluc to divulge the single most tragic event of his life, he did not falter nor hide away from you.

The sun was long gone beyond the horizon, and the night grew cold. You and Diluc were lounging together, reading in comfortable silence before you retired to bed, when a thought struck you suddenly.

"Diluc, when was the last time you fed?" He'd been keeping to the manor a lot more than before, only leaving for short excursions to purchase food. Since choosing to spend your nights together, Diluc hadn't once left in the middle of the night to quench his thirst. Going a few days without drinking blood was no trouble, but it was fast approaching two weeks since he'd last done so—unless he'd magically snuck away without you noticing somehow.

"Ah, it was...some weeks ago. But you needn't worry." Some weeks? Had it somehow been even longer than you thought?

"Needn't worry? I know better than to trust that. Aren't you hungry? Thirsty? Whatever the right word is."

Diluc chuckled, lowering his book to one side as he reached a gentle hand to caress your cheek. "I'm surviving, aren't I?"

"Talk to me, Diluc. I'm here."

Something in Diluc's expression shifted, acceptance sinking in as he took your hands in his. This was something he had wanted to share for some time but could never find the words nor a moment that felt right. It seemed you'd given him the perfect opportunity to take one more step into his past.

"On the night you arrived here, after I made sure you were comfortable and sleeping, I left to find those Treasure Hoarders that attacked you. I don't know what came over me, really. But I couldn't let them walk away unharmed after what they did to you. I only intended to scare them off but got a little...carried away. Long story short that was my first human blood in decades. I try to refrain because every time it sends me back to memories of the first time." Diluc paused, a look of anguish passing over his features. You gently squeezed his hands, a warm reminder that you were there and you were listening. Always.

Diluc took a calming breath before continuing, "It was so long ago now yet it feels like only yesterday. I had just been turned and the agony was blinding. I barely knew who I was, just that I needed to satiate the scorching pain in my throat. There was nothing human about me then. Not as I tore this manor apart. And the people in it. Even my—" Diluc winced at the sound of the memory leaving his lips, his eyes falling on a black eyepatch sitting atop the mantel. This was the secret he'd buried so deep and now someone finally knew his most grievous sin. "By the time I finally regained any sense of who I was, it was too late. Far too late. It took months to stop seeing their blood on every surface of this place. I could barely live with myself but how do you kill a vampire? Granted eternal life at the cost of living with an all-consuming grief. In all honesty I'm surprised I can bear to say it aloud even now."

Words didn't feel enough in this moment. What Diluc told you had broken your heart into miniscule fractals. To think he had borne such a painful wound for so long with no sense of reprieve in sight. It required a strength few actually possessed. You slipped your hands out of Diluc's gentle grasp, moving to cup his cheeks, a thumb softly swiping away at a tear that trailed down his marble smooth skin. Diluc smiled, a raw vulnerability in his face that put together every shard of your heart that broke for the man before you.

"After I finally regained a grasp on myself I wanted nothing more than to run as far away from here as possible. I almost did. But I couldn't let the place fall to ruin. I couldn't let go of my human memories, if only to keep the people within them alive somewhere. So I stayed here, as hard as it was in the beginning. Kept the Winery business going as much as I could, sold the tavern my father owned in Mondstadt. Did what I could to find some sense of normalcy amongst it all. I'm sure if you went into the city you'd hear whispers of rumours. Luckily it's enough to keep curious humans from tempting fate and sneaking around the Winery grounds."

"You make it sound like you're some ghost haunting those that dare step foot anywhere near your home."

Diluc chuckled, his fingers absentmindedly trailing shapes over your arms. He was quiet for a moment, wanting to savour the foreign taste of serenity. He'd never thought he could find such peace in the form of another, yet here you were sitting there, as real as anything in this world. If it weren't for the feel of your skin under his fingertips, he might just be convinced that this were all an elaborate dream sequence.

"In those early years I was terrified some stray humans would venture too close and I'd lose control all over again. Over time it got easier as I figured out ways to deal with the thirst—ones that didn't require any sort of human involvement."

"Thank you for trusting me with this. My heart is breaking for all that you've been through, Diluc. I wish there was more I could do."

He shook his head. "You have already done so much for me. More than I could ever deserve."

You hushed Diluc with a finger over his lips. "None of that. You are worth far more than you realise. And that means no sacrificing your health. I know it's hard, but you can't hurt yourself, Diluc. You deserve to live."

"I know," he sighed. "But I blame you for making things so difficult. Wait, let me explain. After that first night I tried to justify what I'd done, deciding it was merely justice for the violence they'd inflicted. That I could return to my usual routine of hunting. I didn't account for the effect you would have on me, nor the aching desire to taste you. The last thing I wanted was for you to think I only took you in to be used as a meal. You're so much more than that to me, yet with each day that passes the urge to drink grows stronger and stronger."

Stunned, you stayed quiet as the admission sank in. Of all the things you'd expected to hear Diluc say, his desire to drink your blood was not one of them.

"Diluc," you whispered, barely audible in the silence of the manor. "Know that my opinion of you remains unchanging. Being a vampire does not make you any less human nor does it make me fear you. Please, don't hold back anymore." You edged closer to press the softest of kisses to his lips, feeling him respond in kind. Your cheeks were stained with tears to match Diluc's as if your bodies had reached an unfathomable synchronicity.

"I trust you. So please, take what you need from me. It's all for you."

Diluc didn't hesitate to lower his mouth to your neck, gentle with each press of his skin against yours. There was some trepidation in his actions, unsure and worried for what he might do. But if you could place your trust in him, could put your life in his hands then he had to trust himself. He kissed your neck, sending a shudder down your spine as he sank his teeth into the skin. The feeling was unlike any other you'd felt. His hold on you was secure, making you feel safe as an unrelenting wave of euphoria washed over you—no doubt a side effect to make the process more inviting to a vampire's prey. But you were not Diluc's prey, nor was he a threat to you. This was an intimate exchange between lovers, bonding in a way they could never go back from. As Diluc drank, you felt your hold on your sanity slipping. Hazy and drowning in the euphoric sensations, you tangled your fingers in Diluc's flaming hair. The sound he made was all shades of divine. Unable to hold back your own echoing sounds of satisfaction, Diluc lifted his head from your neck to gaze at you. His pupils were wide, the amber of his eyes deep and dark. Your chest heaved with every breath you took, reeling from the dulling waves of pleasure as Diluc's lips crashed against yours, a faint metallic tang on his tongue. His arms lifted you atop his lap, hands strong as they held you tightly in his grasp.

"And there was me thinking you could not become any more divine. The hold you have on my heart is beyond words, but know that I intend to cherish you for all of eternity."

[wishing--butterfly]

It can't be just me right that loves imagining herself in the place of the female protagonist in stories? Even if it's fiction, I love the feel of being 'loved' by the significant other character. It makes me so happy, content. Like, 'yes, baby you aren't real but at least in an alternate universe I was yours and you were mine, and in that world I got to love you and had the absolute honour to have my feelings reciprocated' way.

I love the idea of being in love. Life doesn't offer me that so fiction does. (Fictional boyfriends on the rise)

I just completed reading The Spanish Love Deception by Elena Armas and I already miss Aaron Blackford.

[amvro]

AMURO. 02

Some nights all you felt like you needed was someone to tell you that they love you. Romantically. Sometimes the idea of not just anyone, but the one you love, in love with you too, was all you needed to go on.

Amuro was that person for you every night, regardless of whether you needed it or not. So, also regardless of whether you noticed or not. He was, undoubtedly, always in love with you. After a rough day, the tea he makes you with the softest smile was the only thing that could heal your heart.

This was now a constant in your life that you could not dream of living without. You did not take it for granted, but you would rather be dead than imagine any part of this change.

However, sometimes you forgot that he also felt the same comfort from this constant.

You loved him unconditionally, and that was a given. In no universe would you not be completely head over heels for him. It wasn't even something you would think of because it was the most genuine emotion you had. Yet, for Amuro, it was all he needed to get through his horrible nights too.

He would come home late at night, absolutely exhausted and your face would light up from his presence alone. That was all he needed to go on.

So some things don't need words, or even the intention. You will always love him and he will always love you. And that was enough.

[bataranqs]

Cinema Master uses Depression (attack)! Kim Dokja counters with Dissociation (defense)! It's super effective!

[jade-len]

you know it's bad when i read svsss and tgcf, stories about just two guys falling in love and getting together, and think, "god i wish i were in between them."

gay little domestic cottage core life with binghe and qingqiu? please and thank you. being sandwiched by hua cheng and xie lian, two pretty men who are hundreds of years old? i am blushing, kicking my feet and giggling

and again, it's not even that i would want only one of them. like in both of the relationships, the two love each other too much to the point it'd feel wrong if they were separated! it wouldn't feel complete, so you gotta be with both of them!

but that's the thing; i just?? i feel so incredibly guilty whenever i think about being loved by these mxtx couples??? like it's so stupid but i feel like i'm intruding in on something and it's like, everyone else seems to just want them together only, not wanna be with them. like it's fuckin taboo or whatever

i feel like with any other character from any other media it'd be fine to simp for and write/read x readers of them, but when it comes to these books, it's off limits! no way, what are you, crazy? yes, yes i'm unhinged and desperately want their love and affection simultaneously. i want to be in a happy little poly relationship with these overpowered beautiful men with long hair.

i can't be the only guy or whoever to feel this way?? to wanna be kissed by these characters? sandwiched?? i have two hands for christ sake and they all look so happy together and im just like "lord i wanna be with them so much". someone tell me i'm not alone cmon <\3

[hauntedpearl]

obsessed with the way meddling with fate works in Mort. literally so obsessed. i cannot stop thinking about it. reality IS inevitable but not the way you expect. the butterfly effect is real but also. the change is the world is molasses slow. like the immediate new reality doesn't just happen everywhere, just like that. the real reality is fighting the anomaly like it's a slow, but ultimately rigged, arm wrestling contest?? insane. amazing. I am losing my mind.

[i-am-thornqueen]

Considering stepping away from writing again.

I haven't made my full decision yet, but seriously considering it.

Lately, I've been bogged at work with my usual clinical duties in the pharmacy on top of current recruiting efforts. This week I'll be traveling to a university to try recruiting with the pharmacy students. It'll be a fun adventure, but it's a lot of time and effort.

On top of that, writing lately feels like screaming into the void. I'm down to less than a third of the audience I started out with. I seem to be bleeding more with every chapter. I know that I'm not a Big Name Writer anymore, so I will never draw readers like I used to, but damn. I lost over two-thirds of my audience in three months. It's a real blow to the confidence, and making me reconsider if my story is worth telling after all. I don't think I have much talent left anymore.

[orcelito]

Honestly I find it hilarious that I've accidentally made it a thing of Vash being a horse girl (gender neutral) bc I'm writing his tomas as a weird horse

Chica the tomas was an accident. She was unplanned. I just tossed her in on a whim, realized I loved her, realized VASH loves her, & now a bunch of readers love her too

I've also gotten a few comments like "man I hope nothing bad happens to her!" And I'm over here just Sweating bc like

Objectively? That Bird Cannot Stay In The Story. If Vash keeps her, she will die. There is no WAY a normal mount would survive the utter chaos of his life in the coming months. Either he gets rid of her, or she dies. There's really no middle ground.

Which makes me sad :( I love Chica the tomas and itnl Vash loves her too

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

AHDJAJSJANEHEHD DW I NEARLY CRIED WRITING IT I AM SUCH A SUCKER FOR LOVERS/CLOSE FRIENDS PARTING WAYS 😭😭😭 honestly though if he told me he was happy for me i would do a complete 180 and i mean I would whip around on my heel and I would literally hold him so tight I’m not even jk 🙁 giggles YES i had to top it off with beabadoobee !!! Don’t you know already stsg fans can’t be happy !!!! Okokokok to apologise for the sadness I have brought more poly stsg because I’m stsg anon and I can’t go a day without thinking of them 💪💪 .poly stsg x reader who’s also a sorcerer but is just a complete ray of sunshine. As in the world is exploding in front of their eyes but they’re js like ‘oh that’s unfortunate :(‘ and just generally tries to have a positive and optimistic outlook on the world n be kind to those around them (My fav type of people) but the funny thing is that wanting to be a sorcerer probably means that you stayed with satoru when the incident™️ happened — So imagine stsg seeing each other years later all cold and >:| but you were kept behind for whatever reason and they’re in the middle of talking to each other when you come bounding up behind satoru like “oh sorry I’m la- OHH HEYYY SUGUUUUuuu :D” ASGHAGSHA 😭😭 no because to be perfectly honest that would be me in that situation because I could care less that he left or that I haven’t seen him in 10 years ITS SUGU??? ILL TAKE THAT W THANK YOUUUU 🤩🤩🤩 ahdhs i feel like there are so many possible scenarios with poly stsg x sunshine reader aughhh!!! Hehehdhxhs thank u for listening to my brain rambles once again :𝟥 — YOU KNOW WHO (stsg anon) !!

STSG ANON MY BELOVED MY ANGEL first of all i’m so so sorry for how long this took me to answer T_T uni has been uni-ing lately …… AS ALWAYS U FEED ME SO WELL THOUGH pls know i always smile so wide reading ur asks !! :’3 they bring me sooo much joy i am opening your scalp gently and kissing your beautiful genius brain <33

AND GOSHHHHH THIS IS SUCH A SWEET SCENARIO PLS 😭😭😭😭 I LOVEEEE THIS SO MUCH this reader reminds me so much of haibara.. like i firmly believe this is how he would’ve acted with geto HAIBARA ASIDE THOUGH… this is just. so tasty. 😵‍💫😵‍💫 so sweet !!!

like .. a reader like this would completely fuck up stsg’s attempts at acting hostile towards each other because they’re just so sincere??? just happy to see geto again!! and i think it would hurt gojo and geto both because you’re still the same as before, you make them feel like you’re all still in high school, but you’re not and it hurts :((( i can see geto enjoying it though… he just gets all soft knowing you don’t hate him. he assumed that both you and satoru would but you welcome him back so warmly!! makes him want to pinch your cheeks the way he always used to <33 i think he would jokingly but not really so jokingly suggest that you join his side and you’re like… :0 PHDJFJ just all sweet and apologetic because you want to be with him and you appreciate the offer but you like being at jujutsu high…. and he just kinda chuckles because it’s such a casual reply. it’s so you. it makes him feel warm.

(… i also feel like this reader would be very good for stsg because, again, their sincerity and sunshiney attitude would essentially force them both to be sincere too and i think that’d clear up a lot of misunderstandings between them.. yes i am suggesting that this reader + satoru could’ve gotten suguru back i know it’s delusional but idc reader would go up to bleeding dying suguru and boop his nose and ask him to come back to them and he would stfu and listen <3333)