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shroomi1e · 2 months

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「 forget you | hoyoverse fanfiction 」 dan heng & kaeya x gn!reader | angst, amnesia | general fanfiction. ↳ additional tags. angst with no comfort, established relationships, mentions of alcohol & drinking (kaeya), i'm not sorry ↳ ehehe... oops... happy one hundred to the xianzhou jade !!

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the jade's guidelines | genshin m.list | honkai m.list | previous work

DAN HENG didn't quite know what to expect when welt texted him about your situation. his own partner in an accident? he knew that he should have been persistent and gone with you and march 7th. he should have fought to go with you, he should have- he should have done a lot. after a few painstaking days of you being trapped in a comatose state within belobog's hospital with every visitation request denied, dan heng decided that he had more than regrets about this.

he spent his days and evenings restless, pacing his room with every thought rushing through his mind; would you survive? would you hate him? he figured you had every right to despise him. no amounts of time spent with his head in documentation, tracing over booklets of planets and history books regarding the aeons could ease his mind.

dan heng felt guilt, as if he only had himself to blame for standing there so quietly as you and march excitedly announced that you were going to belobog on behalf of himeko. march chimed in that you'd use it more as a shopping trip and whilst you laughed it off, dan heng silently wished he could go just to protect you. you were capable but he was anxious, losing you was the last thing he wanted.

this feeling would eat at him for as long as the doctors tending to you kept rejecting the astral express' visitation requests. he wanted to see you and now it felt as though he had to pay the price - another price... wasn't he paying enough already? his heart could rot from the amount of guilt he withheld inside of him, not daring to utter it to the older members of the crew. it could break his ribs, tear him open but he'd refuse to mention it.

miserable, dark grey clouds covered belobog's usual sunshine, painting the city in a dull appearance that could only match dan heng's numb emotions as the astral express crew navigated the streets of the city, finally on their way to see you. in march's bandaged hands - she'd taken the lesser of the injuries, coming back onboard the express with a few scrapes - was a beautifully wrapped bouquet of flowers, a bittersweet get-well-soon gift in light of the news that they'd receive along with their permission from the doctors; you had amnesia and they were still testing what you remembered from the accident.

he was nervous - no, he was far more than nervous. it showed on his face the moment they all solemnly shuffled into the tight hospital room, grimacing as they brushed against each other to gather around your bed. except there wasn't a form of excitement on your tired face but rather a look of confusion. welt cleared his throat first, eyes darting to look at dan heng's sudden loss of colour that drained from his face.

"they don't remember," he whispers to himself, as if no one else was around him. he takes a moment to lean back on the wall, "they don't remember me."

it takes welt's hand on dan heng's back to guide him out of the room shakily but nothing feels real anymore. all the memories, chaste kisses and moments where dan heng had done more than warm up to you in light of his past and previous life. you remembered none of it, not an ounce of the love he'd grown comfortable enough to give you, nothing.

dan heng's legs feel weak under him as his heart tears apart. perhaps this was a clean slate in terms of his regrets in protecting you, he could have done better and now he has a chance to wipe it all clear for you - you're not angry at him but he knows it's because you simply don't remember what happened.

he'll protect you better this time, more closely and not taking his eyes off of you. maybe one day, he'll tell you about the relationship the two of you shared; the kisses under the stars and the nights curled up together reading your own books. he would still love you. he'd always love you.

it felt like a fever dream when amber came to find KAEYA while he was on a commission for the knights. he hadn't been drinking on the job when the brunette arrived nor had he consumed any that morning... so how come she was spewing nonsense about you being seriously injured on a commission?

the cherry on the top? you didn't recognise a single person who'd visited you on bedrest. not jean, not barbara, not mika or lisa, not even noelle. and as your partner, kaeya was terrified by that prospect. you saw noelle and jean daily, always in cohorts with them - hell, you would see lisa sometimes more than you saw him, thanks to the busy nature of his rank.

if you didn't remember them without a sliver of recognition, would you remember him? he found it hard to breathe the whole way back to the city of mondstadt with a restless young brunette at his side and - begrudgingly, kaeya hadn't even invited him along - the owner of the dawn winery. diluc was equally as pained to hear of your accident from amber and who was he to not be there during possibly one of the most painful times of his brother's life? he'd done him wrong before, multiple times and perhaps he had tried to brush their brotherly relationship off but he was his brother, his found family. now, he needed him.

there was only so much dread that could consume kaeya's tall body. the peaceful sounds of mondstadt no longer soothed him on his walk to the city like it usually did after a commission, no. in fact, it was killing him. he wanted to hold your face in his hands, his breath fanning over your lips as he stares into your hands. he wanted to see that beautiful smile of yours again, the way you roll your eyes at his drinking antics.

what was he supposed to do if you had forgot about him too? amber says you'd taken heavy trauma to the head. amnesia... amnesia is what ruined his life this time? not family issues and abandonment, not a family death and the awful grip of guilt and anger... amnesia. memory loss. something that had so bitterly taken his beloved from him. you'd been the first person kaeya had truly warmed up to since he drifted away from diluc. the first person to see his true sides, to see his sheer raw emotions.

kaeya had had plenty of time to prepare for this endeavour on the way into the city, knowing the chances you'd forgotten him were plenty high with how you'd forgotten the other knights. yet to hear you utter the words "who are you?" with such an innocent look to your face, overridden by confusion, it shattered his heart. his lungs felt like he was suffocating and he almost wanted to choke out 'your partner' into the air but he doesn't.

instead, with the reassuring touch of diluc's calloused hand on his shoulder, kaeya forces a weak smile onto his face, sun kissed skin glowing in the golden light of the sunset that breaks through the open window in your room as he clears his throat to reintroduce himself to you, "i'm kaeya."

his voice cracks, a dead giveaway to those in attendance that he was struggling with the reality of this. because of you, he'd lacked to drink as much on the evenings but now... diluc was already preparing to drag his brother away from the taverns, muttering curses that drinking was not the right coping mechanism. he'd be at his brother's side even if the latter reeked of wine.

kaeya would love you all over again, he'd spend so much time with you it would be suffocating if only it meant you fell in love with him again. a second chance to right his wrongs, to kiss those lips again. you were his, he wasn't going to let you fall into the hands of anyone else. he'd fix this.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

#this ones got a little kick...#kaeya x reader #dan heng x reader #genshin angst #hsr angst

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shroomi1e · 3 months

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Please be aware of the user @/saintsugu also known as Ezra.

Past pseudonyms include (but are not limited to: @/aces_high

I never thought that I would have to create a post like this. In my near 12 years on the internet, I never thought I would have to write down the words I am about to type, especially about a fellow fanfic creator, one I used to enjoy before I found out about the type of person he really is. I apologise for the long post, however I want to make sure I am as thorough as possible so I can bring this person to justice.

Before opening the read more/ continuing with this post, please read the trigger warnings. This will deal with heavy topics, ones that make me sick to my stomach. I apologise for all of the censoring in this post as well.

TW: P*DOPHILIA, UNDER*GE, SEXUALIZATION OF EDS AND SH

I would just like to start off by saying how difficult this post is for me to write. I have had to take multiple breaks while typing this out. I have felt disgusted since I first saw the posts on his twitter. Like I need to take a shower and scrub myself clean, however, at the same time I feel like I cannot sit idly by while Ezra still has a platform.

The posts I have seen on his twitter, what he actively endorses is just disgusting and predatory in nature. I have done my best to censor them so as to not continue the spread of such material. As of the time of this post, his twitter is still public.

HIS TWITTER (X) IS CURRENTLY UNDER THE NAME @/ezr_ace

First, I’ll give evidence I have to prove that the twitter account stated above is in fact his. I was wary at first as well, however, I believe this evidence in fact proves that beyond reasonable doubt that the account is his.

The obvious reasoning is as follows: Ezra goes by the pseudonym Ezra currently, and has gone by the pseudonym Ace in the past. Both the twitter account and his tumblr state that he is 21. Both twitter and tumblr themes are the same in nature, featuring manga panels of Suguru edited in the same way.

If you’re familiar with Ezra at all, you would know that they are very close with another user, Flora, also known as @/fyogasm. Previously known as @/pussydrunkfyodor on tumblr. When going through the followers of this twitter account, I noticed someone by the name of Flora following him (one of about 34 followers), with the user @/floratumblr. This account had their tumblr linked in the bio of the profile, and it led straight to Flora’s tumblr. Screen recording is posted below:

UPDATE: since Ezra has been called out, Flora has unfollowed Ezra’s Twitter as well as deleted her account. I can only assume it is to try and dodge the backlash of being associated with him. Here are screenshots proving they are moots/ interacting with each other.

Note: I do not know what this means for the content of Flora’s character. All I can say for certain is that she is close friends with him (to the point they have each others numbers), and that she follows his Twitter. I did not dive deep into her Twitter before she deleted it. But I can say that I do believe she knew the content he was posting about, otherwise she wouldn’t have deleted her Twitter the second he was called out while remaining mutuals with him on tumblr.

UPDATE 1/19/24 1:50 pm: Since creating this post, Flora has reached out and stated that they have broken all contact with Ezra. They state that they are not frequently on twitter, and was completely unaware of the type of content he was posting on the account. They state that the content found on the account has made them feel sick and that they are no longer friends anymore.

Back to the main point, this only adds to the similarities listed above. A close mutual that he has been seen actively talking to on his tumblr also follows him on twitter, endorsing his behavior. This alone was too much for me to ignore. However, one final factor came into play that solidifies that user ezr_ace and user saintsugu are the same Ezra.

He not only posted to his tumblr about hateful anon messages, but also his twitter at the same time. Right after the messages were sent, he tweeted the following, as well as posted the following messages on his tumblr. Screenshots with time stamps posted below:

This for me, confirms that the two accounts are the same. There are simply too many coincidences for me to ignore. I feel that there is no argument about the validity of the accounts, as there are just too many similarities to ignore. Now, I can delve into what the post is really about. The content of the Twitter account.

P*DOPHILLIC ACTIONS AND UNDRE*GE CONTENT.

To put it simply, I was horrified when I first opened the profile to be greeted with Shotacon artwork. Full on artwork of an adult Toji a*saulting a child Gojo. In this artwork, Gojo looks as if he can be no older than 10. Most of the image is censored for obvious reasons, however, part of the screenshot appears in the video above as well. Proving that it cannot have been doctored in any way.

As you can see, the post is tagged with tw sh*ta. For anyone unaware, the definition of Sh*ta is as follows: “Sh*ta is a term used in manga and anime fandoms to indicate sex involving an under*ge boy.” (Fanlore.org) Aka, CP.

It is disgusting to see someone who I once enjoyed, once trusted, interact with literal cp. Drawing or not, the effect of it is still massive. Viewing children (ANYONE UNDER*GE) in a sexual nature is harmful to everyone. It breaches past dark content into something horrible. Something dangerous.

I felt sick seeing someone be as brazen as to repost a picture of a child being a*saulted. To get off on it. It is p*dophilic. That is the only way it can be put.

Further on this, he has written smut of, in his words, “not necessarily under*ge” Suguru in highschool. There is a whole thread on it on his profile, however, I will not be showing it here. The screenshot below describes the nature of the whole post from his own words.

When I first read “not necessarily under*ge”, my first and only question was literally, what the fuck does that mean? Either he is under*ge or not. There is not some fuzzy grey area coating the world between adults and children.

But sure, give him the benefit of the doubt. That does not excuse him liking multiple posts tagged with under*ge content. The most recent being less than an hour ago. Posts censored to the best of my ability below.

These posts all point to the same thing. The disgusting, undeniable truth that this man is attracted to under*ge content. Content depicting minors in sexual scenarios. Content that no member of society should ever consume. He is a p*dophile. For viewing this content of his own accord. For liking it, for reblogging it. For creating it on his own. He is a disgusting person.

FOLLOWING MINORS.

Him interacting with content like that above, consuming it in any capacity at all makes him unsafe to be around. For anyone. Especially minors.

Even though his blog is 18+, even though he preaches that minors should stay away from his blog. He still found himself following a 16 year old. Becoming mutuals with them. The fact this person is 16 is clearly displayed on their blog as well (in their pinned post).

Screenshots shown below. The individual’s user is censored out as, once again, they are a minor and I don’t feel they should have to be wrapped up in this mess.

Once again, Ezra is someone who preaches about minors staying out of adult spaces. Multiple times he has complained on his blog about minors following him and having to block them. You would think he does the same and would be more careful about curating his online spaces, however it he fails to do that.

I don’t believe this can be boiled down to a simple case of missing the age in their bio— this user has their age in their pinned post, as well as their about me. Along with the sexualisation of minors prevalent on his Twitter, it makes me extremely uncomfortable to know that he is following a minor in any capacity. I’m sure it would make anyone.

SEXUALIZING EDS AND SH.

To end the laundry list of posts on his twitter, we have him writing smut glorifying eds, as well as liking posts depicting sh in a sexual light. As always, screenshots are shown below, censored to the best of my ability.

In the post listed above, Suguru is described in a way that is hard to stomach. While it is not nearly as bad as everything else stated above, I feel it is still necessary to include, especially because in this pairing he has often described and implied Suguru to be a minor. There is a line and he has crossed it several times, this is just another example of such. Serving as the cherry on top to further demonstrate his mindset.

Dark content and discussion of these subjects in fiction are not the problem. The disturbing part of this is that Ezra often uses these tropes within his min*r/adult sexual fantasies, and when paired with the sh*ta and under*ge content, leaves a very poor taste in the mouth. It comes across as not only a gross f*tishization, but a gross f*tishization of taking advantage of a minor that way.

A DISCUSSION ON THE LIMITS OF DARK CONTENT.

In this section, I feel that it is important to touch on how dark content plays into all of this. I’d like to expressly state that this is NOT a condemnation of dark content or its consumption.

Dark fiction and dark content are a fine line. It’s a fantastic tool for exploring taboos and emotions or experiences that aren’t often talked about openly. DC creates what is essentially a safe space for exploring things that are not typically done or seen in the real world, with the knowledge that writing or engaging with it does not necessarily mean condoning it. That being said, this callout post is NOT about being anti-dc. Dark content is a literary or artistic tool. Keeping all of this in mind, to actively engage with sh*ta content in which a character is depicted sexually not only as a minor, but as a child, and to be sexually aroused by that image is the definition of p*dophilia. Writing or drawing children and engaging with that content in a sexual capacity is p*dophilia and at the very least, has p*dophilic tendencies. This is not dark content, this is p*dophilia.

It is one thing to write or create dark fiction between adults for the purpose of gratification or exploration of social dynamics and it is entirely another to engage with art of a child engaging in sexual acts with an adult for (seemingly) the intent purpose of sexual gratification. Everyone draws their own line, but it is also important to acknowledge that there are some depictions of taboo subjects that border (if not fully step-into) harmful, p*dophilic content that perpetuates behavior and mental tendencies that truly are dangerous.

To engage with a drawing of a child and a full grown adult in sexual acts for the purpose of sexual gratification is incredibly fucked up. And the fact that minor and adult p*rnography are not just common, but dominating Ezra's twitter page, should be an absolute red flag. It’s okay to acknowledge that dark content is a medium for fiction while also acknowledging that there are some ways of engaging with it that are harmful, especially when it is so glaringly obvious that the content is between a child and an adult (the art I am talking about specifically really is a child. I don’t urge anyone to look at it, but it is gojo depicted as a child of maybe 8 - 10 years old. I’m not using the term child as an umbrella term for minors here).

The problem, stated very plainly, is that the post/s he is engaging with are sexual depictions of a child with the purpose of sexual gratification. That’s the point here. It’s not the dark content, but rather that he is retweeting posts depicting a child of about 8-10 engaged in sexual acts and created for the purpose of sexual gratification.

Once again, this is not a condemnation of dark content. Dark content can be used in so many valuable ways— facing trauma, dealing with taboo subjects, exploring the literary world in a safe and healthy way. As someone who actively consumes dark content, I will be the first to tell you this. However there should always be limits to the types of content produced. Gaining any kind of gratification from looking at a child being a*saulted is disgusting. It is p*dophillic. Especially when he actively engages with minors on his platform.

This is not a conversation of morals— which side is right and wrong. But rather a conversation about the safety of children. This is not a conversation about ageing up as that is not what he is doing. The characters being depicted here are not being aged up, rather are being depicted as minors, or literal children being used for the sexual gratification of adults.

The issue here is a p*dophile. Not dark content. Not anything else.

CONCLUSION.

I’ll be honest, post was extremely hard for me to create. Discovering that someone I once thought was close to me is this kind of person feels disgusting and abhorrent. I honestly wish I never had the displeasure of meeting them in the first place.

Hopefully, by the end of this post you are able to see the kind of person Ezra really is. I could not be silent about this. I knew that the moment all I found all of this out. This post has been very difficult for me to write, but I hope by the end of it some good will come. Some people will be able to avoid interacting with this man.

I believe Ezra needs professional help, and truly hope that he is able to get it some day soon.

Please be careful with who you interact with on the Internet. Adults and minors alike, there are predators everywhere. Please try your best to stay safe in your own online spaces. All of the love in my heart goes out to anyone who has survived child expl*itation. I hope for nothing but the best for you in the future.

Thank you all for taking the time to read this post. I know it is long and triggering for most people. I hope you all have wonderful days and try your best to take care of yourself.

Listed below are some important numbers I would like to bring awareness to before this post is over.

National Child Ab*se Hotline (USA): 1-800-422-4453

National Center for Missing and Exploited Children (USA): 1-800-843-5678

The National Sexual A*sault Hotline (USA): 1-800-656-4673

Childline (UK): 0800-1111

International Child Helpline: 116-111

TLDR: Ezra has a Twitter account where he retweeted artwork of a child gojo being a*saulted by an adult toji. He liked as well as created posts depicting under*ge characters (literally tagged with ‘under*ge’). All while being mutuals with a 16 year old on tumblr.

Tags used to try and spread awareness. I tried to mostly include fandoms that he is in.

UPDATE: lmfao, he has since deleted the retweet of sh*ta gojo after he was called out. Literally proving that it was him.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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shroomi1e · 7 months

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Popped by just to say one thing:

Please do not ever comment on one of my things saying “Neuvillette is an unmoanable name”, “Alhaitham is an unmoanable name”, etc.

They are cultural names. Even if you aren’t apart of their culture, have the respect to give the care to their names as someone would give you yours.

#fr though #calling a name “unmoanable” implies that its an ugly name? 🤨🤨

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shroomi1e · 7 months

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ART OF THE BEDCHAMBER | part 1

"Dual cultivation with you wouldn't be very useful. You might have extraordinary qi as a Vidyadhara, but it's sealed when you're in your human form." Dan Heng stares at your fingers, deliberates as you trace the invisible paths of his meridians. "Then," he says, "what about my dragon form?" (Or: Dan Heng dreads the thought of outliving you and will do anything to help you achieve immortality. If that means fucking you in his dragon form, then so be it.)

6.5k words. smut, fluff, established relationship, xianxia elements. semi-explicit sexual content (only with dan heng in his human form in this chapter, sorry). reader is gender neutral, afab — they have breasts and bomb pussy game. cultural notes: "yinyue jun" is the chinese equivalent for "imbibitor lunae". please see the end notes for information on cultivation. other notes: this is set pre-1.2. 风月 was based on this fic so some things may feel very familiar! network: @trailblazernet. MDNI.

When Dan Heng—in a rather unexpected move—fell in love with you, he didn’t foresee all the agony that would come with it.

Shockingly, you aren’t the direct cause of this agony: a remarkable fact, given your routine of pestering him for as many hours as the day will allow. Dan Heng often complains about your many inconvenient behaviours (e.g., trying to cuddle with him in the archives, trying to kiss him in the archives, trying to have sex with him in the archives), but to the amazement of his fellow trailblazers, he never actually does anything about it. After getting over his initial embarrassment at such public displays of affection (this took quite some time), he’s come to tolerate it.

You often like to tease him for his leniency, all playful smiles and lilting tones: You don’t have to act so shy, Dan Heng—I know you enjoy the attention. My Heng'er likes to be spoiled, huh?

He always rolls his eyes in response. Consider it a miracle that I haven’t kicked you out yet, he’ll usually say, flicking you on the forehead. He never tells you if he means kicking you out of the archives or if he means throwing you out of the Astral Express itself, right into the vacuum of space. (Most bystanders are astonished that the latter hasn’t happened yet. So are you.)

He also doesn’t tell you how wrong it feels when he isn’t listening to the background noise of your shameless flirting. Or how wrong it feels when he doesn’t get to humour you with a kiss every once in a while.

Which brings him to the root of the problem: the wrongness that he’s feeling right now. The emptiness of the archives without your laughter, the tasteless quality of his food when you’re not there to dine with him, the restlessness of trying to sleep without you—it’s all wrong, wrong, wrong. Wrong enough for it to be a little agonizing, now that he’s nearing one hundred and twenty days of this.

You often have to leave the Express for many months in a row, so Dan Heng is no stranger to these unsettling feelings. Neither are you. If I could spend more time with you, I would, you’d said before leaving last time—and the time before that, and the time before that, and the time before that. But I can’t avoid going into seclusion. It’s part of the whole Cultivator gig, y'know—gotta go to a mountain somewhere and meditate for a few months. That’s just the price of immortality if you’re a measly human. Then you’d given him a little smile, pecked him on the lips. Most people do it for years at a time, but I wouldn’t be able to leave you alone for so long.

The first time you’d pointed this out, Dan Heng was startled by the relief that flooded him. Vidyadharas have an intuitively different sense of time compared to human beings, and two or three years should feel like nothing to him: relative to the centuries he’d lived as his previous incarnation—or the decades as his current one—it would be only a fleeting moment.

But in your absence, it would feel like an eternity.

It surprises him how much he hates the crawl of time without you. Dan Heng had never before been a needy person: solitude and isolation had always been the norm for him, in a lifetime absent of human touch—first imprisoned from birth, then exiled from the first moment he got to see the sun. Even after leaving the Alliance, he hadn’t allowed himself to become particularly close with anyone: it would have been too complicated because of the sensitive matter of his past, and he simply didn’t feel deserving of it anyway. Nor was he in need of it.

Then he met you.

And then the afterglow. He hadn’t only grown used to that: he’d become addicted to it. Warmer and headier than huangjiu, something that he’d have never been able to imagine while growing up in the night-dark prison of his childhood.

Then he met you, and he became accustomed to the sound of your laughter, and then your offhanded, warm touches, and then your smile as you sat in the blue glow of the archive floor and poured baijiu into everyone’s cups. (Scalding, bitter; you had laughed as he made a face and warmed up huangjiu specifically for him next time, and it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.) And then he became accustomed to talking to you—to letting you unearth things he’d buried for decades, to revealing his suffering and receiving your compassion, to the gentle feeling of your hand on his shoulder. Then the tender, nervous look in your eyes, then the silky press of your lips, then the closeness of your unclothed body, and then the breathless warble of your voice—Dan Heng, I’m close, I’m so close, please—and then the euphoria of having you arch and fall apart so beautifully in his arms.

He isn’t exactly deserving of your companionship. He knows that.

Even the memory of his first taste of sunlight aboard the Luofu pales in comparison to the feeling of having you in his arms. The first time he’d had the privilege of holding you, he caught himself thinking: If paradise is but a dream, then I wish to sleep forever.

And now, each time he lies awake on his futon, alone except for the glow of artificial stars, Dan Heng becomes acutely aware of the emptiness left by your missing form.

But he is in need of it.

After one hundred and twenty one days of seclusion, you are ready to return to the Astral Express.

Time moves differently when you cultivate behind closed doors. The act of such intense meditation and training distorts the flow of the world for you, makes entire months feel like days. Emerging from seclusion always comes with a certain anxiety: Are your friends well? Have they forgotten you? Has the Express continued its journey across the galactic railroad, or has some terrible event happened to your home—a supernova, a meteor shower, the destructive force of a stellaron?

And, most importantly: Did anyone murder your boyfriend while you were away?

There is at least one intergalactically wanted criminal who's tried to kill Dan Heng a number of times, and an entire alliance consisting solely of his haters. Half the reason you take your cultivation so seriously is to prepare for the inevitable day that someone is going to seriously attempt to murder him in front of you (probably the aforementioned criminal). You want to be strong enough to one-hit KO Arbiter-General Jing Yuan himself, if it ever comes down to it.

Of course, the downside is that the murder attempt might happen while you're off training, but you're hoping that March 7th and Caelus can cover for you in that case.

Still—while you have nothing in confidence in Caelus’ abilities (you adore March, but will not comment on hers), you sigh in relief when your phone begins to buzz.

> Are you out yet? We're on our way. > Get something to eat if you haven't yet. I'll make sure something is ready for you on the Express too. > I know you can practice inedia, but you're still a human at the end of the day. Please get something to eat as soon as possible.

No hello, no I missed yous, just plain, practical concern—as always.

You are not a practical person.

> GEGE! > GEGE GEGE GEGE > DAN HENG GEGE > come fast i want to kiss u > i'll die if u don't kiss me soon > i missed you!!!!!! > did you miss me??????

You can more or less imagine the expression on your (hopefully unharmed) boyfriend's face: deadpan exasperation. The first time you came out of seclusion during your relationship, you texted him no less than twenty times in a row from a new number, and he reflexively flagged it all as spam. He's since told you to tone down the double texting (and triple texting, and quintuple texting, and dectuple texting…), but always replies anyway.

> The Express is about to warp. We'll be there soon. > I'll do whatever you like, please just eat.

You watch as an ellipsis appears at the bottom of your chat window, then disappears, then appears again. When he finally sends his text, a smile stretches wide across your face.

> And yes, I thought of you the whole time you were gone.

With your return to the Express, you make Dan Heng engage in all your usual couple activities. Which is to say: you act disgustingly sweet with him and the other passengers experience varying degrees of shock and entertainment at his complacent behaviour.

You surprise him as he works in the archives, looping your arms around his waist and pressing against his back so you can whisper things into his ear: Gege, pay attention to me! or Dan Heng, can't you take a break now? or Heng'er, are you really going to ignore your lover like this? So cruel!

Dan Heng doesn't react during these moments, but he also doesn't push you away. Sometimes he'll shove a stack of books into your hands and say, If you have time to mess around like this, then you can work on digitizing these for me. You always agree, but wheedle a kiss out of him in exchange for your hard labour.

(Welt Yang walks in on one such kiss, coughs loudly, and walks back out. Dan Heng pulls away from your lips to stare at the door in abject horror.)

You give Dan Heng a number of books and films from your travels, and keep him company as he dives into them. He always gravitates toward the latest Xianzhou novels first, especially the ones that give mention to everyday life on the Luofu. You suppose that he's never been able to rid himself of his curiosity about the life that he'd been denied, enthralled by visions of night markets and starskiffs, teahouses and cross-talkers. You can see his longing in the crease of his brow, the softening of his eyes as he reads.

Seeing his wistful expressions, it is impossible to stop yourself from keeping him company. You press into his side, resting your head on his shoulder—something that will comfort him, you hope—and read alongside him. Sometimes the two of you fall asleep like that, wrapped up in each other on the archive floor.

(March 7th stumbles into one of these moments and can't help but snap a picture of the two of you. Dan Heng later pales when he sees your lock screen, where your slumbering, entwined forms are clearly visible.)

You often convince Dan Heng to have a proper, sit-down dinner with you in the dining car. He won't ever do it for food from the kitchens, preferring to eat in the archives instead, but he'll do it for food you cook together. The two of you enjoy your meals while watching the interstellar scenery roll by outside, stargazing at distant galaxies. Sometimes you savour the tangy-sweetness of tomato-egg stir fry (your handiwork); sometimes you enjoy the rich broth of delicately steamed xiaolongbao (your boyfriend's handiwork); sometimes the both of you sweat over the punishing numbing-spice of malaxiangguo (a combined effort and favoured couple's activity—right up there with building furniture).

The other passengers wave whenever they see you, impressed that Dan Heng has emerged from the archives. They joke as they greet you: I guess you're the only one that can pull him out of his cave!

(The older ones—Himeko especially—laugh and talk fondly about young love when they spot you. Dan Heng's expression stays as stoic as ever, but the tips of his ears go red and he accidentally burns his tongue trying to eat his own bao.)

You address Dan Heng with an astonishing number of pet names at an alarming frequency; your excuse is that you need to make up for the four months you couldn't call him anything. Mostly you call him 'Gege' in public, which he usually doesn't mind as it saves him considerable face relative to all the alternatives, but this changes when Caelus starts teasing him about it.

Morning, Gege, he starts saying at breakfast, drawing a long stare from Dan Heng. Gege, can you help me with finding these records? he asks whenever he strolls into the archives. Before expeditions, he starts turning to Dan Heng and using his most sugary voice: You'll protect me, right, Gege? And Dan Heng turns to Himeko to flatly state, I will not be held responsible if he dies.

Eventually, Caelus grows bold enough to join you both for dinner: Gege, he asks, do you want me to hand-feed you these noodles too?

Dan Heng replies by rising from his seat and walking straight out of the dining car.

(Your long-suffering boyfriend eventually says, during one of your reading sessions, that Caelus is quickly becoming unbearable with this new habit of his.

Well, you muse, since he’s just teasing you about the way I talk to you, I could stop calling you ‘Gege’.

Dan Heng stops. He looks almost hesitant, like he wants to protest, but his expression flattens into a deadpan when you continue: I could always call you 'baobei' instead. What, you don't like that? But Heng'er, you're my baobei, my xingan baobei, my little little apple and beloved husb—whoa!

You laugh hysterically as you dodge the book he chucks at you.)

Sometimes you do get him to reciprocate your actions. Shockingly—despite his reserved and conscientious disposition—you have the greatest success with this whenever you tease him while he's working. You find it works best to crawl into his lap and kiss at his jawline, whispering into his ear while he tries to focus on his screen.

I’m so pent up, Gege, you often start with. I've been trying to take care of myself, but my fingers aren't enough. You like to straddle his hips as you talk, grind a little if you think you can get away with it. You whine if you do, pressing your face into his neck—right beneath his clenched jaw. Won't you give me some attention? Just ten minutes on this desk is all we need.

Dan Heng can only ever endure about fifteen minutes of this before throwing you over his shoulder. You inevitably find yourself being flipped over in a fireman's carry, being lectured in a flat tone. I don't know where you get off lying like that, he usually comments as he makes his way to your room, ignoring your yelping and kicking. 'Ten minutes'? Every time you act like this, you end up taking up my whole evening.

(He does, in fact, spend the rest of his night in bed with you, making it clear that there is no need for you to ‘take care of yourself’ so long as he’s around.)

But despite all the grief you give Dan Heng with your public, grand displays of affection, your favourite moments with him are the private ones. The ones where you sit next to him on his futon, sharing a pair of earbuds and listening to the latest hits from the various worlds to which you’ve travelled. The ones where you make dumpling skins together during the quiet hours of the kitchen, flour dusting your fingers as you roll out the dough that Dan Heng has kneaded. The ones where you spend lazy mornings in bed together, Dan Heng holding you as you talk at length about nothing at all.

The ones where you pause in your long-winded ramble to find him staring at you, his gaze fond and fully attentive. Met with such tenderness, you have no choice but to lean in and kiss him, long and deep and smiling—and in the privacy of your room, your boyfriend is more than happy to return it.

Some weeks after you return to the Express, Dan Heng gives you a long look after one such moment and says, "You should spend more time with me."

You raise a brow. "Eh? I already spend plenty of time with you, Heng'er. I've been bothering you 24/7 now that I'm back on the Express… It's a wonder you aren't sick of me yet."

"Of course I'm not sick of you," he replies plainly. "I could never be."

The admission makes you blink. Heat prickles the back of your neck. It's not often that Dan Heng is so straightforward with his feelings.

"And I mean"—he looks away, the red paint along his waterline hidden by his lashes—"that it'd be nice if you didn't have to leave the Express so often. If you could stay here all year round."

You can't stop yourself from frowning. "You know I don't like leaving you, but I really don't want to compromise my training." Your fingers sweep gently at his brow, brushing away his hair. "I wanna be strong enough to protect you, Gege. After I get to that level, I promise I'll be around more often." Then you smile a little. "And if I'm lucky, I might even get a long life out of it!"

Dan Heng's brow dips. "A 'long life'? The whole point of cultivation is to achieve immortality, isn't it?"

"Sure, in theory. In practice, almost no human ever becomes immortal by these means. If cultivation were so easy, then people wouldn't turn to shortcuts like magical elixirs or blessings from Aeon Yaoshi." You purse your lips, voice starting to colour with derision. "Not that I'd ever be shortsighted enough to chase either of those things, mind you. I'd rather work hard, have a long and healthy life, and die and reincarnate properly if it comes to that. Immortality isn't worth the strife caused by any other method."

Dan Heng studies you closely, his eyes steadfast on yours. "Then… what do you consider a 'long life'?"

You hum, thinking. "If I don't slack off with my training, I have maybe eighty to a hundred years of youth before I kick the bucket."

"Eighty years?" Dan Heng's eyes go a little wide. You aren't used to seeing it.

"Yes?" You shift, fidgeting with his eyeliner brush. "But that's only if I'm lucky. Pushing for anything more would be tough. I could undergo a qi deviation and die… or I might just not be talented enough to reach that stage of cultivation and pass away from natural causes… someone could also just kill me at any time, given my lifestyle. I've got a lot of options for dying, you know."

Dan Heng doesn't reply, nor does he look at you. It occurs to you that this whole conversation might be unsettling for him, given everything that's happened with the Xianzhou Alliance, with the matter of his past life and that vengeful monster he seems unable to kill. The mere thought of immortality must be painful for Dan Heng.

"I'm sorry, Gege," you say. "It's insensitive of me to talk about these things with you. Anyway—I'm not seriously trying to become an immortal, so you don't have to worry about me. I'm not looking to break any taboos."

Your lover gives you a long, unreadable stare before replying, "Right. Of course. Nothing good can come from the pursuit of immortality." Cinnabar paint flickers as he looks away. "Human life should be as morning dew—fleeting and ephemeral."

Dan Heng starts to behave strangely, after that. Quieter and withdrawn. Not just subdued in his affection, but absent in it.

When you bother him in the archives, he no longer scolds you or distracts you with any work—merely continuing with his tasks, completely immersed in them. When March 7th and Caelus tease him about his many pet names, he doesn't get flustered—only rolls his eyes and ignores them. When the other passengers catch sight of the two of you dining together and fondly comment on your relationship, he hardly reacts. He only continues eating, staring absently at his dish—usually something you've made, because he seems uninterested in eating anything else these days.

(Are you sure you don't want actual food from the kitchens instead? you ask once, studying what's supposed to be dough for fried breakfast buns. For whatever reason, you can't get the consistency right. The Express chefs are way better than me, you know.

No, he insists. You made it, so I want to eat it.

You don't need to be so polite!

I'm not being polite. He looks down at your fingers, dusted snow-white with flour. It's just what I want.)

You wrongly assume, for a little bit, that he's somehow lost interest in everything but your cooking. It only feels like the logical conclusion, especially when Dan Heng gets into the habit of ignoring you for most of the day despite your use of every trick in your arsenal—from kissing him to teasing him to begging him for sex. He simply tells you that he'll entertain you later, and is otherwise too deeply absorbed in his work to pay attention to you.

"Is something wrong, Dan Heng?" you eventually ask, voice small. "Is it that you don't feel the same way about me anymore? Do you want to break up?"

Dan Heng goes stock still when he hears this. Without saying a word, he puts down his tablet, locks the door, and kisses you long and hard. And then—for the first time in your relationship—he proceeds to actually fuck you in the archives. He rails you next to the terminal for the better part of an hour, forces an earth-shattering orgasm out of you that ruins the carbon-fibre surface you're laid out on, and then he fills you up to the point that his spend starts trickling down your thigh.

Hazy and fucked out, you wonder idly if it's dripping down onto the phosphorescent tiles below. Dan Heng will probably make a fuss about it, especially since this is technically a public space, and the terminal is its most high-traffic area. He'd have a stroke if anyone ever saw this mess.

When he stands up, you assume that he's getting right to cleaning, like usual. The guy can hardly ever relax.

You don't expect it when he gets onto his knees and puts his head between your thighs.

"Gege?" you say, solidly confused, but before you can ask him what he's doing, you feel the press of his tongue against your dripping entrance and then all you can do is moan.

By the time Dan Heng is done with you, the two of you are messy and breathless, collapsed and tangled up in each other on his makeshift bed.

You stare at the ceiling, mind whirring even in your exhaustion. It had been hard to process the situation while your boyfriend was railing every thought imaginable out of you—but now that he’s finally done, the shock is settling in.

Holy shit, you think, Dan Heng never gets this nasty. Something really is wrong!

You think of broaching the matter, but Dan Heng beats you to it. He turns to you, says, "I don't want to break up," and then gets back on top of you for another round.

You decide to put your foot down.

The next night, you invite Dan Heng into your bedroom. You're all business this time. There's no whining, no teasing, no Heng'er, you don't want to touch me? There are no desperate and indirect plays to get his attention while you simmer in anxiety about what he's hiding from you. (This change is not because of your own strength of mind—of which you have none, when it comes to your boyfriend—but because you're now sure you won't break up, whatever happens.) Instead, you seat him at your table and regard him with a firm expression.

You're careful to keep your voice gentle, but you still don't hesitate: "I know something's been bothering you, Dan Heng. Can we please talk about it?"

Dan Heng is prepared for the question. "I'm sorry I've been neglecting you," he says instantly. "It won't happen anymore. I'm very serious about our relationship, and I have no wish for it to end."

You know he's being earnest. After spending the rest of his night fucking you—slow and sweet in your bed, rather than the desperate way he'd done it in the archives—he'd woken up this morning and gone back to normal. Paid attention to you, paid attention to others, humoured your public displays of affection and initiated his own in private. Acted like the past two weeks never happened, and that nothing’s been weighing on his mind.

Were he anyone else, you'd assume that you're simply being strung along for sex, or perhaps being distracted by it. But Dan Heng isn't anyone else: he has absolutely no interest in physical intimacy without the emotional kind. He'd slept with you as an affirmation of his feelings for you. (He probably also did it because you kept begging to be fucked, but that's neither here nor there.)

Still, as much as you liked having your back blown out in the archives, semi-public sex isn't exactly a healthy way to deal with relationship problems.

"I know you'll be more mindful of my feelings now," you reply, "but I'd still like you to tell me what's been bothering you. I won't force it out of you, but if you did tell me, we could maybe fix it?"

"It is unfixable," he replies, "and not a problem to begin with. Simply the nature of things that I must accept."

His tone is neutral. Factual. Certain of the insignificance of whatever the issue is, even though you know that he's not the type to be bothered by insignificant things.

You frown, confused. "If it's the nature of things, then it won't hurt for me to know."

Dan Heng isn't looking at you anymore, instead fixated on the view beyond your window. Peering at the many moons of this galaxy, he finally relents: "'The night-blooming cereus flowers only once.' This is how Vidyadharas describe human life."

You consider his words, contemplating the bittersweet air of the idiom.

"Because human life feels ephemeral to you?" you discern.

"Yes. The lifespan of a human is but a fraction of ours. It's never bothered me before, but"—he's finally looking at you now, and his expression guts you—"four months without you feels unbearable. I can't imagine four centuries."

You go quiet.

Dan Heng is right: this is the nature of things. Skilled as you might be, you aren't likely to be one of those rare few humans who can ascend to immortality without Yaoshi's fruit. He’ll likely need to spend the better part of his life without you, and then every lifetime thereafter. Such is the reality for a Vidyadhara choosing to love a short-life species.

“...I’m sorry, Dan Heng,” is all you can bring yourself to say, but he shakes his head.

“There is no need for you to apologize," he says plainly. "I should have prepared myself for this eventuality when I chose to commit myself to you. It cannot be helped."

Dan Heng loves this phrase, you think to yourself. It cannot be helped that I had to live alone for so many years. It cannot be helped that I was exiled from my home. It cannot be helped that I was punished for the sins of Yinyue Jun.

It cannot be helped that you will someday leave me.

A splinter digs into your heart. You reach out, squeeze his hand, and wish that you could do more.

"It cannot be helped," you agree, "but that doesn't make it any less painful."

Dan Heng does not speak, but the way that he closes his eyes is enough of a reply. No matter how unfeeling he makes his voice, his pain is evident.

You wait for him to collect himself. Listen to his breaths—deeper than usual, meditative, reflective. There is hesitation in his eyes when he finally looks at you. A weakness that he only ever shows at night, after waking from a terrible dream.

"...I know it's a cruel thing to ask of you," Dan Heng eventually says, and the bitter edge to his words surprises you, "and perhaps a sign that this soul of mine will never change in its sins, no matter how many times it is reborn—but is there no way for us to spend a life together?"

You forget how to breathe.

What he's asking you is not just heretical for him—it's traumatic. An echo of the crime he'd committed in his past life, the tragedy that marked him for suffering in this one. He must be desperate for an answer if he's voicing the question at all.

You struggle as you think through your options.

"Seeking out the Peaches of Immortality is out of the question," you start. "And Sanctus Medicus is just a bunch of nutjobs—no way could they make me immortal. Demonic cultivation is another Path, but I don't think you'd like the thing I'd become by the end of it."

A brilliant river of stars streams past the window, like the one in that ancient folktale about the bridge of magpies. You can see the reflection of your lover's face in the window: muted, sorrowful, already mourning you. And of course he's mourning you long before your death, with how much he'd lost long before his birth.

Oh, Heng'er, you think, even if I drank from Meng Po's bowl and lost every memory of you, I'd still find my way back to you in my next life.

It would be too cruel to say aloud, so you remain quiet—merely staring at the galaxy before you, hoping quietly to see some kind of bridge.

Then a nearby sun flickers, and you remember something.

"...I guess there is another option," you say slowly, "but I can't imagine you being happy with it."

He straightens up. "What is it?"

"Well…" You take a deep breath. "Sometimes people practice dual cultivation as a way to extend their life. It's quite safe, but would be difficult given our relationship."

Dan Heng stares. "What exactly does it entail?"

"Well… it's basically cultivating by having sex. If I slept regularly with an immortal being with highly refined qi, I could probably exchange energy with them and achieve longevity that way." You make a face at the thought. "But it's not exactly easy to find an immortal who'd want a lifelong friend with benefits… and I'd really rather not have sex with anyone other than you, anyway."

It would probably make him miserable.

You're surprised when Dan Heng looks thoughtful, rather than disturbed. He studies you for a long moment, considering.

"Vidyadharas are immortal," he says, "and the qi of a High Elder is much more powerful than that of any other species. Is it not helping that we're already coupling so often?"

"Not really." You reach out across the table, hold out your palm, and he knows to give you his hand. You turn it over, tracing a finger along the length of his wrist. "Dual cultivation with you wouldn't be very useful. You might have extraordinary qi as a Vidyadhara, but it's sealed when you're in your human form."

You feel for the warm glow of his meridians, even though you already know what you'll find—an ordinary, unremarkable life force coursing through his body.

Dan Heng doesn't seem discouraged, though, when you look back up at him. Only curious.

"Then," he says, "what about my dragon form?"

It doesn't end up being very straightforward.

For a full ninety minutes, Dan Heng sits in your room and listens to you discuss the mechanics of dual cultivation, also known traditionally as the 'art of the bedchamber'. As its name would suggest, there are quite a few nuances and technical considerations involved: different positions enhance your qi in different ways; certain acts are more useful than others; mutual pleasure must be attained for the greatest possible benefit.

It isn't just a lecture that you give him. You take out one of your cultivation manuals and show him various diagrams and poses. You whip out your tablet and visit "questionable websites" for "video demonstrations". You quiz him intensively at the end of each unit.

At around the seventy-minute mark, you catalogue Dan Heng's expression—thousand yard stare, stiff posture, red ears—and decide that you're overwhelming him. So you tell him the most important takeaway, which is that one thing he must absolutely do is—

"—finish inside you?"

"Mhm." You sound completely unbothered. "As much as possible. And as many times as possible."

He gives you a long, blank stare, and then crosses his arms. "...all of this is just a ploy to get me to do one of your favourite things in bed, isn't it."

"What? No! I wouldn't lie to you about something like this, Gege!" You're being truthful. Though your sex drive can sometimes drive you to try insane things, it never drives you to be cruel. "I'm being dead serious right now. This really will extend my life. Those cultivation manuals were proof!"

Dan Heng considers you. "You're right. You wouldn't lie about something like this."

"Thank you."

"You're already so shameless about begging for it—I don't think you'd see the need to come up with an excuse."

Wow.

"...okay, yes, but you're also pretty shameless about giving in."

Dan Heng clears his throat, and you try not to laugh. "Well, I've never had a reason not to, since we don't need to worry about pregnancy…" He tries very, very hard to assume some semblance of dignity as he deflects: "Anyway. I think I understand the gist of it. You more or less want me to do the usual things."

"Yes—but while you're in your original form, of course."

"Right." His eyes narrow, and his expression becomes uncertain: something you've only seen a handful of times. "...I do need you to know that taking that shape… complicates things. There is a reason why my powers are usually sealed."

You nod. You've known for a while now that Dan Heng hates invoking his Vidyadhara powers—he considers it as taboo as much as a Xianzhou native would. Truthfully, it did occur to you some time ago that exchanging qi with a dragon would make your cultivation progress leaps and bounds (and speaking even more truthfully, it's why you'd taken an interest in Dan Heng in the first place…), but after learning about how much he despises that form of his, you'd scrapped the whole idea and put it out of mind.

You're surprised that he's even consenting to this, all things considered.

Noticing the tension in his body, you leave your teaching set-up (tablet, an annotated cultivation manual, and smartboard with various stick figures you've drawn) to rest a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't know if we have to worry about that. The Alliance only sealed Vidyadhara powers due to historical reasons relating to the Sedition, right?" you try to console him. "Rather than anything to do with your nature in this lifetime, I mean. You aren't inherently dangerous."

You can see the conflict in his eyes; your words run exactly counter to everything he must have heard while imprisoned on the Luofu.

"I don't know," Dan Heng finally says, "but for better or worse, things are still different when I take my true shape. I'm no longer used to it." He frowns a little. "The amount of power feels overwhelming to me now. It's fine in normal circumstances, but—" He struggles for a moment. "...I don't know how I'll behave in… these circumstances with you."

"Ah, I see. You're worried that you won't be able to control yourself while fucking you're me, huh?"

He gives you a disgruntled look. "Do you have to use such crass language?"

"Sorry, Gege. I'll try to speak eloquently like you: Yinyue Jun may fall to his base instincts once he's crossed the threshold of the chrysanthemum gate, right?"

His expression turns from disgruntled to disdainful. Evidently, he's not a fan of your erotica novel slang.

"Please be serious for once. We need to be careful if we do this. I might behave impulsively—do something rash. Accidentally hurt you."

You hum, considering his words. "That's surprising. I thought dragons were generally supposed to be pretty calm and wise…" Then you think about how you couldn't walk this morning. "Though I guess you weren't particularly calm yesterday."

He snorts. "Well, I usually am. Unfortunately, I find it exceptionally hard to control myself around you, with how much you like to provoke me," he says plainly. "It'll just get worse if I switch forms."

You try not to stare at him, shocked at how unbothered he is by these admissions. You suppose that multiple rounds of semi-public sex might have forced him to cross an event horizon of shame, and now his face is finally getting thicker.

"It isn't just my behaviour I'm worried about," he continues. His arms cross again, and his brow furrows. "You might find my form… unattractive. You probably won't like it."

You frown. "I can't imagine that. I bet the real Cold Dragon Young is super handsome."

It's a testament to his anxiety that he hardly reacts to your stupid comment. He just studies you carefully, uncertain. Apprehensive.

"I guess we'll find out."

END PART 1

notes: for those unfamiliar, this fic is set in the same universe as fengyue. fengyue was actually based on this fic, but due to my inability to manage deadlines, it came out way ahead of this LOL

i'm sorry there was no dragonfucking in this part when i have been promising dragonfucking for ages on this blog. but i am 12.5k words into part 2 and i can assure you that there is an excessive amount of incredibly nasty dragonfucking in it, so please look forward to that

this was written way before 1.2 came out (and in fact, before I had even caught up to 1.1 content). hopefully the characterization still holds up ok!

big, big thank you to @petrichorium for helping me navigate canon lore and riffing w me on this piece. please go check out their works, they have banger star rail content!

cultural notes:

cultivation is the practice of using martial and spiritual arts to cultivate one’s qi, gain spiritual powers, and attain immortality

dual cultivation is the act of refining your qi through having sex

I will be honest. I cannot remember the other cultural refs I dropped because I just kind of blindly write them in so please let me know if you have any questions about things LOL

translation notes:

gege is a term meaning "older brother", though it is often used for non-familial relationships that are very close; it can come off as either flirty or childish. heng'er is a diminutive of dan heng's name.

“If paradise is but a dream, then I wish to sleep forever” - this was a reference to the chinese version of dan heng’s ult line. in english, he says “this sanctuary is but a vision”. however, in chinese, he says “洞天幻化，长梦一觉” which is closer to something like “paradise is an illusion, reveals itself to be a long dream”

"The night-blooming cereus flowers only once" - this is how I rendered the idiom "曇花一現", which describes thing that are short-lived

"Human life should be as morning dew" - this is how I rendered the idiom "人生如朝露", which describes the ephemeral nature of human life

yes I really made dan-gege break out the chengyu and poetic speech... I'm not sure how he sounds in english but my man has his super literary moments in chinese haha

#dan heng x reader #imbibitor lunae x reader #hsr x reader #dan heng smut #hsr smut

3K notes · View notes

shroomi1e · 9 months

Text

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭.

— he never meant to fall so hard for you.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

pairing. Blade x gn! reader content. gender neutral! reader, mute! reader, reader communicates by sign language, established relationship, Blade being angsty and mean because he’s in denial, domestic setting, the use of the simile ‘like a war widow’ is gender neutral, terrible relationship communication (Blade’s fault), POV switching, depictions of injury

word count – 5.3k

note: Blade is SUCH a simp for [y/n] in this but is in such denial!! seriously i can’t imagine him communicating at all in a relationship. i love this emotionally repressed man so damn much, i can totally fix him (praying the algorithm is nice to this post, unlike my last oneshot 😭)

╰┈➤ requested by: @reiji3

In all the years you had been Blade’s companion, he always found himself surprised at finding you in his home whenever he would return from a mission. He still could not understand what incited you to stay with him, or in his home.

It was not a particularly nice place; it was dingy, small, and someone had certainly been murdered in the bathroom, but for the likes of him, such trivial material things did not hold much importance. So long as he had a place to sleep and to heal, he would make do. That was until you came prancing into his life. You had turned his hovel into a home, turned it into a place that he did not dread coming home to, alone.

Blade’s clothes were in tatters, shredded away alongside large chunks of his flesh. Deep scratches had torn away the skin on his back; each movement his powerful muscles made as he walked sent pain ricocheting along his nerves, blossoming into throbbing flowers. He clenched his jaw, locking it in place like a secret.

Blood oozed from his wounds, cascading down his body as if it were a crimson waterfall. His ripped tailcoat was stained a deep red; there was no use in trying to salvage these clothes, no matter how hard he knew you would insist. Some things were just better thrown away. Dark rings circled his eyes, shadowing the contrasted alertness of his piercing red gaze. He trudged into his gloomy home, the prospect of resting his aching limbs calling out to him like sweet nectar.

A strong aroma of stew wafted along from the kitchen, leading Blade towards you like a treasure map. You had drawn open the blinds enabling sunlight to drip through the murky windows, highlighting the dust motes that floated in the air like starlight. The table was set, at its centre you had replaced the wilted carcasses of the spider-lilies with fresh ones – his favourite flower. And to the left of the table, your back turned to him, stood you. Preoccupied with your cooking, you did not notice Blade’s arrival until he snaked his arms around your waist and pulled your body close to his. Your cheeks heated as he dragged his lips along your neck, his hot breath sending shivers in their wake. Being this close to him, you could smell the coppery stench of blood clinging to him like death was his second lover.

Blade’s heart was contained in an impenetrable fortress. But the moment he stepped through the door, he shed those fortified walls like a snakeskin, pulling you into his arms and refusing to let go of you usually until the meal you were cooking burned. He was like a vicious, caged animal, imprisoned inside a body he did not ask for, nor one he wanted to sustain. Only with you did he feel like he was temporarily free from the fetters that bound him to existence. You made him feel free, as if he were in his natural habitat.

Although, whenever Kafka would ask, Blade would always emphasise how he was not in love with you. That this was a temporary arrangement that benefited both parties until Blade could meet his eventual, long awaited end.

“If you say so, Bladie,” Kafka would always say, her honey-sweet voice oozing with amusement at his emotional turmoils. His lips would always curl into a sneer at her words, and Blade would return to sharpening his sword.

You shifted around in his grasp so that your chests were pressed against each other, faces only inches apart as you faced each other. The fatigue on his face was evident, but he wore his expression of endurance and stoicism like a mask. Over the years you had been together, though, it had slowly eroded for you, enabling you to read your secretive boyfriend progressively better. There were many cracks in his visor, failing to conceal an innate fragility that threatened to consume him.

Smiling up at him, you started signing.

“I’ve made you your favourite!” Blade noticed how your eyes wavered towards his highly dishevelled appearance, widening infinitesimally with ill-hidden concern. He nodded slightly, relinquishing you from his vice-like hold. You seemed to not notice the droplets of blood that trailed across your clothes and apron like stars in the sky – to someone looking in on this domestic scene, they would have just thought it was ink. Maybe you did not care.

You looked up at him.

“Shouldn’t you go and wash up?”

“I’ll do so later.” He signed back. For some reason Blade didn’t want to tell you that in the past he had often come home in far worse condition. He didn’t want to see your brow crease with worry for him – you already had enough to worry about, with or without him.

Interlacing your smaller hand with his bandaged one, you led Blade towards his assigned seat and, placing your other hand on his shoulder, gently eased him into his seat. He never failed to marvel at how soft your little hands were by comparison to his scarred, calloused ones.

You then skipped to the stove and carried the steaming pot towards the table. Without even considering his injuries, Blade quickly ascended and strode over to you, taking the pot from your hands and taking it to the table.

He grimaced as one of the gashes in his side twisted from his sudden movement. Your mouth hung open slightly, eyes wide like that of a doe – an undeniably cute expression. Blade chuckled slightly. Quickly, you drew your composure like a curtain and, grabbing two plates, started to dish out the stew you had prepared.

His stomach churned at the mouth watering scent of the stew. When out on missions, Blade did not just disregard his body, but also his appetite. Perhaps, deep down, he knew that you would always make up for his lack of eating whenever he would come home from missions by showering him with your cooking. Blade stared down at the bowl as he waited for it to cool, and then back up at you. His tired heart lurched when your eyes met; you regarded him with such tenderness that you could have moulded stone like putty. Your countenance softened.

“Is everything okay, Blade?”

“I’m fine,” he replied softly.

When you were with him he was more than fine. With you, his penchant for death’s sweet embrace seemed a little less intense – less of an all-consuming obsession and rather an itch that needed to be scratched. But itches could be ignored, with enough will. You were more important–

A deep frown settled onto Blade’s brow, his ruby eyes burning holes into the dented, warped, table. You paused mid-spoonful as you saw your boyfriend bristle, body tensing up as if he had just been struck by some invisible blow. Suddenly Blade stood up, invisible strings of fate pulling him up and dragging him out of the house as he stormed off. He shoved his hands in his pockets, the sweltering vexation wavering from him almost palpable. You rose, trailing after him, but in spite of his injuries hindering his movements, Blade was out of the door before you could reach him. The door slammed shut in your face.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

Blade had no recollection of just how long he had been walking. Aimless and thoughtless, he charged forwards like he was going to battle – although the enemy was unknown. Was it you? You made him feel. Or was it him? For letting himself fall for you. No. He would not think about it. He refused to.

Having retreated to the furthest confines of his mind, the world passed Blade as a blur. By the time he came to, the sun’s authority over the world diminished as its bright rays began to falter and fade, falling victim to the incoming nighttime. Everything was poised in perfect suspension between night and day in the incoming twilight. Clouds swirled across the sky, dusted pink and amber by the sunset. Towards the horizon, the sky bled magenta; Blade knew that you would be marvelling at the sight, and for a moment he wished he were there to see the awe-stricken expression, the beauty of the twilight amplified through its reflection in your eyes.

Blade clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He kept on walking.

His wounds stung, the pain proliferating with each passing minute. Without being addressed, they were more than likely to grow infected. But at this point in time Blade could not care less. He just kept walking, directionless.

Tempestuous thoughts invaded him, probing at his shattered peace of mind. They unlocked the parts of his labyrinthine consciousness that he had held under lock and key for so damn long. The part of him that he had ensured remained imprisoned; for so long, he had succeeded in being his own jailer. Until you. Slowly, he was unravelling. Blade was coming undone because of you.

He didn’t know what to feel, how to feel. It had been so long since his heart had been opened that its hinges were so rusty they were almost arthritic, shrieking with pain from the aperture. The opening had unleashed a torrent of emotion that, for one who had been so emotionally repressed for so long, drowned him in its sweeping currents.

He hated the way he was the centre of your world. The way you looked at him like he was soft instead of all hardened edges, eyes brimming with pure, unconditional affection. Why were you not afraid? You should fear him; he would ruin you, tarnish you. Centuries of adversity and suffering had transformed Blade into a weapon, forged in the infernal furnace of life. Now, his body was no better than steel, dripping with malice. Yet you continued to find the beauty in his cracks, planting flowers between them and watching them bloom in your presence. Instead of finding the ugliness in his scars, you found the beauty in them.

Out of all the mysteries of the cosmos, you were certainly the greatest one.

When did he even fall for you? Blade had been so careful. This was supposed to be provisional, a temporary remedy for his depraved soul. Although Blade had pledged his entire hateful existence to Elio, his body still had certain needs, which he had found you to fulfil. Your cool touch doused the flames that rampaged within him, so fervent that his rage could engulf a city in an inferno. Your tender kisses made him forget the memories that coiled themselves around his scarred limbs like chains, dragging him down to the umbral pits of despair.

Just at the thought of you, his body began to shake – a visceral yearning to find himself in the comfort of your embrace. Blade wanted to be as far away from you as possible, but his heart was now inextricably bound to you. As his true North, you called to him, pulling him in your direction like a magnet. The question: was Blade ready to surrender his heart to you, to openly admit his attachment to you?

He never meant to fall for you. Was this what Elio had meant when he said that unexpected complications would arise in his life? He was already Destiny’s Slave. He didn't want to become a slave to his heart.

Slowly, like the petals of a flower unfurling, Blade grew accustomed to your company. Even liked it, actually. Your smile slowly thawed his frozen heart, your words soothed his tormented soul. You were his anchor during the storms that being mara-struck confronted him with. Even when the skies were completely suffocated by the menacing army of black clouds, when the thunder would roll, trampling anything in its path as the mara induced a rabid frenzy in Blade, you sat beside him, a sentinel watching over him in the darkness. Together you would wait out the storm. You never relinquished his hand as you awaited the clear skies to return. Although you could not speak, your touch spoke volumes.

Blade could not deny that learning how to sign for you was challenging. But, since you had been so accepting of his predicament, he gritted his teeth and learned your language with unfaltering resolve. As a man of few words, there was something innately relieving about not needing to speak in order to communicate. He appreciated, though, that were he unable to speak, he might have thought differently.

He struggled with expressing himself, especially with words, but he knew how much you adored listening to his deep, quiet voice, so would often talk to you into the night, knowing very well that he was speaking for the both of you.

When you would lie down on the roof of your apartment, eyes fixed onto the heavens, Blade could never help but betray his promise of stargazing with you. While you were transfixed on the sprinkling of stars across the velvet night sky, lambent and brilliant like tiny gemstones, Blade’s unwavering gaze would be on you. Beneath the moonlight’s pale strokes of light, you looked positively ethereal. Your skin glimmered like it was coated in layers upon layers of stardust; while you looked up at the stars, Blade found himself looking at his own star, his light during the witching hour: you.

He hated how much he had come to depend on you. These days, Blade could never leave the house without first embracing you, as if you were a good luck charm without which his endeavours would surely fail spectacularly.

While he longed for death, his heart also churned at the thought of leaving you behind, all alone like a war widow. Before you, he would have waltzed into the afterlife with Death as his dance partner; now, he was not so sure. The urge to die persisted of course, but you had planted the seeds of doubt within him that were beginning to take root, the blooming petals suffocating his lungs, his heart. You were truly infectious, ailing his body more so than the mara.

He hated you for what you had made him feel. He loved you so goddamn much it hurt, more so than any wound ever inflicted on him. With you Blade was raw, vulnerable. He was unaccustomed to existing without the armour he had donned for so many centuries, that which protected him from the anguishes of life. Of love. His heart rattled against his chest, unaccustomed to such emotions. He wondered if this was what would finally kill him; feeling again. Blade was a warrior; you were the first battle he wanted to flee from. And yet, being away from you felt like a dagger being driven into his heart

Blade’s walking suddenly ceased as he stopped in his tracks. Beside the canal by which he walked, on the small promenade, stood a tiny flower stall. It housed a jungle of flora, many of which Blade had never seen before. He could not help but be impressed by the sheer amount of the different varieties there were – Blade would have never even stopped to admire the flora if you had not been in his life. Usually, he would not have cared for such ephemeral things as flowers. The spectrum of colour the stall’s flowers provided contrasted the festering shadows, a final defence against the oncoming nightfall.

His aching body urged him towards the stall before he could even think things through. He was spurred forwards only by the knowledge of how much you loved flowers. Perhaps this was the store from which you always brought the flowers you used to brighten up his home? The owner, an aged woman wearing gardening clothes, was just packing up for the day when she heard his approaching footsteps. Fear flickered in her eyes, like a candle flame, when she looked up at him. Clearly someone had seen the IPC’s wanted posters. Her smile was contrived, an emblem of the fear his presence normally imposed on people.

“How may I help you, sir?” The woman cowered beneath his sharp glare, shielding herself behind the immense number of plant pots stacked upon the stall counter.

“I’m just looking,” Blade grumbled, voice cold enough to make hell freeze over. And that was true. He was not entirely sure why he was here. Maybe his heart had pulled him towards the closest vestige of you that was in fact not you. He hated how he wanted to be so close to you, yet so far at the same time.

Blade regarded the flowers, scanning them all intently. None seemed to be a good enough amendment for the way he had just stormed out on you. Perhaps he should buy you some – that was, if he even went home that night. Blade had no money on him, but he was already so morally foregone that he did not mind having to steal the flowers for you. Then again, he could imagine the look on your face if you ever found out.

In the time he had spent looking at the flowers, Blade had not noticed the owner dialling her phone, nor the squadron of IPC officers that arrived shortly after. This was the effect you had on him. His senses, perfectly honed into a deadly point by years’ of fighting, had blurred, encompassed only by thoughts of you. You had reverted him from being a lethal weapon back into a man, with a heart.

It was only when rough hands clasped his shoulders that his fighting instinct ignited within him. His hand found the hilt of his sword, only, Blade found himself wishing that it was your hand he was holding instead. A deep frown penetrated his stony face. He drew his sword, whirling round with vicious precision as he sliced at the officer’s chest. Blood spurted from the wound, and he staggered backwards. He threw himself into the fray, glad for the excuse to not think about you.

Blade was a weapon, and combat followed him like his own bloody shadow.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

Blade did not return home that night. He was probably wandering the world like a lost spirit, while you lay alone in your shared bed. Anxiety clawed at your insides. Not even holding Blade’s pillow close to you, inhaling his familiar scent, could quell the gut-wrenching feeling of trepidation. What if he did not come back? That caused your grip on the pillow to tighten. You thought of the pot of stew that was still on the table, the empty plate you had left out for him – just in case he came home and was hungry.

The clock ticked away, marking the passing hours since Blade’s departure. The steady ticking of the time starkly juxtaposed the hammering of your heart, your shallow breaths. You knew that Blade was more than capable of looking after himself – he had done so for centuries – but your stomach churned at the thought of him out there, roaming the streets like some vicious stray dog. You hoped that Blade was not angry, as destruction would trail behind in his wake. As someone unable to speak, you knew that actions spoke volumes, more than words ever could; and Blade’s actions? They were like a roar of contempt to the world that made him suffer so much… and to you.

When the door was slammed in your face, it was like the swift stroke of a guillotine being brought down upon your heart. You knew you weren’t supposed to feel so deeply for Blade; he had specifically told you at the beginning of your partnership to not catch feelings for him. But the heart wants what the heart wants, and yours wanted Blade, scars and all. His heart was something forbidden, closed off from you. And that made you covet Blade’s even more. But it had escalated too far, your greed.

You had tried so hard to be a homemaker that you had inadvertently backed Blade into a corner, and like a wild animal he bared his teeth and lashed out at you, claws unleashed. Tears pricked your eyes. You couldn’t help the way you felt. How in spite of all his evident flaws, your soul sang whenever you were together. You felt heard by him; with Blade, you had a voice. In a world filled with uncertainty and danger, he made you feel safe – after all, that was one of your main reasons for becoming his partner, before you became unconditionally, irrevocably, in love with him.

Sleep came at you in waves, yet whenever you closed your eyes, it eluded you like some apparition. Not even the pillow would suffice tonight. Yet, you did not relinquish it. For all you knew, this could be the last remnant of Blade in your life. You had seen the way his expression darkened at dinner earlier, how something far worse than a storm brewed behind his feral eyes. You only hoped that it would come to pass with the rising of the sun, and Blade would be back tomorrow morning like nothing had happened.

Were it anybody except Blade, you would inquire as to what bothered him. But Blade… he was less communicative than you were, and he actually had a voice he could use! You had never pushed him to come out of the shell which he had carved for himself, that which had been weathered away by the seas of time – thus he had retreated further and further within. How you longed to pry him out of it, to read his heart, but clearly your actions that evening had clearly hit a vulnerable spot, evoked something that he had hidden away. The display of your love causing him to retreat from you. You knew Blade was untamable like the sea, a beast in the guise of a man, but a part of you had hoped that your presence could have gentled him. Perhaps he was inherently unadaptable to the quiet life of domesticity you led.

You pulled the covers closer to yourself, a fruitless attempt to make up for the embrace Blade would cocoon you in as you slept together. Hopefully, sleep would submerge you in its deep waters soon. As you slowly drifted off to sleep, you found yourself dreaming of Blade.

The sound of the door swinging open snatched you from the peaceful realm of sleep and dreams. You discarded your fatigue, eyes snapping open the second you heard the door shut. Slow, precise, footsteps ascended the stairs, the rhythm indicating that it was none other than Blade. As the door to your room inched open, a slither of light pierced the darkness of the early morning. Through half-closed eyes, you watched Blade’s tall silhouette enter the room, his normally powerful movements silent and feline. You squeezed your eyes shut, feigning sleep. Thankfully, in the darkness, Blade seemed not to notice.

He opened the closet, presumably taking out some fresh clothes to replace his ruined ones. However, his shuffling soon stopped. You were not ready to alert him of your being awake, so you kept your eyes closed, and waited.

Blade watched your dormant form, at the slow rise and fall of your chest. You were the perfect image of serenity, while he was gory and dishevelled. Something felt inherently wrong about intruding on your sanctuary after having killed all those IPC officers. Just his presence cast a shadow over your purity. Blood dripped onto the floor; while most of it was certainly Blade’s, he was sure that some of it was mingled with the innocent blood he had spilled that night.

Dawn was beginning to inch its way across the sky, sending fingers of light through the closed curtains of your bedroom. A new day was being marked, yet Blade felt far from renewed. His eyes were heavy, his body host to a score of different, yet collaborating agonies that made every step towards the bathroom feel like he was walking on a path littered with daggers.

As the bathroom door closed behind him, your eyes opened once more. You had not missed the coppery scent of blood that Blade had dragged inside with him, and you hoped that he had not injured himself further. Blade had looked like he was being held up by the strings of unwanted emotion, a puppet to the heart that he was so tired of hearing beating. You truly hoped that he was okay, that his thoughts were not devouring his state of being to rawness.

Ignoring your heavy limbs, your body yearning to go back to sleep, you climbed out of your bed and got up. You tip-toed with every step, not wanting to alert Blade of your arousal as you descended the stairs. After being out for so long, you reckoned the last thing he had thought of was food, so you went to the kitchen to make him something to eat. Were it not for you, his body would have most certainly decayed from neglect.

From downstairs, you could hear the hot water tank stir into action, and the loud stream of water that followed.

Blade stripped himself of his ruined clothes and, standing before the foggy mirror, was confronted by the extent of his injuries, many of which would join the gallery of scars adorned by his skin. Bruises were scattered across his body like kisses, accompanied by varying scrapes and scratches. Then there were the deeper wounds. Despite having constantly borne witness to his injured state – with many instances having been worse than how he was today – Blade still averted his eyes.

You were never disgusted by the wounds Blade returned home with, nor with his scars that haunted his body like his own personal army of ghosts.

“They’re a testament to your strength” you had told him one time, when you were bandaging a particularly nasty wound on his chest. Sometimes, he felt like you were more of his nurse than a partner. He knew you could do better than him.

With your beauty, alluring charm, you would find no difficulty in finding another partner. One who was more present, one who actually had the courage to embrace their feelings. But the truth was he never wanted to see you with someone else. He was loath to admit it, but you were meant to be by his side. Yes, had his life durated its normal course, the two of you would have never even met – but perhaps in his cruel fate, were you a gift to appease the dire pains of immortality? He gritted his teeth and began to tend to his wounds.

Blade cast aside his thoughts just as he had done with his clothes and stepped into the shower, relishing the cool water against his burning skin. Maybe, if he washed himself enough, he could cleanse himself of all his sins and finally be good enough for you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

In all the years you had been Blade’s companion, he had never seen you up so early before. He had purposefully gone downstairs instead of to your shared bedroom, with the intention of not waking you. It seems his best intentions failed, for you smiled softly at him from the couch on which you sat. His muscles tensed, brain instilling a fight-or-flight response in him. Blade had absolutely no idea what to do or say around you; any thought of action evaded his mind. But from the way you looked at him through long-lashed eyes stirred Blade. He clenched his jaw and walked into the kitchen. Behind him, there was shuffling as you got to your feet and followed him into the kitchen silently.

Hearing your footsteps was like flint to steel, igniting the final ounce of patience Blade had attempted to muster.

“Stop following me,” he snapped, words laced with venom. They struck home, for you recoiled, as if pricked by the poisoned fangs of his words. Your footsteps stopped. Blade pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly. His limbs shook slightly from the pent up frustration that threatened to consume him like a raging inferno. You were so quiet, he was not sure if you had gone or not. Blade glanced over his shoulder.

Your silence perturbed him, as it made your expressions all the more powerful. There was a look of quiet understanding in your eyes – no words were needed, the look you gave him said everything that needed to be said. Your lip quivered, droplets of tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you signed, “I can’t help but love you.”

Blade’s heart broke into a million pieces while also being simultaneously made whole again – a true cycle of death and rebirth. What had remained unsaid for so long by both of you was finally out in the open, no longer lurking in the backstage of your relationship.

The words he so desired to say lodged themselves in his throat. Even if his body had not prevented him from speaking, it would have been impossible to express how he was feeling with words alone. So, he took several strides towards you, took your face in his hands and pressed his lips against yours.

This kiss was different to the way he usually kissed you; usually he was voracious, devouring your lips with an urgent hunger that spoke of his depravity of human contact, of how he had been isolated from another person for oh so long. What usually involved biting, dominance and force melted into something soft, like the sea rounding away the jagged edges of stones. In this kiss, you witnessed something inherently different about Blade. The tension in his chest eased as he relinquished his hold over emotions, allowing all the love and affection he felt towards you to swallow him whole, imbuing him with a new sense of purpose. To be yours.

He kissed you slowly, tenderly, each movement charged with so many things that Blade had left unsaid for far too long. One of his hands found the back of your head, pushing your face closer to his, as if the little distance between you was unbearable as it was. Blade loved you. He loved you so damn much. Your lips moved alongside his, quietly listening to everything they had to say; a profession of love. As you kissed, a new realm of understanding was reached – the final paving of what bridged the chasm between you being laid. You were his true North, and he never wanted to stop kissing you, his lips fixed onto yours with magnetic force.

His lips lingered against yours for one final moment before finally, Blade pulled away from you. You looked up at him through your lashes, eyes wide with surprise. Red creeped up your face like crimson vines, and Blade found himself thinking that was a much better form of red to see, rather than blood. Blade did not relinquish his cupping of your cheek; with his thumb, we wiped away the tears that fell like drops of starlight down your flushed cheeks.

“I’m the one who should be sorry, [y/n],” he murmured, his lowered voice sending shivers through your body, “I love you.” His lips curled into the fragment of a smile as he spoke. Having discarded all of his internal strife that weighed down on him like the earth, a look of utter tranquillity had swept over his face, the rigidity of his posture dissipating – finally, Blade was at ease.

You wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him close and burying your face in his bandaged chest. Blade returned the embrace, placing his head in the crook of your neck, body melting into your touch. Relief’s hands pried away his agitated state, but not his guilt – Blade still had much to work on to make up for the way he had acted. That could wait. A lifetime spread out before you both, a whole universe at your disposal.

With you, Blade could relinquish the spite he had welded into a shield, protecting him from all the years of strife. With you, he could finally be vulnerable. Now, just being in your arms was more than enough for him. An eternity of suffering almost came undone entirely just by your bodies being close together. Finally, Blade had accepted his treacherous heart.

#underrated AF #LITERALLY SOBBING😭😭😭😭😭#blushing crying kicking my feet and giggling but also sniffling and sobbing

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shroomi1e · 9 months

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Sinner

#OMG I SAW THIS ON TIKTOK #i wanna eat it #thought it was official art for a split second when i first saw it ngl

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shroomi1e · 9 months

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so-called free thinkers when there's a 2d fictional man with white hair

#mammon #vyn richter #om! solomon #cyno #jing yuan #zen #gojo #tengen uzui #i could literally go on and on

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shroomi1e · 9 months

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Miggy🚗🚗

#STOPPPPEPOEJGOUWEBGEJKJBI #HELP BE I CANT FCKUBG BRWATHHERE #scratching and clawing at the walls rn #oh my god i think im pregnant

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shroomi1e · 10 months

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my guilty pleasure fics are the ones where the guy turns into a cat somehow and then u pick it up thinking it’s a stray and take care of it for a while and then boom one day a hot guy that may or may not be ur boss or neighbor or wtv is naked in ur bed snuggling you

#REALLLLLL

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shroomi1e · 10 months

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❝ hsr masterlist ❞

honkai star rail headcanons

attractive ways they pull you closer / get your attention ( sampo + jing yuan + gepard + blade )

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shroomi1e · 10 months

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❝ closer to me ❞

sampo + jing yuan + gepard + blade

summary: attractive ways they pull you closer / get your attention

cw: gender neutral, no phys description of reader, mostly fluff but blade's has a hint of spiciness

a/n: finals had me in a chokehold ya'll😭 also i'm in the middle of moving across the country so yeah that's been fun... safe to say i won't have much time for writing since i haven't had time for literally anything. have this in the meantime though

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sampo : by your belt loop

the belt loop is a classic, maybe even overdone, but it’s something that just screams “sampo”

it doesn’t matter whether you’re chatting with friends or alone with him in one of the dark alleys of belobog; sampo always wants you close to him. sometimes it’s to see your cheeks turn pink, and other times it’s to pull you away from danger.

especially when you’re up and about above the surface, where cars and trains criss-cross each other when the traffic is busy. if you’re standing a bit too close to the edge to the sidewalk while a car is passing by, his first instinct is to put a finger through your belt loop and pull you closer to him.

but other times it can be possessive. not the burning envy and jealousy that often leaves a bitter aftertaste, but the light and teasing possessiveness that sampo often displays. especially when you’re chatting with the others in belobog with your lover right behind you.

he watches your interactions fondly, but you’re acutely aware of the way his fingertips lightly run along the waistband of your pants, subtle enough for the others to not notice. he even leans forward just a few inches, his breath teasing the shell of your ear.

and his finger hooks through the belt loop, but he doesn’t do anything right away. he wants you to wonder when he’ll pull on it, to watch you stumble over your words as his finger plays with the small piece of fabric hanging off of your pants.

once the time is right, the cat pounces, and sampo tugs you backwards so that the back of your head gently bumps against his chest. he holds in a smug chuckle at the way you squeak, your body stiffening at the sudden gesture.

“ah, r-right, we needed to be somewhere. i-isn’t that right, sampo?”

sampo doesn’t give you an answer, opting to give you a smug smile laced with feigned innocence. you hurriedly wave goodbye to your friends and walk away, much to their confusion. even as you lightly slap his arm, all your lover can do is chuckle. after all, you do look quite cute with your arms crossed, lips in a pout and your cheeks pink.

“don’t do that, it’s embarrassing…”

he quickly hooks a finger into your belt loop again, this time the one on the side. the tug is slightly harder, not enough to surprise you too much, but enough to make you stumble into him. he catches you by putting an arm around your waist, his gloved fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. he leans down, his lips grazing your ear.

“but you love it, don’t you? don’t lie to poor old sampo here, you’re gonna hurt my feelings!”

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jing yuan : by your chair

jing yuan honestly thinks these meetings are a bore. perhaps even unnecessary. his chin rests on his palm, his eyelids drooping as they grow heavier and heavier. he hears words, but they only go in one ear and out the other. the only thing that’s keeping him awake is your occasional pinches to his thigh when he’s about to fall asleep.

and when he subtly glances towards you, all he sees is your stern expression, an eyebrow raised as a warning for him to stay awake. he’s promised to stay awake for today after missing multiple important meetings… but he can’t help it that he’s so bored!

he almost looks like a kicked puppy, sad that his owner won’t play with him. the least you could do is to entertain him, but alas, it seems you’re rather focused on the affairs of the xianzhou luofu. your eyes are fixed on the papers in front of you, your hands politely folded in your lap.

but jing yuan is determined. he’s promised to stay awake, so he will, but not without having his own fill of your attention. at first his hand starts on your knee. you give him a quick glance but don’t think too much of it.

his fingers drum against your knee, tugging on the fabric of your pants. when you shoot him a questioning glance, he gives you a small smile, silently asking for your attention. he’s hoping that maybe you’ll put your hand on his knee as well, maybe even hold his hand under the table. not to mention you’re sitting way too far away from him for his liking. but he also knows that you wouldn’t be shaken so easily.

upon receiving no reaction, his fingertips reach out for yours. jing yuan gives you puppy-dog eyes. c’mon, i’m so booored…

the way you narrow your eyes at him says it all. you’re the general here. stay focused while we’re on the job, will you? his pout deepens, a small sigh escaping his lips. is it so wrong to want your affection?

jing yuan’s had enough. his hand moves from your leg to the chair you’re sitting on, and as if you weighed nothing, he yanks your chair closer to his until you’re right next to each other. your shoulder bumps against his, your knees touching. the screech of your chair against the floor was loud enough for others to notice, much to your dismay… but your lover seems rather happy now that you’re sitting side-by-side.

you’re startled, to say the least. everyone in the room gives the two of you a quizzical look, but jing yuan thinks they should be used to it by now. the two of you are lovers, right? what’s wrong with him wanting you to sit a bit closer to him?

and with a victorious smile, he puts his arm over your shoulder and continues to listen to what his coworkers have to say. your wide eyes and parted lips don’t go unnoticed, but he could always attend to that later. (he still fell asleep btw)

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gepard : slight tugs on your fingertips

gepard often has a hard time voicing his needs. on the battlefield, he’s always firm and assertive, ensuring that the silvermane guards do their respective jobs while also staying safe. but whenever he’s around you, his voice catches in his throat and his words come out in jumbles. while he has no trouble leading his comrades into battle, gepard often finds it difficult to ask for something as simple as holding your hand.

maybe he’s going out on a walk with you on a rare day that he’s free, or perhaps he wants your attention while you’ve been chatting with a friend you ran into while out and about. gepard doesn’t have to courage to simply grab your hand and hold it, so he instead holds your fingertips in his hand, giving it slight tugs.

“geppie, you know you can always just hold my hand or hug me, right? there’s really no need to ask every single time.”

he swallows a lump in his throat, and his first instinct is to apologize. “i- er, sorry… i’m just not really sure how to ask.” gepard wasn’t lying though, he genuinely isn’t sure how to ask. does he just grab your hand? should he still ask out of courtesy? what if you don’t want to hold his hand?

his hands are much bigger than yours, and it almost seems like he’s scared of hurting you with how gently he tugs on your hand. but still, the gesture is noticeable enough for you to catch on, and you eventually learn to know what he wants just from that small tug on your fingers. when you respond by looking at him with curious eyes or by intertwining your fingers with his, gepard feels a sense of relief knowing that you understand.

it’s gotten to a point where your lover always tugs on your fingertips before asking for something. of course, gepard always follows it up by shyly whispering in your ear or stumbling over his words. but it’s a way to let you know he wants something from you, even the smallest things.

whether he wants to hold hands, a hug, a kiss, or even for you to just look at him, it always starts with that tiny gesture. he’ll do it while you’re in the kitchen cooking something for him before hugging you from behind. he’ll do it while you’re walking side-by-side as a silent way to ask to hold hands. and he’ll do it on late nights when he’s tired, his eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips in a silent request for a kiss.

he still wishes he could be a suave, cool lover that can smoothly ask for a kiss or maybe even just kiss you outright. but gepard is a gentleman through and through, and every kiss, hug, and held hands will only be followed by his gloved hands tugging on your fingers.

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blade : by your neck

the first time it happened, you were surprised. flabbergasted, even. the most conventional way to pull someone in for a kiss would be to either lean in close to them or hold onto their waist to pull them closer. but the last thing you expected was for blade’s fingers to gently wrap around your neck and pull you closer to him for a kiss.

his grip was soft, barely applying pressure to your neck. but it was still firm enough to lead you closer to him, close enough for your lips to meet his. and when the kiss broke, you stared at him with wide eyes. blade isn’t sure why you’re surprised, though. all he did was pull you in for a kiss, what seems to be the problem here?

even when hugging you, his hands don’t pull you in by your hips or waist; one hand is always on the back of your neck to bury your face into his chest. his bandaged fingers smooth over the nape of your neck, idly drawing patterns on your skin as he holds you close.

blade finds that his hands naturally want to touch your neck. he likes feeling the shallow thumping of your pulse against the pads of his fingers, wondering if his heart beat in the same rhythm as yours.

when he comes home from his duties, he’ll often find you sitting at your desk reading or attending to your hobbies. you can barely hear his feet pad against the floor as he approaches you from behind. you’re still not aware of his presence looming behind you, subtly looking over your shoulder to see what you’re doing. and before you know it, you feel a hand place itself on the base of your neck. you don’t fret though; you know exactly who it is from the feeling of the bandages wrapped around his hand.

“hi, blade,” you’d greet him gently. but your eyes remain fixed on your book. not him. that seems to be a problem.

“hm,” is the only reply you get. blade’s thumb rubs against the side of your neck affectionately, his fingers still gently wrapped around your neck. his hand moves further to the side of your neck so that his thumb can press against the underside of your chin. he tilts your head back, pushing your chin upwards so you can look at him while he’s standing behind your chair.

his hand moves up to hold your jaw, his thumb playing with your lower lip. you wait with a bated breath as if you know exactly what’s going to happen. and the moment your eyes flutter shut, blade leans down to meld your lips with his.

once the kiss is broken, he playfully drums his fingers against your neck. “mm, that’s better.”

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i was giggling and kicking my feet while writing blade's part ngl

#hsr #honkai star rail #sampo #sampo x reader #hsr sampo #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan hsr #honkai x reader #gepard #gepard landau #gepard x reader #gepard hsr #blade #blade honkai #blade hsr #blade x reader #hsr fluff #hsr headcanons

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shroomi1e · 1 year

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a part of me does understand why people seek out these ai written ones. i get it, i also get frustrated sometimes when im looking for something specific that also matches the writing style i prefer.

but everyone here is so passionate about writing. IM passionate about writing. when people write, there's always that intention and thought they put behind it. whether it's to make you laugh, cry, or feel butterflies inside your stomach. these fanfics have real human beings behind them that are eager to share their stories and their talents.

just remember that those ai's aren't generating a genuine piece of writing. there was no thought put behind it. robots cannot do comprehensive literature or write with intentions like humans can, and they never will. all it's doing is mashing together a myriad of fanfics from online and regurgitating it back to you.

kind of wanna reinforce this here. because i’ve seen ai writing become so popular on tik tok.

ai writing is not okay.

it’s literally theft. just like how ai art steals, ai writing steals. it’s using authors’ very real work to generate whatever you type in. and this also needs to be said as well.

writing is a form of art. fanfiction is a form of literature.

seeing this all over my fyp is REALLY discouraging. fanfic itself is already a labor of love and we love it when you interact. but please do not use ai writing for your fanfic needs when this writing literally steals from fanfic authors.

genuinely don’t know if this post will go around because my interactions outside of hcs are shit, but i hope it does.

#shroomies rb♡#ai #ai art #ai writing #literature #writing

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shroomi1e · 1 year

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#the fact that im studying to be a psychiatrist too😭#i have like 9 hobbies lord help me

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shroomi1e · 1 year

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Man with a Parasol – Doctor Baizhu and His Daughter

#baizhu #qiqi #genshin impact #shroomies rb♡#i love claude monet 😭

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shroomi1e · 1 year

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❝ i object! ❞

kazuha + albedo

summary: you as a noble should naturally marry another noble, despite your love for another. your parents had managed to pry your lover off of you and get you wedded to a powerful nobleman- that is, until your past lover comes barging through the doors on your wedding day.

cw: gn!reader, arranged/forced marriage, teeny tiny bit of alcohol, angst to comfort

what i listened to while writing: wave - wave to earth

a/n: *slowly crawls out of my cave* hey guys. it's me again😭 i randomly got the motivation to write again, idk what demons possessed me to write this in the span of 5 hours but at least i have new content!!!! i was gonna do this with more characters but kazuha and albedo were the only ones i see pulling this cheesy-typa stuff tbh

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kazuha

“…what?”

your gaze fell down towards the wooden docks you were standing on. kazuha frowned, his grasp on your hand loosening. he was aboard the crux, and the crew was preparing to leave inazuma for another trip to liyue.

“i’m from one of the tri-commissions, kazuha,” you said defeatedly. “it’s over for us now. i’m going to be wedded as an alliance with another commission. i… i’m sorry…” but before kazuha could respond, the large ship began to sail away, his hands completely slipping away from yours.

kazuha leaned over the edge of the ship, watching your figure get smaller and smaller. though he hoped you would at least give him a wave goodbye, you simply turned around and left the docks of ritou, leaving him saddened and confused.

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kazuha spent the next month lost in his thoughts. ink blots were all that filled the pages of his journal now that he’s lost his muse.

“it’s over for us now.”

those words played in his mind like a broken record in hopes that maybe he could find a sense of doubt from those words, just a hint that it wasn’t truly over. he’s tried to understand, truly. but the thought of losing you ate kazuha up from the inside, especially knowing that he had no control over it. there weren’t any flaws in him or you that caused this, only circumstance. and that stung his heart more than anything.

despite kazuha’s wishes and prayers, the wedding would happen either way. news eventually reached his ears that two commissions from inazuma would be joined through a marriage between the two heirs, and that was when kazuha truly felt like he was losing control. you were being swept away so suddenly, carried away in the arms of another man. what was he to do?

you were being fitted into a kimono that very second, the maids tying the knots and wrapping the fabric around your body. your limbs felt heavy like lead, your head hanging low like rotten fruit on a tree. you tried to live in a fantasy just for at least a few moments, imagining that kazuha was the one you were being wed to, not a nobleman.

kazuha almost felt like a dream now that he was gone, as if he was only a fleeting imagination before you had to wake up to reality. the ephemeral touches, the honey-dipped sunsets, the smell of salt and the sea. that was all simply an illusion. you had to go back to the wooden floors, the inked papers and the melting candles. this was reality now, where everything was out of your control.

“this is all for the sake of our family, you know that?” your father’s voice broke your train of thought. “think of this as a way to pay us back for raising you. you’re much better off with a nobleman than that wandering fugitive anyways.”

you grit your teeth and tightened your fist, your knuckles whitening. “i know.”

the ceremony went through in a daze, the sacred sake tasting bitter on your tongue. a part of you felt like you should’ve just jumped on that ship along with kazuha. regret sat in your stomach like a sickly bag of bleach. but you knew it was for the better, both for you and your family.

after the vows, the priest then asked, “does anyone here object to the wedding?”

a heavy silence followed. the two of you were heirs to the biggest commissions in inazuma, it was obvious that nobody would dare to object this wedding. your gaze fell further down in defeat. it was really happening now.

“i object!”

your head snapped up from the ground and turned towards the voice. at the end of the crowd stood kazuha, the wind blowing softly through his hair, the golden light from the sunset outlining his silhouette.

emotions rushed through your chest: happiness, regret, sadness, doubt, and guilt. the cup you were holding dropped to the ground and shattered. the crowd began to murmur and gossip.

“kazuha,” you breathed out.

the crowd parted to make way for your lover, who confidently walked towards you and held his hand out. everything around you seemed to suddenly disappear the moment your fingertips met his. it was only the two of you now.

“kazuha… what on earth are you doing here?”

“i just need you to answer one question for me,” kazuha said softly. “do you trust me?”

by the way he eagerly interlocked his fingers with yours, his intentions were obvious. if you were to answer this question, it would mean throwing away everything you’ve known thus far: your family, your possessions, your wealth, your inheritance, your responsibilities. everything. but with the way kazuha was silently pleading you with his eyes… how could say no?

you let out a shaky breath. “i do.”

kazuha merely smiled in return, his eyes softening as if to tell you that everything was going to be alright. that he understood your choices, and that all you need to do was take this final leap of faith.

“hurry up kazuha!” beidou’s voice interrupted. a few meters away, the crux was anchored to the docks, the crew eagerly waiting to set sail. “the guards might come and take ya anytime soon!”

kazuha held your hand tightly and began running towards the docks, the two of you giggling as he helped you up on the ship. the nobleman, priest, and the crowd all watched in disbelief as you hopped onto the crux, sailing away with the samurai.

the crew cheered as you and kazuha shared a kiss of reunion, the anchor lifting from the seafloor and the two of you sailing away into the golden sun, just like you were meant to be.

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albedo

“i…see.” albedo’s eyes wander off to nowhere in particular after hearing your explanation. he blinks a few times as if to confirm that he wasn’t dreaming.

“it’s not your fault, albedo, and neither is it mine,” you added. “i hope you understand.”

for the first time since albedo was created, he feels numb. his fingertips lose grip as it all finally settles in. you’re leaving him for another man.

of course, he knows that’s not really the case. albedo understands your circumstance as well as the political powers at play, but at the end of the day, that’s what’s happening, right? you’re being wedded off to another man, which of course means you’ll have to leave him.

and when he sees you take off your ring- the ring he gave you- and put it on his desk, his heart shatters. you silently take your leave, disappearing into the dragonspine snow. albedo’s gaze is immediately pulled to the golden band on his desk, which seemed so much duller now that it wasn’t on your finger.

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projects seem more pointless than ever before, and piles of crumpled up drafts fill albedo’s trash bin. he’s taken down all the portraits of you in his home because it was too painful to bear, yet he can’t deny that he was still hopelessly in love with you. the thought of you standing at the altar with another man made albedo positively sick. and there was nothing he could do about it.

he even decided to abandon his projects to visit the city in hopes that he could catch a glimpse of you, but you never seemed to be there. he’d wander for what seemed like hours, only for it to be in vain. ‘of course,’ he tells himself, ‘they’d be busy preparing for the wedding.’

the ring in his pocket weighs heavier than before. he takes it out and twirls it in his hand, the afternoon sun reflecting off of it almost blindingly. the church bells ring in the distance, as well as the melody from the church organ.

wait… the organ is playing.

albedo clasps his hand around the ring tightly before frantically running up the stairs towards the cathedral. the scent of flowers fills his nostrils as he makes his way past the statue of barbatos and climbs the final flight of stairs until he’s met with the wooden doors of the cathedral.

he won’t lose you. he can’t lose you.

albedo’s hands feel heavy as his palm rests flat against the door. once the organs stop playing, the faint voice of a priest could be heard from outside. he can hear the nobleman say his vows, then you. his flat palm turns into a fist as he contemplates what to do next. he’s never liked crowds, nor has he ever liked being the center of attention. this could certainly ruin his reputation, and hell, the clan you’re getting married to might even get him fired but-

the thought of you being by his side again gives albedo more than enough courage to push against the doors.

“does anyone object to this wedding?”

with one strong push, the doors swing open. sunlight spills into the cathedral and forms a path of light leading to you. and dear lord barbatos, you look breathtaking.

albedo watches as you turn around in confusion. the ring you were holding in one hand clatters to the floor, echoing down the hall.

though albedo had planned on walking towards you, he couldn’t help but start running down the aisle. panting, he turns to the priest. “i object this wedding. i am their rightful lover, am i not?”

you step down from the altar, your hands reaching to caress his face and gently wipe the sweat from his forehead. “even after everything i told you… you still came. i tried so hard to hurt your feelings, so why are you here?”

despite the tears pooling in your eyes, you’re smiling. and that’s all albedo needed to see. “i must be going insane, y/n. i’m not one to act like this.”

he kneels down right then and there, holding up the ring with two of his fingers. “will you marry me?”

you take a moment to look down at albedo, who’s kneeling before you in a silent plead. the faint bags under his eyes are proof enough that he’s missed you. your family would hate you for this. doing this would mean to be shunned and disowned from your clan. the support you once had would dissipate in an instant. albedo might be put in danger as well. but you’d rather have nothing and albedo rather than everything but albedo.

“yes,” you said before sliding the ring on your ring finger, right where it belonged. you grab albedo’s arm and run out the cathedral, much to the protest of your family sitting at the pews.

you skip down the steps in a hurry before turning your head to see albedo smiling softly. you’re dolled up, and the afternoon glow of the sun hits your face just perfectly. and with his ring resting on your finger, albedo can’t help but simply adore you.

‘you are killing me softly,’ he thinks, ‘yet you seem to be the only thing keeping me alive.’

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