#mao.

Falls in New York City are lovely, they make me feel really good in the chilly days or miserable on the hot days. It’s a mixed bag thanks to global warming but that’s honestly fine with me—not the global warming part.

Nature is so much better than the dry lands of California. You have no idea how younger me was absolutely devastated when she found out California doesn’t get snow. California is so bad, it’s glorified too much…

Back to winter, I can’t wait for spooky Halloween to come along and then the chilly holidays of Christmas! I love the cold (famous last words) so I can’t wait to snuggle up under my warm blankets and drink some tea or hot cocoa while jazz rolls off my phone.

Lastly, please spend this winter and the holidays with a community. It’s worth it. I was really lonely last year but was on a video call with my best-friend-now-adopted-sister which made it one of the best Christmases ever! It’s also cozy and comforting. Better than getting into a situationship in my opinion…

hello miss mao !! within demon slayer, both you and rin are demon slayers - you being trained under shinobu with insect breathing (you had a hand in making the poison that she used against douma and in the medicine used to make nezuko human) you are her successor. the last insect breath user left in the world.

rin follows after his brother in joining the demon slayer corp, developing his own breath style, as sae did called blizzard breathing - an offset of water breathing. they have a relationship like sanemi and genya. they do not have a chance to reconcile as sae is cut down by their ancestor michikatsu, now known as upper moon one kokushibou.

finally, after months of waffling about and not drawing anything good, i have completed a drawing of my Frogsona. his name is GUN WIZARD FROG: RELOADED: WITH A VENGEANCE: DIRECTOR’S CUT: PLATINUM EDITION RERELEASE, but most people just call him GUN WIZARD FROG, or GWIZFROG for short.

@thelxinoem is amazing btw idk if you knew but if you didn’t now you do

     It’s almost magnetic. Like a beacon he easily attracts her gaze, catching her eye where she wouldn’t have paid attention before. She wonders if it’s the motions of selective attention playing tricks on her, if having him on her mind has left her with an illusion of frequency – seeing him everywhere like a newly discovered pattern weaving itself into the tapestry of her world. 

     Either way, she has noticed him now, and her feet have come to an unsuspected halt in the midst of a slowly filling cafeteria. Beneath her mask, the inside of her lower lip suffers through the familiar abuse of nervous teeth, and her gloved grasp around the generic plastic tray tightens. She could leave, just head to the roof like she usually would, pretend she didn’t see him sat there alone at one of the large tables. She could. 

     Except that she can’t. 

     Ignoring the painful, frantic throbbing of her heart in her throat, Mao focuses on breathing steadily as she approaches him. Her feet, her legs, her everything feels wobbly, and she can only hope it doesn’t show as she sets her tray down on the table and slides into the seat across from him.

     Their eyes meet for just a moment – barely long enough for her to utter a quiet ‘hey’ – before she turns her attention downward and reaches for her set of chopsticks. 

     They haven’t talked about when to practice next. She’s not sure where they stand at this point, nor how willing he is to spend time after classes dedicated to their shared training. It’s something they ought to talk about, but she’d be lying if she claimed any finesse in the field of talking with people. Traitorous as they are, none of the words that leave her lips ever seem to come out right. 

     Suppressing a sigh, Mao hooks a finger into the space between her cheek and the fabric of her mask and tugs the cloth down, letting it fall loosely around her neck. She has put herself into quite an awkward position, sitting with him unprompted and without a single substantial thing to say – but if this is what she has to put herself through to build some semblance of a connection with him, so be it. 

soft angst starters. || accepting!!

     His words are like knives to the heart. Far closer to home than she is willing to admit, their impact makes her chest burn with an unnamed ache; shakily, gloved arms tighten their desperate hold around her legs. His back is warm against hers where they’re connected – he’s a steady presence, familiar and reliable, inspiring an amount of trust within her that she’s utterly terrified to give.

     Kirishima has allowed her into his mind far more than just once, but there are still moments when he surprises her with the depth of his insight into hers. He’s so good to her that it makes her heart swell and her eyes burn unbearably.

     It’s hard to swallow around the lump in her throat. Breathing raggedly through constricted lungs, Mao finds her parched lips to be woefully incapable of shaping the words that would do her emotions justice. Whether or not those words exist is a question she has no answer to. 

     Lost in the intensity of her feelings, she tries to let gestures speak instead, even if it all feels impossibly lacking. She leans back against him almost too carefully, too conscious of her every movement, and tries to make her body relax into the contact. 

     None of it is enough. Not nearly, not when her vision is swimming before her eyes, blurred by the burn of welled-up tears; not when her body quakes beneath the strain of holding in her sobs. Her mind is racing, grasping at straws, things to say that won’t come out, and it takes a long while until she’s calm enough to speak without choking on the heavy knot of emotions in her chest. 

     “I know you won’t,” she whispers, heart stubbornly rattling the walls of her ribcage. It’s a scary thing to admit to – that he’s earned himself a trust that deep, that she’s willing to lay bare her heart and believe that he won’t trample on it, that he will keep it safe for her. “… and I know that means others out there might be the same.” 

     But her trust is a funny thing, by far not as steady and straightforward as it could be – so swayed by emotion that the gates leading through her ramparts may be wide open for him one day and entirely gone the next. She’s made too many bad experiences to trust fully at all times, seen too many backs turn on her in their fear of being seen. To be close to her, you have to trust her fully with all that you are, but to trust a stranger to such an extent is a leap not many are willing to take. Mao herself is not one of them either, so blaming anything but her own unfortunate fate for this predicament would be blatant hypocrisy. If Kirishima hadn’t been so immensely patient and persistent with her, she never would have let him this far in – but she has never been more grateful that he made her want to try. 

     Still, the prospect of someone violating that fragile trust, of bad experiences repeating themselves once more, is terrifying enough that it keeps her on edge. She’s left feeling small and vulnerable, breathing out shakily into the silence between them. “… I just … can’t risk it so easily, you know? There’s no way to … to know beforehand if someone’s going to be like you, and I …” There’s a long pause, heavy with trepidation. When she breaks it, it’s with words so small that they are barely audible. “… I don’t think I could take another rejection.”