#writiing

Summary: Chihiro is fighting against the trauma sorcerer and when you are struck - he comforts you. Fem reader x Chihiro

At first glance, even without knowing him at first - everyone knew Chihiro Rokuhira is as stoic and calm as a rock. Basing is work and identity solely upon vengeance also doesn’t convince many that he seemed very friendly. Though, it was different for you. You had the premium access to his personality.

Sauntering cautiously down the street with Char's little hand in yours - you were tasked with protecting her and letting her get some air after a strenuous food run. Even Char, the naïve and cheery young girl was on guard, tailing behind you - as her hand felt a little more clammy than usual.

The tall buildings encase the two of you in, as figures jumped from the tops of them ready to pounce.

A gasp ripped out of Char's throat as you followed suit. Noticing the malice intentions of the people up above. They were about to take Char. Having no time to dodge, you maneuvered your way through the cramped alley with Char barely managing to hold onto your hand. The figures kept coming, as you felt two legs kick back into your lower spine - dismantling your ability to walk or fight back. One foot stomping onto the hand that put all your strength into holding Char close - involuntarily let go with a sting of pain your tried to fight off.

Desperate shrieks came from Char as she tried to squirm out of their harsh grip; despite failing.

Bleary, cloudy drops took over your eyesight as they dropped down onto the pavement in front of you as you felt the next harsh blow of pain come from the men that detained Char.

The reality that is served right in front of you felt too real - until it swirled and distorted into another scene completely. Char's screams melted into ones that sounded too different and too… personalised. This now reality felt to similar and familiar for it to be real. Your heartrate had bursted into smithereens as for some reason an incident you had sworn to erase from your memory had come rummaging back to you. A single tap from one of the men that had harmed you, put you into this bleary state.

The same pure, melting emotion came pelting back at you once more - in the form of raw unfiltered hurt. You couldn’t control it, or stop it; and you most certainly couldn’t control Char getting kidnapped. Your lungs were about to burst, until a warm touch on your shoulder had subsided a little bit of the hurt. The pain and images that were shown inside of your mind felt too real, until they became blurry and less believable. Sadly, your trauma wasn’t as empowering or motivating as it could have been.

"Hey." A husky voice came from above you, one that had been an octave softer than the voices of yelling men. Chihiro.

His warm palm melted into your shoulder and absorbed your conscience back into reality again. As your eyes were desperate to catch up to the scene in front of you, his palm stayed stagnant where it was.

You were met with a face touched with a white marred scar that was unique to Chihiro. A rare, soft smile peeking out from his lips as he realised you were okay.

The air that escaped from your lungs had been sucked back in again, as you scrambled to form words.

"Th-they caught Char! And I couldn't do anything…" You breathed out as you took his hand to stand up again.

Chihiro didn’t seem upset, nor resentful. Only calm patience graced his beautiful features as your heart braced for the comfort that he would soon bring.

"It wasn't your fault, you were outnumbered and didn’t have your sword." he calmly stated - he didn’t think this was plain comfort, rather a statement of facts to calm you down. He doesn’t realise how kind he is considering he thinks he is the kind of guy who wakes up with a fresh brew of hatred every day.

With your legs shaking, obviously telling you to rest - your body slumped against his in an emotion of defeat and love. Your Chihiro.

Even though this dilemma isnt solved yet, you at least had him - and that was all that really registered to you in this current moment.

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Pale light, candle wax on linen, sun beams caught in eyelashes, strawberries bruising in her palm, ankle-deep stream water, candlelight flickering in a dusty attic, vanilla ice cream melting over freckles, his voice like butter in heat.

On the edge of a fading summer, y/n finds herself visiting a countryside inn known for its strawberry milk and ghost stories. The guests are peculiar, the clocks all run slow, time slips in dreamy spirals, and when Harry arrives... sweet, sun-drenched, and soft-eyed... nothing feels real. But the strawberries are sweeter than ever.

Status: ongoing. Story moodboards here.

Part I: The First Spoonful

Part II: The Orchard Sleeps (coming soon)

My desk today

* * * *

“Grammar is a piano I play by ear, since I seem to have been out of school the year the rules were mentioned. All I know about grammar is its infinite power. To shift the structure of a sentence alters the meaning of that sentence, as definitely and inflexibly as the position of a camera alters the meaning of the object photographed. Many people know about camera angles now, but not so many know about sentences. The arrangement of the words matters, and the arrangement you want can be found in the picture in your mind. The picture dictates the arrangement. The picture dictates whether this will be a sentence with or without clauses, a sentence that ends hard or a dying-fall sentence, long or short, active or passive. The picture tells you how to arrange the words and the arrangement of the words tells you, or tells me, what’s going on in the picture. Nota bene.

Upon the banks of river Strang I circle back to origin, alike the hesitant sun Rise after you waved goodbye, stratocumuli; Fingers in the sky, and all my porcelain Dreams, reduced to susurrus, then silenced Until I turned a stranger to myself; foreign in The Xanadu of my most infantile convictions Where Rodin's eternity would taste of cherry Chap stick, and your waltzing Bougival smile Is painted as perfect as all those starry nights We spent, expecting to fly.

Not a fan of the Hanahaki stories but I was wondering if somebody can get the disease if their loved ones only love an alter ego of themselves which they made up.

Prompt Idea

A setting where character A despises character B (uncertain reasoning) and wants them to suffer. Because of that, they create a fake persona of themself in order to attract B so they would fall in love with them, which would result in B getting the hanahaki disease.

However, as A gets to learn about B personally, they gradually start to like them because they realize that B is generally a good person, leading them to slowly fall in love with them.

Also depending on A's hatred towards B (ex: murder of a loved one caused by B) they could figure out that there was a misunderstanding adding to the reason why they end up being able to have affection towards B while also having a dilemma over it

Because of this A ends up getting the hanahaki disease instead of B due to them only loving A's fake persona they present themself as.

Eventually, B learns that A have gotten the disease which leads to A explaining to B their original plan, telling the bitterly the truth. Still, B doesn't really care (maybe there is something wrong with them mentally or too smitten with A to really care, lol) because they will love A no matter what, so the weed or whatever in A's lungs will gradually start to loosen.

Maybe A will leave B and try to get the surgery but B finds them and have the confrontation the day before or something if it doesnt get resolved at the moment

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