#( the thinly veiled animosity even more so )

[erabundus]

i've  mentioned  it  before  on  discord,  but  scara  would  intentionally  start  so  much  shit  at  the  harbinger  banquets  —  but  he  would  always  be  very  SNEAKY  about  it.  he  (  usually  )  wouldn't  pick  any  fights  DIRECTLY,  he  would  simply  drop  a  little  breadcrumb  trail  to  carefully guide  the  discussion  in  a  direction  that  inevitably  led  to  an  argument.  (  like  asking  your  estranged uncle  about  his  terrible  hot  takes  at  christmas  dinner.  )  he  loved  the  drama,  he  wasn't  afraid  to  get  involved  in  it  —  but  it's  always  more  fun  to  sit  back  and  watch  the  FIREWORKS happen.

[herlondonboy]

pretty when you cry, clarisse la rue

summary: based on this post by @kitten-reader

warnings: aphrodite’s kids are pricks lol, erm it’s really bad…

wc: 2.8k

your hair was something that you prided yourself on.

it was no doubt that you were beautiful beyond comparison to your fellow demigods, what with being the daughter of aphrodite. people couldn’t even compare you to your godly siblings.

you believed that your hair was the reason that your beauty was so great, so you natural worked hard on it.

in the world of olympians, you found solace and pride in the strands of hair that cascaded down your shoulders like a cascade of silk. your hair, a manifestation of your divine heritage, was more than just a physical attribute— it was a symbol of your identity and a testament to the grace and allure that came with being the offspring of the goddess of love.

from the moment you discovered your parentage, you embraced the inherent charm that ran through your veins, and it manifested prominently in your hair. unlike the messy, unpredictable tresses of some demigods, yours seemed to have a life of its own, obeying your whims and desires with a luxurious sheen that captivated those around you.

the secret, as you often shared with your fellow campers at camp half-blood, lay in the meticulous care you bestowed upon your locks. your morning routine became a sacred ritual— a blend of enchanted hair care products and divine techniques passed down through generations of aphrodite's children. a symphony of sweet-scented potions and ethereal brushes transformed the routine into a dance of beauty, each stroke accentuating the natural glamour that radiated from your hair.

you revelled in the attention your hair garnered, the way it shimmered under the sunlight as if kissed by the gods themselves. it became a beacon of confidence, a tangible manifestation of your divine heritage that set you apart from the sea of demigods at the camp. the other campers often marvelled at your ability to maintain such perfection, unaware of the divine secrets woven into every strand.

however, your relationship with your hair wasn't purely superficial. it served as a connection to your mother, a link to the goddess whose legacy you carried. the act of caring for it became a ritual that grounded you, a reminder of the divine blood that coursed through your veins and the responsibilities that came with it.

not unbeknownst to you, the envy and resentment simmered beneath the surface of the camp. the adoration and attention that accompanied your divine beauty fuelled the flames of jealousy among your fellow aphrodite siblings. little did you realise, being the favourite child of the goddess of love came at a cost, and that cost was the disdain of your own kin.

as you moved through the camp with the grace of a deity, your radiant hair attracting attention like a beacon, you, though aware of the hostile whispers that followed in your wake, chose to ignore. the other children of aphrodite, who were accustomed to being the centre of attention, couldn't fathom the idea of sharing the spotlight with someone they perceived as the golden child.

the jealousy manifested in subtle acts of exclusion and passive-aggressive remarks. your attempts to connect with your half-siblings often met with cold shoulders and thinly veiled animosity. the communal vanity table, where aphrodite's children traditionally gathered, became a battlefield of unspoken rivalry as they vied for the elusive title of the most captivating demigod.

yet, you, in your innocence, continued to extend kindness and friendship to those around you, oblivious to the resentment building in the hearts of your fellow campers. the intricate braids and enchanting hairstyles you generously offered to create for others only fuelled their frustration, as they struggled to reconcile the warmth of your gestures with the envy burning within them.

within the intricate dynamics of camp half-blood, one particular relationship defied expectations and unfolded with a complexity that left others bewildered. clarisse la rue, known for her brusque demeanour and a reputation that preceded her, stood as an unexpected confidante in your life. despite her gruff exterior and the scathing remarks she directed towards most campers, clarisse treated you with an unusual gentleness, and a unique bond formed between you two.

it all began during a chance encounter near the armoury, where clarisse, with her characteristic scowl, found herself inexplicably drawn to you. to the surprise of everyone witnessing the scene, her rough hands delicately traced the contours of your locks, as if handling a precious artefact. the camp's collective gasp echoed through the air, and it was then that an unspoken connection began to weave itself between you and the formidable daughter of ares.

clarisse, who seldom allowed others into her personal space, not only tolerated but seemed to relish the moments spent running her fingers through your hair. your shared interactions defied the logic of the camp's social hierarchy, leaving fellow demigods perplexed and intrigued by the peculiar alliance that had blossomed between you two.

as your friendship with clarisse deepened, it became apparent that her seemingly abrasive exterior masked a vulnerability that few had the privilege to witness. she confided in you about the weight of expectations placed upon her shoulders as the daughter of ares, the god of war. your hair, with its calming allure, became an unexpected refuge for her, a sanctuary where she could momentarily escape the demands of her tumultuous life.

in the quiet moments shared between you and clarisse, amidst the backdrop of a camp constantly on guard against mythical threats, an unexpected emotion began to stir— love. the kind of love that transcended the lines drawn by parentage and reputations. it was a love born out of understanding, acceptance, and the shared vulnerability that only the tumultuous world of demigods could evoke.

the camp, initially taken aback by the unlikely friendship, eventually came to accept the profound connection that had blossomed between you and clarisse. the daughter of ares, who once stood as an enigma wrapped in hostility, softened in the presence of your divine beauty and the solace found within the cascade of your hair.

as your feelings for each other deepened, the two of you navigated the complexities of love in a world fraught with danger. clarisse's protective instincts, honed on the battlefield, as well as in camp. together, you became an unlikely force, a symbol of love's ability to bridge even the most unexpected divides.

there was a time when a group of your own siblings, fuelled by jealousy and resentment, conspired to disrupt the tranquil rhythm of your bonds with your mother and girlfriend. one day, your prized possession, a hairbrush gifted by your mother, disappeared from its usual place. panic set in as you scoured the cabin, realising that this wasn't just a casual prank— someone had deliberately taken something sacred to you.

as whispers of the stolen hairbrush circulated through the cabin, the undercurrents of jealousy among your siblings bubbled to the surface. the mischievous culprits revelled in their act of sabotage, convinced that stripping you of this cherished item would somehow diminish the radiance that surrounded you.

it didn't take long for clarisse to sense your distress. the unspoken bond between you two had woven itself into a tapestry of mutual understanding, and she recognised the significance of the pilfered hairbrush. determined to right the wrong, clarisse took it upon herself to investigate the matter.

she confronted your siblings with an intensity that left them quaking in their sandals. her stern gaze bore into their guilt-ridden souls, extracting the truth like a seasoned interrogator. clarisse's usually thunderous voice carried a solemn edge as she demanded the return of the stolen hairbrush and an apology befitting the gravity of their actions.

unbeknownst to the misguided thieves, clarisse's reputation for ferocity on the battlefield extended to her protective instincts off it. the very fear she instilled in her enemies on the front lines was now directed at those who dared to threaten the tranquility of your connection.

under the weight of clarisse's unwavering determination, the guilty siblings caved. they returned the stolen hairbrush with bowed heads, offering apologies that bordered on genuine remorse. clarisse, satisfied with the swift resolution, ensured that justice prevailed, safeguarding the sanctity of the connection between you and the divine gift bestowed upon you by aphrodite.

as the stolen hairbrush was returned to its rightful place, the bond between you and clarisse strengthened. the trials you faced together only deepened the roots of your connection, intertwining your destinies in a tale of love, loyalty, and the unyielding power of shared vulnerability. in the heart of camp half-blood, where demigods navigated the tumultuous waters of existence, your story became a testament to the resilience of love against the currents of jealousy and deceit.

-

the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a fiery glow over camp half-blood, as clarisse la rue realised she hadn't seen you all day. a sense of unease settled in her chest, an unfamiliar concern that compelled her to seek you out. with each passing moment, her worry deepened, driven by a gut feeling that something was amiss.

clarisse traversed the familiar paths of the camp, her eyes scanning the bustling activity for a glimpse of your familiar figure. the ares cabin loomed in the distance, and a knot tightened in her stomach as she approached, not spotting you among the demigods sparring and training.

finally reaching the ares cabin, clarisse's unease morphed into genuine concern. where were you? why hadn't she seen you all day? the questions echoed in her mind, and she briskly entered the cabin, determined to uncover the mystery behind your absence.

there, in the dimly lit interior, she found you sitting on the edge of her bunk, your figure shrouded by a hood and a hat pulled low over your tearful eyes. the sight sent a ripple of worry through clarisse, and she rushed to your side, her gruff demeanour momentarily replaced by a genuine sense of care.

"hey, what happened?" clarisse asked, her voice softer than usual as she placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. your tear-streaked face turned towards her, and the anguish in your eyes tugged at her heart.

"they took it away," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. you repeated the words, a mantra of despair, and clarisse struggled to comprehend the source of your pain. "they took it away."

clarisse's brow furrowed, her eyes searching yours for an explanation. "took what away? what happened?"

with trembling hands, you reached up and pulled off the hood, revealing a mess of uneven strands that once cascaded in silky splendour. clarisse's eyes widened in realisation, her hand instinctively reaching to touch the shortened locks. the betrayal etched on your face told the story before you uttered a single word.

"they cut it," you sobbed, burying your face in clarisse's shoulder. "they cut it, clarisse. look at it, it's gone. all gone."

comprehension dawned on clarisse as she gently ran her fingers through the uneven strands. anger surged within her, a protective instinct for the one she cared about more than she ever thought possible. "who did this?" she growled, her gaze ablaze with fury.

you shook your head, unable to articulate the betrayal and cruelty that led to this moment. clarisse, however, needed no words. she wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace as she vowed to make those responsible pay for the pain they inflicted.

in the sanctuary of the ares cabin, amid the echoes of your tearful revelation, clarisse became a pillar of strength, ready to stand by your side and face whatever challenges lay ahead. love, in its purest and most protective form, ignited within her, as the daughter of ares transformed into a fierce guardian of the broken and betrayed.

the night hung heavy with an air of tension as you cried yourself to sleep in clarisse's bed, the echoes of betrayal haunting your dreams. clarisse, ever the guardian, sat silently beside you, watching over your restless slumber. the flickering candlelight cast shadows on the determination etched into her face, fuelled by a fierce protectiveness that refused to be extinguished.

as your sobs eventually subsided into the quiet rhythm of sleep, clarisse rose from the bedside with a silent determination. in the dim light of the cabin, she retrieved her spear, its blade glinting with a subtle menace. the daughter of ares, had one mission— avenge you.

the night enveloped camp half-blood in a cloak of darkness as clarisse stealthily made her way towards the aphrodite cabin. the aura of the daughter of ares carried an intensity that reverberated through the quiet paths, heralding a confrontation fuelled by the depth of her feelings for you.

standing outside the cabin, clarisse's eyes narrowed with determination as she observed the shadows within. the miscreants who had dared to harm you needed to be taught a lesson—one they would not soon forget. gripping her spear tightly, clarisse pushed open the door, her gaze unwavering as she confronted your godly siblings.

the scene within was one of startled surprise as clarisse stormed into the cabin. her voice, usually thunderous on the battlefield, now carried a chilling calmness. "you touch her again, and i promise you, the consequences will be far worse than you can imagine."

the air in the cabin grew heavy with tension as the children of aphrodite, once filled with false bravado, now faced the unyielding force of clarisse's wrath. she recounted the pain you had endured, the tears that stained your face, and the betrayal that cut deeper than any blade.

in her hand, the spear gleamed ominously, a silent warning that spoke volumes. the children of aphrodite, their faces pale with fear, found themselves cornered by the very embodiment of wrath standing before them. clarisse's words echoed in the cavernous space, leaving an indelible mark on their consciousness.

with a final warning that carried the weight of a promise, clarisse turned on her heel, leaving the aphrodite cabin in her wake. the night embraced her as she returned to the ares cabin, a sense of satisfaction lingering in the air. the protective fire that burned within her had been unleashed, a fierce determination to shield you from further harm.

the following day, the morning light filtered through the windows of the ares cabin, casting a gentle glow over the space. you awoke with a heaviness in your heart, the memory of the previous day's betrayal lingering like a shadow. as you sat up in bed, clarisse entered the cabin, her eyes immediately locking onto yours. the weight of the night's events still etched on her features, but a newfound determination shone in her gaze.

"hey," clarisse greeted you, her voice softer than usual. she took a seat beside you, her hand gently resting on your shoulder. "we need to talk."

the air felt charged with a mix of vulnerability and strength as clarisse began to speak. "i know yesterday was rough, and i can't change what happened, but i need you to understand something." she took a deep breath, her eyes searching yours. "your beauty isn't defined by your hair. it's not just one thing that makes you pretty. it's everything."

clarisse began listing every part of you, her voice deliberate and unwavering. "your eyes– they hold a strength and depth that's beyond compare. your lips– they carry a warmth that can brighten the darkest days. your ears– they've heard laughter, pain, and everything in between. every part of you contributes to the unique beauty that is you."

you listened, the weight of her words sinking in, but doubt still lingered in your eyes. clarisse, undeterred, continued, "and, above all, it's your personality. your kindness, your strength, your resilience – that's what makes you truly beautiful."

a flicker of disbelief danced across your face, and clarisse recognised the challenge ahead. she persisted, her gaze unwavering. "say it. say you're beautiful because of your eyes, lips, ears, and every part of you."

you hesitated, the echoes of the previous day's betrayal still reverberating in your mind. "i can't- i can’t say that. not after what they did to me."

clarisse tightened her grip on your shoulder, her voice taking on a gentle insistence. "you need to believe it. it's not about them; it's about you. say it with me. you're beautiful because of your eyes, lips, ears, and every part of you."

it felt like a mantra, a repetition that tested the resilience of self-perception. clarisse didn't back down, patiently guiding you through each affirmation until the words became a declaration echoing within the walls of the ares cabin. "i'm beautiful because of my eyes, lips, ears, and every part of me."

as you repeated the words, something shifted within you. the doubt began to yield to the truth that clarisse so fervently believed. her unwavering support became a lifeline, anchoring you to a newfound understanding of your own beauty.

in that shared moment, surrounded by the strength of ares' cabin, you started to embrace the truth that beauty wasn't confined to a single aspect. it was a mosaic, a tapestry woven from the threads of every part that made you uniquely, undeniably yourself. clarisse, with her fierce love and unyielding determination, had become the mirror reflecting the truth you needed to see.

[blood-starved-beast]

NEMESIS!!!!!

Jokes aside people focus a lot on how mean Nem is and yeah!! She's mean and clearly covets Mel's job but also if you look at her life philosophy it all makes sense.

Cause as Retribution Incarnate, Nemesis's whole deal is that you reap what you sow. If you experienced consequences, you did something to invoke them. Hence why she argues with Moros over the Fates and their influence vs. one's autonomy in that one conversation. It's also why she resents Mel having the job to save the House of Hades so much.

Mel never did anything to deserve this job. She's going out there, with the weight of everyone's expectations, worked up af, dying a billion times cause she was told she ought to. She didn't fail like Hecate did, it's not her official reason to exist like Nemesis herself. The only "crime" Mel did to deserve such a "fate" was being born to Persephone and Hades. Which is why Nem says the job isn't "personal" for Mel - Mel has done nothing (for good or bad) that warrants such a punishment - the scrutiny, the bloodshed, the agony etc.

It contextualizes the animosity between her and Hecate so much. We know Hecate failed as handmaiden to warn Nyx (or so Nemesis accuses her of) and we know Hecate couldn't save the House other than take Mel, Hypnos, and the unfinished family portrait (her own admission). From Nem's perspective, Hecate's the one who deserves punishment more, yet she's fostering the responsibility onto Mel.

It also contextualizes why Nem is so self-loathing about the whole arrangement too. If by her admission, one reaps what they sought re: consequences, what does it mean then, that she herself is stuck in the Crossroads on guard duty? What has she done to reap this? It's probably why she accepts the job even though she hates it. Sidenote: after the Nem + Hecate fight, Mel would have a conversation with Nemesis about it. She asks what did she get for her "insubordination" and Nem's like "heh. more guard duty." but not particularly mad about it. She knew what she did, what the consequences would be. Cause of course she knows.

Anyways, this whole thing is a long ramble to say - Nemesis has a lot of hidden depths besides her asshole-ishness. I do think all her insults and jabs at Mel are thinly veiled concern for her situation (I mean, she's constantly pointing out where Mel is lacking - scrawny, not personal, not deserving of it, etc. and being like "does anyone else think this is fucked up??") while also thinking it should be her responsibility instead. I mean, does Nemesis carry guilt about not being there to stop Chronos I wonder?

[yerrmar]

❧ SLIM PICKINGS

the first day of senior year includes prepping for exams, oh! and a “friendly” game of Blooket.

content: she/her pronouns for reader, swearing, blooket wars, cringe humour.

masterlist

ON THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL, Blooket was your cherished ritual, a gleaming gem in the often monotonous sea of syllabus reviews and administrative paperwork. This digital game, with its vibrant, cartoonish avatars and fast-paced trivia, was like a slice of cake before the main course of academic rigour. It was your way of easing into the year, a playful oasis before you braced yourself for the storm of lectures, assignments, and senior-year stress.

The classroom transformed into a lively battlefield as you all logged into Blooket. Desks shifted from their usual static arrangement into makeshift command centres. Laughter and friendly banter filled the air, punctuated by the occasional victorious cheer or groan of frustration. The competitive spirit was palpable; it was as though each of you was channelling your inner trivia champion, determined to outsmart your peers and claim the coveted top spot on the leaderboard. Or there were the others who stole others' gold causing heated arguments and breaking up friendships.

You were fiercely engaged, eyes glued to the screen, fingers poised over devices. Each correct answer felt like a small victory against the looming pressures of the school year. The stakes felt oddly high for such a seemingly trivial game—there was something almost ceremonious about your Blooket face-off. The competition was intense but lighthearted, a perfect reflection of your collective desire to keep the mood buoyant as you prepared to face the more serious challenges ahead.

It was supposed to be a family-friendly game that created some banter and temporary rivalry, but two specific people liked to take it to the extreme. You and Luke acted like it was life or death to beat each other, you could feel the anger growing in you every time you saw that he either stole gold or swapped with you when you were winning.

But he hadn’t done it in a while, and you were gaining hope that you were going to win. There were 5 seconds left and confidence was just radiating off of you, Clarisse rolled her eyes as you cockily pointed at the screen seeing your stupid blooket name at the top.

Then your heart sunk, that ass waited till the last minute to swap gold with you, and his name was under number one. You could feel your anger and frustration rise, so you glared at the back of his head hoping that it would explode from your deathly glare. But, sadly, it didn’t work and instead Luke arrogantly turned his head grinning ear to ear.

“Dick.” You hissed at him, Luke scoffed and shrugged his shoulders acting like he had no clue what you were mad about and turned back around. What an arrogant fuck.

From the very first day of kindergarten, your animosity was palpable, like a pair of magnets repelling each other with unspoken intensity. You two loathed the sight of each other, each meticulously critiquing the other's spelling mistakes or math errors with a scowl. Your rivalry was marked by a series of petty one-upmanship that escalated with every grade. In spelling bees, each misspelt word from the other was a small victory, savoured with barely concealed glee. Science fairs became battlegrounds where one would subtly undermine the other's projects—like the time one’s “volcano” erupted so spectacularly it was deemed “dangerous,” while the other’s project was unceremoniously dismissed as “overly simplistic.”

Every academic achievement by the other was met with an exaggerated eye roll and a comment dripping with sarcasm. Your debates in class were less about the topic at hand and more about finding new ways to one-up and embarrass each other. If one earned a perfect score on a test, the other would claim the grading was lenient, a thinly veiled accusation of favouritism. Even social interactions were tinged with hostility, with every shared group project fraught with passive-aggressive comments and attempts to outshine the other in subtle ways. Your competitive spirit, which might have been charming in a different context, had become a toxic cycle of resentment and spite.

The tension between you was as constant as it was fiery, fueling a rivalry that seemed to exist solely to make each other's lives a living hell, all while secretly ensuring that neither could ever truly escape the shadow of the other.

You weren’t obsessed with Luke, you were obsessed with being better than him, because you are you just want him to realise that too.

But you obviously can’t make him open his eyes to who truly is better and smarter when he steals your wins and makes them his own. You weren’t going to let that happen this year, Senior year was the last year you could prove that after everything you were on top and that your name belonged next to number 1.

And how are you going to do that? By becoming valedictorian.

The race for valedictorian had escalated into an all-out contest of sheer willpower and cunning. Both of you were prepared to go to any lengths to seize the coveted title, your ambition transforming every interaction into a strategic manoeuvre. You both scoured for every advantage, from joining every possible extracurricular activity to claiming every available leadership position, each vying to outdo the other with relentless precision.

Your preparation knew no bounds; each crafted elaborate plans to outshine the other in every conceivable way. One had started a petition to revive a school tradition, subtly ensuring it would be featured in the next board meeting, while the other meticulously orchestrated a community service project that would draw extensive media coverage. You both engaged in a strategic game of alliances, wooing teachers with late-night study sessions and seeking endorsements from influential figures, all while keeping a wary eye on your rival’s every move.

You both were masters of subtle sabotage as well—carefully placed tips to peers about the latest opportunities, an innocuous but perfectly timed comment about an upcoming presentation, or a seemingly helpful suggestion that turned out to be a calculated move to put the other at a disadvantage. Your tactics extended beyond the classroom, with each attempting to outperform the other in every public forum, from debating clubs to charity events, ensuring your names were synonymous with excellence and commitment.

Social gatherings became your arenas of influence, where every conversation was a calculated opportunity to showcase your accomplishments and steer the spotlight away from your rival. You both were relentless, driven by a single-minded obsession to secure the title of valedictorian, each ready to outshine, outmanoeuvre, and outlast the other in their unyielding quest for number one.

Then the teachers decide it would be a good idea for the students to pick between you both which was completely unfair in your eyes, you were an everyday stereotypical nerdy girl who kept to herself and her friends, meanwhile Luke was the captain of the football team, aka popular as hell. Yet the teachers thought it was fair for the students to decide.

But you weren’t going to let that happen, you were going to find a way to become people’s favourite, you just didn’t know how to yet.

It was getting to the last minute of the second round of blooket and you were currently in the lead again, and you were ready to blow up if Luke stole your win again. You had answered every question right and were seconds away from winning when all of a sudden your name moved from number one down to number two and the game ended.

You were already getting ready to wrap your hands around Luke’s throat and choke him to death, but what made it 10x worse was when he laughed at turned to you, his eyes had a menacing gleam in them as he looked you up and down.

“Oof. Number 2 again. Hey, y/n, how does it feel to be under me?” He pouted teasingly making his friends erupt in laughter.

You tried to hold back your anger, you really did try, but your hand shot straight to the water bottle on Clarisse’s desk. You swiftly popped open the lid and soaked the arrogant dickhead in front of you. The class gasped and laughed as they watched you snap quite easily.

“Y/n! Luke! Out of my classroom now, and go to the principal's office!” Your homeroom teacher yelled. Both of you grumpily grabbed your stuff and walked out of the room making sure to glare at each other with pure hatred on the way out.

BOTH YOU AND LUKE SAT IN an awkward silence in the principal's office just waiting for your first detention of the year. You sat picking at the skin around your nails trying to ignore the eyes of your rival that lingered on you for longer than they needed to be. Luke watched as you restlessly waited for your punishment, you both got in trouble a lot because of one another but it didn’t stop the constant anxiety felt when you waited for the consequences of your actions. The first time you ever got detention was the worst day of your life, the disappointment on your parent's faces still haunts you to this day.

Luke was still soaked from the water you poured on him, his dark brown hair had water droplets elegantly falling off the tips of his hair onto his nose and down his jaw. To say he was pissed was an understatement, but he knew he would get a good reaction out of you, that is why he constantly got on your nerves. To see you snap. It was like a drug to him, he was so addicted to watching you erupt and unleash your anger on him.

Principal Chiron finally came into the room, looking at you both with a disapproving frown. Your body instantly sat up straight as you fixed your attention on him, making Luke roll his eyes at your goody-two-shoes behaviour. Chiron had tried on multiple occasions to get you two to become friends but everything he did just ended up making you hate each other even more. “Miss Y/L, why is Mr Castellan soaking wet?”

“Because he doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut, sir.” You hummed innocently, Chiron shook his head and sighed.

“She poured water on me because she’s just jealous that I’m smarter than her, sir.” Luke mocked you contorting his face to match your “innocent” expression.

You scoffed widening your eyes as you turned your body to Luke, “Jealous? That’s such a joke! Why would I be jealous of a big-headed asshole-”

“Enough!” Chiron yelled making the room go silent. You turn back around to face him, guilt covering your face as you whisper an apology. “The whole school is sick and tired of your bickering! You two have so much in common, why can’t you just accept the fact that you’re both number 1?”

“Because only one of us can be,” Luke replied earning a nod from you.

“That’s not true. You both can be the best you both make each other better. So what I’ve decided is best to do is put you both on Senior prom duty, you will spend your weekends together making this prom amazing, do you hear me?” Chiron told the both of you, that you both protested wanting to die at the thought of spending time with the other.

“No. Please, Chiron I’ll do anything! Anything but wasting my time with… him.” You grimaced at the thought of seeing Luke’s face outside of school, you’d rather sleep on a bed of nails.

“Yeah, isn’t that a bit too cruel? I mean, this is gonna take a tow on my mental health.” Luke tried to look as sad as possible even going as far as to place a hand on his heart, but Chiron was having none of it.

“My decision is final. If by the end of the year, you two aren’t at least civil with one another, neither of you will be valedictorian.” Chiron warned, you both gasped looking to turn at each other slowly with horror on both of your faces. “Have a good rest of your day.” He kicked you both out of his office and sighed with relief, hoping that this last tactic would finally work.

“THE GODS HATE ME! WHY ME?” you whined looking up at the sky being dramatic as always. You loathed Luke with the intensity of a thousand suns burning through your idyllic daydreams. To you, it was as if the cosmos themselves had conspired to cast you into a realm of exasperation, where every second stretched into a torturous eternity. Your disdain was an art form, each sighs a melodious lament that could easily rival any tragic aria.

You flitted around your surroundings with the lightness of a dancer in a sorrowful ballet, your every movement a dramatic expression of your inner turmoil. Your eyes, sharp as the quill of a jilted poet, shot venomous glances at the very air that hinted at his presence. Each glance toward the empty space where he might have been was a silent soliloquy, a testament to your misery that only the universe could truly comprehend.

As you imagined the inevitable intersection of their worlds, your mental landscape transformed into a grand, sorrowful theatre where you were the beleaguered star of a one-woman tragedy. Your heart, a fragile organ wrapped in the grandeur of your melodrama, pulsed with the rhythm of an epic struggle against an unspoken fate.

“Gods, you’re so dramatic.” Clarisse groaned, sick of hearing you constantly bitch and moan about Luke. It was a day-to-day conversation you would both have about how annoying he is and how badly you loathe him.

“I’m not dramatic. I’m real.” You huff, glaring at Charles as he laughs at your comment.

“The guy isn’t even that bad, you’re the one who poured water on him and broke his robot and stole science project and-” Charles went to continue but you stopped him, yelling at him to shut up.

“Okay, I disagree there. Castellan is an ass, and is constantly trying to get a reaction out of her.” Clarisse shook her head and defended you.

“He’s just so fucking annoying! Like I want to punch him so bad!” You groaned, even when Luke wasn’t there just the thought of him made your fists clench and your jaw tighten.

“He’s kinda cool,” Charles spoke up again, defending Luke rather than being on his best friend’s side.

“Where is your loyalty?” You yell and point at him, he rolls his eyes in return and pushes your finger away. “I hate him! I hate him and his stupid… everything! He just makes me so mad!” You let out a frustrated scream, hating how angry the boy gets you.

“Then stop giving him reactions,” Charles suggested making you sarcastically act like you’re realising he’s right.

“Oh my gods! Charlie, you are so right! Why have I never thought of that before?” You sarcastically gasped and made a mind-blown gesture beside your head. Charles muttered under his breath and returned to scrolling on his phone, not appreciating your sarcasm.

“I’m sure it’s not going to be that bad. And if it is, I’ll beat him up for you.” Clarisse winked at you jokingly, you giggled and smiled at her appreciatively.

“Thanks, Clar, will keep that in mind.” You hummed.

The impending months stretched before you like an interminable desert of despair, each day a scorching reminder of your impending torment. You envisioned the weeks unfolding in a relentless parade of miseries, each more excruciating than the last. Your mind conjured scenes of days dragging on in a ceaseless loop, where time itself seemed to conspire against you, morphing into an unending series of dreary encounters and stifling constraints.

Each moment felt like a heavy, gilded chain around your soul, the weight of which threatened to crush your spirits into a pulp of resigned misery. Your anticipation of this ordeal was nothing short of apocalyptic, a doom-laden prophecy etched into your very being. Every tick of the clock was a reminder of the suffering to come, transforming your days into an agonizing blend of tedium and tribulation.

The months loomed like a dark, oppressive cloud on your horizon, promising not merely a period, but an era of unrelenting drudgery. Your imagination painted it all in hues of endless grey, a ceaseless barrage of tedium where every second would be a battle against your own encroaching despair.

But if suffering through all of this means at the end of it all there’s a possibility of you finally showing Luke that you’re so much better than him, then maybe you’re willing to suck it up and spend time with the boy who makes you want to tear your hair out, Luke Castellan.

[theredhairedmonkey]

People keep talking about the similarities between Viren/Claudia and Callum, but what are the differences?

The differences are, well, different for each of them.

Callum is different from Viren because, while Callum is motivated to support and protect those he loves out of compassion, Viren's love for his children, while genuine on some level, is really a smokescreen for his real motive, which is power.

This isn't even a headcanon, he's called out on this bullshit in the show:

Viren: I didn't have a choice. I did what I had to do. K'ppar: Hah! No choice? You made the choice you've always made. The one that gives you power.

Viren is basically TDP's version of Walter White from Breaking Bad: Walter starts cooking meth ostensibly to pay for his medical bills (he's dying of cancer), and also to financially support his family. One of his oft repeated lines is "I did X for the family."

It's not until the end of the series that Walter admits the truth ("I'm in the empire business" / "I did it for me"). And much like Walter, Viren comes face to face with the truth several times during this season:

Viren realizes that he had been hiding from the truth, that he had pursued power for himself, and that doing so had brought Claudia on the brink with him.

Callum, on the other hand, doesn't care about power. He may care about agency and identity, sure, but not at the expense of those around him. Whereas Viren's goal of protecting his family was a thinly veiled excuse for his actions, for Callum is is 100% genuine.

Now as far as Claudia is concerned, her motivation really is about love, but it's a selfish kind of love driven less out of compassion and more out of a desire to keep the idea of her family together and intact, even if it goes against said family's wishes:

And not to mention some deep seated animosity towards Xadia, but that's a story for another time.

Callum is, as you might have guessed, quite different. The idea of the family matters less to him than the family members themselves. And since Callum believes in other ideals besides loyalty to family, those family members aren't just blood relatives, but also like-minded individuals like Soren and Rayla, with whom he shares a lot in common.

Because of that, he respects those he loves as individuals, not as units part of a larger picture.

Now, I should wrap this up with a reminder: Callum does have foil relationship with Viren and with Claudia, and narratively this is very important to the story. But not for reasons you may think.

For Viren and Claudia, the similarities they share with Callum are important because it humanizes and grounds them. Showing that they do have aspects to them that make them more than just mustache-twirling villains.

But for Callum, the differences are more important to the narrative than the similarities because the differences are what tell us who Callum truly is. Why, despite being a mage like Claudia and Viren, he makes a different choice from them at nearly every critical interval.

[gompereatsall]

some a3! x enstars headcanons

because they've been consuming my brain!! (while i slowly lose the canon characterizations of a3 characters, and try to understand enstars characters)

As stated in this post, i LOVE the idea that Sakuya is the adopted little brother to Rei and Ritsu. (in the reblogs of the post, @/nobleartsy made super cute art of the idea, and @/otome-crow gave some really good ideas adding onto the post, so please check both of their blogs out!!) kinda just rewording some of otome-crow's post, Sakuya has this whole goth outfit to fit in with his brothers :)) Sakuya tries his best to attend lives of UNDEAD and Knights, but will just have to occasionally settle for watching official recordings of their shows. In turn, Rei and Ritsu also try their best to watch the Spring Troupe's shows! They just want to support one another <3

Banri and Tsuzuru are both fans of UNDEAD (even before they met Rei in person! A couple more Mankai members became fans of UNDEAD and Knights after meeting them in person). They both were stoked to meet Rei, and the latter also gave Banri and Tsuzuru some signed merch!

(Genuinely decided to make Tsuzuru an UNDEAD fan bc i think the image of a sleep deprived Tsuzuru trying to work on a script while blasting UNDEAD's music with his headphones, but is still loud enough for people in the room to hear is hilarious)

One time, Ritsu visited the company and fell asleep on top of Hisoka on the couch. This created an impromptu cuddle pile

Yuki is a big fan of Shu's clothing work, despite it being a bit more underground compared to other Japanese fashion designers. This led him to discover the idol group Valkyrie. Some of their songs are now in Yuki's playlist that plays while he and Taichi sew

(I also think Yuki would have great time with Kuro, letting him help with costumes (: )

Chiaki and Sakyo know each other... somehow. Their relationship is unknown, and they never really elaborate what it is when people ask. On the very rare occasion they see each other on the street, they greet each other but talk with such thinly veiled animosity toward each other; and yet, they have each other's numbers in their phones. Make of that what you will (guess a hero and an ex-yakuza don't mix well together)

Sakyo and Keito went to the same middle school and were best friends. They were really close and mainly bonding with each other over manga. They lost touch when they went to different high schools, so neither one of them knows that one is an actor and the other is an idol

Tsumugi Tsukioka and Tsumugi Aoba are acquaintances! They met because they both frequently go to the same cafe; one day, they just started having friendly small talk, and now they meet kinda monthly? Almost as if they're on a schedule lol They just have nice small talk with one another at the cafe and rant to each other about their lives (without getting into too much personal details), offer each other advice, tell stories from their lives, etc! It's come up in conversation that Tsukioka is an actor, but Aoba never mentioned that he's an idol yet

Kumon is a big fan of RYUSEITAI and would love to go to one of their live shows one day! He doesnt have a favorite member (his favorite is a tie between RYUSEI Red and RYUSEI Yellow)

(Listen, I could probably make another entire headcanons list about the characters favorite idol groups, if they have any lmao)

Tenma met Izumi Sena once, while he was abroad. The actor had no idea who the other guy was, and vice versa (Izumi gave him directions)

I am convinced Wataru would love Homare's poetry; he's been a fan, and ever since Wataru heard Homare joined an acting troupe, he's been negotiating with members of Dramatica to go see a winter troupe play!

And that concludes the headcanons i can think of atm, thanks for reading :) if you have any of your own please add them in either the comments or reblogs!! I would love to read them <33

[shostakobitchh]

I personally, strongly, vehemently believe that Severus snape is a girl's dad through and through. in another life where lily and sev stayed together and raised Ariel, I strongly believe they'd have had another girl to which perhaps a 5-7 year gap between the girls would create a whole house of tension and veiled animosity that Severus would have no mind (but secretly be an expert at) dealing with. this is a strong gut feeling for me, like I just know.

thoughts?

he's SUCH a girl dad, he'd say it was because lily is a far better role model for the girls than he would be for the boys, but really I think he'd be a good parent under the right circumstances, so much more comfortable and Soft that even Lily is like, who ARE YOU.

I think Severus would've been against another one and been like "why are we messing with perfection here" which completely disarms Lily because how is she going to argue that LOL until oops! another one! and since they're actually prepared for this one we get the full force of Snape being an actual psychopath the entire pregnancy and birth, getting pissed because WHY DO THE HEALERS GET TO HOLD HER FIRST meanwhile Lily is like OH MY GOD

so I don't have kids yet (and won't for a while unless I manage to create an accident) but I have always seen myself with boys and hope to god I do because I grew up with a sister who I BRAWLED with on a daily basis. I think you hit it right on the head; he'd be so good at dealing with the thinly veiled animosity (and they're HIS girls so god help them all) but he'd be fucking blasé about it. like, "okay, she stole your shirt, but did you die?" he'd be almost too calm while they're screaming at one another because he also screams at people when he's pissed and he knows sometimes you just gotta get it all out. but he'd be very good at deescalating when they came to him individually, he'd just sit and listen (not completely ignoring them but also not putting too much stock into it). but that 5-7 year gap would be BRUTAL, because Ariel would be a pre-teen/teen around the time the Other Child is an annoying little twerp, and then when Ariel is into early adulthood the Other Child is in pre-teen/teen phase so they wouldn't mellow out until they're older.

[antrunner]

C, T and X!!!

BOY OH BOY 😈

C - A ship you have never liked and probably never will (be nice)

BATLANTERN. respectfully, what the hell is up with that? i've never seen any chemistry between them beyond thinly veiled irritation and professionalism on a good day. there's obviously moments between them of genuine kindness and respect, but..... hal is a very closed off person, despite what he may display otherwise. he has a small circle of extremely close friends that probably know more about him than his own family. and Bruce is Bruce. it just doesn't really make sense to me and never ever will

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending, about anything at all (gender identity, sexual or romantic orientation, extended family, sexual preferences like top/bottom/switch, relationship with poetry, seriously anything)

I have plenty! but i'll narrow it down to a few.

1. Jason Todd is trans. i won't elaborate.

2. 80% of heroes AND villains have autism. there's just too many characters with Behaviors and i love representation. specifically with characters having fixations, stimming, having empathy issues or being bad at reading rooms. ALL of the gotham rogues have some sort of autism/adhd/ocd going on. (as someone with all of those it makes me so happy to see rep!! and often the OCD is portrayed just fine imo. which is rare)

3. lanternfam is just as close-knit as any other "dc family" (hero group). i think that recent comics have really fucked up GL's as a whole. i haven't enjoyed much that's come out in the last 10 or so years for them outside of some little spinoff stuff. (geoff johns...... count your days) but in my own little fantasy world they treat each other like family the same as flashfam batfam arrowfam whatever. like 4 really annoying brothers in a college dorm and the dorm is a giant green planet and college is Not Dying. they genuinely love each other and open up a lot. when simon and jessica join they are welcomed with open arms and instantly get invited to poker night that evening. i think comics (recently) have this weird give and take with love vs. disrespect with the lanterns and like..... they have been through WAY too much to hold even an ounce of animosity towards each other.

X - top 5-10 characters who are yoUR PRECIOUS BABIES AND YOU WILL DIE

BARRY ALLEN‼️‼️‼️🔊🗣 KYLE RAYNER. eddie nygma. koriand'r. jason todd. hal jordan. wally west. donna troy. saint walker.

[ciboriaadastra]

I'm looking at the notes of that "female-coded" post I saw the other day, and people get so unbelievably and unnecessarily angry that some people can relate to Bruce through the lens of womanhood. I may disagree with saying it's coding—because obviously Bruce was always written and meant to be written as a canon male character and was not written with the intent of discreetly portraying womanhood or portraying womanhood through a nonhuman character (as Bruce is obviously a human); and it's also not accidental coding...just because you can't accidentally write a woman when you mean to write a man; not to mention it's a little iffy to focus on relating a canon male character to womanhood rather than relating to a canon female character's womanhood—but there's literally nothing wrong with saying certain traits, behaviors, storylines, etc. in a character remind you of what it's like to have been raised as a girl in society and how society treats women.

And yeah, it's important to emphasize that Bruce's life and behavior being unconventional in comparison to the Traditional Man that white American Christian-dominant society expects all men to develop into...doesn't mean that he's not or shouldn't be considered (canonically) a man. The whole point of subverting these ideas is to prove that people are and can be more complex than the blueprints being forced upon us. There isn't one specific way to be a man, and Bruce not completely fitting into the traditional mold (despite many attempts to push his character towards it) while still being a pop culture icon for masculinity is an important example of it.

That being said, it's hard to miss the transmisogynistic airs to how people push against the concept of a canon male character being relatable to womanhood. The "Bruce is not a woman and will never be a woman" comment is the same phrasing people use to attack transfems and deny them their femininity and trans women their womanhood. That's what skeeves me out the most. Putting aside that there is a canon alternate universe where all the canon male characters are genderbent, so actually, Bruce has been a woman in the multiverse...the animosity towards the idea of Bruce being a woman is so nasty. Why is it so disturbing to people? What difference does it make if the same exact story is told through a woman instead of a man? That's really what's being analyzed: the lore of the character and his relationships is relatable to women, not this nebulous figure of masculinity in the public conscience that is Bruce Wayne/Batman. I imagine if I bothered looking at that person's blog, I would find some TERF shit on there.

And in any case, gender is more complex than the binary of woman and man in the first place. Which shouldn't need to be explained on this website in particular, in 2023 no less. I'm so over these arguments that talking about a canon male character being even the littlest bit feminine, relatable to womanhood, or referred to with feminine terms MUST mean they are woman no masc now. Or that the character should be a woman now just because he's been associated with femininity. There's no room for multigender identities or complex relationships with gender. It feeds right back into conservative fearmongering about men not sticking to gender roles and social rules about masculinity inherently makes them girly (which is also thinly-veiled misogyny), feeds back into transmisogyny, and feeds back into the erasure of nonbinary and non-conforming gender identities.

I think the essay on Bruce's "female-coding" was pretty eye-opening into the depths of his character. It explained another avenue of why I was always particularly drawn to certain popular depictions of Batman (The Batman [2004], Young Justice) and repulsed by others (the live action movies from the aughties onward), what made me like Batman as opposed to just Dick Grayson's Robin, why I found Bruce more and more relatable when I started reading comics. Is it a perfect scholarly article with citations? No, and it's not supposed to be...it's just people pointing out parallels between their own lives and the character. It really wasn't that big of a deal that would warrant fuming and attempt to en masse publicly shame on the post itself (not that it would be warranted if it was a big deal).

[limitlessscion]

Megumi didn't think much of anything when he was introduced to Satoru for the first time, beside the obvious . . he's just another clan kid. Just like Megumi. Children who were only viewed for their abilities and their potential to either lead or be a loyal follower, not as human beings. With frighteningly blue eyes and ivory hair, Satoru was held on a pedestal for inhering both limitless and six eyes, and it seemed that the Gojos were rubbing the child's existence in Megumi's face. A challenge — Your ten shadow technique is nothing in comparison to our heir.

However the Zen'ins had strong opinions of her own and were never shy to utter hateful things in the privacy of their own compound. Our ancestor with the ten shadows technique faced off against the six eyes and limitless — a not so subtle history lesson and a reminder that Megumi could best Satoru some day. Beside his own solemn perspective, the onyx haired child did not allow any biases in his opinion making. He had viewed his Gojo counterpart as an egocentric little heir, though surely Satoru must have thought the same of Megumi?

Even at the age of four, Megumi believed that actions spoke louder than anything else. If the Gojo heir found more interest in invertebrates than clan politics, then that was worth more than the whole lot of ridiculous Kamos, Zen'ins, and Gojos and their inflated notions of superiority. Dead insects found on the premises of the Zen'in compound were taken and stored with care. When the long anticipated day the two children would gather arrived, Megumi presented a near perfectly preserved yellow and pink moth he had found. It was beautiful, but what would Satoru think? Without any pretentious greetings or without spoken words, little Megumi held out his hand, uncurled his fingers gently, and held out the dead moth. Proudly. His green eyes spoke what mouth did not — what do you think of this one?

Birthdays sucked; for as long as young Satoru could recall memories, his birthday is a day of discomfort. It involved crowds in his home, their unfamiliar cursed energies turning familiar spaces unfamiliar. Strangers talked about him, stared at him, but looked past him as everyone else did in his life. He would be instructed to sit still for hours, stay silent, kneeling upon a pedestal that made him feel like a painting on the wall for display, sharp words aimed his way each time he squirmed with desperation to stand up, jump, run— do anything other than stand still. The boy would feel like he was about to burst, the torture stretched out for much longer than he was able to endure; but endure he did, teeth gritted and tears held back: he was the heir of the Gojo clan, and he was not allowed such silly weaknesses.

The only thing that kept him going was another in the crowd sat at a place of honour within the Zen'in clan's ranks, a boy who seemed as miserable about the proceedings as he was. Around them their families talked about them, bragging and flaunting the children against one another in thinly veiled animosity. None of that mattered; Satoru knew his own worth and he never cared for it to be flaunted to strangers.

But finally, after an agonizing eternity of ceremonies and speeches, Satoru was released from his duty. He'd jumped from his seat and ran off into the courtyard almost immediately, diving into the corner where a year ago he had had made a friend and they'd promised to see each other again, a promise made over the tiny anthill they'd both been fascinated by. A grin widened on his face at Megumi waiting for him, curiosity piqued as the boy took something out of his pockets.

Satoru blinked with some confusion at the presented moth, before reaching out tiny fingers and running them along the wings of the moth, then up against its fuzzy body. The boy's focus lasered in on those tiny little details, a brief frustration rising as he remembered that the other boy could never See what he did.

He turned his fingers over, now dusted lightly with the fallen scales of the wings and brought it up to his friend's face.

"...it has a lot of little tiny bits on the wings."

[imdoingaokay]

hey could you do a part 2 to "male companions react to f!sole dying in childbirth" with nick and x6? my friends on discord love it and we're really sad that not all the male companions were in it

This was way longer than I expected it to be, like... holy shit. But this is what happens when you request less companions I guess?

X6 was way longer than I expected it to be, and the original ending was going to be way sadder but I decided against doing that because... yikes.

I hope you enjoy it, regardless.

Nick Valentine:

He’s by Sole’s side in an instant, ordering that the baby be taken from the room. He’s comforting Sole as much as he can before they pass, which came by fairly quickly. He knew what was happening, and through his tears, he promised Sole to be the best father he could be. 

He’s quick to steel himself (no pun intended) after his partner/wife’s death. He decides to stay in Sanctuary for a while, choosing it as it was the safest option. But once his child gets old enough to attend school, he whisks them away to Diamond City, where they will be properly raised. During the time between his child’s birth and their entrance into school, Nick hangs up his detective coat, knowing that he couldn’t bring himself to leave them just to go on some elaborate case.

Once he returns to Diamond City, and his little one is settled, he begins his work again. And he has a lot of work to do. He leaves as little as he can, but there are far too many times when he misses out on the activities his child participates in. This, crazy enough, leads to some animosity between the two. As his child grows into a young adult, he worries for them. The tension and anger between the two build until there is a breaking point. 

It’s a quiet evening when he walks into the pair’s shared home, only to find it eerily quiet. Sole’s old Pip-Boy isn’t playing music… in fact, it doesn’t even seem like it’s there. 

He rushed up the stairs to find his child’s empty room, he searches everywhere for them, or at least some kind of note. And luckily, he finds a holotape and successfully gets something to play it.

“Hey Dad, ugh… *rustling noises* Listen, I can’t stay here anymore. I love you, Dad. But you’re barely around. I feel like you’re not even my dad anymore… I’m recording this in case you do notice me gone, but if not, I guess you’re better off without me. I’m leaving Diamond City and I’m gonna explore the Commonwealth. I want to learn more about Mom, so I’ve contacted some of her old friends. I guess I might see you again, maybe… I dunno… Bye, I guess.”

Nick’s stomach drops, and he immediately gets up, wracking his brain around what is happening to his child. Soon enough, he has on his coat and hat and he nearly sprints away from Diamond City to begin a frantic search.

He visits the Brotherhood (If they’re still there) and gets nothing, maybe a few thinly veiled threats, but nothing. Nobody saw the kid.

He visits the Railroad (If they’re still there) and gets nothing, maybe a few weird looks from Deacon, almost like he’s not telling Nick something. Aside from him, nobody saw the kid.

He resolves to look at The Castle, where he finds Preston, who took up the mantle of General. He shrugs, claiming that he hadn’t seen anyone. Nick pauses at a little memorial for Sole, head in his hands. A few small children bumbled into the room where the memorial was, laying down some hubflowers. He looks over the offerings made by fellow minutemen, pilgrims, and survivors, seeing cakes, flowers, Sole’s ring, and some Nuka-

Sole’s ring?

Just before the birth of their child, Sole’s hands had begun to swell a little, so she took off the said ring and placed it by her bedside. She had told Nick she planned to give the ring to their child when they grew a little, making sure that they had something to remember her by if something happened. After Sole’s death, Nick had given the ring to their child, not before putting a small chain into the hoop to make the ring a necklace.

If that ring is here, it means someone stole it from his kid… Or Preston was a liar.

He marches up to him and immediately interrogates him, furious.

Preston calmly explains that, while the kid was there, they only stayed for a while, leaving soon after they got what they desired. Preston won’t say anymore, as the kid requested that this be done on their own.

Nick won’t be given any more information, but like any good detective, he sets out again.

But something is drawing him towards Far Harbor. 

He visits the Nakano’s and finds their navigating ship is gone. Someone used it recently. Unlike Preston, Mr. Nakano isn’t nearly as secretive. He knows what it’s like to lose your only child.

He tells Nick that they did go to Far Habor, and while he tried to convince the child to go home, they wouldn’t listen. Mr. Nakano offers the second navigating ship he has, encouraging Nick to find his child.

So one ride and plenty of fear later, he reaches the half-sunken docks of Far Habor. And lo and behold, he sees the Nakano’s original navigating ship.

So he looks.

He looks in town (whatever is left of it,) Arcadia (whatever is left of it,) and even the Nucleus (whatever is left of it) but he is still unsuccessful. 

His search has turned fruitless and without a single sign from his child, Nick accepts the fact that his child is most likely gone. He hopes to find something, a body, a Pip-Boy, something of theirs. Something he can take home and bury next to their mother, something he can grieve over.

He wanders back to the docks, mourning his child quietly. He lets his feet dangle off the side of the old wood, watching the waves lap at the beams. He feels the weight of his guilt slowly press into him, and he blames himself for everything. He should’ve been there, should’ve paid more attention, he should’ve-

“In olden days, a glimpse of stocking… was looked on as something shocking, but now, God knows, anything goes.”

Nick knows that song, he knows it. He turns, and when he can’t see good enough, he stands and follows the sound of music.

And he sees them.

They look… good, actually. Little to no scars, dressed in mercenary’s duster, no doubt from some dead guy on the road, and a Pip-Boy attached to their wrist.

He calls out their name, worried that it’s just some different person, someone who just looks just like his child. But, when they look up at him, surprised to see him, Nick breaks.

His child has to catch him when he falls to his knees, and the two share a tight hug. There are apologies, from both Nick and the kid. The pair do head home, at least… once Nick has been regaled the stories of the Commonwealth and his child’s adventures. There are tears, laughs, and more apologies. And somewhere in there, there’s enough healing to mend the two’s relationship.

X6-88:

Like Gage, there are two potential outcomes, and they rely on whether or not The Institute is still around.

If Sole was the director, and the Institute is still up and running, X6-88 is very upset. Not just with himself, because he totally blames himself for Sole’s death. But he blames the Institute, how could an organization with perfect technology fail its leader? How could she die? It doesn’t make sense!

He doesn’t cry, however, and barely bothers to look at the child. He doesn’t believe he deserves the right to call them his child. So he does what he thinks he should do.

He wipes his memory.

And after that, he returns to work. But curiously, he is tasked to be the personal protector of the Director’s child. He has a strange fondness for them but doesn’t question it further. But he’s strangely happy to be their bodyguard, despite the fact that the Insitute has no real danger.

Years go by, and the child grows up, clever and curious about their surroundings. They wonder what is above the Insitute, and when they are told “nothing of importance,” they merely question more. They try to ask X6-88, but they claim their memory wipe took away any memories of the surface.

Memory wipe, huh?

It takes a long while for them to map out their escape from their room to reach the proper area to sift through the records, and they know that they’ll only have one chance.

Luckily, they are X6-88’s child, and they are one step ahead of their father. Despite not knowing who X6 really is.

So, under the cover of darkness, the child makes their move when the artificial night comes in over the underground facility. Whether they dodged, hacked into, or simply broke the guarding gen 1 and 2 synths, the kid made it into The Synth Retention Division. 

Scouring through decades of old records, they find what they were looking for, a few screenshots of the outside world from X6-88’s point of view. The world above is dead, but the people apart of it, they’re very much alive. They were told that there was nothing up there but monsters and bad people… but X6-88 saw a lot of good things above ground. Why would anyone in the Institute not want that?

But then they decide to read through the reports, and the emails… and things begin to click. 

Holy shit, X6-88 is their dad.

They’re angry, furious even. How could they not tell them?

Why did they get a memory wipe? 

Were they not good enough?

A million thoughts race into their mind, so much so that when they are walking back to their quarters and are caught by the synths, they can’t even argue.

A synth is their father… and their mom chose him for a reason, right? 

When they get back to their room and are gently scolded by X6, they can’t bear to look at them. Refusing to acknowledge his presence.

They have to leave. They can’t stay here.

The Insitute keeps secrets, The Insitute lies… what were they keeping them for? Were they just another cog in their machine?

The child makes a decision to leave, permanently. They train themselves to fight, they learn how to properly provide for themselves, and they even find a stash of caps that their mother had left years prior. A few perfectly placed radio signals later and the child has a place to stay. 

And under the cover of night, they slip away, permanently.

Which only causes chaos.

The Insitute realizes that they may have screwed up big time, and once they see that, they attempt to prevent X6 from going after them. Well, sike, that doesn’t work. After all, X6 is their guardian, so his job is to protect them. And that includes the Commonwealth and all of its monsters.

It takes him very little time to track the kid down, and when he finds them, they’ve cleared out a raider den in downtown Boston, looking over the bones of a destroyed city.

“You’re my father, did you know that?” They ask once X6 gets close, their senses are definitely heightened compared to a normal child, “I guess you don’t, nobody told you… nobody told me either.”

X6 realizes, though, that they aren’t a child at all. They’re grown up, they’re an adult now, with the same fire that their mother held… wait, their mother held? He didn’t remember the Director, why did he recognize the child though?

“I don’t want to go back!” They shout, lifting their gun to point at X6, “I don’t want to!”

“This city is no place for you.” “And the Insitute is?! I’m not going back! I will never go back! I don’t want to look at you!” They scream, and X6 can’t help but feel hurt.

“I raised you-”

“As a fucking guardian! Not as a father!” They yell, there was that name again… father.

X6 didn’t think of himself as a father, he knew he couldn’t be. Why were they calling him that? Was he really…? 

X6 thinks for a moment, what was he programmed to do for this child? He was supposed to do something, right? He was supposed to…

“My job is to protect you… I will not bring you back… But let me protect you.” X6 says, hating the desperation in his voice.

The kid lowers their weapon, looking sadly at X6 before huffing, “Okay. But if you try to take me back… I’ll… I’ll never forgive you.”

And X6 agrees to that.

The two go and explore the Commonwealth together, fixing problems that arise around them. X6 remains a somewhat silent bodyguard for the child, quietly watching and intervening when needed. Of course, the child is more than capable of themselves, so he really has no need to worry. But he does, because that’s what parents- no, guardians do. 

But, eventually, he needs questions answered.

By then, after years of slowly leaking into the Commonwealth, the Insitute was slowly destroyed, and the knowledge they clung to so tightly was eventually shared. And while it took a great deal of time, an actual society was slowly returning to the Commonwealth. And now, all that remained was a shaky ruin of what used to be the Insitute.

X6 was able to meander in, carefully ducking the few working synths that littered the tomb. He finally found the terminal he had been seeking, and with a few taps, he saw that his memories weren’t deleted, just transferred. He looks at the child, who was traveling with him at the time, almost waiting for guidance. But the child only smiles and says that it’s his decision to make.

X6 thinks for a moment, before deciding to transfer the memories back into himself, thus opening Pandora’s box.

There is a short moment where he ponders his choices, gasping for air on a now gray floor littered with broken glass and the occasional broken down synth. He takes off his sunglasses and looks up, mourning the loss of his love, child, and any time he could’ve spent with them.

Luckily, his child is still there, albeit, grown up.

He knows Sole would’ve been furious if she was there, she would’ve been broken-hearted that X6 chose to forget her instead of raising their child. But perhaps he could make up for that.

He’s far more protective of his child now, and he refuses to leave their side, even as they grow older and get into relationships and settle down themselves. 

He’ll never truly forgive himself for what he did, but he’s honestly just so relieved to have his memories back, memories of Sole.

On the other hand.

If the Insitute was destroyed, it’s a bit different.

Once Sole passes away, X6 thinks about getting a memory wipe. He heads to Goodneighbor, baby in tow. And goes to Doctor Amari, who is hesitant to give X6 his desired memory wipe. She tells him that he has to wait until the next day, but encourages him to stay in Hotel Rexford.

That night, he watches his child for what feels like eons, watching them breathe quietly and gurgle to themselves. He thinks of Sole, and how happy they were to find out they were pregnant. And he can’t bring himself to forget that. 

The next day, he returns to Doctor Amari, only to apologize and explain that he couldn’t go through with it. Amari smiled and wished him well, deciding not to tell him that she expected this. She lied to him, claiming the memory wipe had to be done the next day when she knew that he would regret the wipe as his child grew. And one day, the child would find out for themselves the true identity of their father.

X6 moves to Sanctuary, working as a guard for the settlement. And he raises his child. Of course, he’s great at it. As his little one had X6 wrapped around their pudgy finger. 

He answers every question about the child’s mother and teaches them to combat when they’re older. And he’s there for them at every moment.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Slumbering Hearts (Alcina Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 2

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: None Summary: In a wicked twist of fate, you find out your soulmate is none other than your employer, Lady Dimitrescu. To your misery, she (at first) seems equally displeased, her heart already belonging to another. But in time, the two of you find yourselves wondering… could the universe be right, after all? Soulmate AU in which every person has a unique “soul mark”, which they share with their soulmate. Notes: Reader gets a bit of a backstory here, with just enough concrete details to serve the plot in future chapters. Hopefully enough is kept vague for people to enjoy it. Now... Time to meet your new kids-in-law/the gremlins :) Previous Chapters: 1: In The Shadow Of Giants

2: Uncertain Destinations

“You already know my name, as well as my fate, and I have neither threats nor demands to make of you. I am at your mercy, regrettably, with nothing more to say. Shall we consider ourselves ‘introduced’? Or is there more you wish to ask of me?” You wonder, eying ‘Alcina’ with a bored expression. It felt odd to refer to her that way, even within the confines of your mind. She had been ‘Lady Dimitrescu’ for as long as you could remember; starting with your years in the village, and continuing through your months here at the castle. One day, perhaps, you would grow used to calling her by her first name. For now, you simply hoped to focus on other matters.

“Tell me of yourself, your past. Who were you before you came here?” Alcina asks, surprising you. What did it matter, now that you were stuck here? At first you shrug, avoiding eye contact, not wanting to open yourself up to her. But before long she’s placed a hand on your shoulder, applying just enough pressure to encourage you to speak. You win this round, you think.

“Somehow I doubt you’ll find it terribly interesting. I was born in the outskirts of the village, on a small farm, just like any other. I had a pet dog, went to ‘school’ with my neighbors, and spent my weekends volunteering with the church. The only thing you might not expect is that I lived outside the village for about a decade. Traveled for a while, never really staying anywhere for terribly long. Eventually, I got tired, and so I came back to help my parents with what little property they had left,” you explain, quietly. Being vague had been intentional, considering the nature of a few details. Did she need to know why you had left? Or that you had once revered Mother Miranda?... No, because if she learned that, it would not be long before she learned that you had changed your mind years ago. Something told you that she wouldn’t appreciate your lack of faith in her mistress. “That was six months ago, roughly. Barely got to spend time with my parents before I was ‘donated’ to the staff here.”

“Not many ever leave the village. Those that do rarely, if ever, return. How particular,” Alcina replies, giving a soft hum. There’s something in her expression that tells you she’ll eventually ask you to elaborate. For now, however, she seems content to move on. Internally you sigh in relief. “I suppose this is sufficient to sate my curiosity, for the time being. Now come with me, I’d like to introduce you to my daughters, to ensure that they understand you are… off limits.” With that said she stands, once more reminding you just how small and fragile you are in comparison, before heading towards the exit. You’re nearly forced to jog in order to keep up with her long strides. As she leads you through hallways, down a flight of stairs, and past several nervous looking maidens, she slows down the slightest bit, having eventually noticed your struggle. Admittedly, that’s more kindness than you would have anticipated. Perhaps she was used to adjusting her pace for her daughters?

Whatever the reason, you do appreciate it. Still, by the time you arrive at your destination, the castle’s library, your legs are feeling the smallest bit sore. Brushing off the ache, you follow Alcina inside. Then you’re taking in the sights, having not been here before, admiring the impressive collection. Glad I’m not responsible for cleaning this place, you think as you pass by dozens of filled shelves. Before long you encounter the three daughters. They’re sitting in a semi-circle, each with their own book, though they’re quick to sit up once they spy their mother. One by one they’re smiling up at her, not even sparing you a moment’s glance. Admittedly you’re glad for that. What good could come from their attention, especially when they don’t yet know who you ‘truly’ are?

“I’m glad to see you’re all in one place, my darlings. There has been a… development, of sorts,” Alcina says, speaking in the same tone one might use to address a faculty meeting. In a less intimidating household, it would have been much harder to hold in a laugh. Was this always how she spoke to her children? For their sake, you hoped not (though the concept was amusing). Regardless, it is at this point that the daughters notice you, with one of them looking intrigued enough to send a shiver down your spine. You’re pretty sure her name is Daniela, being the only one you haven’t met before today. A toothy grin spreads on her lips, and once you make eye contact you swear that she winks at you. This literally could not be any worse, you think, unable to stop yourself from frowning.

“Does it have to do with this little thing?” Daniela purrs, taking a step towards you. Instantly both Alcina and yourself are tensing up. While your soulmate shifts in front of you, an incredibly faint rosy tint to her cheeks, all you can do is pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers.

“This ‘little thing’ is not your newest playtoy, Daniela. Rather, they are my-” she hesitates, disliking the way the word feels in her mouth- “soulmate. I expect the three of you to behave, understood? At the very most, you are allowed to prevent them from leaving the premises, but even then I expect you to remain gentle. Have I made myself clear?” Alcina asks. Now she’s not the only one blushing, as Daniela looks so embarrassed that you wonder if she’ll pass out. Maybe now you’ll think twice about flirting with everyone you meet, you think, remembering the various rumors you’ve heard about her. For a moment, part of you imagines what your relationship with her would look like, were you to continue ‘courting’ her mother. Could this be a moment you could torment her with for life? Get some cheeky revenge for all the maidens who couldn’t risk it? A lovely thought, though one soon interrupted.

“Of course, mother. We will not lay a single finger on them, unless we have no other choice. Right, sisters?” Bela replies, turning to her siblings with an expectant look. Neither of them seem terribly pleased, but they nod, each giving their own verbal affirmations. All three spend a few moments glancing you over, reevaluating you now that they know who you are, appraising your worth. It’s not hard to imagine that they all find you lacking- at least in comparison to their mother. “Are introductions in order? We’ve met before, but I hardly know anything about them. It would be… nice to properly meet the newest edition to our family.” The way Bela says the words makes you nervous, and the way Cassandra grins only worsens the feeling.

“If you desire such, I see no reason to forgo such a thing. Perhaps the three of you could give them a tour? I must return to my duties, and I doubt they have seen much of the castle, given their… former occupation,” Alcina admits, softly. Was this a confirmation that you’d no longer have to spend every day working yourself to the bone? On one hand you were somewhat relieved, but you also regretted the possible loss of your preferred coping method. Worse, were you really going to spend who knows how long with the dreaded Dimitrescu daughters? They were going to rip you to shreds, at least verbally, you were sure of it. How could you ever meet their expectations? If they were anything like their mother, you would never be enough to satisfy them. Or at least that is what you assumed.

“I’ve seen a fair bit,” you interject, awkwardly, hating the way it brings everyone’s gaze back to you. Alcina’s lips twitch, as she fights back a frown. Evidently she didn’t appreciate you countering her suggestion.

“Please, we insist,” Bela fires back, a pleasant tone covering her thinly-veiled animosity. “I’m sure we’ll have a wonderful time getting to know each other. You do want to learn more about your soulmate’s children, don’t you?” Something about the way she speaks makes you want to laugh. When you smile back at her, it’s without a hint of any placating intentions, rather a dewdrop of mischief. Bold of her to assume that you wanted to make her mother happy. After all, it was clear from her phrasing that this was a ‘test’, a ruse to ‘reveal your true colors’ to Alcina. But you were as uneasy about your part in this as Bela was, neither of you finding yourself a suitable match for Alcina. Despite the way she narrows her eyes at you, her mother is smiling again, glad that she had a way to keep you occupied for the time being.

“It’s settled then,” she says, moving to give each of her daughters a kiss on top of their heads. They giggle at the affection, looking rather proud of themselves. Then she turns to you, hesitating, clearly having the instinct to give you a kiss as well. Half of you wants to stand on your tippy-toes, expectantly, wondering if she’d do it (and how flustered it would make her). Instead, you pretend not to notice, accepting the awkward shoulder pat she ends up giving you. “I will see you this evening, for dinner. Do try to enjoy yourself. But don’t forget-” she leans in until her mouth is right next to your ear, breath tickling your neck- “behave yourself. I will not tolerate any tomfoolery, understood?” Alcina does not pull away until you’ve nodded, and you do not relax until the library door has shut behind her.

Except now you’re alone with her daughters. Wonderful.

---------------------------

Dealing with finances was not, to put it simply, Alcina’s ‘favorite’ activity. Although she employed someone to handle the majority of the paperwork, she made sure to go over it herself to ensure accuracy. There were many aspects to her business, being both legitimate and illegitimate, technically. One could never be too careful about their records. After all, failing to file tax returns had taken down Al Capone, of all people. Who was to say that such a mistake, or one in a similar vein, could not damage House Dimitrescu? Certainly it wouldn’t be enough to ruin them entirely, but it could lead to certain ‘nuisances’ bothering the village. At the end of the day, Alcina cared more about the impact it would have on Mother Miranda than anything else, even the possible decline of her household.

A nasty habit, really. Few knew the extent of her self-entitled devotion to the cult leader. The only bond that ran deeper was that she had with her daughters, who meant more to her than she could ever vocalize. Even then, she viewed them as a gift from Miranda, which in turn strengthened her love for the woman. Now that love leaked into everything she did. With a flourish of her pen, she signed away some of this month’s earnings. So what if she already ‘donated’ a large portion of her income to the village and its leader? Certainly this was a way to show the level of her devotion? Certainly Miranda would take notice, eventually? Praise her for it? Take Alcina’s hand in her own, thumb caressing her skin, eyes filled with a long-sought affection?...

The sound of passing footsteps brings her back into the moment, and Alcina stares down at the mountain of paperwork she’d yet to approve. With a deep sigh she readjusts her reading glasses, sets the finished document aside, then gets back to work. A part of her mind soon starts to drift to other subjects. To you, primarily. Would your affection be easier to gain? Steadier?... But could it, in any way, compare to Miranda’s? No matter how she tries to brush the thoughts away, they nip at her heels, circling her head like vultures. Only time would give her the relief she so desperately sought.

---------------------------

“So, don’t tell me you really think you’re my mother’s soulmate, right?” Cassandra says, somewhat grumbling, as you trail behind Bela. It’s less than five minutes into the tour, with the siblings having behaved so far, focused on actually showing you around. At her words, both her sisters started walking slower. Their gazes were still locked ahead of themselves. The way they positioned themselves, however, made it clear that they were listening. “Is it some elaborate scheme, hmm? Did you spend a dozen hours with the other servants, noting every last detail about her soul mark, before copying it? Do you really think that you’ll get away with this?” Well, ‘twas good to know who the most paranoid of the three were.

“Ah, yes, it’s all a great, horrible ruse. You’ve caught me red-handed, I’m afraid,” you chime, sarcastically. A hand goes to your forehead as you fake faintness. “I’m just so desperate to be scrutinized by yourself and your mother, to have my every movement watched, to somehow be less free than I already was. I simply… cannot… believe… that you saw through my bluff.” With that you give a dramatic sigh, pausing in the hallway to give Cassandra a judgemental look. If not for Alcina’s instructions to keep you safe, you’re certain she would have beheaded you on the spot. “I’m not claiming to understand the universe’s decision. But I’m also not giving up immediately, no matter how much the three of you scare me.” At that, Bela stops in her tracks, slowly turning to you. Instinctively you go to take a step backwards, only for Cassandra to catch you, holding you in place. Next thing you know, the oldest daughter is grabbing your head, staring you right in the eyes.

“Answer one question, and maybe I’ll make sure you don’t fall victim to some tragic, unfortunate accident. Can you see yourself loving my mother?” Bela asks, more intense than you’ve ever seen her before. Despite that, you don’t tremble, swallowing your fear long enough to reply.

“Honestly? I don’t know. She’s terrifying… and beautiful. Cruel to some of the maidens I’ve met… and loving to you three. I… I don’t know if I can love her,” you admit, gulping. “But isn’t that part of the point of trying? To find out? I am going to try, for both my sake and hers, to love her. To cherish her. What more would you ask of me? I cannot tell you how the days to come will go, whether or not your mother will enjoy them, or even whether she could love me. This is not a situation you can threaten into resolving the way you want it to. So let me go, finish the tour, and give me a chance. You owe your mother that much, do you not?” Soon enough the hands keeping you in place loosen their grip, and Bela turns away with a scoff. Honestly, you can hardly believe that your little speech worked. You aren’t given much time to celebrate, however, as the sisters quickly resume their walking. Before long, Daniela is speaking up between giggles.

“I like this one already.”

[crow-mlm]

To Capture Wind in a Bottle. Part 1 (Childe x Reader)

> Word Count: 1.9k

> Summary: A wandering bard, loyal to the God of Anemo, ventures from their home of Mondstadt, drawing the interest of a certain Fatui Harbinger - an interest which spurs an unfortunate infatuation.

> Notes: My first fic on here! I’m hoping this is offering enough to the gacha gods to bring him home. Diluc is lonely...

> Warnings: Implied stalking, non-consensual touching, intimidation, yandere.

There was no earthly possession quite as precious as freedom, at least not to you. The winds that graced every corner of Teyvat, that met the wings of birds and allowed them to soar unrestrained amongst the limitless stretch of sky, was as essential to their voyage as it was to yours. They emboldened you, whether it was a gentle breeze drifting through the foliage of Mondstatd, or the howling currents that coiled around Liyue’s peaks. It was a constant reminder of the Anemo God’s blessing, one that you saw to embrace as best as possible.

The comfort of Mondstadt’s familiar walls and streets was one difficult to part with, but the proclaimed City of Freedom was one that you found contradictory to stagnate in. With the wind at your back, and lyre held tight to your chest, you set yourself on a pilgrimage of sorts. You were, after all, a worshiper in practice and a bard by trade. You admired the nuns that diligently served Barbatos within the Cathedral, but you found that sedentary brand of reverence to be at odds with the creed he proclaimed.

You’d parted with your family and friends, your younger brother gripping your clothes with tear-filled eyes as he begged you not to go. He was eventually subdued with promises of souvenirs and trophies on your eventual return, as well as reassurances offered by your mother with a misty gaze. You wondered if they were more for her than for your brother.

Your lyre proved to be a reliable companion. From Springvale to Liyue Harbour, your performances made ends meet with tips, and your songs garnered you a modest reputation. It was perilous, now and then, and with no combat experience nor vision of your own, you were exceptionally vulnerable amongst the inhospitable wilds. But your cunning proved to be a valuable weapon; hilichurls were easily distracted by the notes of your lyre, and the occasional slime was easy enough to outmaneuver. It was, of course, the human threats that proved to be the most dangerous. Bandits, scavengers and, most unpredictable of them all,-

“The Fatui...” you mumbled, grip tightening on your instrument. It took you a while to put a name to the uniform, but it was unmistakable. This was only supposed to be a minor gig - a small tavern in Liyue that you decided to perform in as you saw the sights the region had to offer - but you couldn’t help assuming the worst as more and more agents filtered in to block every entrance to the establishment. You scanned the audience from your makeshift stage. It was sparse, unsurprisingly, and all the patrons seemed to be stiff in their presence.

All but one.

The mop of orange hair accompanied by the smug, handsome face it belonged to was too distinct to forget. His elbow was perched on a table, hand cupping his face as his unwavering stare held a mixture of intrigue and expectancy. The young man had attended a number of your performances, each time sending you off with a standing ovation and a firm clap, accompanied by an emphasised enthusiasm that made it hard to determine its sincerity. What shocked you was his consistency; whether you were playing in some hole in the wall in Mondstadt or in a secluded town tucked away within Liyue’s landscape, he always happened to make an appearance.

His presence was once flattering, assuming he was simply an adventurer, but his apparent satisfaction at having you cornered like an animal made you sick to your stomach.

Your animosity toward the Fatui was not unfounded; their desire for control and subjugation was one so incompatible with your own values. It was inflamed further by the whispers of their treachery against Barbatos, their rumoured attempts to steal his power and murder one of the four winds. Whether it was true or not, they certainly weren’t above such allegations.

“Ah, don’t tell my our little bard has developed a case stage fright,” The man proclaimed with a chuckle, standing to his full height. His voice made you flinch from your thoughts, an action you immediately regretted as his grin broadened.

You straightened your back, attempting to feign confidence. The glare you met his gaze with seemed to only amuse him, placing a hand against his heart in mock hurt. 

“I didn’t mean to offend you, truly,” he sauntered closer to the stage, steps slow and methodical. “I’m just eager to hear that beautiful music of yours, right?” The man nudged a frozen patron with his elbow, eliciting nothing but a subtle recoil in response. You cleared your throat, fists balling with an increasing desire to wipe that smug grin off his face.

“I wasn’t aware I’d be playing to such a large audience,” you remarked, narrowing your eyes at the man before you, “forgive me for being shy.”

Apparently delighting off your discomfort, he chuckled. “My apologies then. See, I simply wanted to invite some of my friends to come hear the wonderful bard they’ve heard so much about,” the man gestured to the squad of Fatui that now guarded the tavern. You shivered, his statement stung with a meaning deeper than it seemed. He closed the distance between you gradually, using a finger to nonchalantly inspect the dust that settled on the tables.

He suddenly directed his gaze back at you, the glint in his eye completely suffocating. “Mondstadt, right?” he nodded in your direction. “The style of music, I mean. Although your sense of fashion is pretty distinct.”

You froze under his words, the light fabrics and pleasant colours of your attire seemingly stripped from your body under his roaming eyes. It dawned on you that this sounded like a thinly veiled interrogation. He punctuated your growing disgust with a sly wink like he knew exactly of your epiphany. 

“You’ve been a busy little bard, haven’t you? Seems there isn’t a corner of Teyvat you haven’t graced-”

“The same could be said about you,” you interrupted, tired of the demeaning playfulness that characterised his tone. His surprise at your little outburst was emphasised by a halt, and you realized just how close he was as he stood right before you. Even with the slight elevation of your platform, he seemed to tower over you, evidenced by the crane of your neck to meet his face.

The slight furrow of his brow relaxed, and the teasing grin returned to his face. Oceans of deep, drowning blue locked onto your form, and you felt even smaller in his presence.

“I’m so flattered you remember me!” The man beamed as he arched his back to draw closer to your level. His voice grew quieter, lower, and a fresh wave of fear chilled you to your core. “I’m really quite a fan, little bard.”

Spurred by the heat of his breath against your ear, you jolted yourself backward. Faster than you could comprehend, his gloved hand snatched your forearm in an iron grip, giving a painful squeeze that betrayed a strength unfathomably greater than yours. The wince you gave was met with an affectionate sigh, like a tired parent scolding a misbehaving child. 

“No need to run away, (First). We can talk, can’t we?” The use of your name made the ball in your throat thicken. It wasn’t uncommon to have your name known by strangers, word of mouth seemed more fluid and far-reaching than the wind itself, but the preciousness of his tone sounded much too familiar for your liking.

You dropped your gaze to the hand gripping your arm, cursing yourself for the submission but unable to bear the weight of his stare.

“Unhand me,” you demanded weakly, the crack in your voice betraying your paper-thin confidence. “Then I’ll talk.”

The man hummed, humouring your request. With a laugh, he eased his hand off and threw up his arms in a show of passivity. You rubbed your forearm, sore and slightly red. You knew as well as he that you were cornered, and you assumed his grip was a subtle way to demonstrate the chasm of strength between you two. Although your pride pained you to admit it, it worked.

“You’re welcome,” he quipped. He waited, expectantly, the silence dragging on into a momentary eternity. The man took to straightening your crinkled shirt, long fingers lingering uncomfortably before toying with your buttons. “See, I have certain responsibilities,” he continued as he played with your attire, “They’re a real drag, but I can’t neglect them, you know?”

You couldn’t help but squirm under his slight touches, lacking the courage, and presumed strength, you’d need to pull his arm away. He delighted in that, the smile on his lips widening as you writhed. There was an obvious cat-like glee in toying with you, one that made you wonder if all Fatui interrogators were this sadistic.

“One of those responsibilities is ensuring the Fatui aren’t,” He mulled over his words for a moment before continuing, “Infringed upon.”

You furrowed your brow, confused. How did this have anything to do with you? It didn’t go unnoticed by the Fatui member, chuckling deeply. His fingers trailed from your torso, ghosting up your chest before cupping your face in his hand. He bent to meet your eyes, revelling in the myriad of emotions that swirled within them.

“Unfortunately, Mondstadt hasn’t proved to be the most receptive toward Snezhnaya,” His lips quirked a frown, “So to catch wind of a roaming little bard, who sings so highly of the Anemo God, well...” he leans in closer, almost nose to nose, breath dusting against your lips in unwelcomed intimacy. “You can’t blame us for questioning your intentions.”

Anger flashed across your features, trying to pull away from his grasp only for him to lock you helplessly into place.

“Are you accusing me of being a spy?” You seethed, fear momentarily dissolving into rage, “I have no desire to concern myself with scum like you. You’re wasting your time. You-” narrowing your eyes into his, you hissed, “Snezhnayan lapdog.”

The Fatui’s face fell for a moment, and you revelled in the thought you’d dashed that smugness. To your horror, his visage beamed into a wide grin, and you noticed the light pink that dusted his cheeks. He looked truly, terrifyingly authentic for once.

“Cute,” he cooed, “and here I was thinking our little bard didn’t have any bite.” He released your chin, standing up straight and letting you stumble back. With a signal of his hand, the Fatui that guarded the tavern were ordered to leave. He gave you a final grin, taking in the sight of your shivering form.

“I’ll see you soon, (First),” His tone was deep, intimidating, more a threat rather than a friendly goodbye. “Don’t misbehave.”

“Oh!” He interrupted himself with a snap of his fingers, “It’s Childe, by the way.” 

With a final wink and flash of his cocky smirk, ‘Childe’ exited the tavern. You felt like you could finally breathe, although the building dread in your stomach failed to subside with his promise. Placing a hand against your temple, you felt your pulse rage beneath the skin.

There was more to this, you concluded. His intimacy, the lingering touches and burning stares suggested more than just Fatui interrogation. You held the anemo sigil placed around your neck, offered a desperate prayer to Barbatos, and hoped that you were wrong.

[adelaidedrubman]

For the deputy oc asks, 1,2 and 18-20?

thank you dear!! sorry these took a hot fucking minute, i appreciate you sending <3

1. What’s their name?

Jestiny Ellen Rook

2. How old are they?

28 circa 2018. (DOB April 13, 1990)

18. How do they feel about John?

feel? she doesn’t really particularly feel anything about him but annoyed, but if you’d like to know her well reasoned and entirely dispassionate thoughts and observations about him, they are as follows:

just kidding of course, i wouldn’t do that to the good folks at adelaidedrubmandottumblrdotcom, y’all aren’t mary may. john does annoy her with an unparalleled efficiency that just makes her instantly become hyperfocused on taking him down, spirals into a more generalized morbid fascination and obsession pretty quickly and she just feels very [killing eve i think about you all the time speech] about him. she consistently forgets the other heralds exist because she’s so focused on him. (as you can see below, in fact, all other heralds do exist almost exclusively in relation to john in her mind.) what she’s less open with herself about but is pretty clear from her behavior is that she also genuinely enjoys talking to him (way more so than most people she interacts with, their conversations are much more natural), and despite having genuine, intense animosity for him she desperately needs him to think she’s funny and cool and smart at all times. of the heralds, he’s the only one she feels like she has something to prove to. she cares what he thinks. she cares so fucking bad. (also, of course, there is the matter of the thinly veiled sexual attraction, but don’t tell her i told you that.)

she also says she wouldn’t hesitate to kill him, but, well. hesitate she has, and shall again. whether that’s because she takes more pleasure in toying with him, making him suffer, and reclaiming power from him than she would wiping him out efficiently, or because she feels some genuine kinship with and admiration for him, or some mix of the two, well. she’s certainly not in touch or honest with herself about her emotions to know. but whatever it is, it’s clear she’d miss having him around. and if she does finally follow through on killing him, it has to be a special moment, ya know?

19. How do they feel about Faith?

hoo boy. faith is easily the herald who scares her most, and she resents her and jacob in equal parts for using the bliss to get inside her head. (she considers it cheating. if someone wants to fuck her head up they should do it the old fashioned way via psychosexual mindgames played on a level playing field, thank you.) but faith’s bliss trips actually scare her more than jacob’s conditioning, those experiences tend to fuck more with her sense of reality and she’s not nearly as afraid of dying as she is losing herself or not knowing what’s real. she hates being out of control of her mind more than she hates being out of control of her body. she can’t just dissociate with faith and is forced to actually feel things. jessie also dislikes indirectness and hates more than almost anything cruelty delivered through a veneer of gentleness, so faith does repulse her in that sense. even in non blissed interactions with faith, jessie maintains a level of fear and distrust due to that trauma.

that being said, faith is also probably the herald jessie feels sympathy easiest for, both because she has more information on her via her eventual friendship tracey and because she tends to be more sympathetic towards women generally. she hates faith for what she’s done, but would struggle to kill her, and if she did it would likely be in an out of control fit of rage rather than a calculated attack.

20. How do they feel about Jacob? 

well that is certainly a man she has encountered. see above, re: deeply resents him for using bliss to get inside her head. but despite jacob having the ideology most personally offensive to her (power/strength should never be used to harm or take advantage of people weaker than you is the closest thing to a guiding moral philosophy she tries to implement in her life) jessie’s hatred for jacob is notably dispassionate compared to some people. if you go with the old adage that the opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference, well. jacob is the seed sibling jestiny is furthest away from loving. while john has a cohesive belief system and emotional presence jessie can if nothing else feel deeply motivated to personally destroy, jacob’s apparent apathy inspires matching apathy in her. she thinks he’s a monster and has no goddamn honor, but she feels largely nothing about him.

if there’s one thing she does appreciate about him though, it’s that he’s the most upfront about how immoral his actions and motivations are. he doesn’t pretend he’s doing anything but overpowering her and others to impose his own will through brute force, and that is somewhat refreshing in an enemy. she feels some comparative comfort in how completely impersonal it is with him. she isn’t anything but a tool to him, no different from the other soldiers. she means nothing to him, he means nothing to her, and she likes the uncomplicatedness of that. on that note, she wouldn’t feel much of anything about killing him. she wouldn’t hesitate or feel guilty about it, but she also wouldn’t take any personal pleasure in it.

[a-libra-writes]

11 from the kiss prompt list with mance 🥺🥺

also i’m so glad you’re doing better and writing again!

thank you thank you!! Kiss Prompt 11: ““I almost lost you” kiss”

The wind whipped at her angrily, cutting coldly into her cheeks and making her eyes burn. She was used to freezes as a girl, but it had only been getting colder since the Others began to rise. She stood tall in front of her men, glad the tears the wind was forcing were going to freeze on her cheeks. It was a rare day when she cried. The North bred cold, hard people, like the ones she led.

They waited with her. Her best spearwoman was at her side, as was Tormund, who was trying not to sway on his feet with impatience. Val absently brushed at her eyes, and Y/N knew she was feeling that same sting, both from the wind and from her heart.

It was a sad thing, this Castle Black. The parts that were burned in their little invasion still smelled of charcoal, and they’d yet to fully repair the device and the stairs that took them up to the top of the wall. It doesn’t look so different on the other side, Y/N thought. But there’s a world of difference when it’s no longer in your way.

Finally, the crows emerged. They were in a huddled group, like when ravens fed on carrion, just waiting to be chased away. She picked out their Lord Snow well enough, and that tall, solemn one they called a “king”, and the cursed red woman beside him. Y/N’s tightened her jaw as she looked at all the faces, peering into their eyes with her own. 

“Well? Where is he?” Tormund barked. “Is there a scrap of honor in your little band after all?”

She didn’t chastise him, thinking the same herself. Finally, the group parted enough to show what she wanted. Two large crows were holding Mance, and her breath caught in her throat. Her love looked tired, so very tired, and paler than she recalled, but he was alive. There was bruising at his neck where they had once tied a rope; she didn’t miss it. Her sharp eyes met Lord Snow’s.

“He is unharmed, like I promised,” The boy said. That’s what he was, a boy, and a crow, and a turncloak and a bastard, so many things. Y/N felt that when a man was so many things at once, he’d eventually lose what he was. Sometimes she pitied him, but only sometimes.

“If that is what you mean by unharmed,” Y/N replied coldly. She nodded to her spearwoman and Tormund, who made quick work of taking Mance away from the two crows. His legs were not bound, but he walked unsteadily as if they were. Tormund quickly untied the bindings at his wrists.

That was unneeded, he’s already so weak, Y/N felt contempt all over again. Her heart was pounding, but she had to keep herself in check. She turned her angry glare to the king and his red witch. “We have come to an agreement, then?”

“We have,” Their southern king said. “Your people will fight for my crown, and I will grant you the lands beyond the wall.”

As if they were your’s to give, King Without a Throne. You southerners know nothing. Y/N kept her tongue. She dared to meet Mance’s eyes, and felt her resolve rapidly falling. She wanted to take him into her arms right there, but they both knew it was not the time. She could feel the animosity of their people around her, their disdain for this agreement. 

“Not just us, but our people who pass beyond the wall, as well. Many more will flee, and when the time comes -”

“Aye, I will fight your Others. Like I said.” The King nodded brusquely. The red witch beside him said nothing for once, but she had a queer expression. 

Is that disappointment? Y/N thought. Did you want a burning so badly, you godless witch?

They would not have this one. Let her burn the rest of them, as long as her and Mance’s people were safe. Damn the southern lords and these little games they played. 

“I will hold you to that, your grace,” Y/N only thinly veiled her contempt. Val, Tormund, her spearwoman, all the rest shared in it, even if they said nothing. That was it, then. They could leave to the New Gift, for now, until they were called. Y/N had no doubt she would have deserters, but … That’s for another time.

It would not be so perilous as going over the Wall, but Mance was weakened. Y/N would send men ahead to scout, then they’d all move together. Tormund helped her carry Mance to the temporary tent she’d set up outside the perimeter of Castle Black. She refused to sit in those ruined stony walls, enduring the mockery of the King’s men and the hatred of crows. 

“I can do it myself,” She heard Mance mutter as he stepped aside from Tormund and uneasily sat himself on a pile of furs. His clothing was only little more than rags, and he had a roughspun old black cloak about his shoulders. It was not the old red and black one she made him so long ago. 

Tormund didn’t need to be asked to give them time. She was grateful, knowing he was burning with questions. “See to the rest, make sure they’re ready to go at a moment’s notice.”

“Heh, we’ve been more than ready to leave.” Tormund nodded to the two of them, then took his leave.

She wrapped her arms around Mance’s torso so quickly, the man flinched, but settled into it quickly. Y/N worried she must have hurt him, touched a wound, or worse, a bruised rib. She tried to pull away, but Mance put his arms around her too, drawing her close.

He smelled of mud and mildew, but stronger than that, smoke and charcoal. Tears sprang to her eyes and once, and these would not freeze on her cheeks. 

“None of that, now,” Mance said gently, but it was too late. 

“Did they try it?” Y/N demanded, the tears falling freely. “Did they think I would not notice? Let me see your feet.”

“My love -”

“Let me see!”

Mance sighed. He pulled up the dirty trousers they gave him, and pulled off the worn, old boots. They were not the ones he normally wore, they were too big. His feet were blistered and burned.

“The Others take them!” Y/N said. “Let them freeze this castle first, then take the rest of their greenlands! All of it!”

“Love,” Mance said again. He could still stand to speak so quietly, so gently, even like this. He held her face in his hands and wiped her tears with his thumbs. “It did not happen. I’m here now. ‘Twas our little crow that stopped them.”

She didn’t care what the lord Snow did. If he hadn’t turned against them, if the King hadn’t come here with that red woman … if only the Others hadn’t …

“You are here,” Y/N said. She held close to him again, and kissed him. She was cold, and so was he, and so was the howling wind outside the tent, but nothing was so warm and comforting as this little action. His hands ran along her hair, and down her back, resting there. He is doing more to reassure me, and he was the one that was nearly cooked.

“I’m proud of you, my queen,” Mance said against her brow. “You did this, as much as Snow. You held strong, and now we have a home.”

There was no home as long as the Others were at their backs, and there was no telling the intentions of the southerners, but she let herself nod and rest against his chest. At least they were safe tonight, and tomorrow, and for many years she barely had that. It was a strange thing, to hope for a future, to plan it. She never did such things before she met Mance. The cold and snow had a way of taking what you loved and freezing it in your palms. 

And this time, fire nearly took it, too. She shuddered at the thought. Assuming she was cold, Mance covered her in one of the many furs around the tent. It was daylight out, but she was tired, all the tension released from her body at once. She felt like an arrow released from a bow, ready to hit a target, until it lost speed and fell uselessly into the dirt.

She bid him to rest for a few hours, so she could fetch proper food and he could regain his strength. Y/N didn’t want to leave him, worried by some magic he’d be whisked away and burned after all. She was walking back to the tent when the sun was setting, and caught a figure of black in the distance.

The crow lord, or Snow commander, or whatever he wished to be, watched her. His expression brought her back months ago, when he was first brought to their camp. Those big eyes lost, that boy’s posture trying to be a man’s. 

He is more man now, I’ll grant him that. But he is still lost. He raised his hand to her, in some sort of greeting, some sort of entreatment. Y/N only inclined her head, and returned to the tent.

[chickadeee]

Bachelorette Headcanons

WARNING: The topic broaches on various expressions of anger.

The Bachelorettes after their first big fight with a (romanced) Farmer

Abigail

Shouting. Lots of shouting. Her time dealing with her parents made it so that she’s verbally combative where having the last word is a must. When she realizes that there’s no point in conversation, she’ll say her final words and leave you to talk to yourself with a choice tasteful descriptor about you under her breath.

She won’t be available for a while and it will worry you. What’s great about Abigail, however, is her ability to forgive. A few hours later, you’ll find her limping back home with a bag full of “banishing rocks” that she gathered from the mines. She knows that you love these things and she’s courteous enough to remember it. Will she talk to you? Not quite. She’ll just dump it where you’ll likely see (and trip) on it. Conversations and reconciliations will be done over cake and blackberry cobblers.

Emily

The lack of smiles and laughter in the house is disconcerting. Emily is usually always eager to greet and talk to you but after your latest fight, she’s more distant despite still being willing to converse about other things. But you can tell that there’s something bubbling beneath the surface especially with her increased usage of tongue clicks and disapproving sighs.

When enough is enough, she will eventually approach you with an intense energy that you can’t quite place. Auras and spiritual stuff was always her thing so she’ll probably pull you in a private conversation on a lucky day so she could predict for you and cleanse your aura on the side. Interlaced with her predictions is her thoughts about your fight and how much it hurt her. She wants to make it up to you and herself.  Plus, the energy in the house is too clumped up and grating. She’ll need you to help ease the entire thing place to normal.

Haley

Stomping feet and a lot of scoffing. You always knew that Haley’s knee-jerk response to anything unwanted were snide comments but you can tell that they have more edge than usual this time. She will make it obvious disliked what happened and she’s not afraid to bring back the past to help herself make a point. But eventually, even that gets too stale for her liking, she will settle to avoidance instead. She will give you the cold shoulder like no one else ever did. She’s really good at this and you have a nagging suspicion that this is a norm for her.

Try as she might, Haley is unlikely going to be the one that would start the conversation no matter how badly she may want it. She’s afraid that you’re still angry at her and she doesn’t know how else to proceed other than to keep up the act. A little offering might ease her into talking, however. When she finally gets over the anxiety of talking to you again, she’ll be the first to apologize and say that she likely over-reacted, that she didn’t mean the terrible things that she told you before and that she’s willing to talk and make it up to you.

Leah

The final stomp of her boot on the floor signalled the end of her willingness to participate. She doesn’t need this kind of negativity in her life and she’s not going to stand here and take it. Leah will refuse to acknowledge you throughout her anger and no, you do your own chores this time. Her utensils will always be magically clean and properly stacked and your plates will just keep piling up until you do it yourself. But if you need her, she’s outside whacking and nicking away at some poor defenseless wooden block that you can’t help but feel bad for.

When the haze eventually fades and she realizes that she’s done her own share of terrible things to you, she will start feeling terrible at how she treated you and will try to make it up to you by doing some chores for you to help ease the mood. She isn’t really the best in apologizing so she’ll try to cut to the point by cornering you to apologize on how badly she had been acting the past few days, and that she hopes that you two can settle your differences better next time.

Maru

A resounding and firm “NO” will be her last word before she leaves red-faced in anger straight to her room. You won’t be seeing Maru throughout the day and she won’t be showing her face to you either. Conflict had been a normal part of her life especially with the thinly veiled animosity between her father and her brother that she unfortunately had to witness regularly in the past but this was still painful to her. She could not believe what you said and she feels indignant over it. Much like a wronged child, she’ll try to outlast your patience with stubborn resistance and a seemingly unusual level of sneaking around to avoid you.

But there comes a point where she’ll slip. You’ll find her helping herself on a slice of rhubarb pie that you recently baked in the kitchen one odd midnight and she’ll look at you like a cat caught stealing. Wide eyed in surprise, Maru will watch you saunter towards her and offer some whipped cream that you’ve recently purchased specifically for the pie. Cautious, she’ll take it to apply on her pie. There will be silence between you while you help yourself to a slice of your own and she will sigh in defeat. A mumbled apology will be sent towards you and an explanation for her side. She will promise to do better next time and hopes that you would do the same for her.

Penny

Silence. There was a painful sense of acceptance in Penny’s silence throughout your tirade. She tried to explain herself but could not quite push her thoughts out between watery eyes and quivering lips. When you finish, she won’t quite know what to do with herself after the entire debacle so she’ll do the only thing that she knows best: cleaning. All the while she would go about her day with an empty look upon her. Even the children would notice and would worry over her. Penny tries her best to play the role of the kind and loving, and unbothered teacher like she usually does but children tend to be more perceptive than most people would give them credit for.

Reconciliation will come for you through small stomping feet and the accusatory tone of young children. Penny will try her best to quell their anger but the children seem more than eager to call you out on your bullshit. They state plainly that no one talks to their dear teacher Penny like that, enough to wet her eyes all over again and burst into a string of apologies on the children's behalf. The children will attempt to comfort her while simultaneously insisting an apology from you, “A REAL SORRY,” they would demand. The children won’t leave you be until you realize your mistake and apologize as needed.

A promise will be exacted from you at their presence and a pinky swear. A vague threat was thrown your direction but you couldn’t quite care. You’re just feeling terribly guilty about hurting Penny without fully realizing it.