#( 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?

[niallerspayno]

Fire and Ice - Part 3

Masterlist

Being One Direction’s opening act is the opportunity of a lifetime, and you step into it with your signature confidence and charm. Bold, flirty, and unapologetically fiery, you’re everything Zayn Malik isn’t—and he can’t stand you for it. But as the tour rolls on and the sparks of your heated clashes fly, the line between animosity and something more begins to blur. Will you stay locked in your battle of wills, or will your fiery feud ignite a very different kind of flame?

Tags: Zayn x reader, enemies to lovers, smut

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

...

The energy in the green room after the concert is electric, the buzz of the performance still thrumming through your veins. The crowd had been wild, the show one of the best yet. But it was your duet with Zayn that had sent the fans into a frenzy. The applause had been deafening, the energy crackling through the arena like lightning. Even now, you can still feel the echo of it in your chest.

You’re standing by the drinks table, trying to focus on pouring yourself some water and not the fact that Zayn has just walked in. You haven’t spoken to him since soundcheck, and even then, it was all professionalism—if you could call thinly veiled snark and stolen glances professional.

He’s leaning against the doorframe, his dark eyes scanning the room before they land on you. Your stomach twists when he starts walking over, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Nice performance,” he says, his tone clipped but quiet enough that only you can hear.

You glance at him, feigning indifference. “Thanks. You weren’t too bad yourself.”

His lips twitch, not quite a smile. “The fans seemed to think it was more than ‘not too bad.’”

You smirk, sipping your water. “Oh, they loved it. All the tweets about how electric we are together? Kind of flattering, really.”

Zayn’s jaw tightens, and he leans in just a fraction closer. You can feel the heat of him now, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the sweat from the performance. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Why not?” you tease, arching an eyebrow. “Yours is big enough for both of us.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“I know I am.”

The tension between you is palpable, like a wire stretched so tight it’s ready to snap. His eyes flick to your lips for a fraction of a second, so quick you might have imagined it. But the way your heart skips tells you you didn’t.

“You always have to push, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“Someone has to,” you shoot back, stepping a little closer. Your confidence wavers slightly when you realize just how close you are now, close enough that his breath brushes your skin.

His gaze hardens, but there’s something else beneath it—something darker, more vulnerable. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and your eyes betray you, following the movement.

“Careful,” he warns softly, the word heavy with meaning.

“Why?” you whisper, tilting your head, the teasing lilt in your voice faltering.

For a moment, neither of you moves, the world around you fading until it’s just the two of you locked in this charged moment. It feels like a battle of wills, like you’re both waiting to see who will break first.

And then Louis’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “Oi, lovebirds! You coming to celebrate or what?”

You snap back to reality, stepping away from Zayn so quickly that your shoulder brushes against the wall. You can’t even look at him, too rattled by how badly you wanted him to close the gap between you.

“Yeah, coming,” you call back, your voice a little too loud, a little too unsteady.

When you finally meet Zayn’s gaze again, there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his dark eyes. He doesn’t say a word, just shakes his head slightly before turning and walking away.

Your chest is tight, and you take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself.

Whatever this is between you, it’s getting harder to ignore. And judging by the way your body still hums from being so close to him, it’s only a matter of time before it all boils over.

...

The club is alive with pounding music, flashing lights, and a packed crowd. You’ve had just enough drinks to feel warm and bold, the kind of buzz that makes you lean into the playful energy with Louis and Niall, who are by your side, their laughter echoing in your ears. Harry stands just behind you, his hand casually resting on your shoulder as he leans in to say something, his voice low enough that you have to turn your head, your faces nearly brushing.

“You’re really making the most of tonight, aren’t you?” Harry teases, his breath tickling your ear.

“I thought that’s what we were here for,” you reply, shooting him a grin as you lightly rest your hand on his arm.

Louis loops an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side with a mock-serious expression. “Don’t let Harry steal all your attention. I brought you another drink, love.”

Niall rolls his eyes dramatically, handing you his own glass instead. “Don’t listen to him. Mine’s better anyway.”

You take a sip from Niall’s glass, smirking as you hand it back. “You’re right. Sorry, Lou.”

Louis pretends to be affronted, placing a hand on his heart. “I can’t believe this betrayal.”

You laugh, swatting at his chest, your hand lingering a second too long. It’s all light and teasing, a harmless game among friends, but across the room, Zayn is far from amused.

He’s leaning against the bar, nursing his drink as his eyes zero in on you. He’s trying to look indifferent, but the hard set of his jaw and the tight grip on his glass give him away. Beside him, Liam notices.

“You’re glaring so hard I’m surprised she hasn’t burst into flames yet,” Liam says, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not glaring,” Zayn mutters, his voice clipped.

Liam huffs out a laugh. “Right. And I’m a ballerina.” He takes a sip of his drink, then glances back toward the dance floor where you’re laughing at something Louis said, your hand brushing Harry’s shoulder as you lean into him. “You could just go over there, you know.”

“And do what?” Zayn snaps, his eyes still locked on you. “Join in on... whatever that is?”

“Or at least stop looking like you’re about to storm over and cause a scene,” Liam replies calmly. “You’re wound so tight, mate, it’s painful to watch.”

Zayn doesn’t answer, but his grip tightens on his glass as you spin away from Louis and Niall, your laughter ringing out as Harry steadies you with a hand on your hip.

“God, she’s shameless,” Zayn mutters under his breath.

“She’s having fun,” Liam counters, his tone even. “Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Back on the dance floor, Louis twirls you dramatically, making you laugh as you stumble into Harry, who catches you with both hands on your waist.

“Careful,” Harry says, his voice laced with amusement.

“Thanks, Styles,” you say, grinning as you pat his chest.

Niall steps in, nudging Harry aside. “Alright, mate, don’t hog her.” He holds out his hand to you with an exaggerated bow. “Your next dance?”

“Absolutely,” you say, taking his hand and letting him spin you around.

Zayn’s jaw clenches as he watches the way you effortlessly command the attention of the three of them, your laugh cutting through the music like a siren’s call. He’s about five seconds away from losing his composure when Liam speaks again.

“You’re jealous,” Liam says simply, not even bothering to sugarcoat it.

Zayn scoffs, finally tearing his eyes away from you to glare at his friend. “I’m not jealous. She’s just—”

“Shameless, I know,” Liam interrupts, his tone light but pointed. “You’ve said that already. But maybe—just maybe—you should ask yourself why you can’t stop staring at her.”

Zayn opens his mouth to retort, but his words die in his throat when he looks back at the dance floor. You’re leaning into Louis now, your arm draped over his shoulder as you whisper something in his ear, and Louis throws his head back with a laugh, his hand resting on your hip.

Zayn’s chest tightens, and he downs the rest of his drink in one go. “I need another drink,” he mutters, pushing off the bar.

Liam just shakes his head, watching as Zayn stalks off toward the bar with tension radiating from his every step. “You’re hopeless,” he murmurs under his breath, but there’s a faint smile on his lips.

...

The music fades to a muffled thrum as you step outside, the cool night air brushing against your flushed skin. You inhale deeply, relishing the quiet after hours of noise and lights. The distant hum of the city buzzes in your ears as you lean against the rough brick wall, your eyes drifting to the stars barely visible above.

“Needed a breather?” a voice cuts through the stillness, low and unmistakable.

You glance over to find Zayn, his hands buried in his pockets as he saunters toward you. The streetlights cast a golden glow on his sharp features, and there’s something in his dark eyes that makes your pulse skip.

“What, did you follow me?” you tease, arching an eyebrow.

“Couldn’t let you steal the show out here too,” he quips, though his tone is rough, his jaw tight as he stops just a few feet away.

You smirk, tilting your head as you let your gaze sweep over him. “Jealousy’s not a good look on you, Malik.”

“I’m not jealous,” he growls, the words cutting through the air with a sharp edge.

“Right.” You push off the wall, taking a step closer, your voice dropping into something softer, more teasing. “So you didn’t spend the whole night glaring at me like I’d committed some sort of crime?”

He stiffens, his eyes narrowing as you step closer still, your confidence palpable. “Maybe I just don’t like watching you throw yourself at everyone.”

You laugh, low and throaty. “Everyone? That’s dramatic, even for you.”

He doesn’t reply, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. The tension is suffocating, electric, and when he finally steps forward, closing the gap between you, it feels inevitable.

“God, you drive me fucking crazy,” he mutters, his voice like gravel.

Before you can respond, his hands are on your waist, and he’s pushing you back against the wall. The impact is gentle but firm, the rough texture of the brick pressing against your back as his lips crash into yours.

It’s a storm—wild and unrelenting. His mouth moves against yours with desperation, his hands gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. You match his intensity, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper.

The taste of him—cigarettes and whiskey—floods your senses, and the faint scent of his cologne wraps around you like a vice. His stubble scrapes against your skin as his tongue slides against yours, and a shiver runs down your spine.

You barely register the low groan that rumbles in his chest as his hands trail up your sides, your body arching into him as if drawn by gravity.

“Zayn,” you breathe when you break for air, your voice shaky, your lips swollen.

“Get back to the bus,” he growls, his forehead pressing against yours, his breaths ragged.

“What if I don’t want to?” you challenge, though your voice betrays your anticipation.

His hands tighten on your waist, his smirk dark. “You do.”

Before you can protest—or agree—he pulls back, grabbing your hand and leading you toward the curb where a cab is idling.

The cab ride is a blur of heat and hands.

The second the door closes behind you both, he’s on you again, pulling you into his lap. Your legs straddle his thighs as his mouth claims yours, the kiss even fiercer than before.

His hands roam, gripping your hips, sliding up your thighs, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Your fingers tug at his shirt, your nails grazing his skin as his lips move to your neck, his teeth scraping against the sensitive spot just below your ear.

The driver clears his throat, and you barely manage to pull away, breathless and flushed, your hair a mess. Zayn glares out the window, muttering something under his breath that you don’t catch.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle a laugh. “Getting impatient, are we?”

He looks at you, his dark eyes blazing, his voice low. “You have no idea.”

The rest of the ride is spent in silence, the air between you heavy with unspoken promises. His hand rests on your thigh, his thumb brushing against your skin in slow, maddening circles.

When the bus finally comes into view, your heart pounds in your chest. Whatever’s about to happen, you’re sure of one thing—it’s going to be unforgettable.

The moment the cab comes to a stop outside the tour bus, Zayn is already out the door before it even fully halts. He doesn't wait for you to follow, his hand already gripping the door handle, his body tense with anticipation. You hesitate for only a moment, your heart pounding in your chest, before you push open the door and step into the cool night air.

Zayn is standing there, waiting for you, and without a word, he grabs your wrist again, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you toward the entrance of the bus. The faint noise of music and conversation from the other boys inside fades, and suddenly, it’s just the two of you in the quiet, empty space outside.

The door slams shut behind you with a soft thud, and he’s already leading you down the narrow aisle of the bus. Your eyes lock, and for a split second, everything else disappears. You both know what’s coming, and neither of you is ready to back down.

He doesn’t give you time to think as he pulls you toward his bunk, the space feeling too small, too tight for what’s about to happen. But that doesn’t matter—none of it does. Zayn’s hands are on you now, moving quickly, urgently, as if he’s afraid that if he hesitates for even a second, this moment will slip away.

You’re both still breathing hard from the tension of the night, from the heat between you that’s been building for weeks. When you reach his bunk, he pushes you against the side, a growl escaping his lips as he presses his body into yours. You feel the press of his chest against yours, his heartbeat in sync with your own, as he moves to kiss you—fierce and hungry.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. You can feel every inch of him, the heat of his body radiating through your clothes, and it’s almost too much to handle. Your own hands are trembling as you tug at his shirt, your fingers grazing over the muscles beneath, feeling the strength in his body, the raw need he’s been holding back.

He groans as you kiss him harder, the sound low and desperate. You pull him closer, the kiss turning frantic as he slips his hands beneath your clothes, his touch hot against your skin. His fingers skim the curve of your back, tracing the path of your spine, making you shiver.

“You drive me crazy,” he mutters, his lips grazing your ear before his mouth finds yours again. His words send a thrill down your spine, and you can feel the tension building between you, each kiss deeper, more frantic than the last.

The space in the bunk is cramped, but neither of you cares. He’s pulling you onto the small bed, his body pressing you down against the mattress as he hovers above you, his breath heavy against your skin.

Your hands slide up his chest, then around his neck as you tug him down to kiss you again. There’s a fire between you now, burning hotter than anything you’ve ever felt before. Zayn’s hands are all over you, but you’re not the least bit afraid—this is exactly what you’ve both been avoiding, and yet here you are, caught in the whirlwind of desire that’s too strong to ignore.

His lips trail down your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as his hands slide under the waistband of your pants, pulling them off as if he’s desperate for more. You can feel his heartbeat, erratic, against your chest, matching your own. The heat between you both is unbearable, but you can’t stop—you don’t want to stop.

The air in the small space around you thickens, charged with an almost electric tension as Zayn presses into you, his body firm and hot against yours. His lips are demanding against yours, desperate, as if he’s been holding back for too long. The friction between you, skin on skin, builds an intensity you hadn’t expected, but now it’s consuming you.

His hands roam over you, tracing every curve, every line. You feel his fingertips on your waist, your hips, his palms pressing into you, pulling you closer. Your breath quickens with each movement, and before you can even comprehend it, his body is on top of you, the weight of him both grounding and suffocating in the best way possible.

“I still fucking hate you,” Zayn mutters through clenched teeth, his lips brushing the edge of your jaw. The words are harsh, but his actions speak louder. His body is pressed against yours, his hips grinding against you with slow, calculated pressure that leaves you breathless, your mind swirling with heat.

“Same here,” you respond, your voice a mix of breathlessness and defiance, but even as you speak, you can feel the pull between you, the undeniable attraction that you’ve been trying to deny. Your hands slide into his hair, fingers tugging at the strands as you pull him down to kiss you again, the kiss messy and desperate, lips colliding as if you’ve both been starved for this moment.

Your body is lost to the heat of his touch as you grind against him, the tension building higher and higher. Your hands slide down his body, pausing at the waistband of your pants, teasing the skin just beneath. Your chest rises and falls with each breath as you tug them off, your heart hammering in your chest as you can’t seem to get enough of him.

His mouth moves to your neck, lips scorching against your skin as he leaves a trail of heat, his teeth grazing gently before he pulls away with a sharp intake of breath. He looks down at you, his eyes dark with desire, the need clear in his gaze.

“I hate that I want you this much,” he growls, his voice rough, his hands tightening on your hips, lifting you against him, urging you closer.

“I don’t hear you complaining,” you retort, your voice dripping with teasing, but it falters as his body moves over yours, pressing you into the bed. His muscles flex beneath your hands as he positions himself above you, eyes never leaving yours, his breath mingling with yours as he runs his fingers down your body, his touch sending a shiver through your entire frame. When he finally enters you you're left gripping his shoulders, gasping.

Zayn groans, his lips finding yours again, the kiss messy and urgent. His hands are everywhere—on your waist, your thighs, your back, pulling you even closer, your bodies sliding together as though there’s nothing in the world that matters except this. His body moves with an intensity, a passion you never expected, and you’re lost in it, lost in him.

“You’re all I fucking think about,” he mutters into your mouth, the confession slipping from him unbidden. His hands tighten around you, possessive, like he’s claiming you, and you can feel it—deep, primal, like a spark waiting to ignite.

Without thinking, your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him even closer, the friction between you almost unbearable. The heat between you both is rising, your bodies moving together in a desperate rhythm, the kiss growing fiercer, the need between you two too intense to ignore any longer.

Then, with one swift motion, he pulls back just enough to look at you, and his eyes darken even more, if that’s even possible. His hands grip your waist, lifting you up to meet him again, his hips pressing forward as your bodies come together again in a rush of sensation. It’s overwhelming—the heat, the need, the ache between you two.

You both move together, frantic now, the pace increasing as everything that’s been building finally reaches its peak. Your bodies are slick with sweat, every movement deepening the connection, pulling you both higher, pushing you to the edge.

As the tension finally snaps, and your bodies come together in a moment of explosive release, neither of you speaks. All you can hear is the rush of your breaths, the sound of your skin sliding against his, the thunderous pulse in your ears as everything comes crashing down.

You’re both breathless, the room silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing. Zayn’s forehead presses to yours, his chest rising and falling with each breath as his hands move over you softly now, the anger and frustration from earlier replaced with something else—something deeper.

You try to steady yourself, your body still trembling from the intensity of it all, but you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted between you two. The chemistry that’s always been there, the anger, the desire, it’s all swirling together now, and you don’t know whether to be terrified or exhilarated by what just happened.

Zayn’s lips brush against your neck softly, the tension gone, replaced by an unspoken understanding. You know that this thing—whatever it is—has changed everything, but neither of you are ready to say it out loud.

“I don’t know what the fuck this was,” he murmurs, his voice rough, the words hanging between you two.

You pull him back down for another kiss, the kiss gentler this time, more meaningful. "I don't either," you whisper against his lips. "But we can figure it out."

The heat between you and Zayn still lingers in the air, your heart still racing as you pull away slightly, glancing at him with a teasing smirk.

“I should probably sneak back to my bunk before the others get back,” you murmur, half-joking, trying to pull yourself from his embrace. But he’s quick, his arm tightens around your waist, pulling you back against him.

“No,” he says quietly, his voice rough and low, as though he’s not just speaking to you but to himself, too. “Stay.”

You laugh, trying to keep the atmosphere light. “Getting cuddly now, huh?” you tease, but there’s something in his grip, something that pulls you in deeper. His arm stays firmly around your waist, and this time, there’s no biting reply. He doesn’t let go.

You try to laugh it off again, but the words die on your lips when his warmth presses into your back. His chest is solid, the rise and fall of his breath slow and steady against your skin. His bare skin against yours reminds you of how close you are, how the tension between you has shifted, just for a moment.

There’s no immediate reply from him. He just pulls you closer, his breath brushing over your neck, the weight of his presence making your heart beat faster. You don’t want to admit it, but the way he’s holding you feels... right. For now, it’s comforting.

He doesn’t say anything else. His silence feels heavy, but there’s no discomfort in it. His hand moves gently up and down your arm, and as you settle into his touch, you realize how much you want to stay like this, if only for a little while.

The bus feels a little too quiet now, the sounds of the road outside muffled by the walls around you. Zayn’s arm around you feels warm, steady. He doesn’t push for anything more, just holds you, his fingers occasionally brushing over your skin.

You’re not sure how long you both stay like that, but eventually, sleep starts to pull you in. His chest rises and falls with each breath, and for once, you don’t feel the need to argue, to fight back against the tension that’s always been between you. Instead, you let yourself relax into him.

“Stay,” he murmurs again, but this time it’s softer, almost as if he’s asking for himself, too.

You don’t answer. You just let the words hang in the air between you, unsure of what comes next but for the moment, not caring. You rest against him, both of you shirtless, skin against skin, tangled in the quiet of the bus. The weight of the day and everything that’s happened fades away, replaced with something quieter, simpler.

And as sleep starts to take you, you realise you’re not sure what tomorrow will bring—but for tonight, in this moment, you’re exactly where you want to be.

...

The morning light filters through the cracks in the curtain, warm and soft, casting a hazy glow over the bus. You stir slowly, the rhythmic sound of Zayn’s breath beneath your ear lulling you into a hazy, contented state. Your body is pressed close against his, your head tucked under his chin, and his arm is still securely wrapped around you. The steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek feels grounding, comforting. For a moment, there’s nothing but the quiet pulse of the bus and the steady beat of his heart.

You blink slowly, still half-asleep, the soft pressure of his body against yours pulling you deeper into the moment. You don’t move, not yet. There’s something about the way his body feels against yours, his warmth, the quiet pulse of his presence that makes you want to stay just like this forever. For a brief, fleeting moment, you almost forget everything that came before—everything that led up to this.

But then, the curtain jerks back with a sudden movement, the sound cutting through the stillness like a jolt of electricity. Your eyes snap open, and in an instant, you feel the rush of panic. Zayn’s arm instinctively tightens around you, pulling you closer against his chest as if to shield you from whoever’s on the other side.

The four boys stand there, all eyes wide with shock. Liam’s mouth opens slightly, his eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. Louis looks downright amused, a smirk already creeping onto his face, while Harry’s eyebrows shoot up, the corners of his lips twitching with barely contained laughter. Niall stands a little further back, his arms crossed and shaking his head in mock disbelief.

“Well, well, well,” Louis finally breaks the silence, his voice laced with teasing. “I think someone’s been a little busy.”

Zayn pulls you a little closer, his hand resting on your shoulder as if to protect you from the teasing that’s already starting. His face is a little flushed, though whether from embarrassment or something else, you can’t quite tell. But his grip on you doesn’t loosen. It’s almost like he’s grounding himself as much as he’s grounding you.

“Finally,” Niall adds with a sly grin, his gaze flicking between the two of you. “You’ve been practically on fire for weeks, and now we see why.”

Zayn’s jaw tightens, and his usual calm demeanor is nowhere to be found. “Shut up,” he mutters, his voice low and rough as if he’s not sure how to respond to the sudden teasing. But even through his words, you can feel the way his muscles tighten under your touch, and his arm stays around you like he’s not letting go anytime soon.

You, on the other hand, can’t help but smirk, trying to lighten the mood despite the heat that’s still simmering between you and Zayn. “What, you’ve never seen a bit of skin before?” you tease, your voice a little breathless as you shift, just enough to let the tension in the room feel like it’s yours and Zayn’s secret.

Liam, ever the peacemaker, is the first to speak, though there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Well, this is… new.”

“You guys just don’t know when to quit,” Zayn growls, his hands shifting slightly against your back as if to pull you more fully into his chest. His gaze flicks over to the boys, and there’s something possessive in the way he holds you, like he’s marking this moment as his.

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Louis continues, still grinning, “we were all waiting for this to happen.”

Harry chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Looks like it’s finally happened, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but despite the teasing, your heart is still racing in your chest. Zayn’s hands stay steady, and his grip doesn’t loosen. It’s protective, possessive even, and for some reason, you don’t mind it one bit.

“Well, now that you’ve all seen it, you can go,” you say, finally finding your voice, the tease in your tone making it clear that you’re not backing down. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”

The boys exchange knowing glances, and though Zayn is still holding you close, the tension begins to ease just a bit. Liam offers a smile, nodding at Zayn as he shoots him an amused look.

“We’ll leave you two alone,” Liam says, his voice still tinged with light laughter. “But don’t take too long.”

Niall winks, “Don’t worry, we’ll be waiting for the full story later.”

With that, they all start to shuffle off, still laughing, still teasing, but giving you and Zayn the space you both need.

As the curtain falls back into place, it’s just the two of you again. Zayn’s chest rises and falls beneath your ear, and for a moment, it feels like the world outside doesn’t matter at all.

“Don’t think this means anything,” he mutters quietly, his voice rough with something unreadable.

You look up at him, catching his gaze, feeling the intensity of everything that’s passed between you, all the sparks, all the heat. “You can’t just tell me what it means or doesn’t mean, Zayn,” you reply, your voice quieter than before, but still laced with the same tension.

He doesn’t say anything, but his arm stays around you, his hold firm. And for the first time since all of this began, you feel the quiet weight of it all—of the moment, of him—and wonder what comes next.

...

At breakfast the tension in the bus is suffocating, and the silence feels sharper than any words could. You hover near the coffee pot, pouring yourself a cup with deliberate slowness, pretending not to feel Zayn’s heavy gaze burning into the back of your head. Every nerve in your body is on edge, and you can’t help but replay the night before in your mind—how his touch had felt, how his voice had sounded, rough and raw in your ear.

Now, he’s acting like you don’t exist. Like none of it happened.

“Sleep well, lovebirds?” Louis’s voice cuts through the quiet like a knife, his grin wide and far too knowing as he leans against the counter, toast in hand.

“Don’t start,” you snap, turning to glare at him. You can feel your blood heating, not at Louis, but at the weight of Zayn’s silence.

Louis smirks, unbothered. “What? I’m just saying. Looked cozy last night.”

Niall chuckles from where he’s digging through the cupboards. “She didn’t even make it back to her own bunk, eh?”

“Can we drop it?” Zayn’s voice is sharp, and the slam of the fridge door makes everyone jump. He’s not looking at you, but the tension in his shoulders is impossible to miss.

You bristle immediately, crossing your arms and narrowing your eyes at him. “Got something to say, Zayn?”

His jaw clenches, and he finally turns to face you, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. The intensity in his dark eyes sends a thrill down your spine, but it’s his dismissive tone that sets you off. “I’m not the one making a scene.”

Your breath hitches at the sheer nerve of him. “A scene? You’ve been stomping around like someone forced you into my bed.”

The room goes deadly quiet, the other boys freezing in place. Louis’s toast hovers midway to his mouth, Niall stops rifling through the cupboard, and even Liam sets his phone down to watch.

Zayn’s nostrils flare, and he takes a slow step toward you. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t make everything so damn difficult.”

“Oh, I’m difficult?” you fire back, closing the gap between you. “You’re the one who can’t decide whether you want to kill me or fuck me.”

The words hang in the air, electrifying the space between you. Zayn’s entire body stiffens, his dark eyes locking onto yours, wide with shock for just a moment before narrowing into something darker, more dangerous. You can feel the heat rolling off him, see the tension in his clenched fists, and it only spurs you on.

“Admit it,” you continue, your voice dropping into something low, mocking. “You’re angry because you don’t know how to handle me.”

His lips curl into a bitter smirk, but the fire in his eyes betrays him. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?”

“I don’t have to figure you out,” you say, stepping closer until there’s barely any space left between you. Your voice softens into something almost teasing, dripping with venomous sweetness. “You’re so obvious it’s painful.”

Zayn’s hand twitches at his side like he’s seconds away from grabbing you. “Careful,” he warns, his voice low and almost a growl. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Maybe I do,” you challenge, tilting your chin up defiantly.

The tension is unbearable, crackling between you like static electricity. You’re both breathing hard, the weight of everything unspoken crashing down around you. He leans in slightly, his eyes dropping to your lips for just a fraction of a second, and your heart slams against your ribs.

“Guys,” Liam cuts in, his voice steady but firm, breaking the spell. “Not here.”

You both snap out of it, stepping back like you’ve been burned. The sudden space between you feels cold, jarring, and you can feel all four boys’ eyes on you. Louis’s grin is wide and infuriating, while Niall bites back a laugh. Harry raises an eyebrow, his smirk slow and deliberate, and Liam just looks exasperated, shaking his head like he’s already too tired for this.

“Bloody hell,” Louis mutters, finally breaking the silence. “This is better than telly.”

You glare at him, your pulse still racing as you grab your coffee cup and stalk toward the door. “I’m going outside.”

“Good idea,” Zayn mutters under his breath, and your head whips around, but you bite back the retort that’s burning on your tongue.

As you step out into the cool morning air, the tension lingers in your chest, hot and suffocating. You lean against the side of the bus, staring out at the empty parking lot. Your coffee cup feels too warm in your hands, and you grip it tighter just to have something to focus on, something to ground you.

You hate Zayn. You’ve told yourself that over and over again. The way he pushes your buttons, the way he looks at you like you’re nothing but an annoyance, the way he always has to get the last word. You hate him.

But last night…

You shake your head, swallowing hard. Last night wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to feel so—

“Mind if I join you?”

The familiar Irish lilt pulls you out of your thoughts. You glance over to see Niall standing a few feet away, his hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, his face uncharacteristically serious.

You shrug, forcing a weak smile. “It’s a free parking lot.”

Niall steps closer, leaning his shoulder against the side of the bus next to you. “You alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you reply, trying for nonchalant, but the crack in your voice betrays you.

“Because we’re not blind,” he says simply. “The way you two were looking at each other in there… it doesn’t exactly scream ‘nothing happened.’”

Your stomach twists, and you turn away, staring down at your coffee. “It’s nothing. It was a mistake.”

Niall raises an eyebrow, his expression soft but skeptical. “Doesn’t look like nothing to me. And for what it’s worth… you don’t seem like someone who regrets it, either.”

You don’t answer, the words catching in your throat. Regret isn’t the right word. You don’t regret the way Zayn had touched you, the way he’d made you feel like you were the only person in the world for those few stolen hours. What you regret is the way he’d looked at you this morning—like it didn’t matter. Like you didn’t matter.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel,” you finally mutter, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Why not?” Niall asks gently.

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “Because he’s Zayn, and I’m me. We can’t go five minutes without tearing each other apart. It’s not like it meant anything to him.”

Niall sighs, his eyes scanning your face. “Look, I don’t claim to understand whatever’s going on between you two, but… I’ve known Zayn for a long time. He’s not the best at saying how he feels. Hell, half the time, he doesn’t even know how he feels. But if last night didn’t mean anything to him, he wouldn’t be acting like this.”

You glance at him, your heart squeezing at the sincerity in his eyes. “And what exactly is this?”

“Like he’s barely holding it together,” Niall says with a small, knowing smile. “Trust me, he’s just as much of a mess as you are right now.”

You huff out a humorless laugh, leaning your head back against the bus. “Great. So we’re both a mess. That’s comforting.”

“It’s not my job to sort your mess out,” Niall says, a teasing lilt creeping back into his voice. “But maybe stop lying to yourself about how you feel. Could save you both a lot of grief.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Thanks for the unsolicited advice, Dr. Horan.”

“Anytime,” he says with a grin, nudging your shoulder lightly. “Just don’t let him off too easy, yeah? He’s a right pain when he gets cocky.”

You let out a genuine laugh at that, and Niall’s grin widens. For a moment, the weight in your chest feels a little lighter.

“Come on,” he says, nodding toward the bus door. “Breakfast is getting cold, and I’m not about to let Liam eat all the good stuff.”

You hesitate, glancing back toward the parking lot. “I’ll be in in a minute.”

Niall studies you for a beat before nodding, his expression softening. “Don’t stay out here too long, yeah?”

You nod, and he turns back toward the bus, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You hate Zayn. You’ve told yourself that over and over again.

But as you stand there in the quiet, the memory of his touch still lingering on your skin, you can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, hate isn’t the right word after all.

...

Part 4

[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.

[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.

[fruity-mond]

This!!

I love Ragbros just as much as the next guy, but seeing his character slowly being developed around Diluc hurts. Vice versa too! We barely get Diluc content outside of Kaeya, but I'm more interested in Kaeya unfortunately so I'm biased.

I really really wish the story would give more emphasis on Collei and Kaeya's relationship, because it was so odd to me in the manga. Kaeya straight up attacked her, and yeah she was a threat but that doesn't change the fact that he attacked her.

After she told him to kill her, he suddenly did a complete 180 and helped cover up her crimes. That's so interesting to me, because Kaeya doesn't seem like the type of man to let someone who's visibly a threat go just because of guilt, but something about Collei's situation had him stunned to the point he hesitated mid attack.

I get Collei forgiving him since he did what he believed was right and even helped her out in the end, I get them not holding animosity towards each other, but I WISHED that the Simulanka event would've given us more Kaeya Collei interaction that explored how they both affected each other. It's said that they both sent letters, so that might be where the relationship mended, but as a player, I really want to see that being shown. I truly believe that Kaeya saw a version of himself in young Collei, and immediately became hostile since he never considered himself a child. To him, he was a threat to Mondstadt, in extension making Collei suspicious in his eyes. But it's only speculation but GENSHIN NEVER GIVES US ANYTHING WITH THESE TWO.

The whole Blackfire incident is such an interesting showcase of Kaeya's morals and it's never expanded upon again. This incident is also what most likely started Amber's suspicion towards Kaeya. How she questions his methods, and how she views him. She respects him as a superior but she's seen how he acted and responded to The Blackfire Incident, and isn't so sure about where she stands with him anymore.

And oh my GODD how he's admired by the people of Mondstadt yet still believes he's a horrible person. Personally, I have to say that Kaeya's hangout was a huge hit or miss. On one hand, you have a deep dive on his relationship with the Winery staff, and it's really sweet to see. On the other, it was a MASSIVE waste to not dive in deeper with Jean and Kaeya's friendship, esp when she was the only one he had left in the knights after That Night™. His relationship with any of the knights was glossed over, really.

We hear about how he avoids actual attention and prefers to do stuff in the shadows, we see that Kaeya has time and time again helped people at the cost of his own (even if he forgets his good deeds) but he STILL believes he's not a good person.

I need Genshin to dive more in that. Is it because he himself knows his methods are unconventional? What does he do that's so messed up, outside of the Collei situation? We're literally never shown. Does he feel like his lifetime of lies cancel out all his good? Again, WE'RE LITERALLY NEVER SHOWN. We barely ever get shown his actual feelings towards his mission in Mondstadt and towards Khaenr'iah.

The whole play ending of his hangout has to genuinely be my favourite, a very close competition to the "Our sun" ending. It's a thinly veiled metaphor for Kaeya's situation. Also, he drops the HARDEST lines during it bc woah wdym "unless freedom dies by my hands" and "I will not be a pawn in heaven's plan"? It shows that he doesn't WANT to be a traitor to.... anyone, really. And how he's willing to challenge Celestia herself to take matters into his own hands.

Brief mention of Klee!! He said that he admires her ability to experience that childlike wonder, and how he's enabled and supported a lot of her plans and doings. Because (paraphrasing) "to be able to grow up with worry is truly something precious" and then he PAUSED. LIKE HE WAS THINKING IF SOMETHING ELSE

AND IT WAS NEVER EXPANDED UPON AGAIN? HOYO COME ON.

Again, I LOVE the ragbros. I think they deserve to reconcile and I think they deserve the world. But Kaeya needs to genuinely break free from just the "brother" mold. Seriously, don't get me wrong at all, I LOVEE Kaeya being and older brother figure, I love Kaeya's complicated younger brother relationship with Diluc,

But he has so many loose threads that he genuinely needs his own focused event to at the very least explore his motives and character. Not one tied down to another. PLEASEEE BEGGING ON MY KNEES FOR MORE KAEYA CONTENT

last post complaining about genshin's writing for the month Anyway i think blorbofication happening in canon is the best way i could describe a lot of the problems i have with it ex. kaeya's relationship with diluc (or klee) is almost the only focus we get on him now, other than his brief appearance in the sumeru archon quest which was just saying his backstory basically with very little actual reaction or characterization on his part OR dainsleif's (also a problem i have in the albedo homunculus reveal in shadows amidst snowstorms). i haven't done his hangout because i. don't care enough to sit through an hour for each route with the quality of content hoyoverse puts out but looking at the ending options i feel like. they missed the opportunity to expand on things we already had for kaeya in favor of Oh he babysits klee! Oh albedo is here! Spend money to pull albedo!Venti cameo! What do you mean him and amber have a complicated dynamic. What do you mean he's apparently beloved by the elderly of mondstadt and the one who wraps up all the incidents there. What do you mean bennett trusts him as an omniscient big brother according to his official cn character profile. We made him talk to diluc again isn't that enough kaeya for you? and it sucks because kaeya feels like a rubik's cube with an onion's layers and like one of their best character personalities in content where he's actually kaeya and not just diluc's brother who is sad and also pretty! we never see anything about his relationship with jean, who he is the Most Trusted Aide of, or mondstadt at large! because every day we get closer to fanon kaeya being canon kaeya and it's just. You can have canon kaeya and fanon kaeya will follow but if fanon kaeya is at the forefront you're just immediately losing all that depth and it's going nowhere

[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.”

[deadn30n]

                 his  anger  is  thinly  veiled:  a  single  breath,  a  single  crack,  and  his  perfectly  cut  visage  would  scatter  across  the  ground  like  beads  from  a  broken  necklace.  while  Shen  Qingqiu  is  busy  internally  lamenting  over  this  pretty  face  gone  sour,  Liu  Qingge  is  doing  everything  in  his  power  not  to  sharpen  his  words  against  Shen  Qingqiu's  fragile  ego.  he  thinks  he's  doing  the  right  thing   –   he's  blinded  by  his  bias,  by  his  desperation  to  kneel  before  the  altar  of  Luo  Binghe's  own  sins  and  pay  penance.  but  they  weren't  his  to  repay!  Liu  Qingge's  mind  is  that  of  a  torrential  rainstorm   –   his  thoughts  tumble  violently  against  all  sides  of  his  head,  his  body  quakes  with  each  thundering  roar  of  animosity  layered  into  his  veins.  Luo  Binghe,  Luo  Binghe,  Luo  Binghe--

                  everything  always  circled  back  to  that  despicable  beast!  did  Shen  Qingqiu  care  nothing  for  what  that  child  did  to  him?  grown  adult  as  he  was,  in  Liu  Qingge's  eyes,  he  was  still  nothing  but  a  disgraceful,  spoiled  brat.  a  blemish  on  the  immaculate  record  of  Qing  Jing  Peak.  never  once  does  Liu  Qingge  recall  in  the  past  there  being  someone  so  indiscriminately  despicable  like  him.  had  he  the  stones  to  come  study  at  Bai  Zhan  Peak  instead,  Liu  Qingge  probably  would've  pulverized  him  while  he  still  had  the  chance.  but  thanks  to  his  demonic  blood  awakening,  that  fantasy  was  nothing  more  than  just  that:  a  fantasy.  Liu  Qingge  let  out  a  barely  contained  scoff  and  furrowed  his  brows.   “   haven't  you  spent  enough  time  cleaning  up  his  messes?  when  are  you  going  to  see  that  it  isn't  your  responsibility  anymore?  denounce  that  brat,  it's  easier  for  all  of  us.   ”   his  breathing's  shallow,  his  every  word  falls  from  his  lips  like  a  thousand  bolders  are  tied  to  it.  they  carry  the  weight  of  complicated  feelings  stored  haphazardly  beneath  the  sturdy  cage  of  his  rib  bones.  how  can  Shen  Qingqiu  continue  to  turn  a  blind  eye?  hasn't  he  seen  it  yet?  Luo  Binghe  is  bad  news.  he's  nothing  but  misfortune.  every  time  Shen  Qingqiu  goes  to  chase  after  him,  it's  always  resulted  in  some  sort  of  injury   –   even  death.  Shen  Qingqiu  has  suffered  so  many  misfortunes  at  the  hands  of  his  own  noble  desire  to  pick  up  after  Luo  Binghe  that  Liu  Qingge  is  terrified  there  won't  be  anything  left  of  him  in  the  end.

                  it's  like  a  piece  of  Shen  Qingqiu  is  peeled  from  his  soul  and  used  to  fill  the  holes  that've  been  punctured  in  Luo  Binghe,  leaving  him  more  hollow  than  the  last  time.  Liu  Qingge  just  couldn't  wrap  his  mind  around  it;  what  had  Luo  Binghe  done  to  have  him  wrapped  so  tightly  around  his  finger?  why  wasn't  Liu  Qingge  good  enough  for  Shen  Qingqiu?  what  did  Luo  Binghe  have  that  Liu  Qingge  didn't?  or  was  he  doomed  from  the  start  to  never  be  a  light  in  Shen  Qingqiu's  eyes?  he  felt  his  heart  stutter  in  his  throat  at  the  thought;  unconsciously  his  hand  brushed  against  the  ivory  fan  hidden  beneath  his  robes.  it  was  the  original  ornament  Shen  Qingqiu  had  always  carried  around  with  him,  and  Liu  Qingge  kept  it  with  him  after  his  death  as  a  memento.  even  though  Shen  Qingqiu  was  very  much  alive  now,  Liu  Qingge  wasn't  willing  to  part  with  it.  so  he  kept  it  concealed  against  his  own  body   –   against  his  heart,  desperate  for  even  a  sliver  of  Shen  Qingqiu  to  grace  his  flesh.  he  didn't  yet  know  that  the  relationship  between  Shen  Qingqiu  and  Luo  Binghe  wasn't  what  he  convinced  himself  it  to  be,  but..   “   ….     ”   Shen  Qingqiu  had  made  his  choice,  and  Liu  Qingge  could  do  nothing  except  deny  it.

                  the  hand  gripping  Cheng  Luan's  hilt  relaxed  and  withdrew,  but  only  so  he  could  make  a  hand-sign,  gathering  qi  and  manipulating  the  blade  to  separate  from  it's  sheath.  it  went  soaring  directly  for  Shen  Qingqiu,  but  carried  no  ilm  of  desire  to  actually  harm  him.  in  fact,  it  looked  rather  dispirited  as  it  sped  toward  him.  it  was  aimed  for  his  throat,  but  would  deviate  at  the  last  second   –   a  meager  warning.   “   i  can't  let  you  go.   ”   he  said  coldly.   “   i  can't  let  you  kill  yourself  again  for  him.   ”   the  sword  swooped  down  and  began  to  dance  around  him   –   he  knew  Xiu  Ya  wouldn't  hesitate  to  shield  it's  master,  even  though  Cheng  Luan  was  absent  of  murderous  intent.  in  fact,  it  seemed  to  carry  the  same  sorrow  it's  master  did,  though  it  showed  it  more  readily  than  Liu  Qingge  himself  as  it  avoided  inflicting  any  real  harm  onto  Shen  Qingqiu's  figure.

Shen Qingqiu had lamented this egregious lapse in judgement so many times during his stint as master airplane shooting toward the sky’s most avid reader and aggrieved hater. Proud immortal demon way proclaimed itself a stallion novel of the cultivation variety and yet blatantly refused to exploit the usage of assiduously cultivated sword techniques. Oh airplane bro, if only you had used even a fraction of your brains towards the substance of your novel and not flagrantly relied on Luo Binghe’s golden halo and harem of significant female leads turned lust-addled and witless. It is an expression he guards behind decorum or the elegant corrugation of his fan, as a participant in this world he no longer found himself capable of turning a blind-eye to the author’s utter ineptitude. why don't they use their fucking swords ??

The resolute jade of his gaze bores itself into the ridges of his blanched knuckles, wanting to shake his head in disbelief, for how flawless was that face that was now blighted by rupturing indignation. As if a vein upon his forehead might protrude from his skin and thrum out an incensed cadence to reprimand him. ❝ It is this master’s responsibility to see his disciple causes no more trouble for others. ❞ his timbre betrays little of his inner thoughts, having long since assumed the identity of that proud peak lord rather than merely LARPING as him. He does not expect Liu-shidi can fully understand the inextricable way that shizun and his defiant disciple have become woven yet, there’s something else simmering within his gaze that drives unease between his ribs. They were not so different in that regard, keeping their emotions drawn taut and under their explicit control but whereas Shen Qingqiu sometimes had to resist the urge to roll his eyes until they disappeared into his skull forever, Liu Qingge’s ire contorted his visage thoroughly. ❝  There is no other recourse — if you must be angry, then be angry at me, this is my decision after all.  ❞ even if his words are placid, gentle ripples spreading across a surface of still water, the other was still furious enough to splash mindlessly through the shallows and into the precarious depths. Was he set on drowning ? insane ? If someone were to understand the repercussions of earning his disciple’s wrath it would be Liu-shidi, had they not been locked in a heated battle for years now ? Ah, was he merely too incensed to use his head ? Shen Qingqiu does not think he could bear seeing him reduced to canon-fodder after he had put so much effort into altering their cruel, callous narrative.

His fingers move towards xiu ya who almost trembles at the thought of having to injure someone who he cares for, no, no, those were his own fucking fingers betraying him, quivering as if he were some naive disciple and not a motherfucking peak lord. ❝  … this master does not want to fight you.  ❞ however the intricately carved hilt of his blade sits against the smooth jade of his palm urgently, all but anticipating the initial strike that will come down with every ounce of fervid anger surging through him. He almost wants to add please, have they not suffered enough ? was there not enough suffering to fill the grousing stomachs of all who hungered from here until the next fucking lifetime ? he furrows his brow slightly, betraying the seemingly immaculate poise he eternally wore. ❝ Liu-shidi, please. ❞  understand, or retrieve your hand from the hilt of your blade, do you not see how your knuckles are straining ? your veins threatening to burst ? he meets his gaze and holds it unwaveringly, knowing that the one who strikes first could not be him. 

[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.

[sharransepulchre]

❝ ripe with animosity this morning , aren ' t we ? ❞

Was it morning? It was still dark, but Shadowheart had not yet caught a lick of sleep. The Sharran was up all night, her attempts to dreaming disturbed by another vision that could have been a memory - or maybe it wasn't. At this point, she wasn't sure. It felt like torture, more than anything, even though she knew well how to both administer and receive it well.

Why was it that she had approached Lae'zel's tent in the first place, again? Oh, right. Because she wanted to see if she can't slyly slip some poison to the Githyanki. If only she could be so lucky.

But, to hear that the fighter knew of Shar? gods be damned . She only told one person. How in the ripe Hells did Lae'zel discover that? Not that it mattered. She played her expression impassive; with disinterest. Her own brand of distrust brewed just beneath the surface of evergreen eyes.

❝ i doubt that . even if it is a secret kept purely through omission , i know you hide something more . the intentions of the relic you want to run your greedy green fingers all over - even then , i hardly pinch salt to what comes of your lips . you may be privy to one such secret of mine , gith , but you will receive no more . ❞ A part of her, surprisingly, was... Pleased? To be accepted. Not by Lae'zel, though. Never by Lae'zel. She would do well to remind herself of that, should it arise. ❝ since you know of my worship now , then perhaps i should enlighten you that i can be quite persuasive when it comes to extracting information . ❞ A thinly veiled threat.

QUESTION PROMPTS @sharransepulchre sent: “ we all have secrets, don’t we? ” Shadowheart, for Lae'zel

"Perhaps some of us more than others," She refutes with a sharp tilt of her head, eyes narrowing on the cleric.

These supposed secrets of hers. They were tiring. Frustrating. A waste of time.

"I know little of your 'lady of darkness.' I find it useless to know more. But for the sake of our mission, I have not hidden anything vital from you. I have no interest in such mind games, and indulging in such will only delay removing our tadpoles," Lae'zel continues with a sharp motion of her hand. How much clearer did she have to make it for this istik?