#Absolute boredom! ; OOC

[radiokill]

HEADCANON TIME

Alastor can tell the difference between the egg bois. Don't fight me on this. He doesn't know their names or that they even HAVE names, but he can tell the difference between every single one of them. They all have unique personalities and Alastor pays attention. He's very observant when it comes to his environment in general. This includes the eggs.

[afelldemon]

Tag Dump!

[kkaewrites]

real or not real — nagi seishiro x reader !

warnings. indecent language, ooc nagi.

tropes. meet-ugly, enemies to lovers.

you hate nagi seishiro.

he was stone cold, often referred to as socially awkward— but you feel like those were just excuses to make up for his rude and nasty behavior. personally, you think he’s overrated just because he’s considered a soccer genius. of course, no one ever believes you. they think your hatred clouds your judgement (it obviously does not).

you first met him when you were in grade school, deskmates for the first day of class. he was shorter than you at that time, but aside from his height, everything about him stayed the same. he still has the same gunmetal gray eyes that’s either reflected with boredom or reflected by the screen of his gray nintendo gameboy. he still has the same white hair, as clean as the first drop of snow, but as wild as a lion’s mane.

to you, there was absolutely nothing about him that’s fascinating— he was the same as any average boy. playing mobile games was his favorite past time, so much so that you believed that it was his lifeline at one point. or so you’d assume. he always kept to himself and was left to his own devices (quite literally), most things that kids enjoy don’t seem to pique his interest. you guess those were the reasons why he didn’t have many friends.

no, scratch that— he didn’t have any friends.

at first you wondered why. if there’s one thing you noticed about him even at a very young age, it’s that he’s handsome. he doesn’t have to be the “rich kid” with amazing gadgets and fancy toys, or the “cool kid” who knows what right words to say and way to say it, but he’s nagi. he was conventionally attractive without even trying. however, that fact doesn’t seem to make up for the fact that he looks lonely.

so, you’ve devised a plan to talk to him.

“hey. sei-chan, wanna be my friend?” you’re everyone’s friend. the sunshine child, the one who always lends her classmate crayons or pencils, the kid with pigtails who smile at strangers for no reason. you’re the kid that everyone loves, and if by some miracle, someone hates you (which has never happened and will never happen)— everyone would simply take your side. you’re loved by all.

if nagi was shocked by your sudden proposal, his features didn’t show any signs of it. what he does is pause his current game and faces you. it’s the first time you’ve ever stared at him eye-to-eye. your heart jumps.

uh oh. is this what they call a crush?

eyes filled with hope, you patiently waited for nagi’s response. you expected him to utter “sure” wearing his usual monotone voice, but it doesn’t come. and what he says instead ruins you. your heart does a somersault and tumbles, crashing onto the pavement and breaking into tiny, gliterring pieces. it did not feel good.

“no thanks. i despise people like you.”

you’re not sure what you’ve done wrong at that very moment. maybe you were too blunt, too cheery, too whatever — just something too much to be able to upset someone like nagi seishiro, who doesn’t feel strongly about anything or anyone. you didn’t have the courage to ask him what you’ve done wrong because your vision blurs. you always reckoned that it was due to anger, but your mother who saw you run home with tear-streaked cheeks says otherwise.

you still don’t know how you managed to piss off nagi, even until your very first year of college. after grade school, you never saw him again. you heard he studied at some prestigious high school but that was the end of it, you never really asked because you had no interest whatsoever. you somehow managed to assure yourself that there was no way you’d ever cross paths with him once again— so why is he here?

why, of all places, would he be your deskmate for your politics class?

at this point, you thought maybe the gods above despised you, too. did they hate you enough to not only be schoolmates, not only be classmates with this man, but to be deskmates? hate is the only logical explanation for this fucked-up coincidence. you’re not keen on fates or invisible strings so you’re sure this was just a punishment for you.

oh god. you hate it so much. you hate him so much.

without a word, you took the seat right next to him, taking the opportunity while he’s sound asleep. you’re not sure why he would take politics as his subject, because as far as you know about him, all he ever cares about is his mobile games. maybe soccer as well, but that’s not exactly related to politics, either.

when the professor enters the class, you found no reason to wake him up. he could get screamed at for all you care, but there was no way you’d ever converse with him at your own accord. because the only way you’d ever survive sitting next to him for the whole semester is by not acknowledging him at all. you can do that. you can avoid talking or looking at him. he’s not that talkative (and he’s not even awake) to begin with.

until your plan crashes and burns.

he turns out to be your partner for a school project— a big one, at that. you considered going solo, but the whole point of the project is to make sure two people are working together. it was a community development kind of plan, so unless he works with you and you work with him, you’d be getting an F for your politics class. that, you can’t have. even if it meant talking to him and enduring his presence.

he wakes up right after the class ended and you could barely contain your scoff. he sat through the whole 2 hour lecture just like that, does he have no care for his grades? doesn’t matter. it’s none of your business if he fails, that simply means that you won’t see him much anymore (which is a win for you).

you sighed. he should’ve been paired with someone else. why did it have to be you? why did it have to be your deskmate? and why did he have to be your deskmate? it was too much. how could you ever work with someone you hate? with someone who hates you?

you’re going to fail politics. you’re 100% sure of that. there was just no way that you’d ever accomplish this task— or you could beg your professor to let you switch partners. or you could ask your classmates to let you switch... but who would ever want someone as lazy as nagi to be their partner? fuck.

from the corner of your eye, you saw nagi yawn. it took all of you to swallow your pride whole and gulp it down to ever approach him, but it’s better than not trying. if you fail, at least you tried. even if it meant battling your inner demons.

so, clutching your bag straps tightly as if it would ever help, you turned to your sleepy deskmate. “nagi. it seems like we’re partners for the politics subject. i’m expecting you’d cooperate willingly so that—”

“sorry,” he interrupts with half lidded eyes. “do i know you?”

“you’re going to rip your paper to shreds.” nagi commented from behind you, peering over your shoulder as you aggressively wrote on your notebook. you imagined the page to be nagi’s face as you cruelly stabbed it, not caring about your pen or your paper’s state. you cannot believe that for some reason, you’re still stuck with the snow white haired guy. you’ve tried everything there is to get rid of him but nothing seemed to work.

“right,” your teeth could break with how hard you clenched your jaw. “will you be free later?”

“oh. i have soccer training.”

of course he fucking has soccer training.

you gave him the strongest deadpan you could muster before exhaling a deep breath. once to calm yourself down, twice to clear your head and thrice in hopes of losing all of your lungs’ air so you could shrivel and die on the spot. nagi seems to be unaware of your thoughts— and even if he had understood your facial expression and body language, he simply did not care.

“i’ll be free after, though.” he adds, as if you’d ever know that information if he hasn’t uttered it. this at least gives you the sense that he might care about the group project, and that he won’t be a complete inconvenience.

“okay. let’s meet up at the coffee shop near school. will you be done at 8?”

“yeah. but,” he pauses. “i thought we’d just do the project at my place.”

“who died and made you king?” you blurt out before you could think of a proper response. you wondered if you’d ever feel so strongly about a person the same way you did for nagi. he was driving you mad.

“what?” his clueless face almost made you feel guilt— almost. but you ignored the sensation and frowned instead. the least you could do was give him a clearer sentence:

“there’s no way i’d ever step a foot at your house.”

“it’s fine. no one’s home anyway.”

“that’s even worse.”

“huh? oh. don’t worry. you’re not my type.”

the conversations you somehow hold with nagi infuriates you. he has this way of making you feel like shit for some reason, and he does it with so much nonchalance you’d wonder if he insults everyone. but you know better and you know he definitely doesn’t, because you’re the only one he treats like this. it’s the absolute worst.

what does he mean you’re not his type? were you not pretty enough? not tall enough? not skinny enough? not fair enough? not what? ever since grade school, you’ve always thought that he sees you as someone “too much” and yet as he stands here with you, in an empty classroom— you wondered how you could be “too much” and yet be “not enough” at the same time.

and since when did you care about how he views you? since you were kids, apparently. because the words he would utter up until this day shatters you all the same. and you hate him— so goddamn much. but beyond all that anger, there’s grief. it doesn’t subside even as you grabbed all your things and shoved 6”3 foot tall nagi aside.

for some reason, he shows up at the café you mentioned at exactly 8 o’clock in the evening. you were typing away on your laptop, while a cup of caramel macchiato and a bunch of scattered papers littered your desk. you didn’t expect him to come, and it would’ve been better if he didn’t. but somehow, he’s here and he looks a little apologetic.

“are you upset?” he asks. his sports bag slumped over his shoulder as he stands right next to you. there’s an unoccupied seat in front but he doesn’t take it— at least, not yet. his whole, undivided attention was poured onto you and you alone. it makes you squirm in your seat, so you decided not to look up from your screen to greet him.

“no. take a seat.”

“you look upset.”

“do you want me to be upset?”

“no.”

“then shut up.”

wordlessly, he takes the seat right in front of you and slouches. he looks battered and fatigued from practice, but he doesn’t say a word to complain (to your absolute shock). you guessed that he walked straight from the field to the café without even changing or taking a shower, because his clothes clung to him like a shirt a few sizes smaller.

“shouldn’t you go change?”

“yeah. but i left my clean clothes at my apartment.”

fifteen minutes pass and you suddenly closed your laptop shut, eyes fixated on nagi’s gunmetal gray ones. he looks surprised from your sudden move, a look that you didn’t expect to recognize due to how miniscule it was. you felt bad for him. the café was getting too cold for comfort and all he wore was his jersey (one that’s drenched with his sweat). if you stayed any longer, he’d probably catch a cold.

why you care, however, that was not a question you could currently answer.

“let’s just go to your place.”

despite his constant need to laze around, his place wasn’t a complete mess— well, yes, there are (presumably dirty) clothes on the floor and used dishes on the sink, but you’ve seen worse. you expected his apartment to be so much worse. it seems like he’s not a complete monkey to not understand basic hygiene and cleanliness.

your only problem is that nagi seems to be bored. you caught him dozing off the coffee table as you ramble about your politics project, and you don’t even have to ask if he cares at all— because he’s trying to hide his obvious distate and boredom. so, even though you’d rather proceed to do your work rather than humoring this 6 foot tall giant, you pipe up:

“wanna play a game?”

“what game? i don’t like games that require effort.”

“it’s called real or not real. we take turns in guessing if the other person’s sentence is real or not real.”

“sounds like a pain.” he groans.

“you know what truly is a pain?” you turned to look at him. “this politics project. so take it or leave it. i’m kind enough to give you a break.”

“shouldn’t we play a different game? a mobile game, maybe.”

“what about a wager, then? the winner’s the boss.”

the game was a piece of cake— to you, at least. nagi’s an open book and it’s easy to read him. you explained that the mechanics goes like this: you take turns in giving very specific sentences about yourself, and the other party has to guess whether it’s real or not real. five wrong guesses means that the other person wins. so the only thing you have to do is to make sure that nagi loses first.

unfortunately, you were down to four mistakes while nagi only had one. the game wasn’t going like how you imagined it would be. how were you supposed to know that nagi keeps a cactus as a pet? how were you supposed to know that he only figured out how to play soccer when he was in high school? how were you supposed to know that he’s got a picture of his crush under his study table? (you still had no idea who that crush is, and it quite literally shocked you). how were you supposed to know that someone like nagi seishiro, was capable of liking someone romantically?

on the other hand, out of the six sentences you threw at him— he had only guessed wrong once. you don’t know how he’s so good at this game, too. it was either he knew awfully a lot about you, or was really good at second guessing things. you’re pretty sure it was the former. how could he know a lot about you, when he doesn’t even know your name?

“real or not real: i hate you.” you stated. his nonchalance was putting you off, but you’re not sure if you were uneasy because of it or if you felt guilty for saying that sentence out loud. you told yourself you could just take it back and act as if it’s not real but nagi himself looked so convinced when he said:

“real.”

he was right once again. but you didn’t have enough time to dwell on the whole thing when his sentence comes.

“real or not real: i want to kiss you right now.”

the silence was so loud it pierces your ears— or maybe you have gone deaf with that sentence. you’re not sure of anything at the moment because it feels like your senses were slowly slipping from your own fingers. if nagi was joking, his face didn’t show any signs of him laughing soon. but maybe you should know better, maybe he could joke like that with a straight face.

so you waited for a few minutes, for him to tell you that it was a joke— that it’s not part of the goddamn game because how could it be part of it? but nothing comes. his eyes were simply on you as he patiently awaits your answer. your make it or break it answer, at that. and it only dawns on you that this is real, this is his sentence and he’s expecting you to play. he’s expecting you to answer real or not real. because you were the one who proposed the game in the first place.

you wanted to scream and to run away, but you were rooted on the spot. time stood still and it froze you under nagi’s unblinking gunmetal gray eyes, as if the situation’s not bad at all. but this is a trick question, your rational mind says. he told you when you were younger that he despises people like you, asked you if he knows you upon meeting at your politics class, and told you that you’re not exactly his type— so there’s no way he’d want to kiss you. right?

you meet his gaze. right, nagi?

against your better judgement to think it through, you suddenly blurted: “real.”

his face doesn’t shift and nor did the mood of the room. your heart was beating erratically as if you’re not facing the guy you clearly hated with a passion, but the silence ensues. you were screaming at yourself, why the fuck did you say real? were you out of your goddamned mind? were you crazy? the answer’s clearly not real!

nagi, however, only looks away. “huh.”

“what?”

“i almost won. what a pity.”

“the answer’s real?”

“yeah.” he tilts his head and answers as if you were stupid. as if you were the one who’s weird and doesn’t get what’s happening— but maybe that really is the case. because you’re mind hasn’t caught up yet. what does he mean the answer’s real? does that mean he wants to kiss you, right now? how is that possible after all the things he had said to you?

you laugh. not the quiet giggle or the chuckle you were accustomed to doing, but a belly laugh— one that could rival a hyena’s. because this was funny. too funny. he’s definitely joking and you’ve only figured out that now.

“okay, fine. you got me.”

“what do you mean?”

“the joke. you’re so serious that i almost missed it.”

confusion marrs his face. “what joke?”

“about the kiss.”

“i wasn’t joking.”

“well, i’d rather have you joking than for that sentence to be real.”

“you hate me that much?”

he almost sounds hurt, but you knew better. how could he be hurt, out of all people? if there’s anyone who’s hurt, it would be you. how can he say all those hurtful things with so much nonchalance and tell you things like he wants to kiss you? how cruel must he be to toy with you like this? it was not funny. none of this was funny.

and it reminds you of your childhood— of your little crush on nagi that never seemed to go away. somehow, the little you screams that you should not fall for something like this. that it is easier to hate nagi than to love him. that it is easier to stand up from your seat, smile, and tell him: “yeah. i do.”

it has been a week. maybe two. or three? you’ve lost count. you’ve never visisted nagi again after the whole real or not real game, and you never saw him often because he’s been excused. something about soccer championship that you didn’t bother listening to. besides, you liked the comfortable silence now that he’s not around.

your phone dings. and it’s from an unknown number. but somehow, you guessed it has something to do with nagi.

unknown

real or not real: i’m sorry

oh. that’s right. the game technically hasn’t finished yet because no one has won. you told yourself numerous time that you won’t reply to his message, but against your better judgement, you somehow still did.

you

real

when your class ended, nagi seishiro was right outside. he was panting and sweaty— as if he ran just to get where you were. but this is nagi we’re talking about. there’s no way he’d actually do something like that, despite his lingering look on you. what’s that supposed to mean, anyway?

breathless, he speaks up to catch your attention. you were busy stuffing your books inside your locker, back against him as you completely ignored his presence. you did not say hi. you did not meet his gaze. but even without direct contact, your heart was drumming against your rib just by knowing that he’s near. what the heck.

“we won the game.”

there’s a lot of responses that entered your mind at that very moment. entry #1, who asked? entry #2, who cares? entry #3, why are you telling me this? and the list goes on. you’re pretty sure none of them were positive— but this was all so confusing. why was nagi chasing after you like a lost puppy who lost its mom? what’s he going for here?

“that’s good for you.” you slammed your locker shut and walked away. nagi eventually follows after you, as if there’s something in his throat that he wants to let out, but you didn’t give him the chance to. you’re sure nothing that would come out of his mouth is good. you’re sure he’s running after you because of the politics project, or because he wants to annoy you.

and you hate it. you hate him. your gut twists at the thought of him running after you like this is some shoujo manga and that’s the annoying part. how is your heart flipping with your every waking step if you hate him so much? you’re supposed to hate nagi, god fucking damn it.

you finally stop in your tracks, whipping around to face the 6 foot tall soccer player. to get it all over with.

“is there something you need to tell me?”

“we haven’t finished the game.”

“i don’t care about the game. leave me alone.”

“it’s your turn. your real or not real.”

this was stupid no matter what angle you look at it. it was just some game you made up and decided to try with nagi. it didn’t mean anything to you because all you wanted by then was to get his attention, so why did it matter so much to him? you don’t get it. you’re not sure how nagi circuits because everything he does confuses you. and before you know it, your irrational side takes over. reason left your body when you blurted the words:

“stop it. fucking stop this.”

why are you so persistent?

“was it fun to toy with me? was it fun when you told me you despised me when we were kids? was it fun when you told me i was not your type? i don’t fucking get it.”

you were angry. mad. seething. your blood boiled underneath your skin and you feared that it would leave your whole being in nothing but dust. through it all, you’re also confused. perplexed. lost. your mind can’t understand the fine line between hate and love anymore. your feelings overlap with each other and merges— you’re not sure what you’re feeling now. you’ve wondered how long you’ve buried this string of emotions you’ve had for nagi. that would explain why you’re nothing but a ticking time bomb now.

“if my playing with my feelings give you so much fun— then do it elsewhere. i have no time for things like this, nagi.”

“but i’m not playing, though. i’ve liked you for quite awhile now.”

excuse me?

“oops. i accidentally gave the answer to my next sentence. what a pain,” he scratches the nape of his nexk and looks away.

how the fuck am i supposed to respond to that?

“do you expect me to believe you?”

“i’ve got no reason to lie,” he shrugs. “plus, lying’s a pain. i don’t like it.”

“but— what you said back then...”

“i, well. i go blank when i talk to you. i guess. my stomach flips when you’re around and my throat goes dry.” nagi doesn’t look at you once while he utters this. tinge of red coats the tip of his ears and this is where you think ‘this is it’. he’s not lying. this is real, and you know that much— nagi never looked nervous until now. you think maybe that explains why he would avoid your gaze and why he would say the most confusing things. you think maybe this is nagi. the socially awkward nagi. the one who can’t talk to people properly nagi.

“i’ve always thought you were pretty. i despise pretty things because it makes me feel things. it’s a pain.” he mumbles. “of course i know you. of course i know your name. but it’s the first thing i thought to say because your face was too close. you’re prettier up close.”

he should stop talking. he should drop it all together and just kiss you, but you could never say these words because you haven’t wrapped your head around the whole thing yet. nagi likes you. nagi thinks you’re pretty. nagi short circuits when you’re around. nagi thinks you’re pretty. nagi’s actually confessing. nagi likes you. he thinks you’re pretty. he likes you.

“i don’t like pretty things. that’s not my type at all. but reo said i might be in love with you.” he finally turns to look at you and tilts his head. your face burns— and you swore it was because of the remnants of your anger, but everyone else could tell that it was not. your heart does a somersault, but this time it does not drop. it stays in the air, lingering like nagi’s perfume scent, until he carefully waits for it to land on his palms when he said: “i think he’s right. i’m in love with you.”

for the duration of your game with nagi and with all the truths shared between the both of you— this is probably the most real out of them. this is the only time he doesn’t ask the question ‘real or not real’ because his face says it all. his face says that it’s the real and raw truth. his face says that you must believe this because he’s not making it up. it was the first time you could read his expression. it was the first time that you’re not confused by nagi.

“fucking dumbass,” you comment. “that’s not how it works.”

you reach over to grab his collar, on your highest tip-toes because of his height. you’re pretty sure you’re the only ones present in the secluded corridor but the clamors of your heart makes an illusion of people cheering for you. somewhere in the parallel worlds of your universe, you think maybe those cheers exist. it only silences when you pulled nagi down with you, whispering:

“i hope you still want to kiss me, then.”

when he closes in the gap between the both of you, his answer was loud and clear.

i do. always.

notes. YES YES YES i finally finished this long ass fic! i’ve been writing it since forever & im just SO glad i finally get to finish it 🥹 as u can see, there is nothing on my mind rn but nagi seishiro. he’s literally living in my head rent-free and i’m not complaining. i love him too much. i hope u enjoyed this ‼️ as always, likes & reblogs are appreciated <3 thank you so so much for ur patience & love for this blog ❤️

ִ ࣪𖤐 masterlist !

[mxdarling]

[send me a pic]

aventurine fluff post, ooc aventurine, could be read as platonic or romantic, reader is trailblazer, gn reader who uses they/them prns, mostly texting format, takes place after 2.2 trailblaze quest, spoiler free!, a bit rushed, lowercase, 1.0k wc, based on a in-game text interaction with aventurine.

[a/n; got a in-game message from aventurine and decided to write for him LOLL I couldn't resist, my writing is so rusty now i;m sorry huhuu]

you were chilling in your room, laying down with your limbs spread out on the bed, doing absolutely nothing. after the events of penacony, you were completely exhausted. the bed was too comfy to get up from, like some magnetic force pulling you into the soft texture of the mattress. it was unusual for you to be doing nothing—doing nothing would make you bored, and you hate being bored, which prompts you to do anything to make that boredom go away. so having your eyes glued to the ceiling was a new feeling to you; you weren't in the mood to bother march and dan heng with your antics, or help pom pom clean the astral express, or talk to mr. yang and himeko, no, none of that. you simply wanted to be in your room, doing nothing.

minutes have passed, and your eyes, void of excitement, continued to stare down at the ceiling. it wasn't interesting, so it was the only thing your eyes could focus on without much effort. seeing as you weren't going to do much for today, the thought of sleeping away time sounded rather pleasant to you, plus the droopiness in your eyes gave you the go signal to drift off and take a nap. as you're lured into the embraces of slumber, you almost gave in until your phone let out a buzzing noise, pulling you out of rest.

your phone stays still on the bedside table, you sit up straight and leaned over towards your phone to take a peek at the notification that has woken you up.

a: [hey friend!] a: [how's life been treating you?]

caught off guard by his sudden message you leaned back and took a second or two to recollect yourself before reaching for your phone and typing out a reply.

t: [uhh been doing okay, hbu?] a: [a new shop that opened up here on penacony—cosmic star.] a: [checking the place out, it's fun, there's a lot of interesting stuff here.] t: [you planning on buying something there?] a: [well sort of, i'm not buying for myself though] a: [actually gonna buy something for you]

you audibly let out a confused 'huh' as you read and reread his message. this is definitely a first. you knew he had the credits to buy the most expensive things imaginable due to being part of the IPC, but you didn't think he'd let you indulge in his wealth beyond his missions.

t: [wait really? like actually??] a: [yeah gonna buy you something, first i need to find what strikes your fancy] a: [there's this "horizon" series pajama is made with a material so light it feels like nothing, warm in winter, cool in summer, and extremely comfortable] a: [wearing it to sleep should considerably lessen the fatigue from travel]

you were tempted to immediately say that was the item you wanted; after all, having some new sets of pajamas would be nice. though you decided to wait until he described the other items to you, perhaps there was something you'd like even more than the pajamas.

a: [speaking of travel, these "night diamond" series gloves, they're handcrafted and limited to ninety pairs galaxy-wide, perfect for parties and special occasions]

you didn't feel much for the gloves, if you were being honest; the ones you already had were fine and very comfortable during your travels through different worlds. still, you kept the gloves in mind in case you had a change of heart.

a: [and then there's this windbreaker from the "unmanned flight" series—a timeless classic!] a: [you can wear it and stand on the edge of a cliff, listening to the flapping of its hem when the cosmic storm hits… it's because of that scene in the movie, "unmanned flight" has now become the go-to choice for a generation of the nameless and their followers.]

the windbreaker sounded fun, you thought, plus you had a feeling that he picked that item because you’re a nameless as well. though you weren't sure if it would be any use to you.

a: [now, which one do you like?]

thinking very carefully between the three items he had describe to you, trying to sort out the pros and cons of each items but you ended up getting tired of doing so—in the end you settle for the vibes each item gave off.

t: [the "horizon" pjs then] a: [that's all? are you sure?] t: [yeah i'm sure] a: [alright, i'll have it delivered to you, just don't mind the extra packages okay?]

raising an eyebrow at his rather vague message, you hear the sound of hurried footsteps approaching. suddenly, your door slides open to reveal a disheveled march out of breath. "hey! why did you order so many packages!?" march whined, still out of breath as she continued to breathe in and out to catch some air. you watched from your bed in shock as she continued to huff out for air. looking back at you, she whined once more. "hey! these are your packages. help me out over here!" quickly you got off the bed and on your feet running after march, and you helped her carry your packages into your room. you wondered if this is what he meant by 'extra packages'.

t: [how many did you ordered!?] a: [what do you mean friend?] t: [i thought you ordered just the pjs??] a: [i did! with a couple of others things of course!] t: [????] t: [what others things??] a: [why don't you check the packages to see for yourself] a: [don't forget to send me a picture!]

with a sigh of disbelief, you turned your attention to the pile of boxes sent by aventurine himself, guess you should start unboxing.

t: [sent 10 attachments.] t: [what do you think?] a: [10 pictures isn't enough my friend but oh well] a: [as expected, you look really cute in those pjs friend!]

PLEASE DO NOT COPY, REPOST, SHARE, TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO OTHER SITES WITHOUT MY PERMISSION + REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED.

[soy-soi-si]

John Price (Probably ooc but I don't really care. Also NSFW at the end :)

He is yours and that means he's your personal bodyguard from boredom, mild inconvenience, and other people.

He plays it up to a hundred! Like oh no, I shall save my stunning s/o, the love of my life, from this man-eating beast, this itty bitty nasty juvenile spider that is on the TV screen and is blocking their view of the somewhat visible advertisement in the background of the scene they want to read.

Or the fact their hair tie broke in the middle of them running errands he just so happens to have a hundred scrunchies and thousands of loose no elastic hair ties. Like he's been collecting them since before they even fuckin existed! Maybe he's had them longer than he's known you for, he'll never answer your questions just like an actual bodyguard.

But what he absolutely loves is protecting you from people. He feels so good about a little thrill and he's definitely getting laid afterwards. It's a win-win for him; he gets to vent a few violent thoughts, maybe even act on them. And then he gets sex. Fuck you can't even be sure if he's just paying people when you go out sometimes just because he feels like having reward sex it's almost like jealous sex but it's more of a sensual of ‘fuck yeah you deserve this for protecting what's your's.’ type.

[apprenticestanheight]

Could you write something platonic where reader is transmasc and an apprentice and the other apprentices help them with their dysphoria when it gets bad?

Platonic! Jigsaw Apprentices x transmasc! apprentice! reader dealing with dysphoria headcanons

hi! Thank you so much for sending this in--I haven't watched past saw four (however, I do know of Lawrences fate after he leaves the bathroom trap from many-a-boredom scrolls through both his wiki and the wiki for saw 3D, hence why I'm comfortable to write this and know, for what is only my second time writing for him and my first writing for him in this context, he might not be super ooc) so if there are any details from canon that I miss out on/gloss over with the regard to the three apprentices I know of, I apologize in advance!

Did this as headcanons, too, which I hope is all right!

Fic type- fluff!

Warnings- mentions of saw canon-typical violence and traps (nonspecific), mentions of guns, a couple of mentions of transphobes (in a context wherein I state that the apprentices included would be supportive and help you kill transphobes if you chose to)

okay! So! I feel like their reactions to your days of bad dysphoria are vastly different--Amanda picks up on it with the drop of a hat.

You walk in with your shoulders slouched, looking particularly grim, and she immediately is just like "I have a sweater I can lend him!" and then she runs to grab it and gives it to you because y'know--she's murderous and a liiiiiiittle unhinged but she still cares.

Lawrence exists in the same vein as Amanda to an extent--the vein diverges past the keen emotional awareness she has. He senses something is off with you right out the gate but doesn't grasp what it is until Amanda is giving you the sweater and you're beaming at her like she's the reason that the sun shines in America, at which point it dawns on him.

He's like "I wonder why Y/N seems off today," and then he watches Amanda give you the sweater while you're working on trap schematics or doing something apprentice-y (forgive me for the nonspecificity of this--I've been writing it since around 2:45 and it is currently three in the morning)

he sees you adjust the sleeves so that they're over your hands, adjust the hood so that it fits the way you want and adjust how it fits on your torso, double checking that it's big enough to actually fend off the dysphoria as you do, and Lawrence realizes it at that point.

from "I wonder why Y/N seems off today," to "oh SHIT. THE DYSPHORIA IS WHY HE'S OFF." in two seconds flat.

Hoffman watches Lawrence realize it and nearly puts his own hand in the chopping block while he tests a trap that would go on someones wrists because of how much it makes him laugh--Lawrence, on the other hand, does not find this particularly funny.

Hoffman knows it as quickly as Amanda does, but he's not really the touchy-feely-found-family type.

He looks at you and watches you sketch out a trap for a transphobe (I wholeheartedly believe Hoffman and Amanda would both help you absolutely brutalize these ones but that,, that is a different convo for a different time. Amanda Young and Mark Hoffman both would say trans rights with their chests! Lawrence would too but from what I've seen of him he's not as brutal as they are with their trapmaking, and c'mon. Amanda doesn't believe in second chances and transphobes?? undeserving.)

and there comes a point where he's just kind of... "How bad is it today?"

"Not as bad as it could be but worse than it has been in recent."

Hoffman goes off to find something to help you feel a bit in better spirits, finds a baggy enough pair of cargo pants and lets you swap them for the form-fitting joggers you'd worn, seeing as it had been laundry day and all of the clothes you'd wear when it got bad had been put into the washer when you'd left your apartment.

Lawrence tilts his head at you for a second--he understands dysphoria as a medical diagnosis, knows how to help it in medical terms, but you're one of the first trans people he meets and one of the few with whom he's in regular contact.

There comes a point where, after having spent a long time staring at trap sketches and a longer time going through police files and evidence to see if the police have caught onto any of you yet, he speaks up.

"I could steal testosterone for you," he offers.

You find it amusing--a doctor, usually so deadpan and restitute in his demeanour, telling you he'd do something that could cost him his job?

"You need an income," you'd say. "Tempting as I find it to take you up on that."

Lawrence waves it off, but he does know you're right. Eight years of medical school and all of the time he's devoted to working in his field shouldn't have gone down the drain for something as minute as a particularly dysphoric day for you.

Lawrence sighs. "I know I'm not really good at this type of thing," he says. "But--if you need someone, you at least have me."

"He's got me, too," Amanda says, going about putting bullets into the cylinder of a revolver one by one. "We sure are one fucked up support system."

You finish sketching a trap for a republican, anti-trans congressman and sigh. "Yeah, but a support system is still a support system, Ames. Thank you both--and Hoffman, thank you too!"

Hoffman is somewhere in the distance, testing trap schematics for Amanda, and all that you get back is a shout of appreciation from his end.

All in all, they have different ways of helping you, be it through the gift of an old but baggy sweater, baggy sweatpants from the trunk of their cars, or offers of theft and words of affirmation.

[water-lily-val]

“No Place Else”

Synopsis: During a rainy day indoors, Esther gets a bit too curious and prods too deep into Kuon’s past. How can he make it up to him?

Pairing: Esther x Kuon

Word count: 1.7k

Cw: OC X CANNON, fluff, a bit of angst, might be ooc, nicknames (darling, bread twist, taru)

A/N: Esthuon one shot for my dear suffering roach of an acquaintance @tfq-qurpl3. I hope this made you feel better and its another Kuon fic to add to ur limited collection.

“Taru?…” Esther cooed, his long limbs sprawled all over his beloved boyfriend as they sat in the warmth of the futon in their living room. Ever since Estelle left for culinary school abroad, Esther had grown lonely in their once lively home, and so he decided to move in with his best friend. In the time that they were living together, something more blossomed between them and before long they found themselves next to each other, fingers intertwined as they shared stolen moments and fleeting kisses in the comfort of their shared apartment. Now with the raging storm outside, neither of them could leave the house, and were confined to their small 2 bedroom apartment in the silent town of Yamaguchi prefecture.

Overcomed by absolute boredom, Wataru had suggested the pair pull out a puzzle to solve. Even if neither of them truthfully enjoyed doing puzzles much (for Kuon it brought back Isagi flashbacks), the quiet night shared in the company of their better half needed no words said, just the sound of their breaths falling in pace with each other, with the winds howling from the outside as the rain assaulted their windows. The pair were in their own little world, with the sweet aroma of tea and romance in the air to accompany them. Wataru could not ask for anything more.

“Taruuuuu” Esther’s whiny tone sliced through the tranquil silence, snapping Wataru out of his little world, finally gaining his attention.

“Oh sorry darling. Anything you need?”

Wataru replied in a calm tone, his fingers still sliding over the puzzle to try and piece the full image together, completely oblivious to the uneasy figiting of his partner.

“Taru…. Do you regret it?” Esther questioned softly, his tone quiet, almost as if he was carefully picking his words in fear that the wrong thing might set Wataru off. The poor vet was practically walking on eggshells around his boyfriend, and that puzzled him.

“What do I regret?” Wataru asked with an inquisitive expression, his tone laced with caution and weariness. An eyebrow raised as he continued to try to find where the puzzle piece should go amongst the vast sea of pieces that are meant to work in harmony to form a complete image. Even without opening his eyes, he could tell something was off with Esther. The boy may be quiet, but he was being uncharacteristically silent, especially around people he was close to. As much as he tried to ignore it, there was a growing uneasy feeling gnawing at the back of Wataru’s mind, warning him that he might not like the next few words out of Esther’s mouth.

Esther swallowed, glancing away as he bit the inside of his cheek, as if unsure if he should continue or not. After a moment of hesitation, he resigned.

“Quitting soccer…. Do you regret that?” Esther asked softly, his voice barely over a whisper as he turned to face Wataru. For once Wataru’s eyes snapped open, those maroon orbs that Esther could get lost in stared back at him with a mix of anger, pain, and something else Esther couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Taru?….” Esther got off his lap, fully facing Wataru who hadn’t said anything. The silence that hung between them was deafening to Esther, and he immediately wished he could take all of it back. He was never good at talking, always having Estelle to be his interpreter. He should have just kept his mouth shut. Now he's taken a jab at a sore spot for a man he swore he'd never hurt, and the guilt of seeing him in such a state was suffocating.

”Wataru—“ Esther started, trying to take his words back. But the name fell on deaf ears as his partner spoke up.

“No. I don’t.”

“Taru?….”

Esther questioned, gently placing a hand on his shoulder, trying to get Wataru to look at him again, his eyes a sea of worry and guilt for posing such an insensitive question.

“Taru im so sorry—“

“No. Don't be bread twist. I… don't regret it. Not one bit.”

When Esther managed to coax Wataru into looking into his eyes again, his hand gently pulling his chin to face him, Wataru finally cracked into a smile, a smile so sweet, so genuine, yet so bitter and pained. The initial expression Esther hadn’t been able to make out before finally became clear: disappointment.

“It meant I wasn't good enough. I threw my teammates under the bus for a selfish reason, so I understand why none of them wanted to pick me again. And honestly, seeing them now, I understand why I was eliminated. If I had to resort to such petty tricks to survive, my skills as a striker were simply that. I wasn’t good enough, and I see that now. Those four… my old members… they are now out there pulling amazing feats that I never knew were possible. And in all honesty, I don't regret quitting. My skills pale in comparison.”

Wataru smiled, but Esther could see the muscles of his cheek were strained. It was a bittersweet admission on his part, knowing in hindsight he just wasn’t destined to go pro. But time heals all wounds, and the pain and anguish he felt when he saw his dream get crushed before his eyes didn’t hurt so bad anymore. He should have realised this before when the thought of betraying his team crossed his mind; if he failed then, then that just meant his skills as a striker stopped there.

Esther however, just stared back in silence. He doesn’t know what he should feel. Pity? Regret? Guilt? So he just stared, unable to form any coherent sentence to comfort him.

The air around them had grown heavy, combined with the rain outside, the once tranquil atmosphere had turned melancholic and somber as the two sat there in silence, reflecting on what had just transpired moments ago; Wataru with his own self reflection and acceptance, and Esther with his heart heavy with feelings he couldn’t put into words.

Eventually, it was Esther who made the first move to break the silence. He got up, and started dragging Wataru’s wrist with him. This change of pace surprised Wataru, who glanced down at his arm being pulled by the smaller male in confusion.

“Darling what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I'm doing, idiot?! Put on your cleats!”

Esther broke into a grin, pulling Wataru along as Wataru struggled to gain his balance.

“At least let me find my cleats first!”

The rain was still pouring when Esther dragged Wataru outside, much to the poor man’s confusion. It was storming, why the hell would Esther want them outside? Wataru just couldn’t wrap his head around it!

“Bread twist where are we going?!”

Wataru yelled as Esther dragged them through the pouring rain, drenching both of them. Wataru wasn’t one to enjoy being soaked, especially not the feeling of his long chin length curls sticking to his face due to the water. It made him feel like he had a sopping wet mop on his head (which he does ngl). But Esther had left no room for protest as he continued to drag them through the downpour, running onto the soft grass, the rain drowning out Wataru’s questions.

It wasn’t until they reached the open field that Wataru finally understood what Esther had been planning. They were at the small communal soccer field in their town, the same field where Wataru grew up playing soccer with his friend. It was just as Wataru had remembered it, with the public goal posts and balls left out here for people to play with as and when they pleased.

Esther finally broke away from Wataru as he ran through the pouring rain to grab one of the balls that were left out in the open.

“Come on! Let's go! It's a one on one! You against me! Let's go! What are you waiting for?” Esther yelled back, kicking the ball around. He dribbled the ball around the whole field, the rush of adrenaline powering him to run through the pouring rain to score a goal. With that Esther turned around, to face him, strands of his hair sticking to his face as both men continued to be thoroughly drenched by the rain. But that wasn’t what caught Wataru’s attention. The only thing his maroon eyes could focus on at that moment, was Esther’s beaming grin as the boy let out a booming euphoric laugh that seemed to slice through the sound of rain that drummed in both their ears. That smile… a grin that spread from ear to ear, was just so full of life, joy and genuine enjoyment for the sport— no, not for the sport, but for him.

With that, even Wataru couldn’t help but break into a hearty laugh as he held his hips, head to the sky. The sound of both their laughter intertwined, encasing them in their own little world as they laughed at the stupidity of the situation. Sure they may have looked like maniacs laughing in the middle of the pouring rain, but that didn’t matter. Wataru felt like he was that six year old boy again, the boy who had just discovered soccer, and would run in the pouring rain with his friends, kicking a ball between them as they refused to go home. This heavy sense of nostalgia was present and overwhelming to Wataru, on top of the idiocy of their current predicament, both fully grown men standing in the pouring rain, their shirts soaked and sticking to their muscular backs as they stood in the rain, Wataru just couldn’t help himself.

The light in front of him was so bright, so brilliant, yet so warm and inviting at the same time, felt so much like home, that Wataru couldn’t help but run towards it, the icky feeling of his hair sticking to the back of his neck and the sides of his face long forgotten as he bolted towards the comforting light of his star, laughing as he rushed through the rain, the droplets of rain pattering on his skin.

“Alright! You're on! Don't think I’ll let you off that easily! I haven't gotten rusty yet!”

To Wataru Kuon, besides soccer, meeting Esther Yên Hien is the best thing to have ever happened to him, and he hopes that he will forever get to bathe in the warm glow of his star in their own little bubble. There was simply no place Wataru would rather be right now than on this field, reliving his dream with the boy he loved most.

[dr-well-adjusted]

have either you or house ever taken a quiz on a random ass fandom that you know next to nothing about out of boredom, looked at the result and the paragraph that usually comes with it and it just told you to work on yourself? Or it was like “people don’t find you pissing them off funny”?

Ooc:this is a true story lmao

OOC: this make me cackle I absolutely love this little head canon 😭

Uhhh..

YES!

yes we do it all the time dont be ashamed wilson

[dragooned-speaks]

Intro Post

(Please read if new or requesting ❤️)

Hi, call me Dragoon. Dragoon’s just an online name, or internetsona if you will. I am not Dragoon my OC. Just to clarify. Also, hi, I use she / her pronouns, and I’m a minor!

I am a writer and artist , and I can’t wait to see what Tumblr’s all about (Twitter’s hard and Facebook harder. Don’t even get me started on Instagram…) So, I’m here! Deal with it.

Please, request! I’m bored! Please, safe me from boredom! If I don't answer your ask in a while, it might be because I don't wish to, I want to put a lot of effort in it, or I am procrastonating / busy!

And check out @bluetrasharcade while you’re at it! They’re awesome!

Also, if you don’t like something, tell me (NOT an opening for hate, just an opening for improvement ❤️). Tell me if I missed triggers, and hopefully I’ll get word count to work. So, boundaries.

Absolutely NO NSFW, please, I’m a minor! No hate or disrespect! Honestly, pretty chill place in my opinion- just no kinks or pedophilics? I’ll update more later because I have yet to see the dark side of the internet- I think.

Always feel free to ask question! Just not personal (like address, irl name (yes, I am not called Dragoon irl), etc) and NO photos! I will stay faceless!

Please respect that! Also, ask about my OCs and expect a rant- or one or two sentences. Thank you!

General Tag Usage

#dragoon writes are my stories

#dragoon draws is my art

#dragoon speaks are rambles and rants and stuff, including new characters or developed characters

#dragoon message is my messages that are important or irl updates, generally just a message to the internet

#dragoon replies are my answered asks / requests

Writing Boundaries

- No torture!

- No NSFW!

- Idk, no sexual stuff!

- I’m okay with a LITTLE gore!

- Off screen murder is a okay for me!

- Details like murder on screen will probably be quick and hopefully not detailed!

- Please don’t get frustrated! I might take a while. I’m sorry.

- No x Readers. Idk how to write.

- OCs are okay as long as you tell details, or expect it to be ooc or inaccurate!

- I don’t do fandoms I don’t know! Sorry, but yeah.

- Please, I’m sorry if ooc, but I’ll probably mainly make OCs…

Art Boundaries

- No torture!

- No NSFW!

- No sexual stuff!

- Only a LITTLE gore!

- I am MINOR please remember when requesting!

- My OCs are requestable! ( That’s not a word, but idc)

- Your Ocs are too, just give me details and please don’t get mad if I get the personality / face or small details wrong.

Fandoms

Hermitcraft

Life Series (I am one at heart, even if I've only seen Secret Life and Real Life. I'll get there someday)

Wings of Fire (the dragons and worldbuilding, not so mich the characters, but I'm willing to chat!)

My OCs! (They’re not a fandom, but still)

Masterlist

Color Coded

OCs

Dream SMP A New Life

Little Birdy

A Little Yokudlala

Cloud Gazer

Down Into The Empty Pit of H*ll

[librosamarillos]

passed down like folk songs

chapter 21: would you pay the price?

Maegor Targaryen x OC

Also on Ao3

chapter index

Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, angst, mature themes, targaryen incest, violence, Maegor is a red flag himself, characters are ooc probably, MINORS DNI

Alys never had much interest in the lessons Septa Sarah insisted on giving her. Her younger sister Jeyne was the shining star in all her lessons, a perfectionist and loved all the praise the old Septa showered her with. Her youngest sister, Hannah, was not as stellar as Jeyne, but she still tried, especially focusing on her embroidery. Alys never bothered. She preferred to run off and hang around the taverns in her town, loving the attention she received for being the daughter of the town’s leader. Her father made it no secret that he hated this. But, unfortunately for him, he was almost always away, somewhere in town, meetings, other boring shit she didn’t care about. He thought he could rely on Septa Sarah, but she was quite old, Alys could easily trick and escape her clutches. She bribed the guards, and ran off into town to show off her dresses, her hair, anything really to cure her from the suffocating boredom that consumed her in her home.

Her eldest brother, Jon, was her father’s heir, following him around at all times. Her two younger brothers, Dennis and Adam, had the honour of being knighted very young and went off to fight these rebels that were causing such a fuss. Septa Sarah was basically in charge, along with perfect little Jeyne. Her father made it no secret that he did not trust Alys to be responsible, so he left his middle daughter in charge instead. Alys did fight him on that, but she didn’t truly care to be in charge. She cared that Jeyne was the perfect little daughter, and Hannah was happily following in her footsteps. She didn’t get along with her brothers, she barely spent any time with them, so in her home, she truly felt alone. Even when her mother was still alive, she doted on the two younger girls, deeming Alys a chaotic lost cause. So she ran into the town to seek attention, entertainment, hells, even approval from elsewhere.

Her adventures were suddenly cut short, when her father returned from the battle with a brand new title: Lord of Harrenhal. She had seen the castle before, it was huge and spacious, not to mention the massive boost in status. Her father always went on and on about advancing the family, but she never cared too much. She was eight and ten, soon she’d be married off to advance the family. What did men want of their young wives? Beauty and heirs. She possessed great beauty, out of all her sisters and cousins she could say she was the most beautiful. And as the oldest, she was to be married off first. But at least she could enjoy the new giant castle for a while before that came to be.

She was exploring the many rooms, all of which were an absolute mess, only their bedrooms, kitchens and dining hall being presentable and clean. Her father had ordered the maids to clean up as soon as possible, for Prince Maegor was to visit soon. He wasn’t just a Prince, her father stressed, he was also hand of the King, and largely responsible as to why Harrenhal became theirs to begin with. 

Lucas Harroway had sat them all down, his three daughters and three sons. He confided in them something very important, something he made them swear they wouldn’t speak of to anyone else. He spoke to them about the Prince, about how they were indebted to him, and how they needed to be on their best behaviour. When he said that, he was, of course, looking at her. Alys rolled her eyes, but alas, swore she wouldn’t act out, nor speak to anyone of her father’s business with the Prince. 

She was going through a lot of the messy rooms, before the maids could, out of curiosity and boredom, to see if she could find anything of interest that the last lord and his family left behind. Old books, surely Jeyne would love them, but nothing but old clothes remained. How did people even live here with so many old and random things? 

“Alys?” her father’s voice startled her, making her nearly drop the leatherbound book she was inspecting. “Must you always escape your lessons? You know Septa Sarah cannot bother to chase you anymore in her age, some manners would not hurt you, you know?” he asked, but it wasn’t a question. As Alys turned to face him, he seemed irritated beyond belief. It was a bad time to be caught, when his nerves were like this. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“I merely wished to explore our new home, father. I was curious to see what the previous people left behind. But it’s all quite dull, I’m afraid. Just some dusty old books only Jeyne would find interest in.” she pouted slightly. She wasn’t sure if it truly was persuasive, or if it just annoyed her father enough to leave her alone. It usually resulted in him sending her off, sending her back to her Septa, but now Lucas just crossed his arms and looked directly at her with an intense look in his eye, one she’d never seen before.

“House Qoherys was given Harrenhal by Aegon the Conqueror himself. And what became of them, just half a generation later?” he asked, but not really her. He began walking closer to her. “Dead, gone forever. Rebels tore them apart.” he stopped right in front of her. “They let their guard down, they were foolish, they didn’t take the threat seriously and now their entire House is dead and gone. How many times must I tell you that you need to behave, not just for your own reputation, but for all of us? How will I get this through that thick head of yours? I need you to go back to your lessons right this instant. I've asked Septa Sarah to teach you some manners, so you don’t embarrass us when the Prince arrives.” he said, not yelling per se, but stern enough to shut her up. There was no room for antics today.

“I understand, I’m sorry father.” she bowed her head and ran off to find the damn Septa and her sisters. She was a woman grown and hated it when her father spoke to her like she was a damn child. He always had this attitude toward her and she didn’t remember a time when he didn’t. She wasn’t sure what came first, her attitude or his, but she supposed it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t have to deal with him for many more years anyway. 

She found her sisters and the Septa in the bare sitting room, Jeyne in her usual books and Hannah with her embroidery. They seemed a bit surprised to see her attend the lesson, Jeyne biting back a clever remark. She huffed and took a seat on the sofa, the one furthest away from everyone.

“Lady Alys, I’m happy to see you here.” the old Septa spoke, clearly trying to use kindness to lure her into paying attention. She didn’t hate the woman, she just found her annoying and boring, much like the rest of her family.

“Father forced you, didn’t he?” Jeyne gave her an amused look, one that held no smiles. Alys scoffed at her younger sister. Boastful of her smarts, oh so eager to make their father proud. He never showed much affection to them all, but it was clear that Jeyne was his favourite. Perhaps she reminded him of their mother. 

“Shut it.” she crossed her arms. “I was only curious and wanted to see what was around before the maids threw everything out. You’ll be pleased to hear that it is mostly old dusty books. Lots of you to busy yourself with.” she spat out sarcastically. Jeyne only shrugged, as the Septa scolded Alys on her language. 

“That curiosity of yours is going to get us all in trouble one day. You best follow father’s word, we have a big guest coming. He wants us to impress. It could help us secure matches in the capitol.” Jeyne scolded, but masked it as a helpful comment.

“Wouldn’t you like that, Alys? You could find a match somewhere more interesting, isn’t that what you wanted?” Hannah asked innocently. Her youngest sister didn’t have it in her to be vicious, unlike Alys and Jeyne. She truly did seem to be positive, but Hannah still annoyed her too. Perhaps because she was Jeyne’s little shadow.

“Yes, Hannah, I’d love to live somewhere more exciting.” she mused. She had the better chance of that happening. She was the prettiest of the three, surely there’d be a lot of lords interested, wouldn’t at least one of them be someone more interesting than her boring family? “There’s a lot of rumours flying around about the Prince. The soldiers told me he’s a brutal man, that he took out most of the rebels on his own. They say he’s an angry, dangerous man, one we should avoid, and yet father wishes to bring him here…” she said, playing with the ends of her hair.

“Lady Alys, it is improper for a young woman to be hanging around soldiers, let alone listen to rumours. Your father is doing what is best for House Harroway.” Septa Sarah scolded with her ancient voice and Alys had to fight to not roll her eyes dramatically.

“How is it a rumour if they were there to witness it?” she challenged the Septa, folding her arms once more. Hannah put down her embroidery hoop, her attention now fully on Alys. Jeyne sighed, as if she were talking to an annoying child. How ironic.

“Battle brings out the worst in men. When he comes to visit, it will not be for battle. He is the hand of the King, so no matter how cruel or mean he is, he’ll leave soon enough and our father will have the King’s favour.” Jeyne explained slowly, in her stupid condescending voice, as if she were explaining it to a dumb child. How Alys wanted to strike her smug expression right off. She scoffed and remained silent for a moment.

“At least the visit will be something interesting. He claimed the biggest dragon alive, I wonder what dragons look like up close, I’ve never seen one.” she mused. “I wonder what it is like to fly. Do you think if I ask nicely, he’ll let me fly?” she was thinking out loud, but Jeyne shoved her with her foot.

“Be serious, and don’t embarrass us.”

Time went by so slowly when there was no town to run to, with all the new guards at every castle gate. Eventually, well, finally, new maids arrived, the castle was cleaned up and organised and the Prince sent word that he would be arriving soon. Alys was actually quite excited, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. This man could be the key that unlocked a potential match that would get her out of there. She’d prefer the Crownlands, or the Westerlands, anywhere but Riverrun or the cold North. 

Her sisters often talked about the boys they thought were handsome in the town, the conversation then turning into what they’d want their husbands to look and act like. Jeyne had a preference to the Dornish look, for some reason. She loved their tanned skin and brown curls and brown eyes. Once, a dornish merchant passed through town with his son, and Jeyne all but made a fool of herself, staring at him all through the day. It was hilarious. Hannah, on the other hand, was a very dreamlike girl. She loved the fairytales, the knights in their shining armours and blond hair. She was painfully shy around men, so unless she grew out of that, Alys knew she wouldn’t be so lucky.

Alys never really cared what her husband would look like. She never really saw boys and men as anything but playthings to entertain herself with. They’d shower her with compliments and praises, as she fluttered her eyelashes at them, but she couldn’t honestly say that any of them caught her eye. She never had any feelings for any of them, no crushes, no dreams, no fantasies, nothing. She never admitted this to anyone, there didn’t need to be another reason for her to feel isolated and alone in her family. She lied and said she wanted a handsome husband, but in truth, she didn’t care if he was an old man on his last days. As long as he had money and left her alone, Alys could be happy. She’d give him a child or two and then enjoy a wealthy life of pretty dresses and gossip. 

She had spent hours last night curling her hair, so then in the morning they came out curled and gorgeous. She got all dolled up, wore her best dress and wore her perfume. Jeyne made a comment about it being way too strong, but what the hell did she know? She always dressed so plainly and did the bare minimum to her hair, who was she to judge Alys for being too pretty? If the Prince was going to help them secure good matches, she wanted to be the first to go. Jeyne, as usual, wore a plain dress, Hannah a more modest dress, more appropriate for her young age. 

Their father had them all lined up outside in the yard, and she was eagerly looking up at the sky, hoping the Prince wouldn’t arrive by horse, so that she’d have a chance to look at a dragon at long last. In a few moments she would do just that. The dragon flew over the castle and it was as if day turned into night and she heard Hannah gasp in horror. Alys stared at the giant beast in awe, as it landed in a clear patch close to the castle. The black dread, that’s what they called him and she understood why completely. It was so huge, she could barely make out the man that climbed down from the saddle, as in comparison, he looked super tiny. 

As he got closer, he wasn’t tiny at all. Alys wasn’t sure exactly what she was expecting the Prince to look like, but he certainly lived up to the rumours she had heard. He was a huge man, towering over everyone, his eyes suspicious and his lips in a permanent frown. She heard that Targaryens had this other worldly look about them, almost ethereal, with their silver hair and purple eyes, but Prince Maegor was none of that. He was eerie, his presence unsettling as he stood in front of her father. His hair was short, his beard trimmed, he looked like a warrior, that was for sure.

“Prince Maegor, thank you for honouring us with your visit. I do hope your journey here was easy.” her father spoke politely, too politely. He was kissing ass, for sure. Prince Maegor seemed to see right through his attempts at flattery, but didn’t address it, only nodding. “Allow me to introduce you to my children. This is my eldest, Jon. Dennis and Adam are the two who fought by your side in battle.” he boasted for his boys, as always. The Prince didn’t seem to care that much, only nodding and sparing them a quick acknowledging glance. But then his eyes landed on Alys. “These are my three girls, Alys, Jeyne and Hannah.” 

Her two sisters curtsied politely, Alys following suit. His eyes were a deep violet, and they were piercing, his gaze harsh and suspicious, but there was a moment when something else flashed in there. She wasn’t sure what it was, perhaps a moment when he appreciated her beauty- she had that effect on men before, but none of them were this creepy. It sent a chill down her spine. The moment was gone as soon as it came, as the Prince handed his bag to a servant and spoke up.

“Thank you for hosting me in your new home. We have much to discuss.” his voice was deep and powerful. It fitted a warrior, a king even. It was a command for her father to hurry and get to business, which he did quickly, leading the giant man inside. 

Alys remained in place for a moment. Her eyes went back to the giant dragon that was visible from where she stood, his giant red eyes meeting hers as he lay down to rest. It was a dangerous look, a look of warning to stay away. She wondered if dragons were intelligent creatures, if they had a mind like people did, or if they were like giant lizards with wings. She couldn’t know for sure, but her eyes remained on Balerion as her thoughts went back to the Prince. She supposed he was quite handsome, in a creepy and unsettling way. She wondered what went on in his mind.

Maegor was relieved to be back in the red keep. Truthfully, he couldn’t call this his home, as his true home was Dragonstone, but it was still a relief. He was well rested after his return from Harrenhal, satisfied with the crushing of the rebels, and went off to meet with Aenys. He had much to discuss with him, the faith being one of them. Tensions were building up and they needed to kill any more rebellions at the root. 

He found Aenys in his solar, in a good mood, something that was rare for him these days. He had been reading a raven scroll, but put it down on the desk when he saw he had arrived, getting up to greet him. 

“Brother, I am glad you’re back! How did you find Harrenhal?” he asked, his voice much more relaxed compared to before. Aenys didn’t seem to be fully aware of what went on in the realm, preferring the safety of the keep, not even venturing into the city. He seemed to believe that since Red Harren was beaten, that things were looking up. They weren’t.

“It was fine. Lucas Harroway is eager to be on the crown’s good side, so granting him the seat was wise. I’ve taken care of the defences, so that any new rebellions will not wipe out the House.” he spoke plainly. Lord Harroway was not terrible company, once he dropped the bullshit that he assumed worked on other lords. Not on the dragons though. Maegor gained another ally, someone who would follow him in his future plans, as he was the reason for his family’s good fortunes. It seemed like a good strategy. Aenys sighed, tilting his head to the side.

“New rebellions? Gods, brother, tell me you’re not implying there’s to be more.” he was only half joking, his smile not faltering much. Maegor wanted to scoff and make a rude comment about how coddled and sheltered Aenys was, despite travelling all over the realm with their father, but he didn’t.

“Do you not feel the tension? The faith, brother, they are just waiting for a reason to explode on us. It’s only a matter of time. But worry not, I’ve been preparing for such a situation. Should they dare to do so, I’ll fly to Oldtown and burn their High Septon myself.” Maegor crossed his arms, leaning onto the wall. Aenys shook his head.

“The High Septon is your wife’s uncle, you mustn't speak like that. Father took me to meet him, he seems like a reasonable and good man. He wouldn’t turn on us.” Aenys protested. Maegor frowned at the mention of Ceryse. He didn’t hate her, not at all, it was just that she felt like a thorn on his side, as he was sure he was a thorn on hers. They were on speaking terms, but preferred to ignore each other. He was still on edge about her failure to provide him with an heir and he was so close to snapping at her once more.

“Regardless of his relation to her, he still does not like us. Do you let flattery blind you completely? We took their power away because we have dragons, but their influence remains. If we do not stay on top of this, it will be a disaster. If you keep dismissing it, they’ll call you weak.” Maegor’s words were harsh, but part of him wanted Aenys, his brother, to just do something for once. So far, all of his decisions were not truly his, rather Maegor and Visenya’s. It was a good thing for Maegor and his end goals, but still, part of him wanted Aenys to fight, to at least try. His brother did not take offence, instead sighing with a small smile, as he took a seat on the sofa, inviting Maegor to join him. Maegor remained standing.

“I think you’re being overly cautious. But rest assured, I will not turn a blind eye to anything that might come up, okay?” he smiled more as Maegor nodded. “Weak… it’s not the first, nor the last time I’ll hear it, worry not, it does not bother me. I know I’m no brave warrior, I never pretended to be.” he laughed lightheartedly. “You, on the other hand, were truly born a warrior, were you not? But that is perhaps unfair to say, as it implies you didn’t put years and years of work to achieve it, even when there was pouring rain! The other day I was chatting with Lady Evergreen, and she told me about it.” Aenys beamed, praising his brother.

Maegor froze. If Aenys noticed, he said nothing. He felt a flash of fear- actual fear. Why the hell was his brother even talking to Rowan? What did she say? Did Aenys remember anything that could put her in danger? No, no, he had to take a small breath. His sweet Rowan worked for his mother, it was only normal that they might interact. Aenys perhaps heard that they were friends in childhood, it was not a lie, there was nothing wrong with that, she had no reason to hide it from him, right? 

“You spoke to Rowan?” he asked without thinking. Aenys seemed a bit surprised at Maegor not using her formal title, as it showed that they were indeed very close. The King’s smile did not falter as he nodded.

“I went looking for Aunt Visenya, but she wasn’t in her solar. I found Lady Rowan in there waiting for her, so we waited together. She’s such a well travelled lady, I must say! Turns out we have quite a few things in common.” Aenys explained, as Maegor found movement in his body again to sit down on the sofa as well. “I thought she looked familiar from before, and I asked her about it, turns out my memory did not deceive me! I don’t mean to sound mean, but I couldn’t imagine you being friends with anyone. I’m so happy I was so wrong! She said you were so dedicated to training, you’d still train for hours in the heat and pouring rain! Did you truly, or was she just being flattering?” he laughed lightly, giving Maegor a playful look.

The memory came back to him as Aenys spoke. It was alive and so vivid, more vivid than Aenys who was right next to him. It was one of those days when Rowan had returned to Dragonstone with her father and needed time to rest and settle down, and Maegor was so restless, he refused to leave the training yard. It helped him calm his nerves, it helped him clear his mind and keep focus on his goals. His goal had always been the crown, but on that rainy day, when the rain fell harshly on his face, his only goal was to impress her. They must’ve been ten years old, maybe eleven, and he remembered yelling at the master of arms to keep fighting and to keep going. Just when Maegor was getting ready to call it a day, he caught a glimpse of her lovely green eyes, worriedly looking at him. Just knowing she was there was enough to give him a surge of energy to keep fighting. Afterwards, like most days when he’d push himself over his limits, she’d dote on him, gently tending to his wounds, praising him on his dedication… gods, what he’d give to have that again.

“Yes, the rain never bothered me.” he said. For some reason, he couldn’t think of what to say, the memories flooding back had rendered him speechless. It made his heart sting that he hadn’t had the time to apologise to her amid his return from battle and the meetings and his trip back to Harrenhal and… Gods, he wished everything could just go back to the simple way it was. Aenys seemed to pick up on his sudden surge of emotion, much to Maegor’s dismay, and his face turned into one of sympathy.

“Were you two close?” his voice became more gentle as he asked the question carefully. Despite the fact that they were slowly becoming closer, Aenys still treaded carefully around Maegor, as if he had to watch what he said. Maegor stalled a bit. Then he spoke up.

“We used to be close, yes.” he said after some time. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to say, how much to reveal. He knew Aenys wanted them to be close, but this… only his mother and Duncan knew. Could he truly trust his brother with this? Why should he even bother to talk to him about it? He never spoke of it to anyone except Rowan herself, not even his mother. But maybe… just maybe, if he talked to someone else about all the hell that he was feeling, it would lighten the load just a bit.

“Used to? Why’s that, if I may ask?” Aenys asked gently. Knowing Rowan, she probably said it was because they grew apart. It wasn’t a complete lie per se, it was just that they were torn apart by his father. Maegor sighed.

“A lot of reasons. I suppose we just grew up.” he said, his voice much lower than before. He thought back to those moments of absolute bliss when they kissed for the first and last time. Those hidden moments in the forest, those smiles she gave him, that hope that sparked that he’d make her his wife and they’d live in Dragonstone together. Those days when all he could dream of was that one day he’d crown her his Queen. It was two years ago, and still, he yearned for her lips against his, to feel free to be around each other without worry.

“It’s a shame. It sounds like she was very dear to you.” Aenys’ voice brought his attention back to the present. Maegor’s eyes snapped at him, a look of surprise on his features, but his brother had a look of understanding in his eyes and a sad smile on his lips. Was? If only he knew that Rowan was more precious to him than the air in his lungs! By the look of it, it seemed like he was connecting the dots. Maegor nodded his head ever so slightly. “Perhaps you two can mend your friendship somehow. It’s a shame to not at least try, right?” Aenys’ question was genuine and Maegor took a breath.

“Perhaps.” he replied, after a long pause. The silence spoke volumes for Aenys, but he didn’t push the issue any further. He only nodded along, unsure of what to say.

The two brothers sat on the sofa in silence for what felt like forever. Maegor wanted to change the subject, for fear that he’d spiral if he thought too much of his Rowan, his sweet girl, and the fact that he couldn’t run to her embrace. He missed it when they’d find any excuse to meet ‘by chance’ in the library to study, sneakily speaking in High Valyrian under the guise of him helping her learn. He missed her soft voice while she read to him, how she’d be so patient with answering all his questions- he truly felt that she could become a maester if she could. Most of all he missed when they could spend time together, before the fear of scandal came along. He never felt so free with anyone else, so relaxed and completely at ease. What he’d give to hold her in his arms forever.

“I… I was planning to throw a feast, in honour of your recent victories.” Aenys changed the subject for him, and for that, Maegor was grateful. He was, however, unsure if it was a wise thing to do, while the danger of rebellion was still high. It couldn’t hurt, could it? Surely it would further promote his end goals, by Aenys himself acknowledging him as the more capable one in front of everyone important in the Crownlands. 

“I see. It will be an honour.” he said, his mood still not improving regardless. He didn’t feel like celebrating, not when things between him and Rowan were still so tense, but it would be foolish for him to throw away an opportunity that could be used to further push himself on the throne. “Perhaps it would be a good distraction from the unrest.” he said, and Aenys’ mood immediately brightened.

“Not just a distraction, but a celebration! There is a lot to celebrate.” he said, but his eyes widened, as if he did not mean to say the last part out loud. Maegor caught this, and raised a brow. Aenys contemplated for a moment, before shaking his head and speaking up. “Well, it’s still too early to announce now, but Alyssa is with child! It will not be announced at the feast, of course, it’s far too soon, but oh, what a joy! I shall find the best singers to bring to the feast, the ones that she likes best, so she enjoys the evening!” Aenys continued to beam, as he went on and on rambling about what he needed to bring for the feast, as he got up to find some parchment to write a list for it.

Maegor remained on the couch, after muttering a small ‘congratulations’ to his brother. He was feeling a new type of bitterness as he sat there and listened to his brother go on and on about how excited he was for the new baby. Aenys was to have his fourth child, while Maegor still had none. He didn’t even realise how hard he was clenching his fists, until his eyes focused on how white his knuckles were. It was as if something snapped inside him, like he was looking for a sign that what he was planning was the right course of action, and this was it. Ceryse could not provide him with the one thing he needed from their union, a child. He had to take another wife, just as his father did, for he would not disgrace himself with siring a bastard to be legitimised.

His mind went back to Harrenhal, back to one of Lord Harroway’s daughters, the one with the brown hair that was curled in such a way that he was sure in candlelight, it would appear auburn. Her nose could almost look like Rowan’s, he could pretend her brown eyes were actually that green he fell in love with. He knew if he were to take Alys as a second wife, she’d face scrutiny from the faith and the pious lords, but he didn’t care. He’d give her the money to live the life of a princess, and once he had his heir, he’d even crown her a Queen, so she shouldn’t care either. The Harroways never struck him as a pious family anyway.

Unlike the Hightowers, who’d surely take offence, but again, once he crowned Ceryse a Queen, surely they’d see his reasoning. What were the pious going to do anyway? He was the greatest warrior in Westeros, rode the biggest and mightiest dragon and wielded both Dark Sister and Blackfyre. Let them dare speak against him.

But then, as he excused himself under the guise of meeting with his mother, his mind raced to Rowan, his love. How would she react? She wouldn’t take it well, he knew it. He couldn’t bare to know that he would hurt her, but surely, she’d understand why he did what he did, once he wore the crown at last, right? Surely she knew that only she held his heart and that this was only out of practicality, right? 

He went to look for her in the gardens, to apologise, to perhaps talk to her about what was on his mind, as much as he did not want to burden her with the depth of his and his mother’s plans. She was too kind to ever consider that he’d do it, but when the time came, she’d see that he was doing his brother a favour, no?

Maegor stopped in his tracks when he saw that she was already talking to someone in the gardens. Tybolt Lannister was once again there to piss him off. He was clearly showing off his bruises and injuries he had gotten from battle, a swollen eye, a broken arm. Thankfully, she wasn’t alone, as her father seemed to have joined her for her walk. The three were chatting, Rowan looking at Tybolt worriedly, while her father had his arm around her shoulder affectionately. Why Duncan would ever entertain the idea of giving his daughter off to that pathetic fool was beyond him. Maegor always thought that Duncan was one of the smartest people in Westeros, so this bothered him beyond explanation. 

He huffed, knowing it would be unwise to interrupt them in such a public place, so he found himself making his way to Ceryse’s rooms instead. He fumed at the idea that there was a big chance that Rowan would tend to this blabbering fool’s injuries the same sweet way she used to tend to Maegor’s. Just the thought that her gentle hands would go anywhere near that man made him regret not ‘accidentally’ killing him off during the battle of Harrenhal.

Ceryse was on her way out of her chambers when he entered without knocking. She seemed surprised to even see him, as it was still midday and he only ever visited her at night. An awkward silence fell between them, until Ceryse spoke up.

“If it is what I think it is, my moonblood is still here. Perhaps in two days.” she said plainly, after the surprise wore off. Truly, he couldn’t think of many occasions where they had any meaningful conversations, aside from a fight or two. He appreciated how straightforward she was, but that did nothing to dim his frustrations. It was yet another failure to conceive, another sign that what he planned to do was the right thing. He cleared his throat.

“Very well. I also wanted to tell you that it should be safe for your family to travel if you still wish for them to visit. I did not forget the promise I made the other day.” he said while looking at her. Ceryse nodded, eyeing him suspiciously, but did not voice her doubts at his intentions. She was smart. She’d make a capable Queen once his plans came to be.

Now he had to head back to Harrenhal.

taglist:@heartstalked@stupidocupido@discowizard88@slytherisstuff

[radiokill]

Wonderful to see that @bigveee is still cooking around here! Always one of my favorite blogs. 

[itshallbitemelikethecold]

Introduction

Arthur sighed, finishing up editing a video. Out of boredom, he decided to make a Tumblr blog... Why? No clue. He had absolutely no clue.

=-o-=

Any post or sentence that starts with // is ooc!! All of this intro, except the small paragraphs in italics, is ooc.

Rules

Bigots of any sort (transphobes, homophobes, xenophobes, racists, misogynists, etc.) will be blocked on sight.

Please try to keep it sfw! I (the author) am aroace and not really comfortable around those topics!

I don't mind ships, but proshippers dni. I won't respond to asks including Argbur and certain characters in that way. I don't mind Sparkleduo though.

Character info!

This is an Argbur/Editor Wilbur roleplay blog. Obviously, I'm roleplaying Argbur. But I'll be including some headcanons!

In this blog, his age is 22. We're going with the "Argbur's name is Arthur" thing.

Arginnit for life.

DID!! Despite being somewhat denied by him (he said it's SOMETHING like DID), I'll just go with DID. I'll try my best to do an accurate portrayal of DID, but please tell me if I get anything wrong. I'm not a psychology expert by any means!

If you have any questions, ask and I'll try to answer.

Extra

The author of this blog travels a lot, so this blog might experience short breaks occasionally, maybe lasting up to a week, usually under.

The author of this blog also has a Revivebur ask blog and Limbobur ask blog: @resurrectionrecluse @iknowwhatimlike

This ask blog won't be as active as the other two. Sorry about that!

Tags

Most posts here are gonna be tagged with more than one tag.

#ArthurAnswers - Answering asks

#Roleplay - Any and all roleplay stuff

#ArthurReblogs - Reblogs

#ArthurBeingRandom - Random stuff he says (roleplay stuff that isn't answering asks, basically)

#oocAnnouncements - Any announcements the author of this blog has. It can range from silly stuff to me going on haitus

#ooc - ooc stuff that aren't announcements

-

Arthur stared at the blog he created for a moment, before closing his laptop. It was getting quite late.

-

[xaracosmia]

ꕥ — WELCOME TO MARE COSMIA, BAI YI. 🌗

ꕥ  — OOC INFORMATION;

name / alias: Chloe age: 26 pronouns: she/they ooc contact: @corpseborne on twitter other characters in xc: Chief, Jinx

ꕥ  — IC INFORMATION;

name: Bai Yi age: 29 pronouns: she/her series: Path to Nowhere canon point: chapter 13 app triggers: Mention of recreational drinking

personality: Hopeless. Lazy. Charlatan. Slacker. All things that have been used- and no doubt will be used again- to describe Bai Yi. Although she claims to take great pride in her reputation, it also seems that she puts in absolutely no effort to maintain it, racking up numerous debts and failing to deliver on myriad promises all in pursuit of a cold beer, good food, and a fun time. She’s playful, fun, cheeky, loyal- not to mention completely unserious and utterly unreliable. It can be easy to imagine how Bai Yi makes friends, but it’s a little more difficult to imagine how she keeps them, considering how hard it is to feel like you can depend on her.

And that’s it, isn’t it? What you see is what you get. That might as well be her motto at this rate.

It’s difficult to pry past Bai Yi’s careless demeanour to find anything of substance. But if you’re tenacious- and skeptical- enough, the cracks begin to show. While it isn’t fair to say her attitude towards life is entirely an act (nobody drinks that much beer or eats that much hotpot without really really enjoying it) it’s also difficult to shake the feeling that she might be… hamming it up a little. Bai Yi is a woman haunted by her past, living on a knife’s edge, the hounds of her betrayal constantly nipping at her heels- and she is utterly terrified of that past coming back to hurt the ones she loves most. But if you were to suggest to someone that the pest of Syndicate was not only a dangerous individual, but frighteningly competent when it mattered most… Well, they’d look at you like you’re crazy, wouldn’t they? And rightfully so! What you see is what you get. ;) 

something your muse struggles with: Transparency. Although she retains a playful attitude about it, Bai Yi is more guarded than most people you’ll meet. Vulnerabilities are rarely suffered to slip through the cracks. 

your muse’s greatest strength: Loyalty. Although she tries her hardest to make it feel like depending on her is a fool’s game, the ones who know her best know that Bai Yi will go to the ends of the earth to make sure her loved ones are safe and happy.

history / background: Frustratingly little is known about Bai Yi’s true origins- that is, of course, if you’re the sort that likes to take things at face value. She herself claims that she grew up in Syndicate, though no records concerning her identity exist prior to N.F. 105, and any attempts to extract the whereabouts of her parents or other extended family members have proved fruitless. Bai Yi retains a sluggish and reluctant demeanor when it comes to discussing anything related to her past, often citing boredom or a headache or any other number of trivial excuses as a reason for her lack of compliance- and for most people, this is where any sense of mystery ends. The rest is rather opaque and easily understood; Bai Yi, at some point, founded the company  “Whitestone Industries” alongside her employees, K.K. and Che. By Bai Yi’s own lavish testimony, Whitestone Industries was a household rags-to-riches success story, raking in wealth and acclaim where so many others had failed… and it was also a complete lie. Anyone who took more than even a cursory glance at Whitestone quickly realized that not only did Bai Yi lack leadership, but she was startlingly, overwhelmingly incompetent. The company was limping along, addled with numerous debts, seemingly held together by little more than a miracle and the sole efforts of K.K., the only employee with interests beyond eating, sleeping or gambling.

Why, then, all the secrecy?

For those who care enough to dig- even at their peril- certain details begin to emerge that shape Bai Yi’s history beyond what she cares to show. Rumours of a strange underground city. Whispers of a cloaked figure who prowls Syndicate after the sun has long set, culling the streets of pursuers from her past. Even an examination of her abilities shows that she possesses an overwhelming strength that is incongruent with her mania levels, suggesting that Bai Yi somehow has the means to control and suppress the influence of mania in her body… perhaps even to a degree that would enable her to enter a Black Ring unharmed, a feat that is so far nearly unheard of.

But hey- those are all just silly rumours. What you see is what you get, right?

powers / abilities: INSTANT KILL — Little is known about the full extent of Bai Yi’s sinner powers, as she has yet to be detained and investigated by the MBCC. However, it is known that her ability “instant kill” enables her to move at supersonic speeds while maintaining shocking levels of precision with her weapons. She has been known to dispatch dozens of enemies in a span of three seconds, though ingame information claims “this record is constantly being broken” suggesting that Bai Yi’s potential has yet to reach its limit.

inherent abilities: SINNER PHYSIOLOGY — Though her powers are not centered around an increase in physiology (besides speed) the way some sinners are, Bai Yi is still stronger and more resilient than your average human.

WEAPON TRAINING — Bai Yi wields a sword she calls Halo.

MANIA SUPPRESSION — For reasons unknown, Bai Yi is more resilient to the strain of mania on her body and seems to very rarely- if ever- suffer its ill effects. This applies solely to herself, and cannot be extended to others. 

items / weapons: HALO - A long, silver katana adorned with purple ribbons.

starting ability: Instant Kill starting item: Halo

extra: 

So what I'm telling you is that Bai Yi is like if a spam pop-up was a person

She has a QR code on her outfit and if you're foolish enough to scan it, it downloads a shady app onto your phone that blasts you with obnoxious ads for her company. This is canon.

She's bisexual but nobody want her

discord id: instant.kill passcode: "nobody want her" I DO. I WANT HER

[wordhuntering]

Actually I'm gonna try because I hate not understanding my feelings.

For context: This is off a long thread of someone mentioning comments seem to be not as common on ao3 and wondering why and another person responding 'Yeah I stopped commenting because when I leave comments I find it worthwhile to say both what I liked and disliked and don't know how to comment without that.' (and mentioning that they like getting feedback)

Only for two separate people to be like 'oh just cut out the negative bits :).' Specifically saying cutting out the negative bits 'gives you a good comment' and then describing my role as a reader as 'being 'cheerleader and fan.'

Like I'm sorry, I think the assumption I as a reader should never say anything even slightly critical, that I'm supposed to just sit there and clap like an idiot or leave, or I'm being rude or mean is unhinged. It feels so fucking patronizing to me, as if one person telling me someone feels OOC is going to destroy my poor little writer feelings, and that this feeling is so universal only the minority of writers feel like they can take it.

I think it's because in my mind, fic is art. Like it's a genre that has it's own set of skills that are even separate from published books (and vise versa). When I write fic, I am making art. I am engaging with art. The idea that default experience of some one like me is expected to be one of needing to be coddled. That is frustrating. It's fucking infantilizing, and this isn't a new feeling. This isn't grandiose posturing as an adult. This is a feeling I had writing as a teenager.

Maybe it's the fact it feels so alienating? Like I remember being 13 and on fucking fanfic dot net writing problematic, poorly written fic and getting a mix of positive and critical reviews and feeling so proud that I was being taken seriously, that I was treated as a peer. And one of the comments that stuck with me was on the first chapter by this author I respected so fucking much. And they pointed out both what they liked and disliked and did the extremely simple crit of 'Hey this character is really OOC. Maybe you should think more about how they would react' and basically explaining the concept of character writing to me, and it blew my mind.

And they never commented on my fic again, because obviously I was 13 and not very good and they were definitely an adult and had better things to do and it never bothered me. And the idea I should have been denied these things unless I asked for it directly is so frustrating, especially when I have proceeded to ask for these criticisms for the next decade and barely got them.

Like is the difference that I came to fic from first being a book worm? That my frame of reference to fic was not 'a fandom activity' but instead as 'an act of writing'? As if by the very virtue that I spent time on something means I should be praised even when I wrote just absolute garbage? No one should be mean in comments (and I have gotten hate ones and they hurt) but there is such an obvious tone between hate and crit. One purposefully hurts and one can sting but idk having something I put time and effort into being taken seriously always, always means more when I feel like someone is seriously engaging with it verses just giving me encouragement not to hurt my feelings. Clearly some people just want some applause, but to frame them as the ultimate-- as the default that all others are derived from...I think that's what pisses me off?

idk sorry this is long just the frustration this gave me...like are we not all peers? Say something genuine to me. Don't cut off parts of your thoughts to make me feel better. I have put this piece of writing out there and have exposed parts of myself, some of it deliberate and some of them not, and have polished it and presented it. What do you see? All of you can't just be applauding. Tell me why. I'm so curious what you feel looking at it, even if it's boredom.

This makes me feel insane and mean in a way I can not articulate and is not deserved.

[godblooded]

every fucking time adora pets camille ‘ s face after she says ‘ you were born to it. that cold nature. i hope it ‘ s some comfort to you ‘ i want to just snap her fucking hand off at the wrist and hurl it into the garden.

[ragnaofazure]

“There’s plenty of treasure at arm’s reach around these parts... I can just tell~”

((You are probably right, but unfortunately, you might be stuck in my head forever...))

“...You sure are pulling my totally real tail here, are you not?”

((Unfortunately, I most likely am not.))

“Ain’t that absolutely lovely... I feel like I actually finally have been jailed...”