#I know black is the IPC color

[illiaccrest]

Eepy

[otakuworks]

❛ 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒. angst w/fluff

feat. Caelus x GN!Reader | wc. 1.6K

sum. fireflies are fleeting creatures, and so were his feelings for you. . . or so you thought

cw. 2.0 spoilers, some intended lore inaccuracies but nothing major

note. no firefly slander in here, just some angsty thoughts I got after finishing 2.0 before bed

main.mlist hsr.mlist

Ambiguous relationships are unstable, often leads to misunderstandings. The balance that had been barely maintained by not invading each other's territory and not interfering with each other's business had begun to shake. With the appearance of a variable called Firefly. Disorganized thoughts strewn like scratches in your head.

"Caelus, how can you be certain she's trustworthy if she's hiding something from you?"

"I never said she was, she has her reasons if she doesn't want to tell me, but I'm inclined to help her now that she's in danger."

He never spared you a glance as he stalked to his room.

I was in danger once yet you never came to my aid. What's so special about her? Was your bitter thought.

There were so many questions you want to ask him. If you had tried to count them, you would have run out of fingers and toes. But when you opened your mouth, what came out was utter nonsensical question.

"What makes you so inclined to help her?"

He finally stopped and gaze over his shoulder. "She's important to me."

. . . And I'm not?

You're shakened, but his golden eyes were utterly calm. It would be absurd to tell this man to forget her and stay by your side. The idea of fleeing was anathema to him.

You don't even know the girl, but based on his descriptions prior she's exactly the type of girl he would go for and it's enough to add salt on your unrequited love.

It's obvious you two like each other that even March was able to pick up the tension, but you both remained on the neutral ground and never fessed up.

Meanwhile, Black Swan's knowing gaze traversed on your distraught ones as you follow the Trailblazer on his way back to the Dreamscape. She knows the moment she looked, conflicting feelings who are yet to be acknowledged are now catching up.

Once Caelus entered his room, the Memokeeper turned to you.

"One with a sincere heart prevails, young one. He's yet to be aware of your burgeoning feelings, having the initiative might help you with your current predicament." She advised.

You barely glanced at her as you downcast your eyes. "And endure the plausible rejection now that he has her? I'd rather be colored in green."

She chuckled. "Green with envy doesn't suit anyone. It's strange to me how certain you are with your prediction."

Sighing, you turned to meet up with the special guest whom he invited you to have a chat.

"I'll head first. Take care of him, although he can do most part of it, it wouldn't hurt to have another shield."

Black Swan merely smiled as she watched you walk away with a heavy heart. Ah young ones, always so blindsided with things that hinder them to confess.

"Apologies for the delay, your friend told me about their plans to meet with the IPC ambassador before going in the Dreamscape."

Caelus, who was about to dive in, halted at his steps and his shoulders stiffened. For a brief moment, the Memokeeper witnessed the renowned Intergalactic Baseballer summoning his grey bat.

"Aventurine? Why would they meet up with him?" Was his immediate response with furrowed eyebrows and clenched fists.

"That, I do not know. You can wait and ask them once we're done with the mission."

Who ever said he's a patient guy?!

"Well, my friend. What do you say?"

You groaned upon gracing your eyes with reality and a peacock suddenly greeted you by the tub. No wait, it's just the IPC representative.

"I-I must discuss the details with the others first before making a decision." You clutched the rim the of the tub to balance yourself from that disgruntling experience.

Transition sucks the most.

"Don't worry, I can wait but try not to make it long."

Honestly, you don't even know the reason why he's seeking you out for this. It was Caelus at first and now he's interested in doing business with you.

You're tempted to ask him but it might lead to a longer conversation and you want nothing more than to relax for a moment without sleeping.

You heard Aventurine bid his temporary farewell, but you failed to notice him stopping right at the exit before shaking his head. You were too focused on alleviating the dizziness that you failed to focus the shadow framing you

"What did he want with you?" Your blood froze right there and then

"Shouldn't that be my question? What are you doing here, in my room?" You couldn't look up at him and can only look on his knees which are the same level as your eyes.

Look up and you would see every emotion to exist on his face.

It came by a blur, you were sitting in the tub and the next you heard the water splashing followed by being engulfed by someone warm and sturdy.

He's hugging you.

You blinked once and twice.

Caelus' hugging you.

If you can even call it a hug when you feel your bones cracking.

It's not a foreign act, you've hugged once in awhile but it's usually with the four of you; Dan Heng, March and him. You've never exclusively hugged before so this notion surprised you.

"Caelus?" You softly called out as he buried his face in your hair.

"Nothing remains with me. My memories and past companies, I couldn't grasp them. Now I'm graced with so many friends, I'm always afraid everything will slip away once more and I'll be an empty shell you met in the Space Station." His voice is unusually mellowed, it reminds you of a child complaining about school.

You let yourself relaxed and surround him with your warmth as well and right at that moment you feel him abandoning his weight.

He wants to say more, however the recent events seemed to have an invisible force squeezing his heart and preventing him from talking, but it doesn't stop his tears from flowing.

I don't want to lose you, too.

He wants to say those to you, but his heavy heart and parched throat reign supreme. So he bared himself and cried to you, letting himself vulnerable in front of you, hoping that would be the bridge to convey his feelings that words cannot express at the moment.

©OTAKUWORKS_2024

[aventurineswife]

“I'd do whatever I could do”

Summary: Aventurine undergoes a bizarre transformation, reverting to his child form due to an inexplicable force. In this new, vulnerable state, he is found by Boothill, and you, who instinctively offers comfort and protection. Together, you three form an unlikely family, as Kakavasha, now a child, grapples with his new reality, experiencing innocence and care for the first time. Amid the chaos of the universe, they find brief solace in their newfound bond.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader x Boothill, Platonic, Transformation, Family, Unexpected Bonds, Comfort, Childlike Innocence, Humor, Surreal, Reader is called Mother but not implied female. @lavenderlovekakavasha

Warnings: Transformation (age regression), confusion, mild existential themes, emotional tension.

A/N: I'm half asleep while writing this so plz ignore any mistakes 😪

The warm glow of the sunset outside the IPC headquarters bathed the sterile interior in a soft, amber light. Aventurine leaned back in his chair, his fingers tracing the edges of the holographic charts laid out before him. The evening had been unusually quiet—until the unexpected wave of dizziness hit him.

"Not again..." Aventurine muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples as his vision blurred momentarily. He had always been one to trust his luck, but this felt… different. A strange sensation, something he couldn’t place, rolled through him like a tide. His body stiffened, a soft jolt running through his spine.

Before he could even register what was happening, the world around him began to warp. The walls seemed to shift, colors blending, and the floor seemed to fall away from beneath him. He gasped, feeling an overwhelming pull, and in a split second, his adult form began to shrink, his limbs dwindling down to a child’s size. His once confident stance faltered, replaced by a wobbly, unsteady posture.

Aventurine, now no longer the calculated and sophisticated man he had been moments ago, stood frozen in the middle of the room. His attire—elegant, composed—hung awkwardly around his much smaller frame, the fine materials pooling like a blanket on the floor. His golden-rimmed glasses fell from his face, and his typically calm and collected features now bore the unguarded innocence of a child.

The air was thick with confusion. Aventurine’s eyes—now large and wide—darted around in panic. His small hands trembled as he reached up to touch his now-short(?) hair. “What…?” he squeaked in a voice that was much higher than he had ever remembered it being.

Before he could further process what had happened, the door to his office slammed open, and in strode Boothill. The cyborg cowboy, tall and imposing, paused at the threshold when he saw what was unfolding before him. His mechanical eye whirred, analyzing the situation, his black pupils narrowing in confusion.

"Well, ain’t this somethin’," Boothill muttered, taking a step forward. His usual bravado faltered just a little as he looked down at the small, confused child now standing where Aventurine had once been. "Ain't no way I’m seein’ things right now..."

Aventurine—no, Baby Kakavasha—looked up at the towering cowboy. The child’s eyes were wide with fear, but there was also a glimmer of recognition. His lips parted as he searched for words, but none came.

Boothill stared at him for a long moment, his gloved hands hovering near his holstered guns as if unsure what to do next. “What in the galaxy is goin’ on here, kid?”

The air felt thick with tension. Baby Kakavasha took a hesitant step forward, his small voice trembling. “I—I don’t know,” he stammered, struggling with the unfamiliarity of his child’s body. “I didn’t do this. It wasn’t me.”

Boothill scratched his head, his mechanical parts creaking as he did so. “Kid, I ain't got the faintest clue what’s happenin', but one thing’s clear—you ain't lookin' like yourself. You a shape-shifter, or is this some kinda joke?”

“Please,” Kakavasha’s voice was softer now, more fragile than the usual sharp tone he carried as Aventurine. “Can you help me?”

Boothill exhaled slowly, his harsh features softening just a fraction. He wasn’t the sentimental type, but seeing this child—this version of Kakavasha—made his heart tug with an unfamiliar feeling. He took a step forward, crouching down to meet the small child’s gaze. “Alright, kid,” he said with a sigh. “Guess I’m gonna have to step up. I ain't got no clue how this happened, but you're not alone in this.”

Just then, the door to the room slid open again, and you stepped in. Your instincts kicked in immediately, and your brow furrowed at the sight before you. Aventurine, or rather, Baby Kakavasha, looked up at you with wide, uncertain eyes, his small body trembling in confusion.

Without hesitation, you approached him, kneeling beside the child. There was no explanation for why, but an overwhelming urge to protect him, to care for him, surged through you.

“Don’t worry,” you said gently, extending your arms to comfort him. “You’re safe now. I’ll take care of you.”

Boothill, watching the scene unfold, couldn't help but feel a sense of protectiveness welling up in his chest. “Guess that makes me your dad then,” he remarked dryly, scratching his head. “Ain't no way this is normal, but looks like we’re a family now.”

Kakavasha blinked at Boothill, still overwhelmed by the bizarre circumstances. “Father?” he echoed, testing the word on his lips. His expression was a mix of confusion and surprise, but also... curiosity. “You’re... my dad?”

“Yeah, you heard me right. I’m your old man now,” Boothill said with a smirk, though there was a softness in his voice that he didn’t usually show. "Ain't that somethin’, kid?"

Kakavasha took a moment to absorb the idea, his little mind scrambling to make sense of the situation. His usual sharp wit was clouded by the childlike innocence that had taken over his demeanor. “So, uh... does this mean I can have cookies for breakfast now?” he asked, his small voice high-pitched but filled with a strange, hopeful tone.

Boothill blinked. "Well, uh... sure, kid. Why not?" He shook his head in bemusement. "You're supposed to be some kinda stone-cold strategist, and now you're askin' about cookies."

Kakavasha grinned widely, the simplicity of the question almost making the chaos around them feel a little more manageable. “Maybe... maybe we can even get ice cream after dinner!” he added, his face lighting up at the thought.

Boothill snorted, leaning back on his heels. “This whole thing’s a mess, kid, but sure. Ice cream it is.” He shot a glance at you. “You’re okay with that, right? I mean, we're a family now... I think?”

You chuckled softly at the absurdity of it all. "Sure, ice cream sounds good. After all, you’ve got to ease into being a kid again, right?"

Kakavasha looked up at both of you, his expression shifting from bewilderment to something softer, warmer. Despite the situation being entirely out of his control, there was a sense of comfort slowly building in him. Maybe, just maybe, this odd, unexpected family would be able to piece together a bit of stability, even if only for a moment.

“Thank you,” Kakavasha whispered, his voice now tinged with gratitude. “I... I don’t know what happened, but... I feel like I’m not alone anymore.”

Boothill’s face softened, just a little, as he placed a hand on Kakavasha’s small shoulder. “You’re not alone, kid. No matter what happens, we’ve got each other.”

The improbable new family stood there for a moment, in the midst of the swirling chaos, unsure of how or why this all came to be. But for now, Kakavasha was no longer a vengeful adult filled with hatred. He was simply a child, embraced by a new, unlikely mother and a cyborg cowboy who, in this strange turn of fate, had somehow become his father.

And for a brief, fleeting moment, the chaos of the universe outside seemed to fade away as they stood together, a family of three, with Kakavasha’s small hand resting gently in Boothill’s rough palm. The game of life had thrown them a curveball, but for now, they would face it as one.

The dawn would come for them eventually. But for now, they had each other. And cookies. And ice cream.

Very lazily written and not edited lol

Art by @Senlly_2507 on X

[nanamimizz]

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝚬 𝚩𝐈𝐑𝐃, 𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐃𝚬𝐃 𝐂𝐀𝐆𝚬

author's note: thank you so much @rabbbitseason for commissioning this piece as well as your patience and understanding <3 ! reader's features (fem reader, pale skin) are described as requested by commissioner. 4.1k words.

tags: 18+ minors dni // kidnapping // isolation (mentioned)// manhandling // size difference // overstimulation //penetration // mating press // let me know if i had missed something.

synopsis: 4 months ago the stellaron hunters had come knocking at your door - they had work for you, they had said. you don't think fucking your charge was the work they had in mind.

When you had first been approached by the Stellaron Hunters, it had been with an elegant woman dressed in a fine black coat. She was in your living quarters lounging away in your chair drinking from a wine glass that most definitely wasn’t yours. On your coffee table was a bottle of red wine, the label in a language you didn’t recognize. You heard a quiet laugh one that you imagined the cat would make when it has cornered the rat. Your heart raced in your chest, panic nigh high as you gazed at the woman’s empty pink eyes with her voice deep and hypnotic on your head.

“Listen to me. Close the door,” You were obeying with your heart racing in your chest as your hand went to input the code that locks your quarters from the inside rather than the outside. She finishes the last of her wine the tint a red so deep it was almost black, tinged her lipstick darker that it once was. She had praised you for your compliance as if it was voluntary and then - the world went back.

“Listen to me - go to sleep.”

The world turns dark.

You awake with the same woman next you, sitting on a plain chair like the kind you see in hospital shows the IPC likes to push. Your head pounds but you soon realize that you are fulled dressed and you let out a exhausted sound.

“Good thing you are awake - I thought I might have used too much force on you.” The woman speaks voice slow and measured like she’s talking about something so mundane like the weather rather than the concerning topic of your kidnapping. Her coat rests on the back of her chair rather than her shoulders like when you first saw her as if she was trying to add an air of causality to the conversation.

“You’ll have to grow out of that for the work we brought you here for little bird.”

“What have you brought me here for?” You ask finally finding your voice that you thought was lost to you. The woman merely smiled and explained it all to you in a soft and measured words like priceless silk on your ears. You had been picked with handler work for a specific team member. One who often loses himself to his madness to the point he poses a threat to others on the team. Which is where you come in as a one that has caught the gaze of the Harmony you would prove useful in subduing this particular member. That was 4 months ago - that you know off. You aren’t taken out to the field, and all you do is wait for your charge to return from his missions. Your world is limited to the well furnished 2 bedroom suite you share with him.

Blade - wanted for a bounty of 8.13 billion stands before you soon enough. He is tall and broad, standing a full head above you looming with great muscled mass. Saffron colored eyes burn through you like you are a mere dying ember rather than the one that is made to control him. The first few times you are with him where quiet affairs, merely extending your power to him when something too dangerous would glint across his eyes when returning from a mission with the others. A mere touch of his shoulder and an incantation had his eyes dimming and muscles uncoiling.

They were quick and quiet affairs - you find yourself quickly growing attached to the routine of comforting your charge after missions. You think you can you live like this for some time, longer thought you would before this became your new reality.

Until today.

He comes back from the mission bloodied and wild, freshly healed jagged line glowing pink among the pale palor of his skin visible by the long cut going down his dark shirt. You are docile and naive when you first see him spoiled rotten by routine that you merely approach him frowning at how long it will take you to fix the tear going down his shirt to notice his hand coming out to grip you by the back the neck.

The same way one would do so with an unruly kitten.

Your hear races and you look up at him with eyes dilated with fear and to him in his haze only makes him growl at you. He picks you up and your feet dangle off of the floor like that - with merely the strength of his fingers on the back of your neck and he has you on the bed bouncing on the mattress with you looking up at him with wide eyes. Your heart beats wildly in your chest and you swallow when you feel something hot run through your veins at the show of brute strength. You tremble like an animal caught in a steel trap when you feel the heat of his calloused hand gripping your ankle entirely, fingers meeting as drags down to the edge of the bed where like always he looms over you.

A shadow that scares you, that frightens you that - bewitches you. He looks into your dark, blown out eyes that aren’t as scared as they should be and the way his lips twitch at the glimmer of timid lust peaking through makes him rumble in his chest. You squirm in his grip, hiking up your leg in an attempt to pull away but even you find that lacking, as you look up at his handsome face and burning eyes. You find that you don’t mind this, not when it ties into all your fantasies you have - all from being left alone for so long with nothing but him.

“Say you want me too.” It’s the first time he speaks, voice deep and rough with desire so deep you almost couldn’t bear it. You gulp, pulling your leg up futility as your mind races. It would be dishonest to say no you admit yourself. You have always found Blade attractive, the sight of him shirtless an often occurrence would be the material of your fantasies at night when you think he’s asleep in the other room separate by thin walls. When you try to pull your leg up again you fail because he instead tugs it up to him, settling your heel on his shoulder and placing a surprisingly tender kiss on your calf. Something in you wobbles, and you can’t help but notice how the small gesture makes your legs relax and open up to him.

“Okay.” It’s whimpered out, said with enough force that is makes the dark strands of hair stuck to your face blow in the soft breeze from your lips. A word so simple and so small makes the villain above you tremble from his wanting and you can’t even catch your breath in time when he lunges forward to press a kiss so deep to your lips you worry Blade wants to consume you. Like a snake with a mouse, a wolf to a rabbit, him to you. The kiss is so violent you gasp when you feel the nipping of his teeth at your bottom lip and Blade is no different here than he is in combat. Your mouth is open and he presses his tongue into the soft cavern of your mouth, letting it flow past your own in a seductive waltz that’s enough to make you moan for him. The sound makes him purr, you feel the rumbling in his exposed now healing chest and you feel so helpless when one of his hands goes to grip your thigh, fully wrapping around its softness to pull it up and away so he can press the whole of himself against you.

It’s enough to make you blush, warm and vivid as you squirm from the feeling the weight of him pressed against the most intimate crux of your thighs - you can feel the swell of his bulge stiff and hard against your aching cunt. Blade pulls away from your lips not without nipping at them one last time to make you whimper and you can see the same thrill-sick smile he wears on his handsome face when in a fight leering down at you.

“Tastes sweet, give me more.” You feel lost in a haze, his words lulling you just like Spirit Whisper does - so you nod your head emptily your eyes dilated and wanting for him. Your mouth is relaxed, letting out sot whines when you feel his calloused hands go to grip your body, they sink and squeeze the soft flesh of your breasts his thumbs finding the peaking tips of your nipples to pull and play with at his leisure. You remind him of any sort of small, soft furred pet so easily pleased by gentle little touches that it makes Blade chuckle into your lips.

“So easily pleased, I will enjoy having my way with you.” He rumbles voice so deep it lulls you deeper into the searing heat in your belly as your chest gets played with more and more until you squirm beneath him. Desperate and keen to have more you let your hand sneak down to the bottom of your top and begin to try to take it off, desperate to feel his skin on your own rather than be groped through your clothes.

“More - please more, I want to feel you please.” You plead, lifting your top until your soft stomach is revealed and your hand is taken over his own that grip the sides of your thin shirt and rip the material away from you in a show of pure strength.

“More?” he laughs like your pleas deeply amuse him, like the thrill of debasing you is enough to make him break from the fog of his mind to smile at you with glinting fangs in the dark of your room. “Very well then, I will give you all that you ask for and more.”

Your flesh is no different then you spirit - both belonging to him now that you feel the bare skin of his hands gripping at whatever is available to him. His hands pass over the softness of your stomach the touch almost ticklish until you feel how his hands grope at your chest. His hands are warm and rough - their touch against your breasts makes you sing the soft cry of your pleasure. Blade watches you faithfully, keeping his eyes on your flushed face even as his own face descends to where his hands are pinching and pulling at your supple flesh.

The peaks of your nipples are hard against his fingers and the ache in his jaw is too much to bear. You have no warning to his touch - you are so deep in it now, pleasure is like the waves of the coast’s on your home planet you think dazed. His mouth comes to seal around one of your nipples and like a torrent the heat buzzes down to your stomach from how good it feels. You are whining, squirming from beneath him your hips grinding against his form having your chest played with. You can hear him grunt faintly from below you, and you flinch when you feel one of his hands go to your bottoms and tug at them until you hear another haunting rip. The cold air of the ac is felt on your bare skin, making you shiver from the difference of temperature. His hot mouth that moves from one nipple to the other, the cold air on the heated, sticky flesh of your cunt that flutters at the attention your nipple gets as the other one fizzles from the stimulation. Your hands go to Blade’s hair, lost in the dark blue tresses and you whine weakly at the peaceful look of serenity on his face.

“You enjoying yourself?”You ask, mind addled by the lust and your hips settling in a rhythm against his own crotch as your rub your own need against the bulge in his pants. Saffron eyes open and the burning red is so consumed by the inky black of his pupil that it alone answers your question. He answers you with not with words but with actions, the feeling of his fingers at your the wet seam of your cunt. He merely rests them there, letting the pads of his fingers touch the leaking slick like honey that drips out of you so sweetly.

“I think we both are.” Blade says pulling way from you, strings of spit following him as this fingers cautiously press into you. It makes you gasp, arching into the touch as his fingers find the glistening pearl of your clit that wants for pressure, to be touched and to be used. Whining into the air between the two of you it makes you tremble the dexterity that Blade shows as he beings to twirl his sticky fingers around your pearl.

“I am glad Kafka sought you out,” Blade mumbles to you, pressing a final kiss to the peaked nub of your nipple before bringing his attention to your lower half , “You deserve to be rewarded for your work.” Any though you might have had is gone as you feel his finger press into the entrance of your cunt - his fingers are long, longer than your own and it make you break out in shivers at just how full only one feels. Your hands that have hanged at your sides uselessly curled into weak half fists, now come to clutch at his broad shoulders with dull nails leaving the skin red as you feel his finger pump in and out of you.

“Are you really that happy I am here?” The question comes out wobbly and more pathetic than you would have liked but your heart soars when you hear his deep hum of agreement. It makes your cunt flutter, the needy thing it is and you feel him shift to press another finger against you. You are a whimpering little mess, squirming and gasping at how good it feels when he curls the two fingers that have made their way inside of you. He does it rhythmically, on sound counts of one, two, one, two that make you leak down to his broad palm.

“Yes, I am,” the words come out breathless and your thigh aches where it is held in place so Blade can watch how your flushed cunt takes his fingers like it never wants to part with them. Your wanting makes you a mess and the bits of praise he gives you clearly make you want for more as you twitch up against at his admittance.

“Always so very helpful, even now - you are a true gift brought to me. A small pleasure to spoil myself with.” Blade speaks to you and it’s almost too much. He never says much but each word spoken in that deep voice you would dream about at night is making your chest ache after spending so much time alone. The pleasure of having his fingers feel around that special bundle of nerves in your cunt. Your fingers dig deep into the muscle of his shoulders and your back arches like a bow about to be released as you cum with a half breathed gasp for the first time this night.

His fingers keep moving, prolonging the pleasure until it comes out in rivets - sticky and messy now at your thighs that cools off immediately when exposed to the air of the room. You are watched ever presently, and burning black eyes watch you like prey at how your tilt your head back to gasp into the pillows bearing the gentle slope of your neck to him. His lips brush against the soft skin and you are so lost in the sea that you don’t feel him there until you bear the stinging of his teeth digging into the skin there.

You gasp, tensing up and stiffen until he pulls away - with a dark mark blooming the fairness of your skin with the perfect indents of his teeth imprinted on your skin.

“There.” Blade states simply as if it was the most common thing in the world to do. You don’t even have time to react before you feel two strong hands lock around your thighs and twist you around, laying you on your back with your knees pressed to your chest. You feel exposed and meek like this, trembling beneath the weight of him as Blade fluidly like a panther upon the weak rolls his shoulders a mere show of how easily he can overpower you.

You let out a squeak - a sound so thin you are surprised he even heard as you how he smiles vaguely at you from above you. But you find that you can’t even meet his gaze when as you feel something hard pressed against you. The length and girth from the touch alone paints it in your mind as impressive but you squirm when feel it’s leaking head press against you. It is futile however, a rabbit can not rum from the trap once it’s leg is caught and there is no where left for you to turn too as Blade presses the length of himself into you slowly, deliciously. You feel like a fish out of water, failing to catch your breath at just how big it feels ; your fingers or your fantasies could have never prepared you for this, the real long, hard and hot thing between your legs.

Your nails are racking down the muscle of his arms, leaving trails of fire in their wake that quickly heals over leaving his skin like porcelain while your own figure it stained with bruises in the shape of his finger tips. Blade fairs no better than you, mouth agape and brow beaded with sweat at your tightness despite it being lax and wet from his fingers your poor pussy struggles to accommodate him. Spreading your legs to have both placed on his shoulders he’s pressed against you completely. Skin against skin and he is quick to press his face against yours - to press kisses into your gasping mouth as he continues to drive his length into you.

“Good - you are doing very good, just take what is left.” He murmurs in between tugs on your bottom lip and you nod your head emptily whining vaguely at the prospect of there being more. You don’t even know when it is you started to weep - messy and noisy little bleats of it being too much for you when you can feel his hips flat against yours. He rest inside you, full and pulsing in your walls and you can feel Blade’s heartbeat dancing at the same pace as your own.

You open your mouth to speak but find nothing comes out as you moan with how good the drag of his cock feels against your walls, stimulating every part of your being to your innermost self to your core. Your eyes water with fresh tears and you stutter out gasps of his namesake, making him shiver down to the marrow of his spine as he drives further into you. His form crowds yours on the bed, bending you in half completely as Blade has his way with you. The sound between the two of you grow louder and louder - the smacking of his hips against yours, the endless moans between the two of you and the wet shucking noise your messy cunt makes from how good he fucks you fill the room in a degenerate orchestra.

You make the mistake of peering down at where you connect and let out a withering gasp that Blade matches with a thin laugh. You see it - strings of your slick cling to the flushed sides of his cock in a creamy mix and you let out a cry as Blade feels you clench on him.

“Do you like that? Do you enjoy watching yourself get fucked? He asks you, voice heated and breathless as he gazes at you from above. He takes in your flushed face and half lidded eyes and the way your mouth hangs letting out soft and needful little sounds. Your confession comes out tumbling from your lips - wet and pathetic little babbles of mindless “yes.” Your hands that clung to his shoulders go to wrap around his neck and lace through his hair to pull and tug. Blade moans, back arching and angling his hips to hit you deeper, another scant few inches sinking into you.

“Fuck me - please, please.” You whimper into his lips that brush against yours, flushed and kissed raw. He nods, obediently and the pace picks up and you blush bright red when you hear the beat of the headboard beating against the wall. Gasping, your clit aches for more attention and you find your own hand coming down to folds of your cunt to rub wet little circles to the needy nub. You cum just from that, having the pearl of you clit petted a little and with every inch of Blade buried so deep inside of you feel him in your stomach. You don’t even have the strength to tell him, just letting out a wailing cry as you cunt turns soft around him.

Blade grunts from above you, brows burrowed and set as he sneaks his own hand down between the two of you and presses the rougher skin of his fingers against your twitching pearl. He rubs at the sensitive thing, even if it makes your thighs tremble and your hips buck from it being too much - he does not stop. You already came and in a desperate attempt you try to pull your head out of the water without knowing that Blade is the one who will tell you when to breath.

“One more, give me the one.” He murmurs into your lips, taking your bottom one in between his teeth letting it grow red from the bite before pressing his tongue into your mouth. Your eyes are rimmed red and crossed as you feel another orgasm coming, the rubber band begging to be snapped again on his cock but it grows too hard too fas and you don’t even recognize the pitched and whiny noises you make. Everything is a blur of sensation, everything too much yet you yearn for more and more. You let your mouth drop and slide your tongue against his mindlessly as it becomes harder and harder for your to think or to try to speak. You only murmur helplessly to him,

“I can’t - can’t come again, it’s too much.” Blade shakes his head at you, giving you harder thrusts that makes you feel the head of his cock against your limits, the wall of your cervix and you tremble beneath him.

“You can, give it to me. I won’t ask again.” His voice is clear but you catch how it wavers at the end and it feels like seeing the arms of the titan Atlas wavier under the weight of the sky. His strokes go from hard and deep to shallow and fast as your cunt flutters around his weakly. Leaning up with your last piece of strength to lift your neck you press your forehead to his, eyes close in bliss as you whine your warnings to him about the end of your rope. With a final touch to your clit, you cum with a pained squeal of his name. An orgasm so strong it makes your pelvis ache and burn as your own hips circle and jut out to try and match his.

Blade does not falter, stamina endless as he fucks you through the waves of your orgasm that make you wither, legs limp on his shoulders as he pulls away from you - hissing at how his cock catches against the seam of your cunt. Blade rests his length on your stomach, flushed a dark pink and leaking onto your soft skin as he pumps himself to completion over your stomach. His cum paints your pale skin into a translucent pearl and he shudders with the notion of more - more of you, more of this, forever.

But for now, you will rest prettily beneath him, as he gently takes your legs off his shoulders - if you were more lucid you would think it’s funny. You never would have thought a man like him would be capable of being gentle. But you see it, in the way his hands rub against your thighs and you are being tucked in. Your eyes are almost shut completely before you feel a gentle touch to your cheek. Groggily you open your eyes, and Blade gazes upon you with an unreadable expression despite the red on his face and his messy hair.

His touch is careful and delicate as his brushes hair away from your dewy cheeks. Weakly, you lean into his touch eyes closed and relax as your hoarse voice asks,

“Is this…how it will be?”

“Would that please you?” He asks back, hand stilled on your cheek as your eyes struggle to open. His face unreadable but open. You fight back a small smile as you realize that he wants to know, to know if he can make you happy.

“Yes.” You utter as you relax into his touch, fulling closing your eyes and settling into the bed more comfortably. You don’t see it but you hear his amused huffed all the same and the way he rubs his thumb against your still blushing cheek.

“Then it will be this way.”

[azen13]

I'd love to inquire about the Starlight Pawnshop. While the chess piece intrigues me, can I have the double sided coin? (Hoping for Aventurine, you see!)

King of Hearts, Ace of Spades

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Double-Sided Coin: A coin where both sides show the same pattern, allowing its desperate holder to not need to rely on luck to win this bet and secure their prize.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Description: You live on a dying planet, making just enough money playing poker to get by. One day, you meet a new player, Aventurine of the IPC, who has come to your world as a part of the IPC's plan to take your planet over. While he wasn't planning to make any big gambles himself, the thought of you being his might change his mind.

CW: Yandere Themes, Drinking, Mentions of Death, Non-Sexual Intimacy

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The scent of smoke and spirits is heavy and acrid, looming over your favorite poker table like a thunderstorm as the dealer shuffles a deck of cards. They’re red and black waterfalls in his weathered hands, rippling from left to right, right to left. Left to right, right to left, and again, and again. After you and the dealer, there are four empty wooden chairs, once occupied by players earlier in the night, now long gone after losing all their money. That left you and the strange man.

In your eyes, he looks rather gaudy in his well-pressed suit, practically shimmering from head-to-toe due to all the jewelry he wears. Unlike you and your rigid, controlled posture, he seems perfectly relaxed, draping himself over his chair, a king on his throne, overlooking his kingdom with a smile that seems to shine in his neon-colored eyes like diamonds. When the dealer passes out cards, dealing two to you and two to him, he glances at them without so much as a change in expression before he has settled back into his original position. His cards are so close to you that if you craned your neck just a little to the right, you might be able to know how to play this upcoming round. You know better, though. This is an impossibly important match, and if you lose it, you wouldn’t be able to pay your electric bill.

Still, the thought is tantalizing. Unlike the people you usually played against, who had easy tells and rarely won–unless you were having an off day–he was clearly well-versed in the game of poker, and had the luck to go with it: pocket aces, straights, a royal flush, even. You were certainly no novice either, but he had slowly been chipping away at you, taking high risk after high risk, to which you always folded, even when you had the cards to win.

Looking at your cards, you have to bite back a smile. In your hands lie the ace of diamonds and the ace of hearts: pocket aces. It was as though the stars–however invisible they were in the sky on your planet–had aligned in a serendipitous syzygy. This was the moment you needed. The moment your hard work would pay off. If all went well, you could pay your electric bill, as well as buy some bread. If you were really lucky, you could purchase a ticket off this planet, a world of decay and death, to go somewhere brighter and better, and start a new life.

Of course, that was all just wistful thinking, you remind yourself. Snapping yourself from your momentary reverie, you place your cards on the table, glancing over to the blonde stranger opposite to you. His eyes gaze at you with such unceasing focus, it almost feels like you’re being lasered straight through. You squirm in your seat a little, concentrating on the curve of his lip and the calm emanating from his posture, hoping to find some clues as to what your opponent might be thinking. Despite your best attempts, you come up with a blank.

“Why the long face, friend?” His voice snaps your attention like a toothpick, the words as thick and syrupy as honey as they pour over your ears. You do your best to force his voice out of your head, instead watching as the dealer lays out five cards in the center of the table and flips three over: king of hearts, jack of clubs, ten of diamonds. Just the sight of each card makes your heart thrum with excitement.

With shaky hands, you throw caution as far away as you can, and push your meager stack of chips into the pot. “All in,” you whisper. You have not prayed to the Aeons in many years, but in this moment, you send a silent prayer out to the cosmos, hoping for a response.

The stranger raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. Suddenly, you feel very small and insignificant, like an ant beneath a shoe. Perhaps this wasn’t a good decision, not when you’re on your last leg in this match, and you need this money. But playing it safe wasn’t working, and you’re almost out of money, so might as well go out with a bang, right? “All right,” he chuckles, leaning forward and using his free hand to push all his chips into the center of the table, “I suppose I’ll do the same.” 

After a moment, the dealer flips over the remaining two cards: a queen of clubs and a ten of clubs.

Shuddering, you lay down your cards.

Your heart shatters so violently and thoroughly, nothing remains but a pit in your stomach.

He has pocket aces too, but unlike you, he has the ace of clubs, giving him a straight flush.

For several minutes, you watch yourself sit listless, as the dealer gives your opponent the winnings and heads off for the night. Now, in this part of the gambling den, only you and the winner remain. The man picks up a red and white chip, running a gloved finger across its damaged edge. “A good game. Excellent, even,” he remarks, flipping the coin in the air and catching it in his palm. He looks at you again, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “How about a drink? I’ll pay.” 

You want to say no. All you want to do is go home and cry and scream and figure out how you’re going to sustain yourself for the next week or so. You want to eviscerate this stranger for taking your money when he hardly needs it. He isn’t struggling to pay bills, or afford food and water. But you are. Even though you want to do these things, a free drink is a free drink, and with how tight money will be in the upcoming weeks, it’s not like you can decline the offer. “Sure.” You let him guide you away from the poker table, past strangers clad in shadows betting their miniscule fortunes and drunkards drowning in fleeting moments of hedonism to a small bar.

Lit by flickering neon lights and pungent with the smell of cheap liquor, it reminds you of everywhere on your home planet: trashy. There are no patrons by this time of night; all the reckless people have already spent their money, and those smart enough to not give into temptation know the price is far too much for just one pleasant night.

The man sits on a stool, lounging just as comfortably as he did at the poker table. “Well, what do you want?” He asks, propping up his chin with a hand. You search the bar, trying to find a menu, but come up with nothing. Not knowing what to do or say, you shift on your feet, chewing on your lip as your eyes flit over the room again.

Noticing your unease, your former opponent simply chuckles, sidestepping you to walk up to the counter. “Two glasses of sparkling water please,” he says, pulling out a black and gold credit card and sliding it over to the bartender. After a moment, he’s already handing you a fluted glass full of a pale, effervescent liquid. “By the way, I’m Aventurine,” the man says, offering his free hand to you. 

In return, you muster up a weak smile, though bitterness leaks through the cracks. “I’m Y/N,” you respond. You clasp his hand and shake it once or twice, before letting go. After a moment, you take a sip of your drink. “Thank you for buying me this,” you add.

Aventurine waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he says, “it’s not every day I get to play against someone so talented.” Even with how horrible you feel, the compliment is enough to brighten your expression a little.

A momentary silence settles over the two of you, and you feel the urge to say something. To do something. But before you can ask a question, something stops you in your tracks.

Your stomach growls.

You feel your face warm a little, embarrassed at how loud the sound is in the quiet. Aventurine tilts his head a little, an eyebrow raised. “Hungry?” he asks.

You give a curt nod. “Food is hard to come by nowadays. I make it by with gambling, but…” your voice falters into a sigh. This man isn’t family, a lover, or even a friend. Just an acquaintance you met only hours ago. You shouldn’t be sharing your life problems with him. “With everything getting worse, it’s only getting harder and harder,” you explain. 

Aventurine’s eyes are intense. You never noticed how strikingly beautiful they are, as luminescent as the lights overhead. They gaze at you with a certain understanding, a solidarity even, as though he is silently saying ‘I have been hungry, too.’ Then you watch the light in them shifts, darkening like clouds covering the sun. “I could help you,” the blonde gambler offers, a smirk dancing on his lips, “for a price.”

At the sight of your confused expression, Aventurine continues. “I could give you anything you might want. Food. Water. Shelter. Luxury. I can show you the universe,” he says, gesturing to a cracked window showing the expansive, empty night sky. You have a distant memory of seeing the stars as a young child, but they are long gone, obscured by decades of pollution. 

“What’s the price?” You ask, immediately thinking of an old saying your parents used to tell you as a child: nothing in life comes for free. For such a bargain, surely there must be a price to pay?

With the flick of his wrist, Aventurine procures a poker chip in his hand, tossing it up and catching it; unlike the warped, dingy ones the gambling den owned, the one he held is in mint condition, colored green and gold. “Oh, nothing too costly,” he chuckles, leaning in. “Just you,” he murmurs. 

While the air feels electrified, you feel frozen in place. “I don’t understand,” you respond, the words moving past your lips like a drunk man hobbling home. Perhaps you are drunk with how your mind is spinning in every direction like a tornado. You check your glass. Still practically full.

Aventurine’s smile widens. “And you don’t have to.” His eyes bore into yours; for a moment, you feel like you’re being hypnotized by how the kaleidoscopic hues in them seem to swirl and shift. You want to move, but you’re still frozen where you stand. “To be honest, I myself hardly understand what I see in you,” he adds, “but I know I need it. I need you.” 

The declaration hangs over your head like a thunderstorm, ready to strike you down in all its passion. Before it can, though, you manage to stand up on shaky limbs. “I refuse,” you mutter, storming out of the gambling den, leaving Aventurine sitting alone.

An easy smile rests on his face, his mind assured that this won’t be the last time he sees you.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

You return to the gambling den the next evening, intent on one thing: winning. Your electric bill payment might be late, but if you manage to eke out a victory, you can pay for both that and your upcoming water bill. Your dreams are immediately halted by the sight of Aventurine, lounging at your table as though it’s his, eyes glittering with what you now recognize as greed. It only takes a moment for you to put the pieces together: how precarious your finances are; how you make most of your money through gambling; how much he needs you.

He’s trying to crush any chance you might have at earning money, so that you willingly walk into his arms.

His expression is unceasing. He knows you’ll give in eventually, you have to. But you aren’t going to give him the satisfaction of winning. Not yet. So, with fire in your heart and daggers in your eyes, you stalk over to your table, and sit yourself down.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It’s only a matter of days before you lose everything. Electricity. Water. Heat. Sewage. Waste. You don’t try to scrounge around for food or water, and don’t even bother looking for a job. You haven’t heard of an open one for weeks, especially with unemployment rising steadily. Most of all, you don’t bother going to the gambling den. You don’t want to see Aventurine’s smug expression.. Your home, a small, drab concrete box, will be your tomb. You’re sure of it. 

That is, until you see those neon eyes glowing in the darkness of your room. 

Immediately, you attempt to stand up, but your body protests, your vision growing blurry from vertigo. “What are you doing here?” You mumble. You try to channel fury in your voice, but you can’t find any fire in yourself, only weak, meaningless sparks.

Aventurine only laughs. “I’m here to offer you another deal.” With the flourish of a hand, he pulls out a small poker chip, the same one he held that fateful night you first met him. “If you accept, I’ll uphold my end of the bargain, and give you anything you want. But if you win a coin flip, then you don’t have to uphold your end,” he explains. “And let’s be honest: you don’t exactly have any more options, do you?” he asks, that smug smirk easily settling on his face. You scowl at him, but say nothing.

Finally, after a few seconds, you mutter a half-hearted ‘fine’. With the way Aventurine’s eyes light up, it’s like he’s already won. You suppose he has. After all, he has an extraordinary ability to get lucky when necessary.

“Hearts or spades?” he asks, though you hardly pay attention. You grunt out the former, watching as the coin flies high into the air, a blur of motion, before settling back down into Aventurine’s palm. 

You see the symbol of a spade, but instead of fear, you feel relieved, oddly so. You slump into yourself a little more, sinking back down to the floor. After a moment, you feel Aventurine’s presence by your side. “Hey, love, it’s okay,” he murmurs, tenderly brushing some of your messy hair out of your face. Then he starts working his hands against your scalp, gently attempting to detangle the knots in your matted hair. “I know how hard this must be, but it’s going to be alright,” he whispers. “I’m going to take good care of you, I promise.”

To your worn-down mind, that sounds divine.

[s-b-party]

HSR’s Guns & Roses: Analysis of Boothill & Argenti

****Possible spoilers ahead, esp. Boothill’s & Argenti’s lore****

With Boothill out now, I’ve been very intrigued by the Boothill & Argenti duo which I’ve noticed so many details that are similar but also different about them, some of which many people may have already noticed but I still would like to analyze them since it’s been a hot minute since my last lore thread

The main aspects of these 2 characters that I want to talk about are their gameplay, characteristics, and lore/backstories

When we look at their gameplay, some details stand out; for example, both have the same element (physical) but opposite paths when it comes to their DPS roles (Boothill is Hunt which specializes in single target fights & Argenti is Erudition which specializes in dealing dmg to multiple enemies)

Their weapons are also opposites of each other where guns are ranged & the lance is typically used in close combat

This is more of a coincidence which I tweeted about recently but I still think it’s funny that their best-in-slot relics can be found in the same cavern of corrosion

Next we’ll look at their characteristics by which I mean their personalities & designs; off the bat we can see that Boothill has a more gruff personality & if he weren’t censored by his synesthesia beacon, he would be the sole reason for bumping HSR to a higher audience rating; this man probably would not hold back on the expletives 😂)

Meanwhile Argenti is shown to be very kind with his words, often using compliments & praises; typically he speaks with levelheadedness & grace, just like how we imagine a knight would speak

If we think about it, Boothill & Argenti are both very flamboyant characters but in different fonts; just look at their demo trailers as references since they both move like dancers (Argenti looks like he’s in a graceful ballroom dance while he’s fighting the swarm disaster; Boothill straight up MOONWALKS while dodging bullets from the IPC, we literally went from Marilyn Monroe to Michael Jackson 😂)

What accentuates their flamboyance even more is the way they both have spotlights on them at various points of their demo videos

Bonus shot of Boothill being so extra (read: fabulous) while fighting:

They also have very flamboyant designs which makes them stand out (as Boothill explains, they’re both clad in silver which definitely is one of the first things you would notice when looking at them); I don't know how much value silver has in this universe but it is considered a precious metal & valuable to us due to its many uses which is thanks to its malleable nature

Another thing to point out is that Argenti is based off the Latin word for silver argentum; fun fact, the Latin translation is the reason why the symbol for silver on the periodic table is Ag :3

I feel like their color palettes are a bit similar (silver, red, black) but they also have varying degrees for shared colors, specifically red & black; from a visual standpoint, this goes very well because Argenti having more red helps to emphasize his association to roses & Boothill having more black helps to emphasize his identity as “death” (well, for the IPC at least)

Moving onto their lore, although Argenti doesn’t have lines about Boothill, we do get lines about Argenti from Boothill himself; based on Boothill’s voicelines, we can assume that he holds some respect for Argenti as someone to whom he can relate

Their backstories are quite similar when we take a closer look at them

For example, they both have experiences where they lost their homes & the people important to them (damn, HYV really said you’re gonna suffer 💀)

Their respective factions are both noted to be groups of solitary people

Interestingly the factions have different reputations according to the data bank where the Knights of Beauty are looked down upon & the Galaxy Rangers are seen as heroes which may be a bit different from what we’re used to since knights normally have a positive connotation as people who hold chivalry as one of their most important values

Their goals are similar in the way that they both are looking for a specific person or entity: Boothill is looking for Oswaldo Schneider (who is responsible for the loss of his family & home; we might possibly meet him soon since we ended off 2.2 with the cliffhanger where Boothill confronts Aventurine to ask him where Oswaldo is) & Argenti is looking for Idrila the Beauty

They also have their critical turning points in their respective Character Story Part 3 portions

Boothill’s portion talks about his transformation into a cyborg & his adoption of the name “Boothill” which he explains is what they called gunslingers who ended up dead; it is a clear representation of his old self having died along with his loved ones & his home when the IPC destroyed everything

Argenti’s portion talks about his journey as a new Knight of Beauty & the obstacles he faced after having met the knight that was mentioned in his Part 2; here we see his transformation into a Knight of Beauty & his dedication to the path he walks

Before I had mentioned silver being an important part of their designs; here I think is where we see the importance of silver the best (since silver is a malleable material, it can change its meaning for both characters based on their situations)

To reiterate, becoming a cyborg by replacing his body w/ silver represents Boothill saying goodbye to his old self who knew of happier times & his loved ones; for Argenti, the silver that he wears is a sign of his devotion to Idrila the Beauty

What ties their differences so well in my eyes is that silver acts as a symbol of Boothill’s & Argenti’s resolve to accomplish their goals (silver may be malleable but it still can be strong metal & it’s even better since Argenti does talk about his will/faith being unbreakable)

I truly love their dynamic as complementary foils & I really hope that we’ll be able to see more interactions between them in the future since we just only have Boothill’s voicelines about Argenti but considering their goals, it probably won’t happen, at least not any time soon

Let me just say that I only cooked this idea up after listening to Boothill’s demo trailer on repeat…..a normal amount, I’m so normal about him 🙂🙂🙂🙂

Thank the YEEHAW man :3

[heaven-s-black-box]

Vulnerability- Aventurine x male!Reader

Return to File

Recovery date: April 29th, 2024

Description: Hello sorry if this is a bad time, but I was wondering if you could make a story where the reader is male and comes from an extremely endangered species that is capable of having a child with a partner of the same gender, and he's kind of like Black Swan's apprentice, and went to Penacony with her but he ends up bumping into his ex Aventurine, the reader left him because he had a couple mental issues he needed to work out but he still cares about Aventurine and just doesn't know what to say to him.

Notes: This work was recovered in conjunction with an anonymous researcher, we thank them for their contributions. I couldn't really work in the "being able to have a child with someone of the same gender" but otherwise I think this came out really well.

Word count: 1 031

Back to directory

Black Swan is a bitch.

That’s Y/n’s opinion as he catches a glimpse of soft golden hair and a gaudy green suit across the bar. The memokeeper had sent her darling apprentice to get them some drinks. She could feign ignorance, but Y/n watched her look over at the bar before sending him. He knows this was intentional, but he won’t let her lead him like she leads everyone else.

Seriously, he’d been under the impression that memokeepers were simply supposed to observe, why was she so intent on meddling with his life?

“One sweetened mood and one prolonged sunrise, from the man in the green suit,” the bartender nodded over her shoulder before he could ask about the second drink.

Y/n bit their tongue and tried to hold back a scowl.

“Thank you.”

He picked up the sweetened mood and brought it back to Black Swan.

“You forgot your drink,” Black Swan hummed, taking her drink from Y/n.

“I didn’t get one.”

“But he bought you one,” she grinned, taking a sip.

“And if I took it I’d be opening myself up to talk to him, and I have nothing to say to him.”

They both looked over to the bar, finding the man in question talking with a man with purple hair who looked less than thrilled to be there. When Y/n turned back around, Black Swan was watching her drink swirl together– the layers becoming muddled and the vibrant colors becoming one dull shade. He could sense a coming lecture and sighed.

“You want to be a memokeeper to preserve your kind, to leave a record in the wake of your destruction so that maybe someday– if the universe comes to an end– you can be born again.”

“If you’re about to suggest repopulating my kind I’m going to leave.”

Black Swan laughed.

“No, no, that’s a decision only you can make. I’m just saying that you’ve found your purpose now, maybe it’s time to give relationships another chance.”

Y/n frowned.

Black Swan wasn’t wrong. The only reason Y/n had broken up with Aventurine was because he’d felt too dependent on the IPC agent. Aventurine had tried to comfort him by insisting he could depend on him, but that had only made things worse. Neither of them wanted to be taken care of and while Aventurine was in a position where he could take care of Y/n, even if it was only superficially, Y/n was out matched. So he’d left.

Now he just wasn’t sure what to say.

He’d been unsure of what to say for years. He’d had the same conversation with himself every night as he lay in bed, trying to find the words that explained why he left. Trying to explain what exactly ‘you’re too coddling’ actually meant beyond never letting him pay.

---

Y/n felt shifting below him, nudging him awake. He buried himself into his pillow a little more, frowning at how hard it was, before prying his eyes open.

“It’s been awhile,” a groggy voice spoke from above him. 

The apprentice memokeeper sat up, groaning in pain as his back stretched out from the uncomfortably bent position he’d been in. Aventurine laughed, squeezing his hand. Y/n hadn’t even noticed that he was holding it, but he quickly pulled it back and settled his hands in his lap.

“Sorry, must’ve been really tired,” Y/n mumbled, yawning as he pressed himself back into his chair. “I’ll go get a doctor.”

Aventurine grabbed his wrist as he tried to leave.

“Can we talk?”

“You should get checked out, you’ve been out for a while.”

“It’s not like I’m hurt.”

“No,” Y/n sighed, “you were comatose. I’m getting you a doctor, then we can talk.”

He kept his word.

A few minutes after the doctor left the room, Y/n re-entered with a tray of food. He sat back in his seat and set the tray on the bed table before pulling it up to Aventurine.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Y/n said.

Aventurine nodded, staring at the food in front of him as they fell silent.

The small room was filled with the ticking of the clock on the wall and the faint sounds of footsteps outside. They were in the medical area on Penacony; Robin and Sunday were being treated in their rooms but Aventurine was stuck here.

Y/n found himself staring at the food on Aventurine’s tray as well.

“I’m sorry,” they both said. “Why are you-” they continued, stopping when they both turned to look at each other at the same time.

Y/n looked tired, and Aventurine looked a little sickly. It was almost funny that they were looking at each other in such vulnerable states. Maybe if they’d been able to see each other like this before, they wouldn’t have broken up. If they’d been able to understand that being able to protect one another was the only way they felt strong.

“I get it,” Aventurine said. “I always understood it… because I felt the same way,” his voice dropped to a whisper as he looked down to his hands in his lap.

“It was just… so hard to feel like I couldn’t do anything for you, like I was useless and maybe if we weren’t us we could have worked through it together but everything you tried to do to make things better made me feel worse.”

They fell silent again, collecting their thoughts and picking their next words.

This was the most open they’d ever been with each other.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Aventurine asked suddenly.

“I did. I’ve been trying to think of how to tell you but it felt weird.”

“Why?” Y/n looked up at him. “Did you want to tell me, I mean.”

“Because I miss you.”

Aventurine nodded, then reached for their hand. He intertwined their fingers.

“Kakavasha. That’s my name.”

A small smile tugged at Y/n’s lips.

“Kakavasha,” he brought the back of the man’s hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss against the worn skin, “I think it’s a beautiful name.”

[lucianhuntress]

Day 10. Sunday x Reader: 26. “How did you find me?”

This one escalated and is slightly longer than the others so far. 🙇‍♀️

The big Halloween festival everyone has been waiting for has finally arrived in Penacony. The streets are decorated with bats, pumpkins, spiderwebs and silly looking ghosts. People wear a wide range of costumes: IPC armor, Robin, the Astral Express crew and different characters from Clockie seem to be popular among the masses.

It is a good excuse for you to wear a cute version of the Hamster Ball Knight; ears and clothes that match his colors —not forgetting a cute little acorn plushie and an acorn bag.

Robin was the one who invited you out as she wanted to introduce you to someone; someone you feel slightly nervous of as you have heard he is quite in high position on Penacony— and he is your best friend's brother on top of it all.

Festivals like these are perfect excuse for Robin to wear an outfit that makes her unrecognizable; her being the most famous songstress on Penacony and all.

“What does he look like?” You ask from Robin, who is dressed up as an origami bird.

“Oh, I think we're slightly similar. Last time I saw him he had silvery hair like me— oh and he is Halovian too.” Robin seems to be enjoying herself, admiring other people's costumes while eating a candied apple she picked up from a stall earlier. “But he didn't tell me what kind of outfit he would wear.” 

“Should you text him? It's like searching for a needle in a haystack.”

Robin whips out her phone and starts typing a message. Just then, someone taps her shoulder gently. You both turn to face the tall man behind the two of you, wearing a Hanu outfit; large, black sunglasses, a dark-gray hat and a navy blue coat.

His visible silvery hair, and wings at the back of his neck are the revealing aspects of his true identity.

“Sunday!” Robin exclaims, pulling her brother into a hug and his shades nearly fall off in the process. Your eyes meet his golden ones briefly and you feel a tiny flutter in your chest as he smiles at you weakly while tapping Robin’s low-poly shoulder.

“Robin was just about to text you,” you explain happily. At least you'd be able to continue the festival exploration without a worry.

“Oh, right! This one here is my brother Sunday and this cute hamster is—” 

“I've heard about you,” Sunday speaks with a cautious undertone in his voice as he eyes you up and down. His golden gaze lingers on you even when speaks to his sister: “shall we?”

You and Robin change knowing looks and you grab her arm as you continue walking down the street full of people, stalls and music while chatting casually and you and Sunday catching each other from eyeing the other one a few times. You're not sure if you're feeling extra warm because of the crowds or because of Sunday’s appreciative glances.

As you get deeper into the festival area, the amount of people increases and suddenly it's hard to move around without elbowing someone. Somewhere in the masses you end up losing Robin and Sunday. That's what you get for checking out a creepily decorated stall.

All alone in the crowd you wonder if you should just stay at one place or go somewhere obvious and text Robin. You look around and notice a Halloween decorated gigantic Clockie in the middle of the street, dividing the crowd like a rock in a stream of water. That would be a good spot to wait for the others at.

You pick up your phone and are surprised to find out you have no battery left. So much for texting Robin. So you do the next best thing and push your way through the crowd and make it to the statue. You sit down at its feet and hold on to your acron bag and plushie for comfort.

A few moments later, what feels like an eternity but is equal to just a couple of minutes. You notice someone sitting down next to you and you turn to him— Sunday. He is looking at you behind his shades, not knowing how his eyes wander and take in all of your details from much closer range.

“How did you find me?” you ask, not sure if you want to jump and hug him or cry after being so alone and helpless to call anyone.

He chuckles, knowing something you clearly don't, but you're happy to see a familiar face. “I knew I had to come here,” he answers ominously, lowering his sunglasses, “worry not, I know where Robin is and we can leave if you want to…” his voice trails off as he ponders on his own words.

“Or we can sit here a bit longer?” Your question is sudden, like you weren't even supposed to ask that, yet somehow you want to stay there slightly longer with Sunday.

“Well,” he begins and moves closer to you. You swallow, heat pooling down your stomach and you can't take your eyes off of him. “This statue is oddly comfortable.”

[tree-obsession]

Gold and Red Text in Penacony

So, for some reason, I have decided to torture myself by creating a theory that will likely have some plot relevance??? but not totally sure. it has popped up a bunch of times and seems to confuse a lot of people, so I'm just putting together what I know! feel free to tell me if I missed something, as I haven't done many of the side quests yet...

Anyway, spoiler warning for 2.0 trailblaze mission and possibly some of the side quests?? idk proceed with caution! I don't read many leaks so I doubt there's spoilers for that but tell me right away if there are any!

Alright, so the first time we see different-colored text in this mission is during Acheron's first meeting with the Trailblazer. According to this twitter thread (credits to user mobnermal, NOT me) Acheron's dialogue will change, depending on the gender of the tb and how we respond to her queries. She also says towards the end of the convo something along the lines of "It feels like multiple different versions of you were talking to me, saying a different thing each time".

So, I'm not entirely sure why she's lying, or even if she's doing it intetionally. It does seem like there's some aspect of "different possibilities within the Dreamscape" happening- almost like the Dreamscape itself is changing the tb's answers/Acheron's questions. But again, we'll get a bit into the dreamscape later.

2. Aventurine's final convo with the tb, and then Black Swan later.

My screenshots were failing me so hard in this quest lol.

Anyway, as far as I know, these two are the only ones in this mission who use gold text. It's mostly used to highlight the word "truth", and according to the wiki and playthroughs I have watched this dialogue doesn't change- only Acheron's red seems inconsistent. I find it interesting Black Swan put quotations around it, and I have no idea what this could imply. I assume she knows something we and Aventurine don't about Robin's death, which seems to be what they were referring to during this part.

As to how that "upends everything"... I don't know what the implications of her death are. It's implied by the npc who raised Robin (can't find any screenshots- I didn't take any, but it's dialogue from an npc in the Golden Hour) and Sunday and Robin's dialogue in the very beginning- the one where they were "shades"- that Robin's voice may have some special quality that could mind-control/ brainwash people to some extent. This is a bit of a tangent, but may point out why the gold test is so important- the new Harmony trace mats match Robin's design very well, and are part of the Order. The Order's- Ena's- symbol is an eyeball, which can be found in a lot of places on Penacony, but most importantly Sunday's clothes. Judging from what we know of Sunday's control-freak-esque personality (sorry dude ):) it's possible he or someone else in The Family is using Robin's potential powers to brainwash the people of different factions. If you choose the alternate ending, everything wraps up a bit too nicely, and nobody seems to want to leave Penacony after that. Tb never finds out about Robin's death in that ending, either. There's a lot of implications there that I don't want to get into for this post, but basically- The Family is orchestrating something, probs pinned the blame on the IPC in the bad ending (since otherwise why would hoyo tell us that?) and then brainwashed everyone to never leave. Why? No idea! But it does explain why Robin's "truth" (in quotations, because Black Swan's dialogue does imply Robin's not dead) is so important to the plot.

That was a bit of a tangent, lol. Going back to the first sc, I find it interesting Aventurine is the one to tell us this, and if we're going with the idea that gold=truth, that just tells us Acheron's most certainly an Emanator, no matter what the Dreamscape does. Why they choose to have Aventurine reveal this, especially with the first instance of golden text- that's still up in the air. However, something I want to throw in is that there was a theory floating around Twitter comparing his eyes to the eye behind Ena in their official art. They are identical- even the gold outline on Ena's eye matches his eyeliner. Since it's implied in his conversation with Sparkle his eyes are a defining feature of his race, Sigonian, and that their civilization has been taken over (I'm not clear on details) or fallen apart somehow- akin to how civilizations under Ena's rule fell apart after their death- there may be some relation. Also, Aventurine was sent to Penacony specifically, which Topaz questioned- this may be why Diamond sent him. It implies a lot of plot relevance for him later, certainly!

3. The really, really ominous text you can get from a side quest.

If you go to the Reverie(Dreamscape) VIP lounge teleport beacon and head to the wall, you find a broken Clockie surrounded by purple bubbles. If you haven't done this quest yet- do it now, I really can't explain all this! search up a guide- there's a couple good ones on youtube. you do get a sticker!

anyway, some screenshots of the tape's text (cw for slight gore, explosions, screams, overall very ominous and vague tour-guidey stuff):

sorry for the text overlap lol, this was very inconveniently sized for screenshots.

anyway, yeah! possibly the most unnerving thing in the game so far (aside from those lost text stickers...). but, as you can tell, I'm gonna focus on the gold and red text. fair warning, I don't really know what to make of this, but I think there's some connection...

first, gold. this is, if we go off what I previously thought, the "truth". My current theory is that this gold is true of within or outside dreamscape- in other words, the dreamscape cannot alter that thing in the gold text. It's there, regardless of how the dreamscape screws other things up. The "truth" in the dreamscape isn't necessarily reliable, since dreamscape seems to fuck with everything, but gold is apparently truth, so we're sticking to that. That means that bloodshed, mind-opening (?), and pressure-releasing (???) is... true? It's kind of interesting- the other things in gold we've seen are statements with meaning, and this... kinda isn't. However, it could imply this is actually what's happening in the Dreamscape. Some kind of deranged, creepy thing that the dreamscape/ the Family is doing while everyone else is on this cool-looking vacation. I have no idea why that line, of all the lines, is gold, but it's certainly not something someone trying to make Penacony look good would say! That's all I know.

Not much I know about why the red one, specifically, is red either. Are the instruments/music fake? That's certainly a recurring motif in Penacony, between bands in the Golden Hour and Robin being a songstress, plus Ena's "Beyond the Sky Choir", their exclusive faction, which fell apart upon their death. Something about Ena being swallowed by XIpe will certainly be brought up later, I'm almost totally sure. It's also interesting it gets cut off by static, without even finishing the statement(I think). I have no idea what to make of these- I just needed to point out the similarities between this tape and the dialogue.

Also, the tape itself is suspicious. According to Woolesley, there are multiple, appearing all over the Reverie (Dreamscape) and sometimes even messing with the Dreamscape.

First of all, why the hell is he telling us this very classified-sounding info? Also, he literally might pop up next to you- it's inevitable that you give him the tape at some point, really showing how The Family is cracking down on these.

Also, who's making these tapes? Why are they leaving them around the Dreamscape if they know it'll be taken? What's with these side effects/corrupting? And what's the relation between the tapes, Acheron, and Aventurine/Black Swan- are those things revealed in the tapes things only those three are aware of, or care to tell tb? It's really weird, especially since they're apparently in Clockie statues? Also, why tapes even- the tapes themselves seem corrupted(or censored?) weirdly, judging from the lines, and also just... why would anyone make these? Someone against the Family presumably wouldn't do rebellion in such a way, and someone within would have no reason to create this at all- is the Dreamscape itself making it? it's the only thing using both red and gold text...

there's probably some connection to Clockie, since that's who is most likely talking in the tape... and that's the statue we found it in too. Clockie is sus in a whole host of ways- don't even get me started, but I'm not sure how they relate to this theory just yet.

I have no idea. The tape is super creepy, but things probably will clear up a bit in 2.1!

tldr/clarification(sry for rambling so much): red text = lie/subjective/ easily changeable, to the dreamscape at least

gold text= "truth", dreamscape is unable to change it(?)

ena probs will have some lore relevance along with Robin, who seems to be the center of this "truth" for the moment

the bizarre tape is very mysterious and questionable, with nothing solid that we know about it- however, it uses both red and gold text, which automatically makes it suspicious even beyond what it's saying directly

what the hell is the family cooking up? i don't know, but it's probably not good! (for us, at least)

thank you for reading this lightly-proofread, very rambling theory/speculation- you are an angel for making it this long!

edit: so number one- I've added a reblog to this post- plz check it out, it has some other details from the Chadwick quest. and also, there's this Youtube video that mentions the red text in the beginning! It has a very similar idea to mine, but the thing it mentions is not an option I made (I accepted Acheron right away lol, so I didn't grab this detail). And the entire vid is pretty cool, so you should see it!

[generalsdiary]

legato*

Aventurine x Dr. Ratio

warnings: none

word count: 1.1k~

a/n: this literally played out in my head today and i had to write it down, aventio brainrot is so real, *legato is a term used for playing smoothly and slowly, not beta read, aventurine will come home

description: IPC throws a boring official party, Aventurine feels tired of it all and wants to leave, Ratio makes it happen, they share a moment afterward (more like they share multiple moments during all of it but whatever)

the genius society and the IPC had organized an event, a fundraiser so to speak, although the details are of little matter at this moment. due to their background they both had to attend, Veritas in a dark blue satin suit and Aventurine in a soft velvet one with many different colors such as cyan and splashes of yellow and light gray. one simple, the other full of flair, like a peacock spreading its feathers to woo its potential mate to be.

under a ruse of their conversation being related to a shared task given by their superiors, they chat alone at a tall table with high chairs near the exit. they talk in short sentences, and even shorter glances. Aventurine has his typical smile on his face, shining like the brightest star in the universe. those stars shine the brightest because they are burning, actively burning up... except only Veritas sees how plastic the smile is at that moment, he reads his body language; which shows small signs of tiredness and annoyance of others around them. Aventurine would usually love to form connections or refresh older ones. tonight… he simply, it seems, isn’t up for it in a sense.

the doctor dislikes unnecessary attention yet now, he decides to give him, give them both a quick getaway. being meticulous and intelligent as he is, he knows of a perfect way to leave this dreadful place filled with fake smiles, forced small talk, and ass-kissing.

without sharing this plan, he walks over to the glossy black piano. the instrument sits coldly, untouched for so long, cleaned without a speck of dust and ignored by the party, merely there as a decoration and not as a vessel of emotion and old magic unspoken by anyone there anymore. in calm, large steps Ratio stands beside the piano, unbuttoning a button on his suit jacket, and sits down on the red plush chair. he adjusts his posture, a public performance will surely invite attention and create conversations perfect for them to slip out. Aventurine quietly observed him, wondering what the doctor was doing.

a simple melody, gentle, quiet at first fills the room which, somewhat, quiets down. gazes shift to Veritas as his fingers in a calculating manner glide over the piano keys creating a rather romantic melody to the trained ear. Veritas is very well aware that pianists are typically known to stare at a random dot when they play and he grabs that information tightly because his eyes from the first note moved and stayed on Aventurine’s. his head cocked to the side, shaking slightly due to his lower arms moving as he keeps his eyes on the blond man. Veritas’ fingers move against the keys coldly, much like the keys are cool against his fingertips, yet he gently presses them, a silent letter to his… colleague.

Aventurine leaned on a wall beside him, the tall glass in his hand with a dark liquid swirling around as he smiled genuinely. almost like any romantic lead in a rom-com movie when the love interest holds their gaze as they publicly but secretly confess their love. Aventurine’s eyes fall down to his glass, still smiling he takes a small sip, which invites Veritas to shift his gaze lower. oh, they both know how to press each other’s buttons in just the right way, it wouldn’t be fun without the occasional mind game now, would it?

as the melody comes to a close, Ratio closes the lid on the piano keys, the sound of people clapping fills his ears and he disregards them completely, being much less obvious about where he is looking. the tall man walks over to their shared table, their fingers interlocking like fluttering feathers falling to the ground, hidden from most gazes. he leads Aventurine outside of the room, leaving the party fully. questions of how does he play so well, where did he learn, and oh I want to talk to that doctor now, who knew he was so talented in other matters as well fill the now forgotten silence and as their attention shifts to the wishes of talking to the man in the midnight suit, they slip out.

the fresh air hits their skin in a blissful, soothing manner. their hands separate.

“now doctor, that was quite a performance~” the shorter man says with a familiar tone in his voice.

with a nod the taller one answers, “I couldn’t help but notice your distress, it was nothing more than a way to help…” a few more words linger on his tongue, help you, dear gambler.

a chuckle escapes Aventurine, “and you staring at me like a fool in love was also a way to help, hm?” his words teasing the older man who scoffs, he quickly cuts himself off to take a small step forward and quietly whispers, “…thank you.” his eyes close to gather a moment of peace.

“of course.” Veritas’ hand finds Aventurine’s again, lingering around his fingers. furthermore, his hand moves to cup his cheek, his thumb caressing it as he lovingly stares at Aventurine’s face.

Aventurine’s eyes open for a couple of moments before he moves even closer, “could you look any more love-struck, you are being painfully obvious”, he whispers before his lips meet Veritas’.

too scandalous for their own good, the way they move slightly closer to each other and slowly kiss, like lovers who have no rush with one another, like time isn’t always running out for humans. savoring the taste, the warmth, the feeling, like it will fly away on a butterfly’s wings, or disappear like the smoke when the candle burns out. in the slow pace, there is a honey-like taste, a caramel note neither of them wants to let go, it makes them want more. like they are each other’s light and each other’s firefly, dancing like a couple of fireflies around one another. the younger one who fell first, and the older one who fell harder. a hint of desperation in the kiss, it is out of pure need to spend time with the other. to not let go. but the sugary sweetness of the kiss can only stay like that if one makes a break. if their lips separate to exchange a long glance in silence before they meet once again- where the caramel hue covers their lips and fills their chest once more.

[shalomniscient]

ARCHIVE ENTRY #1: FAFNIR [HSR]

"That casino owner? She's nothing but trouble. If you ever think you're winning with her, think again—because the house always wins." - Ten Stonehearts, Topaz

◆ Name: Fafnir ◆ Title: Avaricious Embracer ◆ Owner of the Gnitaheath Casino ◆ Path: Nihility ◆ Type: Fire ◆ Rarity: 5*

Fafnir is a fanmade character in Honkai: Star Rail. The owner of one of the most famous casinos in the universe, she attracts both adoration and detestation. A Scion of Long, Fafnir has lived many long, long lives, and yet through them all, one thing remains constant: the gleam and glitter of gold is always her singular calling.

◆ Appearance Fafnir is a tall woman with short, black hair and yellow-gold eyes. There are streaks of yellow in her hair, located near the base of her horns which are gold in color, resembling a ram's horns. She also has a long, serpentine tail covered in black scales and adorned with more golden accessories.

Fafnir wears a neatly pressed, tailored black suit jacket with delicate gold embroidery on the cuffs that resemble scales, accompanied with black slacks with a similar design along their length. Below this, she wears a dark grey dress shirt, paired with a light-colored tie embroidered with gold thread. She also sports round, yellow-tinted glasses with a gold frame, and wears black, semi-palm gloves with the same golden embroidery.

◆ Combat Mechanics

Basic Attack: Buy-In

"Place your bets, please." Deal's Fire DMG equal to x% of Fafnir's ATK to an enemy.

Skill: All or Nothing

"C'mon, why don't you put some skin in the game?" Deals Fire DMG equal to x% of Fafnir's ATK to a single enemy and inflicts a Gnitaheath Marker.

Ultimate: The House Always Wins

"Looks like it's time for a payout... mine, of course." Removes 1 buffs from all enemies and deals Fire DMG equal to x% of Fafnir's ATK, and simultaneously consumes all Gnitaheath Markers on enemies, dealing an additional Fire DMG equal to x% of Fafnir's ATK. Detonation also triggers the effect of Gnitaheath Marker, but restores HP to all allies instead of only the ally at lowest HP.

Talent: Risk Premium

At each turn of an enemy who is affected by Gnitaheath Marker, the enemy takes DMG equal to x% of Fafnir's ATK. The DMG taken by the enemy is then converted into an equivalent amount HP, and is immediately transferred to an ally with the lowest HP. Gnitaheath Marker lasts for 2 turns. Gnitaheath Marker is considered a debuff. At E1: Gnitaheath Marker is consider Fire DoT.

Technique: House Edge

"Time for a blood game?" When entering battle, there is a 120% base chance of the enemy with the highest HP to be inflicted with Gnitaheath Marker.

◆ Voicelines

About Topaz...

"Little Miss Topaz, my favorite IPC agent! Her assignments bring her to my doorstep more often than not, and it is always refreshing to see her. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to convince her to step into the pit yet, unlike that colleague of hers. Hm, no matter. I quite enjoy our conversations away from the pit as well."

About Aventurine...

"Detestably card sharp, he is. He'd never take a gamble he wouldn't win—so I suppose we are two birds of a feather, in that regard."

Added to a team with Dan Heng - Imbibitor Lunae...

"My, my, a Vidyadhara? And a High Elder, no less... this will be interesting indeed."

Hobbies...

"Sometimes, when I feel particularly bored, I like to stroll across the catwalks above the pits. There's something particularly, hm, gratifying, about watching the going-ons of the pit. Someone may be winning, and someone may be losing, but in the end... well, the true winner has been decided long before they bought in."

Chat - Heritage...

"You wish to know about my heritage as a Scion of Long? I'm afraid there isn't much to tell. Many eras ago, my first incarnation was a follower of the Permanent Lord, and was bestowed the ability shared by all Scions. Hm? Others like me? ...I must disappoint you again, for they are no longer here."

Chat - True Form

"My true form? Heh... such a bold request. How about we play a game of blackjack, and if you win, I'll indulge you."

Developer Notes:

Fafnir is inspired by the dragon (or worm) of the same name in Germanic legend and folklore.

Fafnir's title, Avaricious Embracer, is a nod to the translation of Fafnir's name from Old Norse as 'the Embracer'.

Fafnir's color scheme is generally black/gold/yellow. The yellow-gold color of her eyes and the hints of yellow in her appearance are intended to convey her primary character trait of greed, since yellow is the representative color of greed.

Gnitaheath is the name of Fafnir's lair in the legends.

Fafnir is a Scion of Long, but not a Vidyadhara. I may expand on the lore of her 'lineage' through her stories at a later date.

Fafnir's Talent, 'Gnitaheath Marker', is named after casino markers; interest free, short-term lines of credit given to players by the casinos to encourage playing, although they are also expected to be promptly paid back.

Fafnir's true form is about the size of adult Drogon, from Game of Thrones.

Fafnir's kit is designed to be somewhat reminiscent of her character: someone who gives nothing, and only takes. I tried to give her kind of a life-steal mechanic similar to the one in PTN, though I'm not too sure how well it worked out, LOL.

I can't think of a character similar enough to how I envision Fafnir to add as a reference, and I can't draw for shit so my saving grace is once again Picrew. This isn't 1:1 how Fafnir looks like, as I picture her as having a skin tone more similar to Kaeya's (and my own), but alas, my Picrew options were limited. Nonetheless, this is the closest I can get as of now, so enjoy (?) one smug, bastard scrooge woman:

picrew link: https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/6324

UPDATE: my absolutely amazing showstopping talented mutual @e-hibiscus drew fafnir and it is truly THE MOST amazing thing i’ve ever seen and is 1:1 exactly how i picture fafnir in my mind, they’re a super amazing artist and writer and i’m truly honored to be their moot !!

THAT’S HER !! THAT’S THE STINKY BASTARD DRAGON WOMAN !!!

[writing-frenzy]

Here come SI off the rails :D

Brain worms have arrived and shored up some of my remaining will to dream once more :D

And of course it dreams up a way to maybe, maybe give our favorite traumatized imaginary shield character a reason to actually smile and mean it. (Maybe?)

And of course, I forever fell in love with the SI OC trope, soooo weeeeee, buckle up everyone and thing, this one is gonna be a doozy.

First off, our SI boy was playing HSR, trying out a full imaginary team comp of Luocha, Walt, Aventurine, and Yukong when sudden, traumatizing death. It is not pretty, it is horrible, it is scaring, and it literally almost breaks our poor mc's mind; how can they not ask, beg for someone, anyone to save them?

It's a good thing (or is it) that something does.

Whether it is Aha on some sort of new kick, a manipulation of destiny, or even a certain Mother Goddess at work, our poor soul gets taken into a new world; but not as they were. Their mind and body were too broken when they were transferred, so the being had to get creative.

So, they took some inspiration from the team they were playing in their most recent memories, taking from doomed versions of themselves who were willing to trade for their own wishes in turn (and oh, how many were doomed in all the paths; there would always be one with a simple wish to fulfil easily.)

So, the MC becomes a meshed form of the Imaginary team of Luocha, Welt, Yukong and Aventurine: he is a good height, about 5-9, not six foot because Aventurine and Yukong are shorter taking it down a bit. He has Welt's brown hair, but it seems to be a bit messy and longer, what with all the hair styles, which he has to braid to keep in order and less annoying. And for all he seems human, he actually does have Foxian ears and tail, along with most of the bloodline perks, but hides it with illusions and tricks for reasons. His skins is tanner and kissed beautifuly by the sun, and his eyes are really cool, being a mixture of Aventurine's shape and style, but with the other three's colors. he also looks late 20's/early 30's just imagine him with welt's eye lines because the character maker doesn't have that. (The glasses are there for reasons and this is him illusioned because the ears were just not meshing for me.)

As for the eyes, I tried my best TT^TT (headcannon that most Avgin's eyes are usually in shades of brown to gold, with rarer shades of darker purples and even green at times, going with how Avgin means Honey and all, so with Kakavasha being born with not only bright beautiful eyes, it also has blue in them like water? and it rains? yeah, no wonder they thought he was blessed.)

But yeah, with his appearance over, now we get an interesting little bit about him; his path is Remembrance :D how? he has no clue, only that his memories are pretty shitty now, he knows random ass stuff (gifts from the other four; my guy know so many loopholes now for the IPC) he instinctively knows how to use his powers, just has to practice with control, but what was his favorite food? his dream in life? his actual name? nadda, zilch. He does know his power is literally a mixture of all four of his Imaginary team, allowing his skill to produce shields that also buff and/or heal his allies, with them disappearing can either randomly heal, buff, or do nothing before they go. His Ult is a mixture of Luocha's, Yukongs, and Welt's, doing incredible damage while also debuffing his enemies to hell and back, and even letting his team heal like with Luocha's. This doesn't even count in the terrifying follow up attack, that randomly does whatever the fuck it wants to :D tiny black holes to devour enemies? shower of golden rain that heals allies by draining the enemy's own life? this is only scratching the surface~

Yup, our boi is a OP beast :3

Did I forget to mention he came to this world with half the damage he got from his death? So it's very lucky where he ended up; a few years before the Avgin's genocide, luckily found by the tribe where they took him in, who while hesitant about the stranger, couldn't turn him away, then felt well they didn't when they finally opened their eyes to see they were one of them. Even if he's of mixed blood, he is still one of their own and came back to them, even as harmed and damaged as he is.

Not to mention just how talented and powerful he is.-

The wise woman watches, with her guard, as the stranger to their ways learns with an appetite like starving dog, so keen and willing to continue struggling on even with the barest of scraps. It is a kin to someone struggling with quicksand, finally finding some leverage that can save them from demise just in time, light entering those eyes once more. But like a beaten dog, they shy from most touch, hesitant and still, eyes watchful as they take in all threats to their self before they settle into a long wait, ready to attack.

It makes it both tragic and amazing, seeing someone so strong, someone she has seen break rock and stone with but a thought, so obviously broken, but willing still to heal. She knows her guard would like for this stranger to become part of the guard, to let others know of his strength so that they can better themselves and their people.

But the wise woman did not live so long to be wise as she was with simple thoughts and hopes like those; she saw signs everywhere, she has read omens in the sands and wind, reads the bones with ease; besides a select few, no one knows of their stanger's talents.

She names him Sarth, for his always thoughtful ways (and to hide within sight, just that for all his power, it is his mind most terrifying of all.)

(He was found under the stars for protection and warning, waking only when the stars for secrets was high in the sky. She sees how gentle, ever so kind their stranger is for the children, and she makes her decision.

She finds she will never regret it, traitors in their mist, the men in the black uniforms abandoning them, telling their stranger to please, please, if nothing else, save their children and ill away from this mess. If nothing else, she knows that at least the 452 with him will live.)

-so yeah, I have feels about those still being missing being 3,452 people; i just yoinked a chunk for myself, my guy Sarth covering everyone with his ridiculous powers, stealing a ship he found (interestingly, it was an illegal drug merchant who was currently being killed, so it would be a long, looooong time before someone notices one missing ship that was destined to be scraped because of damages and age over the years.) My guy is desperate, knowing of the discrimination they will face from practically everyone in the universe, not knowing who to ask or even if there is anyone willing to aid them; the IPC is shady as heck, he doesn't think Himeko has fixed the express yet, and their ship is running on luck, prayers, and Yukong's memories and knowledge of flying through even worse with even more tragic of conditions.

Sarth could really, really use a break right now; everyone with him at that.

Then in walk some Fools; Sarth somehow not only impresses them, he even tricks them, getting one fool, who goes by as Tricky Trickster, delighted (because what's more delightful then tricking others? Himself getting tricked in new and innovating ways. After all, how else could one learn to better themselves?)

So, my guy is able to enter in a game of high stakes with the Fools; he has 6 chances to win his people the chance to live well, with food in their bellies, chances for education, no worries of threats, the complete secrecy of their survival, all that good chance... here is the thing; he has to win at least four games, because the hightest amount of people that can be saved per game is 113 people, so yeah, four games would equal the 113 peeps. (he doesn't count himself; he can at least get along in this universe, he has power and tricks on his side, he can do what must be done; all these sick, injured, or too young? they can't.)

So he plays the games, winning two at first, getting 226 from there... only to lose the third game; what he loses is decided by random on a wheel, with him in the end nearly ending up practically blind, his eyes basically just for decoration now... he almost loses the fourth, but by chance actually wins, getting another 113 people. but this luck doesn't hold by the fifth game, this time he loses 20 years of freedom, to begin after the games are done and to serve in the Tavern. the last game is done with bated breath, the last 113 people's lives hanging by a thread, when MC pulls off yet another miracle; he uses the memories of harmony and abundance, sealing with preservation to gain back what little sight he can to win the game, saving all 452 people that came with him. there is much tears, crying, sobbing and mourning because once more something is taken from the Avgins but they persevere, many promising that they will do what they can for him in turn.

(In the end, they find an interesting item, one that can channel things with multiple paths and contain it, shaping to whatever the owner needs. Those are now shaped into glasses for Sarth to wear so he can see, only able to be removed by himself. it doesn't feel like much to the Avgins, it feels paltry for all he has done for them, but Sarth loves and adores anything he gets from them, to the honestly little mudpies from the kids to even the gems others offer; his favorite is the company they offer.)

So yeah, in my head, when the Trailblazer enters the planet of Festivities, my guy is near the very end of his service term, with maybe a year or two left.

This is so far what I have for him, but I must say; he gives off Dilf energy like hard core and the thirst for him is real :D

[inbetweenknacksandnooks]

Honkai Star Rail Masterlist

Current Interest Level: High

Click here for the Core Hub's Masterlist.

NSFW will be labeled as 🔞

If a work has trigger warnings it'll be labeled as TW: [the trigger warning(s)]

Note: Each fic is also color-coded on how accurate to the character I believe I've done it to. Every character is also color-co-ordinated on how well I believe I can write them overall, which may be helpful if some of ya'll don't like OOC, or want to request something.

Here are the color-keys

LightBlue = Pretty Good(85%+) accuracy, these are what I believe are the most character-accurate)

Green = Moderately-well (55% and above, but at or below 80%). These are characters and works that I believe I can get in character, but there may be OOC.

Orange = 0% Accuracy, definite OOC. I don't know how they tick, or their personality very well, or I simply don't know how to write for them, but I'm willing and wanting to write for them anyway.

Purple = EXCLUSIVELY PLATONIC. These are characters I definitely don't feel comfortable writing about for smut, or in a romantic setting, so instead it's for fluffy friendship stuff.

Red = Characters I WON'T write for, I'll just get them out of the way, here though:

Will not write for:

Male Characters. (I will not force-fem them, either!)

Most Future Characters.

Some of the characters that I don't have.

Characters I don't care about.

Characters that I do not know how to begin writing.

The characters below meet one or more of the criteria. Ask me if you're unsure.

Bailu, Quinque, Hanya, Guinaifen, Huohuo, Fu Xuan, Herta, Jingliu, Sparkle, Sushang, Lingsha, Yunli + Future & Male Characters.

If the masterlist is confusing in some way, or you have suggestions for it, you can reach out and tell me.

Herta Space Station

Asta:

Ruan Mei:

Astral Express

Himeko:

March 7th:

Stelle:

Stelleron Hunters

Kafka:

Silver Wolf:

Firefly:

The IPC

Topaz:

Jade:

Belobog

Bronya:

Serval:

Natasha:

Seele:

Lynx:

Pela:

Hook:

Clara:

Xianzhou Luofu

Xueyi:

Yukong:

Tingyun:

Huohuo:

Penacony

Black Swan:

Siobhan:

Acheron:

Robin:

Robin Fluff Alphabet!

Multiples!

What every (non-platonic) HSR girl smells like!

Part 1 (Asta, Himeko, March 7th, Stelle)

Part 2 (Kafka, Firefly, Topaz, Jade)

Part 3 (Bronya, Serval, Natasha, Seele)

Part 4 (Xueyi, Ruan Mei, Yukong, Tingyun)

Part 5 (Black Swan, Siobhan, Acheron, Robin)

General.

(Aka: Nothing specific. Moreso world-building than anything character-specific. Currently only contains saHSRAU (self-aware HSR AU) "worldbuilding".

saHSRau.

General Worldbuilding (My personal ruleset-headcanons).

How Characters on a Secondary Account Work

A/N: Kinda crowded, honestly. I might need to make lists on just the areas, because this color splashing is almost eye-filth...

[lairofmuses]

Honkai: Star Rail Verse(Genshin OCs)

{Putting this under Read More so I don't clog up people's feed lmao!}

Name: Azura

Age: 24

Birthday: June 13th

Sign: Gemini

Race: Human

Home: Herta’s Space Station(Current Occupation)

Height: 5’2

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual(Leans towards Men)

Path/Damage type: The Abundance/Ice

Weapon: Spear

Hair Color: Orange

Eye Color: Magenta

Personality: Shy and quiet, but also kind and caring

Bio:

Azura was born on Herta's Space Station, her parents were scientists who worked there for years after leaving their home world, barely escaping from it being destroyed. Her mother was only a few months pregnant with her with five other children she was raising until their planet was targeted by the IPC. While Azura doesn't know why the IPC targeted their home, she has slight trust issues with anyone that works for them.

Azura now follows the path that her parents took, working as a scientist. Though after the loss of her father from a incurable illness and now having to take care of her mother, who was now ill herself. Azura has made a promise to work hard, protecting her and being with her, no matter what while achieving her dream of being what her parents wanted her to be: to be the best scientist to help cure and save people from illnesses, just as Azura wants to do for her mother.

—

Name: Yuji

Age: 29

Birthday: July 19th

Sign: Cancer

Race: Human

Home Planet: ???

Occupation: Galaxy Ranger

Height: 6’3

Sexual Orientation: Homosexual

Path/Damage type: The Destruction/Fire

Weapon: Sword

Hair Color: Black

Eye Color: Purple

Personality: Quiet and a bit cold towards others, but will warm up and show kindness when he trusts them.

Bio:

Yuji lost his parents and his Home due to the IPC taking over their planet, destroying his own home and his childhood. After the death of his parents and barely escaping the grasps of the IPC, as he didn't want to be apart of their terrible organization, he was homeless and alone, hiding away from the crooks that took away his family. He was an only child, only 11 years old when it happened.

After several years of hiding away in the streets, barely escaping starvation, as he stole from shops which made others dislike him, he ran into one of the well known Galaxy Rangers, Boothill, after the cyborg discovered that the IPC targeted yet another planet.

Yuji didn't trust him at first as he didn't know what to think of him, but upon hearing his story and hearing that Boothill’s home was also targeted by the organization, Yuji thought maybe this was fate, and asked Boothill if he could also be a Galaxy Ranger.

A few years passed and Yuji follows the path of Destruction, hunting down every IPC member and taking his revenge, just as Boothill done the same.

—

Name: Yemina and Sharifa

Age: 22

Birthday: June 24th

Sign: Cancer

Race: Humans

Height: 5’11

Home Planet: ???

Occupation: IPC Members

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual[Both]

Path/Damage type: The Nihility/Wind[Yemina],

The Erudition/Lightening[Sharifa]

Weapons: Claymore[Yemina], Twin knives[Sharifa]

Hair Color: Dark Brown

Eye Color: Crimson Red

Personality: Calm and Quiet, but a serious attitude when pushed too far[Yemina], Quiet and nervous around others[Sharifa], both untrusting of others

Bio:

Much like Yuji, The twins family was murdered by the IPC even though, they weren't as lucky as the two were caught and taken from their home world. They were forced to work for the organization, or threatened with death, making them do the dirty work for the Stonehearts.

While they were sometimes sent to planets to make them do what any other normal IPC member, they were mostly kept at IPC headquarters. Yemina was close to killing one of the members as they tried to separate her and her sister, but Yemina wasn't having that. She could rather then die then be separated. Finally with much convincing with fists, the group allows the two to stay together. As they should, as they were the only ones they had left, only each other.

The twins were glued together as they continued doing the dirty work for the organization, mostly being shipped off to find and target planets to send information to the IPC, while keeping a low profile from any eyes that would deem them suspicious. Both would disguise themselves as entertainers, mostly dancers to keep any suspicions of them down to zero.

[ladytrollfishes]

Cresce: Find Yourself. Kind of.

Cresce Aubade | 10 Sweeps, 22 years | At the 12th Perigee Ball ----

You take a deep breath, smiling, and drink in the applause. A venue like the 12th Perigee Ball comes around only, well- twice a sweep, and you’ve never had a live audience this big. The sound soars around you, the cadence of claps only rivaled by the brass band of the sound’s of the crowd’s appreciation. It almost drowns out the rest of the crowd’s desires. Like hunger- probably eyeing the buffet bar, longing- perhaps pining for lost lovers glimpsed in the crowd, and even grumpiness and relief, that your song is over.

Well, the crowd wants what it wants! And most the crowd likes you. You give the crowd a glittering smile and toss out a wave before you turn to leave the stage, tossing a sincere thank you to the accompanying band and accepting the compliments of those standing near the steps.

You spare a glance to the crowd to see if you can find Melete’s enormous fur robe in the crowd, and find out what she thinks of that. You had written it, after all, in a fit of pique after the incident with the after hours office break in and the tiff about recycling notes. You hadn’t made any obvious references to what happened, and tuned it up a bit so that it was a little more mainstream, but you wonder if she recognizes the inspiration.

There’s a little room behind the stage for performers to prepare. It’s not much- it’s got a couple seats a large mirror for anyone to check how they looked before they went on stage, and a set of lockers for the performer’s things. You left a thermos of fruit tea there- the song’s left you a little parched.

No, Melete would not realize. The biggest reference you made to it was jumping out the window and she had no idea you had done that. And no one had to know that was true.

Another troll is the room, waiting to take up the stage. A ceruleanblood, looking out of place in an ill fitting suit, with a lip and several horn piercings, and fiddling with an electric guitar.  He flashes a nervous smile at you, just brimming with anxious excitement. You give him two thumbs up.

“You’re going to do great,” you encourage him, pushing enough power behind your words that he’ll feel it. He smiles back at you, the quick staccato of his melody easing off to something smoother.

“Thanks,” he says, relieved. “You did great yourself.” You beam back at him, until he steps onto the stage. He’ll remember you, you’re pretty sure.

If he was this nervous, surely he hadn’t done so many shows before. The 12th Perigee Ball wasn’t quite so exclusive when it came to performances, but certainly standards should be a little tighter.

You unscrew your thermos and take a sip when you hear someone else approach the room, a discordant jangle of unpleasant feelings. You sort out low tones of anger and disgust and a warble of grim satisfaction. Who could be performing with that sort of feeling? You check your lipstick quickly in the mirror to make sure nothing is smeared before straightening your shoulder. You ready a quick word that could set someone’s mind at ease, and a smile to welcome the newcomer.

You’re not prepared for what you find.

She’s wearing a simple dress, down to her ankles with a slit up to her knee, but in a rich velvet so purple it was almost black. Her neck and wrists sparkle with jewels that drop near to her waist, white crystals in a balls and drops and strung together on fine lace and silk threads. Her outfit makes you feel under dressed.  

But that’s not the worst of it.

She’s got a thick face full of paint of the Mirthful, thick greys smeared with impeccable lines on white, but the resemblance is unmistakable. Her cheeks are outlined with a grey that gives her more cheekbone than she has, but that was the soft shape of your jaw and the broad curve of your nose. Her horns are an exact mirror of yours. You have the suspicion that if you reached out and brushed off the paint on her cheek, you’d find a mole in the exact mirror spot as yours. Her eyes are surrounded with a grey that makes them look like they’re set deeper into your face, but she fixes you with a glare of bright indigo eyes of your own exact hue.

You feel yourself knocked off kilter, staring back at some strange, twisted reflection of yourself. One that’s inexplicably angry at you, you realize with some shock, as the thrum of her anger grows, for all that she’s not moving.

She’s furious, to be standing in this room with you. She hates you. It’s practically deafening, like it shouldn’t come from one person, the brass horns of fury and high, screeching strings of… grief?

The soundscape changes in an instant, the silence of shock, then the thud of anger as she takes a step forward.

You stiffen, straightening your spine against her approach, even as you note that she has muscle under the ripple of black velvet, more than you. There’s a guard backstage, but is that enough if things get that- she halts in front of you, unsmiling but you can hear low flutes announce satisfaction.

She knows you’re afraid. You pull your chin up further, glaring down at her- you’re taller than her, or maybe you’re just wearing higher heels. You refuse to be intimidated, you push back, drawing on anger as your cheeks color underneath your makeup.

She smirks, that flute’s satisfaction flowing easy until there’s that note of grief again and mixed with longing. The second you ponder it, it disappears again into anger.

She doesn’t just look like you. She has your powers. She can hear what you hear, and she can hear you.

A signmate? She’s clearly older than you- you’ve barely begun to shed your baby greys. An ancestor?

For all that you were surrounded by signmates and ancestors on campus, everyone knew that was because the IPC maintained and tinkered their gene banks to create the best soldiers and spies. You had been found and recruited growing up in the middle of nowhere. It had never occured to you there might be another living troll in your line.

Suddenly, at your very core, you understand what Melete must feel about Nomizo.

“Who are you?” you suddenly demand, and switch your wetware to ‘record’.

The other Aubade laughs, a low chuckle under her breath, though she doesn’t take her eyes off yours. She’s genuinely amused but the sound of flitting flutes rather feels like the sound of wriggler songs at the start of horror films.

“Why,” she says slowly. “I would have thought that would be obvious.”  She even sounds like you, you note with a flare of anger. A touch lower in pitch, you think, but there’s a musical lilt to her tone. If she was a singer, on top of everything else- you wouldn’t be replaced by some copycat.

Your fists ball up at your sides. You will not be brawling in the back room of the 12th Perigee Ball, with someone who looks exactly like you. That’s the sort of thing that draws paparazzi and puff pieces in gossip rags.

“And really, Cresce,” she murmurs with another ripple of a flute’s amusement at anger and shock at the use of your name. It’s not the stage name you made sure was put into the program. “You really shouldn’t be angry with the truth. What was that drivel you sung on stage? In front of everyone?” She tilts her head to examine you and steps to your side. She moves like a lion, with a sort of coiled anticipation.

You step to mirror her. You refuse to be circled like prey, even though her words sting like hell. And where did she get your name from?

“Ugh,” you say, as your mouth curls in disgust. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those hipsters who can’t appreciate art if it’s popular.”

A note of anger. You’ll have to review to see if it was anger at your attitude or the assumption you made.

“Impudent,” she chastises you softly, though you can feel the danger in her flashing eyes. “Careful how you speak to your betters.”

Your betters. You snarl. It’s not the sort of thing you usually do. You had put hard work into your image as friendly and kind to everyone, but this other Aubade who strolled in as if she owned everything didn’t deserve it. You toss your curls and straighten up again, drawing up your chin and to look down at the other Aubade like she was dirt on the street.

“Your name,” you bite, haughty as you’ve ever been. The rhythm of her anger thunders with the loud thumping of your pumper, but when she moves its slow and deliberate.

She extends a finger and wags it at you, shaking her head.

“Tsk, tsk,” she says. “I don’t think you deserve to ask me that.”

Your eyes narrow. This other Aubade is using pressure tactics, cornering you alone, with the upper hand in information while constantly positioning herself as superior and deserving. It’s designed to set up a dynamic where you’re always off balance, always defending your sense of worth until you’re too worn out to realize what you’ve given away.

Darkbone’s Assault, they called it in class. This Aubade’s an interrogarroter too.

You lose it. You break out of your circling to lunge, seizing a handful of jewels, and shoving her backwards into the lockers. There’s a cymbal crash in your ears, shock and anger at once as her eyes widen once in shock as you snarl in her face.

“I’ll ask what I want,” you snap. “And I don’t think I asked for your opinion, now did I?”

Her fingers close around your throat, and she uses your neck as leverage to yank your head down and to the side. You stagger to the side, trying not to tip over when she pulls you upright again and slams you into the same lockers you pushed her into.

“Now,” she murmurs, her voice just above a whisper. You can barely hear it over her fury, and you know you answer in the same anger as you start to wrestle her fingers off your neck. “Cresce. Listen carefully. You are a disgrace to our line. You dance with rabble. Your music is terrible. You pander for validation. You’re not even Mirthful. If I were you, I would tread very carefully, lest… someone decides to do some pruning.”

She presses her fingers into your windpipe with a terrible, terrible joy as a gurgle escapes your throat, and just as you get a grip on her fingers, she lets go, her face stony, as her cacophony starts up again.

You stumble away, too incensed for words. How dare she? How dare she?! Your necklace pokes your collar uncomfortably, and when you touch it, you discover she left her finger dents in it when she tried to strangle you. You tear it off and crumple the metal in your fist. The stone pops out of its misshapen setting and tumbles behind you and you toss the whole thing to the ground. You’d never be able to wear it again anyway, not without thinking of this moment.

“Cresce,” she says, quietly, quieter than her feelings, but it’s the only thing you can make sense of. Her melody is a rage, a cacophony you don’t have the wherewithal to sort through. She steps forward again, but you’ve had enough. You grab your thermos and flee.

You want to go to the bathroom to see what the damage has been, but you’re not about to head somewhere quiet and private for the other Aubade to follow you again. Instead you step into the ballroom, where it seems like the whole planet is dancing. No one notices your entrance, not with the ceruleanblood with the suit shredding his guitar. That suits you just fine, for once.

You keep to the sides of the ballroom, near the balconies and the shadier corners, until you find an empty one, and pull out your mirror compact to check the damage. You’re missing your necklace, of course, and your neck has a few bumps and scratches that weren’t present before, noticeable little dots of indigo against the light grey of your skin. No bruising though, which you consider a positive. You dab foundation onto the most obvious marks, wincing as they sting a little. It would be fine- you’d wash off when you returned hive.

Your makeup is fine, but your hair is a mess. You can’t really take care of it without both your hands and a mirror, so you take out your hair tie and let your curls fall out where they will. At least this way it looks more purposeful, and less like you had fought someone. When you’re done, your hands are still shaking. You unscrew your thermos and take a few deep draughts of the lukewarm tea but it barely helps in calming you down. Your throat is sore, but nothing worth taking to the medicullers. It’d fade in a bit and the tea helps.

Do you go hive? No. The hive was empty and you definitely don’t want to be alone right now. You could find Rumisa- she’d chatter at you until you forgot about it- no. No. Rumisa adored subbjugulators. If the other Aubade approached you wouldn’t be able to trust she wouldn’t shower her with affection as well.

One of the other sops you picked up through the night? No, they liked you because you were fun and made them feel good about themselves. None of them would like you if you were the least bit upset, and none of them would stick around if the other Aubade approached.

No, you’d find Melete. She was oblivious enough to perhaps overlook the obvious signs of distress and your missing necklace, and if the other Aubade approached, well. You’re at least certain she wouldn’t mock you for it, not with how she is with Nomizo.  And if she doesn’t want your company, well, you’re not really sure.

You do know how to play to an audience. You could be silent, for once. Surely she wouldn’t begrudge you that.

[skegulium]

The Road to Hell is Paved with Clocks and Good Intentions

==>Tomois, 11 sweeps

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. You wish you had something heavy to throw, but everything that could smash that clock was way out of your reach. There was a lamp on your hospital bedside, but your hands… Well. An experimental rattle of your wrists only served to remind you of the padded cuffs locked around them. So all you could really do was lie there and listen to it the empty hospital room. No escape, just the endless clicking of a fucking clock. There wasn't much else to do unless you wanted to watch more tv on the flatscreen built into the wall or… Sleep you guess. That's all you had. TV, sleep, or the clock.

The room was pretty much almost empty except for you, the bed, a sole chair that your captors dragged in, the door to the hall, the bathroom, a bedside table and the fucking clock.  So exciting, you know, how could you even live here with the constant stimulation of such a busy environment! It's insane! Wow! Much noise! Very exciting

… Yeah no, not even the sarcasm helped ease how bored you were. Or how agitated. The soft ticking of the clock was a constant now in your new life and frankly, you’re starting to wonder if you actually did die and go to hell or something like that.

If you did die, do you think you’d see Moirah and Ardela there? The Empire always put out mirthful propaganda that claimed that rebels and treasonous trolls always went to hell to suffer for their sins. Would hell be better if you had them with you? Would it be easier for all of you if you had died with them? It might have been for you, if it was an option. If only the Fleet took longer to drag out out of the wreckage… Licking your lips, you shifted to look down your body at your legs. Leg? You don’t know, all you know is that there was one long mound where your right leg was and… Nothing where your left one was supposed to be. And if you focused really, really hard, you can feel the cold hospital air against your skull where you knew ugly stitches stood out against pale skin where they sewed it back together over your brand new metal plate. You’re glad your hands are pinned down at this point because you’re not sure if you could have stopped yourself from playing with the stitches. You didn’t want them, you wanted to pull them out and let yourself bleed and maybe go back home with your quads and your friends wherever they were now, hell, heaven or purgatory - “Hello, Tomois?” You jump at the voice, twisting your head to look at the hall door and feeling the stitches in your head bump against your pillow. It hurts, but you keep your head there because you probably deserve that. You don’t even tell the teal walking in to fuck off like you want to, so you definitely deserve it. Stick to your guns, asshole! Say something mean! Make fun of the mole on her lip! Anything! Licking your lips again, you lifted up one hand to wave it at her. “Hi,” You croak, and the teal beams at you as she closes the hospital room door. There’s a chair near your bed, near the window looking into the hall and she pulls it close so that she sat near your side, the one that had a leg. She’s kind of pretty, you guess. It’s hard to tell how old she is since she’s definitely hit that point in her life where she’s stopped aging - a bonus of being highblooded - but she looks nice. Clean, crisp clothes, a pristine lab coat with the IPC logo on it, and you notice she’s lugging two tall crutches with her that she rests up against the wall next to the bed. Her almond eyes have just the tiniest crinkle to them and her round cheeks are just a tad flushed with color and she tucks a stray strand of hair from her bun back behind her ear. She looks kinder than anyone else you’ve met and you’re just so suspicious. You’re quiet as she settles in and she gives you another small smile before she reaches forward to shake your hand. “My name is Cadnic but you can call me Caddy. It’s really nice to meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you Tomie and I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you so far. How are you holding up?” You just want to scream. God, you want to yell and jerk at your restraints and kick whatever legs you have left and yell that you’re doing horrible thank you very much, you're One Leg Joe now, they gave you a fucking shaved head during surgery, you look fucking hideous and your fucking friends are dead because of you and everything is terrible and horrible and here she is trying to be sooooo fucking nice to you and you hate it, you hate her and you hate yourself and this room and the Empire and the Empress and she has the audacity to call you Tomie - WHICH!! You never even told anyone that name which means she probably looked through your shit and messages on your phone and you want to cry -  “Could be better,” You whisper out, giving her a wary, half hearted smile. “It uh, kinda sucks being stuck in a bed but they let my have a TV with some channels. It’s nice. I guess. Food sucks bulge though.” Caddy beams at you again and gives your hand a small squeeze before letting go. “I’m glad! Unfortunately I can’t do much about the food, but I think I have something I could do about being in bed all the time.” She gestures on over to the crutches and you adjust your head to crane at them. The stitches dig into your scalp again but it's a dull, deserving pain as you glance back on over to her. “Of course,” She continues. “There will be some restrictions on where you can go with them and remember, it's a gift from me but your doctors will call it a privilege. You've behaved incredibly well while you were here so I decided it was time for you to get some mobility back! If you can promise you'll keep behaving, we can let you try them out.”

Well. You weren't expecting that but you know what? You'll take it. Swallowing, you look her in the eyes and nod, just a bit. “Okay,” you hoarsely whisper. “I can behave.”

“Great!” And the next thing you knew, her hands jingled some keys and the cuffs fell away from your hands.

It's… Weird to be mobile again and you take a moment to rub your wrists. Fingers run over bumpy scars six sweeps old and you inhale deep before you push yourself up to sitting. “Be careful,” Caddy cautions as she helps guide you up, one hand on your shoulder but you don't say a word. One leg swings off the bed and then another - oh. Right. There is no other and you awkwardly hang one leg off the bed as she gets the crutches ready for you. You balance them in front of you and inhale, long and deep before you grip the handles.

They're cold in your hands and for a moment fear seizes your heart and your vision blacks out. Suddenly you're back in the cockpit of that ship. The handles are hard and cold in your grip and sirens are blasting all around you and there's a hand on your shoulder, small and delicate as she screams in your ear to hurry, hurry, hurry -

“Tomie?” A voice pops up, quieter and kinder than the one in your head. “Are you okay?”

When you pull yourself back into your body, you're breathing harder than you expected. You're hunched over, crutches gripped with white knuckles in your hands and you're shaking from the effort. Caddy is petting at one of your shoulders and you focus on that instead of the fear pounding through your chest. It's soothing, kind of, and little by little you can feel your chest ease up and your back straighten. Cool hands slide up your shoulder and there's a hand on your cheek, on the scarred side, and you're too exhausted to even flinch away.

She's smiling again. You stare at her through a half lidded eye and she just pats your cheek gently. “Look, see, you're safe and sound,” she murmurs, brushing long tendrils of your hair out of your face. You dimly think you'll have to cut that later to match the shaved side. Thanks, surgeon, for the whole new haircut you didn't ask for. “Do you want to lie back down? We can try this again later. We shouldn't push you any harder than you can handle.”

Oh no. Oh no no, you couldn't stand the idea of lying down in that bed for another day, not when you had crutches in your hand and your wrists free. It's all you had and you shook your head and pulled away from her hand. “No,” you rasp out. “I can do this. I just - give me a minute and I'll figure it out. Please.”

Caddy just nods at your plaintive pleas and she steps back as you get a grip on the crutches again. There's no flashback this time around and for that, you're grateful. It gives you a minute to focus on pulling yourself up onto them and tucking them under your shoulder and…

You stand.

It's awkward, you feel like you're about to topple with one leg, but Caddy is right by your side with her fingertips on your back. You have to shuffle your wait around a bit but you think… You think you've got it. Maybe.

Once you're up and standing, Caddy’s face just breaks out into the biggest grin and you can't help but look up at her and smile back weakly. “Good job!” she gushes and she steps away to give you more room. “Can you move? Can you try for the bathroom?”

You glance across your hospital room towards the door in the corner that lead to it. It's not that far, maybe you can make it. “Yeah, I think so, maybe. Uhm, okay, let's - let's try it.”

It takes some finangling but you do it! There's a close call or two but you make it to the bathroom, inside the bathroom, back outside and around the room. Caddy was glued to your side as you moved, your hands struggling to keep a good grip on the crutches as you moved. The more you moved though, the more you got used to how to how much weight you had to put on your only leg. It was such a small thing, walking around the room, but for the first time in three weeks you felt…

Free.

Free-er, at least. On your second lap through the room and bathroom, you catch a good look at yourself in the mirror.

Stijon said once you were a handsome troll. He said it with an adoring smile on his lips and a thumb on your chin and his leg hooked around yours. He said you had pretty, open eyes - and then he’d laugh and correct himself to eye - and Moirah agreed when she stroked a hand across your cheek. A cheek she thought was chubbier than it needed to be, but also too thin? When did he last eat, she'd say before she pinched them. It was a joke, of course, you ate plenty but it was a good excuse to get all of you out for takeout somewhere.

Now?

Your big, pretty eye was sunken in and bruised. Your cheeks were just as bruised and you can see the faint blue marks of a fresh cut healing on your chin. There was one long, angry wound starting from the hairline of one side of your face and ran jagged across your shaved head and the skin puckered around the stitches. You looked like shit. You looked like a killer, a traitor, someone who should have fucking died in the wreckage with his friends. That's a quad-killer’s face, a quad-killer’s horns and lips and shitty, missing eye and -

“Hey, it's okay Tomie,” A voice calls out and you jump when you feel a hand slide between your shoulder blades. Good god, was she a fucking ninja? Caddy’s right there and she's all concerned and caring and shit and she lifts up a piece of toilet paper to blot your cheek.

Oh . You didn't even realize you were crying.

“You did great tonight,” She says softly as she scrubs your cheek. “We know you can walk around. Do you want to stop for now? You seem tired.” You almost want to call her bullshit out for that, you're not tired! Just because you walked a bit doesn't mean you're fucking tired!

… But you don't fight her as she presses a hand on your back and leads you back to the bed. God, you're pathetic. This is why your friends died, you're pretty sure of it.

You ease into the bed soon enough and the moment that your back hits the mattress, you sag into it. There's still that lump of sadness and loathing burning in your chest and you turn your head to push your stitches against the pillow so you can get punished again for being fucking weak. Caddy doesn't seem to notice, thankfully. She's too busy tucking your crutches against the walk again and she's still full of smiles as she looks at you.

“Don’t you think that's a good introduction?” She beams. “Now, now that you've got your gift and tried it out, how are you doing?” Caddy is settling back into her chair now and she pulls out a fancy holoboard out of a pocket so she can take notes. Of course she's taking notes, she's some sort of doctor. “Can you tell me more about yourself, Tomie? Don't worry, I don't want to know about how you got here, unless you want to talk about it, I just want to know more about you since we'll be working together from here on out. I want to make sure I have your back through thick and thin and -”

“Can I just be alone for a bit?” You interrupt. It's a bit louder than you were aiming for, but that was too many words, too many questions wayyyy too quick for you and you still can't get your ugly mug out of your mind. “Like - you're nice and all but I just… I don't think I'm ready to do that. Not tonight. I'm tired. And hungry.” You're not either of those, but you don't want her to blather on at you.

Caddy falls silent after you speak and she just sits there and studies you. You're not looking straight back at her per se but you're like, looking at her chin. That's good enough. That'll fool her into thinking you're making eye contact, you're pretty sure. “... Of course,” She says after a long moment and pockets her holoboard. “it's a lot to take in, how about… We continue talking tomorrow, after you rest? Bright and early in the evening?”

You nod. Sure. Whatever. Whatever will make her leave you be for a bit so you can, you don't know, beat yourself up with your own crutches.

She accepts that though and next thing you know, she's up and heading for the door. She doesn't lock your wrists up again and you're not gonna point it out to her as she beams back at you. “Goodlight then, Tomie! I'll see you tomorrow night! Sleep well!”

The door lock clicks when she leaves and then suddenly, you're thrust back into silence.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

… Ah shit. You didn't think this through you forgot about the fucking clock. One hand comes up to your scalp and you scratch and pick at the edge of your stitches as you eye up the clock. Could you - ? Should you - ?

No, you mull as you start pulling at a stitch. You'll just tough it out. It's punishment. Your own personal hell. You're supposed to suffer here anyway so no TV, no nothing, just you, an empty room and a fucking. Fucking clock. You don’t know what it’ll accomplish. Maybe it won’t do anything, but maybe, you think as pain sears through your head and tears prick at your eyes again, just maybe it’ll wake you up out of whatever hellscape of a dream this is. Maybe if you suffer enough, Moirah and Ardala will pop out and yell ‘surprise!’ and you’ll all go get East Alternian food again. There’s the sensation of something running down the side of your head, but you don’t pay attention to it. What’s hell without pain after all? What’s hell without torture? There’s pain, that’s definitely getting it’s quota filled, and the torture, well… Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Who knew hell could be a clock in an empty, silent room?