#I think Kafka is more likely to die like that

[espritradieux]

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR HONKAI IMPACT 3RD AND HONKAI STAR RAIL AHEAD

Before you read this, please consider that as of writing this I've only made it through chapter 12 of Honkai Impact 3rd and Honkai Star Rail 's 2.0 update isn't out yet. Thus I do not have all the information and context on those characters and story. Likewise, I am by no means an expert on storytelling and writing, especially when it comes to videogames, but I do believe I have good enough informations and judgement to make a coherent and rational assessment of the situation. Thank you for your understanding.

Ok, let us rationalize the possibility of Himeko dying in Honkai Star Rail. Let us think about it from a storytelling perspective. What would it bring to the narrative?

First, let's see why Himeko's death in Honkai Impact 3rd was so impactful:

Himeko's character by the time she dies is solidly established: she appears in the first minutes of the game, she's a prominent character who we see all the time, that we get familiar with, whose motivations and behavior we know. And most importantly: she's important to Kiana. Himeko's strong relationship with Kiana is expressed in the very first dialogues in the game, when Kiana doesn't use her title and Himeko reminds her she should. These two are extremely important to each other, they're friends, they're family, it's obvious they've known each other for a long time. Himeko is Kiana's mentor, probably one of the closest things she had to a mother figure, and Himeko obviously cares a lot about Kiana as well, which we see even more of in chapter 11 EX.

Now consider what Himeko was trying to do when she died: she tried to stop the Herrscher of the Void to save humanity, sure, but more importantly she was trying to save Kiana. Saving Kiana was her motivation, it's what allowed her to stand up to HoV because she had nothing left to lose and allowing Kiana to live a better life than she did was the most important thing to her in that moment . Now granted, she was also dying, but she had a way to remedy that, and she gave it up, again, to save Kiana. And the impact of her sacrifice on Kiana is HUGE, it follows her through basically her entire life(from what I know, I'm not very far into the story right now).

Let's also consider how her death was built up to: Himeko is dying, it's clearly stated multiple times that she's being corrupted by the honkai inside her and it's obvious from the start of chapter 7 that she's not doing great. Eventually she's granted a solution to this, but by that point we know enough about Himeko and we understand enough of the situation to see that she won't use it, because again, her priority is Kiana and the girls. Himeko's death is very visibly built up to, there's tension, we see her deteriorate and get weaker but we know she won't do shit about it because her priority is Kiana. So when she does die, we're devastated but we also understand why and how she died, it's not surprising at all.

Now let's apply all that to Honkai Star Rail.

Himeko appears early in HSR, but not nearly as early as in HI3, in fact we get introduced to a lot of other characters before we even hear her voice. Storywise she doesn't do much, she doesn't stay long on Herta's Space Station, she's not with us in either Belobog nor the Luofu and aside from two side quests, we see almost nothing of her in the game. And that's normal because she's not the main focus of this game at all. She's an old character from a previous game, she had her time to shine but HSR is about new characters and a new story, which makes her basically a glorified easter egg. While she's good enough to interest new players, if they haven't interacted at all with HI3 they won't have the emotional connection that comes with Himeko as a character, and since she doesn't really have much relevance storywise at that point, they won't care nearly as much if she dies.

Additionally, the trailblazer doesn't have a very deep connection to her either. The trailblazer has been on the express for like two months max at that point and almost never interacts with Himeko. She's nice and polite and she helps the trailblazer if they ask but that about it. She doesn't know them and they don't know her. Thus, while her death would be devastating for Welt ( because spoiler he's the same Welt than in HI3) and probably for the rest of the crew who knows her better than the trailblazer does, it would be of little consequences to the trailblazer themselves. Himeko's character in HSR isn't built up at all, we know next to nothing about her, she hasn't accomplished anything narratively either, the trailblazer probably doesn't care about her nearly as much as the rest of the crew, let alone as much as Kiana cared for HI3 Himeko and there's no build up to her death whatsoever, no appearing reasons for it.

While you could argue that HI3 Himeko's death was only built up in the arc leading to her death and not previously, the stakes in that arc are high enough and the characters are fleshed out enough by that point that we understand easily enough that Himeko or someone else will probably have to sacrifice themselves to save Kiana and stop HoV, something we don't see in HSR.

You could also argue that they killed Tingyun in the same arc she was introduced in without build up, but let's be honest here, Tingyun, while a great character, was a walking plot point. Her death was only there to make Phantilia's apparition more striking (and maybe it's just me but I thought she was pretty shady from the get go, probably because of the way she talks). Additionally, Tingyun is not Himeko, her death does not have the same impact on the player base as Himeko's death would because we haven't seen it before. Himeko's death was a big deal for the game and Hoyoverse knows this, they know that killing her again would have a lot of meaning so they need to be careful with the idea. As for Firefly, we don't actually know if she's going to die so she's not relevant here.

So I don't think they're going to kill Himeko in HSR (at least not yet) because it wouldn't make any sense. Narratively, they haven't done anything with her character and new players' emotional connection to HSR Himeko isn't strong enough for it to be meaningful. Killing her now would just frustrate HI3 players and would leave new players indifferent because there's no point to it. It would be a minor capitalisation of HI3 players' PTSD and nothing else which is just stupid. If they do plan to kill her, they need to flesh out her character a lot, so that it's as impactful as the first time and leaves the player base crying.

So while the presence and words of Shaoji in the special program were worrying, I think we're safe for now.

That was my rational assessment of the situation. Unfortunately my brain very rarely listens to reason and thus the traumatized part of my brain still fears for the future

[narugen-moved]

ough hoshimina sun and moon………… something something mina who leads and shines so brightly from the front as captain and hoshina who always has her back… idfk i just think. sun and moon hoshimina…. mina who is the sun and hoshina who is the moon and they’re two people who could never meet because the spot next to her was never meant to be his should i go die

but u know what solar/lunar eclipse occur from time to time don’t they… albeit always temporary

[00midnightrider00]

Who do you ship Kafka with?

I ship her with Blade

[bioblsm]

ASKING FOR A KISS

✮ ꒰warnings꒱. N/A

✮ characters. kafka, serval, gepard, sampo, dan heng (il), jing yuan, blade, luka

☆彡 notes. im having hsr brainrot （╹◡╹）i got himeko on 33 pity..my kafka finally has her gf <3 thank you imbibitor lunae ur my fave lesbian protector d(^_^o) (it’s why i also pulled for him teehee)

KAFKA ⛧ 卡芙卡

“kafkaaaa~”

“yes, darlin’?”

“can i have a kiss, please?” you gaze at her with a sickeningly sweet smile which makes her chuckle and ruffle your hair lovingly.

“hmm, why do you want one?” kafka lifts your chin up with her forefinger and leans in teasingly close to your face, tilting it slightly to the left. your lips part expectantly at the same time she does and for a moment there’s nothing, no sound but your breathing. she pulls back a fraction more and rests a hand on your cheek, brushing her thumb gently over your soft skin.

you can feel your heart thumping against your chest and your hands begin to shake slightly. you think you could die, right here, right now, but instead you bite your tongue and try not to give into temptation. you cough awkwardly and avert your gaze to everywhere but her eyes, “uhm…just… because?”

kafka can’t help but chuckle and grin, leaning in to gently kiss you. she smells like leather and mint and yet ironically tastes sweet like berries. “you’re going to have to work for another one, alright~?”

SERVAL ⛧ 希露瓦

serval had asked you to come help her with the workshop, apparently she works better when she has you with her (despite her getting much less work done because she keeps staring at you). she’s cleaning some sort of mechanism before you trot your away over to tap on her shoulder.

“hm?” she turns her head to look at you, “what’s wrong, hun?”

“can i have a kiss?” you tilt your head and smile which just makes her heart skip a beat as she straightens up.

“of course!” serval brushes her hand over your cheek and pulls you in close, you can nearly make out the sweet taste of her chapstick as her lips mould with yours.

serval breaks the kiss after a while with a soft hum, “you never have to ask for a kiss, just come give me one.” she chuckles and ruffled your hair playfully before returning to her work.

GEPARD ⛧ 杰帕德

“geparddd, i want a kiss.” you whine as you lean onto him with a pout. patrolling belobog clearly doesn’t entail “ignoring your partner” now does it!

gepard sighs in some sort of defeat to gaze at you for a brief moment, “my love, please, i’m on duty…” he pinches your cheek in frustration at his own work, as much as he wants to kiss you, there’s just that nagging voice in his head telling him to not get distracted.

and well, that voice can’t be blamed since when gepard does give into your childish pleas he tends to…lose himself? it’s like he suddenly switches off and malfunctions for a good moment and ends up indulging you perhaps more than a good solider should.

“pleaseee, just a kiss on the cheek will do…” you pout teasingly and he can’t help but let out another deep sigh as he leans in to kiss your cheek. perfect. before his lips manage to touch your cheek you tilt your head so they incidentally land onto your lips instead.

gepard pulls back swiftly and looks at you with a stern but playful expression, “you…are such a little troublemaker.”

SAMPO KOSKI ⛧ 桑博

curse this man’s silver tongue and that wink of his. with just a few smooth words and actions he managed to embarrass you in front of the entire astral express. luckily, none of them noticed just how much that man’s words affect you as you had your back turned to them but still…

now you’re just standing there in front of a kneeling sampo who’s pleading for your forgiveness in the most shameful way possible. how is he still managing to stir up all these butterflies in your tummy while looking so pathetic…?

“pleaseee honey~ i’ll do anything to apologise!” anything? you repeat in your head before smiling subtly and glaring at him, which just makes him shiver as he stares at you with a clueless toothy smile. you lean in close to his ear with a frustrated expression, one which betrays the words that escape your lips, “give me a kiss and i’ll forgive you.”

you swear you’ve never seen him jump up and hold you so quickly. his hands immediately found hold of your waist to pull you in for a sweet yet rather sloppy kiss. god he’s such a loser for you.

DAN HENG (IL) ⛧ 丹恒 「饮月君」

“hey, dan heng, can i have a kiss? (^_^)” you whisper to him.

dan heng appreciates that no matter if he’s himself or imbibitor lunae, you treat him all the same; not out of some sort of disrespect but because you truly just view him as someone who you love and cherish, but, he couldn’t help but laugh at your slight obliviousness to the situation.

he was having a rather serious discussion with the astral express crew about his circumstances, it was lighthearted sure, given the fact no-one viewed him as anything more or less than himself so the topic wasn’t as hard to chew, but it was still a rather awkward conversation to have. he glances over at you for a brief moment and lands a gentle peck on your lips before continuing the somewhat amusing interrogation with march 7th.

no matter what, your needs will be his top priority, especially if they’re as cute as this one （╹◡╹).

JING YUAN ⛧ 景元

“you don’t have to ask.” jing yuan’s voice echoes in your ears as you stand there confused, tilting your head at him with a slight pout.

“what do you mean?” you continue to stare at him which just makes him chuckle at your harmless obliviousness.

“i see you gazing at my lips frequently, you want a kiss don’t you?” such small details don’t ever go unnoticed by your beloved. you awkwardly nod your head and avert your gaze.

he laughs and looks at you, placing his fingers under your chin to tilt your head upwards so that you’re looking right into his eyes. you can feel your breath hitch as jing yuan’s lips touch your own before you slowly relax in his gentle touch. it was a warm and sweet sensation of lips pressed against yours, he didn’t push for more than what is comfortable. this made your heart flutter as jing yuan pulled away, leaving only his thumb on the side of your face, stroking gently, making your eyes flutter open in bliss.

you stare at him with bashful eyes, his hand still caressing your cheek. you laugh at his eagerness when his thumb brushes across your bottom lip before he leans forward again for another kiss. this time his other hand rests securely at the curve of your waist, his grip loose enough that if you wanted to escape you could easily do so. but instead, you let out a soft hum of contentment as his lips press against your own.

BLADE ⛧ 刃

“can i have a kiss?”

“why?”

“because i want one..?”

blade remains quiet as his eyes scan you up and down almost eerily. watching blade examine you like this just makes you wonder what goes on in his head. blade wouldn’t say he flinches at your affections, your sweet and gentle touches or caresses do make his heart jump in his ribcage, but it never shows on his face.

to be quite frank, you couldn’t tell if he was internally ridiculing you or waiting for you to take the initiative.

“sorry, i thought you were going to...it doesn’t matter. come here.” well that answered your question. you can’t help but quietly giggle at his, ironically, wholesome dumbassery. wrapping your arms around his neck lovingly to pull him down towards you, you finally get the smooch you asked for~

LUKA ⛧ 卢卡

“can i kiss you?”

“can you give me—“

oh.

luka’s eyes widen before he begins laughing till his stomach hurts, both from the humorous aspect of the situation and the butterflies invading his tummy. you laugh along with him, shaking your head and rolling your eyes.

“am i going to get my kiss or are you going to laugh yourself to the next week?” he calms down slightly and captures you in a hug, swinging you gently from side to side affectionately.

“sorry! it’s just…quite cute how in sync we are. c’mere.” holding your face with his hands he began planting kisses across your cheeks before his lips finally settled on yours. you could feel yourself grin through the kiss before luka pulled alway and pecked your cheek quickly. “as much as i wanna stay here and keep kissing you, i have a match at the robot settlement so byebye love you!” he ushers away just as fast as he kissed you.

wait.

…

robot settlement?

well, that was definitely a “kiss goodbye” alright…better get natasha on speed dial.

© BIOBLSM ✮ do not copy steal or repost

[popopretty]

[Translation] Asagiri Kafka's afterwords for The Day I Picked up Dazai novel

Normally, afterwords would be the last thing I read in a novel, but as there are not many changes to the published novel this time compared to the movie bonus version, I was able to skim through the text quickly and get to this. And to be honest, despite not being a writer myself, I was so moved by Asagiri's views about writing and his characters that he shared in the afterwords, that I had to sit down and translate it right away.

This is just my crappy translation, as usual, but I hope it gave you a short, interesting look into the author and the characters. And please do not forget to buy the novel if you have the chance.

The translation is under the cut, thank you!

It has been a while. This is Asagiri Kafka.

Have you been enjoying Bungou Stray Dogs?

This novel, “The Day I Picked up Dazai”, is a compilation of the first week’s bonus novel “The Day I Picked up Dazai – Side A” and the second week’s bonus novel “The Day I Picked up Dazai – Side B” for the screening of “Bungou Stray Dogs BEAST” movie (hereinafter referred to as “BEAST”).

Normally, it is difficult to publish a bonus like this, but since "BEAST” and “Fifteen” that were published earlier by BEANS Bunko were originally bonus novels too, "The Day I Picked up Dazai” was also published in the same way, thanks to the efforts of all parties involved in the Bungou Stray Dogs series.

It is the story of Dazai and Odasaku’s first meeting, where Dazai who wants to die, collapsed in front of Odasaku’s place, who is neither a mafioso nor a hit man.

Why are there two different stores, Side A and Sode B? Regarding this question, please read the novel and see for yourself. If you keep in mind that this is the bonus for the BEAST movie, I think you will be able to understand it better.

Let me reminisce a little bit here.

This story was actually suggested to me by Igarashi Takuya, Director of the Bungou Stray Dogs anime.

Shortly before BEAST movie premiered, I was struggling. It was because I was asked to write a bonus novel for movie-goers again. I said “again” because, as I mentioned earlier, BEAST itself was a bonus novel for the Bungou Stray Dogs DEAD APPLE movie. I remembered having a hard time writing it, because I let myself run wild and wrote a total of 190 pages instead of 50 pages as requested.

But I had learnt my lesson after the last rampage. I can’t just write whatever I want anymore. I have to wrap the story in a reasonable length, like a pro should do.

A proper, professional story.

Huh?

My pen stopped right there. I stopped, looked around, feeling lost.

What is a proper story?

The act of writing novel is quite different in character compared to other types of media such as writing manga, anime scripts, or game scenarios. You can say it is almost a different thing. Writing novels, rather than narrating an event, is more like putting the flow of emotions into specific sentences. You use the sequence of letters to create rhythms, create flows, and create emotions. If anything, it might be closer to composing a song than writing a story.

Therefore, you have to decide “what kind of emotion will be put in this novel” from the very beginning, or you can’t start writing. That is the only and absolute rule.

Now, however, that is where the condition of a “proper story” hung over me.

A proper novel, of a proper volume, with a proper content for a bonus.

In other words, a proper emotion.

I searched through the drawers inside my head. For a proper emotion that is waiting to be brought out.

There was nothing but emptiness there.

A professional story teller is one with the skill to move the readers’ emotions. When people find the chance to move their own emotions, they will happily be paying for it. Human-being is that kind of creature.

And writers are ones who create and sell those kinds of emotions: the fear, the excitement, the heart throb etc., those that make you think. It is that kind of job.

It is supposed to be that kind of job.

Yet I became unable to move forward.

A good story is a story that moves people. I know that. Then what kind of emotion I should put in the story to make it "proper"?

How do I find that emotion?

I mean, how did I even write novels until now?

I stood still. My legs stiffened, my knees froze, unable to take even a step forward.

I then tried to at least pretend that I was moving forward, by listening to music, by taking a walk around the neighborhood at night. But as good as the night breeze felt, I didn’t manage to reach a single story that I needed to write.

What if I stayed like this forever, what would I do?

I felt a chill plunging into my back.

Then I realized, that stories, or probably emotions too, are not things you can search for or come up with. You have no choice but to patiently wait for it to come your way. You have no choice but to humbly and earnestly sit and wait for the story’s visit.

I got that, but the "proper 50-page story” still refused to come.

It was not long before one week passed. Then two weeks.

I was doing other work, while keeping my heart’s door open, waiting for the story to come to me.

At that time, I had an online meeting with the anime staff. I casually asked Director Igarashi, “Do you have any story you want to see?”

The Director gave it a little thought then told me, "I want to see the story of Dazai and Oda’s encounter”.

At that very moment, the story rushed in through my door, like a bang. I could hear that sound very clearly.

Two stories. Odasaku, and the two Dazais. A story where they met, and a story where they couldn’t meet. A story of gain and a story of loss. If I can portray the gain and loss side by side, the amplitude of the heart will be doubled and rise up in front of us.

That was a momentary event. Rather than pushing my way forward, I felt as if something was pulling my hand. Before I noticed, I have already finished the stories.

I came to realize.

It is not the writer who searches for the story. It is the story that chooses its writer, and at some point it will come our way. A professional writer is no more than someone with the ability to catch that call.

Also, this is the most important thing: there is no such thing as a “proper emotion”. Because after all, the feelings of other people belong to them only. That is why there is no guarantee that a novel can move others “properly”. However, you can move your own emotions. You know what kind of novel can and how it will move you. If you do, you can write just that. That’s the only way. That is the truly professional attitude. That’s what I thought.

Well then.

It is a little bit off topic, but as we are talking about “stories that come our way”, let’s talk about Odasaku’s first-person narrative.

Odasaku is a special character. For me, he is exclusively a novel character, and I have never portrayed him in the manga.

He first appeared as the narrator in “Dazai Osamu and The Dark Era”, then “BEAST” and now this “The Day I Picked up Dazai”. All are novels. That’s why for me, Odasaku doesn’t live inside the pictures, he lives inside the first-person narrative passages.

He is an eccentric guy. Even if you prepare the place and tell him to speak, he won’t speak to you that easily. His way of thinking is rather unique, that if I write his narrative after writing other characters’ first-person narrative, I would stumble for sure. Odasaku doesn’t speak. He just sits there in silence, while I can do nothing but sitting in front of my blank manuscript paper, trying to talk to him, like “What’s up?”, “Here, here”. However, he is a guy who won’t speak when it is not necessary. Sometimes it goes days or even weeks without him saying a word. Why did such a character come to me...?

During such time, there is only one thing I can do. That is, of course, to stay with him, sit patiently, and simply wait.

Finally he will start speaking. In his unique rhythm, word by word. His words have the power to cut through the world from a certain angle. That special cross-section is full of things I have never seen before and it never fails to surprise me.

And then when he finishes telling his story, he will swiftly disappear. To a dark and quiet place somewhere – probably, I can only imagine, somewhere like a bar. He will sit there calmly and keep his own time to himself. After that, it will be hard to call him again. It is a backbreaking task to me, but in the end, that is the type of guy Odasaku is, and if I am allowed to sound self-conscious, that is Odasaku's charm.

This story was written in such a way. There is a chance that he will come back again. And when he does, I will patiently listen to his voice again.

This story was completed and published thanks to the help of many people: in the Bungou Stray Dogs BEAST movie’s Production Committee, the anime staff, Young Ace’s Editorial Department, BEANS Bunko’s Editorial Department, and the many people who were involved in the publication of the book. Thank you very much. It is all thanks to you that the book was published without any problem this time as well.

Well then, see you in the next story.

Asagiri Kafka.

[crguang]

wasted with longing, part 3

Knowing Kafka is a rollercoaster of emotions you can’t escape from no matter how much you beg to touch the ground.

friends with benefits, f!reader, some domestic bliss before the storm, 6.5k words

A/N: no smut warning woah…. actual development woahhh… cant believe i wrote this much without throwing in some sex i think i might like this criminal :/

part two part four

“So… Can I come in?”

Kafka’s self-assured tone sounds lazy, indifferent to the predicament she finds herself in, and her lips are fixed in that practiced smile like she’s genuinely happy to see you despite bleeding through her shirt on your doorstep. You stare at her disheveled state, a hundred questions dancing on your tongue and unable to voice any of them. Instead, you open the front door wider and urgently usher her into your apartment with a hand wrapped around her uninjured bicep. Kafka makes a sound of surprise, though it fails to convey any. She lets herself be moved and quietly walks further inside your place. 

“What happened?” The door shuts behind you, but you’re already leading her down the hallway towards your small bathroom. “Where do you even come from?!”

Your words quaver more than you would like as you flip the switch and motion for her to sit on the toilet seat. You can feel her eyes on you while you messily rummage through the cupboards beneath the sink, pushing old medicine bottles aside and cleaning products out of the way. The weight in your stomach grows heavier the longer you search for your first-aid kit, shutting the wooden cupboards and throwing open the one behind the mirror desperately. Apart from prescribed and over the counter medication, you find nothing that would be of help at this moment.

“Where is it?… Fuck, where is it?!” You lay your palms flat on the counter, head dropping low to think. 

“Calm down,” Kafka says calmly, a slightly amused lilt in her voice, “I’m not going to die.”

You ignore her horrible attempt at reassuring you and try to recall when was the last time you used the bandages in the kit. You cut yourself cooking some weeks ago but you remember going to the bathroom to fish them out… It has to be around here somewhere. You bite your bottom lip anxiously, your pulse in your ears like an oppressive presence, and force yourself to take in a breath so you don’t succumb to your panic. If it’s not in this room, it must be laying in your storage closet. You spare the other woman a glance to find her already looking at you, obediently silent. She doesn’t seem to be in any pain but you know it’s a facade, you’re only taken aback by how easy it is for her to pretend that nothing is amiss. You straighten up, run a hand over your face to clear your head and order her not to move before walking out to find the aforementioned closet.

You make an even bigger mess of your storage closet as you search for the med kit, lifting boxes you don’t recognize and throwing plastic bags full of random trinkets out in the hallway. Your heart is in your throat, you can feel your eyes sting with the familiar weight of unshed tears, but you can’t stop looking. The thought of Kafka bleeding out before anything is done appears in your distressed mind and worsens your anxiety despite the probability of it happening being low. If this wound turns out to be something you can’t stabilize on your own, you’ll call the emergency services. You push aside a basket filled with yarn, letting  out a shuddering breath at the sight of a clear case with a red cross on it. You waste no time grabbing it and heading for the bathroom, not bothering to close the closet door. When you walk back in, Kafka has managed to take off her bloody shirt and is facing the mirror over the sink, a hand still applying firm pressure on her shoulder. She turns your way to acknowledge you and takes a peek at the box in your hands. 

“What are you doing? Sit down,” you swallow the lump in your throat so you don’t sound as strained. 

Putting the kit on the counter and lifting the lid, you take out a few non-stick bandages. From your peripheral vision, you see Kafka complying with your shaky command and suppressing a chuckle. She hasn’t said much so far, which is uncharacteristic of her quick witted nature. You pick up a clean face towel from one of the shelves in the corner and rinse it with warm water. You step in front of her and gesture to the wound.

“Let me clean it.”

Once again, Kafka doesn’t protest. Her guarded gaze is on you, following every twitch of your brows and inaudible intake of breath, almost sizing you up as you lean in close to treat her wound. Her small smile is frozen on her face, and you can’t tell what it’s meant to convey anymore. She carefully takes her hand off her shoulder. The small puncture wound leaves a bloody trail down her skin, but even you can tell that it’s no longer bleeding profusely; the worries filling your head shrink and finally allow you to think more rationally. You bring the wet towel to her skin. You’re more meticulous with your hands than you thought you could be, softly washing away the specks of dried blood on her shoulder and around the injury. At this distance you see faint bluish veins that you had no reason to notice before, they slither down her neck and fade away above her collarbone. You wipe the deep red from her usually flawless skin, brushing over it with a mindfulness opposite from the lustful touches you’re accustomed to; your sole intention is to soothe her pain instead of taking pleasure from her. You are suddenly aware of her proximity in this unfamiliar context. She sits close without the headiness of sex, quiet and alert, and you can feel the warmth of her body from where you stand, your head is bowed and one of her thighs rests between yours. 

Kafka looks up at you through her lashes but you have no way of understanding the light behind her eyes. You think perhaps all of her strength goes to withstand the pain she’s in. You still feel your beating heart against your ribcage, its erratic pace gently growing steady, while her chest rises and falls easily. Your breaths fill the silence around you. As the cloth delicately clears away the blood, you sneak a glance at her and your eyes meet. Your hand falters on her skin. Her rosy-lilac irises speak of tenderness that does not fit her, like a deceiving front to conceal her emotional distance. You see them but there is nothing beyond them, nothing that she allows you to glimpse at. Even so, you’re privy to a side of her you don’t yet know. There’s still traces of blood on her cheek she meant to wipe off before seeing you, and without thinking, you lift the towel higher to clean it off with a few smooth strokes. Kafka blinks once and you do the same rapidly, sharply turning away from her piercing stare to finish dressing her wound. In the stillness of your home, new truths are unknowingly written. 

To stop the bleeding and prevent infections, you take out square non-adhesive bandages and peel one of them off. She’ll have to see an actual doctor for treatment, but you realize that the situation is not as bad as you initially thought. The sight of her bloody shirt and glove terrified you at first glance; you slowly realize that all of it must not have been hers. Unease settles in your stomach a second time. What could she possibly be implicated in to show up at your door with an injury like this?

“Why’d you come here?” You ask softly now that the worst has passed, eyes focused on carefully applying the bandage to her skin. “Why didn’t you go to the hospital for this?” 

“Wasn’t serious enough,” Kafka replies nonchalantly. She gazes at your furrowing brows and incredulous expression like she’s been doing since you opened the door. She doesn’t answer the first question.

“Serious enough? Your shirt is dyed red. How’d you even get this?”

“It’s just a gunshot wound. A little Band-Aid should fix me right up.”

“What the fuck?!”

In your loud disbelief your fingers press into the small hole in her shoulder and Kafka winces, clenching her jaw tightly. You quickly withdraw your hand. The bandage is halfway peeling off from her skin and she brings a gloved hand up to properly apply it herself. 

You step back from her frame, lips parted in incredulity. “You got shot?”

Kafka uses her free hand to peel off the second bandage and apply it over the first one, not looking at you as she does so. “Relax, the bullet didn’t go all the way in and I already took it out. It’s a minor scrape now.”

“You got shot?”

“Ugh, not so loud… I’ve had a long day.”

“You need to see a doctor. Are you insane?”

She raises her head towards you. “I don’t need a doctor, just a place to stay until tomorrow.”

You swallow thickly, lifting a hand to your hairline and pacing back and forth in the enclosed space. You can’t believe what she’s saying. No normal person just gets shot on a random Thursday and acts so nonchalant about it— having seen the proof of it, your mind is reeling with questions you’re not sure you want the answers to. Kafka has always had an air of mystery around her and the kind of confidence that makes you think that she’s invincible. Looking at her now, sitting in your bathroom after you tended to her wound and seemingly unbothered by the favor she’s asking of you, your chest constricts with a foreboding feeling you can’t name. Your gaze drops to her discarded shirt on the floor. You want to ask her what she’s done, whose blood is on her clothes, but your throat tightens as if begging you to keep your mouth shut. Kafka watches the emotions play out on your face and speaks up again.

“You stayed home.”

It takes a few seconds to meet her eyes, your reply agitated, “What?”

“Last time we talked, I told you not to go to work today. Despite your lack of trust in me, you stayed home. Why?”

She seems to be genuinely wondering why, but you don’t have an answer to give her. You don’t know. There was something about the seriousness with which she suggested you call out of work that made you uneasy come this morning, all traces of her usual aloofness were gone, even if she meant for her delivery to be casual so as to not rouse any suspicions. It was a split decision, you picked up your phone and called in sick before fully understanding the implications of your actions. You trusted your gut, not her. 

“Something came up,” you lie instead and confront her, “You knew something was going to happen today— or planned to come by, that’s why you wanted me here, right? You know I get off work at 7 and I wouldn't have been home.”

Kafka gives nothing away but you know she doesn’t believe your white lie. If she feels anything about this show of distrust, she keeps her cards close to her chest. She shrugs with her uninjured shoulder.

“Maybe I just missed you.”

There it is, that flirty, teasing expression you’re used to seeing on her face. She’s deflecting and is for once doing a terrible job at it. She won’t tell you the truth, you know that much. Irritation burns the walls of your throat. In a way, you’re both lying to each other so you shouldn’t expect something you yourself are not ready to give her; then again, she’s the one who showed up at your door with a swelling injury and she has the guts to ask you to stay overnight while blatantly ignoring your attempts at finding out the circumstances of her situation. You don’t react to her taunt, you only cross your arms and stare at her, unamused. Your heartbeat has picked up several paces and you’re uncomfortable with the awareness of it drumming inside you. Kafka sighs in faux-exasperation. 

“It’s only for tonight. I’ll be gone in the morning.” When you don’t reply, she hesitantly adds, “Please.”

You’re torn, her stubbornness will keep her from seeking a medical expert and you have no idea what she did to get it in the first place. Either way, she’s putting herself in danger, and if you let her stay for a while at least you can make sure she doesn’t worsen her condition before her wound stops bleeding completely… You run a hand over your face. Might as well make dinner for two. 

Kafka’s in the shower and you’re chopping the vegetables you bought earlier this afternoon, your mind a few miles away as you move efficiently around the kitchen. You told her that if she was going to sleep over, she should change into more comfortable clothes. Weirdly, she didn’t make any lewd comments and simply accepted the oversized shirt and plaid pyjama pants you gave her before walking out of the bathroom.. She must have a lot on her mind too, you suppose. Maybe she’ll be more inclined to share a little later. The pasta is currently boiling so you get started on the sauce, letting it simmer on the stove while you take care of the veggies you’ll be steaming to eat as a side. The running water quickly becomes background noise while you busy yourself, a sound you’re not very used to hearing when you’re not the one showering, but the pitter-patter relaxes you a touch. You’re no longer on the edge of an anxiety attack, though worry still resides in the depths of your heart considering the situation you find yourself in. You try to focus on the dinner you’re cooking instead of the bloodstained memory of Kafka’s clothes. They’re in the washing machine now, but you remember how soaked they were vividly, crimson and haunting. You instantly thought the worst, and when suddenly confronted with the prospect of losing her, you panicked. Anyone would have reacted the same in the face of a bleeding person, you tell yourself, but you can’t deny that the thought deeply unnerves you. 

You don’t register the sound of the water being turned off. You stir the rosé sauce and lower the heat under the vegetables, then incorporate the pasta into the creamy goodness. The smell of freshly cooked pasta fills your nose and reminds you of how little you ate today. You take out two plates from a cabinet and pour a generous serving in each one, adding a little more vegetables for yourself. You’re gently laying them on the kitchen island in the middle of the room when Kafka walks in with her hair still damp from the shower. Her face is bare, her long locks loose past her shoulders, and she’s wearing the clothes you lent her. The shirt hangs around her thighs over the cotton pants, big enough to be cozy on her. She looks… mundane, more refreshed than an hour ago. In such plain attire, she doesn’t seem as enigmatic or intimidating, but rather like your average citizen. It’s a harsh contrast to the way she presents herself and the cocky, in control woman you usually see. She strides into the kitchen and leans on the island to glimpse at the food you made. You don’t realize that you’re staring until she looks at you and raises an eyebrow, a small confident smile on her lips.

“See something you like?”

You avert your gaze and turn around to take out the parmesan from the fridge. Your skin warms up from the embarrassment of getting caught, but you manage to hide your flustered expression from her sight. Your stomach buzzes with a feeling you attribute to bashfulness. This is yet another side of Kafka you’re discovering, she’s never stayed until morning light before. You’ve long exceeded the limits of what you’re familiar with tonight, the feeling is the same as the night you undressed her for the time; excitement and nervousness swirled in your belly, each caress revealing inches of unexplored skin to your eager touch. You face her again and find that in this moment, you feel no disquiet. 

“Is that for me?” Kafka sits on the stool across from you and points to one of the plates. 

You grate some parmesan on top of the pasta before pushing the portion towards her. She stares at it for a few seconds then lifts her questioning eyes to yours. She seems to hesitate for the time it takes you to pull out a fork from a drawer and give it to her, but she eventually thanks you quietly. She means it for more than dinner. You nod once in acknowledgement. 

You take a seat on the stool next to her and glance at the way she turns the fork over in her hand, looking at the food in search of answers instead of eating it. For a couple minutes there’s only the sound of metal on ceramic as you eat while Kafka is lost in thought, absentmindedly picking at her vegetables. After swallowing another bite, you decide that you’re sick of the awkward silence. 

“You don’t eat pasta?”

Kafka blinks. In an instant, her cryptic smile stretches her lips and she stabs some pasta onto her fork, sticking it into her mouth. Her face lights up after the first chew. “Mmm. Never had a home cooked meal that actually tastes like food.”

“Really?”

“I’m not much of a cook.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She purses her lips, silverware hovering in the air, though she’s not offended. 

“I just can’t picture you wearing an apron.”

“That’s because you usually picture me wearing nothing.”

You make a face but don’t refute her point, to which Kafka’s smile widens an inch. You stuff food into your mouth to give you time to think of a reply. She watches you with an amused look, leaning her chin in her hand.

“Not even a little protest…”

“Oh, shut up,” you shot back indignantly, “should’ve dropped the bottle of hot sauce on your plate…”

Kafka’s deep chuckle compels you to look at your dinner instead of her. “Makes no difference to me. My pain tolerance is pretty high, it might make the flavors pop out a bit more.”

You’re reminded of how easily she kept her composure earlier, as if getting shot at is a regular occurrence for her. Flashes of her bleeding shoulder come back to your mind and you quiet down a bit, poking a broccoli with the tip of your fork. Kafka immediately senses the shift in your mood. She pauses, watches you toy with the vegetable for a short moment, then twirls her own fork in her hand.

“Don’t worry,” she reads your mind effortlessly, “a scrape like that will heal in no time and will barely leave a scar. Besides, you won’t care much for it the next time I’m undressing in front of you.”

You roll your eyes at the innuendo but it successfully brings you out of your thoughts for the time being. You lightly shake your head.

“Is sex the only thing on your mind?”

“Not the only thing…” she drawls, but the way her gaze drops to your chest and leisurely trails up to stare into your eyes, the beginnings of a smirk on her lips, suggests otherwise. She rhythmically taps the island’s surface with a finger. 

“...Just eat your food.”

Kafka laughs softly and complies. You’re thankful for her restraint to make a dirty joke. As you both eat, the atmosphere around you shifts into a comfortable space you don’t feel the need to fill with mundanities. Still, you end up telling her about yourself after some prompting, about your friends, how it felt to move away from your parents and get your own place— even the doubts about your career and how you don’t think it’s something you want to do anymore. Kafka watches you all the while, her cheek in her palm, and comments on certain things but mostly keeps quiet. You don’t realize how much you’ve confided because she’s surprisingly an excellent listener and you get a little high from her undivided attention. Your almost empty plates lie forgotten on the kitchen island. You turn on the stool to face her fully at some point, your knees brushing her thigh, and the casual, innocent contact makes your heart race. Her presence is just as exciting outside of the context of a hookup, your pulse creates a melody for this moment. Unbeknown to you, you've already made up your mind; she looks prettier under the kitchen lights at night. 

“You should quit,” Kafka repeats the advice she told you days ago, following the movement of your head as it tips backwards in exasperation. “You can make money doing anything, you might as well enjoy what you do.”

“It’s not that simple,” you argue, “my life is stable as is. I don’t even know what I want— it would be so irresponsible to drop everything just because I’m not fully satisfied with how things are now.”

“Then find out what you want and execute it.”

You sigh loudly, leaning on the island to rest your forehead on your arm. She makes it sound easy but quitting your research job in an engineering department might damage the fragments of relationship you have with your parents. You only see them a couple times a year, sometimes for a week during the summer, but they make sure to let you know how proud they are that the money they invested in you is paying off. You know they can’t control you anymore and yet, the guilt of them struggling to put you through school is ingrained in your gray matter. Despite the heavy weight they constantly put on your shoulders, you truly do want to please them. You moved to another corner of the world and can still hear your mother’s disapproving voice in your ears. 

“I wish I knew if whatever I end up doing is the right choice,” you mutter, laying your chin on your forearm and staring straight ahead. “It’d be nice to know how this all ends.”

Kafka doesn’t respond immediately. She ponders for a while, fingers drumming on the stainless steel. 

“Mmm. There’s more joy to be found in the unknown, I think,” she says after a pause. “More excitement.”

“More anxiety too.”

“They often come together, don’t they? Both make you feel alive, having one without the other might breed a certain… emptiness.”

You furrow your brows. “You’ve clearly never felt anxious.”

Kafka only smiles softly. “In any case, you can’t live your life fulfilling other people’s wishes. I’ve never found selfishness to be ugly.”

Once the plates and pans are washed half an hour later, you stop by the bedroom to pick up a blanket and a pillow for Kafka to sleep with. You walk back into the living room, items under your arms, to see her sitting cross-legged on the couch, TV remote in hand. The screen is bright in the dim light and illuminates the room around it, painting moving shadows on the walls. You put the pillow down on the armrest with the folded blanket over it. Kafka is scrolling through your streaming applications and stops to acknowledge you. 

“Want to watch something?” She asks. “I don’t remember the last time I sat down for a full movie.”

The invitation is so ordinary that you hesitate for a few seconds. Watching a movie after cooking her dinner…? A corner of your mind is screaming that this sounds like a casual date but you quickly shake that thought away for its absurdity. She needed a place to stay for the night, that’s all. Once again, she’s more using you than anything else, you’re a safe place to come to because you have trouble refusing her. You prove your own theory right by accepting her offer and closing the hallway and kitchen lights before taking a seat next to her, putting a reasonable distance between you. You fold your legs on the couch and lay a forearm on the armrest as Kafka continues to scroll through the different apps. She lets out comments like “sounds boring” and “ugh” after skipping certain movies. She’s mostly talking under her breath, eyes fixed on the TV screen. The blue light applies a similar hue to her skin tone and adds vitality to her irises, they appear more vivid and alert. The sharp shadows in her hair are even darker against such a vibrant source of light and the sight of her brings to mind a beautifully composed photograph. You take a mental picture of her like this, in sleepwear with her hair free of the ponytail she puts it in every day, staring intently at the screen like a kid who’s been allowed to stay up past her bedtime. 

“What about a horror movie?” You propose, taking your eyes off her frame to look at the TV.

“No. They’re never scary. This one looks less mediocre than the others.”

You read the synopsis of a psychological thriller together. The movie doesn’t particularly speak to you but you tell her it seems nice anyway. You’re not surprised to learn that she enjoys mind games. Kafka adjusts her position on the couch so that she’s mimicking your own and presses play, leaning an elbow on the armrest to rest her cheek on top of her fist. You try to focus on the movie, the pacing is too slow to catch your tired mind’s attention for more than ten minutes at a time, and an hour passes with you sneaking glimpses at the woman next to you from your peripheral vision. She’s not close enough that you can feel her warmth like you could in the bathroom earlier, but the air around you feels the same; a sort of domestic intimacy that has no place between the two of you because you can’t imagine meaning that much to someone like her. You can’t snuff it out, no matter how many times you tell yourself to look at the scene in front of you. Since she’s waltzed into your kitchen hours ago, you can’t help noticing habits that give you the false impression that you know her. Her fingers twitch when she’s lost in thought, they typically drum on whatever surface she can get her hands on or subtly move in the air like she’s conducting a symphony. She eats her vegetables last. She doesn’t shy away from eye contact when you speak. These little things don’t make up a person, and yet, for someone who doesn’t reveal much of herself, they’re quirks that few get to see. 

Kafka is watching the movie with an unimpressed expression, which has you suppressing a smile. Occasionally, she comments on whatever is happening—mostly complaints about the direction the movie is going or how much better it would be if the human responses were more realistic. You simply nod along, already somewhat dozing off near the climax of the story. The aftermath of your anxious evening is catching up with you and you’re in a comfortable enough position at the moment, it doesn’t take long for fatigue to descend on your body. Your eyelids can’t bear their own weight and you rest your eyes for a couple of minutes, leaning your head on the armrest. You don’t witness how the movie ends. You’re falling asleep on the couch, the TV acting like background noise, and you forget that this is where Kafka is supposed to sleep. You don’t register soft fabric being laid over you, only catch sweet notes of vanilla belonging to the soap you use in the shower.

A sore ache in your neck pulls you out of a dream whose contents now elude you. Your brows twist indignantly, a muted groan vibrates along your throat, and you drowsily turn over on the couch to face the back cushions. You hear the bathroom door open and close, which eventually reminds you that you’re not alone in the house. Your eyes slowly blink open at the thought, momentarily blinded by the living room’s semi-darkness. It takes a minute to regain your bearings, you turn over a second time and notice soft threads of morning light seeping through the cracks of the closed blinds. It must be a new day already, though not very early based on how gloomy it still is outside. You have the reflex to check your phone for the time and realize that you don’t remember its last location. The cozy blanket falls to your lap when you sit up to look around the room. You’re rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you recall the events of last night; Himeko calling, opening the door to a disheveled Kafka, rushing her to the bathroom for basic treatment… In between two of those, you must have discarded your phone somewhere here out of panic and didn’t touch it once afterwards, too preoccupied by the dizzying sensation of finally seeing past Kafka’s usual demeanor. Pulling the blanket off of you, you quickly scan the coffee table and check the couch cushions in case you threw the device on it yesterday and it fell through the cracks. Your fingertips touch the silicone of your phone case deep between the cracks of back pillows. You only struggle to pull it out for a few seconds, sighing in relief when you have it back in your hands, Tapping open the screen, you learn that it is currently a little past 5 in the morning and curse under your breath at the reminder of work in a couple of hours after spending the night on your couch. You scroll down the notification screen to see if you got any last night.

You’re confused at the amount of text messages you didn’t receive due to your phone being on silent. You blink rapidly at the dozens of concerned texts wondering how you are coming from your friends and some coworkers you get along with. You got a message from Himeko right after you hung up on her, but it’s just three question marks in succession so you make a mental note to call her back this evening. Opening the multiple texts a coworker sent you, you don’t comprehend them immediately. Your thumb hovers over the screen as you read the words “Stellaron Hunters” and “infiltrated”, and in a moment of denial, you exit the conversation to open another from a friend repeatedly asking if you’re safe. They sent an article attached to the first message; it’s a publication dating from around 6 PM last night posted by an IPC affiliated news company popular in the city. You don’t feel the instant your chest stutters at its contents. Unblinking, you stare at the urgent sentences reporting an incursion in the building you’ve worked in for years by a group of people you’ve only vaguely heard of from gossip around the office. The Stellaron Hunters, interstellar criminals notorious for their worth in credits, had the means to break into the mechanical engineering research lab of the Intelligentsia Guild with the goal of stealing hardware for a machine you remember personally working on about 8 months ago. You were part of the team of researchers assigned to this project to make sure it was a viable one before it could be produced. Once the green light is given, it gets sent to the lab and is out of your hands. You recall doing extensive research for it in a small time frame because it was a priority for your supervisors to start working on it as soon as possible. Now, the key component was the target of a larceny. 

As you read, the world outside of the screen and the muffling in your ears disappears. Your digit quivers over the words “multiple casualties”. Most of them are security guards who attempted to stop the thieves in action, but some of the engineers you once met in person have also been stated as losses. Your eyes sting from being kept open for longer than a minute, you can’t hear the trembling breaths clumsily tripping past your lips either. The death toll is 19 human lives— all for a piece of hardware. Your collar seemingly constricts your throat, choking you silent. You are trapped by sudden guilt, it teasingly snakes around your guts and squeezes them tight like tentacles around an easy prey. What-ifs rush at you as if mocking your cowardice; what if you hadn't worked on this project and hadn’t allowed it to see the day, what if you switched careers like you’ve been wanting to for a long time… You don’t look at your hands but your mind supplies the image of them dipped in blood regardless. The white page of the article burns your retinas, yet you scroll further down to read the end of it. The IPC has taken matters into their own hands and sent out forces to apprehend the culprits while they still hide in the city, which does nothing to alleviate your distress because the Stellaron Hunters wouldn’t have earned a reputation if they were so easily caught. You dread the idea of facing your coworkers again after such a tragic event, even more so the simple thought of walking back into that building knowing what transpired there. You finally squeeze your eyes shut with a shaky exhale, trying not to picture red stained floors and mechanical equipment. When you open them again, the attached pictures at the end of the publication freezes the blood in your veins.

This is your first time associating faces to the group of criminals who are only ever mentioned by their faction name. The phone screen turns dark from inactivity but the wanted poster is seared into the walls of your occipital lobe, creating a reality-perfect image of the woman’s enigmatic smile and unmistakable rosy irises. Your reflection stares back at you, expressing consternation, and in the same instant, the bathroom door opens again. Heeled footsteps make their way down the hallway like a foreboding rhythm, clacking across the wooden tiles on a mission to reach the front door. The weight on your chest grows heavier once they’re close, and they eventually come to a stop behind the couch you’re sitting on. Your fingers tremble at the sound of her voice near your ears. 

“You’re awake.”

It hits you, then. What happened last night, how Kafka received that gunshot wound, her advice from earlier this week—- it was a warning rolled in a layer of passivity, a peculiar request she couldn’t tell you the extent of without revealing her hand. If you had gone to work yesterday, one of the casualties could have been you. Her and the Stellaron Hunters must have been planning this for a while, perhaps weeks or months. You feel as though you’ve fallen in the ocean from a great height in the middle of the night, an icy wave of hurt clogs your ears and has you succumbing under the tumultuous waters. 

Kafka tilts her head to the side and makes a teasing remark about you not being fully up and about, rounding the couch to wave a gloved hand in front of your face. Your head mechanically turns to look up at her. She’s dressed in the clothes she wore yesterday that she put in the dryer as you were washing the dishes. Her hair is in its everyday loose ponytail, aside from the sunglasses over her head and down to her asymmetrical boots, she’s ready to go. Her coat is on, leading you to believe that she planned to slip away while you were still asleep. Kafka observes the brewing emotions on your face and the heavy rise of your chest, then takes a quick glance at the phone still in your hands. Her relaxed smile drops an inch. You stare at each other for a moment and she doesn’t say another word during that time, reading you through the purse of your lips and the contempt in your eyes. After a minute of quiet, she lazily crosses her arms under her breasts. 

“You don’t seem scared,” she says without breaking eye contact, like she’s close to figuring you out but is missing an important variable.

You don’t dwell on the fact that you are indeed not afraid of her or what she’s capable of, mainly wounded by the amount of stuff she’s kept from you. If you knew who she was back in that store, you would have never let her approach you no matter how intriguing she looked. It’s as you think this that you realize something else; her efforts in pursuing you coincide with the time you had just finished working on that major project and you can’t help thinking that all of it might have been premeditated. Your stomach churns. 

You manage to find your voice, swallowing once to wet your dry throat. “Were you never going to tell me?” Your sentence comes out weaker than it should have, bordering on pathetic affront.

“No.”

Her honesty gives you whiplash. For all she’s lied about and omitted, she chooses to be honest when it hurts the most. 

“It was always going to play out like this,” she continues, “some things are inevitable and all possibilities are already written. This way is less gruesome than the others, don’t you think?”

“What does that mean?”

Kafka smiles with her eyes closed but instead of a comfortable familiarity, it raises the hair on your arms. 

“Well, I’m happy to know that you heeded my advice. I even looked for you and got hurt in the process. Quite chivalrous of me, isn’t it?”

Her lighthearted comment sounds like it’s meant to assuage the maelstrom of feelings mounting inside of you. It is so ridiculous, so devoid of genuine meaning, that it only stokes the burning embers under your skin. You struggle to contain your outrage, the sight of her pleased smile and indifferent posture has your fingers curl into a fist.

“Aw, don’t make that face,” Kafka uncrosses her arms and pulls at the ends of one glove so it fits snuggly on her hand, “this is the best possible outcome. I made sure of it.”

“Out.” You’re surprised the word made it out of your clenched jaw, and by its frigidity. She looks you over and even after everything, you notice the slight dip of her lips. You repeat yourself. “Get out.”

“Still upset?”

“Leave, or I will tell the authorities where you are.”

In a flash, a light glimmers in Kafka’s eyes and her features twist with amusement. “Really? You’d be accused of complicity.”

You know that. Your anger is impulsive and a darker part of you wishes to cause her turmoil like the one she’s putting you through. Kafka watches you closely. Her attention doesn’t fluster you anymore. She finds whatever answer she’s seeking in the determined stare you’re giving her. 

“Gutsy…” Her muttered reply is more directed at herself but betrays her attraction. Her eyelids drop as she glances at your lips, then she meets your gaze with a fake sigh. “Oh, fine. I’ll see you later, then.”

“No—”

Kafka lifts a hand up to wave at you cheekily and is outside the door before you can tell her that you don’t want to see her again.

[osachiyo]

"YOU CRYIN'?"

PAIRING -‘๑’- characters of various fandoms x fem!reader

CONTENT WARNINGS -‘๑’- dacryphilia, spanking, pussy slapping, tit slapping, rough sex, pain play, hair pulling, degradation etc

AUTHOR'S NOTE -‘๑’- who doesn't love some pretty criers? ♡ btw cock can be read as strap on!

MINORS DNI

They love to hear your pretty cries of pleasure- or pain as you write beneath them. Your body covered in goosebumps as their hand cracks down on your tits, make the soft flesh jiggle. They grin mischeviously as you whine, thrusting into you faster. Your body bouncing up with each harsh thrust of their hips, smacking against your sore thighs. Their hands dig into your hips so hard that it hurts.

"You cryin' already, pretty girl? I'm not even halfway done with you, little slut." Their laughter echoes throughout the room, almost drowned out by the loud noises of their hips smacking against your ass, the soft fat jiggling and bouncing with each hard thrust. You can't do much in this situation, their strength completely overpowering yours making you just lay there and take it. They dont care if it hurts, they know you fucking love it by the way your cute pussy gushes around their cock. Fat tears rolls down your swollen and hot cheeks as you grip the sheets, babbling out shit neither you or your partner can understand. Their name is the only coherent thought you can think at the moment as they drag their cock out of your pulsing walls with a breathy moan, running a hand through their sweat soaked hair, smirking down at your ruined state. They don't even give you a moment to breath- almost immediately thrusting back into your sloppy cunt while their hand comes down harshly against your plush ass, snickering when you jump at the sudden pain, sobbing out their name and little curses.

"So cute, aren't ya? It's pathetic how I can turn you into a crying mess just by shoving my cock into your messy little hole. Fuck- yeah clench around me just like that.."

You're almost out of it when- smack! Your lovers hand slaps your clit harshly, the delicate bud throbbing at the painful pleasure as you squeal out, trying to run from them- but they hold you in place firmly, almost laughing at your pitiful attempt at trying to escape.

"I'm going to fucking ruin you."

♡LUCIFER, mammon on bad days, satan, solomon, blade, kafka, SCARAMOUCHE, CHILDE, xiao, ARLECCHINO, dottore, AL-HAITHAM, cyno, abyss aether & lumine, YAE MIKO, NIKOLAI, YOSANO, ranpo, dazai, gojo, geto, toji, mahito, NAHOYA, draken, HANMA, SANZUUUUU, SUKUNA & any of your faves♡

Then we have those who are the pretty criers. They sniffle and rub their teary eyes while you push your head impossibly deeper into their sex, sucking on it for dear life. You hum and you lick it so sensually, all while looking them straight in the eye. Your hand reaches up to twist and pull at their sensitive nipple, making them jolt and whimper. Your run your tongue up and down their sex, then moving your head to bite their thighs hard, leaving teeth marks over the delicate skin. You swear you see their eyes roll back into their skull when you dive your head back into the special spot between their shaky legs.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck!- it's feels so- so good! keep going, please- oh-"

They get cut off when you flick your tongue up and down their sensitive spot, their head thrown back as their release spurts all over your pretty face, coating you in their glossy cum.

"No more- please! I-I'll die! You'll milk me dry- oh fuck!"

♡LEVIATHAN, mammon, kazuha, gorou, aether, amber, venti, atsushi, POE, mushitaro, SIGMA, JOUNO, itadori, yuuta, TAKEMICHI, chifuyu, kazutora, takuya & your faves♡

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated♡

[icysnails]

Hello. I was wondering if you could you write a platonic angst story where the reader is Blade's child. I was thinking that because Blade barely spends any time with the reader unless it's during one of their extremely harsh training sessions the reader decides to run away especially after one particularly rough training session where the reader was injured after they accidentally talked back and that night the reader starts packing their stuff but they accidentally left behind their late mother's pendant and Blade found it the next morning. (I hope you're okay with writing this and I wish you a good morning, afternoon or good night ☺️)

Family.

A/n: Hello Anon!! Thank you for your request!! I am so sorry this took so long- school + extracurriculars started so I had way less time to work on writing outside of school (TvT) But this was so much fun to write! I got a little bit carried away and it ended up being a found family type thing with all of the Stellaron Hunters– I tried to focus on Blade being a father figure as much as possible though! I hope you have a fantastic day, and I hope you enjoy!! ૮꒰ ˶• v •˶꒱ა ♡

Warnings: all relationships are platonic, found family trope, betrayal, suicidal ideation (Blade), mentions of death, reader's parents are dead, flashbacks, reader runs away, mention of bullets + broken glass, overthinking, Blade being insecure, reader uses a sword, reader gets injured a couple of times (If i forgot anything, please let me know!!)

Genre: angst, slight fluff

Pairing: father figure!Blade x gn!child!reader (PLATONIC), mother figure!Kafka x gn!child!reader (PLATONIC), sister figure!Silver Wolf x gn!child!reader (PLATONIC)

Word count: 7.3k

Blade is a cruel man. 

There is no love in the red pools of his irises, no signs of any humanity. Dark circles adorn the skin just below his merciless stare, eyebrows slightly furrowed in an eternal state of aggravation. It was no wonder enemies cowered at the mere mention of him. He holds nothing back, and if an enemy was unfortunate enough to meet the steely edge of his sword, they were sure to be broken and lifeless by the end of the encounter. Unfortunately, he isn’t much different off of the battlefield either. 

Blade is bitter and selfish and cold, to the extreme that even Kafka and Silverwolf are convinced that he has forgotten how to feel.

The thorns of the mara in his veins torment him constantly, the pain never faltering, even after decades. The other Stellaron Hunters had begun to wonder if those thorny, agonizing vines had punctured through his heart as well. It would be understandable, to an extent. After all, he is a man who has experienced endless with suffering and loss, his mind poisoned with grief and the sole desire to die. No more pain, no more fighting, just darkness- the mere thought was enough to drag a bitter smile out of him.

He was used to the dark, used to feeling like an empty vessel. 

But why, if he was so familiar with agony, would he impose that same feeling on you as well? 

You had always been alone. You were only a toddler when your parents were taken from you, the only proof of their existence being a necklace your mother left with you before she died. You had spent your youngest years void of any parental guidance, hopelessly wandering between foster homes and planets, hoping someone would take you in. You gave that up by age ten, running away from your home planet to travel the galaxy. From that point on, most of your time was spent sneaking onto Starskiffs, hiding in empty cargo compartments on any moving vehicle you could find, and even stealing authorization keys to search occupied space stations, all in search of someone whom you could call family. 

But what exactly did the word family mean?

You always thought it was a strange word. It had such a subjective meaning, yet it was talked about so often. You didn’t understand what it meant, and no textbook definition could help you. All your efforts to find its meaning were in vain. And yet, your curiosity haunted you. 

With every new destination, the word family buzzed among the crowds constantly. No matter where you had landed yourself, all you could do was spectate. You watched as children laughed and clung to the legs of their guardians, as relatives sobbed in unified grief over flower dressed gravestones, and as teenagers linked arms with each other, growing away from the protective grasps of their parents. 

Every planet you traveled to, every dragging, lonely step you took, that sickening, seemingly joyous word that made you feel so isolated was there.

Six months after you had ran away, you went out alone to buy food. It was late at night, and you were preparing to head off to another planet the next day. Luckily, you bumped into a nice shopkeeper earlier who gave you some extra credits because she thought your coat was cool (in reality, she was just worried about you wandering off all alone, but didn't want to pry about your parents' whereabouts). So, you headed out amongst the crowds as you always did, pouch of credits in hand and determination plastered on your face.

But a woman stopped you on the way there and asked why such a young child was wandering around alone at night. She had a little girl with her, who looked no older than you. 

She asked you if you had any family she could call to come and get you, with the assumption that you were lost. You couldn't say anything. Instead, you just stared, your wide-eyed gaze pinned on the child that almost mirrored you. Almost. Perhaps if the world were kinder, your eyes could have donned the same innocent, joyful light. One of her hands was encased by her mother’s, while her other hand kindly reached out towards you. A cheerful “hello!” rang through the air as she tried to shake your hand. 

You stepped away from her. It was hard to breathe. You had seen all this before. Yet why was it so painful this time? 

Internally, you demanded the Aeons to tell you why the truth of your situation had to be rubbed in your face so blatantly. You were alone. You wondered if it might be good to explain that to them, to create some kind of connection with these people, but no words would leave your throat. Your heart felt like it was splintered in two.

You didn’t know how long you stood there staring, but you were sure the devastation tearing you up inside was evident on your face. The woman called out to you one more time, her worry falling on deaf ears as you backed away slowly. You took one more look at the girl before turning on your heel and running as fast as you could, sobs wracking your chest so deeply it hurt. 

You hadn’t returned to that planet since then.

You wanted the life that little girl had. You wanted to have a guardian.

But as the years went on, nothing changed. Your travels continued, and you came to terms with the fact that you might never know what family felt like. You made acquaintances as you traveled, friends, even. They never stuck around for long, though. The darkness always swallowed them up one way or another. And with every loss, the painful void in your chest numbed and steeled over a little more.

You thought that your life would always be this way. In truth, you had forgotten that there was any other way to live.

However, that was before a certain group of Stellaron Hunters swept you away from your life of solitude, and recruited you into their dangerous yet thrilling world. 

A year later, you found yourself on a sand covered planet. You were on a train, heading to one of the planets' larger cities from a smaller town. There wasn’t any way you walk- it was too hot and the distance was too far. Otherwise, you would have spent your savings on something other than train tickets.

The trip was uneventful and for most of it you just stared blankly out the window, exhaustion and boredom settling in your bones. You were tired from running errands for the previous town's residents- it was onerous but it happened to pay well. Though you were happy to have a break, your mind wasn’t used to the quiet. The barren landscape outside did nothing to help. It was a dry, flat expanse that was dotted only with dead weeds and the scraps of broken automatons. In short, nothing of interest.

Aside from that, all was going well. You had enough credits to last you at least six more train rides and get food and extra supplies, and you had several acquaintances with whom you could stay in the next city. You made a point not to talk about your budgeting skills, as it would usually spur a torrent of questions from whoever you were talking to. You couldn’t blame them though, children your age typically didn’t devote themselves to a life of aimless travel. 

The train stopped right on time, and you stepped onto the platform that was crowded with people. As usual, you were met with the sight of teary-eyed relatives hugging each other, children running around and playing, and couples greeting each other. You kept your head down, feeling more inconvenienced than sad. In their excitement, the crowds always seemed to block your path to the other platforms. Besides, they say time heals all wounds, so why would you care, anyway? You awkwardly shoved your way toward a nearby stairwell, grunting as several people bumped into you. Just as your fingers made contact with the stair’s banister, ear shattering sirens echoed throughout the station.

Emergency lights flashed on and off in a blinding rhythm, the red glow engraining itself into your mind. Suddenly, pixelated bullets flew towards the ceiling, shattering several of the glass panels. Screams rang out in response, and the previously happy crowd flew into a panic, ducking to avoid the broken glass. However, the glass shards evaporated into more pixels before they could hit the crowd, preventing any damage from being done.

Amidst the swarms of people trying to escape, you cautiously walked closer to the source of the commotion. You really shouldn’t have, but the nagging curiosity in the back of your mind compelled you to do so. And even if it seemed dangerous, there was something off about this incident. After all, if the initiators were out for blood, wouldn’t they have attacked the crowd directly? If whoever caused this wasn't intending to cause harm, they must be looking for something.

As you got closer, you saw three figures: A magenta haired woman with lightless eyes, a pistol in one hand, and a glowing thread of purple silk in the other. She was leaning back against one of the platform’s pillars, watching the whole scene with fake amusement. The second person you saw was a smaller girl decked out in a myriad of purples and blues, her drill style ponytail swaying as she typed up coordinates on a hologram screen. And lastly, you saw a red eyed man with a glare so sharp it made your heart sink. You certainly did not want to be subject to whatever rage he had stored away. From the looks of it, he could kill you in a split second.

For some reason, all three of them seemed familiar. You couldn't quite place it, but you quickly realized, you knew who they were. Their faces were plastered on all of the IPC’s wanted posters, which were scattered on literally every planet you had been to so far. You couldn’t remember their names exactly, but you knew that, together, they were known as the Stellaron Hunters- the universe’s most wanted criminals. You should have recognized them from the pixelated bullets earlier- how could you have been so naive?

You could have tried to run, but it would be futile. You were already out in the open, and they had already seen you.

Your eyes widened in sheer panic as the man dressed in black set his gaze on your shaking form. There was no way you’d survive this encounter. Absolutely zero chance. He stepped toward you but was interrupted by the sound of a clanging of a spear. The station’s security officers surrounded the Stellaron Hunters, demanding that they freeze and turn themselves in immediately.

You covered your ears and ducked as a fight broke out, the Stellaron Hunters throwing themselves into battle. Your eyelids were screwed shut in fear until the sounds of fighting had ceased. When you opened your eyes, you looked up to see that all of the guards had been knocked out, and that the taller woman standing above you, watching you in a way that was eerie, yet... comforting somehow. Even so, your better judgment caused you to back away, frantically scrambling on the hot cement of the platform. The red eyed man yanked you to your feet before you could stand up, and a panicked noise left your throat as he dragged you toward his two companions. you caught a glimpse of his sword that was poised in his other hand, taking note that he was ready to strike if necessary.

“It’s a kid.” He grumbled, still glaring at you. 

The tall woman chuckled and took a step forward, observing the way you struggled to get out of her companion’s grasp. You were getting more anxious by the second, she could tell. No matter how strong and collected you acted, you were still just a kid, and you had the minimal strength of one.

“Let them go, Blade. I don’t think they mean any harm.”

Small, scared breaths left your throat as you were released, your shaking legs failing to hold you up. You fell to the ground, staring in shock at all that had occurred. What would have happened if they didn’t let you go? How much danger were you really in, and how the hell were you still alive?

Then, the monotone voice of the grey haired girl met your ears. 

“What a waste. Looks like those signals were nothing but a glitch.” She sighed. “There's nothing for us here.”

The scary man who grabbed you- Blade, as the woman called him- looked down at you crumpled form, eyes softening just the tiniest bit. Your fearful gaze met his, and you didn’t dare move. The two other hunters made conversation about their next moves in the background, while Blade narrowed his eyes coldly.

“Why aren’t you running?”

…What?

“Go. Lingering here will only bring you suffering”

Your fearful gaze then turned to one of confusion. It was unclear if his words were meant to be a warning or advice. Either way, it gave you the strength to pull yourself off the ground and attempt to respond, but all that came out of you was a strangled groan. Your body hurt, and everything had happened so fast that your mind was still trying to catch up. It wasn’t that you were trying to make an impression by staying, you just couldn’t bring yourself to run because of the adrenaline coursing through you. You hunched over and placed your hands on your knees to get your bearings. After a few minutes, you finally responded.

“Y- yeah, I… uh…” You hesitated, unsure of what to say. “...I have another train to catch...?” 

It came out like a question, which was unintended. It was the truth, but you were so nervous that you would say something wrong and provoke him. Your life may have been spared for the moment, but they could still change their minds, and you didn't want to re-dig your own grave.

The man beside you let out a small sigh before turning his gaze back to his two companions.

“Fine.” He muttered.

A few moments passed with you and Blade sitting in comfortable silence. or, it was comfortable him, at least. He was still and silent, ignoring you entirely. You just kept fidgeting the whole time, unsure if you should stay or run for the hills. It was borderline suffocating. thankfully, the tall woman came over again, ending your misery.

“Well, we’re off.” She said to Blade, prompting him to walk towards the edge of the platform where the smaller girl stood. Before walking off, she turned to you one last time. 

“Take it easy, kid.”

Something in your heart screamed at you to speak up. A strange urge began eating away at you, telling you that if you didn’t do something right now you’d regret it for the rest of your life. But do what? What could you do without potentially dying? It was stupid. And dangerous.

But that old feeling of longing, that desire to be a part of something wouldn’t leave you alone. Your desperation to attain a family of your own had been reawakened. Your undying hope, which laid dormant for years, was now ruling your judgment.

Just as they turned to leave, you stumbled forward and cried out.

“Wait!”

All three heads turned towards you. 

A purple set of eyes knowingly scanned you as you trembled, a smirk growing on the woman’s face. 

You anxiously gripped at your clothing, trying to summon up the courage to put on some kind of brave face for them. Before you think, pleas for them to take you with them were spilling from your throat. You told them that you wanted to see the universe and that if they gave you that opportunity, you’d do whatever you could to assist them. It was a partial lie- exploring the universe did sound fun, but it wasn't what you were truly after. Your true motivations were far too personal to tell them just yet. It felt like a wound had unexpectedly reopened ever since they arrived, and you were sure you’d crumble if you forced yourself to explain.

Luckily, you didn’t have to. You had the strangest feeling that they already knew your story to some extent. Even without the influence of your longing, you couldn’t deny that it was the opportunity of a lifetime. It wasn’t every day that you came across three highly skilled fighters who could quickly travel anywhere they wanted. You could save years worth of credits and injuries if you went with them.

Once you had finished your frantic explanation, you took a breath to calm your pounding heart. The silence you were met with was deafening, which you took to be a bad sign. A deep chuckle reverberated through the elegant woman’s chest as she took a decisive step closer to you. She hummed in amusement, holding her hand out for you to take.  

“You may not be crucial to our mission,” she leaned down to your height, voice almost a whisper, “but if that’s what you want, then who are we to disagree?”

You took her hand, heartbeat slowing to a calm pace as you did so.

The days you spent with the Stellaron hunters were some of the most peaceful days you had ever experienced. 

You weren’t constantly slinking around trying to find information and resources for your travels, and it was the first time you had slept in a room that had officially been dubbed as your own. You weren't hopping between inns and the homes of your few friends. Even expenses weren't an issue anymore. It felt strange to have time on your hands. Guilt inducing, even.

You didn’t get too caught up in that though, since the confusion and questions plaguing your mind happened to be stronger than your melancholy. It was beyond your understanding how three of the most dangerous criminals in the entire universe could be so kind and willing to take you in. Perhaps it was because you had seen too much. You were a witness to Blade knocking out over ten armed guards. However, they were so powerful that they seemed to be able to get away with anything. Either way, you were a part of their goup, and that's what mattered.

As time went on, you grew closer to the Stellaron Hunters. Especially Kafka, who you learned was much less intimidating in regular life, and Silver Wolf, who was still as deadpan as before, but seemed subtly happier with you around. You also were officially introduced to Blade, and were promised that he wasn't always so brooding. That was hard to believe, though.

Silver Wolf was like a sister to you. She dragged you with her everywhere. She said it was a part of your duties to accompany her on errands, but in reality, she just enjoyed having you with her. Whenever a battle presented itself, she would have you on the sidelines cheering for her as she obliterated enemies in the blink of an eye. It was clear that your support went straight to her ego, but she also secretly wanted to impress you so that you'd view her as some sort of mentor. Silver Wolf wanted to be a reliable guide and friend to you, especially after you had been alone for so long. Thankfully, you didn’t mind spending time with her. In fact, chatting and playing video games with her became one of your favorite ways to kill time. The latter was clearly her passion– after all, her combat techniques were solely revolved around her exceptional hacking skills. 

Silver Wolf taught you how to play all her favorite games, staying calm and patient with you when you kept losing. Often, she would discreetly take you out to arcades during your free time, and every time it would be humbling due to your lack of gaming experience. However, losing meant that you had more time to watch her win, which was never boring. In any other situation, you might have been jealous, but it was just so mesmerizing to watch her play. Besides, she gave you all her prizes, so you weren’t going to complain. But what you found to be even more amusing was watching her lose it over the few games she hadn’t mastered yet. Her face would contort into one of sheer disbelief and anger as she held onto the machine tightly, aggressively mashing buttons and mumbling insults. You would always laugh and try to cheer her up in response. It always gave her a huge ego boost, and convinced her to try again, despite still being angry. You never expected to gain such a dear friend when you joined the Steallaron Hunters, and you wouldn’t trade any part of your friendship for the world.

Kafka was another story, though.

At first, Kafka terrified you. She held so much power over the other hunters- well, really over everything, that you were sure she’d destroy you if you stepped out of line. Her empty eyes and ruthless reputation didn’t help either. 

Ever since your arrival, Kafka kept a close eye on you. She made sure that you were alright as you settled in, and that you weren’t feeling unsafe or lonely in your new environment. She offered you comfort and advice and cared for you like the mothers you had witnessed on your past journeys. 

One night, a month after you had arrived, you hurt your leg on a walk and Kafka was right there to patch you up. She shushed you gently as you tried to protest that you were fine, and dragged you to the nearest chair so you could sit. She took a first aid kit from a nearby cabinet, and began tending to your wound. You winced as rubbing alcohol combined itself with your blood, and you quietly explained that you had been doing this your whole life- that it wasn’t her job to take care of you. Kafka paused and looked at you, eyes showing a rare glint of sadness. She whispered to you that those days were over. You weren’t alone anymore, and you should ask the three of them for help whenever you needed it. You weren’t a burden to them. 

Kafka wasn’t sure what the cause of it was, but something in her chest began to ache when she saw you injured. She had never felt fear before. She deemed it impossible before you came along. She had always been known as a ruthless, unshakeable force of danger, who would stop at nothing to achieve her goals. But now, she had to keep you safe. Part of her wanted to berate herself for getting so protective over someone, for willingly weakening herself by caring about you. But you needed safety and a group of loving people to return to. You were just a kid, after all, and even after the short time you had been traveling with them, she had begun to feel like your guardian.

Tears filled your eyes, her words weighing down on your lungs. You couldn’t truly believe her. Not after all you had been through. But even so, Kafka was right in front of you, smiling softly, waiting and willing to take care of you. She wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. It was a foreign feeling, one that scared you more than anything else. But you were safe. You were at home. 

So you let yourself cry. Your heart split open, all the bottled up agony from your past finally bursting out. You curled into yourself, the gash on your leg long forgotten. Kafka kneeled before you and gently wrapped her arms around your shaking form. One of her hands carded through your hair, while the other rubbed your back soothingly. Gentle whispers fell from her lips, promising you that she was with you. You were safe.

You weren’t sure how long had passed when you calmed down. Maybe it had been hours. Whatever the truth was, Kafka remained by your side, not pulling back until she was sure you were okay. After you had stopped crying, she leaned back, meeting your sad, exhausted stare. She looked down at your bleeding wound, grabbed a roll of bandages, and cautiously wrapped it around your leg. When she was finished, she smiled and stood up, placing a hand on your shoulder. You matched her smile, assuring her that you were fine.

However, after a moment, Kafka’s comforting smile was replaced with a teasing smirk. Confusion sparked in your eyes and your eyebrows furrowed as if to silently ask what the problem was. She just chuckled and took a seat across from you, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head back as though she was assessing you. Her next words not only shocked you but caused your entire being to wilt in annoyance and anxiety.

“I think it’s about time we start training you in combat. If a scrape has you in this much pain, imagine the damage a real battle would do. We can’t have you dying on us, now can we?” 

She paused, thinking for a moment before reaching her conclusion. 

“Yes… I’ll have you train with Blade. His abilities never disappoint.”

And that was how your ongoing feud with Blade began. 

When Kafka decided to pair you up with Blade, you were pissed. However, you knew she was right. If you were falling apart just from accidentally scraping yourself, how were you supposed to handle actual threats? You would be utterly useless in a fight. And if anyone managed to get past the Stellaron Hunters and attempt to harm you, you would be dead on the spot. There wouldn't be a fight, just abrupt darkness, and a very disappointing end to a life such as yours. It would shatter the hearts of Kafka and Silver Wolf, who had already sworn to protect you at any cost. As you got older, the target on your back only became bigger. With the Stellaron Hunters’ reputation becoming more notorious by the day, civilians and authorities alike were bound to find out about you. Self-defense was a necessity.

But Blade never spoke to you. You felt as though you were a nuisance to him. Just another issue to be dealt with, another soul to pester him throughout the day. The way he glared at you made you wonder if you had done something wrong, or if you were imposing by being around. He made you feel out of place. Even after thorough reassurance from Kafka and Silver Wolf that his behavior was entirely normal, you still couldn’t help but worry. It was only after several months had passed that you came to understand that it truly wasn’t you- he was just grumpy. And that began to annoy you. If he wasn’t open to being somewhat nice, then why should you bother? You could glare back just as hard, and ignore him just as easily. If that's what he was getting at, then so be it. However, Kafka was the leader of both of you, and she wanted you to train. Despite your mild hatred of Blade, Kafka already had done so much for you. She only wanted the best for you. You could at least attempt to abide by her wishes.

So you gave in and begrudgingly stated training with Blade. 

For a few hours every day, you and Blade would find any open area and he would walk you through different defense techniques. You expected the technical side of it, but you did not expect that you would be sparring right off the bat. On the first day of training, he threw you into your first match and charged at you with the assumption that you had sharp enough reflexes to block him successfully. Obviously, you weren’t at all prepared since you had zero experience with combat. Turns out Kafka really wasn’t kidding when she said Blade knew how to fight.

Lessons carried on like this for weeks. You would return from sparring exhausted and bruised, feeling completely done with everything as you limped to your room to sleep. You felt generally bitter, making it hard for Kafka or Silverwolf to help, and Blade just acted like it wasn’t his problem. The most he did was help you up, and that was only if you put up a good fight. But thankfully, after a while, Blade began to notice how badly the sparring affected you. It wasn’t like you were on the brink of death, but you were still in pain. And given your age, there was no doubt that it was a lot more overwhelming than anticipated. So Blade subtly began to take care of you a little more. It wasn’t much- he mainly just gave you icepacks whenever you needed them and helped you walk, but it was the most he knew how to do. He was clueless when it came to caring for people, especially children.

You were a persistent kid, which Blade found surprising. He thought you would have given up within the first week of training, but you just kept working at it. And while Blade found your stubborn behavior annoying most of the time, it assured him that you had enough courage to fight alongside him and the others. He knew you didn’t like him much, and he knew a part of you blamed him for the injuries you got, which was reasonable. As annoying as you found him, Blade never gave up on you, even when you messed up or got so frustrated that you cried. He never babied you during these moments either. Instead, he would walk you through what went wrong and have you run through the solution until you had it down cold. Even if you were upset, he wanted you to push through it and use your anger to become stronger. You had been fighting your whole life. You had the tenacity and potential to gain the strength that you required. Blade could tell that, even after joining them, you wanted a purpose. You wanted to explore the universe and find your place among the glowing webs of stars. However, the beauty of the galaxy came with dark and unfamiliar territory. If you were to traverse the universe, you had to learn how to handle to darkest parts of it.

Little by little, you improved. You worked as hard as possible until you were able to withstand Blade’s strength and evade his attacks properly. You had a long, long way to go before you could actually defeat opponents, but you could at least hold them off, which was just as important. Despite how grueling Blade’s teaching methods were, you did come to respect him more as your mentor. He looked out for you in his own distant ways and seemed to actually care about you. In truth, Blade had started getting protective over you- not that he would admit it. It wasn’t an overbearing kind of protectiveness- he just wanted you to stay out of trouble. It was nice to pass knowledge onto someone, and protect them from the world's dangers by doing so.

The truth was, even if Blade acted indifferently toward you, he secretly was really proud of you. He admired your kindness, even after all the pain you had been dealt. You kept smiling and picking yourself up, finding your back to the light time and time again. Perhaps that's what made you so different from him. His will to keep fighting was growing fainter by the day.

Even with your differences, you both became closer. Blade kept an eye on you whenever you left the ship, talked with you whenever you got bored, and even helped you whatever chores you had to do. Sure, you were stubborn, but Blade never grew to dislike you. Your relationship felt routine and safe- it held a sense of comfort that felt normal. Blade caught himself questioning if this was what family was meant to feel like. He couldn't remember, but a faint, distant memory assured him that it was. If he could contribute to the familial safety you longed for so much, he would gladly do so. 

Was that even possible, though?

Blade had very little experience with love of any kind. Any memories he had of his past friend and family were long gone. His own sense of self was unstable, so how could he provide stability for you? He couldn't bear the thought of causing you pain. Or, there was a chance that he would rub off on you. That you would start to become like him. That prospect was enough to make him feel sick. So he began distancing himself from you in any way he could.

Now, whenever you crossed paths he would treat you especially coldly. Most times he saw you, he walked past you and pretended you didn't exist at all. He was back to being rude and dismissive, even more so than when you first met him.

Instead of encouraging you during training, he would call you weak and pick apart everything you had done wrong. This was not received well by you. After all, you didn’t know if Blade’s behavior was your fault, or if this was just how he truly was. You felt dejected and lonely, even with the support from Kafka and Silver Wolf. Though you loved them immensely, Blade was also someone you cared about, and you didn’t want to lose another parental figure. After weeks of being ignored, hatred replaced any good image you had of him. What used to be a safe, happy friendship soon morphed into an incessant rivalry. 

It felt like Blade only wanted to see you unhappy. You imagined that he was secretly gloating over your distress- that you were nothing more than a temporary amusement to him. But you were wrong. So, so very wrong. Blade hated seeing you upset because of him. He was failing you by ignoring your wellbeing. You were just a kid. More importantly, you trusted him.

But it was for your own good, wasn’t it? His past was dark, and perhaps he was too, by nature. He would never forgive himself if he allowed harm to come to you. Even if that meant leaving you behind. No, he would much rather watch you grow up and live happily from afar. 

Kafka still wanted you to train though, so Blade couldn’t avoid you entirely. Sparring was the only time he saw you anymore. Your sessions with him were difficult, but not because the material was hard. In fact, it was harder for Blade than you. You would glare at him constantly and show complete indifference to everything, making it nearly impossible to communicate with you. He wasn’t doing much better either- he couldn’t bring himself to say anything to you. It felt like the consequences of his neglect were crawling up his back, ready to snap at him at any moment, and he knew that any day now, you would finally break. Soon, everything would fall apart.

You knew Blade was heartless, but his cruelty was amplified when you trained with him now. He went all out, forcing you to scramble for scraps of knowledge he had previously given you to win. But that wasn’t enough this time. You were too tired, physically and emotionally, to continue. You felt smaller and weaker than you had ever felt before.

Lightning-fast blows struck you from all sides, the scent of bloodstained spider lilies clouding your senses. You weakly pulled your sword out of its sheath and tried to block his attacks, but doing so would knock you off balance from the force of his blows. You fell back on the ground, coughing and clambering to your feet, promptly hurling yourself towards Blade with hopes of hitting him just once. Built-up anger from the last few weeks rushed through your heart, tears of desperation dripping down your cheeks. God, you were tired of this. Blade used to be your friend. You wanted to know what changed, and you wanted that piece of your family back.

In your fury, your reaction time fell short. Blade darted behind you and shoved you to the ground, watching coldly as you crumpled over in defeat. A glint of regret shone in his eyes, but he quickly covered it up by turning his back to you. Once more, you picked yourself up, your throat burning from the lack of a break. It must have been hours since the start of your match, but it might have just felt that way because you were the one getting injured. Never before had Blade fought you this hard. You weren’t prepared, and he knew that. You internally questioned if he was actually trying to make you despise him, albeit sarcastically. It hadn’t occurred to you yet that it might actually be the case. You shakily lifted your head to look at him, angrily mumbling something that Blade couldn’t understand.

Blade took a breath and turned around to face you, blank expression unwavering. 

“What was that?” He growled. The world seemed to fall silent as you locked your gaze with his in an act of defiance.

“I said, I hate you!”

You hated that you were crying. You hated feeling weak. You hated what he had put you through.

But you didn’t hate him. Not entirely.

You wanted to hate him fully. You wished you were strong enough to. But even then, as you wiped your tears and walked out, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. Maybe it was the memories you had of when he felt like family, maybe it was inherent kindness or just plain stupidity. You couldn’t feel hatred. All you felt was dejection. So naturally, you began spiraling. 

If Blade didn’t want you around, there was a chance Kafka and Silver Wolf didn’t want you either. If it was possible that they secretly hated you too, you wouldn’t allow yourself to withstand their rejections as well. You might as well just get out of their way, and save yourself the trouble. It was nice feeling happy for a while. But it wasn’t what you were made for. It wasn’t how you were used to living. Perhaps this was a sign that your destiny rested in the familiar arms of solitude, away from the glowing crowds.

That night, when you returned from training, you bid Kafka and Silver Wolf goodnight and began packing your bags. When you were sure everyone had gone to sleep, you took your leave. You slipped out of the ship’s main entrance, the frigid night air numbing the uncertainty in your chest. You started walking, not sure where you were headed. You were out of practice with your usual travel routines, but that wasn’t important. As long as you were away from the Stellaron Hunters, you would be safe. Lonely, but safe. But even with your half hearted reasoning, you still felt a sinking feeling that this wasn’t right. That you might regret this. You shoved it off, cursing at yourself quietly for getting so softhearted. It was time to cut ties. It was for the best.

However, you had made one vital mistake. While preparing to leave, you had purposely left behind any photos or items given to you by Kafka, Silver Wolf, or Blade. In your rush to leave, you accidentally left behind something incredibly important to you: your mother’s necklace. 

You took it off and left it on your desk by accident. It was the last existing link between you and your biological parents and you cherished it because of that. So when Kafka found it the next morning, along with your neatly made bed and discarded photos, she knew something was very wrong. Silver Wolf burst into your room shortly after she found them, questioning Kafka about your whereabouts. She had no answer, all she could do was say she hadn’t seen you. Silver Wolf left worried and agitated, grumbling about how they had to find you. As Silver Wolf left, Blade approached your doorway with the intent of finding you for your training session, because at this point you would have been late. Gripping the necklace tightly, Kafka turned to face Blade. She knew there tension had been growing between you and him for the last month. If he was the cause of your absence, she would not let him get away unscathed.

Blade’s expression was serious, but Kafka could see the glint of confusion in his eyes. He seemed entirely clueless, so perhaps interrogating him wouldn't do much.

“There’s no sign of them anywhere on the ship,” she said softly, trying to keep her voice steady. “There’s only this.” Kafka gestured to the thin chain that lay forgotten on your desk. Dread immediately shot through Blade’s heart.

You had left.

And it was all his fault.

He neglected you. You had every right to leave. He was meant to be a guardian to you. It was his job- no, his privilege to keep you safe, and failed to do so. And now you could be anywhere in the galaxy, wandering aimlessly once again. Blade carefully took the necklace, trying to keep his composure as questions and visions of the worst raced through his mind. What if they never found you, or what if you had gotten hurt? What if it was too late, and you were already–

He didn’t allow that thought to finish itself. Catastrophizing would only slow the process of finding you. 

But would you even want to come back? Why would you, when you felt unwelcome enough to leave in the first place? And even if, by some miracle, you came back, would you ever trust him again? If you ever granted him forgiveness, would he even deserve it?

This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? That was why he pushed you away- so you would leave him alone. You were gone now, and he had gotten what he wanted. Was he truly so terrible that he would still be unhappy, even after he had achieved his desire?

It wasn't meant to go like this.

You weren't meant to leave them. It was his fault though, so maybe it was best to let you go.

Kafka’s piercing gaze bored into the side of Blade's head as she watched the gears turning inside his head. She took a short breath before heading towards the door. She was scared of losing you, and angry that they hadn’t noticed your absence until now. There was no time for emotions such as anger. You were missing. They had to find you.

Blade stood in the center of your room, now entirely alone. The metal of your necklace dug into his skin as he clutched onto it for dear life, his eyes falling to the pictures on your bed. You seemed so happy before. So did Kafka and Silver Wolf- he was happy too, though he was reluctant to admit it out loud. He had broken the loving family you had brought together. A strange family, but a family nonetheless. 

Blade kept staring. He wished he could go out looking for you. Unfortunately, wishes are not reality.

Blade would not search for you that day. He would be chained to where he stood, fighting with himself internally as time slipped by quietly. You could have died already. And he was just standing there, staring.

No, he would not look for you.

Because the truth cannot be denied, nor masked with excuses- in the end, Blade is a cruel man.

One who cannot be changed by anything.

[nqmonarch]

Blade in Yandere Fanfics

Content Warning: Talk about Yanderes, so mentions of violence against reader and kidnapping

The fanfics I read of Blade are few and far between for a few reasons. The biggest one being a lot of the story I read is yandere themed and man why do they always make Blade out to be such a violent guy, like yes he is, but I feel like there's more to explore?? Violent yandere Blade will always have a place in the world but where is the desperate Blade who has genuinely no idea of why he likes his partner so much but knows he needs to do anything to get them to stay with him.

Desperate Yandere Blade who at first threatens you to stay with him but can't handle the way you recoil in fear. He has no idea why one reaction from you has him in shambles but he doesn't want that to happen again. Like he is beyond terrified of you leaving him for any reason. Sure, he could break your legs but what if you end up hating him so much you find a way to die or end up becoming a shell of your former self.

You relieve his mara because whenever he's with you, you're all he can think about. You have no ties to his past. And when he's with you he forgets all about what happened on the Xianzhou. You wouldn't leave him in pain alone, would you? You're not that cruel. He probably wouldn't guilt trip you, instead that comes from Kafka. After all you just made her job a lot easier, and it's in the script you should stay with Blade, if you want the best ending for all of the universe.

Yandere Blade is fucking desperate. Sometimes his emotions get the best of him, he may squeeze onto you a bit too tight and cause bruises but after seeing them that panic stricken fear returns to him and he feels afraid to even touch you. He doesn't want to scare you, he's just a scary guy.

It'd be like having a big dog, except this big dog is a wanted Stellaron Hunter and a lot more deadly. He would tank hits for you if your life was ever in danger. He'll live no matter what, you on the other hand? You're fragile. Would overstress about you getting hurt and watch you just to make sure you don't, an added benefit is whenever he sees you he feels more calm.

But if you end up trying to be with someone else? Yeah, good luck. When you first mention someone else he acts indifferent, maybe he'll watch you a bit more, make sure this person is really safe. But the moment it continues he'll be trying to bargain to get you back to spending all of your time with him, if needed he'd probably beg albeit flustered, and if none of that works he'll just hug you and won't let go.

No, this isn't kidnapping he's just keeping you still. That is until Kafka comes, and she's nice enough to make sure nothing gets in the way of your and Blade's relationship!

And why is he doing all of this?

Because he loves you, of course.

Kafka is an enabler lmao

I saw one small post on how Blade might be desperate once and I was like this is my life now. I can get behind desperate Blade. Then I ended up accidentally making the post about Yandere Blade because Yandere content is about all I consume (didn't plan to write any though tbh). Oopsies?

[amourluvie]

Eyeless jack x reader headcanons

Since the last ej post got nice recognition, I thought why not write more stuff for our fav demon ? >< . . .

- first of all he's a very introverted and quiet person who hates loud people and loud noises + blasting music is a big no no aswell since he has sensitive ahh ears, so please try to be calm around him

- he loves learning new stuff about you and of course spending time with you everyday , oh you got a new hyperfixation? Talk to him for hours about it, oh you got a new favourite colour/food? He's writing that down in his diary as we speak, u want to watch a new movie? Hes now interested in it aswell and will watch it with you.

- his love language is physical touch and gifting, he loves feeling ur touch in every way possible,like holding ur hands,hugging you, holding you by waist, and loves kisses aswell ofc !!

- can get jealous easily mainly due to the fact he's really insecure and doesn't want to lose you.

- sometimes he thinks if u really love him, considering he's a cannibalistic monster. Pls reassure him that you love him lots and will stay him until the day u die.

- also please don't get weirded out whenever u see him eating raw human flesh, or him bringing you kidneys.

- if u gift him organs , specially kidneys he will literally melt.

- also pls read to him , such as old literature because he loves it and metamorphosis by Franz Kafka is his fav book,he relates to it lots.

- another thing that will make him melt will u calling him pretty boy , he has 0 self confidence so calling him that really boosts his confidence

- he's a monster but he's YOUR monster too right?

꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡

[bunnibaby-love]

i luv all your fics sm ^_^ i get so excited whenever i see u post hehe can you do blade wif a bunny reader too ? :]

🐰 Blade x Bunny!Reader 🐰

♡ female reader + nn little girl n bun + sub reader + manipulation + oral m receive

Blade thirst of death makes him act recklessly on every situation and making him always bruise and hurt and neither Kafka or Silver Wolf wanted to patch it anyways, Kafka found you, a bunny somewhere that will be Bladie's little nurse

"Bladie omg so many blood oh oh my aeons.." you pout and your ears drooping while treating his wounds for the first time "You have to be very careful!"

Blade should be mad but instead he is amuse. Your frown is cute he poke your nose "Shut up now" hiding the ghost of his smirk, he is carefully enjoying watching you. You're just as cute as those cat cakes the trailblazer has!

That leads to Blade just wanted to get more bruise to see your concern teary expression. He can't even kill a stray bunny that is getting on his way because it's just like you.

"You have a poison on your manhood?! That would hurt so much!" you gasped when he told you his concern on your little clinic you even costumize with those cute stuffs

"Bunnies can heal with their tongue and mouth...you would help me right little girl?" Againt with your confuse expression oh he have to make you believe him "I saw on a book...surely you won't disappoint? if you do maybe i'll finally die"

"I...i'll do it!!" Blade loves how expressive you are. Is it also because that is something he lacks? he pulls down his pants and reveal his long veiny manhood

"It's so swollen!" silly bunny. Blade just smirk of course there's no poison there he's just horny "I just have to lick?" you ask still amaze with it

"You have to suck my whole cock on your little mouth bunny" he held your chin "go on little girl"

Althought you are still confuse you did your very best! You tried to take it whole but you just cough and choke and had to pull out but Blade show a grumpy expression "Sorry it must hurt..." you instantly continues to take him more and more

"Fuck bunny....so tiny.." he held both of your ears and control your paced. It's hurting you! you look at his with teary eyes but he just grin "feels good bun...swallow kay?"

Thick ropes of white liquid flows out your mouth that you forcefully swallow when Blade enters his two thick fingers "that's a good bunny"

"Mhn you okay now...?" you ask and wipes your tears

'I don't think so...i need to release more you can help me more right?" the invite is tempting you and your insides feels wet and hot! "just be my cock whore you slutty bunny"

ps : thanku lovely n lovelots to u too !! 💕

[lookforsomeoneelse]

Can we get some more sahsrau? Does not have to be a long one-shot, I just really like how you write! And I would love to hear more of your ideas!

Maybe about how specific characters show that they interact with the reader? For example, how they act before reader is in HSR, and once reader is in HSR? As for characters, you can choose who ever you want! You're the one writing it after all.

As for writing, you asked if writing gets better if you do it often? And well, for me what works is writing, doesn't matter if it not good, just enjoy yourself. Plus reading books, fanfics, or whatever you like once again, and this time try to pay attention to how things are worded in your favorite books/fanfics.

Anyway, take good care of yourself cause there are always people who care about you, and stay hydrated!

Alright! First ask. Only gonna be headcanons because I’m a procrastinator. Reader discretion is advised, because I have no idea what to put for the content warning. I think it only goes for Kafka though.

Herta

I touched on her briefly in another post, but know that despite her arrogance and apathy towards most, she’s just as down bad for you as the rest of the cast.

She gives her absolute best when it comes to you.

Also in Simulated Universe, your word is absolute law. If the simulated you decides that the project is a bad idea or something, Herta will absolutely stop, regardless of the resources she put into its creation.

I imagine her to be with you the exact opposite of how she treats everybody else- with the utmost respect and attention.

Once you actually do make it inside of the game for whatever reason, Herta is absolutely ecstatic.

When you’re actually around her though…

Let’s say that her IQ drops by a significant amount.

Combined with her intense faith, this can lead to a lot of misunderstandings and false assumptions.

You can legit just be sitting down or something and herta will be in the background like “WRITE THAT DOWN, WRITE THAT DOWN!”

Misha

Born as a reincarnation(?) of the Watchmaker, I’m not actually going to discuss him. Rather, I wanna talk about who he originally was, and (technically) his creation.

Mikhail Char Legwork, aka The Watchmaker, was also a devout follower of yours.

All throughout his travels on the Express, he never lost sight of your mercy, which allowed him to survive on his long journeys.

Thanks to this, you end up as a “character” in the Clockie cartoon, who the writers show as a mysterious figure who gave Clockie his powers.

There’s also a LOT of propaganda surrounding you in basically every piece of media, (in the game) including Clockie.

Speaking of media…

Robin

ah yes, the shining popstar of the universe herself, Robin!

Robin’s no doubt another faithful follower of yours.

She believes that her amazing voice and innate talent came from you (it actually came from Chevy, holy cow is she a good singer) and she gives many praises to you for that.

In fact, do you want to know what her best selling single is?

It’s not Sway to my Beat in Cosmos, nor Hope is The Thing with Feathers, and it’s not even If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking!

It’s actually a song- a hymn, rather, composed and sung specifically just for you.

Ask basically anybody who is a fan of hers and I can bet that they know the lyrics by heart and can absolutely sing it backwards.

Make it into their reality, and you’ll get free access to front seats to any and all of her concerts. And when I say “front seat” I mean you get a whole ass throne specifically built for your comfort.

She will die of joy if you ask her for an autograph. Keep that in mind.

Kafka

last but most certainly not least, it’s our mom, but more commonly known as Kafka, the charismatic and beautiful Stellaron Hunter with a big bounty and big boobies. (I’m f#cking ashamed of myself for writing that)

She’s the one character on this list that we haven’t been given a backstory for- except some voice lines, but they really don’t tell us anything.

As such, the only real thing I can tell you is that she’s faithful to you, just like everyone else.

It becomes a completely different song and dance if you come to them, though.

She’s essentially a glorified wine aunt, and she will treat you out for whatever you wish.

She’s also very very defensive of you.

That guy over looks stole a glance? Dead next morning.

That girl goes even within 50 meters of you without your permission? Her fate is sealed.

Kafka is by no means like this to you, however.

She’s probably gonna lick your shoes free of charge.

(A/N: I, uh, really like asks. please send more. you probably won’t get anything good, but least you’ll get what you requested.)

[narugen-moved]

something i love the idea of is hoshina feeling Something when he stops being the one to pave the way but have someone else (no10) do it for him... but by the end of the fight, where he lets no10 take the killing strike - he realizes its always been in his nature to take a step back and push the person behind him forward

[impactedfates]

Love In Different Shapes - Various HSR Girls x GN! Reader

★ Summary: Your lover loves to show that they love you, however some of their methods to do so, aren't something you'd expect - i.e HSR Girls and their love languages (but it's not your typical love language)

☆ Characters Included (Separate): Jingliu, Topaz, Serval, Qingque, Asta, Tingyun, Kafka

★ Genre/Trope: Romantic + Crack (?)

☆ Warnings: None

★ Extra: Just had random thoughts about HSR characters love language and decided to write about what theirs is in my opinion - just not your typical ones. // Not proof read - we die like Himeko // There's a HSR Boy version as well! Right here.

Y'know those cats who come to your doorstep and drop a dead bird in front of your door? That's her...but it's an actual person.

As Jingliu is well...dead herself (I think) and I believe currently in the Shackling Prison which probably means very small times where she can see you if she can convince Jing Yuan, the fastest gift she can give you...is well...y e a h.

If you do ask her to stop, she will...not getting rid of people, just bringing you the bleeding results. She'd probably steal something from them as I doubt many people would want business from a criminal/dead person.

She writes notes and gives you gifts...but she gets Numby to send them to you.

It's not that Topaz is shy about giving you gifts, she's more then happy to give you a kiss on the lips if she wants too, but for some reason. To her, if Numby is the one giving the gifts and letters from her to you. She thinks it's more affectionate.

You don't know why, neither does Numby. But you both find it cute, even so. Getting the little daily visits from number with a letter in it's mouth and the page having a small bite mark from where Numby was nomming on, it's sweet of her. As much as this was of showing affection is strange to you.

Serval.

WARNING, DO NOT DATE SERVAL IF YOU RATHER BE UNKNOWN/j

But honestly. Serval gives the vibe to call you up on stage during one of her songs, you have an automatic V.I.P ticket and there's a seat/area dedicated to you, that you are the only one allowed in.

She writes love songs with you in it as well and will announce it during her concerts.

Serval: "THIS ONE GOES TO MY PERFECT, AMAZING AND CARING PARTNER. MY WORLD, MY LIGHT, MY EVERYTHING NI-"

Someone in the crowd: "GET ON WITH IT"

(Dw, she won't do this if you're uncomfortable...she'll still write songs about you though)

Lazing with you. Qingque shows her love by being lazy around you. Y'know how some animals show that they trust you be like being more near you? (Or something like that)

That's her, having a boss(?) like Fu Xuan who scolds her for slacking and others also doing the some. Her lazing around you is her way of showing she trusts you. It doesn't even matter if you'll tattle. She will laze around you or even WITH you.

Asta loves giving you gifts!...Like an entire planet-

Her love language is gift giving, but none of her gifts are small. There big in terms of how much it costs her, but it probably won't even make a DENT in her income. Avoid saying what you want, because she will buy it for you, even if it means buying thousands upon thousands.

You may need a special room to put all the gifts she buys you...which she also bought...

Point is, her love language is gift giving...extreme version.

Ever sob when you find out you don't have enough money for something? Tingyuns got you covered! Every single thing that you need shall be handed to you on a silver platter...in terms of coupons and discounts-

She probably has thousands of coupons saved up that she'll give you, and you always get discounts from her store for just being her lover. Every anniversary she gets you a gift you really want, she's sweet like that...but expect a book full of coupons from shops you frequent.

Coat.

.

.

.

.

.

Anyways, Kafka loves buying and getting coats as we know. And we also know she buys you a bunch of coats and styles you in all of them. (Separately, don't worry)

She can come home from a mission and have 3 bags full of coats for you to try on.

YOU can come back from a mission and she'll still have bags full of coats.

Your closet is so full of the article of clothing she oh so loves to buy all because she thinks it'll look cute on you...she probably lets you wear some of hers as well if you get far enough in the relationship.

Hehehe. I spent a good bit rambling with my friend about certain HSR characters "unusual" love language and decided to write one! It's not proof read as most of the time, my rambles aren't proof read. But as always, if I messed some spelling or grammar up. Inform me and I'll fix it :D

[yuesya]

Even despite it currently being nighttime, it’s not dark at all. Glowing streetlights and neon signs merge together to form a kaleidoscopic whirl of riotous colors illuminating the world around them, all polished streets and sleek roads. If one strains and listens, there’s a soft whirring in the background, the sound of cars speeding along the winding roads of the highway.

Firefly takes a moment to gaze outwards and appreciate the sight. After all, once the Stellaron Hunters have finished their work on Jepella, there’s no doubt that this scene would be replaced by fire and smoke instead. This city would be overcome with fear and terror, in wake of the chaos that would follow the fall of the Jepella Brotherhood.

But nonetheless, the Stellaron Hunters would continue moving forward.

Firefly withdraws her gaze from their current surroundings, returning her attention to the companions currently sitting together with her in the car. Blade is in the driver’s seat, eyes fixed on the road while both hands rest upon the steering wheel. Shiki is sitting in the back, hands folded neatly in her lap and eerily still. Blue eyes stare forward evenly without even once turning to take in their surroundings –even though Firefly knows for a fact that this is Shiki’s first time setting foot in Jepella.

… It would be nice if Silver Wolf was here, but unfortunately the younger girl is otherwise occupied in this operation. Blade and Shiki are the least talkative members of the Stellaron Hunters, and while this isn’t a mark against them or anything… it does make for a long car ride.

Firefly doesn’t consider herself to be a chatty, socially-canny conversationalist. Compared with the two sitting in the car with her, though, she might as well be a social butterfly.

“I never knew that you could drive before,” Firefly says to Blade, casting about for idle conversation to fill the long stretch of silence.

Neither of the two other Stellaron Hunters so much as even twitch, but at least Blade responds with a small grunt of assent in acknowledgment of her words.

Silence reigns inside the car once more.

“… Do you have a driver’s license?”

“Yes.”

Progress! He’s responding with words now. “That’s surprising.”

“Why?” Blade slants a brief glance at her, before returning his attention to the road. “Because this is Jepella, the City of Sins?”

“Mm, no, it’s nothing.” Firefly wonders when he had the time to go and get a driver’s license, considering that the Stellaron Hunters were all wanted criminals. The thought of Blade showing up and being tested on his practical driving skills by a proctor is amusing… even though in all likelihood, it was probably Silver Wolf who’d made all the necessary preparations and arrangements. Pity. “You haven’t slept in twenty system hours, though. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I’m fine. I won’t die from this.” Firefly is aware that Blade is effectively immortal, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t accrue mental fatigue just as any other person would. He doesn’t seem like he’s tired, but it’s hard to get a proper read on him.

… Shiki, too.

Kafka is the only one who can tell what the two of them are thinking, but Kafka is in the Jepella Palace right now.

Firefly cranes her neck and turns around in her seat to glance at the other girl in the car, “How are you feeling, Shiki?”

“… Alright.”

Inwardly, Firefly cheers. When they’d first picked Shiki up from her barren homeworld, the girl had been… not very responsive at all, to say the least. Questions and attempts at making conversation were met with silence more often than not. And despite her physical presence on the ship, oftentimes it almost felt as if her mind was elsewhere.

Elio is very careful with her, and Shiki’s role on most of the Stellaron Hunters’ missions tends to be observation more often than not. It has to do with her abilities –her eyes and what she can see with them, Firefly knows. Abyssal blue eyes, ringed with a red-violet, prismatic glow. Very beautiful, and also very deadly.

… There’s a faint sheen to them that’s almost glittery, too, like stardust. Firefly doesn’t think that this shimmer used to be there in the beginning, but it’s a little hard to say for certain.

She should probably ask Kafka or Elio about it, once this mission is over.

[crguang]

each other’s destiny

As you travel with the Astral Express, you need to focus on the future ahead of you and let go of the curiosity you feel towards your past. That can’t happen if you keep running back to Kafka.

trailblazer!reader, some tiny angst, 2.4k words

A/N: if i had kafka’s number i’d send her the most unserious memes i have on my phone every 2 hours. this is kinda messily written i apologize

Guilt nags at you as you set up your phone against the pillows on your bed, making sure that you can be seen in the front facing camera.

You sit against the headboard, knees to your chest and arms resting over them. The line rings once, twice, and just when you think you’ll have to call a second time, she answers with a small smile. As always, you can only see a blank wall past her figure, nothing that alludes to where she is tonight. She’s sitting at a desk with a cheek in the palm of her hand and a yellowish light source highlighting her clean skin. Where you would feel a sense of curiosity and peace at the sight of her, like an invisible balm soothing your open wounds, a sense of guilt now lingers in your gut. You don’t know the exact moment it settled there, just that it follows you like an ominous shadow with each day spent on the Astral Express after the Xianzhou Luofu’s Stellaron crisis.

“What’s the face for?” Kafka’s raspy voice is clear through the phone, a new discomfort mixing with a deep familiarity that you still don’t fully understand.

You rest your chin on your forearm. You can’t be bothered to reciprocate her easy expression with the heaviness of your chest. You stare into the screen as you think of a way to express yourself clearly. When you take too long to answer, Kafka tilts her head in question.

“I don’t think… we should keep doing this,” you say softly.

Kafka’s small smile doesn’t waver, but something in you believes that she wasn’t expecting your reply.

“Where’s that coming from?”

It’s strange. This sluggishness in your bones, the sadness that envelops you at the idea of distancing yourself from her, shouldn’t be there. You don’t know her. You hold little recollection of who she is and who you were, there is only a thread of familiarity curled around your heart that tugs whenever she’s near. In all the ways that matter, she is nothing— a faint trace of the person you might’ve been, the lingering ghost of a past you can’t remember. You’ve chosen to only look forward the moment you stepped on the Express, where everything that guided you towards the trailblaze becomes irrelevant. You shouldn’t care for what you were because you are a Nameless living in a continuous present; the journey and who you share it with mold you, not a past you can’t seem to shake. You want to be like March, full of life and anticipation for the next adventure, instead you are haunted by her and the incomprehensible tug of your heartstrings.

Your weekly video calls started the second week of you traveling with the Astral Express. You didn’t know about the Stellaron Hunters then, what they did and why, though the latter still eludes you. You only knew the feeling in your gut when Kafka smiled, like you enjoyed the sight many times before. She revealed nothing to you but you couldn’t sense any malice in her interest, so you answered her calls each time your phone rang. You know more, now, about the Nameless and the trailblaze; about what the Stellaron Hunters are prepared to do to achieve their goals; about the galaxy you’re traveling around. You are no longer ignorant and you can’t pretend to be just to indulge the mortal urge to cling to past memories. You feel you are betraying your companions with the… fondness for her that resides deep within your cells. You can’t bear the guilt anymore.

“The Stellaron Hunters…” you pause, then correct yourself, “you don’t care about hurting others. The Luofu’s casualties could have been avoided.”

“People will always have to die for a cause. People have died to elevate ideals since the beginning of humanity. Besides, we made sure you guys saved the day, didn’t we?”

“That’s not right.”

Kafka chuckles and the condescension of it makes your lips purse. She observes you for some time, though you can’t discern what hides behind her practiced appearance.

“You’re even starting to sound like them,” she says, only a touch amused, “seems like you’re fitting in fine with the Express crew.”

“I sound like them because I’m a Nameless.”

“Right.”

She doesn’t add anything else. You let the gentle whirring of the train’s engine calm the growing frustration in your stomach. It’s unfair how Kafka gets to know who you are— were— and you don’t. You don’t enjoy the subtle ways in which she reminds you of that fact either, it makes you feel ignorant, like a toddler who knows little of the world and needs someone to hold their hand. She holds the answers to your questions and chooses to keep them close to her chest for a reason you can’t figure out. You wish you didn’t care, that you could embark on a new planet with your friends and not think about what she’s doing at the same moment. A part of you, smaller, wishes she wasn’t the first face you saw when you woke up on the space station.

“I have something to ask,” your arms wrap around your propped up shins as you speak, “answer me honestly.”

“I can’t promise you I will.”

“Why do you entertain me?”

“…Entertain you,” Kafka repeats to herself, eyes narrowing slightly in thought.

“Why reach out to me and set up these calls every week? We don’t say anything of substance during them, why waste your time with something so pointless?”

“You don’t like talking to me?”

“That’s not what I…” Your features harden when you catch her teasing smile. You ignore her attempt at redirection and continue, “Just answer me.”

Kafka shrugs a shoulder, tucking a strand of hair falling into her face back behind her ear. “I don’t find our talks pointless.”

You don’t know why her reply annoys you, maybe because it doesn’t make sense; you mostly discuss how you’re doing and the new things you’ve discovered on your journey. Kafka asks mundane questions and you answer them in the quiet of your room, softly retelling your week as she watches you grow drowsy in the process. Then you wonder about her and after a few vague half-truths, she masterfully redirects the conversation back to you. By then, you’re too tired to comment on it. Apart from helping you fall asleep when you usually would stay awake until early in the morning, your weekly calls amount to nothing. How can they hold any kind of significance for her? You know why you answer your phone. Despite it all, you can’t help the faint sense of comfort that comes with her presence and in a world of new sensations, it feels nice to have something like that to come back to even if you have no idea what it stems from. You can’t wrap your head around why she keeps calling, however. You suppose it’s not far-fetched to think she might feel the same way you do, since she’s told you about how she was the one who supposedly taught you everything you know. Still, she doesn’t seem like the type to dwell on the past.

A slow, tired sigh escapes you as you cross your legs and run a hand over your face to alleviate the fatigue of your body. Kafka watches you through the screen, her lips a thin line. You rest your elbows on your thighs and cup your cheeks, staring head at the wall filled with pictures March took of Belobog and the Luofu. You photobombed most of them so she let you take them and helped you put them up in pretty patterns with colorful string lights she had laying around in her closet.

“I’m sick of being kept in the dark,” you mutter.

“I understand. Elio makes sure I only know what I need to, and I have to do the same for you.”

“You don’t get to decide what I need or don’t need to know.”

“…Maybe not.” Kafka drums her fingers on the desk. “Your journey matters more than the past, it’s unchangeable and therefore irrelevant. Focus on where you are now and the rest will fade away.”

“So everyone keeps saying. Do I not deserve to know who I am?”

A tinge of irritation laces your words and judging by Kafka’s pause, she’s noticed.

“I don’t want the past to fade away,” you continue, straightening up in a sudden surge of passion, “I want to know. I want to know why you—”

You cut yourself off and she raises a brow.

“Why I what?”

“Doesn’t our past shape our present?” You ask instead. “How can I just go on not knowing who I was before?”

Kafka decides not to acknowledge your diversion. She shakes her head. “Your case is an exceptional one. There’s nothing for you before the Stellaron because you are an artificial body created for that purpose only.”

“So, that’s it? I’m a… a robot, and it starts there.”

“No. You are human in all the ways that matter and extraordinary in every other aspect. That’s when it starts.”

You hear the conviction in her statement. You don’t feel the relief you thought would come with the truth. You can’t put it into words but you feel almost empty, like parts of you are missing and in their place stands a shapeless void. You didn’t get to grow up, to have parents or a family, to learn how to walk, talk, read— you are alive and yet you haven’t truly lived. If people are made up of experiences, you are not a full person yet. It’s uncomfortable to think about and does nothing to alleviate the heaviness of your limbs.

There’s a bulge in your throat that doesn’t go away after you’ve swallowed twice. You stare at the marine blue sheets of your bed for some time, lost in thought. Kafka reclines on her chair, a strange expression on her face. She’s looking at her screen but her mind seems elsewhere as well. A moment passes in silence before you find the strength to speak up about something you’ve wondered since you awoke on Herta’s space station.

“If there was nothing prior to hosting the Stellaron,” you start slowly, “then where does my connection with you come from?”

“I told you on the Luofu that I was in charge of teaching you before I put the Stellaron in your body.”

“Is that why you care?”

Kafka smirks a beat too late for it to be natural. “What makes you think I care?”

“Because I care. Even if I don’t understand why.”

She stares at you through the phone and you meet her gaze without flinching. She doesn’t allow herself to be quiet for too long but you think you’ve put her in a somewhat difficult position. You doubt anything that comes out of her mouth will be truthful.

“Well,” Kafka says with a dismissive shrug, “we did spend some time together, that also explains why you remember me.”

“So we were close.”

She takes a while to reply, looking at something past her screen. Her voice is low, thoughtful, underlined with a sort of wistfulness, “Mmm… You used to follow me around like a puppy, always trailing behind me and asking all sorts of questions.”

She doesn’t seem amused as she speaks even though the words are meant to tease you. You think maybe she misses that. Kafka smiles, but it’s an empty one.

“You’ve grown since then.”

There it is again, that lump stuck in your throat, the feeling that you’re missing something important and that your lack of memories creates a glass wall between the two of you. You can’t understand the look in Kafka’s eyes and the softer edge to her features, if only for the instant she uttered these words. You don’t know why you’re sad when you initiated this goodbye or why it feels like the end of something unexpected, a period of time that belongs to her and someone else. You are unable to remember, but it’s not the case for your body; your shoulders drop and you fight the urge to rub your throat so its muscles relax a little. Somehow, you know that you will only miss her at first, on the days when everything is new and you can’t rely on the familiarity of her voice.

“…It’s late,” you manage to say, and Kafka hums in agreement, gaze never leaving yours.

There’s a sudden knock at your door, the noise making you tense and turn towards it in suspicion until a voice sounds from beyond, slightly muffled yet entirely recognizable. Himeko softly calls your name from outside your bedroom and asks if you’re still awake.

“Just a minute, Himeko!”

Your head snaps back to your phone, alert and aware that she can’t know who you’re in a call with. Kafka observes the conflict on your face with a humorless chuckle.

“Looks like you’ve got company.”

“I need to go,” you reach for the device, pausing for a few seconds as your thumb hovers over the hang up button. “I won’t be calling next week.”

“…I know. We’ll see each other again.”

You hang up with a trembling sigh. You throw the phone on your bed and stand up to answer the door, rubbing your tired eyes. Himeko stands on the other side, a teacup in hand. She’s in a long nightgown, a robe over her shoulders, and she smiles when she sees you; the kind of smile that unconsciously makes your lips mimic hers. Her pretty hair is loose and her eyes are bare of any makeup, exposing the faint crinkles at their corners. The sight of her reminds you of the journey you’re on and of the reliable companions that walk beside you. You feel better than you did a moment before.

“I know you have trouble sleeping and I saw the light coming from under the door, so I made you some tea in case you needed it,” she says, handing you the cup, and you take it with gratitude blooming inside your chest.

“Oh,” you exhale, not knowing what to say. “Thank you. Why are you still up?”

“I may have overdone it with caffeine today,” Himeko laughs quietly. “I’ll be awake for a while. We can talk until you doze off if you’d like. You’ll need all your energy for tomorrow.”

You stand there, fingers gripping the tiny cup as you stare at her. You feel seen under her casual attention and though it isn’t familiarity that washes over you, it’s a comfort nonetheless. You nod, stepping aside to let Himeko in, and the easy way in which she makes herself comfortable in the armchair near your bed makes you light.