#I'm starting to have a feeling I just want more fire...

[not-neverland06]

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚍’𝚜 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

A/N: Oh. My. God. I am so sorry this got delayed so many times. This is such an important chapter to me, it plays such a pivotal role in "Y/N's" development that I kept scrapping it and starting over. I didn't want to give this to you guys until it was perfect, and I think I've gotten about as close as I can. I'm predicting one more story chapter and then possibly one short epilogue.

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: Arthur's gone and you're own once more. The familiar ache of grief lingers as it always does. But the clouds must always part for light. Through death and grief, you still manage to find yourself.

It always seems to be cold at night, now that Arthur’s no longer there to keep you warm. You curl into yourself, knees tucked to your chest as you smother your face in the thin pillow on your cot. You press the fabric tightly to your mouth, trying to keep the sounds of your crying out of the other’s dreams. 

There should be no surprise that you’re on your own again. Beating a dead horse doesn’t make it move, but somehow, you keep finding yourself tangled in the reins, dragged along by the memory of men who’ve long since let go. You wonder, sometimes, if your life is one bet of many between god and the devil, seeing which one of them can get you to break first.  What you could have done to draw their ire, you don’t know, but you’re not sure how much more pain and loss you can handle. Your lifetime is filled with the empty graves of those you’ll never see again. Now, Arthur’s is just another headstone to add to your endless cemetery.

You worry that you’re too loud on the harder nights. But no one’s ever complained that they hear you crying and you figure they’re all probably too busy mourning in their own way to notice the way you do. 

Abigail is practically an empty shell of herself without John. As much as they fought she doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself. Especially knowing he’s in jail, destined for the noose, and there is nothing she can do about it. 

Karen’s not doing much better. With Sean in jail alongside John, she’s fallen to the drink. She’s adopted a fatalist view that, without Dutch, you are all doomed to die at the hands of the Pinkertons. Sometimes, looking at the depressing faces of those around you, you think she might be right.

Stuck out in the middle of nowhere, with only two rotting cabins between what was left of the gang, you are a far cry from the fearsome outlaws you once were. This is no longer the Van der Linde gang. Now, you’re barely any better than a group of desperate wanderers. 

You know sleep won’t come to you tonight, you’ve been tossing and turning for hours. Any longer and you’ll wake everyone else up. Wiping roughly at your eyes, you slip a blanket around your shoulders and head toward the creaking door of the cabin. You try to keep in mind that one wrong step and the groaning wood below you will alert everyone. 

Barefoot, you walk along the muddied planks of the porch and head towards what’s left of tonight’s fire. It’s not ever-burning as it once was. The gang takes care to ensure if anyone were to come looking for you all, you wouldn’t be such easy targets. 

You sink onto the log before the dying fire, with embers glowing faintly in the darkness. Sparks flicker and leap from the blackened wood, a futile effort to reignite the flame. Their struggle is in vain, though, there is no life left to kindle, no warmth to revive. The fire is gone. 

Light footsteps make their way towards you, but you keep your gaze steady on the flickering struggle before you. “I’m gettin’ real tired of this,” Sadie’s disappointed sigh is a familiar one as she comes to stand behind you. 

“Were you in town again?” You ask, ignoring the glare you feel boring into your back. She stares at you for a while longer before letting out a rough sigh and throwing herself down beside you. The log shifts slightly under her weight and you dip towards her. 

“I was,” she grumbles, something white balled up tightly in her fist. You turn towards her finally, eyes narrowed on the paper in her grasp. Her face is drawn tight, jaw set angrily as something vengeful burns within her gaze. 

“What is that?” You ask, tone inquisitive but not truly interested. Her eyes dart towards you before she shakes her head and tosses the paper to the dying fire. What’s left of it, licks eagerly at the paper, trying its damndest to burn brighter.

“Nothin’, don’t worry about it. Why can’t you sleep?” Her switch in conversation is quick and far from subtle. Your head tilts slightly in curiosity, gaze switching between her and the paper that’s slowly curling up at the edges. She’s hiding something, it’s easy enough to tell from the way she refuses to meet your eyes. Besides, she’s snuck into town plenty of times, you’ve never seen her come back this riled up before. 

You jump to your feet and she startles at the quick move. “Don’t,” she snaps, snatching at your wrist as you rush by her and swipe the paper from the fire pit. Sadie gets to her feet, hand held out with an expectant look as she waits for you to give her back to paper. When you don’t comply immediately, she says your name, voice low and tense, a warning. 

Lips curling up slightly in challenge, you leap back as she lunges for you, holding the paper away from her. “What is it?” You tease, curiosity curling over the lingering ache from earlier. 

She snaps your name again and you flinch back in surprise, “I mean it, don’t look at the goddamn paper.” You’d only been joking with her, trying to focus on anything other than Arthur. Now, there’s a familiar churning feeling of dread as you look at your friend. She’s not angry at you, she’s angry at the thin sheet you’re holding. There’s something on here she doesn’t want you to see, not for her own sake, but for yours. 

Your breath quickens, heart dancing dangerously fast against your ribs as you finally look at what’s in your hand. She hisses your name but you stubbornly ignore her, frowning when you realize it’s a torn-out piece of a newspaper. It’s a smaller article from the local St. Denis paper stand, talking about a ferry being lost at sea. 

“Oh, god,” you whisper, hand coming up to cover your mouth as bile rushes up your throat. You bite down on your tongue until the taste of iron fills your mouth, holding back the nausea. “This is him, isn’t it?”

Sadie lets out a rough sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“You were just gonna hide this from me?” You nearly shout, taking one angry step towards her. Her brows turn down in guilt, mouth settling into a thin line as she shakes her head. “No? You weren’t?” You demand, tone rough with grief. “You were just going to wait until I put the pieces together myself?”

“Dammit, woman, you’re barely holding it together,” she barks out, snatching the paper from you once more. She turns her back on you, shredding it into pieces so small you’ll never be able to finish reading it. “I was going to wait until I didn’t think you were on the brink of completely fallin’ apart. Besides, it doesn’t say anything about the people on the ship, we don’t know what happened.”

“We never will!” The words tear out of you, a sharp, bitter exhale. A panicked smile twists your lips as you struggle to keep yourself upright. “Sadie, your husband is dead, you know that. You have your answer. I never will. I will never know what happened to him. And it doesn’t even matter because he left me!” Your voice cracks, a sob slipping free despite your best efforts to swallow it down. “I shouldn’t care about that goddamn bastard, but I do.” You turn away from her, shoulders caving in as you wipe roughly at the tears streaming down your cheeks. 

There’s a beat of silence behind you. You miss the way her face falls, her hardened exterior falling away just for a moment. She looks at you with something like understanding, pity more likely. She steps forward, her arms winding around your shoulders, trying to hold you steady through the pain. You struggle against her hold for a moment but she keeps her grip firm, forcing you to succumb to the small comfort. 

You sink into her embrace, breath hitching as the grief claws its way up your chest, relentless and unyielding. You can’t keep doing this. You aren’t made to endlessly love and lose, to watch pieces of yourself crumble with every goodbye. It feels as though there should be nothing left of you- no bleeding heart, no raw edges. And yet, every time you think you’ve reached your limit, life finds a way to push you further. 

But life, pain, and the ugly company of grief never stops or goes away, despite how much you wish they would. 

A few weeks later

Physical pains and ailments heal. There may be scars left behind, but for the most part, you can be wholly healed. Anguish of the mind and heart is a different beast to conquer altogether. That sort of pain ebbs and flows. It doesn’t slip away neatly. It comes and goes, sneaking upon you when you least wish for it. 

Distractions can dull the edge. The looming danger of death and the law from any of your multitude of enemies helps. But more often than not, the weight remains a leaden burden on your shoulders and a gnawing ache deep in your chest.

For now, the pain has numbed into something dull that makes you clench your teeth and hiss. But if you force yourself, you can find steady ground to stand on. You can keep yourself calm and sated, if you focus yourself on the anger rather than the grief. 

Anger comes easier than healing. It lashes out at the world and balms over the constant pain, if only for a little while. You find yourself getting into more and more fights around camp. The forgiveness of shared grief has its limits and you’ve been testing them for a while. You’re curious how far you can push before you’re forced out by the rest of them. 

Sadie’s efforts of finding a new place for you all to hide don’t go unappreciated. But this cabin feels like a cage, no matter how far you’ve come from the mud and chaos of the old abandoned camp.  The tight space presses against you, the silence weighs heavy against your chest and constricts around you tightly. You hear the faint rustle of the trees in the wind, but it’s a vacuous cavern inside. 

The memories of Shady Belle plague you like a ghost. The brief moments when you could almost forget everything pressing down, but now, that place, too, is just another reminder of what’s been lost. Memories of nights spent with Arthur or sitting outside and listening to Javier play his guitar are tainted with loss and rage. 

Sadie and Charles provide you brief comfort, but it will never be enough to make this place feel like home. You try to shake thoughts of Arthur, what the gang once was, and everything that came before. You’ve been running for so long, from your past and who you once were, but it feels like you’re being dragged right back. 

Unable to handle the suffocating silence any longer, you take Arthur’s bow out from the chest under your cot. You grab a handful of arrows and jump to your feet. Throwing the door of the cabin open, you stride past everyone lingering outside. A few people give you odd looks, but they don’t stop you from leaving. You’ve become a dark cloud around camp, your presence heavy and actions unpredictable. It’s almost a relief for them when you’re gone. 

Lady’s just as restless as you are, except the dumb beast doesn’t understand that neither of them are coming back. Charles doesn’t know what happened to Diablo or the other horses when he fled St. Denis and you’re not interested in looking for them. She’ll just have to live with the pain, same as you. 

“Let’s go,” you mutter, swinging onto her saddle and leading her out of camp. It’s as if a weight slips from your shoulder the further you get from camp. The tight grip constricting around your chest loosens and for the first time in days, you can draw a full breath as the world opens before you. 

The thick groves of trees thin and give way to sprawling plains of grass and wildflowers that stretch endlessly. Steering Lady off the trail, you ride her hard and fast, determined to put as much distance between yourself and those suffocating cabins. Dirt kicks up under her hooves, flying up behind you as she pushes herself to the limit. 

The world around you blurs into streaks of green and gold as memories and grief slip away from you. You lean forward over Lady’s neck, urging her to go faster even as she huffs beneath you. You’re racing the wind, chasing after a dream that’s been lost to you. The air lashes at your face, the sting sharp and cold. Your eyes burn and you tell yourself it’s the wind, even as wet streaks drip down your cheeks.

Bright beams of sunlight streak across the ground, illuminating the path forward. Morning dew glistening under the light, transforms the earth into a field of stars beneath your boots. You draw in a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill your lungs, and tighten your legs around Lady’s sides, signaling her to slow. Her chest heaves beneath you, each breath a puff of steam in the cold air. You can feel her desire to keep running, that shared, desperate need to escape clawing at both of you. 

But she’s exhausted, and no matter how much you’d like to keep going, you can’t push her until she collapses. You’re tethered, whether you like it or not, you’re always going to be pulled back to camp. It’s a cage and a haven. Though you hate the confinement, deep down you know survival outside of it might be beyond you. You don’t trust yourself not to wither in the wilderness alone. 

The sound of water rushing draws your attention and you turn towards a green hill rousing in the distance. Guiding Lady toward it, you crest the incline and slip off her saddle, letting her graze.

Below, a river carves through the land. Its rushing currents are strong enough to carry something away with no hope of return. You step closer to the edge, peering down as the sunlight dances on the water’s surface. It runs like liquid gold, unnaturally beautiful, almost hypnotic, like the siren call of a sailor’s doom. 

A herd of deer drift alongside the river, their presence serene and almost make the idea of simply drifting away, peaceful. Your foot inches closer to the edge, slipping on the wet grass, and for a split second, the earth feels like it’s tilting forward.  

“You don’t usually ride out this far.” 

The voice snaps you back, and you gasp, spinning around. Charles stands behind you, one hand on Taima’s saddle, watching you with a calm but expectant expression. 

“I can’t stand being there,” you say, moving toward Lady. Your hands fumble with her saddlebag, needing something to occupy them. His eyes flick briefly to the river, then back to you, his gaze sharp and knowing. 

“You’re not the only one.” He strolls to the edge and whistles softly.  “Far drop.” 

You keep your hands busy, pretending to rummage through your belongings. “I’m a good swimmer,” you tell him, voice flat. 

“Not that good.” His tone is clipped, a warning wove into his words.  

You let out a sharp breath and finally turn to face him. “What do you want, Charles?”

He shrugs, resting one hand on his belt as his dark eyes assess you. “Thought you might want some company.” He pauses, his voice lowering. “Or, at least someone to keep you from doing something stupid.”

You wince, knowing how it must have looked. You’re hurt and desperate, but you’re no fool. The river might be pretty, but you’re not looking to drown yourself in it. “It wasn’t anything like that,” you insist, and Charles gives you a sharp, assessing look. “Charles,” you snap, exhaling in frustration.  “Honestly. I just,” you take in a slow breath, shaking your head, eyes downcast. “I need a break.”

“Alright,” he says simply. “We’ll take one together.” He walks back to the cliff’s edge, dropping down to sit with his legs dangling over the side. He glances over his shoulder and motions you to join him. 

Your fists clench at your sides as you take slow, reluctant steps toward him. The dew on the grass seeps into your pants as you sit beside him, hands folded in your lap. Out of the corner of his eyes, you catch his profile, calm, steady, and scarred. 

The aftermath of St. Denis lingers on his face. A fresh scar cuts along his jawline, a reminder of how close he came to joining the others who didn’t make it. Yet, with some of them gone, he seems more at ease. Charles never agreed with Dutch’s grandiose visions, and though he and Arthur had a bond, it’s clear the gang’s collapse has freed him from some invisible yoke. He wears his hair in a braid lately, speaking with nearby tribes and helping them when he’s not in camp. 

If it wasn’t for some odd honor-bound obligation he’s got to you and a few others in camp, you don’t doubt that he’d be riding free by now. Still, he stays with you, and selfishly, you’re glad for it. 

A gunshot cracks through the quiet, echoing among the hills. Birds take flight from the treetops as a hunting group crashes through the grove below. They circle around the herd of deer and let their bullets fly wild. Their hounds snap at the flanks of the animals, jaws clamping around the soft throats of the doe. 

Charles scoffs, shaking his head in disgust. “You don’t kill the does,” he mutters angrily. “Just the bucks. These men... they have no respect for the laws of nature.”

You let out a sardonic huff of laughter, gesturing toward the chaos below.  “Welcome to the future of our country,” Your gaze drifts toward the horizon, where smoke from St. Denis factories smudges the sky. Even this far out, civilization stretches its claws, unstoppable. “The west is dying, Charles. The time of outlaws, of freedom, is being shackled and destroyed.”

You turn to face him, meeting the same burning anger in his eyes that’s been smoldering in your own for weeks. It’s the first time you’ve seen that fire in him so clearly- the shared, silent rage, you’ve both been trying to suppress. “Our time is over,” you tell him, voice low with finality. 

His eyes narrow, jaw tight with defiance. For a moment, he says nothing, but then he rises to his feet, his movements purposeful. “Maybe,” he says, his voice steady, “but not today.”

Without another word, he strides toward Taima, tightening the saddle and checking the reins with precision. “What’re you doin?” You call after him, brows knitting together in confusion. 

He gestures toward the hunters below, his tone sharp. “You want to do something stupid. Fine. But take it out on someone who deserves it, not yourself.” 

His words hit like a slap, and before you know it, he’s leading Taima down the hill. 

You linger in the sharp sting of what he said only for a moment. Jumping to your feet, you rush to Lady, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you mount her. With a kick of your heels, you follow Charles down the path toward the hunters, your rage finally finding a target. 

For the first time in a long while, the weight around your chest lightens. You might not be able to fix the world, but you can make sure someone pays for tearing it apart. And as you ride beside Charles, you remember why he’s still here. He’s not just keeping you alive, he’s giving you something to live for.

Sitting inside the cabin, the smell of venison drifts toward you. After the incident with the hunting party, you and Charles salvaged what you could of the herd. Neither of you liked the idea of anything going to waste. Some materials were given to the local tribe, and the rest have been feeding the camp for days now. 

Last night, you’d scoured the woods for herbs and other ingredients and discreetly left them on Pearson’s cooking table. You were growing desperate for a flavor other than plain meat. Judging by the faint smell of mint wafting through the air, it seems he finally took the hint. 

Propped against your flimsy pillow, you run your fingers along the worn leather of the journal in your lap. For weeks, you’ve toyed with the idea of opening it, of seeing the world through Arthur’s eyes. 

Here, in the rare serenity of a quiet camp, you finally give in. The journal is as you would expect, sketches, details of some of the more pivotal moments for the gang. Every once in a while you’ll find a sketch of someone and a brutally honest recollection of how Arthur thought of them. Some of them are less flattering than you would have thought, you’re almost worried for how he might have seen you. 

You make it through his entries about Blackwater, the sun setting lower in the horizon as the light from the window gets dimmer. Outside, voices grow louder as people gather around the fire for dinner. You force your eyes to stay on the page, blocking out their drifting voices. 

His entries after the mountains are almost amusing. He’s clearly frustrated about something, though, he skirts around directly addressing what it is. Only a few times are you directly mentioned, for the most part, he avoids writing about you. But you catch glimpses of yourself hiding in the pages. A half-finished sketch of your hand holding his, the beginnings of your face abandoned before he can finish. 

There’s an entry a few weeks after you acquired Lady. A sketch of her and Diablo grazing together, their noses nearly touching as they crane their necks towards the grass. Surrounding the drawings are small notes about herbs and foliage he’d collected on his hunting trips. Among those sketches, there’s a small blurb about the horses.  

Diablo seems to be taking a liking to Lady, odd pair, I think. 

An odd pair, you suppose there’s not a better way to put it. Something that never should have worked, a devil and a lady, yet it still clawed and fought to find its way. In the end, though, one of them was always going to be left behind. You can’t help but wish it hadn’t been you.

A rough sigh escapes you, and you flip past the next few pages. Then, you stop. A familiar pair of eyes stare back at you. 

You’ve changed so much since this journey began. Your skin is weathered, your once-pristine hair is now more often than not dirtied and knotted from the wind. Your body has grown leaner, stronger, shaped by the relentless movement and harsh diet. The woman in the red dress from St Denis was already a stranger, someone you couldn’t recognize. 

Even from Arthur’s view, you still don’t know her. The general shape of your face remains. You have the same slope to your nose, your jaw still tilts the same way. But your eyes are so different. He drew them with fire, with life, with a fight you had once thought yourself incapable of. 

You feel invulnerable as you stare down at her, as though her fire can be passed so easily to you. The feeling flickers and fades, replaced with the same familiar ache you’ve grown used to. 

You can’t make sense of it, how he could have seen you so kindly, and yet still walked away. 

“Got that look in your eye again,” Sadie’s voice cuts through the stillness, startling you. She leans against the doorway, one hand lingering on the revolver strapped to her hip. 

“What look?” You mutter, glaring down at the journal. It feels too raw, too personal to keep reading. Torturing yourself with thoughts of him isn’t getting you anywhere. He’s gone. You’ve faced death all your life- mourn, move on. That’s how it’s meant to go.  

“Angry,” Sadie tells you, voice soft and knowing. “Like how I looked after I lost Jake. You ain’t look like that when you lost your husband.”

You shrug, fingers tracing the lines of your face through Arthur’s eyes. “Arthur was nothing like my husband. He leaves something to be mourned,” you tell her simply. She watches you a moment longer, but when you get to your feet, her expression sharpens. 

“Going somewhere?”

“Out,” you reply curly, the cabin walls closing in around you. You’re growing tired of the suffocating way Charles and Sadie hover as if they’re both waiting for you to break again. That moment on the cliff, your grief by the fire, it was all a lapse of judgment, nothing more. You’ve fought too damn hard for your freedom just to throw it away because the men you love always leave you behind. 

“Need some compan-”

“No,” you snap, cutting her off. Your tone leaves no room for argument. 

You step outside, the balmy evening air clinging to your skin as you head toward Lady. You don’t know where you’re going, but that’s fine. You just know you need to figure out how to live for yourself. And you can start by riding. 

The moon hangs heavy in the sky, its light threading through the plains like silver threads. Clouds roll overhead, slowly swallowing the stars. You smell rain in the air, a promise of a storm tomorrow. You’re sure you’ll be holed up in the cabins tomorrow while it pours. 

For now, you have the trail and the night for yourself. You let Lady take the lead, her slow gait a soothing rhythm as you settle into the ride. Normally, you don’t risk staying away from camp overnight. There are too many lawmen and bounty hunters looking to make a name for themselves. Tonight, though, you make an exception. 

A loud whoop cuts through the stillness, yanking you from your thoughts. You pull Lady to a halt, eyes roaming the dark horizon. A lone rider crests the hill, silhouetted against the moonlight, his path set toward something hidden around the bend.

“Must be my lucky day!” He hollers, voice manic. There’s a flash, the sharp crack of a gunshot splitting the quiet, and a scream follows. 

You curse under your breath, driving your heels into Lady’s sides. The two of you round the bend in time to see the rider poking his head into a finely adorned carriage. The driver slumps lifelessly over the reins, blood pooling beneath him.

Grimacing, you draw back into the shadows of the hill. “Alright, ladies first,” the bandit taunts. He reaches into the carriage, his groping hand causing a shrill shriek before he’s grabbing a woman and tossing her into the dirt. You grit your teeth, tucking yourself further out of sight, hoping to go unnoticed.

The glint of his revolver catches the moonlight as he climbs into the carriage. From inside, the muffled sounds of arguing give way to fists striking flesh. The woman lies with her face obscured by her hands. She flinches and sobs with each punch landed and the noises make Lady shift uneasily. Her hooves snap against the dried brambles of a dying bush. 

“Damn horse,” you mutter, eyes clenched shut as the noises momentarily pause. 

“Who’s there?” He calls out. It’s barely a moment before his patience snaps and he fires a warning shot into the air. “You don’t want me to come find you,” he warns, voice low and tight. 

Knocking the brim of your hat down, you let out a resigned sigh and turn the corner, forcing yourself into the open. “Howdy,” you call out, trying to mimic the casual confidence Arthur used to have in moments like these. Bandits, outlaws- they all recognize each other through the ease with which they face situations like this. You only hope you’re a good enough liar. “Just passin’ through, friend, no need for problems.” 

For a moment, his gun dips to his side. Then, his face is twisting into a wide, erratic grin. “Nice trail isn’t it? Perfect for catching big fish,” he says, swinging the revolver toward the woman’s husband. She whimpers loudly and grasps at the slumped-over man. You can hear his shallow, wet breaths from where you sit. 

“There ain’t no need to shoot ‘em,” you tell him, voice steady despite the tension coiling around you. “There’s a fence not far from here, you’ll get more money selling that carriage than you will killin’ them.”

He crackles and it makes your skin crawl. “Where’s the fun in that?” He sneers, cocking the hammer back as he points the gun at the woman. 

This man laughs, taking far more pleasure in tormenting others than in the act of robbery itself. He’s malicious, sadistic—the very picture of a perfect outlaw. For a fleeting moment, he sees something in you, thinks you might be cut from the same ruthless cloth. But he’s wrong, and there’s something exhilarating about stepping beyond the mold your family and husband once shaped for you, discovering who you can be on your own terms.

Your hand drifts to the revolver on your side, slowly easing it out of your holster. His head snaps toward the sound of you pulling the hammer back, but it’s too late. From your spot atop Lady, all you see is blood splatter as his body drops to the floor. The woman screaming lets you know you hit your mark near perfect. 

Opposed to the man now bleeding out in the dirt beneath you, there’s no thrill in the kill, no satisfaction. Just the cold thrum of your nerves, the slight tremor in your hands as you slide off Lady and stride toward the couple. 

With the bandit dead, the woman’s husband seems to make a miraculous recovery. He springs up, blood still streaming along his chin. “Thank God for you, sir-”

He stops short when you tip your hat back. Perhaps his ears were still ringing from one too many blows, dulling his senses, or maybe he was simply too pigheaded to grasp the fact that he’d just been rescued by a woman. You level him with an unimpressed glare. “Not a problem,” you say flatly

“Oh, good heavens,” the woman gasps, whispering your name with a startling familiarity. You freeze, eyes wide, as your blood runs cold. 

Elsbeth Morton. 

You’d know the voice anywhere. Of all the people you could have run into, she’s the last you’d ever want to see. Your tormenter through finishing school. She used to cut your hair in your sleep, stain your dress, and make your life a misery for sport. 

Her sneer hasn’t changed, though the lines around her mouth suggest her spite has only deepened. “Well,” she drawls, voice laced with faux pity, “I see nothing much has changed for you. Still scrounging out an existence in the dirt, are we?”

Your jaw tightens. “Elsbeth,” you grit out. “You’re welcome.”

She laughs, short and derisive in a way that makes you bristle. “For what? Subjecting me to this humiliating spectacle? Honestly, I think I preferred the company of the bandit. At least he had the decency to get on with it instead of pretending to play the hero.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay calm, but she doesn’t stop. “It’s almost tragic,” she continues, brushing the dirt from her skirts as if trying to erase the sight of you. “You’re still so desperate for approval, aren’t you? Trying to prove you’re something you’re not. What’s next? A big speech about how strong and independent you are?” She snickers, tugging her husband to his feet. “We both know better.”

Your voice comes out low and steady. “You’ve always been good at pretending you’re better than everyone else, Elsbeth.” God hates you, you’re sure of it. If he doesn't, why is she here? Dragging you back to everything you loathed about your former self—the vapid, dependent, hollow shell of a woman who had once believed her worth was defined by the man standing beside her.

“Pretending?” she snaps, narrowing her eyes. “Darling, I don’t need to pretend. You can wear all the trousers you want, but we both know you’re still the same timid little girl, hiding behind a man and hoping no one notices she doesn’t belong.”

Her words cut, but they don’t sting the way they once would have. Instead, they ignite something, a fire born not of anger, but clarity. 

You’re not the man bleeding out in the dirt, killing for the joy of it. But you aren’t the polished girl she remembers, desperate for a man’s approval. You’re something else entirely. Unbound by society, free to choose your own path, you’re a beast of your own creation. And if there is one thing you’ve learned about yourself- you love putting your past in the grave. 

You let out a slow breath, your hand drifting toward your revolver. “Elsbeth,” you call, voice sharp enough to cut through her self-satisfied grin.

She stops, turning back with an arched brow. “What now?” she huffs. “Come to beg for my acceptance? Or just another pathetic attempt to-”

“That husband of mine,” you interrupt, voice cool as steel, “was good for one thing.” You draw your revolver, the barrel leveling with her chest. “Teaching me to shoot.”

Her eyes widen, her sneer faltering as her hand instinctively flies to her necklace.

Your lips curl into a wicked smile. “Now, how about you hand over those pretty jewels?”

She scoffs, but you see the way her grin falters, the slight fear in her eyes. You shoot her a wink and take a step closer, reveling in how she stumbles back. 

“And while we’re at it,” you continue, voice tightening into a sharp, mocking edge, “why don’t you hand over those earrings too?” You laugh, waving your gun recklessly as you shrug with a faux playfulness. “Actually, what the hell, I think I’ll take that dress—seeing as you’ve gone and gotten it all muddy anyway.” You take a step forward, your gaze narrowing on her trembling hands. “Hell, even that hair ribbon. You always did like rubbing your finery in everyone’s face, Elsbeth. Let’s see how you like losing it.”

She stares at you, disbelief flickering in her wide eyes, her hands frozen in hesitation. “You can’t be serious,” she whispers.

“Oh, I’m dead,” you pull back the hammer of your gun with a slow, menacing click. The sound hangs in the air like a threat. Your eyes narrow, and a dangerous smile tugs at your lips. “Serious.”

She moves hesitantly, every motion weighted with reluctance, disbelief etched across her face. You, the woman she used to torment and cow with a simple look, now dismantling her composure piece by piece. The power shift is palpable, and for the first time in your life, you watch Elsbeth Morton falter.

“Go’n now,” you say, your voice cutting through her trembling silence. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Her husband flinches as she begins to remove her jewelry, her fingers trembling as she unfastens each piece. You hold out your hand, and she hesitates, her face flushed with humiliation as she steps forward to place them carefully in your palm, one by one, like a chastened child.

He glances at you, then at her, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disgust as if the sight of her submitting is too much for him to stomach.

Your eyes narrow on him, your hand tightening slightly around the revolver. The smug smile creeping onto your lips says it all—you’ll deal with him next.

You understand, finally, that you’re no longer the woman shaped by the men in your life. The husband who failed you, the outlaw who abandoned you, the society that tried to break you. People will learn that you aren’t afraid to take what’s yours anymore, because for the first time, you’re carving your own path, and God help anyone who tries to stand in your way.

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047

@m1stea @pokiona @fleouris @soupvender00 @warmsideofthepillow03

@whimsiwitchy

[myboykillme]

This is a fanfiction of Ray from Binary Star Hero, what would have happened if you counties teasing him... It is a smut so minors do not interact or whatever they say. I hope you enjoy?

Smut under the cut, 18+

Maybe inviting Ray to sleep in bed with me was a bad idea, the feel of his hard body against mine is distracting. I can feel his growing hardness twitching in his pants, the thin pajamas I'm wearing doing nothing to stop the feel of him. Despite his earlier warning, I decided to back into him again, this time without saying a word except for a tiny whimper.

Embarrassment flooded my veins at my reaction, has it been so long since I had any sex? Suddenly, I felt a grip on my hips and a breath on my neck from a deep chuckle. "Your thoughts are loud, Star. Don't say I didn't warn you..." I couldn't see him but it made it even more exciting.

A gasp could be heard from me as he ground his dick into me with a groan, then he started kissing my neck softly, teasing me. My pulse quickened from his teasing, I became more and more aware of the wetness that was gathering in between my thighs. "Ray, I didn't mean to-" He flipped me onto my back, his eyes having a slight ruby tint, like he was still holding himself back.”You knew exactly what you were doing…”. I felt myself getting lost in his eyes, I brushed some loose hairs out of his face and kissed him.

It was more of a kiss of lust than love, he dominated the kiss while feeling me up like I would disappear if he wasn't touching me. I combed my hands through the strands of his golden hair, giving it a harsh tug, pulling himself towards me. Deeper, I needed to feel his honeyed tongue against mine. He whined into the kiss from the pain, and that's when I heard the sound of fabric ripping. I pulled away in shock, and then he smirked, liking my reaction to his want. "I'll buy you a new one..." I nodded shyly, shrugging the tattered garment off of me, eagerly unclipping my bra.

Ray sucked a sharp breath in, then he started attacking my chest with kisses. I giggled at his softness, that's when his eyes darkened, and he bit down on my neck. Letting out a louder moan, the pain going straight to my core. That's when I uttered the words I never thought I would, "More~". He smirked against my neck as he started sucking on the skin, making me whine and whimper. Trailing down my upper body with increasing fervor, my lower half felt on fire.

Suddenly, I became aware of his lack of nakedness in contrast to mine, knowing he could read my mind. I just tugged at the end of it, gesturing for him to take it off. He quickly took it off, tossing it somewhere in the room. The scars littered across his upper body made him look like a mosaic painting. I could feel the blood rushing to my face, I traced the muscles on him absentmindedly before realizing he was watching me also with awe. "You look breathtaking, Ray..." I said with a hushed breath, feeling his eyes looking into my very soul. "Star, you have no idea what you do to me."

My hero traced my hips with his fingers, before slowly easing me out of my pants and undergarments. Goosebumps came all over my body from the intensity of his gaze, he seemed like he would swallow me whole if he let him. Feeling his hands brush over my sensitive areas made me move closer to him to gain some friction.

Finally, I felt little circles on my clit, I threw my head back on a loud whine of his name. "I'm going to ruin your body, make it all mine, little Star" He pinched my clit making me whine in pain, almost in no time his finger was deep inside of me. "You're such a greedy little thing, you suck me in as a whole" Easily sticking another finger in, my eyes rolled back to my head. He relentlessly attacked my G-spot while circling in my clit. "Oh fuck! RAY!" I cried out his name from his attacks of pleasure, grasping his arm, feeling hazy burning spasms of mind-blowing sensations flooding my body.

My orgasm was coming quickly, I wasn't even sure what was going on, all I could focus on was Ray's piercing eyes as he drove me crazy. His eyes looked like he wanted to devour me as a whole, a divine offering. He kept eye contact as he gave my nipples little licks, then sucks. God how can someone look so sexy? Thanks to his never stopping stimulation, my built-up pleasure came to a mind-numbing finale, my climax took my breath away as my juices came out of me.

I screamed his name when I came, my eyes rolling back into my head. Slowly but surely, the pace of his fingers came to a halt as I came down from my high. A whine left my throat when he removed his long fingers from my cunt. Embarrassment washed over me at my body's reaction, but Ray looked feral…

Ray licked his fingers clean, savoring the taste of my arousal without a hint of revulsion. His eyes gleamed with hunger as he took in my flushed and panting form. In a flash, he unbuckled his belt and shucked off his pants and boxers, revealing his impressive erection. I couldn't help but stare in awe at the sight of his muscular physique glistening with sweat, his cock throbbing and leaking precum.

Catching my gaze, Ray smirked and tilted my chin with his fingers, forcing me to meet his eyes. "My eyes are up here, Star," he teased, chuckling at my flustered expression. I playfully swatted at his arm, still blushing at being caught ogling him so brazenly.

Without warning, Ray grabbed my legs and placed them on his shoulders, the new position leaving me open and exposed. I gasped as I felt the blunt head of his cock nudging against my entrance, already slick and ready from my earlier orgasm. He was so large, I could feel myself stretching to accommodate his size as he slowly pushed forward, inch by delicious inch.

"Oh fuck," Ray groaned, his voice strained with pleasure as he finally hilted inside me. I let out a high-pitched whine, my walls fluttering around his thick length. "You were made for me, my Star," he murmured, his hips starting to move in a slow, hard rhythm. "I hope you like it rough..." Before I could even process his words, Ray began to increase his pace, each powerful thrust sending sparks of pleasure-pain shooting through my sensitive body.

The combination of sensations, the lingering ache from my climax, and the new stimulation of his cock driving into me had tears springing to my eyes. I could only cling to him desperately, my nails raking down his back as I surrendered to the overwhelming onslaught of feeling. My screams and moans echoed off the walls, a symphony of lust and ecstasy.

He began thrusting harder, his hips slapping against mine with each powerful stroke. Somehow he never even faltered once, he seemed motivated to make my cunt remember the shape of him. "Fuck, you're so tight, like you were made for me" Ray grunted, his voice steady but clouded with lust and admiration. "I knew you'd feel amazing, but this... shit, you're perfect."

He captured my mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue plundering, claiming every inch of me. Suddenly I felt a hand wrap around my throat, adding to the hazy sensations. I whimpered into his mouth, the feeling of him around me all-consuming.

He hooked my legs higher, which allowed him to go even deeper, and I screamed as he hit a spot inside me that made stars explode behind my eyelids. My pussy clenched around him like a vice, greedily trying to keep him inside, to hold him hostage in my heat.

I cried out, my voice breaking on a sob of ecstasy. "Harder, Ray! Fuck me harder!" I was lost to the pleasure, drowning in the sensation of being so filled, so utterly claimed. I wanted to be ruined, wanted him to mark me, to make it so that I would never forget this moment, this feeling.

He gave me a confident smile as he continued ravishing my insides, knowing I'm getting closer and closer. “Such a pretty slut, taking me so well” I felt my front hit the mattress as he flipped me with an unnatural speed, then immediately slammed back into me. My voice broke as I let out another scream at the sudden intrusion, which I welcomed despite his dick almost reaching too deep.

My insides burned with the flames of passion, igniting the coil in my lower stomach that was about to burst. I gripped the sheet now like an animal, his larger frame fucking me into the mattress vigorously. In that moment we only let out grunts and moans, knowing we were losing ourselves in this instinctual rhythm called sex. The grip on my hips were bruising as he just kept going harder and harder, I felt myself cry into the sheets in ecstasy as the hot flood of my orgasm hit me.

He never once faltered as he fucked me through my orgasm, but it started to feel to much. “Oh god Ray, please, please, please…” Mindless words spilled out of my mouth, from the sheer overstimulation from his thrusts. “You wanted this��� my Star. I'm going to ruin you” Despite his words after a few moments he spilled his seed inside me, making me fully his. When he pulled out of me I could feel his cum dripping out of me onto the sheet, I collapsed with a satisfied smile.

“You know if this hero business doesn't work out, you could just be a pornstar.” I watched his reaction to this statement, he looked a bit baffled but confident lighting his cigarette, taking a long drag. “Alright, but only if we partner up.” I gasped in surprise, not expecting his possessiveness to let him respond like that. “You would let others see me?” Ray chuckled in response, inhaling more smoke before he spoke. “I will buy them all off of you, don't even think for a second otherwise, pornstar”

[littlemissmanga]

Unwind With Me

Pairing: Crosshair x (gn)Reader

W/C: 538

Summary: You're at your limit with your job. But luckily, Crosshair is an unlikely source of comfort.

Warnings: Some talk of work stress, but the focus is on the very indulgent comfort.

A/N: HELLO TUMBLR!!

It has been a long time since I posted, but I am finally writing again. Thank you for your patience. And I'll ask for a little more. I'm writing again, but I am taking things slow to avoid overextending myself.

So I figure I'd start with a warm, comforting Crosshair fic. This was what I fixated on to get over my own work stress this week. So I hope you find it helpful, too!

It's been a long day.

No, it's been a long year.

Just a million different moments spread across each day that began to stockpile in the pit of your stomach. Stress building like bile until the thought of another rotation made you nauseous.

"Just quit."

The voice may have been rough, the tone dismissive. But you knew Crosshair only said it out of concern.

You could see it in the way he hovered. Hear it in the gruff clearing of his throat as he refilled your water again and again.

He didn't like problems he couldn't solve. And your toxic job was top of that list.

"You know why I can't, Cross," you sigh as you settle further into the couch. Your apartment was small, but you do what you can to make it cozy. Usually. Lately you've slacked when tidying up. Another worry for the pile.

"Excuses."

He tosses the towel used to dry the dishes from dinner before joining you. Without asking, he pulls you from your nest into his lap as he moves to take your seat.

The moment his arms lock around you, your body melts. Not fully. Not enough to fix anything. But just enough to take the edge of.

Somehow, that is sweeter than anything else you could imagine right now.

"No, it's reality. I pull in a decent paycheck and I'll never be fired. Those are invaluable benefits. Besides, every job has office politics and dumbasses in charge."

He huffs and tucks your head under his chin, curling around you. You're so glad he finally got over himself and let you get close. Crosshair was so touch starved his craving for physical reassurance was higher than yours.

Thank goodness, too. It was selfish, but knowing he needed you even when you felt like such a failure gives you strength.

"You're hurting yourself," he rasps.

"I can take it." Your voice doesn't waiver, but a current of uncertainty shocks you. You can ... but it leaves you so tired. You feel like a shell of yourself most days.

"You're strong. But you don't gotta prove it."

You feel his lips brush against your hair. He liked burying his face into you. It made you smile every time. You return the favor, shifting in his arms to press into his chest.

"Nothing to do about it now. Just ..." You trail off and press a kiss to his collarbone. "Can we just say like this until I feel better?"

He doesn't answer you. Crosshair only reaches over to grab the remote for the holoprojector.

He puts on your latest favorite drama. Something to get swept away watching. Something perfectly distracting to occupy your mind as the soft warmth of Crosshair's body against your own relaxed your muscles.

Eventually, you feel yourself begin to drift off. You resist, unwilling to sacrifice any time with Cross before he has to leave again. But you can't fight the overwhelm of comfort he brings you. And he wouldn't want you to.

You're lucky enough to feel his cool lips press against your forehead before sleep claims you.

No matter what you have to face tomorrow, you know his warmth will be there to welcome you home after.

Taglist: @dreamie411 @wings-and-beskar @starrylothcat @sev-on-kamino @wolffegirlsunite

@secondaryrealm @idontgetanysleep @multi-fan-dom-madness @dystopicjumpsuit @sinfulsalutations

@sunshinesdaydream @wizardofrozz @anxiouspineapple99 @dhawerdaverd @mythical_illustrator

Check out my masterlist here.

[coraniaid]

Standard disclaimer that I understand themes and motifs and I'm aware that the reasons characters do things in fiction is because the writers have decided it will drive the plot, rather than because of those fictional characters (who do not in reality exist) being inherently "good" or "bad" people.

Additional disclaimer that I don't think there's any one single reason that Faith ends up spiralling after Finch's death and siding with the Mayor, that the necessary dominoes started falling years before Faith was even Called as a Slayer and that by the time Faith had lost her first Watcher and been living out of a motel room for months and been tricked and betrayed by Gwendolyn Post and accidentally killed a man there probably wasn't anything anyone could have done to stop her from doing all of that.

One more disclaimer: I do not, despite what the rest of this post (or any other posts I may have made or fanfiction I may have written) might suggest, think that Faith's story in Buffy the Vampire Slayer would be somehow improved if she hadn't had the character arc she has in canon. I do not think it would improve the story if Faith hadn't ended up making a series of terrible and short-sided and selfish decisions which ended up making not only her own life much worse but also many other peoples' lives worse [and a couple of other peoples' lives much shorter]. I do not think Faith's fall and eventual redemption is a problem that somehow needs to be fixed.

That being said though ...

Why on Earth, when Giles realizes Faith is lying to him about who really killed Allan Finch, does he decide the best course of action is (1) to pretend to believe her, and (2) make a big show of acting as though Buffy's in a lot of trouble before sending Faith back home to her motel room? In Consequences itself the only excuse he gives is that he "needed [Faith] to think he was on her side" but .. well,

First, newsflash, Rupert: you are meant to be on her side. That is the job you signed up for and are still insisting on doing despite nominally being fired!; and furthermore

This only explains why he pretends to believe Faith. Why does he make a show of throwing the book at Buffy, something that can only help to convince Faith she was right to lie? ("If this is what he's saying to Buffy, his first Slayer and obvious favorite, imagine what he'd be saying if he knew it was me?")

Why not pretend to believe Faith, reassure her she did the right thing by coming to tell him -- and that he's sure she only did it because she knew Buffy needed help -- and then give her the speech he later gives Buffy about how "this isn't the first time something like this has happened" and he "has no plans to involve [the Council]"?

Why not tell Faith that this isn't the first time Buffy herself has been accused of killing a man and questioned by the police? Why not tell her that he himself once accidentally killed a man, and that's something that he and 'Buffy' now have in common? If possible, he could even take Buffy aside and explain the truth to her, and ask her to play along with the charade for now?

Surely if Faith sees that Giles isn't prepared to throw Buffy under a bus, and that he acknowledges that "the Slayer is on the front side of a nightly war" and that "accidents happen", and he's more interested in making sure both of them get the help they need than meting out punishment, she's much more likely to actually admit the truth eventually?

Even if she doesn't want to do that, why not just ask Faith to "sit in" while he talks to Buffy about what "she" did and asks her to explain how she was feeling, so that Faith is in earshot for any advice or suggestions he makes about what to do next? Giles says out loud in this conversation with Buffy that he's worried about "scaring [Faith] off", so ... why is that exactly what he decides to do?

Again, note the disclaimers above: I know the real answer to my question is "that isn't the story the writers wanted to tell". It is necessary for the short-term twist that Faith seems to have convinced Giles to blame Buffy for Finch's death, and for the longer term plot that Giles be unable (or unwilling) to offer Faith any help. I understand that.

But -- in-universe, pretending Giles and Buffy and Faith are all real people -- is there an explanation for this that doesn't boil down to "Giles is a pretty lousy Watcher and should probably not be acting in a mentor role at all?". Why has he decided that the number one priority before anything else must be for Faith to admit it was her, and not the girl Giles can't help but see as a daughter, who killed Finch, when he accepts that -- whoever did it -- it was entirely accidental? If he's not telling the Council anyway and nobody is going to be sent away to be punished, what is the actual issue here?

"There is no help for her until she admits what happened." Okay, Giles, but why have you decided to unilaterally invent this rule, and why do you never use it for anyone else? We saw way back in Faith, Hope & Trick that Giles has no problem at all lying to people who aren't willing to admit the truth in order to help them. If, that is, by "people" we mean "Buffy Summers". Why can't you do the same thing for a girl you don't personally like?

[quintessenceofdust88]

fuck it friday

(it hasn't been Friday for me for the last 25 minutes but let's pretend I'm on time, can we? thank youu also I gotta be honest that I almost didn't post this one cause imposter syndrome hit hard, but then my angel @laundryandtaxesworld helped me out and I decided to give it a shot. So thank you Viaaa, ily ♥♥♥) Tagged by @911coded and @unhingedangstaddict, thank you lovelies! ♥ This is the beginning of priest Tommy AU, sooo I hope you'll like it! I'm excited to see where it goes:

Buck loves LA, but he hates days like this one, where it feels like the whole city is a greenhouse. The heat is sticky and humid, clinging to his skin and making him sweat in his uniform. All he wants is a cold shower and a minute to breathe. And, okay, maybe a cold beer wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Instead, he’s crammed in the back of the 118 fire engine, heading to San Pedro for one more call. And Buck loves his job, he does, but they’ve been on back-to-back calls for the last three hours. 

“Christ, I feel like I’m gonna melt” He whines, and Eddie smirks at him from the front seat (he had won rock paper scissors fair and square, the bastard), pushing his sunglasses up his nose. His Texas-raised ass does just fine with this horrible weather, and Buck hates him for it. 

“Yeah? Better start working hard to go to heaven then, cause you would not survive the eternal flames” He quips. Buck crosses his arms, too stubborn to let himself be influenced by the collective chuckle.

“I already work hard to go to heaven, don’t I? Saving lives and stuff” He says with a shrug, absolutely not pouting, thank you very much.. 

“I don’t know, Buckaroo.” Chim says, a playful smirk on his face. “When was the last time you set foot in a church? That’s supposed to be a big deal for the guy upstairs”

“Well, if that’s the dealbreaker, we’re all screwed” Hen says dryly, even though she doesn’t look particularly concerned. “Except for Cap, of course.”

Bobby chuckles from the driver’s seat, taking a turn to the right and stopping the truck. 

“Well, here’s your chance to make up for it” He says, and Buck comes down from the engine to find out they pulled up to a small stone-walled church. 

The doors are open, and most people are outside or at the very back of the church, chatting agitatedly, their eyes widened as most people when they find themselves witnesses to a 911-level emergency. It’s a sizable crowd, he thinks, considering it’s a Wednesday afternoon (which, as far as his Episcopalian-raised knowledge goes, is not a church day). 

As they rush up the church’s steps, he notices half of the crowd are the usual elderly ladies, but half of it are people around their 20s and 30s, and a few teens, which surprises Buck. They’re all whispering fiercely to each other and keep stealing glances inside the church. One of the ladies approaches them, relief clear in her eyes. 

“Oh, thank God you got here so fast!” She says, wringing her hands together. “It’s Mrs. Bellini, you see, she has low blood pressure, and this weather…”

“Ma’am” Bobby cuts her off as gently as possible. “Were you the one who called 911?”

“No, it was father Kinard.” She clarifies, leading them inside. “He’s already tended to her forehead, but he didn’t want to risk moving her until you arrived to check her situation.”

The church is relatively small, but the ceiling is high, and their footsteps echo against the walls. It’s a lot cooler inside, and Buck lets out an involuntary sigh of relief as they get out of the intense sunlight.

The woman leads them to one of the front pews, where they find another lady who’s sitting down, looking pale and sheepish. There's a white gaze pressed against her forehead, and a small red stain seems to have formed against it. Sitting by her side is a man dressed in white robes, a green-colored long scarf-looking thingy around his neck. 

He stands up when they approach, and Buck’s taken aback, because he’s ridiculously tall; a little taller than Buck, even, and that’s no easy feat. His features are sharp, a jawbone that could probably cut through glass, and he has a cleft on his chin (why did Buck notice that, he wonders? Is it weird to notice a priest has a cleft?). He’s looking at them with widened blue eyes that are filled with concern.

--

Np (like at all bc I know it's Saturday or almost SAturday for most of y'all) tagging @laundryandtaxesworld @bidisasterevankinard @typicalopposite @mmso-notlikethat @fairytalegonewronga03 @rosyhoneydew and whoever else would like to join!!

[cherrysurf]

lover boy gone good? | sakusa kiyoomi x f!reader

player!sakusa alert. Partially based off favour by avenoir

also not proofread wc;896

contains; fluff, fwb, msby sakusa, happy endings

Sakusa kiyoomi was the biggest player known to man. Everything about him is a red flag. his nice scented cologne, his messy yet neat curly hair, his clean shaved face, his height, his money that he has a little too much of. All of it was small warning signs that still drew you into him. How could you not? The smooth talker was good when he approached you at a msby jackals event. Maybe it was the red suit, or the champagne you had, but you know for sure his face and the look he gave you sold it.

That’s how you ended up becoming “friends” with this man who drove you crazy with his push and pull attitude, it left you in a whirlwind. A rich, glamorous whirlwind filled with fancy dinners, fast cars, even faster spending habits.

He’d fly you out when he was out of town and wanted to see his “favorite girl” then proceed to take you out to dinners and buy you various things as if it was nothing. Everything was conditional, you didn’t have to act like a stupid girl that thought she was the only one, you knew you were one of many girls he had on his roster.

One thing you did know for sure is that you really were his favorite, yes he’d take the others out or go and see them, but buy them things? fly them out? never. Only you had that privilege. He found you interesting. He liked the way you were around him and how you acted with his friends. He liked that you didn’t care about not being the only one.

“So what did i do to become sakusa’s favorite girl” you mockingly said as you sip on your wine, during the candle lit dinner he had set up.

“You speak to my soul, and you stay on my mind, since i met you.” he looked at you, almost observing your every move as if to catch an off guard reaction.

You two never really cared to show each other anything but surface level “love” so this was new. It intrigued you on his new found feelings.

“is that so…” you respond dryly, not wanting to give in just in case it was a set up. You refused to be the first to back down no. It had to be him.

“truth be told i’m still the realest one that you know, and i won’t do you know wrong.” a smirk grew across his face as he noticed the slight pink growing across your face.

The new found confidence in sakusa knowing that you felt the same only fueled the fire in his ego to continue, Sakusa was a player yes. He didn’t care for certain aspects in love because of his profession, but when you came into his life he found himself slowly falling for you in a deeper level than the surface, even after many small hints he threw at you, you still continued to act the same which one made him more eager to confess to you.

“I know you’re hearing all the wrong things, I can love you the right way.” he said slyly, reaching for your hand.

“I don’t know how much I can trust you right now.” You look down at the sudden contact trying to pull your hand away, until he grabs it back, not letting go.

“All the girls I've talked to have been cut off since a couple days before i planned this. I’m serious Yn.” He said letting go of your hand.

“Give some time to think about this ... .It's all new information for me right now.” You hold your hands together the same hand that he had just touched.

“I’ll wait. Just know I mean what I'm saying. You know I'm not one to lie about anything even from the start of our whole ordeal.” He spoke once again observing you looking just in case your face said something else than you were putting out.

Sakusa had always been an observer. It was his strong suit, it’s how he was able to tell the difference between real and fake. He hated liars too especially when it was so obvious, he thought liars were scum. Even as much of a player he was. Or now used to be. He never lied to any of the other girls. Especially not you.

He’d keep it straight forward If they wanted to believe that he’d pick them he’d not care because that was their delusion and not the reality of it all.

Life changed for the better, sakusa seemed to have more life in him than before he was actually official with you. It brought out a person you didn’t even know. The loving, warm, soft funny side of sakusa kiyoomi that you were unaware of existed when you had met him.

He himself was just as confused when he found himself more domesticated not going out unless forced and only if you came along, He found his house not so empty now that you were there.

He found mornings fun and bright instead of dark and gloomy. He found the sun to his moon.

gen taglist; @heartmaddie @ellsarchive @vertejay @massacremars @bakery-anon @pneumosia @na-i1

[ri-writes-if]

hi!, i wanted to say i just started reading this if, and i love it, i wasn't sure about it at first but it has captured me completely. Im curious about the demon forms, are some more powerful than others?, i chose the puppeteer, it just sounded so op to me, but i was thinking, is there a limit as to how much control it can exert on someone, is it tied to our will, strong willed demons could fight our influence off? like Selene for example. Could anyone of the main cast be susceptible to it?. Also, could the swarm eat other demons forms, what about a dragon?, imagine a swarm of cute butterflies just feasting on a dragon

Hi! I'm happy to hear you like it despite your first feelings 💛

They all have strengths and weaknesses, and all of them can be defeated through different methods. No one is unbeatable.

For example, demoneaters are big, so their hits are strong. But if they're facing against an enemy that is faster than they are, then they'll have trouble dodging their attacks because it's hard to move their large body quickly. Which means they'll get wounded, and if they get wounded, they'll become exhausted faster. At that point, they're not hard to take down. If there's more than one enemy like this against one demoneater, then it's even easier.

The Swarm? As long as you catch it in a trap and blast it to pieces, it's dead. I wrote about the demons' method for dealing with them here. Yes, the Swarm can eat anyone and anything, so they def can eat a dragon too (not that it would be easy for the Swarm; but it does have pretty good chances against a dragon because it's immune to fire).

The Puppeteers are similar. Their strength is in sneaky attacks, and if they don't have this advantage, then they're not as threatening. And you're correct; those who have stronger will can fight against the Puppeteer's control!

Vez, Os, Laz, or Selene would be able to fight against it and postpone their hearts, well, exploding, lol. Once the control was off, they would guard their minds against another attack, which means taking control over them at the moment would be harder or even impossible. Ash and Az wouldn't be able to shake off the control quickly enough to avoid death.

The Spiders? They're very sturdy, but their eyes are their weak spots. Magic works well against them too, but you have to be fast. Their legs are basically swords that can tear you apart and poison you, so you must be quicker and more agile than they are.

Satrix will probably outrun anyone, so they can do well against someone who has less stamina and is too large to move around quickly and evade their attacks. On the other hand, they're hard to hit, and if you move too close, they might poison you with their tail. The best way to deal with them is a sneaky attack.

AM is a different story, considering they can mimic other creatures. But they can be dealt with, too.

TLDR; Some of them can be stronger or weaker depending on who or what they're fighting.

Thank you for the question! 💛 I didn't expect the answer to be so long, but my brain went into the lore dump mode, lol

[wannabanauthor]

My Night ADHD Brain wants to write a check that my Day ADHD Brain can't cash

So on my drive home from work, I was thinking about that coworkers with benefits outline post for BuckTommy from a few days ago, and I think I actually want to write it.

It would be so much fun to see how they go from meeting to fucking in the span of a week. Especially with Tommy still being closeted and Buck not even knowing he's into men.

You know the hate sex would be so much fun to write. Well, not hate, more like "you're annoying as fuck" Tommy vs "you're wound too tight" Buck.

But before I even start, I need to look up a fire station layount/blueprint because I do not want to use the same sex locations as those in Sick With It by Mellow Yellow. I just need to find more creative places for them to fuck, if it even happens in the fire station.

It could be in a bar parking lot, or in a car, or even in the locker room. I could see Buck jacking Tommy off in the locker room in a race against time for the other crew's shift. Hell, he'd probably join Tommy in the showers for a quick blowjob while Tommy is struggling to keep quiet. Maybe they almost get caught hooking up on shift, so Tommy refuses to put out at work, so they have to make more of an effort to keep their little fling going.

Oooh, even better: introducing Eddie as their platonic friend well into their affair, and they get even more jealous of each other because they both like being Eddie's friend but also suspect the other of being interested in Eddie, but neither of them are.

Maybe at Eddie's House Warming Party, they have a minor spat, and they manage to sneak off and talk it out, and maybe Hen or Chimney walks in on them kissing.

And since both of them are talented and creative, I see their sex life as very varied and fun. Tommy loves muffling Buck's moans so they don't get caught, and Buck loves the thrill of almost getting caught. Maybe things change for them when they start hooking up primarily in each others' residences, and feelings kind of grow from there because it's much more intimate. Maybe they avoid beds for the longest, but eventually give in after a tiring shift, and they accidentally fall asleep together in Tommy's bed.

Neither one of them wants to admit how nice it is to wake up in bed next to each other, so they kind of start self-sabotaging to avoid thinking about how fond of each other they're becoming.

But Tommy can't help but become nicer to Buck during work, and they're often seen smiling at each other, talking, lauging, etc. Some of the FireFam are perplexed on how they went from arguing to being friends.

So when they start having real feelings for each other, they both can't handle it, so they start bickering and one day they both just snap and have a full on fight yelling at each other in front of everyone.

I'm really trying my best not to accidentally plagiarize from Mellow Yellow, so maybe tomorrow I'll have a more cohesive and unique way to approach this possible fanfic.

If anyone else wants to write this, I'd be more than happy to read it on AO3. We are creative folk, so even if we all have the same prompt, we can still end up with different work.

[skippingstonez]

idk since we are on the subject of transformation how about hyena reader x Twilight ?

Ya'll my socials are now full of random animal facts and I am living for it!

Howls of Laughter

(Twilight x hyena!Reader)

“Hold still Wind!” You shouted, tapping the hairbrush on top of the kid’s head a little harder than necessary.

“OW! This hurts enough as it is! Don't make it worse!” The kid had unfortunately gotten swallowed up by one of the largest chu-chus you had ever seen, courtesy of Sky's era. Leaving him covered in strange, sticky goo that was still currently clinging to his hair.

You sighed, switching out the brush for the comb you had borrowed from Wild. “Alright fine, I'm sorry. I’ll try to be more gentle but it would help if you stopped wiggling around so much!”

“Yeah good luck with that,” Wars snarked from where he was finishing cleaning up after dinner. “You'll be as gentle as a pack of hungry Gorons. Better say your goodbyes now Sailor.”

You practically snarled at him, chucking the slime coated brush in his direction. The brush narrowly missing his head as he ducked out of the way. 

“See!?” Wars shouted, pointing towards the brush like it had been a moblin spear. “You could have killed me with that thing!”

“You are so damn dramatic. If I wanted to kill you I would simply strangle you with that hideous scarf.” You glared, picking at a small chunk in the back of Wind's head.

Wars gripped onto the blue fabric. His eyes holding your glare as though whoever looked away first would perish on the spot. Arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you back to lean against a strong chest. You looked up to see Twilight smiling down at you.

“Don't mind him doll, you're doin just fine.” he leaned down, kissing the top of your head. 

You giggled, leaning into him as he peppered the top of your head with a few more kisses. Your anger towards the Captain put out like water poured on a roaring fire. Leaving you only feeling warm and content in the arms of your boyfriend.

“And I thought the chu-chu slime was gross” Legend groaned, snatching the comb from your hand, nudging you with his hip to get you to move over. You do, allowing him to take your spot and begin taking over the task of getting Wind slime free.

“Awwh ya’lls just jealous.” No longer busy with Wind, he scoops you up into his arms. You burst into another fit of light laughter as he sits down where you just were. Placing you right onto his lap with his arms securely around your waist. 

You wiggled around, adjusting to let yourself get comfortable as you relaxed into him. Your face turning into his chest, catching his woody scent with a hint of hay.

“And you're gonna make me barf.”

“Oh come on Vet, leave them alone.” Sky said, having just tuned into the conversation.

“Yeah Vet, she's within snapping distance. I'd watch out if I were you.”

It was Twilight's turn to glare. “Watch it Cap.”

Wars rolled his eyes “Oh calm down. Honestly the two of you are so-” a hand slammed down on his head, cutting off his retort. Sky smiled innocently behind him.

“That's enough of that.” Sky said. His voice uncannily sweet. 

“Just for that I'm making sure you get second watch tonight!” Wars shouted towards the sleepy knight, rubbing the back of his head.

“Don't worry Sky, I'll take it for ya” Twilight offered, holding you close to him.

You crossed your arms and pouted. You hated when either of you had to take watch. Especially second as it was already the worst shift, starting just as you were getting comfortable and ending with not quite enough time for a full night's rest. It also meant that either of you would have to get up, leaving the other to sleep on alone. And in your case, taking away not only your pillow, but your heat source, seeing as Twilight basically radiated heat constantly.

Sensing your shift in moods, Twilight leaned down. Nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. His breath tickled against your skin making you laugh once more. He smirked against you, doing it again, while purposefully wiggling his fingers into your sides that had you trapped in a tickling, vice grip.

“Twi-haha, Twi stop!” you laughed, trying to pull his hands away from you.

“We second that!” Legend scowled, flinging a large piece of gunk he just pulled from Wind towards you. 

“Seriously guys, get a room!” Four added.

Twilight begrudgingly stopped, letting your laughter die out as you tried to catch your breath.

“This will probably be the only time I will ever thank you guys for sticking your noses where they don't belong.” You said, flinching as Twilight gave you one last tickle to your sides like a warning.

You stood up, kissing his cheek. “I'm gonna go wash up before calling it a night.” Twilight's ears perked up. Immediately starting to stand up with you. You pushed against his chest, forcing him to sit back down. “Alone!”

Twilight pouted like a scorned puppy. The adorable look pulling a chuckle from you before walking off towards the nearby river. His eyes trailing after you. Debating whether or not to follow after you anyways.

“Don't pup,” Time sat down beside him, hand on his shoulder. “If only for the others sake tonight.” A sly wink had Twilights face turning bright red. Agreeing to not following after her only so long as she didn't take too long.

______

True to his word, Twilight was awoken a few hours later for watch. Slightly regretting his kind offer when he saw you draped across his torso. Your damp hair sporadically thrown over your face that had a small smile as you slept. He slipped out from underneath you. Mindful to not jostle you too much unless you’d be woken up alongside him.

He pulled your blanket up higher, planting a small kiss on your temple before willing himself to stand. His spine cracked as he straightened, releasing the tension it carried from the previous battle the other day.

He grabs for his pendant, intending to do a check of the perimeter before settling to keep watch by the dying fire. The Twili magic flows through him like pins and needles pricking at his skin as he shifts into the four legged beast. He shakes it off. Dark fur flying around him before settling in a fluffy mass. 

He set out, not bothering to keep hidden as he walked. Everything was silent as it normally is. Picking up no trace of monsters or any other unwanted intruders. He wonders for a moment about whether or not to call it and start heading back but ignores it. Deciding it's better to be safe than sorry in case something is waiting just a few more steps away. One can never be too careful after all.

A few more minutes went by and he was finally satisfied that nothing was around. He turned, heading back in the direction of camp. With any luck, the rest of his shift would go by quickly and just as uneventful until he could go back to snuggling up with-

*Click*

Metal grinded as something snapped around his leg. Sharp, teeth-like prongs dug into his skin, nearly snapping it in half. The pain followed, shooting up his leg in an agonizing fire that took all he had not to scream. He twisted his head around to take in the damage. The metal trap was now sprayed in his blood. It's relentless pressure sending new shocks of pain at every twitch of his body. 

Twilight snarled, ears perked for whatever had set this trap to show themselves. Nothing made itself known, giving Twilight more time to think of a way out. He snapped his head back, trying to get to where the metal was stuck to his leg. He whined at the pain, trying to push it out of his mind so he could focus on getting out of the blasted thing.

He curled his body so he could take a closer look. It was a simple looking mechanic but clear that it wasn't something he could get out of on his own. Even if he were to transform back into Hylian he was skeptical that he could get it to open. He had to try something though. The others were asleep and the 3rd watch wouldnt be awake for another few hours considering he wasn’t there to wake them up. He could bleed out in that time for all he knew or get caught by whoever had set it. 

He mentally reached for the shard, pulling it from him as his body regained it's Hylian form. 

A new level of pain shot through his leg, forcing him to stop. His leg, now more twisted and gnarled in the trap than before, ached as the spikes dug into the bone. Blood freely flowing from the widened gash. His brain was going in circles. He needed to try and staunch the bleeding or he wouldn't even make it long enough to get out let alone back to camp.

A low, deep growl resonated through the area followed by loud, high pitched howling.

Shit. 

Shit shit shit. This was not good.

He was stuck, injured, and by the sounds of it, about to be attacked by a pack of wolfos. He couldn't even transform back without making it all so much worse.

Hylia this is the last time Twilight ever takes one of Sky's shifts.

__________

You jolt up, fingers already reaching for the closest weapon. Legend and Hyrule were already on their feet with their swords drawn. The others following suit to the sound of howling in the distance. 

“Gee, nice warning rancher.”

No retort. No snarky comeback or explanation. 

“Guys where's Twilight? I don't see him.” You looked around, noticing the lack of said Link without any indication of where he might be. 

“He was probably patrolling around when we heard the howling. I'm sure he's on his way back.

“No…no he patrols at the beginning of his watches which was over an hour ago.” Your heartbeat quickened along with the growing panic in your chest. “Even taking his time he doesnt take this long.” Your gut churned as another howl broke through the night air. This time a lone, distinct cry.

“Oh Nayru, that's him!” You scrambled to your feet, strapping your sword to your back. “Somethings wrong!”

“Hold on, we cant know that for sure.” Four tries to reassure you.

“No, that's him.” Wild said, coming up to you. “I’d recognize that sound anywhere.”

More howling, multiple ones like before. They were getting closer and you'd bet anything they weren't headed towards camp.

“Alright, you all stay here and guard camp. (Y/N), Champion, come with me. We're gonna go find our Ordonia.” Wars ordered.

You followed after them, casting your transformation spell Hyrule had helped you perfect. Bones and muscles shifted around into a dog-like body. You immediately began searching for Twilight's scent, picking it up and darting after it.

“(Y/N) Wait- damn hyena, wait up!” Wars shouts. Him and Wild running after you. 

It didn't take long to find him. Having followed the pungent stench of iron and sounds of howling till your destination was before your eyes. Wolfie was on the ground. His back leg mangled in something you couldn't quite make out from this angle. 3 wolfos surrounded him, snapping and lunging at him in sequence. 

One of them lunged for him and you let out a string of laughter-like growls. You darted towards him, jaws clamping down on the neck of the nearest wolfos. It howled in pain, trying to jump back but your teeth only sunk further into its skin. You tossed your head to the left, throwing the wolfos as a chunk of its skin remained between your teeth. You spit it out as the other 2 swiped at you. You dodged, snarling back as a warning. A sword swung down, forcing it away from you. 

“Get him out of here!” Wars shouted, taking another swing at the wolfos directly in front of him. The one to your left getting struck with 3 arrows to its back as it backed off.

You turned to your wolfish boyfriend, nudging his face with your noise with a low chuckled whine. Wild crouched down beside you, examining the trap embedded in his leg.

“Shit we should have brought Four…” he muttered, poking at it that elicited a soft whine from Wolfie. You nuzzled his face before shifting back.

“Can you get it off?” You reached into your pack, pulling out a roll of bandages.

“I can try?” Wild didn't sound confident but leaned further down and began fiddling with it carefully. You quickly tied the bandage on his leg in an attempt to stop the blood.

A final cry and the last wolfos fell to War's sword. 

“How we looking?”

“Not good.” Wild explained. “We're gonna need the smithy to pry it open.”

Wolfie lifted his head, placing it  in your lap. You scratched at his ears, giggling nervously.

“Can we move him?” Wild followed the small chain, making sure it wasn't anchored to anything before nodding. 

“Alright…I’ll carry him back. You two cover me in case there are any more.”

Wild helps lift him up onto War's shoulders. A pained growl that you try to soothe away with soft strokes to his face and whispered reassurances. 

You kept close to him as you made it back to camp. Wild running ahead to get Four and his tools. The others hovered around when you entered, concerned for their brother obvious in their tired faces as Wars laid him down.

“I can get it to unlock but I'll need one of you to pull it open from there” Four explained, hands flying around the contraption. “Also I'm no doctor but…this isnt gonna be pleasant.”

Bodies shuffled around you, Time and Hyrule moving closer to the wound while Legend sat next to you near his head, lining up both red and green potions. You shifted back, letting your body curl around his head. 

“Alright we ready? 3..2..” A clink, and Time pries the thing open. A howl that only you can recognize as a scream has you pressing further into him. Blood pooled onto the ground as Hyrule shoved his hands towards the gash. The green glow flowing around it as it slowly stitched itself up. Wolfie buries his head into your neck, muffling his whines as you lick at his face.

After a moment, you feel him begin moving around, turning back to Hylian. He breathes heavily as he groans in pain. You shift back as well, immediately grabbing at his face.

“Twi! Oh my goddess I was so worried about you!” You snatch a red potion from Legend and shove it to his mouth. He silently complies, taking a good few swallows before pulling away with a small gasp.

You throw your arms around him, wanting, needing to have him close to you. He flinches slightly, wrapping an arm around your waist as your face presses into his shoulder.

“I'm fine doll, just..just hurts a bit.” He says unconvincingly. The blood had now stopped and the muscles seemingly repaired even as it leaves a nasty sight behind. It will definitely scar but both Hyrule and Wars insists that it should be good as new by morning.

Some of the others begin hounding him with questions and it takes everything for you to not snap at them to back off.

“Alright, we can discuss more in the morning.” Times voice breaks through, ruffling Twilight's hair softly. “Legend, why don't you take over watch. Everyone else, let's try to get some more rest before day break.”

There's a few muttered responses but eventually everyone begins to head back to their bedrolls. You however, make no such attempt. Only holding on tighter to the still injured man beside you.

“Are you okay? You promise? I can get you another potion or a fairy if you need.” You said, face still deep in the crook of his neck. His hand rubbed against your back.

“Darlin I'll be fine. I swear it.” He tried to reassure you. “It's just a tad sore is all. You'll be the first one to know if anything gets worse mkay?” You nodded, finally letting yourself pull away long enough to let him lie down. He opened his arms to you and you immediately curled back into his side.

“Thanks for the save by the way.” He mentions, through a large yawn. His eyes closing slightly from exhaustion. “The way you tossed that beast like it wasn't nothing? Hottest thing I think I've ever seen.”

You couldn't help but laugh. “If that's what you consider hot I think I've been going about things the wrong way.” You teased, coming up to kiss his jaw.

“No no! You do things just right~” his voice trailed off. Sleep over taking him as his chest rose and fell in a soothing rhythm. You followed its pattern, listening to his steady heartbeat as you joined him once more in a warm, comfortable slumber.

[distant--shadow]

I'm gonna reblog myself now that it's not 6am and I've woken up a bit and try and to a better job of what I was attempting to communicate here.

it is not vague posting. it is addressed at an unnamed audience, just like you don't need to say "not all men" it's "not all fandom", I am expressing concern at what is certainly loud, and often seems a majority. as I also said in all of the other posts from this series, I say how it is as much the fault of the questions being curated as it is the people asking them, and how one behaviour feeds into the other.

I do not like you using the fires as an excuse for this latest episode, it is an issue that has been ongoing with 4SD and fireside and I have spoken on beforehand (and it feels kinda yucky to pick and choose which real world things to apply to forgiving programming or executive decisions or to back up your own pov, yes it makes sense but as I said, it falls flat as an argument for the series as a whole), and once again, if your whole beef with me here really is that you believe I am picking on your friend and not holding the people actually at fault accountable, then why bring the fires up in the first place?

it's happened a handful of times now where I have made a post or comment on something I either genuinely believe is bad behaviour or inadvertently harmful, or tried to give insight in what I believe is good etiquette or something that should be encouraged, and I've had people come for me like why are you calling me out like this, and I don't know what to say. that's not me gunning at you. that's not what I'm doing. if it triggers a response in you then that's something you need to sit with, and that's what I do if I see a post that addresses something that I do that maybe needs questioning. I don't need to lash out, defensively or otherwise. I do not like being told I am bullying people who I have only ever said nice things to. sorry you find my opinions annoying or disagree with them. for me fandom is community and that means differences but community also means accountability. if you think I'm crying over a small dumb thing, fine. but we are on the small dumb fandom website. changes start locally. that expands to everything.

if you want to say any more to me about this then you can message me, if my behaviour is upsetting for you then please block me. I acknowledge I can sound brash often, call that a failure of my grip on language. I assume the word selfish is what maybe set you off, but i do stand by that feeling, to take up time (and once again, as I've said many times, in the context of a campaign where people feel like they don't care as much about the characters for an assortment of reasons) asking a question that is at its very base asking for your headcanon/au to be validated or seeds to be planted for such, then yes, it is selfish (and allow me not to be vague here, I mean the dumb gender children question.) yes it's a silly complaint. yes it's just a show. yes they're all just trying to have fun. I'm just expressing why I think it does a disservice to the show, and that there are plenty of other spaces to engage with that sorta fantasy in (keep it in your word docs).

I shouldn't be surprised by the fireside chat being the state it was, seeing as I don't follow any CR themed blogs myself or really go into the tags because I find it frustrating but still, the bleed over of fanon is depressing and a lot of you are showing your asses in terms of how you don't actually gaf about the characters or the story the players have chosen to tell.

I love my au's, I love my headcanons, I love my not quite canon ships, but they're for me and the people who chose to enjoy them if they want to. and what makes creating those things more fulfilling is trying to really be true to the character it's about, otherwise just go play with OCs

this will be my last salty post on the matter (guess we'll see) but man, the timing? all of this crazy shit is going on, it is well established that the audience is frustrated with how little downtime we've had with these characters and getting to see those long rest bonds we got to enjoy with previous campaigns, 4SD is over, and that's what you wanna ask about? it's selfish, honestly.

[raine-moore]

Okay, so, The Magnus Protocol theories.

We know from the ARG that Sam attended the Magnus Institute with Gerry, since it's a school in this universe.

We also know it burned down 20 years ago.

We don't know how old any of the characters are, of course, but I'd guess late twenties/early thirties, similar to Jon and Martin.

That means Sam was actually really young when he attended the Magnus Institute and was around 10 when it burned down, which is obviously not an easy to remember time frame anyway, but considering what the Magnus Institute dealt with in the Archives Timeline and assuming its similar in Protocol, I'd guess it's safe to say it was a traumatic experience as well.

Sam started researching the Institute, which makes me believe he either left before it burned down and is curious what happened, or he doesn't remember it, presumably as a trauma response, but might be something paranormal.

All very interesting. Obviously they'll research the Magnus Institute more as the show goes on, but I think they will also "unlock" (for lack of a better term) Sam's repressed memories piece by piece and we'll find out what happened to the children at the Institute.

Of course we will also find out how the Institute burned down at some point, but what if it was a child's involuntary reaction? A young servant/avatar of the Desolation (or a differently categorized fire-associated fear)? What if it was Sam? I, for one, want to learn more about the Desolation and would love to see a main character associated with it.

[moe-broey]

I'm gonna bully Lif again

I'll admit, some of these answers don't cover all the bases, but. What are we thinking, here. What is The Truth behind The Twink Death? 🤨🎤

I will also be accepting write-in responses as usual 🫡

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent-ish things ~

[spectrum-core]

Fuck

Well, I saw this coming from miles away becaude of course the gacha game will throw any semblance of artistic integrity through the window if they can make cheap fanservice, hence why I made the og post in advance, I didn't want to elaborate more on it when it happened because whatever, people were already dicks about me making the initial post anyway lol

But a guy began bugging me about how the comparison made sense, actually, and I felt the need to elaborate with a final point about why I feel the comparison absolutely misses the point of what full stop is and represents and everything that made them special to me.

Ok, so this guy has been analyzing limbus ids for a while and trying to figure out common themes among them, his conclusion for sinclair ids was, simply put, these are people who are either extremely good at what they do but cant fully see it or arent proud of it (blade lineage, cinq), or people who are slow and trailing behind compared to their peers while also having the potential to be absurdly good at their line of work if they were given the proper support (molar office).

According to him, stephan would be the second case, a guy who is very bad at what he does but could be amazing at it with the proper motivation. The issue is that… if you look at stephan and i mean you really look at him instead of forcing him in a haha funny meme fandom archetype or mold him into whatever can fit the power fantasy of the month that'd be a limbus character, he's really not that.

That's not to say stephan lacks any talent at all, his pessimist and cautious personality makes me imagine he is probably a great planner, coming up with escape plans or alternatives if the team gets cornered or overwhelmed in any non color-fixer-chasing-them-with-killing-intent situation, his physical strength is also there, and i think he'd be at least half decent at unarmed one on one combat because of it, and i feel he appreciates this and the people around him do as well, he has talents and they are in plain sight, and he makes full use of them when the situation requires him to.

But the thing is… everything from his dice ranges to his card names to his passive name are very clear in one thing: he's fucking terrible at aiming and firing a gun, the very thing he's supposed to do and excel at if he doesn't want to lose money. Maybe he's nearsighted, maybe he has astigmatism, maybe he pulls the trigger too fast before being sure he's even aiming at a target, maybe his anxiety is so bad he's shaking and sweating constantly and his fine motor skills are shit because of that, maybe even all of these at the same time.

And it's not just stephan who has this going on either, liwei's keypage wouldn't be talking about "this is what people normally think and what i know i'm supposed to want but i simply can't see the point of all of it" (<- this is autism coding if you're delusional like me but i digress) if he was a "proper fixer", tamaki wouldn't be losing her cool regularly every time stephan begins to complain if she was a "proper fixer", everyone here is notoriously bad at their job one way or another due to things that are quite directly part of who they are so there's no "actually stephan would be a shi section 1 fixer if he wore glasses" or "liwei could become a color if he got rid of his gun and started fighting with a sword instead" for any of them, not without them losing who they are in the way as opposed to the character growth that represents sinclair.

For me these are average people, with average talents which can only take them so far, in a world where most people in their line of work has superhuman skills, and to make matters worse they're focusing their strengths in the wrong things, these aren't the people who will wake up one day and awaken whatever specialest boy ever superpower project moon comes up with next time and become the strongest people who ever lived in the city. Even if they decided to drop everything suddenly and start with something else, there's absolutely nothing they'd excel at.

And that's precisely the thing, they won't just drop everything and suddenly do something they are better at, because the sunk cost fallacy is a fucking bitch when you're risking bankrupcy with every job you take, and that's why the full stop office is to me, the tragedy of people who invested too much and worked for too long in the wrong thing and now they don't have the resources, time or evergy to reinvent themselves anymore even if it'd be better for them in the long run.

I wanted to write a cool conclusion or something but i dont have the energy so just take this instead

STEPHCLAIR IS BAD AND YOU SHOULD FEEL BAD

Alternative title: a very angry (and tired) Full Stop fan's thesis.

ok, so me being the stephan/sinclair comparison's strongest hater is a bit i really like to lean into, but for the sake of keeping things semi-serious i will try to keep the actual essay content as free of me ranting my frustrations as humanly possible (which i mean commitement to the bit aside this will be hard bc it is frustrating to see people calling them both the same character, at best it shows a very surface level understanding of either character and at worst it shows just reducing them to cookie cutter meme fandom archetypes neither character actually fits into, so bear with me if i slip up and make unserious comments from time to time)

so before i start the actual essay let me say this: this essay doesnt even scratch the surface of how much i hate this comparison you guys cant even possibly fucking imagine ive been obssessed and i mean OBSSESSED with the full stop office since 2021 and im glad i wasnt in the limbus prerelease fanbase because if i had to see people comparing my beautiful boy and beloved best friend to a guy we had no info about other than "hes based of the guy from demian" i would have turned into the joker this is not even about saving my own mental health this is about sparing the entire pjm fandom of the monster i would have turned into

spoilers for ruina and limbus, universe terminology heavy and surface level references and interpretations of demian by herman hesse because imma keep it real with you guys the first and only time i read that book i was still in high school and i barely remember shit.

Table of contents:

Stephan - a summary

Sinclair - a summary 2.1. Emil Sinclair in Demian (1919) 2.2. Emil Sinclair in Limbus Company (2023)

Addressing common arguments

1.- Stephan - a summary

And of course I will start with Stephan, because I love him very much, just like Liwei he's one of my favorite pjm characters (yeah i like him more than your favorite popular character don't ask) so it's not surprising that i have A Lot to say about him, right?

And of course, I do.

As I said in the serrated duo post, a core part of my perception of the Full Stop office depends on the fact that they are poor. Mentions of money are common all across many factions in the game, yes, but the Full Stops are extremely constant about money, how taking a wrong turn means losing more than they can afford, how they can't afford to drop their weapons because they were too expensive, how even getting the permissions to be able to buy and wield these weapons was ridiculously expensive and so on. Of course, Stephan is the one talking about this the most (something I will elaborate on later), but Liwei and Tamaki also make a few ocassional mentions to it in their dialogue and keypages and considering this is a shared business it just makes sense that this is something that affects all of them.

These are just some few of the callbacks to money that Stephan alone does in his dialogue, without focusing in keypage text or what Liwei and Tamaki have to say about it.

And idk man, at least to me the difference between social classes is an important aspect for their characterization, specially because of how constant the concern with money is for Stephan. From this point alone comparing them feels like erasing a core aspect of Stephan's characterization, a lot about Stephan (and the Full Stop office as a whole, let's be real here) starts making more sense once you read the office as lower-middle class (and I'm saying lower middle class because they can afford some place to live and their weapons, but to me these guys are the types who precisely because of their need to keep bullets at all times can't pay for water or electricity all the time and sometimes they simply can't afford food or if they do they can spend a week straight eating nothing but unsalted pasta).

Now, going back to Stephan being the most outward about his complaints with money, he is in general the most outward about all problems the office is facing, to the point in which he doesn't mind inconveniencing everyone else with his rants, being one of the few guests who interrupt Angela's introductory speech and getting into Tamaki's nerves (something he's well aware he's doing, as these two know each other) at least two times through the course of their pre-battle cutscene, even Roland comments after the reception on how he wishes he would always have been as open about his problems as Stephan was.

However, it's worth nothing that he doesn't spend the entire cutscene crying about his miseries, and he only starts losing hope at three key moments: when they can't kill Eileen inmediately (making them waste more bullets than needed), when Argalia shows up (forcing them to retreat and making them fail their mission, meaning they won't get paid for this after they already lost a ton of money, as well as turning the situation into something much more dangerous than what they had signed up for) and once they enter the Library (an Urban Plague grade threat they have little to no information about, when him and Tamaki are almost out of bullets so Liwei is essentially the only fixer with some chance of putting up a fight and, you know, making it out alive).

Now, while it's true that Stephan is someone who dislikes danger, he isn't someone who isn't used to seeing gruesome events, his instinctive reaction to seeing a guy getting his head put into a meat grinder was cracking jokes and calling the concept of thought gears "a load of horseshit", which is something that falls in line with him being a somewhat experienced Fixer (sure, grade 5 isn't amazing but we can assume it's still either in the higher side of average or barely above average, and for someone specialized in firearms, which are far from the best weapon in the city, getting that high means he must have some experience and skill, right? more so considering he's been at this for 5 years at most) who has seen a fair share of horrid shit and can be unfazed by (most of) it as long as his own safety isn't on the line.

Another point is... he dislikes danger and is always wary about money and expenses, to the point in which he enjoys checking his bank account (or at least he believes so, if we go for the theory of the artbook profiles being more a mix of what the characters perceive themseves as/would describe themselves as to others, which is a theory i go by, I see him as someone who's convinced he does that for fun instead as out of desperation), but this seems to be more a generalized feeling of impending doom at everything rather than something that can be traced back to a particular traumatic event (anything can be dangerous, anything can cost him money), dude's from the backstreets after all, he's seen shit and he's used to assuming the worst. How I see Stephan, he's a guy who already expects bad things to happen but once things go wrong he starts freaking out about how this time They're Screwed For Real, but he never really tricks himself into believing "maybe things will turn out just fine this time?" or who thinks "well, we've done this before, surely we can handle it again."

This is not very related to Stephan as a character in terms of personality but I think it's still an important point to make as it is particularly related to body mods, his physical condition and his body shape.

So we can easily say that Stephan is a strong dude, at least if compared to real world standards without the fancy and insane body mods we see people in the city have access to. He carries that huge rifle around with his bare hands, something that Tamaki doesn't do and that not even Stephan himself in earlier iterations of his dessign did, and his main talent (which based of my theories is something that can be assumed as "something he's proud enough of to consider it the thing he does best") is physical labor.

Pictured, Tamaki's talksprite, carrying a rifle almost as long as she is tall with a strap supporting the weight on her shoulders, like a normal person.

Also pictured, an earlier iteration of Stephan's dessign, carrying the same rifle his current version does, but also holding it with the help of a similar strap supporting the weight on his shoulders.

And finally, Stephan's current dessign, holding that shit with his bare fucking hands in an exhibition of his brute animal strength, what the fuck is wrong with this man (affectionate)

And Stephan's artbook profile, the important part here is his speciality being physical labor, not only he's strong but he aknowledges this.

However, I made a point about the Full Stop office being poor, right? Even Roland says that "giving a whole office augmentation procedures is cheaper than keeping a decent supply of bullets in stock" (not the exact phrasing).

At least personally, I see this as Roland essentially saying "it would be cheaper (and more efficient) to get body mods for everyone in the office and buy another (cheaper) type of weaponry instead", but as things stand, the Full Stops can afford to either buy more ammunition and maintain their weapons, OR to get body mods, and since their whole deal is firearms... well, they can't really Stop investing in them, meaning they have no body mods At All and they got their grades purely out of their own physical strength.

Similarly, Stephan makes a similar point about how body augmentations are required for people to be able to run while carrying their weapons around (specifically talking about the rifles he and Tamaki use).

And... you know, the whole point is that they couldn't run carrying their weapons because they were too heavy, Argalia mocked them for that, Liwei urged them to drop their weapons, something they refused to do because of the prices.

Lastly on this point, while it's true that Ruina talksprites have a very bad case of Long Anime Legs (to the point in which how Roland's legs take about 2/3 of his height is a common joke), if we focus only on his head and torso, Stephan looks pretty Wide, and not only because he's wearing thick, fluffy and multilayered clothing, as other characters wearing similar clothing styles still look thinner than him.

This is all to say: I don't think this guy is a twink, or thin at all. He's a prime example of the strongman build to me and this is yet another hill I'm willing to die on watch project moon turn him into a beanpole once he inevitably shows up in limbus and me turning into the first real world distortion as a consequence.

Finally, Stephan is very notoriously the most informal member of the office, not only being the only one who doesn't wear any sort of formal clothing fully prioritizing comfort and practicality over looks but also completely disregarding formalities with his attitude at work (again, he interrupts Angela's introductory monologue, and again, his first two lines when being introduced are him cracking jokes), being the only member of the office to swear on screen and using several informal expressions and metaphors through both the reception dialogue and his keypage story.

And for good measure, he's a compilation of Stephan being the creature he is.

The literal introduction of the characters, also known as the moment in which Stephan became one of my favorite characters because he's Just Like Me Fr

Very normal behavior for someone who hates blood and violence and isn't used to seeing it. This man is more than capable (and willing, assuming money is involved) to murder kill.

Which, I mean, this attitude is very different from what we see from Sinclair.

2.- Sinclair, a summary

In retrospect I probably should have made this one first because I'm gonna be honest with you, Sinclair is one of the sinners I care about the least (I still like him and think he's pretty cool mind you I just don't vibe too much with most of the tropes making up the character) so what I have to say about him is less me grasping for straws and subtext because I don't care enough about him to be bothered with a super serious and in depth analysis like I did with Stephan and more things we can explicitly see about him in game and things that happen in the novel Demian.

And if I can have a small parenthesis here, people saying that one of my favorite pjm guys Ever is in any way similar to a guy who despite being pretty cool is just Not the type of character I fully vibe with... really, it gets annoying fast. Anyway back to the serious analysis now.

2.1- Emil Sinclair in Demian (1919)

To be able to understand Sinclair as he is depicted in Limbus Company, it is important to first be familiar with the source material of the original iteration of the character, that's it we're doing your high school homework by compiling several literary analysis of a symbolic psychological early 20th century autobiographical novel i hope you guys signed up for this (and if you didn't, though luck! i will do this anyway, I love literary analysis).

In the novel, young Emil finds himself torn between the worlds of light (which can be equated to the Garden of Eden, but it's more tangible meaning for our protagonist is his childhood home and family, a serene and well structure/organized space where he can be innocent, untainted by the evils of the outside world) and darkness (basically all the scary shit that goes on outside, where people do evil things for the sake of it), he finds himself tempted by the violence of the outside world, particularly through the actions of his classmate Franz Kromer, which eventually leads him to consider that due to being exposed to this tainted world of evil he no longer can return to the world of good and innocence.

Here, the character of Demian acts as a guide, someone who helps Sinclair to trascend this binary perception of good vs evil and to see himself as someone worthy of happiness because him witnessing the world of evil didn't taint him as a person but rather merely showed him another face of the world, Demian here mentions the Mark of Cain as a symbol of mental strenght and freedom, considering that bearers of this mark are capable of making their own choices and should be able to go beyond their assigned roles, being able to embody aspects of both worlds. This is to say that Demian's view is less focused on good vs evil, instead taking a more order vs chaos approach (without giving an explicit moral character to either).

In the book, the symbol of a bird breaking out of the egg is frequently used to represent Emil's personal growth, the egg represents safety and innocence, but a bird must eventually leave the egg or it will die, and getting out of the egg is a process than can be seen as violent, as a bird must fight to get out of the egg, and getting out of the egg represents birth but also an irreversible change, it can be seen as breaking out of the world of light and getting permanently in the world of darkness since a broken shell can't be fixed, but it can also mean achieving the enlightment and personal balance to not feel permanently bound to a condition, place or state of being and therefore growing as a person by learning to see himself as a whole human instead of supressing his "evil side" by only forcing the "good side" to surface.

Max Demian is here to show this second meaning of growth/self improvement (while also explaining that Sinclair is permamently growing and must always keep this balance between all the parts conforming the whole being that is himself rather that trying to make parts of himself antagonize each other). This idea of personal growth being one of the core themes of the book.

2.2- Emil Sinclair in Limbus Company (2023)

With Sinclair's source media analyzed (at a very surface level, mind you), we now can start talking about the depiction of Sinclair in Limbus Company, how it parallels the book, why the book symbolism is important for this instance of Sinclair and so on.

When we are first introduced to Sinclair in the game he's clearly nervous, he doesn't know what he's supposed to do as he hasn't worked for a similar company before and he isn't used to the gruesome sight of the bus eating people, this does fit inmediately in the motif of a naive person with limited experience about the world (well, to be fair to him most people won't be seeing man-eating buses at a regular basis, but the average backstreets dweller would be familiar with equally violent situations).

With this said, despite Sinclair's obviously nervous behavior... he isn't really a pessimist like Stephan was, in fact, almost every chapter (counting cantos, intervallos and the short mini chapters such as the Dante's notes update episode) have at least one key moment with him trying to rationalize horrible stuff as something much less violent, or simply going "but I thought this thing didn't work like this..." when confronted with the more horrible realities in the city. He thought the G corp veterans were really going to let them pass without a fight, he thought the people being controlled by headhens were just actors wearing mascot costumes, he thought mermaids were the beautiful half-woman half-fish creatures he heard about in fairy tales, and there's more examples but I don't really feel like looking for The Entire Fucking Plot Because This Guy Is An Actual Protagonist Instead Of A Background Guy Like Stephan Was to make my point clearer than it already is. And it's only when he realizes that the real world doesn't fit his expectations that he panics.

Well, there is one exception to this pattern: his own canto. Here, he panics inmediately as soon as K corp's nest is mentioned and spends the first half of the chapter pleading to turn back while saying that they are going to get killed. So what is different here with the rest of the plot?

Obviously, the fact that is related to his very own very personal very specific trauma. That is to say, unlike Stephan who is wary of anything that can put him on danger or cost him more money than it should, Sinclair has a very specific traumatic event that makes him act Like That (sure, he gets scared and nervous outside that, but these are more normal "I'm unfamiliar with this and I don't fully know how to react, this is normal behavior in a human being" reactions than outright "I am Actually Terrified due to being reminded of an actual traumatic event, this reaction is a textbook definition of post-traumatic stress disorder").

HOWEVER, Sinclair being someone who's deeply traumatized and kind of a scaredy cat when it comes to violence and unfamiliar situations... it doesn't mean that he's incompetent or a bad fighter. Almost all of his identities are terrifyingly good fighters (at least in their lore), Los Mariachis fear jefe Sinclair, Cinq director Sinclair is someone most association members are terrified to duel even during training, Blade Lineage Sinclair is considered a talented killer (it's also worth noting that save maybe for the mariachi one, in none of these mirror worlds Sinclair is precisely happy of being recognized as "the guy who's very scary when he fights people", unlike Stephan who I don't think he particularly likes killing but has a more "as long as I get paid..." mentality about it), the only "not very good at this" Sinclair id I can think of is the molar boatworks id where he's more a mechanic than a fighter so he fears he's lagging behind in that aspect. Hell, even the Canon Timeline so to speak (which is to say: his base identity) has him carrying that huge halberd, going on a frenzy attacking some already mutilated inquisitor's corpse, piercing through Guido's armor and dealing a fatal blow that finally killed him for real. To compare, Stephan is good at physical work, but we don't know about his close combat capacities other than the fact that he dislikes it, for Sinclair however we know he's terrifyingly good at physical combat.

Now, I've seen a lot of people call Sinclair a twink and while it's one of these words that nobody agrees on what it means, let's give it the benefit of doubt and say "alright, for the duration of this analysis let's settle on a twink being a young looking (regardless of actual age), thin man with almost no facial/body hair".

Since Sinclair is a rich guy (not just Any Rich Guy though, we're talking of someone whose family had ties to a Wing, probably not some elite guy like Daniel or Hong Lu, but not a self perceived "mediocre" nest dweller like Samjo either), and pressumably not very experienced in combat in most mirror worlds (we know he has no prior experience in the base one where he joined Limbus, at least), let's say that he has enough body mods for him to be much stronger than he looks like despite being thin, he does look thin and young and much to my dissapointment he also has no facial hair, so yeah, under this very broad definition of the term he is a twink.

However if you start adding personality archetypes to the definition he stops being one almost inmediately, as we've been shown time after time that his "submissive" attitude is mostly a result of him not knowing too well how to impose himself and just going along with what the rest say or do, but he's starting to grow tired of that ever since Hell's Chicken (even if he clearly still isn't great at that), as it should be more than obvious for anyone who even just googled "demian herman hesse literary analysis", Sinclair is undergoing a lot of changes even now, and the game is doing a good job at portraying that.

Honestly I also think he'd be hotter with a sleeper build but really, I don't care enough about him to argue about that.

And for the last point, precisely due to his upbringing as a rich guy AND his traumatic experience with Kromer, Sinclair is not only a very polite and mild mannered guy (again, unlike resident creature Stephan), but also he tries to take as little space as possible, both literally and metaphorically, as Dante notices near the end of canto 3 when they finally comment on how Sinclair never talks about his own problems until it's too late because he doesn't want to bother the others as they probably have it worse (again, unlike Stephan "i don't mind loweing team morale and making everyone in the room uncomfortable as long as i get to vent" Full Stop office).

3.- Adressing common arguments

Alright, now that I talked about each character, let's see some of the most common arguments I've seen people use to compare them.

"They look the same!" No, they don't. The only thing they have in common is being blonde but even their hairstyles are different with Sinclair having a simple bowl-ish cut with slightly wavy hair and Stephan having curlier hair (not to mention the whole point I made about body types because I'm the sort of lunatic who cares about that stuff). I won't even bother with this argument.

"They have the same personalities!" Again, they don't. Stephan is very cynical with a lot of his attitude being clearly derivated from him coming from a poor background and having stayed there his whole life, he also doesn't care about his cynism getting in the way and bothering everyone else. On the other hand, Sinclair is someone who could almost be described as naive due to having lived a sheltered childhood and only having his experiences with Kromer and his time at Limbus as moments of realizing that the rest of the world is Not Like His Childhood House, still believing that the world is a binary of good vs evil and expecting things to turn out fine or be much better than they actually are, just to be hit with the reality of the city Not being a nice place where people are nice and polite and not trying to kill him, this is not to say he doesn't have his own issues but even Dante notices during his Canto that Sinclair makes a point to avoid bothering everyone else with his personal problems, keeping them to himself even if that makes things worse on the long run.

"Both are opposed and harmed by a lunatic!" This is an argument I've seen a lot and is incredibly filmsy at best, half of the city's population are lunatics and the other half are people who got opposed by them some way or another. Will you say that Ishmael and the rest of the Pequod crew can be compared to the Full Stop office (or really, even mention the other Full Stop fixers instead of just focusing on Stephan because he happens to be blonde and can be compared to Sinclair) because of their situations with Ahab? Or the W Corp crew who got their train targetted by Jae-heon and Elena (or, you know, the train passengers who were turned into Love townspeople or puppets)? What about the Vermillion Cross who got killed by the Reverb Ensemble? Or the Cane office fixers? or the Zwei association section 6 who got beaten to death by Gyeong-mi just because he felt like doing so? Or the Liu association section 1 who had to deal with Argalia taking Philip away? Or the Kurokumo clan members when they were attacked by Tanya? You aren't comparing them to either Stephan or Sinclair, right? Not to mention that in her weird and fucked up perception of things, Kromer was less opposed to Sinclair as she was trying to lead him to join her and her cause, even the last things she says before getting killed are her calling him to follow her.

"Both are compared to birds!" Oh, right, because I forgot that a very directed symbolic comparison to a baby bird breaking out of it's shell as a symbol of rebirth, learning about the nuances of the world and self improvement/liberation that is consistently used in the source material Sinclair comes from is exactly the same as one (1) throwaway line the big bad guy uses to mock not only Stephan but the whole Full Stop gang, right. And if you want to say "but Tamaki compares him to a bird once too", yeah she calls him a parrot because he keeps repeating the same complaints over and over, it's still not the same as a consistent metaphor.

"Both are sad blonde twinks! They're essentially the same guy." Sad? Yeah, everyone in the city is sad but their ways to be sad are polar opposites, and neither of them is the pure cinnamon roll uwu crybaby archetype people tend to lump both into, Stephan was merely having a bad day and people decided to make that his whole personality (when honestly we get more insight on his actual personality before Argalia shows up, when he's making sarcastic remarks and getting impatient because they weren't starting killing people fast enough) but he's still perfectly capable (and willing) to murder people, and Sinclair is just... someone who lacks experience about the real world and how it works and has a tendency to get nervous because of this, but he can adapt quickly to situations once he understands them. Blonde? Yeah, but I guess if that's a point to draw a comparison then we should also compare them to Don Quixote, the Tiphereths, Lenny, Yun, Lulu, Olga, every single npc, librarian, and agent who comes with blonde hair from the generator... Twinks? Stephan absolutely isn't one, Sinclair depends on how you define twink as nobody seems to get to an agreement with that, if you define it as merely "young looking thin man with almost no visible body hair" then yeah he is one, but if you go for any more specific definition than that he stops fitting into the definition almost instantly.

In conclusion: if I see anyone else comparing them I'll start blocking people liberally bc I'm sick of seeing that shit (I do that already tbh but just so you know), now scram

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

Ive seenyou mention wuxia a few times now and i wonder what that is. Would you mind explaining it to me?

not the most qualified person to explain this as i'm not, in fact, from china; but i've read a couple of wuxia so here goes:

wuxia is a genre of fiction from china specifically, about martial artists in ancient china. i don't think a specific time period is like required? obviously some dynasties are more popular but idk how it goes in that front. it just has to be Not Today and probably Too Long Ago. like pre industral revolution i think. again idk if that's a requirement, but most i've seen are from around the same relative murky pre-electricity era.

xianxia is a subgenre of wuxia that's specifically more fantasy-like, and it's not just martial arts, but also spiritual powers and cultivation (which i have no fucking clue how to explain without two hours and three tangents other than chinese magic system. if you've ever heard of chi/qi as an energy, it appears there). so like- genshin is by all accounts a xianxia, it just doesn't use the more common specific xianxia terms like cultivation. some of those are very weird to translate and probably not common for the average non-wuxia reader, so it makes sense why they're going for alternatives.

chongyun and xingqiu and xianyun are very much straight out of a xianxia. xianyun's entire story quest was the closest genshin has gotten to a straight xianxia plot so far. i highly reccomend ashikai's video on unnecessary visions if you want more info on why genshin is a xianxia hahah

cyanide narwhal has some talk of some stuff from xianxia, but that's mostly because well- fucking liyue, that's how it works there. the whole light energy striking down someone who's getting powerful and giving them godhood if they survive the strike is, while not exactly like that, something that happens in some xianxia as well. like the way adepti work in general is just very xianxia. ashikai does a much better job explaining it than i do tbh but yeah

TL;DR: wuxia is chinese martial arts fiction in ancient china, and xianxia is a wuxia subgenre with more magic elements. also genshin is a xianxia

[guinevereslancelot]

decided to leave my job and i'm gonna fr gonna cryyyyy