#Just the way he reacts to things kills me
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REWATCHING SEASON 2 EPISODE 7 OF ARCANE
+ some of my highlights and notable moments that I enjoyed bc people can’t understand media anymore
This is mostly an infodump of stuff I can fit into a twitter thread/didn't rly want to make into a thread. I'm not great at words so I apologize in advance, I am sure there are many people much better at analysis than I.
I want to start off by saying I am heavily invested in timebomb so this is very much going to be a ship analysis. If you're looking for someone unbiased i am very much not the person for that 😭
FIRST OFF:
The disc on the music box is adorable!!! It features au Powder (who I am going to refer to as just Powder for the duration of my analysis) and au Ekko
Compared to the normal Disc
This is very obviously because it takes place in a different universe, one without Vi or "Jinx".
The first scene starts off with AU Ekko writing in his notebook. (Cute mention is Powder's doodle in his notebook!!) Then we see flashes of the wild rune. This is when AU Ekko switches to canon Ekko.
Also one of my favorite silly images from this episode is this one.. Powder is being so adorable and Ekko is just scared out of his MIND. it's so silly.
In the Last drop, Powder asks Ekko. "What is up with you? You've been out of it all day?". One thing I noticed in my rewatch is that i think Powder is aware this Ekko isn't HER Ekko. This is just one instance of many that makes me think this.
This hideout seems so much more vibrant and loved, similar to Jinx's hideout after Isha. It's colorful. There are guard rails that I like to think was pushed by Vander. We can see Ekko's art scattered around. It just shows how much more support and family Powder has compared to Jinx, which i mention a lot.
Id also like to note Ekko being shocked au him went to powder for help. In his mind at this time he believes Jinx to be all that is left, no more Powder. Through out the episode we see that change.
Notice how Powder gets upset at Ekko in this scene. However, she doesn't react explosively like Jinx would've. She handled it in a way that shows she had support. She told him to leave instead. Again, the main difference between Powder and Jinx isn't only Vi but also the existence of multiple support systems that Jinx simply didn't have.
THIS FLASHBACK! Oh my god this flashback. The fact it happened after he upset Powder? I think it shows just how much he truly cares about Jinx/Powder. He remembers VIVIDLY the day that he thought he killed her. Jinx was his childhood best friend, and I don't think that kind of feeling ever truly goes away. He doesn't want to hurt any version of her, not even the alternate universe her. We see that showcased more later on. Also, random probably insane note. He is interrupted by small children playing, having fun. This isn't a coincidence, it shows he does miss the moments from when they were kids.
While talking with Heimerdinger, we see Ekko look at Powder multiple times. Watching her laugh and be expressive, he smiles. When she doesn't return it we see him get upset. Once more this brings me to my point that he doesn't want to hurt her. Considering he hasn't known this Powder very long you can see where I gather my point that he doesn't want to hurt her in GENERAL. Any version of her.
THIS SCENE!! He is such a bad liar it's adorable. This brings me to my earlier point, Powder knows what's up!! She suspects something 100%. He is talking about this dream her like it was real.
"You aren't the kind of person who helps other people with their projects. Your ideas change the world. I can't shake the feeling that that's who you're supposed to be."
Are you LISTENING TO THIS? He is obviously talking about Jinx. You can tell this by the first sentence because obviously Powder IS that kind of person. He's starting to see that Jinx is just a part of Powder, one that is unavoidable and that he unknowingly appreciates in a sense. Like two sides of one coin he can't see Powder without Jinx and that is good. I think it is here he realizes truly just how much he cares about Jinx.
This whole montage is beautiful but I want to zero in on two things. Powder's reaction to the notebook and how she looks at Ekko after. NOW THIS. This is the nail in the coffin for her. She knows that this is not her Ekko. She has fully gathered that he isn't from this universe.
Also heimerdinger totally knows how Ekko feels you cannot tell me otherwise. Pushing him to go to the party? yeah he knows what you are.
THIS WHOLE SCENE. I AM NOT ANALYZING THE WHOLE THING HERE BUT IT IS GORGEOUS. I saw someone talking about how it was animated on 4's to signify the way Ekko can only go back 4 seconds and I honestly shed a tear. THE SONG TOO? I encourage everyone to look at the lyrics because they're beautiful.
Okay now for my favorite part of this episode so much to dissect and i'm totally going to mansplain but yk..
"I used to dream the undercity could be like this" — That sets the tone for the whole conversation and just what world he is talking about. The canon one.
"But somewhere, I got consumed by all the ways it wasn't. I gave up on it. Gave up on YOU." — Heavy emphasis on this line. Once more he is talking about Jinx. He is talking about how he got so consumed by the way that Jinx wasn't good, and he gave up on her. Believed she was irredeemable. Powder showed him that Jinx is capable of love and happiness, it's just under that tough protective shell. The undercity in the metaphor is Jinx, from my interpretation.
"I promise i'll never forget this." — Now time for my insanity. He doesn't forget this. That's why he saves Jinx from ending her life in the first place. He remembers Powder and knows that with the right support Jinx doesn't have to be the way she is. It's not that she "needs to be fixed" she just needs to be LOVED, like Powder. He sees that now. He sees how in the au the love that everyone shares for one another shaped the undercity beautifully, and made everyone in it much healthier mentally despite going through hardships. That is beautiful. People with mental illness are not unlovable they just need more support, it can't be cured, or fixed just healed. Mental illness is always there it is how you DEAL with it that matters.
Nothing too major to talk about with the kiss. It's sweet I love it, but nothing too notable for me to say about it.
Finally, Ekko leaves the au. I have seen people say that this is a sacrifice, he could've had everything he wanted and he gave it up to save the people at home. But i take insanity to another level. I see this as him appreciating his home. He knows he can never truly love this Powder because she isn't the version he fell in love with. He learned to appreciate Jinx even through her flaws, and that while this world has everything he could want and more he can have that home too.
I am experiencing HEAVY timebomb brainrot if you can’t already tell. I was tired of people taking things in the complete wrong way with this episode, if anyone has different views pls tell me I love hearing how other people took certain scenes. there are a few scenes I love but I would’ve made this post way too long..
#Jinx#powder#arcane#jinx arcane#episode 7 season 2#arcane season 2#ekko arcane#timebomb#ekkojinx#jinx and ekko#powder and ekko#analysis#episode analysis#insane ramblings#i’m going crazy#they make me ill#jinx is alive
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How would Wiliam react to the reader modeling the lingerie for hum during Christmas shopping?
first and foremost, he’s telling you to buy everything. if you even look at something halfway, he’s tossing it into the carrying bag for you to buy
you won’t try any of the more risqué lingerie on in store just because it’s too time consuming to try and get in and out of it and also because you don’t have time for william to try and get his hands on you in the dressing room
the idea of public sex is one thing, actually doing it is another
if it comes in leafs’ blue, it’s an immediate buy. william also loves you in bright reds, dark maroons, bright white, and black. the lacier the better, the more skin showing the better
you’ll try on a couple of cute little negligees or skimpy shorts and tank tops and william’s eyes are all pupil, blow wide with lust
he shifts in the seat, a clear bulge in the front of his pants - “älskling, these are killing me” and he doesn’t even know what’s coming his way
after you’ve bought what you want to buy, you do a real fashion show for him at home, trying on each and every piece of lingerie just for him. william’s unashamed by his massive erection, pulling it out of his pants and stroking himself while you parade around your bedroom in increasingly skimpy sets
you change right in front of him, stripping the little thongs down your legs and smirking every time william groans when you bend over
he fully comes after a few more changes, making a mess of himself and the bed, grabbing for you with sticky hands and tossing you onto the bed making you squeal
“my turn to play,” he rasps, rubbing his cock all over your clothed cunt and getting come on the silky fabrics. when you complain that he’s ruining your new sets, he dismisses you with a “i’ll buy you more, now let me rip that off of you”
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i've had constant aus and self-insert stories spinning around in my head for the past two months that i've been back into spn for, but i wasn't planning on doing anything more with them until i was browsing the fanart tags and discovered so many cool artists on here have been making spn ocs? it just never occurred to me that there would be any, let alone multiple, and to especially see ones being queer and trans made me really happy to see. so i took one of the too many different plots i'd been rotating in my head and made a little character out of it.
august north. he was killed by a demon when he was 26. his body was experimented on with the intent of creating an alternate long lasting vessel for lucifer. but a small amount of lucifer's grace bonded to august's body, reviving him as something not human, but not an angel. he meets the winchesters during season 4 of the show. he has some powers due to the archangel grace in him (healing factor, telekinesis) but it is not to the level of an archangel's power, possibly similar to regular angel's power or a bit less. he is a suitable alternate vessel for lucifer, if he were to say yes lucifer wouldn't burn through him like he does with nick. if lucifer's grace were to be removed from august's body then august would die, it is keeping him alive. the scar on his chest is from where lucifer's grace entered his body.
because of the whole 'boy with the devil's grace label' he ends up bonding a lot with sam, the two of them both being tied to lucifer through no choice of their own, and them both experiencing distrust and disgust from others because of this.
i really don't want any comments telling me that's not how angel grace works, i just liked the idea and it's my self-indulgent au. and august is entirely here for me to ship with lucifer so if that idea or lucifer in general makes you uncomfortable please just scroll on and don't judge me. i can't help falling back in love with this terrible archangel. i actually made a couple shrines on my website for sam and lucifer and boy i ended up writing way more about why i like them than i thought i would. the tldr is that i find things to relate to with lucifer in terms of the whole being cast out, family issues, being the black sheep of the family etc. and i find him fascinating, especially season 5 lucifer.
i'm not 100% sure on the storyline for august and lucifer, but lucifer does want to seek august out, partially because he's disgusted at a human having any of his grace, and partially because since sam is so hesitant to say yes it's nice for him to have this other option. i can imagine him visiting august in his dreams like he did with sam, trying to convince/manipulate him into saying yes, august not being bothered by his presence and instead feels drawn to him and ends up spending these dreams asking lucifer questions, and while lucifer is still trying to manipulate august into saying yes... he is lonely and this dead-alive human-angel boy is looking at him without disgust, isn't flinching when he touches him and he hasn't had anyone react like this to him in a long time and while he won't admit it a part of him is visiting august so often because out of all these hairless apes, this one isn't awful.
wow i wrote so much more than i meant too, oops. i guess that's good though, been a long while since i had an oc ramble this long.
[ID: a digital sketch page of my supernatural oc 'august north'. there's a half-body and full body drawing, with text around them. some of the text on the image i've already repeated in the text under the post but the rest reads: august north, supernatural oc, the boy with the devil's grace, pronouns: he/him, gender: trans man, height: 5'8", orientation: omnisexual, demisexual, demiromantic, nationality: english, occupation: hunter. august has pale brown curly hair that comes down to his collarbone in length, with a grey streak at the front right. he has two little braids going in front of each ear. in the half-body he's wearing a black coat, black long-sleeved shirt, a red bandana tied around his neck, white feather dangling earrings. in teh fullbody he's wearing black pants, black boots with spats over the top that look like little corsets, red with gold ribbon to lace them over the boots, a shirt button up that's unbuttoned and opened revealing the star shaped scar in between his pectorals from where lucifer's grace entered his body. he has two moles on his face, one under the outer corner of his right eye, one above the left side of his lip. his eyes are a blue-ish grey.]
#supernatural oc#spn oc#myart#mine#supernatural ocs#spn ocs#fandom ocs#fandom oc#supernatural#spn#did i ever make a tag for my ocs? i cant remmeber#oh! i did#my ocs#aa all the most recent things in it are others drawing my ocs for artfight#i have neglected my own oc tag#artists on tumblr#spn fanart#supernatural fanart
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If you're wondering how Cellbit's Only Up! playthrough is going right now, he has resorted to praying every time he takes a risky jump. He is NOT live laugh loving
[ Volume warning ]
#Cellbit#Only Up#Volume warning#I don't have any other tags for this#Watching Roier play this game was so sad and stressful because every time he fell he looked so sad#meanwhile every single time Cellbit falls I'm doubled over laughing#Just the way he reacts to things kills me#I don't even have subtitles on because I'm watching this on mobile (I'm making food) but I'm still enjoying myself#Every time he says ''no mames'' my heart melts a little bit#I love that they're all picking up things from each other#but MAN I miss my Spanish streamers they'd love Cellbit#Update: he JUST finished the tutorial#It took him 2 hours
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Also while I’m here does anyone else think about how his immediate thought was that the other party had died while fighting over gold (likely informed by his own past experiences) and then right after he says that Laios draws his sword, and you can see the horror in his eyes as he freezes up.
#dungeon meshi#dungeon meshi spoilers#sort of#Hey guys it’s me back again with my normal feelings about this character#I think the reason I find this one scene so interesting is the way he reacts#we know he’s had. experiences with his party trying to murder him for personal gain and viewing him as disposable in the past.#We also know he’s close enough with Laios that he lets Laios call him by his first name#Which is not. Like. A casual thing.#Yet he still 100% thought Laios was gonna kill him over gold for a second here#Like the panic on his face makes that clear#I just find that really interesting
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I'm thinking about Curly and the fact the fandom is kinda slowly turning on him and starting to,,, blame him? More than Jimmy? And I've just been thinking about that
Like the takeaway from the game that Curly did not do the right thing and was not good at taking care of the crew is DEFINITELY an important, if not the most important, takeaway. Being constantly aware of toxic masculinity causing the bystander effect in others who feel like they have to cover for the toxic ppl is VERY IMPORTANT and I don't want to confuse people into going "Curly did nothing wrong!" "He's just a victim too it's not his fault!" "He didn't need to be responsible for Jimmy's actions!" Cuz that's just dangerous
But I do wanna dive into the fact that I think his actions (lackthereof) aren't just due to toxic masculinity and that feeling many cis men have where they have to cover for other toxic men and try to downplay all negative situations. Maybe it's just that I relate too much to Curly but it really seems to me that, after Anya, he's the most abused by Jimmy.
Like, I rewatched the Curly's Birthday Party scene where Jimmy not only berates him BRUTALLY but does so IN FRONT OF EVERYONE ELSE (/nm) AND Curly doesn't stand up for himself after the first few attempts, which will come back later. Jimmy verbally abuses him so comfortably (seen via 1.him doing it in front of everyone else 2.the fact he got Curly to shut up really fast and 3.the fact nobody stepped in to help Curly/stop Jimmy (which in Anya's case is so fair she was like having a panic attack but I was really expecting Swansea to say something or Daisuke to try and defuse)) really makes it seem like that's a common occurrence. The fact that the crew is used to it just feels like not only has he done that before but he does it frequently enough that even Daisuke, the last minute new hire, is used to it
Like when I first saw that scene my first thought was oh shit Jimmy really does abuse EVERYONE indiscriminately. But it kinda seems like the fandom forgot how quick and comfortable he was verbally abusing Curly On His Birthday Celebration, In Front Of Everyone.
And then, what I said earlier about Curly trying to fight back a little at first before giving up and just taking the beratement 100% applies to the scene where Jimmy beats Curly after giving him his pills. The same thing happens there, Curly screams out at first but eventually stops and just whimpers/cries while Jimmy beats him until he's done, at which point Curly starts full-on crying.
And again, this doesn't absolve him of the fact he didn't help Anya. Not one fucking bit. Like, as much as it's played for irony in game it was, to a pretty big extent, his responsibility as captain to make sure that his crew could coexist. And he SHOULD have done more to stop Jimmy. I'm not saying he's innocent, I'm saying that the assumption that he was a bystander to Jimmy's actions simply due to toxic masculinity influencing men to cover for one another is a little inaccurate. It's definitely the more important takeaway because being conscious of the dangers around you is important. It's just that seeing the specific ways he was abused by Jimmy and how he reacted to it makes me feel like it was less of a toxic masculinity thing and more of a Fawn response thing, because he DEFINITELY was a victim of Jimmy's abuse too. And I feel like that's a little important, both to show how men can abuse and manipulate one another and to show how abuse in general can make more than the abuser a danger to others (in the sense of people who are abused are less likely to speak out when they see other abuse, because they're used to it (speaking from experience, not being an asshole)). But I really don't want this leading people to baby Curly and excuse him from not sticking up for Anya more, cuz it's not an excuse, it's an explanation, a further development. He is still at fault for not doing more, but I this the reason he didn't do more isn't a toxic masculinity thing but an abuse victim thing
(Also it's interesting to see how Jimmy doesn't fuck with Swansea very much. I assume it's because he knows he can't topple Swansea, yet he's already toppled Curly and Anya so they're the easiest victims of his abuses. He knows Swansea would fight back, but he already has Curly wrapped around his little finger and Anya severely traumatized so he just focuses on them instead. Also this is in reference to the fact he doesn't try to go around Swansea and get into the Util/Cryopod room until he thinks Anya's hurt Curly. It's like he's afraid of Swansea, which he should be <3)
#mouthwashing#Mouthwashing Jimmy#Mouthwashing curly#this is mostly abojt curly tbh#it just bothered me that the abuse subtext was so quickly ignored#like the toxic masculinity/covering for other men thing is definitely the more pressing takeaway#but I think talking about the abuse is important too#maybe it's just that I relate to curly so I don't like how hard he's behind demonized but I'm trying to not let that cloud my judgement#but I really do think the abusive part of Jimmy and Curly's relationship explains a lot#this was kinda triggered by a post saying that everyone reacted with Flight/Fight/Freeze/Fawn and the post had attributed-#-fawn to Anya and Freeze to Curly#but I really feel like it's the other way around#cuz Anya made calculated decisions to kill up to Jimmy. it didn't seem like a trauma response#but Curly did it entirely subconsciously#Anya moreso just let him walk over her. which to me seems more like Freeze than Fawn#but I'm not a psychologist so don't take my word on that#I just feel this way cuz of how much I relate to curly. like the amount of traumas he went through that I did too is shocking#like I get why he's characterized in game the way he is. I see his thought process and reactions and feelings#don't ask who I am <3#captain Curly#typo in the tags#Anya tried to KISS UP to Jimmy not Kill up to Jimmy#also I hate how negative that phrase is#like I need a different phrase that doesn't blame the victim instead of ''kiss up to''
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Long Post about Savage Opress because I am Normal
Savage Opress, you are everything.
You are at your strongest when you are fighting to protect the people you love. You had to participate in a battle royale and subjected yourself to a fate worse than death in order to protect your brother. You were forced to kill the brother you fought so hard to protect, your last words to him as he begged for his life were 'You make (me) weak'.
You are Frankenstein's monster, a kinslayer. You just have to live with that. Your mistress isn't giving you a choice in the matter.
You were placed under the control of a cruel master/mistress twice in the span of like a week. You were forced to betray your master and (under your mistress's orders) you killed two jedi, making you an enemy of the two most powerful entities in the galaxy. You made these enemies against your own will. You were lightning spammed and abused to the point that you were able to break free of your mistress's control.
You are then attacked by these two random jedi you have never met. They seem intent on bringing you in. They stand besides each other and fight to protect each other. You are reminded of how you did the same for your own brother. You killed that brother.
You run to the only home you've ever known, the same home that treated you as lesser-than and transformed you into what you are now. Your home is destroyed, all of your sisters are dead. You are upset by this. They were the cause of your suffering, but they were still kin.
You are told that you have a remaining brother, one who can make you strong enough to protect yourself. You decide to travel across the galaxy to find him. You killed your last brother, you will do anything for this one.
You seem to create trouble everywhere you are now. You are now incapable of solving problems without violence, so violence is what you become. You become hatred. You had love once, but everything that you loved is dead. Except for your remaining brother. You do whatever you must to find him.
You find your brother. Your brother is delirious and half-dead, but he is your brother and you found him. You can fix this. Your brother sees you too, or at least he sometimes does. You are a reflection of him, of what he was meant to be. You are strong and powerful. Your brother is not anymore, but he will be soon.
Your mother, the same woman who took you and warped you into a monster (that is what everybody calls you now), fixes your brother. Your brother grabs your face and twists it, painfully examining your every pore. You don't begrudge him this. You have done the same to it. Your face isn't yours, but it is the only face you have.
Your brother screams for vengeance against Kenobi, he must have revenge. You must stand by your brother, he is all that is left. You embark on a quest of vengeance against a man you only briefly met.
You become everything your brother needs you to be. You are his protector, his sword, his second-in-command. You have love again and you will do anything to keep it this time.
Your brother is a terrible person. Your brother will massacre a village for the sake of getting Kenobi's attention. Your living brother is nothing like the one you killed. You aren't sure this is a good thing.
Your brother lures Kenobi to the village and you both capture him. Your mistress shows up and immediately sets about belittling you. You are the monster she and your mother created. You are not her thrall anymore, you can fight her now. You do exactly that.
Your mistress and Kenobi retreat, your brother chooses to bide his time. You will wait with him.
Your brother and you infiltrate a ship, finding a fortune of credits. You are happy with this, you have never seen this much money in your life. Your brother's only fortune is the downfall of Kenobi.
Your brother calls you apprentice, decides that is what your relationship is now. You don't see the need for dominance, you are brothers after all. Your brother disagrees and you will subject yourself to this for your brother's sake. You are a reflection of him, of all his past flaws. You are devoted to those you love and able to feel things other than vindictive glee or hatred. Your brother is not anymore, he might never be again.
You think your brother is incapable of love. You love him all the same.
You and your brother next run into Kenobi with another Jedi Master. You do not know her name nor anything about her. You kill her, goring her with your (far larger than they should be) horns and running her through with your lightsaber. Your master is not forcing your hand this time, you can finally choose to make an enemy of the Jedi. You would have been their enemy either way, but the false choice is comforting regardless.
You and your brother corner Kenobi. You think for a moment that you have gotten the upper-hand, then Kenobi cuts your arm off. Your body leaks green magic. Your mother's magic still holds power over you even after everything. You wish it didn't.
Your brother shoves Kenobi away from you and decides to retreat. You aren't sure if this is a sign of affection towards you or if this is a strategic move. Your brother speaks as if it's the latter. You see no reason to believe otherwise.
You manage to escape, but are left adrift in space. You are freezing and slowly running out of oxygen. Your home was warm and full of breatheable air. You are alone with only a brother who calls you 'apprentice' for company. Your home was filled with brothers who called you by your name or by 'brother'. You are alive. Your home and brothers are dead.
You next wake up in an unfamiliar place. You smash all the equipment around you. You are now incapable of solving problems without violence, so violence is what you have become. Your brother informs you that his plans have changed, and now you two will be working with Deathwatch. You have no idea what Deathwatch is or who your brother just made a deal with. You will follow him regardless.
You stand up and hit your head on the lamp above you. You were supposed to be shorter than you are now. Your body is wrong. You look in the mirror and you are not yourself. Your body isn't yours, but it is the only body you have.
Your brother takes over Mandalore. You watch as your brother marches Kenobi into the throne room and prepares to execute the Duchess of this planet.
Kenobi offers sympathy. Kenobi recognizes that your brother never had a choice in joining the dark side. Kenobi had gone to your village and seen what it is like for the nightbrothers. Kenobi, despite everything, is trying to be kind.
You hear your story in Kenobi's words. You never had a choice in any of this. You never stood a chance. Your body isn't yours, your mind has been warped and twisted into serving the goals of another. You only wanted to protect your brother.
Your brother kills the love of Kenobi's life. Your brother has stripped himself and you of any possible chance to take the olive branch Kenobi was extending. You ask if you should kill Kenobi now. You know that stewing in grief and guilt can be a terrible fate. Your brother decides to keep him imprisoned. Your brother is counting on the Kenobi stewing in his grief and guilt. Your brother wants to drag out his suffering for as long as possible.
Your brother is in charge for less than a rotation. Your brother panics and bows before a withered old man, calling him 'master'. Your brother lies and fawns to his master. Your brother's master does not care.
You have never met this man before. You have no reason to fight him. Your brother is terrified of him. Your brother grovels before nobody, but he bows before this man. You don't have to do this.
Your brother needs you. You draw your weapon.
You manage to get a hit in on your brother's master. You are one of very few in the galaxy who can say that. You are at your strongest when you are fighting to protect the people you love.
You are stabbed in both your hearts. Your efforts to protect your brother, your pain and suffering, your love and affection, you, Savage Opress, you don't matter. You didn't know it, but you were fighting the most powerful being in the galaxy.
You never had a choice. You never stood a chance.
You die thinking you were unworthy of your brother. Your brother never said or did anything to make you think otherwise. You die calling yourself apprentice, that is the relationship your brother wanted. Your brother holds your hand as you die, it is trembling. You aren't sure if it is from grief or hatred. You decide it must be the latter. Your brother is only capable of hatred.
You knew your brother was incapable of love. You loved him all the same.
You don't know that you might have been the only thing your brother cared about besides his vengeance. You don't know that when you are unconcious he calls you by your name, he calls you brother. You don't know that he nearly killed the Death Watch soldiers, but stopped when they threatened you. You couldn't know. Your brother never told you.
You don't know that he uses his grief as fuel for his duel with Sidious. You don't know that he switches his ire away from Kenobi and decides that his former master is a more pressing target of his hatred You don't know that he spends the rest of his days trying to find a new apprentice to fill the hole you left and that it never works. You will never know. You are dead.
You died realizing you were nothing like your brother. You never were. Your body shrinks down, you finally look like yourself again. You can't be happy about this. You can't take relief in the fact that all the magic which ruined your life has been dispelled. You can't feel anything. You are dead.
You are right. You are nothing like Darth Maul. Your brother is motivated by hatred, you are motivated by love. Your brother will die having found peace, you died having found nothing but pain and grief and yet more pain.
You are my favorite magical girl and you have suffered so much more than Jesus.
#star wars the clone wars#Savage Opress#darth maul#obi wan kenobi#star wars#the clone wars#hey guys I think I have a new special interest#this is very bad. I have enough.#Savage isn't even my favorite Star Wars character. and I have THIS MUCH TO TALK ABOUT IN ONE POST#He IS my favorite character who doesn't make it out of Clone Wars. He is a CW only character and I am sad about that#When I heard that Maul was supposed to hallucinate him in Twins Suns but it was cut for time...AGONY#I get it but AGONY#But fr Savage is actually the most tragic character to me specifically.#this is obviously a lot of extrapolation from the stuff we're given in canon/my interpretation of it#but Savage is never allowed to emotionally react to things or even think about what's happened to him sooo#and Ventress never really explains how nightsister shit works either soooo idk I'm doing my best here#I haven't even touched on the fact that the transformation seems to have fucked with his intellect as well#his body isn't his and neither is his fucking mind. oh my god this man#he is a disability metaphor to me <3#you'd think I'm in love with this man the way I talk about him but I'm literally not into him at all I'm a fucking lesbian#I just think he's neat and also really sad and also jfc WHY AREN'T MORE PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT THIS MAN????#I will also never be over Obi-Wan trying to empathize with Maul as Maul is about to kill Satine. He is so fucking cool actually#And I will never not yell at the screen about how Savage would have been a good Jedi but he never got the FUCKING CHANCE#I'll stop now
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Just finished my first playthrough of BG3. Romanced Lae'zel, but ending up turning into an Illithid because the idea of making Orpheus or Karlach do it didn't sit well with me (or my character).
I told Lae'zel to leave with Orpheus in the end (I heard she wouldn't stay with a ghaik anyway, which she's valid for, but also, it doesn't feel right to ask her to stay when I know how much her people mean to her). And like-
Her face before she flies off---
She looks so heartbroken and sad.
#emmodii rambles#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate series#lae'zel#spoilers#i don't regret my choices and i do love a good angsty story. but at the same time... OOF.#may you find a new source of joy in the astral realm my queen :'(#for anyone curious- i played a githyanki which i heard is the only race that can fly off with her or something?#but well. again- didn't quite fit my character to have someone else turn instead pfffft#ALSO HE'S A CLERIC OF ILMATER AND A REDEEMED DARK URGE. self-sacrifice is kiNDA TO BE EXPECTED HAHAHA.#anyway- do give romancing lae'zel a shot guys. she may be a hardass at first but it's really because she cares a lot#also slightly off-topic but as a dark urge gith... durge grew up in a city so like. wonder how out of place they woulda felt with the#other githyankis anyway. i think i read somewhere that a gith durge realises they don't really feel connected to creches and stuff#which is interesting and makes me curious about how exactly they were made. cuz they have the traits and knowledge of the race but didn't#grow up with them. i guess the easiest answer would be 'god magic shenanigans' but STILL.#trust me to overthink things hahaha XD#if anyone's curious what happened to my guy in the end--- we followed wyll and karlach to avernus hahaha#what are the devils gonna do? steal the soul we don't have?? TRY IT BITCH#of course i did reload multiple times to have my character kill himself. because that was another option that felt possible for his charact#...and also because i wanted to see how companions would react to it. krewfjewlkrjewklrjewl- although the narration for durge suicide#is also quite interesting! of course maybe that's just me being mentally ill eff (/lh) but having a kill that isn't going to murder daddy?#gives a redeemed durge some control and a final say at last. which is still sad but a nice way to tie up their death methinks#ANYWAY- time to go find a way to convert him into a full-on OC. elves and dwarves are one thing but giths are blatantly dnd so i'mma have#to figure that out for my own story lore and universe--- some kinda new species? humanify him? or convert to another existing general speci#hmm hmm hmmmmmmmmmm-#emmodii plays bg3
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spoilers for the latest dungeon meshi ep but oh my GODDD i love marcille my pobrecita.. i think ryoko kui wrote sexism's effects on marcille really well, i think it's neat how she's a silly little guy and other people kind of underestimate her and it seems she is often down on herself about her failures or, "burdening" others in a way that feels very authentic to how it feels to be a woman and have that extra pressure of perfection to dispell suspicions of your inferiority. it's just very much the feeling i gather from it which makes marcille so relatable. and then to put another layer on it when it came out that she did black magic, she's literally A Bad Ass she is LITERALLY a Badass which makes her doubt of herself even more starkly inappropriate, and in this new episode despite the Fact that she is A Bad Ass when everyone's being a BIG MEANIE to her she's like a sad puppy when people don't let her help with revivals and like idk if i missed something but she doesn't even push back against them saying they're going to turn her in in like, a threatening way, she is just... scared. which hurt me i just wanted everyone stop being so MEAN TO HERRR my POBRECITAAAA. MY TINY LITTLE BABYY
i also laughed a lot and freaked out catching up on the two latest episodes today. DEVASTATING miscalculation on chilchuck's part to protect senshi when laois has No sense of Social cue. really happy to see laois and kabru meet, they're really funny together and i see why people like them so much as a ship now!! i am ECSTATIC that shuro is out of the game in terms of ehem. courting falin. bro COULDN'T HACK IT gEDDEM marcille. get that red dragon lady.. and omg it made me SOOOO MAD that they tried to blame marcille for that like how could that even b her fault!!! >:((( its obv the mad mage's doing. i dont get it they r just big meanies!!! stop shitting on my girl!!!
i like how kabru is like laios if he had more social awareness and was a litle Conniving... and omfg i thought it was so funny and sweet how shuro and laios just fucking beat each other up 😭 shuro said i hate autistic ppl fr. no but im glad he showed up for laios & co. in the end.. sometimes you just gotta talk ur feelings out over a fistfight lol
it was soo so fun seeing everyone interact .. all these fun characters... i cant wait to see what happens next!!! i love this show literally one of my fav animes EVER now definitely its so good its SOOOOOO GOOOOOOOD!! im terrified not knowing when its gonna end and how im gonna cope when the season ends 🗿 methinks i will have to read the manga instantly after or i will go insane from dungeon meshi withdrawal..
#dungeon meshi spoilers#this is totally just me rambling this show makes me so happyyyy#i usually hate rewatching stuff but idk if i just want to take everything or what#but i had a process of watching it like. rewatch old ep then watch new ep#and i also rewatched it all around ep 13 or something#but i think im going to rewatch it again just because I love ... so much..#is so good... need dunmeshi ..#i also need to develop my senshi tulpa more so my life is less disastrous#at least in terms of food and sleep#i slept until 7pm and then ate 3meals in a row so -_- need that senshi tulpa#lol the way laios did the im stronger than u thing but listed his food and sleep sched. as the reason 😭😭😭😭 beautiful . so beautiful#it makes me SAD that they tried to kill falin but realistically what else could they do.. i just dont want laios think monsters r all bad#or the rest of the crew. anymore...#may b theyre just friends and its the mad mages fault :((#and then kabru was like u have to kill orcs and im like NOOOOOOOOOo dont DO THAT#i was so SHOCOKED. SHOCKEKD when so many ppl were wiped out by falin. literally crazy sauce. broooo#i wuv dungeomeshi so much......#also i just have to say that shuro n laios fight? p gay...ngl#laios n falin r so similar its just falin is um. well better at masking#the Autism Twins (insert flame font(#its like i think shuro's feelings r genuine n not shallow for falin but i also dont think he knows her as well as he thinks.#i mean apparently he is Poor at connecting with others#love those guys. silly guys. the lot of em#chilchuck's being mad at marcile for black magic is a lot less annoying 2 me now that i know. other ppls react WAYYY worse#wuv em
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i can’t wait to see aki realize he lost the one person he cared about and then be told he only has two more years to live and then sob alone in a hospital room before deciding to throw what little remaining life he has away and doom himself to the worst death imaginable tomorrow. and by can’t wait i mean i’m blowing everything up
#OUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH#FUCK#FUCK FUCK FUCK#bad day for aki hayakawa specifically tomorrow#watching these things animated is going to kill me#i hope they do the scene justice bc the moment where akis told he has two years to live has one of my favorite panels#it’s like a small subtle fully rendered panel of his mouth slightly agape. no dialogue. just him realizing his life is over#it’s just one of those quiet heart wrenching moments that i hope gets transferred over lol#god#kinda unrelated can’t wait to see my roommate react to this tomorrow#she’s gonna be like what do you MEAN he has two years to live and is gonna die in the worst way imaginable WHAT#ohhhh boy we’re really getting into the horrors now#chainsaw man#aki hayakawa#mine
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i still love this pic so much bc it's literally the embodiment of all official artwork of the lords
claude is just being friendly and nice and dimi is staring at him like wow i love him so much and edelgard is just SO DONE with third wheeling their kissy bullshit
#DCB Comments#it's true tho it rly is all the official artwork and promotional stuff is like#here are dimi and claude together inseparable attached at the hip or never far apart and often interacting#and then there's edelgard either pointedly looking away and ignoring them or staring at them like#god you two are gross go flirt in private you absolute saps why do you always do this in front of me#what she doesn't realize is that claude specifically planned to do it around her bc he's been aware this whole time#that she reacts like that and always like why they gotta be smoochin again right in front of me#so now that he knows she reacts like that he purposely does it all the time but the thing is#dimi has no idea that's the whole point he's just infatuated with his mans and doesn't even think abt#how edelgard is reacting in the background he's just seeing rainbows and roses and claude#claude just has to ensure it occurs in her presence bc he knows dimi is the innocent one who#didn't plan it that way at all he's just admiring claude he's not even thinking abt the fact that she's there#the reason we usually don't get their retainers in these pics is bc hubert is disgusted and#doesn't wanna be around it and hilda is cheering them on. dedue is trying to do damage control#by keeping hubert from killing anyone and keeping hilda from getting too loud#hubert is over there like lady edelgard im so sorry u have to be in the picture with those hooligans#dimi is literally like no thoughts head full of claude in eye view very beautiful much heart flutter#and claude is like lel she's so annoyed this is great. but also that's his deflecting from the fact that#he doesn't know what to do that the cutest and sweetest man ever is infatuated with him so instead he just#focuses on lel edelgard is angy again instead of focusing on his feelings so he keeps goofing off#he's like oh wow he likes me i am happy how do i handle this i do not know so i will simply goof off#also since rhea is totally up for same sex marriage she's egging them on like wow i'm so happy for them sparkle sparkle#the little humans are so cute and in love and she loves that for them#edelgard was already planning a war but like. now that rhea is egging the boys' kissy nonsense on#edelgard is like i am starting that war as soon as possible at the highest intensity possible#and once the picture is done and she's free to go she comes smack face to face with ferdinand#and in that moment she knew her day was not getting any better bc ferdinand shall not relent#yes that's the story behind all the official and promotional art you see of them 100 percent true confirmed#DCB Three Houses Stuff
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im fucking cackling, my camera mod can sometimes swap to first person perspective of not just my character but also the npc I'm talking to, and this is how Gore and Tamar see each other:
small
tall
#yaz yaks#skyrim oc#oc: tamar#skyrim#skyrim gore#no i will not shut up about him and you cant make me#to be fair he is standing on a bit of an incline here but like#i didn't realise i made her THAT short#like in my last save with her i found out she's even shorter than Khash who's like.... 5'4?? ish??#like damn is tamar 4'8 or something??? what did i do to her lmao#also tho. gore's expression. is killing me#he's like.... this TINY THING just saved me??? how far have i fallen#and can we talk about his new look??? *chefs kiss* so good#and already new dialogue when he reacts to the thalmor jumping us; think his intro may have been recorded too? sounds a little different#but not in a bad way! i only noticed cause i'd done it literally yesterday on 1.4 with another character#what am i even babbling about at this point idk man#off i go
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Grief is also not always the same. You may react one way to this death and a completely different way to that death, no matter the person. Grief is a messy, tricky thing, and it’s okay for it to be weird. Treat yourself with kindness.
Don’t beat yourself up for reacting one way to an acquaintance’s passing, then not reacting as intensely to a family member’s. Or for feeling terrible about other kinds of griefs that some people may not understand, like having to give up a pet to another home, or your house burning down, but differently to the loss of life. You’re going to process everything differently. That’s okay.
Btw, if you have not had tragedy dropped on you before, grief does fuck you up in unexpected and physical ways. If you can’t sleep or sleep more than expected or have more or reduced appetite, or energy goes weird— your brain just had a bunch of emotions dropped on it and sometimes it reacts by hitting every button in your brain. It will pass. Just try to not get too frustrated with yourself.
It’s also fine if you feel normal. Grief literally hits everybody differently, and some people are made to be able to to keep the farm going the day after a death, and some of us turn into sleepless gargoyles and get really into trying to help, and some of us are just unspeakably sad. Grief is weird. Be kind to yourself.
#are those all my personal experiences? yes#I lost a sort of friend—kid I grew up with at church and while we wouldn’t go hang out on our own#we got along at youth group nights and trips and things#he was great#and he passed away when I was a freshman in college from leukemia#and I was devastated#it was the first time I’d experienced that kind of grief where I was old enough to really understand it#and later that school year my great uncle passed away#and again we weren’t *close* but he lived close enough that we saw him every thanksgiving/christmas/easter+ yknow?#but I wasn’t that affected tbh#and then after I graduated college my grandpa passed away#and it completely destroyed me#it was awful#it’ll be 10 years this year and I still cry about it#a year after he passed my uncle (his son) killed himself in a very intense way#and….i didn’t react?#not really#and we weren’t like super close but close enough! I loved him a lot#uh but my dad asked me to go with and drive him up to our family up where they all lived/where it happened#so he could help w the aftermath#and the whole day I was teary sure but…I just wasn’t feeling it like everyone else was#like at all#and to this day I feel bad bc I don’t remember what day he died#I get sadder about my dad making us give away our dog than I do about my uncle#and it makes me mad#my brain won’t let me be that kind of sad that I wanna be
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it's because the bear wouldn't kill me just for being a woman. the bear doesn't kill me for fun. the bear can be shouted at, and will leave me alone. the bear won't make a tiktok complaining about how i crossed to the other side of the path when i saw him coming. if a bear kills me, it's just being a bear: it cannot understand logic. it is not acting out of malice - just fear or hunger.
bell hooks once wrote about how porches might be the only outside space left for women - it is still the domain of the house while it is also outside-but-safe. when i am in the woods, i am in the bear's home, and he has a right to defend his property. outside spaces - anywhere at night, certain parks in the day - those are often implicitly "owned" by men. i cannot explain the feeling of knowing when you have entered a man's "territory." you walk into a place and just know you are in their space. you get a sick sense - you're in danger.
the other day a group of about 8 men were fooling around in the woods while i walked my dog. i had to go around, take the extra 3 miles just to avoid them. it's okay, i like walking. this wasn't even a #feminism moment. it was just a tuesday.
what a plain and easy question. only one of the situations is seen as a tragic accident. i would rather die and have a park bench erected in my honor rather than have my family questioned about why they let me, an adult, walk in the woods in the first place when i should really be at home in the kitchen.
i worked in retail and food service. i have had women say and do absolutely heinous and abusive things to me - not because i was a woman, but because i was there, and they were angry. the way men treated me when angry was different - it was because i was a woman. you can always feel the difference, how there's an undertone of i'd hurt you worse if i could get away with it. i keep seeing people try to cite stupid statistics. why is there always a strange rage whenever women agree on things? like men can argue their way out of our lived experiences? it isn't a buzzfeed quiz - which of these traumas are you? 10 super cute ways not to fear strange men.
i have actually (thrice!) seen a bear in the wild, by the way. i died each time, obviously, and am a ghost writing to you. (it was scary but completely and utterly fine). the second encounter was a black bear with her cub. she looked at me like - do we have to do this or are we good? my dog was busy sniffing a bush, completely nonreactive. i felt like i was in a sitcom: feminist poet reacts - does she actually mean she'd choose the bear? my only thought was - she's so beautiful. her paws are massive.
and there's a part of me that feels the rage spinning out in a corner. why do we have to come up with quippy little comments in order to teach men empathy. would you rather die in a car accident or due to a mugging? and would you rather your house burn down due to an electrical fire or due to arson? gee willikers - it's almost like we're human people, and want to risk the accident versus the intention.
i would rather my last thought be oh shit, a bear rather than i'm a person too. why doesn't that matter? why don't you care?
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very messy word dump below the cut + in tags :^) heh
okay it’s officially been a full day since reading this and i’m going to write down everything i remember feeling from day 1! and then in the tags im going to reread this (for the third time within 24 hours) and add thoughts that i didn’t put down here. SORRY FOR THE MESS & NO PRESSURE TO READ ALL THIS SJKDMF IT IS JUST A LOT OF WORD VOMIT BC IM INSANE OVER THIS FIC
okay i should start from the beginning. Wait I’ll use caps so it’s easier to read if you’re reading it bahahhaa OKAY. The way you write alpha / omega!!! It’s different from what I’m used to reading— and I mean it has a lot of a depth. The way you wrote reader being an alpha = being so protective over Aventurine fucked me up so bad /pos. Reader just wants him safe and they’re so real for that.
Going off on that, I LOVE HOW U WROTE THE READER. Understands Aventurine so well. Will literally do anything to keep him safe. Understands what sets him off and what he’s comfortable with. The part where Aventurine was talking about the next mission & reader seeing right through him ): are you serious /pos. WAIT I SKIPPED TOO FAR AHEAD. When Aventurine was trying to get reader to join the IPC? Dead. Evie DEAD. Reader saw right through him omg. Being able to notice the little changes in his scent, the way he tries to mask it etc etc. I love that so bad.
WHEN READER FOUND HIM IN HEAT FUUUCK. ARE YOU SERIOUS /pos. Fighting the urge to help him vs waiting to just make it better because reader has the power to ): I loved that so much. The struggle was so real. Literally bringing a doctor just to hear that he needs an alpha to help anyways omg. Lowkey when the doctor said that I was like PLEASE LET US HELP YOU PLEASEEEEEEE. But also. I didn’t want him to be scared either you know ):
I skipped over another scene sighs. THE part where reader said ‘I like your eyes because they’re yours” and then the end. Him saying he likes our scent because it’s ours. Are you serious /pos. Be so serious /pos.
Okay the scent gland scenes actually fucked me up so bad (I unfortunately did not dream about anything but maybe that is for the best because I’m still recovering from this scene). The part where he asks for just the wrist. Reader struggling when they FEEL HIS TEETH GRAZE THE WRIST IM GONNA EXPLODE OMFG. The immediate pulling away because we don’t want to scare him please. + the scent gland scene at the end. HE DIDN’T FEEL LIKE HE HAD TO BE ON TOP. We could lay side by side ): I was so happy that he was okay with that omg. Literally all giddy like aaaaa!!!!!! IM NOT A THREAT!! Actually that’s a lie I wasn’t giddy. I was literally in tears jejdkckckckk Aventurine 😭😭 ughhhhhhh /pos
I won’t comment on the actual scene (I am commenting on it right now actually) because I was literally so sad and my heart hurt so badly for him. I wanted him to see himself from our POV for just one moment so he can understand that we genuinely love him and treasure him & want to keep him safe. ):
ABOUT YOUR WRITING ITSELF : insanity. I will just say insanity. How should I put it in words….. just thinking about this fic again is taking all the words out of my mouth shejdjfjj (I say this as I type a 27738 page essay about it). I love how you write. I really do. Your writing style is so beautiful. I haven’t read the other tags under your fic but I’m sure many others have said the same thing!!! They word it better than me I’m sure bsjsjsjsjsk
I just love everything about it. How you add in little details (oh! Speaking of details— Aventurine’s reaction to reader cozying up to her husband in the other fic) HEJDJJDJDJ omg. But in this fic, the little signs of him being scared. Scared 24/7 actually ): I love how you conveyed his fear so much. And the way he tries so hard to hide it. HIM CRUMBLING DOWN TO HIS RAW SELF WHEN HES IN HEAT. AND THE FEAR THERE TOO. INSANE.
^^ How you wrote him so adamant about not needing help at first …. To him asking for the scent gland ….. to him agreeing to use reader. It was all so real. He didn’t just change his mind like oh okay! It took him a while to be okay with it and I love how real it all felt. You write dialogue & little details so well— it actually drives me nuts (/compliment /pos)
Oh this just reminded me. Your description of how Aventurine smells killed me /pos. And how you describe his scent as sweet. I’m really not okay /pos. It fits him so well. And … for reader…. the scent after rain ? Oh my god ???? I love that smell so much. It’s so comforting…. OMG. COMFORTING????????? BECAUSE. Oh wow. I’m really not okay now. I JUST LOVE ALL THE DETAILS LIKE THAT )))): it’s so clear you put so much thought into all these things because your fic has so much depth. I lowkey yanked out Notibility for your other Aventurine fic to highlight the parts I wanted to comment on ehdjdkkck I was annotating it like a book (I’m so sorry if this is creepy I promise I don’t do this on a regular basis. I don’t annotate fics normally. Actually please disregard this because I’m a bit red admitting this) (I just have the memory of a goldfish and can only remember feelings and not actual content) (That’s a lie because here I am remembering a lot of this fic MOST LIKELY BECAUSE I READ IT WITH MY EYES AN INCH FROM THE SCREEN PROBABLY I WAS LIKE O_O) /pos
NIGHT FLOWER: part i
Your place in the world was one of a tool. This was true of every slave: you were all things to be used. Kakavasha understood this about you, and he understood this about himself. It was how he survived all those years ago, and it’s how he survives now. And so, when Aventurine goes into his first heat in years and decides to suffer it alone, you can only think of one way to get him to accept your help: You offer to let him use you.
written for @/lorelune's spring fever collab & @ficsforgaza
13.5k words of omegaverse, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, angst with an eventual happy ending. gn alpha reader + omega aventurine (they each have both amab and afab genitalia). explicit piv sex, reader bottoms, the sex is consensual but emotionally complicated and deeply sad. cw slavery, racism, gendered violence, including very brief and non-graphic (but direct) references to sexual abuse during slavery. the sa and slavery are not eroticized. dead dove do not eat, mdni.
thank you to @acerathia, @minnaci, @owlespresso for all your help with beta reading and to @kosmiccarma for brainstorming omega aventurine hcs!
“I’ve alw███ l█ved ███, Ka██v█s███”
You knew it from the moment you met him.
Gaunt, pallid, weighed down by heavy chains. Irises that glowed like the auroras back in your world. Delicate features that made every passerby in the market stop to read the description on the placard. (Sigonian, it said, although you couldn’t read at the time. Avgin. Male. Omega. Sixteen years old. Sixty Tanba, no tax.) He had an all-consuming scent that was impossible to ignore—one that possessed you, made your heels dig into the dirt, every atom in your body resisting the impatient jerk of the chains at your wrist. Even through your muzzle, through the perpetual stench of carbon-steel and blood, you could smell it: honey and wildflowers. A fragrance that settled deep within you, flooded you with a warmth that felt like home.
Aventurine is not a spiritual person. He once told you this, his smile cold in the glow of an artificial moon. He'd been deeply religious as a child, but hasn’t since cared for fairy tales about fortune and fate, three-eyed goddesses or merciful rainfalls. Hasn't thought about anything like a destined love. He thinks the idea of a true mate is laughable, that no such bond could ever be forged between an omega and an alpha. That nothing so unconditional could ever exist.
You know differently, of course. You've known it from the moment you met him, from the second you laid eyes on him and thought, I need to help you, and I need to protect you, and I need you to be safe, and you’d never once heard the word ‘love’ in your life—slaves are never loved by their masters, after all, and you'd always been nothing but a slave—but every atom of your being knew that you loved him, that you'd always love him.
And when your master cradled your face that night and crooned that he owned you, that you'd always be his obedient, alpha pet—for the first time in your life, you knew that he was wrong.
You didn't belong to your slaver.
You belonged to him.
To Kakavasha.
These days, Aventurine does not smell like honey, and your jaw is not restrained.
Your muzzle was one of the first things that Aventurine threw away when he bought your freedom. According to the Amber Era system, it had been several months since the murder of your shared master. Ninety-five Star Calendar days after the Interastral Peace Corps had arrested Kakavasha. An entire rotation around the black hole at the centre of your wretched galaxy, all of which had been spent in the captivity of some new mistress. She picked you out because she liked your calming scent and the look of your face, but mostly she used you for the fighting pits just like your old master.
Aventurine had been sitting in the audience of your final match, then bought you out right after you won. “I’m in need of a fighter,” he’d said, smiling in his thick furs and jewels. He played the part of a slavemaster perfectly, his gloved hands wandering the span of your aching shoulders, touching the bloodied maw of your mask. “And I’d be willing to pay top credit for yours.”
She protested. You were her most prized possession, one of her greatest investments. Slaves from your planet were hard enough to come by—alphas capable of reproduction, nearly impossible. And you were so well-behaved, so poised, so endearing in a way that was rare for alphas. She was fond of you. Her omega slaves were fond of you too. They would be distraught if you left, and that would complicate her household affairs—and surely Aventurine, as a respectable owner of human capital like herself, could understand how inconvenient that would be?
Aventurine bared his teeth in a gracious smile. (You’d never seen Kakavasha make such an expression before—so disarming, so cunning, a crescent moon beneath snake eyes. He’d never smelt like this either, like an expensive cologne layered with bleach, and it left you feeling nauseous, wondering if he was ill.) He flirted his way into her good graces, made her an offer she couldn’t refuse, and then he brought you into the first-class ship on which he’d arrived. You were so stunned by its luxury—the handwoven carpets, the crushed velvet seats, the imported tea from several galaxies away and the custom-ordered outfit he had bought for you—that you nearly missed the tremble in his hands as he punched numbers into the remote control lock for your chains.
He had regained his composure by the time he pulled away your muzzle, though. He threw it carelessly to the ground—your titanium chains, too. Then kicked both away with his shined leather shoes.
“There,” Aventurine said, smiling cheerfully. “Much better, don’t you think?”
“Vasha—” you started, voice thick with wasted grief, and all you wanted to was reach for him, to double check that he was real, but he placed a finger to your lips and stopped you. You stiffened at the satin touch, but he seemed unbothered.
“‘Aventurine’,” he corrected.
You stared blankly. “What?”
“‘Aventurine’. Like the gemstone. That’s my name now.”
“You—” Your voice caught in your throat. You realized that you’d been holding your breath. You always had the habit of holding your breath in the luxurious, private rooms of very rich men, because you never liked what happened in them. Forcing yourself to breathe, you asked, “You gave yourself a new name?”
“No. The IPC gave me a new name. They gave me a job, too.”
“A job?” you asked, voice faint. Now that you were breathing again, you were noticing once more just how bizarre he smelled. Sterile and expensive and completely foreign. “You’re free now?”
“Well, I’m a freedman, but I don’t know if I’d call myself free. I’m a bit… indebted to the IPC, let’s say. But that’s fine. I can’t complain. I mean—look around. This beats the fighting pits, doesn’t it?” He gestured lazily at your surroundings, and you nodded.
“It’s nice here,” you replied, feeling absurd but not knowing what else to say. Once Kakavasha got talking, it was impossible to get a word in edgewise.
“You like it here? Good. This room’s yours. Mine is the next one over. You’ll live and work here, with me. I’ll make sure you’re paid well. Full benefits, vacation, salary, and overtime. The standard pay for your role is seventy-thousand credits per month, but I’ll see if I can get you more. HR is pretty strict about their hiring policies, but—”
“You’re hiring me?”
Aventurine went very still, his smile tightly controlled. His eyes remained fixed on you, but they seemed less snake-like, now. They looked more familiar. More afraid.
“I’m offering, yes,” he said neatly. “You’ll be part of my personal security detail. I don’t have the contract for you to review yet, unfortunately. I didn’t arrange one ahead of time because, well”—he laughed, as if this were polite conversation and he were making a joke about the weather—“I didn’t know if I’d find you alive. But things worked out in my favour. They always work out in my favour. I’ll make sure they’ll work out in your favour too, so long as you’re with me. So you’ll consider it, won’t you? Staying with—working for me, I mean.”
Your eyes went soft. Beneath the artificial fragrance, you finally caught a hint of his familiar scent—more wildflower than honey at that moment, the way it always is when he’s scared.
“Kakavasha—”
“Name your price,” he said loudly, “and I’ll match it.”
You sighed. “Vasha,” you said more gently, and his shoulders relaxed at the subvocal shift in your timbre, at the famed alpha Voice that necessitated your muzzle, “I don’t care about the money. Of course I’ll stay here. But—what happened? Why did you kill him yourself? Why didn't you let me do it? That was the plan. It was always supposed to be me.”
It was my job, you thought then, just as you had thought to yourself every night, curled up in your bed and trying to recall the scent of fresh honey, to keep you safe.
He shrugged and said, “It would have been too risky to involve you.”
“You were caught and sentenced to death. The risk was already too high.”
“But the stakes weren’t,” he replied simply, and before you could ask what he meant by that, he continued, “and it worked out, didn’t it? I work for the IPC. You work for me. We’re freedmen now. Whatever I've lost, it doesn't matter. Our gains far outweigh it.”
“And what have you lost, Vasha?”
He smiled at you, charming and distracting. A crescent moon beneath snake eyes. “Nothing of value,” he reassured you, and even though you could feel the calm of an omega’s voice washing over you, even though it released all the tension in your body, all you could smell was cologne and wildflowers, and you knew that he was lying.
Vasha once told you, curled up and quiet on the basement floor, that he despised his eyes. They were supposed to be a sign of blessing from Gaiathra Triclops, but they'd never brought him anything but trouble. They were the first thing that the slavers always noticed about him, the feature that made him such an alluring commodity. Their aurora glow, their strange beauty, their promise of a rare opportunity: a chance at owning a specimen of an exotic, endangered species, possibly the last of its kind. These are all things that you've heard in the parlour of your master’s house as he entertained rich company, the crowd of them gawking at his human curios.
Avgin are said to make the most beautiful slaves, he'd often say. And Avgin omegas are said to be the most beautiful among them. What do you all think? They'd all hum, peering closely at Kakavasha’s features, and inevitably someone would joke, I think I'd like to borrow him sometime, and then they would all laugh while your pulse ticked up and you imagined tearing at their throats. Vasha would search for your gaze in these moments, giving you a long, pointed look: Don't do anything stupid.
He’d always been so blasé about it, the way people fixated on his Avgin blood. You'll never understand how. He didn't react to any of the comments, the groping, the innuendos. He was, however, distinctly unimpressed at the way that your master liked to play him up as a rare and expensive acquisition, as a sign of his own status. It's embarrassing to watch, Kakavasha had remarked. Everyone knows that Sigonian slaves are uncommon but cheap—people always think we’ll bring them more trouble than our worth. This was how Kakavasha had ended up in the market in the first place: because his last master had been robbed, and he'd been wrongly blamed for it.
The blame, to this day, has never stopped. People—powerful people, politicians, businessmen, socialites—look at Aventurine’s eyes and immediately reach for their pockets. You've seen it for yourself, these spineless despots and scammers feeling for their wallets. Sigonian, you know they're thinking. Liar, cheat, thief, whore, worthless, worthless, worthless. Your hands tighten around your blade each time, a loaded gun with a finger on the trigger.
Alphas are said to be violent by nature. Aventurine has often called you the one exception to this rule: the most docile, good-hearted alpha he's ever met. But this is a lie. You do have a predator instinct, and it comes out in full-force whenever you’re around these particular types of men. These types who notice Aventurine’s eyes and see a thief; these monsters who see his irises and imagine what it would be like to bed him. You’d kill them if you could. It would be so easy, especially now that you are an IPC dog. The Company is already such a violent force; what would be one more murder?
But Aventurine has never ordered you to punish anyone. (Don't do anything stupid, he always tells you with a glance, smiling through every humiliation.) Nor has he ever seemed bothered enough by these meetings to try concealing his heritage.
A fellow Asset Liquidation Specialist once asked why he didn't just hide his eye colour—it would likely be better for fostering relationships, negotiating deals—but Aventurine had shrugged it off. I'm a gambler working with the IPC, he'd said. Do you really think a pair of coloured contacts would make anyone trust me? He'd laughed, and his voice had carried a threatening edge, and his coworker had shifted visibly at it. Being an Avgin is the least threatening thing about me, wouldn't you say?
You think that Aventurine likes being seen as a threat. Sometimes you wonder if this is why he doesn't mind wearing his eyes so much, but abhors keeping his scent. He washes his clothes until they're free of his disarming sweetness and then masks himself with an unsettling blend of ambergris, jasmine, and wood. And he is on suppressants all the time—hasn’t had a single heat since the day he killed his master. Hasn't smelled like himself, either.
At the end of the day, it’s manageable being an Avgin in this business, he often comments, spraying half a bottle of masking cologne on himself, but you can't be an Avgin and an omega. Wouldn’t you agree?
You'd know better than me, you reply, noncommittally—and truthfully.
But you're an alpha, he observes. Don't you have an opinion?
You don't pay me to have opinions, you always remind him, stone-faced. You pay me to stand here and look scary. And Aventurine always laughs at this, and he always wires you money and calls it a bonus as he pesters you for an answer, and he always gets distracted and starts scrolling through all his shopping wishlists instead. I saw this thing the other day and thought of you. And this too. Would you like either of them? Would you like them both? I’m a very generous manager, you know. I'll buy you anything you like.
But even though he always gets distracted, Aventurine never forgets. Sooner or later, he inevitably circles back to these questions—these anxieties about his scent, about his eyes, about his blood. He never cares for anyone else’s opinions, but he's always been curious about yours. Even when he was Vasha, he wanted to know what you thought.
He’d been sixteen years old and delirious with heat the first time he asked you, face wrinkling with pain as he spilled his thoughts. It was so incoherent, so sad, you thought it must have been about a fever dream. Mama Fenge, he kept saying. Mama Fenge blessed me, She blessed me, I'm blessed, it rained when I was born—did you know that? My luck, I was lucky. The Katicans, they never caught me. They got everyone else, but not me. I was blessed by Her. I'm going to save my people. I will. I'll save my sister. My eyes are proof. My mistress liked them. Said they're beautiful. Worth sixty whole coppers. A blessing. He pulled you close, pressed his scalding face to your scent gland, and his whole body shuddered with relief. This was the first and only time he'd allowed you to hold him, and it was only out of desperation, out of his mind. Do you like them, alpha? Do you like my eyes? Why? Is it because they're beautiful? Because they're from Gaiathra?
“I like them because they're yours,” you'd replied, and Kakavasha had laughed deliriously.
This is when he told you he hated them: I'd close them forever, if I could.
When you were younger—dumber—you had a habit of squirrelling away every spare coin you came across. You collected them in a little purse that one of the omega slaves had sewn for you—a thank-you for always keeping the other alphas away from her—and you hid it underneath a loose floorboard. By the time that Kakavasha was arrested, you'd saved up twenty-nine Tanba. You’d wanted enough to buy Kakavasha’s freedom and then to set him up for a comfortable life.
It had been a stupid plan. An embarrassing one. If you ever confessed it to Aventurine, he'd laugh at you. Slaves can't buy other slaves, he'd say. Leave the schemes to me next time. You’re too good-hearted for it.
You’d already known that, of course. You knew that you didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him, but you wanted to. God, did you want to—you spent every waking moment thinking about it, every sleeping moment dreaming of it. It wasn't even that you desired him, though he was beautiful and fragrant and more delicate than anything that had ever touched you in your life, which was only your master’s hands and your muzzle and your chains. Aventurine would feel so soft in comparison, you’d always figured. It made your heart ache, thinking about getting to hold something so lovely.
But really—that desire came second. What came first was how mated omegas feel safe around their alphas, and you so desperately wanted him to be safe. Kakavasha had looked so frail, so grim, as your master took his chains and led him home from the market, and you could smell the fear coming off him in waves. And you could do nothing to stop it. You had nothing you could use to stop it—nothing other than your hands that could kill for him and your pheromones that could soothe him and your useless heart that wanted to collect sixty Tanba for him. That was all you had.
So you failed in the end. Of course you did. You didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him. You couldn't even do for him the one thing you could have done—which was to kill. And Kakavasha suffered for your incompetence. He had to dirty his hands with blood and gamble his way into wealth and then suddenly he was freeing you, not the other way around.
And now you are comfortable. You'll lead an easy life from now, Aventurine reassured you when he brought you onto his ship all those years ago, and he's kept that promise. What about you? you'd asked him then. Will you lead an easy life with me, if you're working for the IPC? And he had smiled and lied to you: Yes.
It had been a painfully obvious lie. If you were a smarter person, you'd have never believed it in the first place. Aventurine has no interest in leading an easy life, because an easy life would be less profitable, and less profit would mean less safety. And he is always, always worried about being unsafe. It is indiscernible to everyone but you—an alpha (his alpha, always his, even if he doesn't want you) who has watched over him for so long that you can detect every shift in his scent. No matter how much cologne he drowns himself in and no matter how strong his suppressants are, you know when he is afraid.
And here is the bitter truth, the ultimate proof of your shortcomings:
Aventurine is always afraid.
It is a beautiful day on Agnisahr, and you can tell that Aventurine is about to throw up from worry.
You're sitting in the middle of stunning wealth—Aventurine in his feathers and jewellery, you in your tailored jacket—in a lobby made from marble and pale sandstone, with a view of palm trees and rolling, scarlet sand dunes beyond the window. The waitstaff addresses him as Honoured Guest and they keep his crystal chalice filled constantly with water—one of the most expensive commodities on the planet. Aventurine has been drinking from it religiously, which is strange as he typically has the habit of forgetting to hydrate. A faint wildflower scent is drifting from his slender form. These are the only giveaway to his mood: he's otherwise as pokerfaced as ever, smiling calmly as he discusses his plans to sabotage the local government and acquire the planet for the IPC.
“This is a very dangerous mission,” you state flatly.
“All my missions are dangerous.” He takes a sip, one pinky up. “The IPC pays me well for a reason. As they say—”
“‘High risk, high reward.’ I know.” You try not to sound bitter, though you allow yourself to sound tired. “I still do not think the risk is worth the reward in this case.”
“I think over 5.6 million in credits is a great reward, actually. We could do a lot with that kind of money.”
You raise a brow. “What could an extra 5.6 million get you that you can't already buy?” It is—as Topaz would say—‘chump change’ in comparison to his current wealth, which sums to a number so vast that you can't wrap your head around it.
Aventurine pretends to miss the point. “Tons! We could buy a new spacecraft. Get another mansion. Or—we could take a vacation to Penacony. I hear it's quite nice there.” A playful smile. “I could get us a penthouse unit. With a featherbed.”
You frown. Sometimes Aventurine likes to flirt when you're being stubborn—not out of interest, but as a ploy to distract you. He’d developed the habit after he joined the IPC. It used to fluster you, but now it only makes you cross your arms.
“You could die,” you point out.
“You'll protect me.”
“No, I won't. You always find a way to get rid of me when things are most dangerous.” You give him an accusatory stare. “You never let me do my job.”
He's too shameless to deny it. “And it's worked out fine, hasn't it? I haven't died so far.”
“Yes. Just by dumb luck.”
“I beg to differ. My luck is quite reliable.” He sets down his glass. Glances back outside. A microexpression, brows knotting for the briefest second as he studies the sky. “I'm not worried.”
“You're a shit liar.”
That gets him to look at you, letting a small frown pass over his face. “No, I'm actually a great liar. You're just too good at reading me. It's very inconvenient, you know.”
“I can't help it.” You lean toward him, making a show of it as you sniff. An orchid-like scent—faint but unmistakable—has seeped into artificial ambergris and wood. “It's hard to ignore.”
He hums. He isn't frowning anymore—but doesn't look happy, either. “I should change suppressants.” He taps the side of his empty glass, fidgeting. Aventurine never fidgets: it's an amateur giveaway. “These ones clearly don't work well enough.”
“That won't help. I know you too well.” Your eyes soften. He's looking outside again, the blues of his irises distant. “You're worried, Aventurine. More than usual. Let’s back out of this—let Jade handle it.”
“The mission isn't what's bothering me,” he says patiently. “I just don't like this planet.”
“Because you can tell it's dangerous.”
“No. Well—it is, but nothing I can't handle.” He leans back. “I just dislike the weather here.”
You arch a brow. “...the weather?”
“Yes,” he says neatly, “it's too dry here. I'll break out.”
You open your mouth. Close it. It is possibly the most absurd thing you've ever heard, and certainly the worst lie that's ever come from him. For as long as you've known him, Aventurine has had flawless skin, marble-smooth, and ever since being freed, he’s never really cared much for looking handsome so much as looking rich. But he maintains his serious expression: all-in on the farce. “Did you know that outside the capital, this planet hasn't had any natural rain in a quarter of an Amber Era? And the stellar winds are terrible. I don't know how people live on a planet like this.” His eyes narrow at the cloudless sky. “The IPC is going to need to do a lot of terraforming if they want to make this into a merchant hub.”
“Aventurine.”
“It'll be a pain crossing the desert—the elements will ruin my clothes, you know,” he continues. “It won't be so bad while we're on the ships, but we’ve got to go outside from time to time. Can't make any friends otherwise.”
“Aventurine.”
“And there's nothing to do for fun when we’re not working.” He sighs dramatically. “I can't wait to get our 5.6 billion and leave for someplace else. I'm being serious about Penacony, by the way—”
“Aventurine.”
“—though not about the featherbed. I'll get you your own room, obviously. And I'll buy whatever dream experience you’d like. What kind would you want?”
Finally allowed a chance to speak, you say, “One where you retire.”
“Retire? Why would I ever do that?”
“I don't know. Maybe you decide you've made enough money.”
“No such thing.”
“Then you can settle down with someone.”
That makes him smile. It feels mocking. “Me? Settling down? With who?”
“Who knows. Someone who will treat you better than the IPC, I hope.”
“Anyone that nice would run in the other direction. But never mind me. This would be your dream experience. What happens to you in it?”
“I stop chasing after you and get to live out the rest of my days in peace,” you say dryly, and Aventurine blinks. “Please stop deflecting. The IPC gave you a suicide mission. We will both die if we stay here.”
He looks serious now. “I wouldn't let you die.”
“You can't know that.”
“Well, I do. And I've got decent chances at surviving too—at least one in ten.”
You feel like sighing—a deep, aggravated noise is heavy in your throat—but Aventurine doesn't enjoy it when you show anger around him. It's the one omega instinct that he can't ignore, you suppose: unease around an aggressive alpha. Voice tightly controlled, you say, “You’re going to bet your life on one in ten?”
“Sure. My chances were worse on the last planet, and things worked out great. It'll be the same on Agnisahr.” Aventurine raises a hand, calls for the bill. The conversation is over. You lean back in your seat, watching sourly as he pays tens of thousands of credits just for water.
“You know, they say the royal family is backed by an Aeon,” you can't help but point out, once the waiter is gone. A last-ditch effort. Aventurine smiles at it, amused. Like you're a child.
“So what?” He glances outside, at the desolate landscape beyond the oasis—nothing but red sand, a blue, rainless sky, and two radiant suns shining above it all. “The protection of a god is nothing compared to the schemes of human beings. And gods abandon their people all the time, anyway.”
During your tenth day on Agnisahr, you realise that something is deeply wrong.
It takes you some time to understand what’s happening. At first you think that whatever political danger you’ve intuited is much worse than you thought, and that’s why Aventurine has been so pale, so discomforted, so exhausted. Then his scent starts changing—he switches clothes two, three times a day (because of all this heat during Agnisahran days, he tells his new business associates) and spritzes his nape with his cologne almost religiously—and you wonder if he is sick with something. If the food in this planet has something that disagrees with his Sigonian biology, or if he has picked up one of the local filoviruses, or if someone’s poisoned one of his meals because they’ve correctly identified him as a threat. Aventurine dismisses every single one of these theories when you bring it up, and—as if in denial—only attributes it to the weather. (I’ve never done well in deserts, he tells you, his eyes on his phone screen. I'm not used to them. It is above 300 Kelvin, and you do not see a single bead of sweat on his neck, and his cheeks are not even a little flushed.)
You only figure it out when he is too ill to get out of bed one morning and forbids all the IPC staff from coming near his hotel room. It sets off alarms immediately—Aventurine, no matter how sick, will work and see through meetings as long as he is mentally capable of it—and so you naturally ignore his orders and check on him, using the spare key to his sleeping quarters that you're given as a policy. And as soon as the door cracks open—as soon as you step inside only to be hit with a violent, cloying sweetness—you realise what’s happening and slam the door shut behind you.
“You’re in heat,” you blurt out, and Aventurine—a shivering, panting mess on the bed—groans in response.
“Why are you here?” He turns toward you, still lucid enough to glare at you through the tangled mess of his hair. His voice is weak, but no less self-possessed: “I was very clear—no company today.”
“I am your personal bodyguard,” you remind him mildly. Your voice is calm—both non-threatening and non-condescending. “Those orders don’t apply to me. If things feel suspicious, I look into it. And they felt very suspicious.” Your brow knits as you study his clothes. Mulberry silk clings to his form, soaked through with sweat. Thin, eucalyptus sheets are tangled up around him. There are only two pillows. No water bottles. No knotting toys.
Nothing.
“You didn't know you'd be in heat,” you realise. “What happened to your suppressants?”
“I don't know.” There’s a quiet, frustrated edge to his voice. Vulnerable too. It makes you think of when you were both still slaves, and Aventurine was confined to the basement of the manor—the one that all omega slaves were made to ride out their heats in. Either they would do it alone or were ordered to spend it with some alpha, usually either a friend of the master or an alpha slave he wished to reward. That's when they're most pliable, he'd tell his guests, or sometimes even you. They get so desperate they'll present themselves to anyone. Then amused laughter from the other party—How obscene!—as you looked away, blood hammering in your ears.
You had been your master’s favourite. His most obedient, most profitable pet—striking enough for his guests to admire, deadly enough for his audiences to bet on, docile enough for him to enjoy. Good enough for him to reward, and he often rewarded you with his most beautiful slave: his Avgin omega. Just don't mark him, he’d said, fastening the muzzle around your mouth. It'll ruin his market value. Who knows if someday he'd sell Kakavasha off to some alpha master who wished to claim him, he said. Though I don't think there's anyone in this star system who'd want a Sigonian for a mate, let alone a Sigonian slave. Then he’d paused, eyes scanning over you. As if contemplating. But maybe they'd try to get Avgin whelps out of him, he added, and you felt like throwing up.
You'd never mate him in those moments, your muzzle always prevented you from saying. You didn't even want to think about touching him, and he didn't want to think about it either. Even in the cruel grip of his heats, with nothing but the thin mat beneath him and his slave’s rags around him, Kakavasha hadn't wanted any kind of contact from you, rejecting any chance of solace. Don't, don't—not again, not again, he'd begged. Then as the nights marched on and his mind grew hazier, he’d start whimpering too: It hurts, alpha. It hurts. Help me. It hurts. Don't touch me. Not again. It hurts. It hurts. Stop it, please stop it.
It gutted you.
It went against every instinct, not to touch him. To let him lie there, in scorching, lonely pain, when all you wanted to do was to dispel it. It would be so easy to press yourself against him and let his skin cool against yours, do the one thing that your body was good at other than killing. But not again, not again, I can't anymore, I don't want it, I never wanted it, and all you could do was sit there, unmoving. Watch as the most delicate, precious thing you had in your life shatter.
And standing here now, watching Aventurine shatter before you once more—it is unbearable. He needs a nest, you keep thinking. He needs a nest and some water and some kind of touch, some kind of relief, but not again, not again, and you’re still a slave, still a worthless and stupid slave, and Kakavasha is still crying on a basement floor and you can't do anything for him.
“You need help, Aventurine,” you say, voice soft, and his whole body tenses. His scent dips, and the scent of florals overwhelms you.
“No,” he breathes, “I don't.”
“You do. You're sick.” You bite your lip. Your heart splits as you suggest it, but you say, “I can call a professional.”
“No,” he spits. The facade is gone. The poker face has cracked. The anger and the pain and the fear are all on full display, and his voice sharpens: “No strangers.”
No foreign scents, you realise he's demanding. A new scent would probably make him feel unsafe.
Then let me help you, you think of pleading, but not again, not again, and you're filled with so much shame at the thought that all you can do is look away.
“Then—can I do anything?” He goes still. “Not—not that, but something to make you more comfortable. I can build you a nest, at least—”
“No.” He takes a deep, shaking breath. “No nests. I don't need one—”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don't,” he says. His voice is wavering now, on the verge of crumbling with fever and pain. “I've never—I’ve never needed a nest, I don't—I don't want to—” He presses his face into his pillow. “I need—I need to be alone, fuck—”
He doesn't mean to whine. The cry for distress is instinct, something that all omegas are programmed to do in heat. You’ve heard that they’ve evolved to make this noise as a way of appealing to nearby alphas for help, but you think this must be a lie as you never once saw your alpha master giving mercy to any of his omega slaves. Still, whether it is your biology or not—the noise that Aventurine makes has your heart aching so much you can't help but step forward. But he shakes his head and inches away, shuddering violently, and then his voice echoes again in that cold basement—not again, not again, and don't touch it anymore, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore, not again, and it's all you can do to back away until your spine is pressed against the door.
“I'm sorry, Vasha,” you say, strained. “I’m sorry. I'll leave you now.”
As the door shuts behind you, you catch a final glimpse him—face pressed into the pillows, shivering.
If you didn't know better, you'd think he was crying.
When you were both slaves, Aventurine hated seeing you during his heats.
Kakavasha was normally calm around you. Most of the time, he was even friendly (he was friendly to everyone whom he thought could be useful), but he was different during his heats. Sometimes he was vicious; mostly he was withdrawn. Nearly always, he wanted to be left alone. In those moments, all he could register was your alpha scent and his memories of what other people had done to him during his heats. And while you'd have hated to leave him, despised the idea of him being offered to another alpha—even more than that, you hated violating this boundary of his. Hated that you were allowed to do whatever you wanted to him. Hated being the reason he felt so unsafe.
Hated being an alpha.
Now that you no longer have the orders of your slavemaster hanging over you, it is the least you can do to respect Aventurine’s wish of being left alone. He has every right to privacy, and you have every obligation to give it to him. But instead you have been standing here, outside his door, for a full system-hour.
Every time you try to leave, your body is wracked with anxiety. The thought of other people—other alphas—coming near him in this state makes you seethe, your hands flexing at your side. The predator instinct comes out, and the people around you notice it. Every person unlucky enough to walk down this hall scurries away under your glare, even the other IPC staff wandering about to look for Aventurine: Must be their mate on the other side, they remark to one another, and then they're gone.
It is a hard thing to hear. You are not his mate. You are not even a heat partner. If you were, then he wouldn't be in so much pain. Not now, and not back then.
Aventurine has never had easy heats. You keep replaying your memories of all his past ones, each one a wound in your heart: the aching sweetness of nectar and honey; his withering body as he clutched his abdomen and curled up; the tears and sweat staining the mat beneath him. And above all: the fear. The scent of it, the sight of it, the sound of it in his voice. Stronger today than any other day.
By instinct, you know that he cannot persist like this. That this time is somehow worse than all those other times, and that he will become seriously ill if left alone.
After nearly an hour and a half, you finally open the door, fearing the worst.
“Aventurine?” you say quietly, but there's no response, and your stomach drops as you see him.
His body is pale, listless. If it weren't for the fragrance washing over you or the sweat on his temple, you'd worry that he was dead.
Tentatively, you reach out. Rest a hand on his forehead, and it scorches you. He stirs at the touch, doesn't open his eyes—but the quiet sigh of relief is unmistakable. His fingers twitch, as if wanting to reach for you.
“Aventurine,” you say gently. “Aventurine, I'm going to take care of you. Is that alright?”
He doesn't respond. You grimace, pulling away to fetch things for him: several spare pillows from the closet, an extra blanket too. From his suitcase, you grab a few of his sweaters, all thick cotton and fleece. He’d had a sense that Agnisahr would be cold at night. Deserts always get cold after sundown, since sand doesn’t retain heat, he'd told you while he was packing. Or I think so, anyway. Don't know why. Must have read it somewhere. Then he’d given you a long, unreadable look before saying, Make sure to bring a jacket. The warmest one you have. The elements on a planet like Agnisahr can kill a person—even a person like you.
I’m sure I’ll be fine, you’d dismissed him. I can survive anything. Any kind of weather, any kind of illness, any kind of pain: these are all things your species is known for being able to endure, the trait that made you such a prized slave in your master’s eyes, such a useful agent at the IPC. You hadn’t given Aventurine’s warning any thought and hardly paid attention to what you’d thrown into your own suitcase.
It surprises you, then, that you find one of your sweaters in his luggage. Made from Sedanian cashmere and heat tech designed by the Intelligentsia Guild. Cloud-soft and warm to the touch. Aventurine had bought it for you before you were deployed to Jarilo-IV to collect intelligence for Topaz. Warmest thing in the known universe, he’d commented. One of a kind, too. Remember to wear it, alright? Don't let my money go to waste, now.
You stare at it, kneading the fleece between your fingers. You hadn’t mentioned wanting to bring this sweater. You’d lost it in your closet some months ago and forgot about it. Aventurine must have remembered and gone looking for it, because—why? You aren't sure. Probably because it’s warmer and softer than anything he owns, you guess. Of course he’d want to wear it.
You throw it into the pile of things you’ve collected for him.
You take it all to his bed, the mattress dipping as you sit next to Aventurine. One by one, you scent each item with your wrist, watching him carefully the whole time. You’re quiet as you lay them out around him, leaving him undisturbed as you build a nest. You order water and electrolyte drinks too, and you’re quick about going to the door when you hear room service knocking—with how feverish he is, he probably badly needs it.
Aventurine is awake when you come back. His breathing is still laboured, pained—but calm.
“I said I didn’t need a nest,” Aventurine says, though he doesn’t sound angry. You wonder if he’s too weak to be. His voice is faint, and his eyes are barely open—focused on the pile of blankets and clothing around him.
“You’re welcome.” You open a bottle of water, hold it out to him. “Drink.”
Aventurine pauses, stares at the offering like it's some kind of foreign object. But he accepts it eventually, sitting up and taking it from you. He winces with the movement, which he tries to hide. He ignores your frown as he drinks, and he doesn't stop until the bottle is empty.
“There are more,” you say, pointing at the several additional bottles on the nightstand. “And some food and some painkillers. I don't know how well they’ll work. This isn't a normal heat. If you're alright with it, I'll call a doctor and—”
“Everything smells like you,” he says quietly, and you stop.
“...yes. Unless they’re mated, nests usually feel most comforting to an omega when they smell like an alpha.” You swallow, looking away. “...you don't have a mate, and you didn't want a professional, so this was the only option I could think of. I'm sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he says. He picks out one of the sweaters that have made its way into the nest, the Sedanian one. “I don't mind it.”
“Oh.” You let out a breath. “Then—can I call a doctor?”
His grip on the sweater tightens. “No.”
You frown. “Aventurine—”
“I’ve never needed a doctor before,” he says. He sounds unbothered, but he's fidgeting with the sweater now. “I don't need one now.”
A lie. He almost certainly needed a doctor in some of his prior heats, but you don't push the matter. “Maybe you don't need one,” you say instead, “but it would help.”
“I don't need help,” he says, and you look at him in disbelief. He catches your expression, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Not more than you've already done, I mean.”
“I’ve barely—”
“Contact Topaz. Tell her I'm incapacitated. Tell her…” He hums. “Tell her I have food poisoning. The personnel too. It's not time-sensitive, our business on Agnisahr, so it shouldn't matter if I need a few days off.”
“You really need—”
“Give my regrets to our Agnisahran friends. Deliver it in person. They see you as my right hand, so they’ll most appreciate it coming from you. Topaz can help you with the verbiage. And—try to socialise with them a little, won't you? I think that little omega princess of theirs likes you. Some of the courtesans too, and they have surprising influence.”
“I do not want to be around any omega other than you right now,” you say before you can stop yourself, and Aventurine stops, blinking. His expression is blank, if perhaps a little curious—but his scent shifts. You can't identify how. You add quickly, “I’m not leaving you alone when you’re this sick.”
“Ah. Right.” Aventurine looks away. His voice sounds strange, and his heat must be getting to him again, because it carries a hint of pain. “But you have to. The IPC’s goals take priority.”
You frown. “Your life is more important than the IPC,” you say, and he laughs. Loudly.
“What? This is just a heat. I’m not going to die.”
“You don’t know that without seeing a doctor.”
“I do. I’m willing to bet money that I won’t die.” He cuts you off before you can reply: yes, you're always willing to bet on your life. “And even if I do, that would still be less important than Agnisahr. Do you know how many resources are on this lifeless rock?” His mouth slants. “If we mess up here, I’m dead anyway.”
“I wouldn’t let them touch you.”
“Yes, you would—because they would kill you too.” Aventurine sighs. His eyes close, and his brow creases—a sign that whatever reprieve he was lucky enough to get is about to end. “Go do what I asked. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll… see a doctor if you do.”
You stand immediately. “Alright. I’ll be back to check on you.”
“I know.”
You stop at the door, giving him a long look. Seeing him like this—lying on a proper bed, cradled in a warm nest, with water and food and medicine nearby—you feel a little better. This is leagues beyond what he’d been afforded in his days as a slave, at the very least. Even if he isn’t free, at least he isn’t trapped.
But it still doesn’t feel good, having to step away. The last thing you want to do is talk to other people, pretend to have interest in other omegas. There are an astonishing number of them who are interested in you on this planet—that princess, and some baron’s son, and one of the prince’s favourite paramours—but you can’t bring yourself to care even for business purposes when Aventurine is like this. You can't act as if you are enjoying yourself when you know he is in pain.
You wonder about telling Topaz the truth. You wonder if she’d be worried enough about Aventurine to let you neglect this mission and cover for you instead, without letting Jade or Diamond or anyone else dangerous know. Not that you think that anyone at the Company particularly cares about Kakavasha—it’s only that he’s valuable. Aventurine of Stratagems is valuable. How many worlds have fallen because of him?
But he seemed unwilling to bet on his worth to them. Which is startling, given how often he's bet on it in the past.
“What’s so important about this planet,” you can’t help but ask, “that the IPC would rather you die than lose it?”
He’s silent for a long moment. His eyes are closed—hidden—but you can see his knuckles whiten as he clutches the Sedanian sweater.
“Copper,” he says. “They want it for the copper.”
When Kakavasha first suggested a friendship to you, it had felt like something in between a proposition and a threat:
Go ahead, he'd said. Use me as you wish. You can even stab me in the back if you want. Just be mindful of this: I don't make deals that don't pay off.
It might have been a strange way of making friends in any other circumstance, but in a house of slaves, it was a natural one. You had not been a clever person—still aren't—but you understood that your place in the world was one of a tool. This was the place of all slaves: you were all things to be used. Your body was a thing to be used. It was valuable for its strength, for its hardiness, for its threat in the arena and for its convenience in your master’s bed (or in a dark basement, or within a heat house, or inside whichever omega your mistress ordered you to calm down). It did not surprise you that Kakavasha wanted to use it as well. It did not surprise you that Kakavasha expected you to use him in return.
You never would have, of course. Kakavasha was not a thing to be used—he had always been a mate. Though you were happy to let him use you, because all you were was a tool anyway, so it was really all you could offer him: to be used.
None of this has changed for you. You don't think any of this has changed for Aventurine, either. With each new friendship he makes, he repeats those familiar words: Use me as you wish. And with each person who accepts, this is exactly what they do: they use him, and they use him, and they use him until suddenly they notice he's tricked them and they've got the losing hand.
You damned gambler, they always spit. You Sigonian wretch. All you know is how to manipulate people. Thief, liar, cheat, whore. Despite all these insults, Aventurine always smiles at them. Cry as they might, he’s won his bet and has their world in his palms.
Winner takes all, he sometimes gloats.
Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. This is all Aventurine knows; these are his great guiding principles in life. (He's told you this point blank, stacking up chips in his favourite gambling dens with a self-satisfied grin.) You often find yourself coming back to these conversations, particularly when you need to convince him of something.
And right now, you very badly need to convince him of something.
Aventurine is ignoring his doctor’s advice. His suppressants are unstable in extreme temperatures, he's been told. During travel on Agnisahr, they'd degraded, and now he’s experiencing his first heat in several years. Of course it's going to be painful, his doctor had said. I can prescribe you some medication to ease the symptoms, but really—nothing will work better than a heat partner. It doesn't need to be a mate. Any alpha will do.
The doctor had been an alpha. You had asked for a beta or omega, but alphas tend to dominate in Interastral Medical Schools, so they're in short supply. Aventurine had been still the whole time, face unreadable, but you could tell he wanted to throw up at the stench of an unfamiliar alpha. You had stepped between the two of them, not bothering to hide the animosity in your voice. We’ll take the medication, you had said, and the doctor had sniffed the air and nodded at you in approval.
Probably won't need it. An alpha like you could sort him out with just a few rounds, he told you, and both of you stayed quiet as he left.
You still aren't talking, or even looking at each other. Aventurine has lay down in his nest again, closing his eyes, while you stand as far away as physically possible—at the door where you'd just shown the doctor out. With the room shut off again, windows closed and door locked, Aventurine’s scent is starting to flood your senses once more. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him shivering.
“What do you want to do?” you ask.
“Nothing.” He swallows. “I'll be fine.”
He's afraid. You can tell he's afraid. And you can tell he’ll be more afraid if you take even a single step closer to him, so you nod and say, “I'll go pick up your medication, then,” and Aventurine doesn't stop you. You can see him curling up in his nest, face pressed into the cashmere sweater.
But he still doesn't stop you.
After a few more days, Aventurine finally breaks.
There is a rare sag to his shoulders when he calls you to the room, along with a taste of dread in the air. You haven't seen him so vulnerable in years. Aventurine is not an open person, so cunning and self-possessed in his wealth—but Kakavasha was more brittle, more powerless, flayed raw and open even though he didn't often get the whip. (It would ruin his value if he ever scarred—his looks were his greatest selling point, your master said.) He was especially defeated when forced to spend his heats with an alpha he didn't want. You wonder, a vice grip of pain around your heart, whether this entire situation is simply an extension of that. Whether he is calling you here against his will, this time compelled by his pain, rather than his master. Whether this luxury suite feels like that wretched basement to him.
He doesn't look at you when he talks, nor does he sit up. He remains curled in his nest, nearly clinging onto the blankets and clothes.
“That stupid medication,” he pants out, sharp even in his heat, “isn't working.”
“I can tell.” Your brow knots. He’s in so much pain, it is palpable. “I”—you hesitate, voice dropping. “Can I help you?”
He goes quiet. As both Aventurine and Kakavasha, he has always been disinclined to accept help from other people. There is no such thing as unconditional help in his mind—only leverage and weakness. He hates it when people have leverage over him, and he hates being weak. Both are things that can be exploited, and Aventurine always needs to be the one doing the exploiting. He always needs to be in control.
Even like this, the last threads of his sanity about to snap, with every circuit of his omega biology trying to drag him into insensible lust, he fights viciously to be in control.
Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. Control and being controlled. This is how he's always lived. This is how he's always survived.
This is the only way to let him maintain control when he is most afraid of losing it.
“I don't mind,” you say quietly, “if you use me.”
Even through the haze of heat, Aventurine’s eyes sharpen. “What?”
“I don't mind if you use me,” you repeat, voice neutral. Unfeeling. The proposal might sound cruel to someone else, but not you. After all—your place in the world is one of a tool, and this is what you've always done as an alpha and a slave: sleeping with people to take care of their needs, or sometimes just their desires. It did always make you feel strangely hollow, but you think it will feel just fine with Aventurine. All you've ever wanted to do is keep him safe, and surely, this will do that, but—
“I'll only help if you want. I don't want to force it.” You lower your eyes. “But if you do want it, I'll be careful with you. You can lead. I promise.”
“...I know.” Aventurine’s voice is weak, cracks with pain, but you can tell he's speaking with clarity. “I know you will be.”
You look up. “Then you'll let me help?”
Aventurine looks away—a sign that he cannot adopt his usual smile. He’s clutching that sweater again, pressed close to his chest.
“Just your wrist,” he says quietly.
You listen carefully. “What?”
“I just—I just want your wrist.” He looks away. “Your—your scent gland. Only that.”
“Okay.”
You get up, then falter. When it was your job to comfort your mistress’ omega slaves, you were told to enter their nests—no permission needed from them, no permission needed from you, because only her permission ever mattered for anything. The omegas were usually too delirious to care, often had even begged for it with the state of mind that they were in. But Aventurine is different. He's not like you, and he's not like them. He's never bent to any of his masters’ wills. And even if he did, you wouldn't want to have him bend to yours.
Instead of climbing into his nest, you ask, “Can I sit on the bed?” He doesn't answer. “Just the edge of it,” you add, and you hear him exhale.
“Fine,” he says, breathing measured.
“Thank you,” you say, and he gives you a confused look. But then you're reaching out with a hand, offering it, and he is quickly distracted.
Aventurine drops the sweater, grabs your hand almost immediately. He turns over your palms, fingers tracing your heartlines—as if testing you, as if mapping out territory. He runs his thumbs along the veins of your wrists, too, right over your scent gland, and you have to force yourself not to shudder at the feeling. You only stay still, letting him explore the contours of your hands, letting him acclimate to the feeling of your skin. He laces his fingers with your own, a latticework trap, and he finally drags his wrist along yours.
Both of you inhale sharply.
You can't react. You know it'll scare him if you do, but it's hard to keep still. The way his scent blossoms, the way it mingles with yours, the way it all washes over you—what you're doing can hardly be called touching, but you feel like you're going mad. Especially when he flushes like that, his vibrant eyes fluttering shut. Especially when the sweetness of honey overtakes your senses. Especially when you can smell the way his body is reacting, all that wetness and heat and slick dripping between his legs. You don't miss the way his thighs rub together, nor the hard outline of his cock straining against his pants.
Aventurine shudders. He brings your hand up to his face, rests his cheek in your palm. His skin is flushed and burning with fever, and it's no wonder that he's sighing with relief at your touch. You try not to stare at the way his mouth falls open. He looks at you for a moment, his gaze a hazy violet and blue—before he closes his eyes again and presses his lips into your wrist.
Fuck.
“Aventurine—” You have to stop, voice strangled, when you feel the full softness of his lips working against your skin. He’s panting now, laboured breaths sweeping over your veins. Then you feel his teeth catch, a gentle nip on your flesh, and when he groans into your racing pulse—deep, relieved, desperate, a noise that makes your gut flare with heat—you realise you can't do this.
You pull back your hand, and Aventurine startles.
“Aventurine,” you say, voice strained. Maybe we should stop, you want to say, but he cuts you off.
“I need”—a shaky breath—“I need more.”
You watch Aventurine carefully. His pupils are dilated, blue irises nearly eclipsed. His cheeks are rosy, and he can't stop panting. You can fully smell his arousal now, even through his silk clothes. He's desperate, needing to be filled.
But he also looks torn. His brows are knotted, and you can taste a faint hint of fear in the air now. His knuckles clutch at the sheets, almost white, and he stares at them. He can't look up. He can't look at you. His whole body is tense, like he wants to bolt—and if he weren't so weak, you think he might actually.
“Are you sure?” you ask.
He doesn't nod. He also doesn't shake his head. His arms clutch at his midsection as he winces. He doesn't look like Aventurine. He looks like Kakavasha. It makes your heart ache as you watch him give into his body’s demands, wearing the same expression he did on the day your master bought him.
“...don't use your Voice on me,” Aventurine—Kakavasha—says quietly.
It takes you a moment to realise what he's asking. “I won't.”
“And”—his eyes somehow grow even more evasive, hidden by his long lashes— “don’t touch my commodity code.”
His commodity code. His commodity code that is seared into his scent gland. His code that, if you kiss, will ease his agony instantly. His code that, if you bite—will chain him to you irreversibly.
“Of course I won't,” you say instantly.
He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath.
“And—” Aventurine looks away, jaw tight. His voice is quiet but wrought with tension: “—I don't like when people put things inside me.”
Something claws the walls of your heart.
“That's fine too,” you reply. “I don't mind doing it the other way.”
Aventurine’s sigh is nearly inaudible, but unmistakable. His scent shifts a little bit, the wildflower fragrance fading ever so slightly. But he doesn't come to you. He merely sits there—waiting. Expecting. Maybe dreading. Even in the senseless daze of heat, he’s too anxious to move.
You approach slowly. Though you're overwhelmed by the bouquet of his scent, though you feel a curl of heat in your belly in response to it—you are slow. Alphas are supposedly victims of insatiable lust whenever around an omega in heat, absolved of every action they take, but you are convinced this is a lie. You have never once wanted to handle Aventurine with such cruelty. You think that inflicting violence on him, more than anything else, would go against your biology. Every molecule in your body would reject putting him in such pain or inciting such fear. So you are careful when you approach him, slow as you inch up to him—but you do not think it helps.
Aventurine lies down, his face turned away from yours. His eyes squeeze shut, like he's expecting this to hurt. Uncertainty gnaws at your gut as you lean over him, draping your body over his—the only position you've ever taken an omega in, other than mounting them from behind.
(You do not want to mount Aventurine. You never have. It is an impersonal position, a position that omega biology supposedly would force him to enjoy, a position that alphas have likely dictated him to enjoy. You think there is nothing you would hate more. In your weakest, most selfish moments, in your worst ruts, when you’ve allowed yourself to fantasise about mating Kakavasha—you are always facing each other, and he is always looking at you with his eyes you've always loved, and it always feels intimate. Never impersonal. Never dictated. Never forced.)
Aventurine is so honeysweet beneath you. More fragrant than any omega you’ve ever been with. You glance at his commodity code, trying to ignore the scent of his branded skin, then lean down to press your face against the other side of his neck, where a faint scar mars the otherwise flawless slope of his nape. Like every other omega slave you've ever slept with, the scent gland there has been excised: a precautionary measure to reduce the risk of an unwanted mating bite.
(Not unwanted by them—the wants of a slave never matter—but unwanted by their owners. A mating bite would ruin the code seared into their neck, claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. It would hurt their resale value. Only owners are allowed to claim slaves in such a permanent way—and the wants of a slave have no relevance there, either.)
It's a funny thing, this surgical scar. Even with their gland missing, you've noticed that most omegas like having their neck scented by you anyway, probably from some vestigial instinct. You guess that Aventurine won't be any different, that maybe it will comfort him. But when your lips skim the scar left on him by his owner, his entire body stiffens beneath you. His fragrance cuts into your lungs, sharp.
You recoil, as if burned by the touch of him.
“Sorry,” Aventurine is quick to say. He tries to glance at you, but his diamond pupils quickly avoid you again. “Don’t worry about me. Just do whatever you need to do.”
“But you're scared,” you point out, and you see his brow twitch. “You’re scared when I touch you.”
“Not scared,” he lies. “Just…”
When his eyes finally look at you—land on your lips—you understand.
A bite would claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. If you lost your mind—give into the insatiable lust of an alpha whenever around an omega in heat—you might bite him, and then you would own Aventurine.
And Aventurine would rather die than be owned by anyone again.
He doesn't need to finish his sentence. You already know what you need to do.
“It's okay,” you say gently, and his brow knots. “I have an idea.”
Aventurine is always afraid.
This is a fact that has haunted you since the day you met him. You've wondered about how to fix it—the bare minimum as his mate (always his, even if he doesn't want you)—and you’ve never quite pinned down how. Because when someone has spent their life in perpetual fear, how do you make them feel safe? When their life is constantly at risk, how do you ever make them feel calm?
You still aren't sure of the answer. But after seeing Kakavasha become Aventurine, you now have a good guess.
It is clear from his scent that Aventurine does not feel remotely safe right now. Not when you leave to fetch something from your own room, and not when you return. The anxiety thickens when he sees, in your hands, a very familiar muzzle.
Aventurine stares. He is not smiling, but he also does not reveal his discomfort on his face, even as beads of sweat line his temple. But his voice is too controlled, too calm, when he asks, “You kept the mask.”
You nod.
“I told you to throw it out,” he points out, “when I freed you.”
“I know. Sorry. I don't know why I kept it.” You remember how tightly you clutched it before the incinerator, thinking about how strange it would feel, discarding something that you'd worn everyday since you presented—but you don't tell him this. Instead, you say, “But it’s convenient.”
Before Aventurine can say anything, you toss him the remote.
“You’re afraid of my bite and my Voice, but you don't have to be with this,” you explain. Your tone is gentle, soothing. Probably disarming coming from an alpha, with how he is in heat. Perhaps that's why he’s studying the remote rather than chucking it away. “You'll be in full control if I wear this.”
Control. Mere seconds after you say it, you can smell his fragrance change again, mellowing. It's only a brief moment of calm that fades when you latch the mask onto your face, but he doesn't smell as nearly as stressed before.
Aventurine watches you carefully as the carbon steel swallows your maw, its old and familiar edges biting into you. For the first time in years, you cannot tell what he is thinking—truly poker-faced even to you.
“You aren't bothered by wearing that thing while we do this,” he says—asks?—and you shake your head. The muzzle was part of you for years. You were wearing it when you killed someone for the first time. You were wearing it when you went into rut for the first time. You were wearing it when your master had sex with you for the first time. It doesn't bother you that you’ll wear it when you have sex with Aventurine.
If you could speak, you would ask him, Why do you think it would bother me? But all you do is gesture for him to sit up. To switch places with you. You lie down—something you've never done with an omega—and wait for him to get on top.
Aventurine stares at you for a long, quiet moment. It's followed by a sigh of relief. Disarmed, he—for the first time in any heat you've witnessed—finally relaxes. His scent wafts over you as he climbs between your legs, and you can feel the heat radiating from his hands as he parts your thighs, almost scalding.
He doesn't bother getting you ready, too needy to think rationally, but he doesn't have to anyway. You've been wet ever since you felt his mouth touch your wrist, hard ever since you heard him groan into it. You're equally desperate to get some relief as you feel his cockhead sliding against your opening, leaking all over your entrance as his slick drips onto your thighs. His breath shakes as he enters you, and he can't hear it with how you're muzzled—but you groan just as deeply as him at the tight stretch.
You hear him swear when you clench around him, watch him lean over you. His arms shake as he supports himself, refusing to succumb to his heat even as he chases his relief. You seek out his gaze (just as in your dreams, facing each other, intimate), and his neon eyes catch on your eyes for a brief, breathtaking second—
—before he looks away.
There's a flash of—you don't know what, maybe pain? Or fear?—in his irises as he does. A twitch of the brow, a tell he'd normally rather die than let slip. You have the realisation, as Aventurine moves inside you, that even while you're muzzled, even while he has complete control over you—he still can't stand having sex with you. Probably because he can't stand being in heat in general, you tell yourself. Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore. He'd have this reaction to anyone.
Still—you didn't expect him to have this reaction to you.
Your hands twitch, possessed by an old instinct to cover your eyes. But you'd probably scare Aventurine if you moved your arms, so all you do is dig your fingers into the sheets and squeeze them shut. You tell yourself again and again that he'd hate having sex with anyone in these circumstances—not just you. And then you tell yourself, as a desperate, broken moan leaves his branded throat, that he would also come inside anyone in these circumstances, caught within the cruel grip of his heat.
Aventurine stills inside you as he finishes. He pants, sweat dripping down his temple as he shudders in his ecstasy, his spend hot and thick inside you. You can feel his fever break as he comes down from his high, the heat coming off his body easing into a manageable warmth.
Do you feel better, you try to say, but you can't move your mouth while your mask is on. So you wait patiently for Aventurine to come back to himself, watching him carefully as he pulls out and rolls onto the mattress beside you. He finally glances at you then. His eyes narrow once they land on you, confusion flicking through them. Then displeasure. He reaches for the remote.
To your surprise, he immediately punches in the code to unlock your muzzle. Aventurine has apparently remembered the numbers after all these years, as if the moment he freed you has been since seared into his memory.
“Are you okay?” is the first thing you say, and Aventurine gives you a confused look. He’s still panting, dazed, so you ask, “Can I check your temperature?” And when he nods, you confirm your suspicion: he's still much too warm.
There is an ache between your legs and a strange hollow in your gut (because you aren't very experienced with receiving, you think—your body likely just isn't used to the feeling of it), but you quickly forget them. All you can think of is Aventurine, and how he’s still unwell, and how you need to comfort him. The instinct is so strong that you don't even say anything as you get up, straightening out your clothes.
“Are you leaving?” Aventurine asks. His voice is neutral, completely unbothered, but the thought is so horrific to you that you turn back to him with wide eyes.
“Of course not. I'm going to get you water and medicine.” A beat. You stare at Aventurine’s eyes, then think about how he hid them from you during sex. The hollow feeling comes back, but it's mostly eclipsed by your anxiety at the next thought: “...do you want me to leave?”
“Do you want to?”
“I—” I'd rather die, you think. Being forced to leave him right now would feel like tearing out a piece of yourself. You don't know if there's an alpha in this world who could leave their mate in the middle of a heat. And even if he is unmarked, unattached to you—you still think of yourself as his mate. (His, always his, even if he doesn't want you.) “I would prefer not to. I am your heat partner. I'm supposed to take care of you.”
You hear a quiet breath. “Right. Of course. You're always so conscientious.” Aventurine nods, as if convincing himself of something. “Try not to take too long.”
“I’ll come back soon,” you promise, and the air sweetens. Encouraged, you add, voice gentle: “I’ll bring that medication, and then we can have sex as many times as you need after I come back. I'll make sure you're not in any pain anymore.” You pause, studying him. “Is there anything else you need to feel better?”
His fragrance changes once more, this time in a way you don't totally recognize. “No.” His voice sounds strange. His scent is still foreign, fluctuating, possibly hinting at some kind of pain. The heat must be getting to him again—and of course it wasn't enough, what you just did, what you can provide. He likely needs to be filled to get any kind of lasting relief, but you left him empty. “No, that's all I want.”
You nod, forcing yourself to look calm. Ignoring the emptiness in your gut. It didn't feel bad, but you hope it'll feel better next time you have sex. You think it will. Alphas are supposed to be filled with an insatiable lust near omegas in heat, after all. And even though you’ve never felt that before—never felt anything sleeping with all those omegas in your mistress’ house—you are sure you'll eventually feel it around Aventurine.
But the feeling never comes. Even though you can tell that his heat has returned by the time you're back—sweat beading his temples, laboured breaths at his lips, his bottoms now discarded, with full evidence of arousal between his legs—you don't feel much of anything as you reach for your mask again.
“Don't,” Aventurine says, before it can clasp around your face. You give him a curious look. He explains, “Don't. I don't want to have sex again. Not yet.”
You stare at him, shifting. Uncomfortable. Uncertain. Not knowing how he wants to use you. “What can I do?”
He gives you a long look. “Come here. I… I want your scent gland.”
It's a sensible request. If there's a way to seek relief without fucking someone—without fucking you, which he clearly hated doing—you're sure Aventurine would prefer it. So you climb into his nest, holding your wrist out for him, and—
“No.” His voice is quiet. “I want the one on your neck.”
“...oh.”
You stand there, not sure where to move. If he wants you in his nest again, or if he’d rather do this standing. You’re relieved when he demands, “Lie down.”
You expect him to get on top of you when you do. Assume that he wants complete control—but he instead lies down beside you. Presses his body into yours, and then his face into your neck. His nose and lips brush against your scent gland, a full-body shudder running through him, and—
—and now you know for a fact that it is a lie that alphas want nothing other than to fuck an omega when they're in heat. Because even like this, with his lips sweet on your neck, with the sheets soaked with his slick, with his spend leaking out of you—you do not want to have sex with Aventurine. You only want to hold him. You only want him to keep scenting you. You only want to scent him back.
You only want him to feel safe.
You breathe in deeply, lungs flooded by honey. You think of what it felt like to hold him in that cold basement, when he was delirious with fever and pain, and you think about how different his scent is now. How much sweeter it is. How much calmer he feels.
“Do you feel better?” you ask, and he doesn't respond, but you know the answer. His hands come up to dig into your shirt, and he presses into you like you're a sweater in his nest. Silence blankets over you both, calm and warm. His laboured breath starts to improve.
He does eventually speak.
“Has anyone ever told you,” he says, “what you smell like?”
You stare at him. Your master used to say that you smelled good, but he'd never elaborated, and you hadn't wanted him to. “No.”
Aventurine breathes in.
“You smell like—” A little sigh, shaking and feverish, leaves him. “You smell like rain.”
Your eyebrows tick up. “Rain?”
“Yes. Or not just rain, but”—he pauses, next words quiet—“more Iike after it rains. You smell like the desert after a rainfall.”
“Oh.” You don't know what to say to that. Feeling distinctly like it's a silly question, you ask, “Is that a good scent?”
“Some would think so. Especially to people from the desert. You probably smell like a blessing to them. Although…”
Aventurine goes quiet again. You stare at the chandelier above you, all crystal and white gold, and wait.
“Although?” you prompt.
“...although I wouldn't really know,” he says. “It’s just a hunch. I bet it's why so many omegas on this planet like you.”
You couldn't care less about those other omegas. All you care about is Aventurine. “And?” you say. “Do you like my scent?”
His reply never comes. He just breathes deeply again, seeking relief from your neck—not intimacy. Any alpha’s scent would work; that doctor told you so. Any alpha’s touch would work, too. There are no special feelings involved here. Your place in the world is one of a tool, and tools are never especially liked nor disliked. Their value exists only in how they can be used.
You don't know why you even bothered to ask the question.
But then something strange happens: Aventurine curls against you, pressing even further into you. His lashes flutter against your pulse again; it ticks up in response, beating fast against his lips.
“I do,” he says quietly. “I do like it.”
You swallow. “But I guess that's because you're in heat. Any alpha would smell good to you, wouldn’t they?”
“No.” His fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt. “No, I like it because it's yours.”
You know better than to read too much into his response. Aventurine had already said it earlier: No foreign scents. He's only tolerating this whole arrangement because you don't smell unfamiliar to him. Only able to use you because you are the least threatening option.
But the words break something in you—break the thing that made you unable to throw out that little pouch of copper coins that you were saving up for Kakavasha’s freedom, the part of you that made you wear that carbon-steel mask for him. It is this part of you that has your eyes squeezing shut and your arms wrapping around him. You know he’ll recoil, reject you, but just this once—you need to try.
Aventurine doesn't push you away.
He melts into you instead, inhaling deeply. Your scent gland tingles with the warmth of his breath, the feeling of his lips. He seems—comfortable.
You can't fathom why he’s staying in your arms. Perhaps he's simply desperate for some kind of relief from his heat, just like when you held him in the basement while he was delirious from pain. But Aventurine had spoken to you with clarity just now, and his skin doesn't feel scalding so much as warm, and his scent is so different than from that moment. So sweet and so gentle, without a trace of fear. It makes your heart squeeze. As much as you've always wanted Aventurine to feel safe, you'd never imagined that his scent would be so beautiful when he is.
It makes your heart ache. You've never held anything so lovely before, and you’ve never felt so warm before, and it all makes up for how badly it hurt to let Aventurine inside you. How hollow it made you feel to let him use you. How none of that matters as long as you can keep him safe like this, because you belong to Kakavasha. You'll always belong to Kakavasha, in a fate that was chosen for you on the day you met him.
You're his, always his—even if he’ll never want you.
end part i
thank you so much to lore for hosting a fantastic collab and to my sponsors who funded this fic and got it over the finish line! please go check out @ficsforgaza to find other amazing hsr writers you can sponsor in order to help fundraise! here is my own wip list, if you are interested in seeing more from me!
and thank you most of all to YOU! I appreciate you so much for reading this chapter. thank you so much for sticking it through.
additional end notes
#彡 favorites.#cw slavery#cw racism#cw violence#cw sa mention#the first sentence with the block letters ): it says I’ve always love you ??? gonna go cry now (I already did last night)#‘your eyes went soft. beneath the artificial fragrance / you finally caught a hint of his family scent’ ‘the way it always is when he’s#scared.’ THIS LINE BROKE MY HEART. his facade is not facading . WE KNOW. WE WILL ALWAYS KNOW#‘nothing of value’ god dammit aventurine i want to shake his shoulders so bad. this is killing me#OMG THE COIN PURSE PART. THE READER IS SO SWEET )))))): OMG. I remember the face I made at that part /pos and I did tear up quite a bit#‘you never let me do my job’ YEAH. what’s up with that ????????? aventurine u turd. I WANT HIM TO LET US LOVE HIM SOOOO BAD HGGGRRRRRRRRRRR#‘no im actually a great liar. you’re just too good at reading me. it’s very inconvenient you know.’ okay i don’t know how to explain how i#feel. but can I say I heard this perfectly in his voice ? and it made me react some way. like jaw fell open kind of way. your characteriza#UGH I HATE THE TAG LIMIT characterization** IS SO GOOD I CAN HEAR EVERYTHING IN MY HEAD it’s like a movie is playing in my brain mhm mhm!!!#also the part where we keep repeating aventurine over and over and he keeps talking about what he could buy ): LISTEN TO MMMMMEMEEEEEEEHHRH#‘it went against every instinct not to touch him’ THIS IS WHAT I MEANT in my word dump )): trying so hard but so conflicted because#as an alpha you can make it better for him. but he doesn’t want that so u respect it. but he’s in so much pain ): UGHHHHHHHHHH#the sweater part . are you serious /pos. this is such a cute little detail ): I’m gonna start sobbing again can we give him the world#‘everything smells like you’ im sorry 😭 we don’t have much to work with mr aventurine BUT HE SAID ‘I don’t mind it’ SO🥺🥺🥺#‘copper’ ‘they want it for the copper’ the way I started laughing because r u serious . I’m actually a little . brow twitched. BROW TWITCHE#oh okay the copper! right. the copper. (the table flips over) be so fr rn /pos#the entire wrist scene I read with one hand over an eye and also hidden under my blankets because I was so tense HEJDKCKJCKD#‘aventurine would rather die than be owned again’ my heart shattered into pieces at this btw#him still remembering the pass to the muzzle ): and the ‘are you leaving’ im literally gonna cry all over again /pos#the neck scent gland fucked me up so bad. and the rain scent. and he likes it because it’s ours . x _ x / T_T#i have thoughts about your other fic but I will probably write them tomorrow because now I would like to re-re-re-read this one 😅#I’ve always loved * for the first tag dammit I can’t imagine how many typos are in this whole thing#TLDR : great work !!! loved this > < <33
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How the Hashira men react to your neighbor asking you to be quiet
Characters: Tengen, Sanemi, Rengoku, Obanai, Gyomei, Giyuu,
Additional shit: Swearing, Sanemi fighting said neighbor, Rengoku being blunt, mentions of sex, ooc mot likely :p
Tengen
He couldn't care less
His whole thing is being flashy and loud so he wants you to be loud
Like it's not his fault that dick is magical
After he shoos your neighbor away he makes sure to be as loud as possible that night
He's pounding into your cunt and you swear your gonna break when he whispers "okay now scream exactly how big my dick is. Don't forget the tip color-"
He gets cut off by you hitting him with the pillow
Way to ruin the mood
But that doesn't stop him and instead he goes harder, making sure the bed creaks loud ASF for your neighbor
"Not my fault he doesn't know how to please a woman." Is his main reason for doing so
He really wants you to scream his name so it's imbedded in your neighbors head
"Morning N/N!" Him to your neighbor from the balcony while your trying to get out of bed and failing
"Actually die." Both you and your neighbor to Tengen
Sanemi
Cares alot
Why the fuck is that limp dick biscuit talking to you and him? Who does he think he is?
You were the one who broke the news to him thankfully cause if Sanemi was the one who opened the door then you'd have to see your husband through glass in a prison
Just kidding. The Slayer corp would get him out of trouble if he didn't do it himself.
Anyways
Sanemi made it his goal to piss your neighbor off as much as possible
Your under him, practically creaming on his cock, and he's slamming the wall yelling "This loud enough yet?! Huh!?"
Not kidding I can see him doing that
He quite literally had you against a window where your neighbors could see him destroying you just to make them mad or uncomfortable, hopefully both.
But then he'd get pissed someone else would see you all naked and fucked out so he settled for the wall next to the window
One day your neighbor, finally having enough, bangs on your door yelling and guess who opens it...Sanemi!!
Good Lord was he waiting for this
It took one punch and the guy was out
Kinda what happens when you put a normal dude against a guy who kills demons for a living
Rengoku
He's a good neutral between caring and not caring
Like he doesn't wanna make your neighbors mad but he also loves hearing your screams
So he tries to keep you quiet during sex but fails since he gets to into it to give a fuck
The next days his loud ass voice wakes you up
"IM SORRY FOR MAKING INCREDIBLE LOVE TO MY WIFE!" He's not being sarcastic thats his genuine apology
Your facepalming and you want to die when you see your neighbor and she can't look at you
"PERHAPS SHES MAD BECAUSE HER HUSBAND CANNOT PLEASE HER!" Rengoku says casually and you know she can hear you from outside in her garden
"Inside voices!" You place your hands over his mouth to try and shut him up.
It works for a bit before he's yelling again
You love your husband but holy shit you wish he would speak normally sometimes
He's actually quiet in bed though
So your the problem (real)
Obanai
I'm not an Obanai fan so forgive me for how bad his section will be
Obanai is a quiet mf, and you're not even that loud
It's your neighbor who was the problem
A little old man whose hearing aids apparently had the power of 67 suns
You and Obanai found this out when he was outside training and your neighbor came over
He was so sweet and polite and even chuckled at Obanai's redness
Obanai cared at first but got over it
You? You make sure to not make a PEEP in bed
Okay that pisses Obanai off but he understands your reasons
At least make a gasp or sum cause he's over here like "Wait does this feel good? Can she feel it? Did I forget where the clit is?"
Brother is STRESSING
Then you cum and he's like "ah"
Then he's like "Did you take it?"
You have to keep yourself from murdering him cause how tf would you fake squirting
Gyomei
Babe I'm not gonna lie, you're a screamer
Gyomei is built like a house and your telling me your just gonna whine and whimper?
NO
Your over here crying and screaming into his chest, neck, the pillow, anything.
And Gyomei loves it!
He can't see your reactions so hearing and feeling them let's him know he's doing good
Gyomei isn't loud but he's not quiet
He'll grunt and moan and praise you, but he's not gonna cry out.
Well he'll cry but you can never tell from what
When the pussy so good you start crying 😭🙏
When your neighbor politely asked you to be a tad bit quieter Gyomei actually laughed
Not in a 'nah we'll keep being loud' way but more of a 'sorry we'll be quiet' way. He also found it hilarious how you actually died of embarrassment.
Don't worry he thinks its endearing
Yet it was kinda hard for him since he enjoyed hearing you
But your touches and now quieter moans made that better
And then there's also you literally drawing blood from his back you were scratching so hard
Giyuu
Holy shit you have never seen him so embarrassed
Like you could shade match his Haori to him and get the exact same color
He was the one your neighbor told and he stopped working when 'loud' and 'moaning' left their lips
If a demon doesn't kill him then his own actions will
Giyuu isn't loud, and he loves that he can make you feel so good that your loud for him.
But he didn't want your neighbor back over at your house so he tried to keep you quiet
You were super confused when he held his hand over your mouth in bed and he just pointed to your neighbors house. Then you got it.
So you nod and try to keep quiet.
You know in school when the teacher tells you and a friend to shut up but they look at you funny and you break?
Yeah that was you
You were riding Giyuu one night and you were loud so he was like "holy shit I love you but please- I can't look our neighbor in the eyes anymore."
And you couldn't help but laugh
Like howling
You calmed down obviously but sex was very giggle filled after that
You've never seen Giyuu so panicked
But give him a week and he'll stop caring
#fem reader#x reader#kny#kny x reader#kny x y/n#kny x you#kny headcanons#demon slayer#demon slayer x reader#demon slayer x you#demon slayer x y/n#demon slayer x female reader#tengen uzui#rengoku kyojuro#sanemi shinazugawa#obanai iguro#gyomei himejima#giyuu tomioka#hashira x reader#kny hashira#demon slayer smut#kny smut#freaky#tengen x reader#rengoku x reader#sanemi x reader#obanai x reader#gyomei x reader#giyuu x reader#kny gyomei
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