#all I know is this is a complex matter and it's difficult to express in words

[calamitaswrath]

Hmm. Hm. Starting to feel like I'm actually an "any pronouns" kinda person? Not sure, though.

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 16

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No, you would go. But today would be different. You had decided determined, really that today would be nothing more than a lesson. All work, no jokes. No lingering on things that didn’t matter. No personal questions. No stolen glances. Because it wasn’t fair. He knew so much about you. Your struggles, your habits, the way your mind worked…or failed to work, at times. 

He had seen you laid bare metaphorically, of course, but somehow that was worse. He had read you like an open book, and yet when you tried to do the same, you found the pages blank, sealed, or written in a language you could not understand. What did you know of him? He played the harpsichord. That much you had gathered. But what did he listen to when he was alone? What was his favorite piece?

Did he hum while he worked, or did he sit in silence, letting the weight of knowledge fill the air? Did he prefer tea or coffee? Did he even need to eat? And if he did, what was his favorite meal? Who were his friends? Did he have friends? Or was he always the Sage, always standing apart, untouchable and revered? What had he been like as a child? Had he always been this way poised, unwavering, impossibly composed? Or had he once been clumsy, uncertain, still learning what it meant to be the Sage of Truth? Was he spoken for? 

That thought, more than any other, made something twist inside you, a sharp pang of something you refused to name. It wasn’t his fault you had gotten attached. But you had. And now, you had to fix it. You pushed the door open, stepping into the study room with renewed resolve. Today, there would be no unnecessary conversation, no lingering warmth. Just work. At least, that was the plan. You only hoped he wouldn’t make it difficult.

You entered the room, not bothering to hesitate at the threshold. No unnecessary thoughts. No unnecessary emotions. Just work. Without so much as a greeting, you pulled out your notes, flipping to the section you had struggled with most. The paper was a mess of hurried scribbles, half-finished equations, and the occasional margin note that made less sense now than when you first wrote it. But that didn’t matter. You dropped the pages onto the desk in front of you and spoke clear, direct, without hesitation.

 "On the application of astral runes in planar stabilization," you began, skipping pleasantries altogether. "How does the stability matrix account for flux when the anchor points shift independently of one another?"

It was an advanced question, more than a little out of your depth, but that was precisely the point. If you buried yourself in complex theory, there would be no room for anything else, no stray thoughts, no wandering emotions, no reflections on how unfair it felt to be this exposed while knowing so little about him.

You finally lifted your gaze, forcing yourself to meet Shadow Milk Cookie’s golden eyes. He had been watching you from the moment you stepped in, his hands folded neatly on the desk, his expression unreadable. Usually, he would greet you with a thoughtful remark, perhaps a small observation on your mood or state of mind. But this time, you had given him no opening.

No space for idle chatter. Only a question. His gaze lingered for a moment, searching, as if trying to discern something unspoken. Then, with an almost imperceptible tilt of his head, he answered. "A precise question." His voice was as smooth as ever, but there was something else there, something quieter. "Let us begin."

You sat down with a sharp, deliberate motion, placing your notes onto the table before Shadow Milk Cookie could say anything. No greeting, no lingering hesitation, just a question. “About the theorem we covered last time,” you said, flipping to a particular page in your notes, voice brisk, focused. “I was reviewing the applications, but I’m not sure how it applies when you shift the variables outside of the original bounds.”

The words left your mouth in a rush, leaving no space for anything else. No space for warmth. No space for familiarity. No space for him to see through you. For a moment, there was silence. Then, Shadow Milk Cookie, ever composed, inclined his head. His golden eyes flickered over you not with suspicion, not with amusement, but with something unreadable. He did not acknowledge the shift in your demeanor. Did not ask why there was no hello, no trace of your usual energy. Instead, he smoothly picked up the thread of your inquiry, as if nothing had changed.

“A fair question,” he mused, steepling his fingers before him. “To understand the constraints of the theorem, one must first consider its foundational premise. If we deconstruct the function as an extension of its primary logic, we find that-” He launched into an explanation with his usual measured eloquence, his voice even and assured, weaving seamlessly between theory and application.

Good. Good. This was what you needed. You nodded along, forcing your mind to follow the thread of his reasoning, gripping onto each word like a lifeline. If you focused truly, deeply focused on this, then maybe the rest would fall away. Maybe you wouldn’t feel the weight in your chest, the sting of self-awareness whispering that you were lying to yourself. But Shadow Milk Cookie was thorough.

He explained the theorem in layered depth, drawing diagrams with practiced ease, his golden eyes alight with the quiet thrill of dissecting knowledge. His words flowed effortlessly, forming intricate patterns of logic, each thought linking seamlessly to the next. His explanations were precise, unraveling the structure of the problem with such clarity that, for a moment, you felt yourself being swept into it.

You blinked. Wait. What? Your grip on your quill faltered as you scrambled to process the last few sentences. Somewhere between defining the function’s behavior and its correlation to alternative magical applications, he had gone far beyond what you could follow. “Slow down,” you blurted, lifting a hand in surrender. “I don’t-I don’t understand.” Shadow Milk Cookie halted mid-sentence, his gaze flicking to yours. His expression did not change, but there was something in his eyes something careful, something aware. You swallowed, feeling frustration creep into your chest not at him, but at yourself. At the fact that you had let yourself get caught in the cadence of his voice, in the way his words spun knowledge so effortlessly, and now you were struggling to keep up.

No. That wasn’t the only reason. You were frustrated because even now even after deciding that you needed to create distance, that it wasn’t fair how much he knew about you while you knew so little of him he still had the power to pull you in. Still had the ability to make you forget yourself. He tilted his head slightly, as if considering you. Then, instead of continuing, he leaned forward slightly, hands resting on the table with practiced ease. "Tell me, then," he said, his voice softer now, less of a lecture and more of an invitation. "Where did I lose you?"

You gritted your teeth. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t fair. If he had just been indifferent, if he had simply continued as though you were nothing more than a struggling student, it would have been easier. But he wasn’t indifferent. He was patient. And worse he was perceptive. You forced yourself to exhale. “The part about restructuring the function,” you admitted, flipping back a page in your notes, trying to ignore the way your voice had lost its sharp edge. “You lost me there.”

Shadow Milk Cookie nodded once, then, with the same patience as always, began again. And you let him. You let him guide you back through the explanation, let yourself focus on the words, let yourself be lost in the steady rhythm of learning. Because deceit was a warmer embrace than truth. And if you focused hard enough, maybe you could convince yourself that this was all there was. Your quill hovered over the page, ink pooling at the tip, threatening to drop onto your already messy notes. You stared, not really seeing the words anymore, your mind an unsteady blur of half-formed thoughts.

Shadow Milk Cookie’s voice was steady, patient as always. His explanations wove through the air, each word carefully measured, precise, yet they slipped through your grasp like sand. You tried to follow, tried to focus, but nothing stuck. You knew it wasn’t him. It wasn’t the material. It was you. And that made it worse. “Do you follow?” he asked, his tone as composed as ever. You blinked, suddenly aware that he had finished speaking. You hadn’t even processed the last thing he said.

“Uh-” Your grip on the quill tightened, your heartbeat loud in your ears. You scrambled, flipping back a few pages in your notes as if searching for something, anything that would make the past few minutes click into place. But it was useless. His gaze was expectant, not impatient, not unkind. Just waiting. Waiting for you to catch up. Waiting for you to be honest. Your chest tightened. You couldn’t do this. “I don’t get it.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, low and tense, barely above a whisper. You swallowed, willing your voice to stay even, but the frustration was creeping in, sinking its claws deep into your ribs. “I don’t” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “I’m not following anything you’re saying.”

Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head slightly, studying you. “Would you like me to simplify it?” That…That was it. The final push. You let out a short, bitter laugh, but there was no humor in it. Your quill clattered onto the desk as you leaned back, rubbing a hand down your face.

“What’s the point?” His expression didn’t change. He simply regarded you, eyes steady, waiting for you to continue. You almost didn’t. But something in you snapped. “It’s not like I’ll get it if you keep trying,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I don’t...I don’t know why I even bother.” You exhaled harshly, hands clenching into fists on your lap.

“I just...I thought if I kept showing up, if I kept listening, I’d get somewhere, but I...” Your breath hitched, frustration rising to the surface, sharp and undeniable. “It’s useless. I don’t get it. I never get it.” Your voice wavered at the last part, and you hated that. A quiet settled between you, thick and heavy. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the heat behind them to go away. You didn’t want to be seen like this weak, frustrated, cracking under the weight of something that shouldn’t even matter this much.

But then he spoke. “Are you frustrated with the material?” The question was simple. Too simple. And for some reason, that made your chest tighten even more. You opened your mouth, ready to snap out an answer, to deflect, to insist that yes, of course, it was the material. What else could it possibly be? But the words wouldn’t come. Because it wasn’t just the material.

And Shadow Milk Cookie…He was too perceptive for his own good. You clenched your jaw, turning your face away, unwilling to meet his gaze. “I don’t know,” you muttered. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth, either. Silence stretched between you again. You wished he’d just move on. Let it go. Let you sit in your frustration and wallow until the feeling passed. But instead, he said  “Truth is not always kind.”

Shadow Milk Cookie rested his chin against the back of his hand, watching you carefully. “It is a mirror that does not bend to our wishes. And when we look into it, we do not always like what we see.” You stared at him, words caught in your throat. He continued, voice calm, unwavering.

“Deceit, on the other hand, is a gentler embrace. It soothes, where truth may wound. It comforts, where truth may force confrontation.” He tilted his head slightly, gaze sharp, piercing. “Would you rather remain in deceit, then? Because it is easier?” You jolted as if struck.

Your mouth opened, then shut. You had no response. Something in you curled inward, like an exposed nerve, raw and aching. You wanted to say no. You wanted to deny it, to insist that you sought truth, that you weren’t weak enough to cling to something false just because it hurt less. But wasn’t that exactly what you were doing? Wasn’t that why you were here, sitting stiffly in your chair, forcing yourself to create distance because you had let yourself see too much? Your throat tightened. “I-” Your voice failed you. You suddenly felt… exposed. Like he had peeled back a layer of yourself you hadn’t even realized was showing.

Your hands clenched into fists. You needed to focus. You needed to ground yourself in something solid before you spiraled too far. You forced yourself to look at your notes, flipping a page just for the sake of doing something, anything. “Let’s” You cleared your throat, trying to steady your voice. “Let’s just get back to work.”

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment. His gaze wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t pitying, either. Just… knowing. You didn’t like that. But he did not press. “Very well,” he said simply, and began again. You tried to follow. You really did. But your thoughts were elsewhere, your mind still tangled in the weight of his words. And before long, you realized, You weren’t listening at all. You were staring. You weren’t sure when it happened, but at some point, you had stopped hearing his words entirely. His voice became nothing more than a distant hum, like waves rolling in and out against the shore. His gestures, his careful movements, the way his golden eyes flickered with thought it all blurred together into something incomprehensible.

“Are you following?” You snapped upright, startled. You blinked rapidly, heat rising to your face as you scrambled to make sense of where you were, of what he had just said. But you had nothing. You had absorbed none of it. Your breath caught. Your heart pounded against your ribs. You swallowed thickly, gripping the edge of your notes like they could anchor you back to reality. “Wait-wait, slow down, I-I don’t understand.”

Shadow Milk Cookie paused. Then, slowly, he leaned back, folding his hands neatly in his lap. “I see,” he mused, and there was something almost amused in his voice. “You weren’t listening at all, were you?” Your face burned. You turned away sharply, jaw clenching, frustration bubbling up all over again.

“Forget it,” you muttered. “Forget it?” he echoed, arching a brow. “You were so determined when you arrived today. I wonder, what changed?” Your breath caught. You wanted to say nothing. You wanted to pretend it was just another day, another failed attempt at understanding material that would always slip through your fingers. But you couldn’t. Because you knew what changed. And you were afraid to admit it. To him. To yourself.

The silence stretched between you. You weren’t sure how long you had been staring at the parchment in front of you, but the words no longer made sense not because they were difficult, but because they felt distant, irrelevant. Like trying to grasp smoke. You knew he was watching you. You could feel the weight of his gaze, the quiet patience with which he waited for you to speak. But you had nothing to say. Your fingers curled against the edge of your notes, gripping them tightly before relaxing again.

What were you doing here? You had asked yourself that before, but the question had never burned as much as it did now. It wasn’t his fault. That much you knew. It wasn’t his fault that he was always composed, always steady, always carrying himself with the unshaken confidence of someone who knew their place in the world. It wasn’t his fault that he could look at you, really look at you and see through the barriers you thought you had built. That he could tell, without needing to ask, whether you were listening, whether you were engaged, whether your mind was somewhere far away. Instead of addressing anything he continued tutoring in the hopes you’d start to follow along.

The ink on your parchment blurred before your eyes, the symbols and diagrams twisting into meaningless shapes. You weren’t even tired…not really, but focus felt impossible, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. You knew he could tell. Of course he could. Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t miss things like this. Even now, as you sat stiffly across from him, your notes spread out in front of you, you could feel the weight of his gaze.

Patient. Expectant. Waiting for you to catch up, to ask a question, to engage. But you hadn’t. Not tonight. Instead, you had simply nodded along, feigning understanding when in reality, your mind was a thousand miles away. Shadow Milk Cookie finally set down his quill. The motion was deliberate, the quiet tap against the desk almost deafening in the heavy silence.

“You are unfocused.” Your jaw tensed. It wasn’t a question. You swallowed, gripping your quill a little tighter. “I’m fine.” His golden eyes studied you. “Then tell me what I just explained.” You hesitated. There was an answer somewhere in your head, you were sure of it. But when you reached for it, all you found was noise his voice, the rhythm of his words, the structure of his explanations, all slipping past you too fast to grasp. “I-” You frowned. “It was about…” Nothing. Your silence was all the answer he needed.

Shadow Milk Cookie hummed, tapping his fingers lightly against the parchment. “Curious. If you are fine, as you claim, then why do you falter?” You inhaled sharply, irritation prickling under your skin. “I just zoned out for a second.”

“More than a second.”

You clenched your jaw, heat rising to your face. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “It is if you wish to learn.”

That was the thing, wasn’t it? You did want to learn. You wanted to be here. Or at least, you had convinced yourself that you did. But tonight, everything felt wrong. You had walked into this session determined to build a wall, to keep things strictly professional, to separate whatever this was from what it needed to be. He was your tutor, nothing more. And he knew you weren’t listening. It was unfair. Unfair that he could read you so easily, unfair that he always seemed to know exactly what you were thinking, unfair that he could see right through you while you…You knew so little of him. You had spent all this time by his side, listening to his teachings, watching the way his mind worked, the way his words wove knowledge into something tangible. You had seen him confident, assured, unwavering. But beyond that?

What did he like outside of all this? Did he have a favorite color? A favorite meal? Did he ever get frustrated? Did he ever feel lost? Who were his friends? What was his childhood like? What made him him? He had told you once that his hair was a reflection of who he was. But that answer had only left you with more questions. And yet, he had never offered more. And why would he? Why should he?

Your fingers curled into fists on the table. This wasn’t his fault. That was the worst part. This wasn’t his fault. It was yours. Yours for letting yourself get attached, for allowing yourself to wonder, for looking at him and seeing something beyond what was there or worse, for seeing something that was there but was never meant for you.

Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled softly. “Shall we begin again?” His voice was calm, composed. Like this was just another lesson, just another evening. Your frustration swelled. You couldn’t do this. Not like this. “Why do you care?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, sharper than you intended.

Shadow Milk Cookie’s eyes narrowed slightly not in irritation, but in consideration. “Is that truly what you wish to ask?” You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head. “I just. I don’t get it. Why does it matter if I’m paying attention or not? It’s my problem, isn’t it? It’s my responsibility to learn.”

Shadow Milk Cookie leaned back slightly, regarding you with a look you couldn’t quite decipher. “You misunderstand.” You frowned. “Do I?”

“Yes.” His tone was measured, deliberate. “It is not that I care whether you listen. It is that you wish to listen, yet you do not.”

Your heart stuttered. His gaze didn’t waver. “And that, I believe, is what frustrates you most.” Your breath caught in your throat. You did want to listen. You wanted to be here. But your thoughts had tangled into something unmanageable, something overwhelming, and no matter how hard you tried to pull yourself back, you couldn’t. You looked away, your voice quieter now. “It’s not that simple.”

“Is it not?”

You scoffed. “Of course you’d say that.” His lips quirked up at the corner, almost imperceptibly. “I only speak the truth.” You exhaled sharply, pressing your fingers against your temple.

“You always do, don’t you?” There was a pause.

“Would you rather I lie?” You looked up at him sharply, startled by the question. Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze remained steady, unyielding. But there was something beneath the surface. You swallowed. “No.”

He nodded, as if that answer was expected. “Then tell me.”

You hesitated. “Tell you what?”

“What troubles you.” You nearly laughed.

“That’s not how this works.”

He tilted his head slightly. “No?” You let out a dry chuckle. “You’re the Sage of Truth. You already know, don’t you?” He didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was softer than before.

“I know what I observe. But I am not omniscient.” Something in your chest tightened. You shook your head, looking away again. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” You exhaled sharply, frustration flickering back to the surface. “Why?”

He regarded you for a long moment before speaking. “Because truth is not always what one wants. And yet, it remains. Would you rather embrace deceit?”

Yes. Yes, because deceit was easier. It was a warmer embrace than the truth. Because the truth was…You liked him but…you didn’t know him. Not really. And yet, you had let yourself want to. Your fingers curled against the parchment, heart pounding. Shadow Milk Cookie sighed, leaning forward slightly. “We will begin again,” he repeated, quieter this time. You swallowed hard, nodding without a word. You didn’t know what you were doing anymore. But you knew you had to move forward. Even if the truth was the last thing you wanted to face.

The sharp edges of frustration had dulled now, replaced with something else something quieter, something bitter. You had let your emotions dictate your actions, let them warp your thoughts into something unbecoming. You had sat here, barely listening, building walls between yourself and the one person who had done nothing to deserve it. And for what? Because he saw through you? Because you didn’t know him the way he seemed to know you? It was childish. You were childish.

Your grip on your quill tightened before you finally sighed, letting the tension slip from your shoulders. “I…” You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry.” Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t respond right away. He merely watched you, eyes unreadable in the dim candlelight of his office.

“For what?” You hesitated, pressing your lips together before exhaling. “For… behaving like that. For letting things get to me. For…” You frowned, searching for the right words. “For allowing emotions I don’t even understand to dictate what I do.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering your words. “A rare admission.” You let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “Yeah, well. I feel foolish.” His gaze didn’t waver.

“Foolishness is not in acknowledging one’s emotions. It is in denying them.” You stared at him for a long moment before shaking your head. “You always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Say things that make too much sense,” you muttered, rubbing your temple. Then, after a beat, you looked at him again, more serious this time. “How do you always know the truth?” He blinked, the shift in topic catching him off guard. “I am the Sage of Truth.”

“No,” you interjected. “Not as the Sage of Truth. I want you to answer me as Shadow Milk.” His expression flickered, the ever-present composure cracking just slightly at your request. You leaned forward, elbows resting against the table. “What is the truth to you? And don’t give me some grand, philosophical answer. I want to know what it means to you.”

Shadow Milk Cookie was quiet for a long time, his fingers idly brushing against the parchment on the table. You could see the way he weighed his words, measured them as he always did. But this time, it wasn’t for the sake of some grand declaration. Finally, he spoke. “The truth,” he said slowly, “is both burden and gift.” You frowned slightly, but let him continue.

“It is an unyielding force. One that exists beyond our desires, beyond what we want to be true. It does not change, no matter how we plead or fight against it. And yet…” His gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. “It is also what guides us. What shapes us. What reveals us, even when we do not wish to be seen.”

You exhaled through your nose, mulling over his words before finally asking, “And what about me?” Shadow Milk Cookie blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You said truth reveals us even when we don’t wish to be seen.” You met his gaze fully now, unwavering. “What do you see? What do you know just from what you observe in me?”

His expression shifted something deeper settling in his gaze, something you couldn’t name. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. “I see someone who tries to convince themselves they do not care, when in reality, they care far too much.” Your breath hitched. “I see someone who holds their own struggles close, too stubborn to share them, because they believe no one would truly understand."

You held your breath. “I see someone who seeks knowledge not just for the sake of learning, but for the sake of proving something to themselves, to others, to someone whose voice still lingers in their mind.”

Your chest felt tight. “That’s-” But he wasn’t done. “I see someone who is afraid.” Your breath caught in your throat. His voice was softer now, but no less steady. “Afraid of being seen. Afraid of being known. However…” He studied you carefully, as if peeling back the layers of your very being.

“You crave it, all the same.” The room felt too small. You swallowed hard, looking away. “I hate that you’re right.” Shadow Milk Cookie hummed, tilting his head.

“Did you want me to lie?” You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “No.” He nodded, as if that was all he needed. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“…Is that all you see?” The question was quieter than before, uncertain. Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his golden eyes. “I see someone who is trying.” You looked up at him. He continued, voice steady. “Someone who, despite everything, still moves forward. Who still chooses to be here. And that, I believe, is no small thing.”

Your chest ached. There was nothing grand about his words, nothing overly poetic. Just simple, honest truth. And somehow, that made it harder to bear. You exhaled, rubbing your temple. “You really don’t hold back, do you?” His lips curved ever so slightly. “You asked.” You let out another breathless chuckle, shaking your head. “Yeah. I did.” The weight of the conversation still lingered, pressing down on you. But somehow, it didn’t feel quite so suffocating anymore. “…We should probably get back to studying,” you murmured after a beat. Shadow Milk Cookie inclined his head slightly. “If you are ready.” You hesitated just for a moment before nodding. “I am.” And this time, you meant it. At least you thought you did.

The conversation lingered in your mind, even as you forced yourself to refocus. Shadow Milk Cookie had said his piece laid bare what he saw in you and though the weight of it still sat heavy in your chest, you found yourself breathing a little easier. And as the lesson resumed, something within you eased.

The usual rhythm returned the back-and-forth, the push and pull. You let yourself slip into the banter, your playful nature peeking through in small quips and exaggerated sighs of suffering whenever he asked a particularly difficult question. “Of course you’d expect me to remember that,” you muttered, frowning at the notes before you. Shadow Milk Cookie merely arched a brow. “Would you prefer a simpler question?”

You scoffed. “What, and give you the satisfaction? I don’t think so.” He exhaled, amusement dancing in his golden eyes. “Your defiance is commendable, though misdirected.”

You grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” And so it went. You asked questions. He answered them. He posed new ones, guiding you toward realizations without simply handing you the answers. Somehow, without even realizing it, you learned. Not through rigid memorization or frustrating drills, but through genuine discussion. By the time you finally closed your notebook, the weight of the day felt lighter, the earlier frustration nothing more than a faint echo in the background.

“Well,” you sighed, stretching slightly. “That’s that.” Shadow Milk Cookie gave a satisfied nod. “You grasped the concepts well.” You hummed, tapping your fingers idly against the cover of your notebook before saying, “I don’t actually think I needed to learn this.” His gaze flickered to you, mild curiosity in his expression.

You shrugged. “I just picked the concept that seemed the hardest.” You smiled a little, rolling your shoulders. “Figured if I was going to spend time learning something, it might as well be the biggest challenge. Maybe it’ll come in handy one day.” Shadow Milk Cookie studied you for a moment before exhaling a quiet chuckle. “That is certainly one approach.”

You smirked. “Hey, if I’m going to suffer, I might as well choose my suffering.” He shook his head, though there was no real disapproval in his expression. “You continue to be an enigma.” You laughed. “And yet, somehow, you always seem to figure me out.”

He hummed, watching you with that ever-measured gaze. “Not entirely.” That made you pause. Your grin faltered slightly, just enough for the shift in expression to be noticeable. But before you could ask what he meant before you could linger too long on the thought he spoke again. “Shall we conclude for today?” You blinked before nodding.

“Yeah. That sounds good.” He nodded in return, gathering his own notes as you shut your notebook. You found yourself wondering just for a moment, if he had truly meant what he said. That he didn’t entirely know you. That there was still more to be seen. You left his office only to return. You should have stayed gone. But, It wasn’t time for dinner yet, and you had nothing to do. You also nothing to say, no reason to sit here idly while he worked.

Your fingers tapped against the arm of your chair, your gaze flicking between the bookshelves that loomed over his desk, the faint glimmer of candlelight against the deep blue strands of his hair, and the serene focus on his face. Shadow Milk Cookie hardly seemed to register your presence. Or maybe he did and simply chose not to acknowledge it. You weren’t sure which would have been worse. You shifted in your seat, uncomfortable, not with him but with yourself.

Your mind was restless, searching for something to latch onto, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out. “…What do you actually like?” The quill stopped mid-stroke. For a long, silent moment, he did not move, his head only barely tilting in your direction. Then, his golden eyes flickered toward you, unreadable. “…I beg your pardon?” You swallowed, suddenly feeling foolish, but you had already spoken. There was no taking it back. “I mean… I don’t know anything about you. Not really,” you admitted, leaning back in your chair. “I know the Sage of Truth. I know the scholar, the mentor, the one everyone looks up to. But… I don’t know you.”

That surprised him. You could tell by the way his brows lifted just slightly, the way his quill lingered, forgotten, between his fingers. You exhaled, shifting under his gaze. “What do you like?” you repeated, softer this time. Shadow Milk Cookie set his quill down, folding his hands neatly over the parchment. “You are quite direct today.”

You huffed. “Would you rather I beat around the bush?” He studied you, something thoughtful behind his gaze, before exhaling softly. “No,” he admitted, almost to himself. You weren’t sure why, but the way he said it made something in your chest feel lighter. Still, he seemed to consider your question carefully, as if deciding how much of himself he was willing to share.

Finally, he answered. “I enjoy playing the harpsichord,” he said, voice even, measured. “The act of creation through music is… calming.” You blinked, you knew this.

He continued. “I find solace in quiet libraries, where the weight of time lingers in the air.” He glanced briefly at the nearest bookshelf, his expression softening just slightly. “And I prefer tea to coffee. Something floral, with a subtle sweetness.” You listened, eyes fixed on him, taking in every word as if they were the rarest truths you had ever heard.

Shadow Milk Cookie hesitated for a fraction of a second, then added, quieter almost like an afterthought “…I like the night sky.” Your breath caught. Not because of what he said, but because of the way he said it. There was something different in his tone something uncharacteristically unguarded.

You tilted your head. “Why?” He glanced at you, then away, his fingers pressing together slightly. “…Because it is vast, endless, and unknown.” A pause. “Because no matter how much I seek to understand it, there will always be something beyond my reach.” You watched him carefully, his golden eyes fixed somewhere distant, as if lost in thought.

For a moment, he wasn’t the Sage of Truth. He was just himself. Perhaps you selfishly wanted to see more of that. You hummed, letting his words settle before saying, “So… if you like the night sky because it’s something you can’t fully understand… does that mean you like a challenge?”

His gaze snapped back to you. And for just a second just a heartbeat you thought you saw it. A faint warmth at the tips of his ears. It was gone before you could be certain, but something about it made your own heart stumble over itself. Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled through his nose, amusement flickering in his expression, though his eyes held something else something curious. “

You are quite bold today,” he remarked. You shrugged. “Maybe I just wanted to see what kind of answer I’d get.” His lips quirked up slightly, a ghost of a smile, before he leaned back in his chair. “And? Are you satisfied?”

You studied him for a moment, the quiet flicker of candlelight reflecting in his eyes. Maybe it was because you swore just for a moment that you had seen something there, something warm and human and quietly sincere, but you found yourself smiling. “…I think I’ll need to keep asking to know for sure.” Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled softly, shaking his head, but there was no disapproval in it. Only quiet amusement. “…So be it.”

The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the polished wood of Shadow Milk Cookie’s desk, casting long shadows that stretched toward the walls lined with books and parchment. You leaned back in your chair, staring at the ceiling as you let your thoughts drift, the memory of the night in the Ghost City lingering in your mind. You had meant to focus on your studies tonight to keep things light, simple, free of the tangled web of thoughts you kept getting caught in. But your curiosity gnawed at you, persistent and unshaken. And so, before you could think better of it, you spoke.

“You know… the other day, when we went to the Ghost City, I heard this story.” Shadow Milk Cookie hummed in acknowledgment, quill still moving against parchment, his focus undisturbed. “Oh?”

“Yeah. A ghost told it in the Storyteller’s Circle,” you continued, watching his expression carefully. “It was about two lovers who could only meet once every hundred years.” His quill paused for just a fraction of a second before continuing its path across the page. “A compelling premise,” he mused, his tone neutral.

“What did you make of it?” You huffed, tilting your head. “I don’t know. Chai Latte thought it was romantic.” He let out a thoughtful sound, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “Hazelnut Biscotti said it was tragic,” you added, crossing your arms. “A reasonable perspective.”

“And Earl Grey Cookie said some people are worth waiting for.” At that, Shadow Milk Cookie finally glanced up from his work, his golden gaze flickering toward you with quiet intrigue. “And what do you think?”

You hesitated. That was the real question, wasn’t it? You exhaled, shifting in your seat. “I think… I don’t know if I could wait that long. A hundred years is a long time.” You tapped your fingers against the desk idly. “But I guess it depends.”

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you carefully, setting his quill down. “On what?” You met his gaze. “On the person.” A beat of silence stretched between you. You weren’t sure if he caught the way your voice dipped slightly, the way something quiet curled beneath your words. If he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, considering. “A rather pragmatic answer.” You shrugged. “So… would you?” His brow arched slightly. “Would I…?” 

“Wait,” you clarified. “A hundred years. For someone you cared about.” You tried to keep your tone casual, as if this were just another question in a long list of inquiries about philosophy, logic, and the nature of truth itself. But your fingers curled against the fabric of your sleeve. “Would you wait that long for someone?” His eyes searched yours. You forced yourself to hold his gaze, though your heart had a traitorous way of lodging itself in your throat. Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled softly, his fingers pressing together in thought. “I suppose,” he began, voice measured, “that would depend on what awaited at the end of that wait.”

You swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“If one waits a century,” he mused, “it is not merely a question of patience, but of purpose. Is the reunion assured? Or is it a mere hope, a wish cast into the void?” His golden gaze flickered slightly. “If there is certainty. if the one I waited for would be there, unchanged, unwavering then perhaps.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing his words. Then, after a pause one that felt light, almost playful you added, “Are you waiting for someone now?” It was meant to sound like casual curiosity. A natural follow-up. But even you knew better. Something in his expression shifted not in a way that was easily decipherable, but in a way that made your stomach flip nonetheless. He held your gaze for a moment too long. Then, a slow, knowing smile tugged at his lips.

“An interesting question,” he murmured, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Why do you ask?” You forced yourself to shrug. “Just curious.” His expression didn’t change, but there was something about the way he looked at you something you couldn’t quite name. You realize now it’s hard to make out his expressions. Perhaps it’s faint amusement. A quiet knowing. Then just for a moment you swore you saw it again. A flicker of warmth at the tips of his ears. It was gone as soon as you noticed it, replaced by the careful neutrality he always wore so well. Shadow Milk Cookie leaned back slightly, regarding you with interest. “And if I were?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“If I were waiting for someone,” he elaborated, “what would that tell you?” You opened your mouth, then closed it. Because what would that tell you? Your heart was a traitor, thrumming in your chest as if it knew something you didn’t. But you weren’t ready to answer that yet. So instead, you scoffed, crossing your arms. “It would tell me that someone has very high standards if they’re making you wait a hundred years.”

That earned a chuckle from him soft, real. “I see,” he said, shaking his head in amusement. “A fair assessment.” And just like that, the moment passed like a leaf caught in the wind, drifting just out of reach. But even as you turned the conversation elsewhere, even as you forced yourself to move on, you couldn’t quite forget the way he looked at you in that fleeting second. Or the way something in your chest felt just a little warmer because of it.

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you carefully, golden eyes gleaming with quiet curiosity. You weren’t sure why you kept talking why you pushed just a little further. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to know everything about you, yet you knew so little of him. Maybe it was the way he answered without answering, weaving around your questions like a scholar sidestepping an argument they didn’t want to commit to. Or maybe it was something simpler. Something quieter. Maybe you just wanted to hear him say it…whatever it was. You exhaled, leaning your chin into your palm.

“I don’t think I’d even live to a hundred years old,” you mused, keeping your voice light. “A century is a long time to wait for someone.” Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head. “Indeed it is.”

You tapped your fingers against the desk, gaze flickering toward him. “If it were me, though…” That caught his attention. His fingers stilled against the parchment. “If I knew it was you,” you continued, voice thoughtful, “I wouldn’t keep you waiting.” A flicker of something crossed his expression so brief you almost missed it. You shrugged, as if the words hadn’t set your heart pounding, as if you were merely speaking in hypotheticals. “I mean, someone as important as you? It’d be ridiculous if someone kept you waiting for a hundred years.” You laughed, trying to pass it off as a casual remark. “Who in their right mind would do that?”

Silence. You expected him to brush it off. To give you some grand, scholarly response about patience, about truth, about the nature of time itself. But he didn’t. Instead, he regarded you for a long, quiet moment, his expression unreadable. Then, so softly you barely caught it he spoke. “Who indeed?” Your breath hitched. It wasn’t a question. It was something else. Something weightier. Something that made warmth coil low in your stomach, even though you weren’t sure why. You blinked, forcing out an awkward chuckle. “Well, it’s just a thought.”

 “Is it?” You froze. He was still watching you, head tilted slightly curious, contemplative. He didn’t press, didn’t pry, but the weight of his gaze alone was enough to send your heart into an uneven rhythm. You swallowed. “Yeah. Just a thought.” He hummed, studying you for a second longer before looking back down at his parchment.

But that flicker of warmth the one you swore you saw, barely dusting the edges of his ears didn’t quite disappear. And neither did the feeling settling into your chest. Shadow Milk Cookie was silent for a beat too long. His quill hovered above parchment, the ink threatening to blot as his golden eyes flickered toward you, unreadable. Yet there was no mistaking the way his ears' traitorous things remained dusted with that telltale warmth. You had caught him off guard. But the Sage of Truth was nothing if not adaptable. Slowly, his lips curled into something unreadable too knowing to be innocent, too amused to be cruel. He set his quill aside with deliberate grace and leaned back ever so slightly, watching you with something that made the space between you feel suddenly smaller. "What about you though...Would you wait for me?" You asked with faux confidence, after all it was just a follow up question nothing more...

"A most fascinating inquiry," he mused, tilting his head. "Tell me, are you testing the limits of my patience? Or is this merely a cunning attempt to unravel the heart of the Sage of Truth?" Your breath hitched. You hadn’t expected him to turn it back on you. He must have noticed, because his smile deepened. "You have already given your answer, have you not?" he continued, fingers steepling as he regarded you.

"You would wait for me. And yet, here you are, asking if I would do the same." His voice lowered mischievous, like a scholar who had just found a contradiction in a well-argued thesis. "Curious. What is it you are truly seeking, I wonder?"

Your face grew warm. "I was just asking," you muttered, crossing your arms. "It’s not that deep." "

Oh?" His golden gaze gleamed. "Not that deep, you say? And yet, you pressed the matter. As if my answer mattered greatly to you." You had never wanted to shrink into your chair so badly. "I was just curious!"

"Ah, curiosity!" He gasped theatrically, placing a hand over his heart as if he had just uncovered a great mystery. "A scholar’s greatest vice. And yet, I cannot help but wonder…" He leaned in just enough to make your breath falter. "Is it truth you seek from me, or something else entirely?"

You opened your mouth then closed it. He had you cornered. And the worst part? He knew it. His expression was far too pleased, as if your silence was the answer he had been seeking all along. "You are unfair," you grumbled, shoving a book toward him in some weak attempt at distraction. He chuckled, the sound richer than you expected.

"Unfair? My dear scholar, it is not I who sought answers this evening." You scowled, looking away. "Just forget I asked."

"Ah, but you did ask." His voice was teasing, yet there was something else beneath it something warmer, more thoughtful. "And for that, I shall give you an answer…" You dared a glance back at him, finding his expression softened. He did not look away. "If it were you," he said, quieter now, "then I suppose…" A pause so brief, yet so heavy.

"Waiting a century would not be such a terrible thing." Your heart stumbled. Before you could react, he picked up his quill again, the moment vanishing as quickly as it had come. "Of course," he added, voice turning light once more, "I imagine it would be quite inconvenient for you. You did say you wouldn’t last a hundred years, after all." You gaped at him. "Are you seriously throwing my own words back at me right now?" He gave you a slow, knowing smile. "Why, of course. What kind of scholar would I be if I ignored inconsistencies?" You groaned, dropping your head onto the desk. The Sage of Truth may have been flustered before. But now? Now, he was enjoying this far too much.

For a long moment, Shadow Milk Cookie said nothing. You weren’t sure if that made it better or worse. The weight of his gaze lingered, golden eyes gleaming with something unreadable something you couldn’t quite grasp. And yet, the corners of his lips twitched, ever so slightly, as if he was holding something back. Amusement? Intrigue? Something crueler? It was almost infuriating. “Curious,” he murmured at last, tapping a gloved finger against his parchment. “You asked such a question, knowing full well what you have already declared.” You frowned, tilting your head. “What?”

 “You claimed you would wait for me,” he said simply. “With that same breath, you asked if I would do the same. Are you hoping to trap me in my own words? Or…” He leaned forward slightly, just enough to be teasing, his voice taking on that lilting quality he used when debating. “Are you seeking something more, something beyond a mere answer?” Heat crept up your neck. “That’s not-” 

“Ah, no need to deny it.” His eyes gleamed, a smirk playing at his lips. “It is only natural. When one flirts with the unknown, they wish for something in return. A revelation. A secret.” He tilted his head, mock-considering. “Perhaps even a promise.”

Your breath caught. He had to be doing this on purpose. You clenched your fists, looking away, frustration bubbling under your skin. It wasn’t just the teasing…it was the way he always did this, always knew more, always stayed just out of reach, dangling answers like bait but never letting you catch them. “I was supposed to be mysterious,” you muttered, your voice quieter now. “Cold, even.” Shadow Milk Cookie blinked. The teasing glint in his eyes faltered, ever so slightly. You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “As silly as it sounds… it’s not fair.” You glanced at him, gaze searching.

 “You know everything about me. Where I come from. My friends. How I react to things. And yet, I barely know anything about you.” A pause. A shift. Your hands curled into your sleeves. “It’s not fair.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment, his smirk fading into something quieter, something more thoughtful. The playful glint in his eyes dimmed not gone, but subdued, as if considering your words in a way he hadn’t before. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a soft chuckle. “Ah… so that is what troubles you.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, fingers steepled together.

 “You wish for the truth, yet I remain an enigma. A most tragic plight.” “Don’t mock me,” you mumbled. “Oh, but I wouldn’t dare.” He tapped a finger against his temple, a slow, thoughtful motion. “It is true, I know much about you. Perhaps… an unfair advantage, as you say.” You raised a brow, wary. “And?” He hummed, as if considering. Then, he smiled mischievous, teasing, but not unkind. “Very well,” he said lightly. “Ask, then.” You blinked. “What?”

 “Ask,” he repeated, tilting his head. “Since you wish to know me as I know you… ask a question. Any question.” His voice dipped slightly, a challenge hidden beneath the invitation. “Let us see if you are ready for the answers you seek.” Your heart thumped. You swallowed. For all your complaints, for all your frustrations, you had not expected him to offer this. And yet… now that he had… What would you even ask?

For a moment, you hesitated. Not because you didn’t have anything to ask, but because there were too many things. Countless questions had been building in your mind since the day you met him things he sidestepped, things he answered only in riddles. But if this was your only chance… if he truly meant only one question… You had to make it count. Your fingers curled against the table. “Were you always immortal?” Shadow Milk Cookie stilled. The glint of amusement in his eyes faded, replaced by something quiet.

For the first time, he looked… caught off guard. You had never seen him hesitate like this before. The weight of the silence between you thickened, pressing against your ribs. He did not scoff, nor tease, nor weave his way around the question like he usually would. Instead, he merely studied you, his golden eyes flickering with something distant. Finally, he spoke. “I was made this way.” His voice was softer than you expected. Not heavy. Not sad. But… thoughtful.

Carefully measured. You watched him, searching his expression. “You were made immortal?” He nodded, fingers tracing the edges of his parchment, though his focus was nowhere near it. “From the moment I came into being, time held no claim over me. It was never a question of fate or choice. It simply was.” The way he said it was almost… detached. As if he were reciting something from a book, something he had accepted long ago. Your heart thumped, but you pushed further. “So you’ve never known anything else?” A soft chuckle escaped him not mocking, but almost… amused by the idea itself. “No. I have not.”

You bit your lip. That answer felt so final, so matter-of-fact. But something about it gnawed at you. Because if he had never known anything else… had he ever wanted to? You hesitated, then asked the next question before you could stop yourself. “And do you ever wish you weren’t?” This time, he truly paused. His fingers stilled against the parchment. Golden eyes met yours, and for the first time, you weren’t sure what you saw in them. He did not answer immediately. The silence stretched not uncomfortable, not tense, but thick with something unspoken. Something considering. He exhaled softly, tilting his head. “You do not hesitate to dive straight into the depths, do you?”

“You said I was allowed to ask,” you murmured, voice steady despite the warmth creeping up your neck. “I had to make it count.”

Shadow Milk Cookie studied you for a long moment before letting out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Ever the scholar, seeking the deeper truths.” He hummed, almost to himself. “And yet… you are the first to ask me this.” Your breath caught. The first? Before you could dwell on that, he leaned forward slightly, resting his chin against his steepled fingers.

“There are those who would envy my existence,” he said, voice measured. “To be free of time’s grasp, to witness centuries unfold like pages in a grand tome… It is a privilege few could even fathom.” You swallowed. “That’s not an answer.” His lips curved not quite a smile, but something close.

“No, I suppose it is not.” A flicker of warmth coiled low in your stomach. He wasn’t avoiding the question not exactly. But he was making you wait for it. So you did. You held his gaze, waiting. Finally he spoke. “There are moments,” he admitted, almost absently, “when I wonder.” Your fingers curled against the desk. “I do not regret what I am,” he continued, as if carefully choosing each word. “Nor do I mourn a life I have never known.” A pause. A slow inhale. “But to exist beyond time… is to be a witness, never truly a participant.”

A witness. Your stomach twisted at the weight of that. “How lonely,” you whispered. His eyes flickered. You hadn’t meant to say it aloud. Another silence stretched between you, heavier this time. And then slowly, deliberately his smirk returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Ah,” he mused, tilting his head. “And here I thought I was meant to be the enigmatic one.” You rolled your eyes, but your chest still felt tight. “You still haven’t really answered me.”

“Haven’t I?” You scowled. “Not properly.” A thoughtful hum. “Perhaps not.” You huffed, crossing your arms. “Then at least answer this if you could choose, right now, to be mortal… would you?” Another pause. A longer one. His gaze met yours, not just glanced, not just observed, but looked. As if he were weighing something unseen, something vast and unspoken. Then, very softly he answered. “I do not know.” Something in your chest ached at that. Since you met him, you weren’t sure who had truly won this exchange. You hesitated for only a moment before exhaling, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "Well… if it makes you feel any better, we’re friends now...remember?."

A/N Sometimes it really is easier to put a band aid over it ㄟ( ▔, ▔ )ㄏ In other news I did not do as great as I thought on that chem exam...However, I still have 2 more exams to lock in for...but I got a 93 on my philosophy midterm sooooo, it balances out sort of...

Anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

<<<Previous Next>>>

[bkghq]

Bakugo Katsuki was a flawed individual, he was by no means perfect and he never claimed to be either. He had done things he was not proud of, and strived to be better everyday, to not make those same mistakes again.

But to him his flaws were not internal, but external too.

The plethora of scars that littered throughout his body. Varying from small to big ones, on his shoulders, stomach, the most prominent one on his face— his right cheek.

He was not insecure of them per say, but he did have his moments of weakness when those ugly scars reminded him of his past.

Sighing bakugo runs his fingers through your bare back, the voices in his head getting the better of him. He closed his eyes as he subconsciously pulled you closer to his side.

"you know that i love you, right 'ki?" You spoke, eyes looking up at the beautiful face you got to call yours, sensing the running thoughts of doubt going on in his head.

Bakugo just grunted, something you knew was a reply, perhaps a 'i love you too'. You knew he wasn't good with his words, even after so long, he still found it difficult to express what goes in his mind.

But that was okay for you, you both had seen too much together, been through so much together, that you could read him like the back of your hand.

You got up slightly from your previous position, head now facing the blond lying next to you.

Your hand softly traced the scar on his cheek, "This scar—" you gulped, looking him in the eyes "— it looks so beautiful." You added truthfully.

Bright eyes looking into his vermillion ones with nothing but pure love and sincerity.

You had been by his side through it all, when he was a brash hot head teenager, times when his inferiority complex and insecurities would get to his head, when he'd sworn to be by izuku's side during the final battle, when he died.

You still remember that day, when he died in your hands, breaking the remnants of your own soul as his lifeless body laid in your arms, while his blood seeped everywhere.

Sometimes it still felt like a dream that he was here, with you, he was alive.

The scars that littered his body, the ones you've grown to love so much, because they made him him. They showed how much he had gone through, despite his young age.

You placed a kiss on the mark on his cheek, one that will always remind you of everything you both had been through. It was all he needed to remember your love for him was unconditional.

No matter what happens, your love would never leave him.

And that was true. Because yes, yes you loved Bakugo Katsuki wholly, including his scars, because they just reminded you of how strong was, and despite of everything he'd been through, he would always come back;

To you.

THNX 4 READING <3 RBS + COMMENTS APPRECIATED ིྀ

[yesimwriting]

So Armand is in love with bestie right? I think you've described it as infatuation but due to the slowness of it it looks like he genuinely falls for her and it adds to his insanity lol

It's complicated because I think he starts falling for her fairly early on into her being around, but he's in extreme denial and choosing to tell himself that he's just having a strangely spiteful crush/obsession that's actually more of a manifestation of his desired hatred than anything else.

Because his feelings are complicate, and he's so deeply in denial, here's a drabble where Armand is forced to acknowledge his feelings for bestie <3

----

It isn't a simple thing, helplessness. There's a heaviness to it, a weight that comes with the acute awareness of your inability to do anything of value.

He can feel it now, the complex pressure of his ineptness making it nearly impossible to move. Armand sighs, pushing against the feeling as he lifts an arm. He bends his fingers into a fist before forcing himself to knock against your door.

"Come in. " The acknowledgement is small, maybe even weak.

The door opens with a faint creak. You turn your head towards the sound, immediately spotting him in the doorway.

Your expression is as open as ever, your eyes bright as you watch him expectantly. It wouldn't be a difficult thing to pretend that there's nothing wrong with you, not if he keeps his attention focused on generalities: the warm glow of your bedside lamp illuminating your skin, the slight upturn your mouth that's not quite a smile, the soft sound of your thumb tapping against the side of the book you're holding. Pretending is only a matter of dismissing the slight rasp to your breathing and the tired look behind your eyes.

When he doesn't speak, you compensate for his silence, "Hi."

"Your breathing hasn't improved."

You blink at the comment, your thumb stilling against your book. "I'm feeling a little better." The argument is overshadowed by the raspiness tainting your voice.

Armand takes a step forward, abandoning the doorway as he enters your bedroom. "You slept for a long time."

"I was tired." Something about the way your focus shifts away from him and onto your comforter feels shy. You're not fond of acknowledging physical weakness. "Louis was here when I woke up."

As far as transitions go, it's not your most subtle attempt at moving on from a less than ideal topic, but there's little point in pushing you when you're operating at a diminished capacity. "He sat with you for awhile." Louis had spent most of the evening by your side, only leaving your room recently. "I'm surprised he isn't still here."

You tap your pointer finger against the side of your book. "I told him I wouldn't spontaneously become gravely ill if he left my side to go feed."

Armand takes another step towards you. "It all feels spontaneous."

You blink, your head tilting slightly at the phrasing. "It's probably just a cold."

Probably. The response isn't the source of assurance you think it is. He continues to walk forward, his movements methodical and patient as he approaches your bedside. You watch him openly, making no attempt to move away or question his sudden proximity.

He lifts a hand slowly, bringing his bent knuckles to the side of your face. The usual consuming your warmth has transformed into something sharper. This is the overwhelming heat of a mortal body turning against itself.

He turns his hand over, pressing his palm against your cheek as if the more secure form of contact might change things. "You're warm."

"To you, I'm always warm."

Armand sighs before bringing his hand back to his side. "Warmer, then." An unfamiliar ache settles itself between his ribs. Human vulnerability, illness--some version of himself that's been condemned to nonexistence knows what it's like to be sick. Some inaccessible part of him understands what you're going through.

After a beat of silence, you acknowledge the comment, "It could be a fever." There's no urgency to your assumption, which only adds to his unease. You're too casual, too accepting of the indicators of virus and infection.

Mortal destruction is a sudden, volatile thing. Present stability means nothing. If something were to happen to you...if things were to shift, Armand would spend the better part of eternity listening to Louis lament another tragic loss. Your absence might be the only thing more suffocating than your presence.

It doesn't take you long to find meaning in his silence. You frown, permitting his lack of response to linger for another moment before prompting him, "Armand?"

There's nothing he can say, nothing he can do. The reality of the situation burrows itself into his chest. "I don't know what to do." The admission feels hollow.

You shift slightly, your hands pressing into the mattress as you try to sit up a little more. "You don't need to do anything," the words are delivered as gently as you can manage, the slight rasp of your voice nearly dismissible. "I can--I can take some ibuprofen."

Ibuprofen--one of the over the counter medications that now resides in your bathroom in the cabinet beneath the sink. "I'll get it."

You return your hands to your lap. "You don't have to."

The attempted dismissal is practically an insult. "And tell Louis that I let you out of bed like this?" He turns away from you before you can respond.

Armand enters your bathroom first, locating the pill bottle between a packet of allergy medication and a bottle of mouth wash. He then enters the kitchen to pour you a glass of filtered water.

When he returns to your bedroom, you're sitting up fully with your legs crossed beneath your comforter. The book that you were holding is now on your nightstand.

Once he's near the side of your bed again, he hands you the pill bottle. "Here."

You take the pill bottle first, twisting the cap off of it before shaking out two white tablets into the palm of your hand. He takes the bottle back before handing you the glass.

You down the pills and a more than half of the cup's contents in a few sips. Does that imply regular thirst or dehydration? That can be a part of illness, can't it?

Armand tries to dismiss this line of reasoning, his hold on the pill bottle tightening. Your existence is such a fleeting, fragile thing. Louis--he wouldn't--

The thought of your permanent absence leaves a sharp discomfort welling inside of him. Is your physical discomfort similar to his own, or is your pain more vicious? More overwhelming? Your thoughts acknowledge a general soreness, but there's nothing particularly telling about your mind's perception of what you're experiencing.

He squeezes the pill bottle even harder. What is relevance of your suffering? Louis finds reasons to worry even when you're in perfect health, but he's not here to share your anguish...and yet, it still matters.

You're unwell, there's nothing to be done about it, and it matters to him. The ache of his realization wedges itself between his ribs and his lungs before his conscious mind can register the sentiment. He's been afflicted by his own form of affection for you.

"Are you okay?"

Armand exhales in a poor attempt at forcing himself to focus on your voice. What a pointless question for an ill mortal to ask an immortal vampire. "That seems like something I should ask you."

You seem to note his attempt at redirecting the conversation, your brow briefly furrowing as you think through your response. "Yeah, I'm okay." The words feel too hesitant to be assuring. "I mean, I'm sick, but it'll pass." When he can't bring himself to react, you continue, "It's a part of life."

Part of life, part of what is eventually meant to take you from him.

At a pace meant to give you every chance to escape, Armand lifts his arm. He brushes his fingertips against your neck. Your pulse is an easy thing to follow, your blood dragging itself throughout your body at a steady pace.

"It doesn't have to be," the implication leaves him with no warning, a flat, uncertain whisper.

You're watching him openly, studying him with wide eyes that don't offer much in terms of reaction. There's no fear behind your gaze, no discomfort or unease. "I thought the concept repulsed you."

Armand presses his lips together as he weighs his potential responses. His commitment to not creating another vampire is a permanent thing; the affection he's now aware of doesn't feel any less resolute.

Still, the easy out you've offered him isn't as easy to accept when you're looking at him so innocently, when he can feel your pulse against his fingertips. "What repulses me is the thought of permanently binding myself to something suffocating." He relaxes his hand slightly, allowing his palm to rest against your collar bone. "It doesn't sound that different from what you already are."

Your pulse briefly picks up at that. "I guess it doesn't."

The silence that follows isn't exactly uncomfortable, but there's a tension behind it that Armand can't quite interpret. The quiet lingers for another moment before you speak again, "...Do you want to sit?" The invitation is careful, almost shy.

Armand nods once before letting go of you. He walks towards the other side of your bed slowly, as if a movement too sudden would be enough to shatter the stability of the moment.

[callsigns-haze]

His Shadow: Chp 5

masterlist part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

Azriel, secretly juggling his responsibilities and personal life, maintains a hidden relationship with YN, who works at a pleasure house in the Hewn City. She was his light, his love, his passion. Yet being his darkest secret is a hard role because life in the Hewn as a young female isn't the easiest as the two of you hold an even dark secret yet to be told...

Pairing: Azriel x reader

This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Discussions of parenthood and the challenges associated with it, including postpartum experiences.

In the cozy, firelit warmth of the sitting room at the River House, Rhysand, Cassian, Feyre, Nesta, and Mor gathered, their conversation initially light, but soon shifting to more serious matters. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the faces of those present. Feyre sat comfortably beside Rhys, her hand resting on his, while Nesta lounged with a cup of tea, and Mor leaned back in her chair, a curious smile playing on her lips as she sensed the shift in the conversation.

Cassian, his usual easy-going demeanour tempered by a hint of concern, spoke first. “There’s something we wanted to discuss with you, ladies. Rhys and I... well, we’ve been noticing something off with Azriel lately.”

Feyre’s brow furrowed as she looked between her mate and Cassian. “What do you mean? Is he alright?”

Rhysand leaned forward, his violet eyes serious. “It’s hard to say. He’s been more withdrawn than usual, and we think we might know why. Yesterday, when Cassian and I were out... well, let’s just say we ended up at a certain pleasure house in the Hewn City.”

Mor raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, while Nesta sipped her tea, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp with interest.

“While we were there,” Cassian continued, “we met a woman—YN. She works there, and... well, there’s something about her. Something that seems connected to Azriel’s recent behaviour.”

Feyre frowned, her thoughts racing. “Connected how?”

Rhys exchanged a glance with Cassian before answering. “She mentioned she has a baby, and a boyfriend. But there was something off about the way she spoke, as if she was hiding something. And today, we overheard her talking with one of the other employees. She mentioned she’s going shopping tomorrow. It got us thinking.”

Nesta’s gaze sharpened. “You think she’s involved in whatever’s been bothering Azriel?”

“We’re not sure,” Cassian admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But something about it all doesn’t sit right. Azriel has been acting strange, and we know he’s been keeping secrets. YN might be part of that.”

Feyre’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she considered this. “You’re suggesting we keep an eye on her? Maybe follow her while she’s shopping?”

Rhys nodded. “Exactly. If we can figure out what’s going on, we might be able to help Azriel. He’s been carrying something heavy, and we need to know if she’s involved.”

Mor’s smile faded into a more serious expression. “Do you really think this woman could be a threat?”

“Not necessarily a threat,” Rhys said carefully. “But she might be the key to understanding why Azriel has been so distant. If she’s somehow involved in whatever he’s going through, it’s worth looking into.”

Nesta leaned forward, setting her teacup down with a decisive clink. “So, you want us to go to the Hewn City, shop around, and see what we can find out?”

Rhys nodded. “Exactly. It’s a perfect cover—just a day out shopping. No one would suspect anything. But keep your eyes and ears open.”

Feyre, ever protective of her family, glanced at her sister and Mor before nodding. “We can do that. We’ll go tomorrow and see what we can learn.”

Cassian grinned, his usual mischief returning. “Just try not to get into too much trouble.”

Nesta shot him a dry look. “Speak for yourself, Cassian.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence as the women considered the plan, the gravity of the situation weighing on them. But before they could delve deeper into the details, the sound of approaching footsteps made them all fall silent. The atmosphere shifted as Azriel walked into the room, his presence immediately felt by everyone.

“Evening,” Azriel greeted, his voice as calm and measured as ever, though his sharp gaze seemed to linger on Rhysand and Cassian, as if he sensed the undercurrent of tension.

“Azriel,” Rhysand greeted smoothly, masking any trace of the conversation that had just taken place. “We were just catching up. How was your day?”

Azriel studied them for a moment, his expression unreadable as always, before nodding slightly. “Productive. Any new developments?”

“Nothing worth noting,” Cassian said casually, though there was an almost imperceptible tension in his posture. “Just the usual.”

Azriel didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he let it slide, moving to stand by the window, his gaze distant as he looked out at the night sky. The others exchanged a brief glance, silently agreeing to keep their suspicions to themselves for now. There would be time to investigate tomorrow, and until then, they would carry on as if nothing had changed.

But as the conversation shifted to more mundane topics, each of them knew that something had shifted. Secrets were being kept—by all of them—and the truth was only growing more complicated with each passing day.

---

The next day, Feyre, Nesta, and Mor found themselves in the bustling streets of the Hewn City. Despite its dark reputation, the city was alive with activity, the market streets crowded with merchants hawking their wares, and shoppers moving between the various stalls and shops. Feyre kept her hood up, blending into the shadows cast by the tall buildings, though she still felt the weight of curious glances as they walked. She had been to the Hewn City before, but never for something as delicate as this.

As they approached the heart of the market district, Feyre felt Rhysand’s presence brush against her mind, his voice a soft whisper in her thoughts. She’s just ahead, looking at some baby clothes. You’ll recognize her by the dark hair and the buggy. Along with his words came a series of images—snapshots of YN that Rhys had seen when he and Cassian visited the pleasure house with Azriel. A woman with soft, dark hair, delicate features, and an air of quiet strength, even in the depths of the Hewn City.

“Got it,” Feyre whispered back, nodding slightly as she looked to Nesta and Mor, who were both scanning the crowd. “She’s just ahead. Let’s keep our distance.”

The three women wove their way through the crowd, carefully avoiding drawing any attention. The further they walked, the darker the shops became—both in ambiance and in merchandise. The shift was subtle, the luxury of the Hewn City marred by the unmistakable undertone of cruelty and excess. Feyre’s gaze flicked from shadowed alleyways to the opulent yet ominous storefronts, the contrast of the city always unsettling her.

Finally, they spotted YN. She was pushing a simple buggy, dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a cozy sweater, her hair pulled back in a loose bun. The baby in the buggy was small, barely a few weeks old, wrapped snugly in a soft blanket. YN’s movements were slow, deliberate, as she browsed through a rack of tiny clothes, her eyes scanning the options with the intent focus of a mother lost in her thoughts.

“There she is,” Mor murmured, nodding subtly towards YN. Feyre and Nesta followed her gaze, taking in the sight of the woman who had unknowingly become a focal point of their investigation.

Feyre watched as YN reached out to touch a soft onesie, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she ran her fingers over the fabric. Her expression, though serene, carried a weight of exhaustion—something Feyre recognized all too well from her own early days with Nyx.

As YN continued to shop, the baby in the buggy began to fuss, tiny whimpers breaking the quiet air around them. YN immediately turned her attention to her child, her smile softening as she bent down to pick up the baby, cradling him against her chest. She rocked gently, her lips moving in what Feyre could only assume were soothing words.

“Is that...?” Nesta started, her voice low as she observed the interaction.

“I think so,” Feyre replied, keeping her voice just as quiet. “The baby must be hers. The one she mentioned to Cassian and Rhys.”

Mor narrowed her eyes slightly as she watched YN. “She doesn’t seem like a threat. But still... there’s something more going on here.”

Feyre nodded in agreement. YN’s demeanour, her clothing, the way she cradled her baby—none of it aligned with the typical image of someone who might be a danger or have any influence over Azriel. She seemed more like a woman trying to balance the weight of motherhood with whatever burdens life had thrown her way.

They kept their distance as YN continued to shop, picking out a few more baby items and placing them in the buggy’s basket. Her movements were unhurried, as if she had all the time in the world, though the lines of tension in her posture suggested otherwise. Feyre noted how YN would glance around occasionally, her gaze lingering on the shadows, as if expecting someone or something to emerge from them.

As they trailed behind, YN paused in front of a shop that displayed more elaborate and ornate baby clothes, clearly beyond the simple, practical items she had been selecting. The baby fussed again, a soft cry escaping his tiny lips, and YN immediately lifted him out of the buggy, holding him close as she bounced him gently in her arms.

The women watched as YN whispered to her son, the love and care evident in every movement, every soft murmur. Feyre felt a pang of empathy for the young mother—she knew all too well the fears and challenges that came with raising a child, especially in a world as dangerous as theirs. But beneath that empathy was also a growing curiosity. What was YN’s connection to Azriel? And why was she so deeply enmeshed in his recent troubles?

As YN continued her slow stroll through the market, the shadows of the Hewn City seemed to close in around her, a stark contrast to the warmth she tried to create for herself and her newborn son. She adjusted the blanket around Knox, who had finally settled against her chest, his tiny breaths warm and steady against her skin. The cool air brushed against her cheeks as she looked around, scanning the shops with a mixture of exhaustion and resignation.

She pushed the buggy with one hand while holding Knox in the other, her movements careful and deliberate. The market was as lively as ever, with vendors calling out their wares and patrons haggling for better prices. The sounds echoed through the narrow streets, but YN seemed isolated in her own world, focused entirely on her son and the tasks she had to complete.

Feyre, Nesta, and Mor remained several paces behind, moving with practiced ease through the crowds, keeping YN within their line of sight. They observed her every movement—the way she delicately placed each item in the buggy’s basket, how she lingered over certain displays, and the protective way she held her son close to her heart. There was something undeniably tender about the way she interacted with Knox, a deep bond that resonated even from a distance.

“She seems so... normal,” Mor whispered, her voice barely audible above the hum of the market. “Not at all what I expected.”

“Maybe that’s why she’s so dangerous,” Nesta murmured, her eyes sharp as she watched YN pick up a small, hand-knit sweater. “If she’s involved with Azriel, she’s hiding it well.”

Feyre frowned slightly, torn between her suspicions and the simple reality of what she was witnessing—a mother, caring for her child, doing what she needed to do to survive in a place as unforgiving as the Hewn City. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for spying on YN, but she reminded herself of the stakes. Azriel was one of their own, and they needed to understand what was happening to help him.

YN moved to another stall, her gaze flicking over a selection of baby blankets. She reached out to touch the fabric, her fingers lingering on a soft, blue woolen blanket that was far more luxurious than anything she had chosen so far. She held it up, considering it for a long moment before shaking her head and placing it back on the pile. It was clear that practicality outweighed indulgence in her world.

Knox stirred slightly in her arms, his tiny fist clenching around the edge of her sweater as he fussed again. YN immediately shifted him, her voice low and soothing as she murmured to him. She kissed his forehead, her expression softening as he settled back into a peaceful sleep. She glanced around the market, her gaze momentarily distant, as if lost in thought. For a moment, she seemed entirely alone, despite the crowd bustling around her.

Mor tilted her head slightly, observing the way YN seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. “Whatever she’s involved in, it’s taking its toll.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Feyre said softly, though she couldn’t ignore the sense of unease settling in her chest. “She might not be a threat.”

Nesta’s expression remained hard, but there was a flicker of something softer in her eyes as she watched YN finally select a plain white onesie, placing it gently in the buggy. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

YN finished her shopping, her steps slow and measured as she made her way toward the edge of the market, the buggy rolling smoothly along the cobblestone streets. Knox was still cradled in her arms, his small face tucked against her shoulder. She seemed tired—more than just physically—but she moved with the determination of someone who had long grown accustomed to the weight of her burdens.

“Let’s give her space,” Feyre whispered, signaling to Nesta and Mor to hang back as they reached the outskirts of the market. “We’ll follow up with Rhys and Cassian later.”

They slowed their pace, letting YN disappear into the shadows of the narrow street ahead. As she faded from view, Feyre couldn’t shake the feeling that they were missing something crucial. There was more to YN than they had seen today, more than a young mother simply trying to care for her child in a difficult world.

-

YN stood at the base of the narrow, winding steps that led up to the small apartment she shared with Azriel, cradling Knox in her arms. The cool air of the Hewn City brushed against her skin, making her shiver slightly. The streets around her were quiet, the bustle of the market now a distant memory as she and her son returned home from their shopping trip.

Knox had fallen asleep during the short walk back, his tiny body relaxed and warm against her chest. She adjusted the blanket around him, pressing a soft kiss to his downy hair. His small, steady breaths were the only sound she focused on as she stood there, momentarily lost in her thoughts.

But the unease she’d felt earlier at the market lingered, a nagging sense of being watched that she couldn’t quite shake. She had caught glimpses of figures moving just at the edge of her vision, people who seemed to linger too long as she shopped, their attention on her more than the goods on display. YN had kept her composure, acting as though she hadn’t noticed, but her instincts told her something wasn’t right.

She took a deep breath, pushing the unsettling thoughts aside as she gazed up the stairs, preparing to climb them with Knox in her arms. Just as she was about to take her first step, the flutter of wings caught her attention, and she looked up to see Azriel descending from the sky, his shadows swirling around him as he landed silently in front of her.

His eyes, usually so composed and unreadable, softened when they met hers, and she felt a wave of relief wash over her at the sight of him. Despite everything, despite the secrecy and the hidden life they shared, Azriel was her anchor.

"Azriel," she breathed, her voice a mixture of surprise and relief. She had been expecting him to be gone for longer, given the tension of the last few days.

“YN,” he greeted, his voice low and warm, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he took in the sight of his son nestled against her. But as he stepped closer, he immediately noticed the tension in her posture, the way her eyes darted around the street as if she was still on edge. “What’s wrong?”

She hesitated for a moment, glancing around again, as if expecting someone to emerge from the shadows. Finally, she met his gaze, her voice quiet but laced with concern. “I think I was being watched today. At the market. I... I could feel eyes on me, and not just in passing. It was deliberate, like someone was studying me.”

Azriel’s expression darkened instantly, the softness in his eyes replaced by a steely resolve. His shadows seemed to react to his mood, swirling more tightly around him as if preparing for a threat. “Did you see who it was?”

YN shook her head, frustration evident in the tight lines around her mouth. “No. I tried to be discreet, but whoever it was, they were good at staying out of sight. I didn’t want to draw attention by looking too hard.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched as he processed her words, his mind already racing through the possibilities. The Hewn City was full of people who could have an interest in YN, and not all of them would be friendly. The fact that someone had been watching her—someone skilled enough to remain undetected—was deeply troubling.

He stepped closer to her, reaching out to gently brush his fingers against her arm in a comforting gesture, though he kept his touch light, aware of the public space they were in. “We’ll figure out who it was. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

YN nodded, though her worry didn’t fully dissipate. She had known the risks of being with Azriel, but it didn’t make the reality of them any easier to face. She glanced down at Knox, who remained blissfully unaware in her arms, and her resolve hardened. She would do whatever it took to protect their son.

Azriel leaned in closer, his head dipping toward hers as if to whisper something, but she knew the movement was as much about shielding their interaction from any prying eyes as it was about speaking. His proximity was both a comfort and a reminder of the secrecy they were forced to maintain.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “For everything. For not being able to protect you both the way I should.”

YN looked up at him, her expression softening as she reached up to touch his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek. “Don’t apologize. We knew what this would be when we chose it. We’ll figure it out together, like we always do.”

He nodded, though the tension didn’t fully leave his features. He lowered his gaze to Knox, his expression softening as he reached out to gently touch his son’s tiny hand. The baby stirred slightly but didn’t wake, his small fingers curling around Azriel’s.

“I’ll be home tonight,” he said softly, his eyes lifting to meet hers again. “We’ll talk more then.”

YN nodded, understanding the unspoken promise in his words. “I’ll be waiting.”

Azriel lingered for a moment longer, his eyes searching hers as if to reassure himself that she was truly okay. Then, with one last glance around the deserted street, he stepped back, his wings flaring slightly as he prepared to take off again. YN watched him go, her heart heavy with the weight of everything unsaid, of the life they were forced to hide in the shadows.

---

Azriel sat at his desk in the dim light of his office, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he stared at the maps and reports scattered across the surface. The room was eerily quiet, save for the faint rustling of the papers as his shadows drifted over them, their movements restless and agitated. He couldn’t shake the nagging sense of unease that had settled deep in his chest since YN had told him about being watched in the market.

His thoughts were a tangle of possibilities, each more troubling than the last. The Hewn City was a treacherous place, filled with spies and informants loyal to whoever paid the highest price. If someone had been watching YN, it could mean any number of things—a rival, an enemy, or even someone trying to get to him through her. The thought sent a cold shiver down his spine, a rare surge of fear that he quickly buried beneath layers of calculated resolve.

But as he sat there, letting the silence settle around him, something didn’t quite add up. Whoever had been watching YN was skilled, yes, but the timing, the precision—it felt too familiar. His instincts, honed over centuries of espionage, were telling him that this wasn’t just a random occurrence. There was something more deliberate behind it, something closer to home.

It was then that the faint sound of voices reached his ears, muffled by the thick walls of his office but distinct enough for him to catch fragments of conversation. Azriel’s shadows swirled more tightly around him as he focused on the voices outside in the hallway, recognizing the low, familiar tones of Cassian and Mor.

“…I just wanted to be sure she wasn’t a threat,” Cassian was saying, his voice carrying a hint of defensiveness. “It’s not like we could just ask him outright.”

Mors voice responded, tinged with a mix of concern and frustration. “I get it, but what if he finds out? You know how protective he is—especially after everything that’s happened.”

“Rhys told us to keep an eye on her,” Mor continued. “We weren’t going to hurt her, just… observe. Make sure she wasn’t involved in anything that could put him or the rest of us in danger.”

Azriel’s breath caught, realization dawning like a slow, creeping shadow.

The inner circle.

It was the inner circle who had been watching YN, trailing her through the market, spying on her every move. His fists clenched beneath the desk, a mix of anger and betrayal swirling in his chest. They had been so close to finding out—so close to uncovering the one secret he had kept from them, the one part of his life he hadn’t allowed them to touch.

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to remain calm, to not let his emotions betray him. There was no point in confronting them—not yet, at least. If they suspected YN of being a threat, it was only because they were trying to protect him, in their own misguided way. But the thought of them tailing her, of making her feel unsafe in the one place where she should feel protected… it made his blood boil.

Azriel pushed back from the desk, rising to his feet with a quiet, controlled movement. He had to get out of here before the anger bubbling beneath his calm exterior spilled over. He needed to be with YN, to ensure her safety and shield her from any further interference. He would deal with the inner circle later.

As he stepped out of his office, the voices in the hallway fell silent. Cassian and Mor looked up as he passed by, their expressions carefully neutral, though Cassian’s brow furrowed slightly as if he could sense something was off. Azriel didn’t acknowledge them, his face an unreadable mask as he walked past, but he could feel their eyes on him, could sense the questions lingering on their tongues.

Just as he reached the main hall, he was tackled by a blur of movement, the sudden impact almost knocking him off balance. He looked down to see Nyx, Rhys’s son, grinning up at him, his small arms wrapped tightly around Azriel’s leg. A second later, Agnar, Cassian’s son, joined in, his laughter ringing through the air as he attempted to climb up Azriel’s other leg.

“Uncle Azriel!” Nyx shouted, his bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “We got you!”

Azriel couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips as he ruffled Nyx’s dark hair. “It seems you did,” he replied, his voice softer than it had been all day. Despite the turmoil in his mind, he could never resist the infectious energy of his nephews.

He lifted Agnar into his arms, the boy’s wings fluttering excitedly as he settled against Azriel’s shoulder. Nyx clung to his other side, laughing as Azriel hoisted him up as well, balancing both boys with ease.

As he carried them down the hallway, he passed Rhys, who was leaning casually against the doorway of his office, arms crossed over his chest. Rhys raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on Azriel’s unusual demeanor.

“Azriel,” Rhys called out, his tone light but laced with curiosity. “Heading somewhere?”

Azriel met his gaze, his expression carefully guarded. “I’m taking a week off,” he said simply, his voice brokering no argument.

Rhys blinked, clearly taken aback. “A week off? Are you—”

“Don’t worry,” Azriel cut him off, shifting Nyx and Agnar slightly in his arms. “Everything will be handled.” He didn’t wait for Rhys to respond before he turned and continued down the hall, his steps purposeful as he made his way out of the house.

Once outside, Azriel set the boys down, giving each of them a quick hug before sending them back to the house. He watched them run off, their laughter echoing in the air, before he spread his wings and took off into the sky.

The wind whipped through his hair as he soared above Velaris, his mind already focused on the apartment where YN and Knox were waiting. Whatever plans the inner circle had, whatever suspicions they harbored, he would not allow them to come between him and his family.

Azriel landed silently on the balcony of their apartment, the cool night air whispering through his wings as he folded them behind him. The familiar creak of the floorboards under his boots as he stepped inside was a comforting sound, grounding him in the reality he had chosen—a reality where YN and Knox were his world, even if it had to remain hidden from everyone else.

Let me know if you'd wish to be tagged! Comments and reblogs are really appreciated!

[d3mibhan]

AN ANALYSIS AND DEEP DIVE OF IVANTILL

After Karma came out I saw a lot of confusion and some takes that I didn't like very much, I intend to do a similar discussion for Mizisua too but it will happen later (mainly for some things I saw said about Ivan and Till I want to give precedence to them)

Warnings:

- I will deal with sensitive topics

- English is not my native language and given my dyslexia there could be grammatical errors, please be patient

- I am not a psychologist and the characters in question are not real please be respectful

- all relationships in alien stage are toxic nothing is healthy but is fiction so please be normal abaut it

Ivan and Till's relationship is described as unrequited on multiple occasions, but it's much more complex than it seems. The term "unrequited" doesn't mean that Till doesn't feel love for Ivan, but rather that both of them are unable to understand and express those feelings, but what do I mean by that?

Ivan is the "easiest to explain" convinced that he doesn't deserve love, he seeks attention in another way. We see him bother Till, seek conflict with him just to get his gaze, because he doesn't expect anything else, he is aware of Till's feelings towards Mizi, and he is fine with it, as long as Till is happy and safe he is "content". We know that Ivan has a very negative view of himself, in addition to defining his feelings as shallow (not because they are superficial but because he believes he is not capable of loving or feeling true feelings) he is convinced that his death will not bring pain to Till, precisely because he has this idea of ​​being too much, a burden, he wants affection, he wants attention but he doesn't understand why.

Till on the other hand decides to ignore what he feels to hide behind the easiest solution.

We know from the beginning of his love for Mizi, but we are not talking about true love, not that for Till it is not like that, he is seriously convinced that he loves Mizi, but now as in the past we know that it is a superficial thing, he is infatuated with Mizi for her appearance and her carefree and innocent character, but now we know that she is not like that, that Mizi is a mask, she is a superficial version of her for her own survival, but Till does not know it, and he does not care to know.

I do not know how many of you know the term "Manic pixie dream girl" for those who do not know it I recommend the video of Biz Barclay "why you'll never subvert the Manic pixie dream girl" on YouTube, for those who are familiar with the term it is the exact way in which I would describe Mizi according to Till.

For Till, Mizi is nothing more than an ideal, Till has never deepened his relationship with her because he didn't need it, for him Mizi represents light, freedom and hope. For him this is love, but we know that in reality it is not.

throughout the story Till replaces Ivan with mizi inside his mind, we see scenes from Till's point of view of Mizi doing actions, comforting him that probably never happened in reality, only to be replaced by scenes in the real world where it is Ivan who does those actions, in Round 6 we see Till hallucinating Mizi who comforts him only to be replaced by a very real Ivan. But then why doesn't Till see Ivan directly and projects all his feelings onto Mizi?

2 reasons, guilt and confusion.

As previously mentioned Ivan expresses his feelings in an aggressive way, it is not absurd to think that this confuses Till, to the point of convincing him that Ivan can't stand him, this would be added to the sub song "mi vida loca" where he asks for confirmation that he is not hated. To add to his confusion we now know thanks to the last two comics that the aliens push for heterosexual relationships (probably to encourage reproduction) so it is not difficult to think that what complicates the matter is internalized homophobia and even biphobia.

Let's add the guilt for having stopped the escape and we get a more than complex relationship, It's hard to accept loving someone for whom you have mixed feelings, such as anger, guilt and sadness.

but this doesn't erase the feelings.

I've seen so many people confused by the crystal hearts scene in Karma, to the point of seeing people comparing it to SA, and there can't be anything more wrong, those scenes are clearly a metaphor on how the various couples have lived their love and their life, but most importantly, their last moment together, focusing on Ivan and Till, Ivan forces his feelings on Till, but Till is not given the chance to reciprocate them, Ivan hand blocks his mouth, Ivan is so convinced that he is nothing to Till that he doesn't give him time to react and reason, just like in Round 6, Till before that kiss was unaware of the feelings that Ivan had for him and Ivan refuse to give him a chance to reciprocate.

ivan is scared, violent, impulsive, as during round 6, he presses the heart between their lips and breaks it to symbolize his sacrifice, he dies convinced that for till it will never be anything, but we spectators see what is a heart hidden in his collar, even for the eyes of ivan. It represents the love that till feels for him, of which both are unaware until that moment, until it is too late.

in the falling children scene we see how Till himself looks for Ivan, at the end of Karma we see Till smiling at the "genetic experiment" child between Mizi and Ivan because it represents the love that led him to move forward, Mizi's hair that represents his aesthetic sense and therefore the most superficial part and Ivan's eyes the deepest and most interior part, the love he felt for the idea of ​​Mizi and the love he feels for what Ivan was

their unrequited love is called like this because they never had the chance to reciprocate it, this is their tragedy, this makes them the interesting relationship that they are.

sorry if I wrote a lot, I usually draw (not on tumblr but I should start posting here soon too) I want to say that Mizi is an incredible character and my favorite but to avoid writing too much I didn't go into it in depth and I only talked about it from Till's point of view. i hope you can understand my point of view

[kdramastrix]

I have. Something to talk about and its very very VERY important.

We know that last scene of TDJ where its just PEAK yearning but can we PLEASE appreciate the micro-expressions that passed over both Yohan & Gaon's faces when they faced each other DIRECTLY after a MONTH (if im not wrong) of that whole blowing up fiasco + Yohan's arrest before that??????? Because my GOD.

So we see Gaon call Yohan by his Full Government Name™ (which wasn't very wise for a declared dead enemy of the state who is ALSO wanted but we'll let it pass for romanticisms' sake) and look at his face. His face is one of a scared man. He's not hesitant but he is afraid of how Yohan views him after what transpired between them.

In turn, Yohan looks back and well.

He is also somewhat apprehensive. They're both testing each other & the waters they're in. Although Yohan doesn't have a revenge vendetta shackling him down anymore, Gaon, on the other hand, has tremendous stuff to unpack. They're carefully, if not gently, evaluating the distance between them.

And then, Yohan gives a clear sign that he holds nothing against Gaon. An open arm, an open invitation. To join him? Maybe. To decide what to do with them? Perhaps. It's vague but it's also clear that Yohan is done manipulating Gaon & that he has left the ball in Gaon's court.

Then come the positive changes. With Yohan's green signal, Gaon is somewhat relieved but also incredibly guilt-ridden. I think these frames speak for themselves.

The wet smile & the eye crinkles. He is so relieved to be in Yohan's good graces but also just looking at Yohan be his ever glowing self after serving his life's purpose.

Yohan. My dearest Yohan. Look at him. He's equally heart-broken to be seeing Gaon like this, to be leaving him behind but that little nod he does???? Like he's made a decision that he needs to stick with for the betterment of Gaon???? That's what truly gets me. It's so clear the distance between them is hurting him but he also knows that it's necessary to give Gaon space & time, to unravel & to explore things on his own. Perhaps another assumption on his part because who truly knows what Gaon wants except Gaon himself?

Then it's a brief look exchanged. As he turns, giving Gaon one last reassuring smile as he turns and leaves behind one of the most important people to him.

And gaon watches. Look at his micro-expressions here. Look at his breathing. His sagging shoulders. His eyes. His wet smile. His balled hands. His tiny nods.

He also thinks this is necessary but you can so clearly see its taking every bit of nerve & fiber in him to stay rooted to his place & not chase after Yohan. He's DELIBERATELY not taking a single step towards Yohan. He thinks he doesn't deserve to chase after him, that hes content to see Yohan: alive, well and so utterly free. That's all that matters.

I would genuinely like to appreciate both jinyoung and jisung for their acting bcs they NAILED the raw emotions needed for this absolutely stunning yet gut wrenching scene. It's so difficult to convey such complex emotions through such little means yet they did it to PERFECTION. They both gave their characters LIFE. And for that i will always be grateful bcs i dont think anyone else could've done Kang Yohan and Kim Gaon the way they did.

[arschbiene]

My super long headcanon on my flavor of Brandenburg below (heavy emphasis on no right or wrong on a very colorful german state with a complex history, this is just how I like to do it).

This is autistically long but I don't care, I am have a personal emergency and this has been keeping me occupied. This is for me but just sharing on my blog. Subject to change xoxoxoxo

Relationship to the Empire:

Begrudgingly obedient when he must be. He understands this is a dance between being bold and meek. Deeply aware that upward mobility is a game of social graces and military posturing.

Manipulates the system, can be very audacious with his demands and maneuvering.

Careful that the Empire and it's representative children always see him in an ideal light. Wants to seem the toothless dog, Gilbert does not understand this is intentional.

After repeated insults from the Emperor, he realizes good behavior brings no real reward and quickly abandons the effort.

Under the influence of his electors/Gilbert he learns to quickly discard any alliance/relationship/document/etc that no longer benefits him.

Eventually he only ever bends the knee to gain favor or stall his enemies.

His self-interest is a matter of survival, not choice. Does things with a grim necessity, including hurting his brother wife.

Power:

He knows power is perceived, not absolute so he obsesses over his image in public. Gilbert's behavior (especially all his attempts to undermine his authority) feels like an assault on all his efforts.

Does not believe power should be shared, wants to own it entirely.

Resists being equals with Gilbert due to a lack of trust, often asserting dominance with tyranny.

Selfish and overbearing in his need for control.

The more politically helpless or stressed he feels, the more pressure he puts on Gilbert.

At his worst: nitpicking, overly critical, and obsessed with perfection when it's unachievable for someone like him. Can be difficult for Gilbert to be around because this gets suffocating fast.

Appearance:

Tall with a leaner build, shows his muscles in the broadness of his shoulders. Think swimmer or ballet athlete type builds. About 17-20 years old in this era. Gilbert is about 15-18.

Breaks the mold with the other german brothers, has a ton of recessive/foriegn traits but shares some bone structure with Gilbert.

Finds it exhausting to dress in full court regalia, but he refuses to be seen without it. Without the hair, the makeup, the polished veneer, he feels plain and forgettable against his golden siblings.

Vain in an insecure way. Deeply invested in appearances. He fixates on how he looks but can’t see his own beauty. Years of jeering from his brothers have left him doubting it.

For war/home/downtime/small meetings: he braids his hair tightly in different styles. Otherwise a small army of servants curls his hair every morning, only for it to unravel into loose waves as the day goes on which infuriates him. Abusive to his staff and then sorry about it.

In public, he tries to impress with the finest clothing and jewelry. In private, he dresses more modestly. He prefers dark colors to look more mature and composed. Gilbert gets dressed in soft colors and youthful/childish styles. He is obsessive about Gilbert's appearance and grows angry if he refuses to conform to his expectations.

Public Face:

His mask is calm, collected, always pleasant, always charming. He is deliberate in his words and movements. He's soft spoken (in a forced way). Gilbert mocks the difference between his public voice and his rougher tones in private.

He does his best to mask his weaknesses and teaches Gilbert to carry himself with a smile, a pleasant and charming attitude, but Gilbert can't really ever soften himself like Dietrich can. Dietrich’s smile rarely reaches his eyes. His eyes are sad and anxious. His resting expressions are weary and drawn, while Gilbert’s are angry and impatient.

Socially competent, but not likable; Lacks an obvious sincerity and warmth, especially to those with more natural charm or confidence. HRE/Austria mistake this as submission, they like this customer service type engagement. His likability improves with time as he grows less guarded.

Loves beautiful and gentle things. Loves nature, animals. Big on music, philosophy, literature, tries to broaden Gilbert’s mind but he remains a boy of sciences,medicine math and politics. Often in conversation, he finds Gilbert boring and boorish and Gilbert finds him effeminate and preachy. Arts boy married to STEM boy. INSANE jealous when Gilbert is more open and receptive to these topics from others.

Psychological Strain:

He’s has some narc traits but without pathologizing him too much. He acts this way because of extreme strain, desperation, stress, and exhaustion.

He is spread thin and constantly tired, always in some level of pain. Thirty years of war have left damage that manifests as a torso/chest burn that weeps and bleeds.

He is always hiding fatigue and pain, which frays his nerves and temper. He can often be in a bad mood when he is really a gentler spirit underneath it all.

Has an irresponsible streak due to being overwhelmed. Loses things constantly, a big excessive spender due to financial trauma. Always late, always in a rush. Forgetful of appointments and promises. Improves with age and peace.

He’s resilient, but cracking under the extreme stress of being at the mercy of others. War is constant, and the pressure to be perfect wears him down. He is not very suited for the leadership role he’s forced himself into nor the dire circumstances of the era. Prone to depressive Howl like tantrums of despair. Catastrophizes, thinks everything Gilbert does independently is their doom.

He represses everything until he explodes, usually in private. Can be very verbally abusive with the truth, especially with Gilbert. We owe some curing of Gilbert's more stubborn evils due to him.

Self-Perception:

A bit of a Martyr Complex but honestly, valid.

Pragmatic survivor who still tries to lead with values in his opinion. Deeply strategic; Reads the room and reshapes himself as needed. Survival comes before pride. Believes in suffering indignity for the greater good.

Lacks self awareness but thinks he is extremely self aware. Gilbert is in his bitchy teenage years so he is constantly being rocked by the kid's one liners. Contemplates insults for hours in his room and maybe sheds a tear or two when his feelings are hurt before deciding that Gilbert is a nasty feral brat who is wrong and doesn't know anything at all.

Righteous, chosen due to his inherent goodness to ‘save’ Gilbert from himself. Deluded about his own worth/valor, cannot face his faults. Tries to ignore his shame as he crosses his own boundaries and eats shit politically.

Conflict and Lies:

Can fight and defend himself but avoids it when he can. Bold and risky with his military endeavors but personally if it's just him thinks it's a bigger shame to lose a fight than run from it.

Considers Gilbert VERY dangerous to engage with due to his capacity for violence but also feels the need to assert himself physically. Sometimes finds himself feeling frightened in confrontations with the child especially when the power balance isn't in his favor, doesn't like how it makes it feel.

Works on a policy of minimizing damage/losses until he realizes he has to defend himself.

Not the most skilled in battle though he has good training from Netherlands, he is competent, but not talented like Gilbert is. In a 1:1 fight, he will be more defensive/trying to end the conflict/restrain his opponent to reason/bargain with them. Only violent when he must be and then he does not hesitate, does not take pleasure in it. Gilbert's delight in it makes him very upset.

While he is at first careful with his words, he grows more and more vocal and openly critical about the Empire and its dogs as time goes by and he's dissatisfied with his growth.

He tends to lie often and lie well. Strategic with lying and often believable as he is so careful with it, hard to catch him in a lie; avoids confrontation with partial truths or omissions. Tries to keep Gilbert out of the loop, wants him to be innocent, in his mind to stunt his growth and influence, but it’s an impossible endeavor. The more you hide from Gilbert, the more insistent he is in his search.

My era specific Gilbert Headcanon:

Dietrich coveted the calm, stabilized and rehabilitated verison of his brother Tolys and Feliks worked so painstakingly to accomplish. Also deeply coveted his economic vibrancy, land mass, fertile land, food sources, and access to the sea.

Did not understand the grand coordinated effort it took to get Gilbert to this level and how early into recovery he was still. He thinks it's a miracle and overestimates his ability to keep the progress going.

Goes broke to get his brother, this financial desperation plus the rigors of war forces him to begin to strip away foundational privileges that Ducal Prussia has enjoyed under the Polish Crown to loads of protests/resistance/etc.

Personal relationship not much better, wants Gilbert to be in a subordinate position under him when he promised him equality under marriage. Not at all a smooth transition, leaves them both sick and struggling, fighting so bad HRE has to get involved at times as well.

Gilbert immediately rebels and regresses into worrisome and difficult behavior. Defiant and disobedient, he is hyperactive and hard to control. Unpredictable in his behavior, behaves erratically and violently. Extremely troubled, depressed and feeling caged. Worried about Dietrich's intentions for him, worried about being consumed.

Worried about the situation, feeling vulnerable and unprotected. Wants to be involved but Dietrich keeps him out, here is where he really matures his skills to sneak around, lock pick etc.

Dietrich tries to keep him in his lessons, gives him a busy/packed schedule but Gilbert refuses to comply. He has this vision of what he wants Gilbert to be: a doll like young N.Italy that can entertain guests with intelligent conversation and music and make him look so competent and better at raising him into manhood than filthy feliks but nope.

Dietrich's View of Gilbert:

Loves Gilbert like one would a pet or a child, struggles to respect his personhood. Deeply enmeshed in their dynamic and bonded by trauma.

Sees him as a child/subordinate to be guided and suppressed; resents his desire for independence, thinks it ungrateful and childish of him. Dietrich has immense abandonment issues from his childhood and this is just a big trigger for him. Does not understand Gilbert as well as he thinks he does, this improves with time.

Feels threatened/hurt/rejected by Gilbert’s growing belligerent and defiance. Does not want him to grow. Ideally wants him to stay a boy of 15, easy to physically over-power, easy to control. Immature in his cognition and emotion. Easy to manipulate. 

When Gilbert is more trouble than he anticipated, he stops seeing him so much as an asset but as a liability. Cannot control him so escalates in his attempts to: it’s an explosive relationship, lots of fighting/hitting/whipping/etc.

He doesn’t want to beat Gilbert, but he doesn't know what else to do. Yet every punishment only makes Gilbert wilder, which spirals Dietrich deeper into despair, and feeds his self-loathing. Only stops when Gilbert begins to win more of the fights then everything becomes more psychological and emotionally abusive from Dietrich.

The physicality of the german bro family is extremely triggering for Gilbert and difficult for him to deal with, makes him more volatile and dangerous.

The Marriage:

Unwilling husband when he is told it is to be a marriage and not a conservatorship but ultimately settles as the benefits are sold to him. Dietrich sees the marriage as a sacred, stabilizing force: a political and emotional alliance meant to make them both stronger but with him as protector/dominant identity. 

Goes out of his way to prevent the marriage from feeling legitimate out of fear of Gilbert feeling equal to him and growing in power/age.  Will not consummate it, boots Gilbert out of the marriage bed/room. He refuses intimacy, both out of a desire for control and because he infantilizes Gilbert. Wants to keep him a child, malleable, easy to dominate and control. He is not attracted to Gilbert at all but is possessive of him. Evades kissing/touch but does not want him kissed or touched. Tolerates it more when Gilbert is older/more mature but is still standoffish. He is not faithful in marriage, prefers women and other transactional transient relationships, finds the burdens of relationships stressful, but big ol' ugly crush on Ned and France.

Gilbert is attracted to Dietrich at first : Tall dark drink of a young man with beautiful eyes and a beautiful body. Falls for the facade because he’s a dumb 15 year old. His desire for attention/affection/etc is quickly abused by Dietrich as a means of control before he realizes he is being led along.

Feeds Gilbert his own insecurities, constantly in his ear about how he is being perceived by others. Has a tendency to paint everything in a negative light to Gilbert to make him doubt himself, inherently jealous of his relationships with others.

Dietrich denies Gilbert affection/warmth/kindness when he is not listening to him. They ebb back and forth between Gilbert doing without and caving in and trying to be more cooperative because he's just a kid and he needs physical touch/affection he has never been without it before before giving up as he begins to understand he is being manipulated. Makes Gilbert hate the part of himself that yearns and needs even more than he did before.

Makes Gil more attention seeking/hyper-sexual/hedonistic in a toxic maladaptive way by accident by denying him affection. How Gilbert behaves as a Kingdom is a direct reaction to Dietrich’s deprivation.

Conflicted and confused in his role: feels a need to be an Authority but fails at establishing himself as one.

Takes Gilbert’s rebellion and later independence very personally, even when he knows it was inevitable. He equates obedience with love. If Gilbert won't behave, he believes he must not love nor respect him. Hurtful because he does not understand why he is so undeserving of it. He loves Gilbert  and yet does not respect him as an equal. He wants loyalty, obedience, and peace  but he’s miserable when he gets it through force.

Puts all the blame on Gilbert for their dynamic, will not accept any responsibility.

 His responses to Gilbert are rooted in fear: fear that both of their houses are vulnerable, that their union will collapse, that it’ll mean ruin for both of them. Does not believe in Gilbert’s ability to be a stable identity, thinks he is fated for subjugation and erasure by others.  Believes he is protecting, never admits to the harm he has done.

Later: Feels diminished, usurped; union meant to stabilize and empower but instead undermines him. Disillusions him, upset at his leaders. Throws a big messy depressive tantrum about it. Abandons Gilbert to all administrative tasks, rots in his bed and prepares for death that does not arrive.

Eventually they figure it out and have a strained but functional relationship but it's a very destructive one, Gilbert's main trauma is realizing how vulnerable he is to real life long hurt if he allows someone so intimately close to him.

[aspoonofsugar]

Hi! Where do you think Alastor's arc is going? Redemption or villainy?

Hi!

Thank you for the ask, I loved watching Hazbin Hotel and I am happy I can write for the series :)

As for now, I think Alastor will spiral and hurt Charlie very badly, but he will eventually redeem himself (probably in a key moment). That is because Alastor is framed as Charlie's Jungian shadow.

What is the Jungian Shadow?

According to Jung, the shadow is what a person represses, both positive and negative. So, it can be one's violent tendencies, but also one's potential and energy. It really depends on the person.

So, why does Alastor fit the Shadow Archetype? Well, first of all:

Alastor's powers make use of shadows. Not only that, but Alastor's own shadow is very expressive and shows the demon's repressed feelings. In other words:

On the one hand Alastor embodies the shadow, in the sense he represents what Charlie refuses to face

On the other hand Alastor himself represses his emotions behind a smiling face:

Alastor: Just because you see a smile, don't think you know what is going on underneath. A smile is a valuable tool, my dear. It inspires your friends, keeps your enemies guessing and ensures tha no matter what comes your way, you're the one in control.

This is a good characterization for a jungian shadow because the shadow grows stronger and more dangerous, when it's ignored. So, the most one refuses to face their feelings, the most these feelings fester and grow powerful and dangerous. This fits Alastor both when it comes to others and to his own character:

He takes advantage of an emotional unstable and vulnerable Charlie to strike an abimguous deal with her. Similarly, he uses Husk's gambling addiction to steal his soul. He uses people's weaknesses an unsolved problems to take over.

He suffocates his feelings, which symbolically manifest in his powerful shadow-tentacles. His design and abilities are representative of his psychological coping mechanism, which is nothing, but repression.

As written above, though, the Jungian Shadow can be both negative and positive depending on what one hides. This duality is shown in Alastor's two roles in Charlie's arc:

He is a demonic archetype (even moreso than Lucifer, the titular devil), as he waits in the shadows for a chance to manipulate Charlie

He is an evil mentor, as he genuinelly likes Charlie, sees her potential and wants to guide her towards greatness:

She's filled with potential that I could guide

This isn't a contradiction, but complexity. Alastor is chaotic and mixes negative traits and intentions with positive ones. Just like what people repress can be both bad and good, usually at the same time.

This is clear when it comes to the Princess of Hell:

Charlie to Alastor: What's that you said about smiles?

Charlie is similar to Alastor in how she represses herself behind her pollyanna persona and her smile. This doesn't mean she is faking her altruism and generosity, but that she is using these traits to hide something else:

Lute: The only reason you're still here is that Daddy gave you and your Hellborn-kind a pardon from an exorcist's blade. How does that feel? To know how little you matter.

Deep down, Charlie invests herself in the Hazbin Hotel project because she wants to matter. She feels powerless and unimportant, as a result of her parents' neglects and of Hell's difficult situation.

So, our protagonist has strong self-issues that she refuses to face:

Husk: Princess is a bleedy heart who wants to solve everybod else's problems, 'cept her own.

That said, this isn't the only thing Charlie represses. The Princess of Hell hides:

Every negative emotions she feels, like her self-hate or her anger at Vaggie for hiding her true identity:

Rosie: How does that make you feel? Charlie: Just... angry? Because we share everything! Because she always supported me, and my ideas, and now I don't know whether or not that was just more of the lies... Oh no, that's a horrible thing to think! Do I think that? Yes! No? Kinda?

Her most violent and aggressive side, which makes so she is unable to make full use of her powers:

Vaggie: Well, I mean... You're the princess of Hell, but you don't really use the power that comes with that. Mybe you can, I don't know? Command a little more... authority. Charlie: But that's so mean.

In short, by repressing her negative feelings, she also represses her potential. It is only by facing herself as a whole, that she can fully grow and bloom into her most powerful and complete self:

This is made clear in Charlie's quest in Cannibal Town. There, our girl is at her lowest, but she is pushing herself forward for the sake of her loved ones. She is trying to imitate Alastor by smiling, even if she is sour inside. However, things do not go well and it is only through her heart to heart chat with Rosie, that Charlie is able to pull herself together and inspire her people. Symbolically, she gets through them not with a 100% optimistic song like "Inside of every demon is a rainbow". Rather she opens her speech, by showing vulnerability and honesty:

It's a feeling like a rumbling in your gut That you could finally be faced with A billion needy faces I guess what I mean to say is For the first time in my life I might have to be ready for this Ready to be the one who's leading from the front Gotta come into my own Gotta come into my throne Gotta take charge and defend my only home And although I kinda feel unsteady Now I need to be ready for this

She affirms who she is and her willingness to grow into herself:

For the first time in my life Maybe I can be ready for this I can be the marshal leading the parade I can come into my own And I think I've always known My destiny could never be postponed When Adam brings the battle here I must appear like I'm ready for this

So, it is only by tapping into her own shadow that Charlie can be successfull. It is through expression and not repression that she can reach her goals.

What about Alastor?

He is the same, but so far he has been refusing to open up to others:

Angel: He's been here a while and he's still a big, creepy mystery.

That said, his time at the Hazbin Hotel has had an impact on him. He is forced to deal with others without killing them:

Vaggie: Pentious's eggs are all over the place. I need you to get rid of them. (...) Humanely!

He is shown cutting ties with a poisonous friend:

He openly admits he likes the people of the hotel:

Alastor: Ah, an enjoyable collective to be around. I admit one could get accustomed.

However, he still refuses to openly show vulnerability and ends up like this:

Let's highlight that Charlie and Alastor are foiled in The Show Must Go On song.

Both stand in the ruins of their homes/dreams.

The Hotel:

I took a hotel, and I destroyed it I know I could have done better Better, instead of letting you down

The Radio Station:

This place reeks of death There's a chill in the air And I barely escaped being killed by a hair

And both decide not to give up and to keep pursuing their objectives. However, Charlie is framed positively, while Alastor negatively. Why?

Charlie sings about her feelings openly and is supported by her father and found family:

Alastor sings about his pain privately and even then he barely shows his desperation before going back to his villanious mask:

Symbolically the moment Alastor reunites with the Hotel Crew, he sings:

And we're doing it with a smile!

He is back in control of himself, ready to hide everything behind his neverchanging smile.

So, Alastor is both Charlie's negative foil and Jungian Shadow. As her negative foil, he is bound to spiral. As her Jungian Shadow he is bound to be saved. Why is that so? Two reasons.

The Jungian Shadow can't be killed, but needs to be integrated with.

The main themes of the series are redemption and love, so it is improbable that Charlie won't help the person, who co-founded the hotel with her.

If anything, it seems that our princess is progressively asked to forgive, inspire and see the good in more and more complex cases.

It starts with Angel, who willingly stays at the Hotel. It goes on with Pentious, who infiltrates the Hotel, but makes no real damage. Then Lucifer, whom Charlie loves, but that has been absent from the majority of her life. Finally, Vaggie, who breaks Charlie's trust.

Each conflict Charlie has challenges her in a different way and helps her discover herself and grow. She is bound to meet new struggles when Lilith becomes a broken pedestal and finally when Alastor betrays or hurts her. Still, she is going to forgive and to understand them.

Charlie is going to see the good in Alastor and to better understand herself as a result. As a matter of fact Charlie's journey is one where she is slowly discovering a world, which isn't black and white:

If Hell is forever, then Heaven must be a lie If angels can do whatever, and remain in the sky The rules are shades of gray when you don't do as you say When you make the wretched suffer just to kill them again

Just like people aren't black and white. Just like she herself isn't black and white. By saving Alastor, she is gonna save herself too. Together with the whole universe.

And what about Alastor? Well, he needs to work on himself, as well. He too must integrate with his shadow, who is embodied by a certain character:

Husk is a powerful overlord, who lost his soul to a demon. Just like Alastor:

Husk: Big talk for someone, who's also on a leash.

Alastor and Husk are both on a leash. Still, Husk admits it and starts working on his shortcoming:

Husk: You're a loser, just like me

Alastor instead affirms his willingness to be in control and to pull the strings:

Once I figure out how to unclip my wings Guess who will be pulling all the strings?

Alastor is a loser, just like Husk. Just like all the characters in hell. Sinners vs Winners. And yet, he refuses to admit it. This is why he makes no progress. Similarly, he wants freedom, but enslaves others. This isn't going to work out, which is why I am fairly certain he will eventually set Husk free. Probably by doing so, Alastor will make the first real step towards his own freedom. He will start integrating his own shadow.

Thank you for the ask!

[to-the-stars8]

Love and Neighbors

Clark Kent x Reader Chapters AO3

Genomorph

When Clark entered your apartment he was thankful that, unlike him, you couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating. He was so nervous that he wondered if he was going to puke. It would be an interesting experience seeing as he never had gotten sick. Seeing you only intensified the feeling. 

You didn’t notice his hesitance at first, kissing him on the cheek so nonchalantly that it seemed as simple of an act as blinking was. It wasn’t until he hesitated to tell you how his day was that you asked what was wrong.

“Can we talk?” He asked, ignoring your question entirely. When Clark heard your heartbeat spike, he knew he had worded it wrong. “We’re not breaking up. It’s…I need to talk to someone right now.”

The relief on your face was evident, and– if he wasn’t so worried about his current situation– he would have been distraught for even accidentally hurting your feelings. You squeezed his hand as you urged him to tell you his feelings. Looking at you, Clark could tell that if he asked for the moon, you would find a way to get it to him. He felt safe with you and hated that he was so nervous that it made him hesitate to talk.

“Clark?” You said softly as you leaned toward him. “Everything’s alright.”

It wasn’t. Not to him, anyway, but he appreciated the sentiment. Sucking in a breath, he finally told you. There was a boy that he named Connor that was his clone. There wasn’t much more that Clark could say about the matter. Clark Kent had a clone– or genomorph, whatever words Batman had used to explain it to him. 

You were quiet for a moment, a furrow in your brow as you thought of all the new information he had given you, before starting to speak, “Who–who’s the other person that this clone is…made from?”

The name felt so sour on his tongue that he could hardly get it out. “Lex Luthor’s.”

“Oh,” Was all you said, and Clark was sure that was the only appropriate response. “Are you okay?” 

Clark nearly broke down, expressing all his feelings because he just needed to. If it wasn’t for the help of Ma and Pa, taking Connor in when he first came to him, and you being so open about it all. 

“I–I don’t know how to feel about him. I feel responsible, I guess, but,” Clark paused, not sure how to work his feelings. This situation was just too complicated. He considered himself a smart man, able to process complex issues, but he couldn’t wrap his head around this. Clark thought he should have been able to deal with this like any other situation, and felt angry that he couldn't understand why it was so difficult for him to deal with it. “I’m upset that my DNA was used to create this boy, but I don’t regret this boy being here. There's more I can't put into words. I feel…confused, really.”

“That’s okay,” You said sweetly. “You’re still processing this. It’s quite a big bomb to drop into your life.”

“It is. Damn it,” Clark looked up to see your unsure expression. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to get so upset.”

Surprisingly, you laughed. “Clark, you are more than within your rights to be upset!”

“Thank you,” Was all Clark could think to say.

“Honey, listen, it’ll be okay. You have Ma and Pa to help you. Not to mention me,” You said as you ran your fingers through his hair. He opened his mouth to brush off the sentiment, but you stopped him. “Yes, I know you have Bruce, too.” 

Clark, for the first time in a few days, laughed. He pulled you toward him, enveloping you in a big hug. As he breathed you in, he reminded himself that you would always be in his corner no matter how confusing things got. Connor wasn’t a bad kid, from what little he knew so far about him, and Clark could work out his feelings about him over time. 

“Do you want to meet him? I mean, if he’s going to be part of the family and all.” 

You smiled, and all Clark wanted to do was to tell you how much you meant to him. “Only if you’re ready, then I would love to.”

With that, Clark picked up the phone to call Ma.

[acupofinkedblood]

Subspace x savior complex reader

TW: Toxic relationship, unhealthy behavior, Subspace

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

• Subspace is definitely a difficult guy, that’s no surprise for everyone to acknowledge, especially with you as his lover. Though there are definitely some up and down in your relationship with this bastard — in which I can confidently assure you, it happens more than just a lots due to how eccentric this guy is — you still stay by his side no matter what. You’re technically his right hand person, always ready to hear him out if needed. One definitely has to give you the respect for putting up with him that long. Though something isn’t right just yet. Even when you’re contented in this relationship, why is it that you feel like missing out a part of your wish? Then again, you might have found the answer in that day when Medkit snapped at Subspace

• Having a bottle of toxic chemicals slammed right into Sunspace was the least thing you’d expect Medkit to ever do. But with how the tension had been bottled up between the two of them to the point of instability recently, why weren’t you surprised at this point. It’s just the matter of time before Medkit snapped like this. You pitied Subspace, for the worse or the better. That and combined your love for him. Ever since the day Medkit disappeared, you finally came into the picture alongside with Subspace as his new assistant. Everything was supposed to be fine. But with how that destined incident happened, you have became a restless wreck, constantly worrying about your dearest while he is getting the treatment he needed. Yet beneath that worries that you showed to the poor scientists, mind explaining that odd sense of twisted satisfaction when you realize that you have became his sole support, his beloved hero to the rescue after Medkit ran away?

• The moment Subspace wakes up from his coma after the medical staff has somehow brought him back to life again, you are already there since who knows since when. The first instinct taken over you is to rush over and check his pulse, trying to remember as much as you can while you were watching the nurses earlier to see how is he doing now. It’s not a surprise to acknowledge that Subspace is still rather fatigued due to being unconscious for such a long time. Not to mention the brief horror which flashes through his eyes when he sits up, thinking that he’s still there when the incident happened. It takes you a good while to calm him down without the need to call for the medical staff. Only you are enough now, and you will do everything you can to keep him safe from now on. Subspace has failed to notice how your expression shifted from calm to annoyance when the other staffs start to come to his aid, and that’s one of the biggest mistakes he has ever made

• At first, it starts as a few simple doting. Looking out for his general health, tending to whatever he needs in the moment and helping him to deal with the rot that has started to spread more than he’d like to see. Who could have ever doubted such sweet actions from you? After all, you’re Subspace’s partner — both romantically and at work — the way you’re caring for him is just a natural reaction, he’s your lover after all. Another reason is that no one has enough sanity to deal with Subspace for that long rather than you, so in other words, you have done everyone quite the favor when being in charge of him. That definitely feeds your ego, no? To think that your aid has provided so much to others even when your main priority is still Subspace, it paints the illusion of you being a saint reaching out and carrying the burden of those in need without any reward. And of course, that thought only pushes you even more in this journey of assisting your dearest lover further

• It doesn’t take that long before those caring gestures of yours started to turn into something out of how the original intention should have been. The more you carve this sense of purpose comes from ‘assisting’ Subspace, the more extreme your behavior develops into. From just a brief advice of him taking his medications, you start to feel the need to do that for him instead through force when he’s acting up again. You keep saying that it’s for his own good, but then again, we both know that it’s just you wanting to believe so. Stubbornness is a natural part of Subspace, and when that stubbornness is testing the twisted sense of saving him of yours, then that’s just how the flame has ignited. You try so hard to help him fixing this mess that he has gotten himself in, and you will keep your words even when he is resisting it. So much times, money and efforts you have spent for him, can’t he see that you’re the only one that can help him? Someone out there is capable of single-handedly making everything better, and that person happens to be you. It has to be you. If he can’t, then you will make him see it

• With how unstable Subspace has become both mentally and emotionally, you’ll be quite the idiot to even assume the fact that he will just sit there and let you treat him like some sort of broken damsel in distress. The way you’re trying to control his life’s decisions is beyond comprehension. He knows just how much you enjoy being a helper, but he has no idea it will be something as intense as this. He does appreciate your help somewhat before, as long as it simply stays as how things used to be. And now you have become this ‘controlling freak’ — his words, not mine — that trying to get a hold of his life. He won’t make it easy to happen anytime soon. Who do you think you’re talking with? The great Subspace will never let you force him down into a wheelchair even when the poison is eating him alive! The more you try, the more he will resist before some other factors come into the room to break it out. Usually it’s because of how aching the rotting process is, which makes Subspace begrudgingly take a step back to that damned satisfied smile of yours

• The more you started to meddle in his business, the more easily irritated Subspace became day by day. You follow him like a shadow. He doesn’t even have a moment of peace in his mind, let alone some quiet space where he can relax. With you in the laboratory, he has lost count just how many times you insist that this experiment is too dangerous for him to carry on like usual. Even the superior simply turn a blind eye on his complaint because of how well you have been keeping Subspace alive. Your overprotective tendencies definitely get on his nerves. He can’t even do anything by himself anymore, for science’s sake!

• To say it’s suffocating is an understatement. He always has to walk on thin ice around you, knowing just a little step wrong that makes him trip will easily provoke that savior complex of yours to come and pick him up. Every single time, you just have to be there and do everything without him asking. It’s safe to assume that none of you are having any good days so far with how frequent these fights broke out between you and him, though it usually just stops at verbal abuse since Subspace can’t just poison you to force you out of his life. Not that he hasn’t tried, but he realized that you might have an underlying plan ahead if he dares to do that. With how unhinged you are spiraling into, Subspace prefers to keep breathing normally rather than from an oxygen mask

• How many times have he lashed out at you for being too insufferable? Subspace stops counting because it gives him quite the headache. Those outbursts always left him draining emotionally despite that facade of everything is fine. He’s pretty sure that he might just lose it completely if his mentor’s words didn’t smack some senses back into his mind. Every time Subspace acts rashly, both of you are injured. Some of his poison has a high chance to get into your vein by this point, yet you can always bandage yourself up. It hurts, oh definitely, but it’s nothing compared to what you have done to the other Inphernal. Subspace, on the other hand, needed to be knocked out before he ended up poisoning himself even more. It’ll give you more of a reason to take care of him, but you should just save that trick for later

• To rub even more salt into the wound, you keep staying no matter how much he tries to threaten you to stay out of his life. You keep accompanying him, protecting him without giving a damn of if he wants it or not. The ultimate wish you keep for yourself is simply to make sure that there will be nothing that shall come to harm him ever again — while you’re literally ignoring the fact that maybe it’s you who keep him in this situation — and you’re not afraid to act on it if needed. Subspace has made a lots of attempts to get rid of you, yet none of them ever work out. Honestly, he only has himself to blame since his heart is still beating for you, which is maybe why he lets you live for this long. You’re even far worse than normal overprotective people that steps too close in his personal bubble, because you’re already in that restricted zone in his heart with that complexity that pushes Subspace off his limits

• You love him, yeah, he gets it. But this obsession of yours is probably worse than his at the time being. All the times you work with him to find a cure to his rotten state, you just have to add a little extra things to screw the whole thing up, which makes Subspace’s condition worsened even more. In your eyes, as long as he remains vulnerable, he will still need you. And if he still needs you, then you will be able to keep this purpose of living forever by his side. You didn’t even hide that glimpse of glee when the doctors revealed that there was no cure to his rot, that means you are still needed! Sure, a part of you did feel guilty for ruining him to this point, but then all is well. You know just the right thing to make up for him afterwards, even if it comes with Subspace’s daily resentment when seeing you. It’s not like he’s the only victim here, you have already broken yourself then built it up all over again just to be the perfect caretaker of his. Yet, you forgave him oh so easily just because you feel like he deserves better, that he can still change as long as you’re here with him to fix this mess

• A victim and a savior, how laughable when it’s quite the way to describe the relationship between the two of you now. You wish to fix Subspace, to fix everything he has done wrong, or at least what you deem to he wrong in his life. Subspace on the other hand, is constantly overwhelmed with how you keep trying to fix the unfixable problems that’s not even yours to begin with. The worse part in this dynamic is that none of them can just walk out from each other: You need to play the ‘savior’ in Subspace’s life as it gives you the opportunity to feel seen, to feel good for once after so long

• And things aren’t that bright in Subspace’s side either. He still loves you, maybe just a little more than he loves a plaything, but it still counts. As much as he hates to admit, he might or might not have grown used to that delusional mindset of yours when it comes to aiding — more like controlling at this point — his life for the sake of his own safety. You have made him like this, he has to rely on you no matter how much the irritation is burning within him. You need him, and he needs you too. Whether it’s voluntary or not doesn’t matter. In another words, the two of you need each other desperately

• Yet, Subspace has learned to adapt to it, as he already failed to get rid of your annoying existence just because of this stupid feeling he has for you. You’re lucky that he’s a bit more fond of you than the others, or else you’re just as good as dead. At this point his body can’t be pushed too far if he still wants to live, though he carves to continue his research to serve Blackrock even when those experiments require the criteria that he doesn’t have anymore. So what’s better than to take advantage of your insistence on aiding him in anything possible to do that instead?

• He immediately seizes that opportunity to make you the perfect shield for him to get away from troubles on purpose. You love playing the knight in shining armor? Fine, let him give you a few more reasons to risk your head off for him. Bossing you around to do dirty errands for him while he’s focusing on the necessary plans at hand for the Biografts is something he should have done long before. Not only does he finally has a brief moment to do what he genuinely likes, but also now, Subspace has someone that will risk everything just for his sake - which is, unfortunately, you. That’s his petty way of getting back at you for all those time you have been such a lovely pest in his life. Besides, he can’t help but find the entire thing to be pretty amusing after a good while

• The more you keep putting his well-being above your own needs, the more exhausted you slowly become whether it’s mentally or physically speaking. Yet, you feel like you have finally given a sustainable purpose to follow in long term with who you love so dearly. You neglected your own needs to put him on the top priority, enough for you to be burning out while chasing this fever dream of a purpose you forced yourself into. With how much you have done for him, you know that it will be more than just a good excuse to use it as a favor to make him listen to you the next time you want to ensure his health and safety in your very own way. Though for now, you keep making a fool out of yourself by running such ridiculous errands for Subspace. Most of them aren’t easy either, since you have volunteered to do such direct tasks that he can’t perform due to his condition. Of course, the weariness starts to get even more visible on your face, especially your eyes

• Does he feel bad for it? No, absolutely not. This is Subspace we’re talking about. This sadistic bastard enjoys seeing you like that as if he is admiring a dear jester. You will do just anything for him, and Subspace’d like to see how much of an idiot you actually are. Certainly, they are not enough to kill you, that’s for sure. Though those ideas will be saved for later. For now, all Subspace wants is to simply amuse himself with your presence. If anything, then it makes him feel drawn more to you. That miserable expression seems to be oddly suitable for you, and he seems to like it a lots! Misery loves company after all. He knows that there will soon be your turn of dragging him down the next time you’re in your ideals of saving him again, but just let him enjoy himself somewhat here

• It’s draining for both you and Subspace, as this relationship is anything but healthy. But truth be told, cold water feels warm when your hands are freezing. This co-dependent relationship is ruining the both of you, but also giving each of you a new day to look forward to seeing. You find comfort in being Subspace’s beloved helper, the one that goes through hell and back for him just to make sure that his well-being is guaranteed. Subspace relies on your ability to look out for him because he has to in order to survive a little longer than he originally thought. Even when he does hold a grudge on everything you have done to him, he can’t shake the empty feeling when thinking of a life without you. Indirectly, you are each other’s force to continue going forward into the future. You two find comfort in each other in this forsaken toxic relationship. Even when you are suffocating the lives out of your own good, at least it might have been worth it in the end. All for him, as you reassured yourself

• No matter what, you still provide every support he needs for him. And like it or not, Subspace has to rely on you for as long as he still wishes to continue living. No one knows when will the two of you decide to put this torturous play into an end to free you both out of this tragedy, though by the looks of it, neither you nor Subspace has any real intention to leave in the moment. You and him are bounded together for this everlasting waltz of sweet misery, as the savior destroys himself to put the pieces on his beloved victim as an attempt to ‘fix’ him, yet the dance continues with each piece being consumed by the poison the victim carried. People couldn’t help but shaking their heads when seeing the two of you together. Yet for now, you simply want nothing more than this. And hopefully Subspace think so too, even the chance is rather slim

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Note: Did you all think floral tea will only be served in draft (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)?

Note 2: Floral tea is meant to be bittersweet, as both parties aren’t that miserable compared to the angsty load of green tea. Floral tea has the bitterness of the first time, yet slowly getting sweeter slightly when you think about the ‘false’ comfort it might bring. Green tea on the other hand? Angst, angst and pure tragedy (ﾟ∀ﾟ)

[alexanderwales]

I keep having this idea for a trading card story, and it keeps not quite coming together for me.

I played Magic: the Gathering for a great many years, with Friday Night Magic being a staple of my adult life until I finally got pounded into the ground by netdecks one too many times.

I always felt like there was something there, a way to take Mark Rosewater's psychographics and build up a good cast of characters, a way to take the deck archetypes and have those decks express something about these people. What possesses a man to play only control decks? Why does this kid always bring tokens?

And of course the fundamental issue is that if you have a book that's about a card game, you've got to show the card game at some point, and no shade to Yu-Gi-Oh, but the anime was filled with overpowered cards and illegal moves, and did not have a healthy respect for the game in and of itself.

But if card battles are a way of resolving things within the narrative, you have to do brush strokes, right? Because a full game with all its complexities is just way too much, and even just sketching it out seems like it would be difficult. You'd confine yourself to just the highlights, the card games that matter, that have something to say about these characters, the ones that have some kind of stakes. But even then, I don't know, it does seem like a lot.

I think the dream would be to come to Wizards of the Coast with it, pitch it as "like The Breakfast Club but everyone playing MtG", five characters who are very different from each other and take their inspiration from the different parts of the color wheel. But there would be so many problems to work out, not least of which is setting it within a specific time and place where there's something to say about ... I don't know, collectible card games, what compels us to play them, how games can/do serve as expression of the self.

I haven't followed MtG for quite some time, though I still have a dozen EDH decks that see extremely infrequent use, so maybe this just wouldn't be workable in the modern climate of the game, which would require me to make up my own card game, which would lead to all kinds of other problems with how to structure the "action scenes" that are about the movements of game pieces.

This is one of those ideas that I will refer to as "gestating" because I pick it up every now and then, rotate it in my head, then set it back down, slightly better than it was before. But I think I like it only because I have a lot of unprocessed trauma from the time I traded away a Tarmogoyf without knowing its value.

[elysiansparadise]

Heyyo !! Hope you're doing well. I have a question if are going continue your planets in houses series for 8th House moon

Hello! I’m doing just fine, I hope you too. Of course I will continue, until I’ve covered each placement. 🤎 

Moon in the 8th house

They are people of complex nature, since many of them tend to be very cautious when it comes to opening up to new people, they do not trust their hearts so easily in others and they can even show themselves as very self-sufficient in the emotional field, however, these natives internally desire a deep degree of emotional intimacy, even bordering on emotional. They prefer intense, meaningful ties that really contribute something to their lives rather than something superficial and vain. This is usually something difficult for them because it is difficult for them to open up and want to meet new people. This is due more than anything to a fear of appearing vulnerable, manipulable and, mostly, due to bad experiences with previous relationships. It’s likely that the relationship with the family, mother or a specific member was tense and taught them to always be alert for any sign of lying or betrayal. They detect people who show false emotions or who lie, as they stand out for being observant. They may prefer to make decisions based on their mind rather than their heart, and it is likely that at some point in their life they ignored their emotional needs, both other people and themselves. They fear that they will feel a lot and get hurt or that the other person will not give themselves in that devoted and passionate way with which they do it.

For them it is crucial to give their all when it comes to something important or meaningful to them, they do not give themselves halfway. They find it difficult to be expressive, but once they are comfortable enough they are very constant with their demonstrations of affection or appreciation. They have this ability to feel the emotions of others and tend to accurately deduce the emotional triggers and needs of others. They have a genuine curiosity to know the core of those who matter to them, they will want to know every part of your mind, your history and everything that your heart is silent about, this in order to understand you better. In the sexual field, they need a certain emotional closeness or feeling in love to fully enjoy. A pretty face is not enough for them and they tend to be very attracted to complex, interesting and understanding personalities. They give themselves completely, body and soul, and there is nothing they like more than feeling that their partner does the same. Aftercare is crucial and necessary.

They know how to be alone and highly value their time with themselves, they are introspective with their emotions and they like to get to the root of things. A lie can be something unforgivable for many of them and they will always prefer a very honest truth over a white or sugar-coated lie. Their intuition is very strong and they may feel an attraction or even have a knack for things like tarot, astrology or similar things. They read you like a book, but you can hardly do the same with them. They have a deep connection with their unconscious. It is likely that since they were children they have had very intense spiritual experiences and that the mystical world seems truly fascinating to them. They have one goal [among their many goals] to become the adult they felt they needed when they were children, since it is likely that their inner child carries a feeling of fear and insecurity. They are people who behind their strong and empowered personality is someone sensitive and compassionate. People often see them as a very strong pillar in which to fully trust, and it is likely that only the natives themselves are aware of their emotional intensity, as others describe them as calm and collected most of the time.

-> Go back to the masterlist

[novlr]

I’m not sure where the heart of my story is. How do I figure out the theme of the story so I can flesh out the details (without changing my mind next week)? Do you start with a theme and build a story around it, or does the theme emerge as you write?

Themes are so personal, and different writers with different goals will approach it differently.

Many writers struggle with pinning down their themes, and it’s no wonder. Themes are deeply personal, emerging from our own experiences, beliefs, and the questions that keep us up at night.

Some writers meticulously plan their themes before writing a single word, while others discover them organically as their story unfolds. Neither approach is inherently better. Personally, I do a mixture of both. What matters is finding a process that works best for you.

What is a theme?

At its core, a theme is the central message or underlying meaning of your story. It’s what you want your readers to take away after from the story after they’ve turned the last page.

Your story’s theme is the truth or observation that your narrative explores. This can work on multiple levels:

Universal themes are the big ideas that resonate across cultures and time periods, like love, grief, redemption, power, or identity. These broad themes give your story a foundation that readers can connect with.

But themes can also be more specific and nuanced. A story about a chef might explore the theme of “food as memory,” examining how tastes and smells connect us to our past. A novel about siblings could delve into “the complexity of shared childhood trauma,” looking at how different people process the same experiences.

The most powerful stories often layer these themes, perhaps combining a universal theme like “the search for identity” with a more specific exploration of “how social media shapes modern self-expression”.

Starting with a theme

Some writers like to have their theme tied down before they write. Personally, I take a hybrid approach. I usually have a universal theme I know in advance that I want my story to cover, but I let myself discover the more specific themes as the story progresses. But I know many writers who work theme-first and develop the story around it.

Starting with a theme can be like having a compass for your narrative. It guides your creative decisions and helps you stay focused on what you want to say.

Benefits of starting with a theme

When you begin with a clear thematic intention, you gain:

A strong sense of purpose and direction.

A framework for making plot decisions.

Clear character motivations and arcs.

Natural unity across story elements.

Built-in conflict possibilities.

Focused opportunities for symbolism.

How to develop story from a theme

Let’s say you want to explore the theme of “sacrifice for family.” If you knew this in advance, you might consider the following when developing the plot. It may help you:

Create characters who embody different views on family obligation.

Design plot points that force difficult choices between personal desires and family needs.

Build a setting that reinforces the weight of family legacy.

Develop subplots that echo or contrast with your main theme.

Include symbols and motifs that reinforce ideas of family bonds.

These examples are to a specific theme, however, the same can be applied to almost anything. If you know your theme in advance, all your character, setting, and relationship decisions will combine with that knowledge so you can be targeted in how you approach them.

Making it natural

The tricky thing about having your theme fully decided before you start writing is that it can be hard to let your theme inform your story without dominating it. Your readers shouldn’t feel like they’re being taught a lesson, which can very easily happen if you overwork your theme. Instead:

Let your characters struggle with the theme in natural ways. Treat them like people and let them react to situations that way.

Allow for complexity and nuance. Not everything has to be simple or easy to understand.

Include moments that challenge or question the theme.

Balance thematic elements with a well-paced plot and character development.

Leave room for readers to draw their own conclusions. Don’t spoon feed them all the information.

Discovering your theme through writing

Letting your themes emerge naturally as you write can be like archaeology. You’re carefully uncovering the meaning buried within your own subconscious as you write. Some of the most profound themes come from this process of discovery, revealing truths you didn’t even know you wanted to explore, but it does require you to pay attention to yourself and your writing process.

A theme won’t necessarily just jump out at you. You have to be open to the process of discovery and be willing to make changes and edits when you finally settle on what you want to say.

Benefits of discovering theme

When you allow your themes to emerge naturally, you gain:

Thematic development that grows from your story, rather than building your story around it.

The freedom to explore your narrative without your own preconceptions.

Layers of meaning that surface organically.

Themes that will surprise you, and therefore will also surprise the reader.

How themes emerge through writing

If you’re letting your themes reveal themselves to you as you write, then there are some things you’ll need to pay attention to as you go. These might include:

Character decisions and their consequences.

Recurring patterns in your narrative.

Conflicts that keep appearing in different forms.

Questions your characters frequently wrestle with.

Imagery and metaphors that naturally arise.

For example, you might start writing about a character leaving their hometown, focusing on the plot and character development. As you write, you begin to notice patterns. Perhaps every major decision involves choosing between comfort and growth, or your descriptions keep returning to images of roots and wings. These patterns can reveal deeper themes about belonging, self-discovery, or the tension between stability and change.

How to recognise and develop emerging themes

Once you notice potential themes in your work, you must:

Pay attention to recurring elements in your story. Make sure you’re not overusing them, and that they form something cohesive.

Look for connections between different plot threads. If you mapped them all out, is there a unifying strand that connects them all?

Consider what questions your characters keep facing. What are there primary conflicts, and do they have any connections?

Notice patterns in your metaphors and imagery. Do you use certain imagery regularly? What does it mean to you?

Think about what draws you emotionally to certain scenes. What did you have the most fun, or the hardest time writing? Why do you think that is?

Allow yourself to explore unexpected thematic directions. Did your plot move in a direction you weren’t expecting? Is there any underlying meaning to that shift?

Practical ways to develop theme

No matter what point of your plotting or writing journey you decide to look at theme, here are some questions you should always ask:

Look to your characters: What do they want? What are they afraid of? What lessons do they learn? How do they change?

Examine your plot: What conflicts arise? What choices do your characters face? What consequences follow their actions? Are there any patterns that emerge?

Look to yourself: What subjects interest you? What questions keep you up at night? What experiences have shaped you? What beliefs drive you?

Draw from real life: What universal struggles affect you the most? Which human experiences touch you emotionally? What social issues are you passionate about? Is there any moral ambiguity you see in the world around you?

Questions to ask yourself

When developing themes, consider:

What questions does your story ask (even if there’s no clear answer)?

What truths does it reveal?

Why does this story matter?

What do you want readers to think about?

How does your story reflect human experience?

Whether you start with a theme or discover it along the way, what matters is creating a story that resonates with meaning. Trust your creative process. Whether you control the narrative completely or stay open to discovery, just make sure you have something to say.

[helle-bored]

A non-exhaustive list of weilan fics I’ve loved, for a truly diverse variety of reasons, in no particular order!

List 1

– 

The Tower by Thevetia (~15k, M)

Fairytale AU! I'm hesitant to say too much, but: few fics manage to surprise me quite the way this one did, and I dig the directions it went in and how everything ties together. The sweet, gentle, and funny first act holds its own against the viscerally unpleasant whump that comes after. Has a happy ending. 

– 

i can be patient but only for you by crowanberries (~3k, T)

Space AU! I wanted about 100k more of Shen Wei being the commander of a space station, and Zhao Yunlan as the ship captain who keeps coming back to him, and Ye Zun as the beloved, if somewhat difficult, ghost in the machine making his brother’s life interesting. Hits all the right character notes for me and I love the setting.

–

this is how the war is won by missingnowrites (~31k, E)

YOHE-only omegaverse AU! Featuring omega!Shen Wei and alpha!Kunlun. Unabashedly horny in that way only omegaverse fics really tend to be, with a lot of lovely, descriptive worldbuilding. I enjoy how the omegaverse-typical tensions around consent are counterbalanced by mutual respect and trust! Also it’s just very hot.

–

 Summer Feeling | 夏意 by hideyseek (~3k, T)

Man, I have so many feelings about this fic. It does such a good job of showing how Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan work together as a couple – that they don’t just love each other; they also like each other. A really sweet little slice of life domestic fic that captures their personalities so well.

–

Spiked by MusicalLuna (~11k, M)

Zhao Yunlan’s drink is spiked while he’s out partying with the team, and Shen Wei interrupts when someone attempts to take advantage. An unflinching, detailed snapshot of a very shitty night that Zhao Yunlan won’t remember – but Shen Wei will, and the way everything is handled feels sensitive to the subject matter and makes for compelling character studies.

–

Life Upstairs by nnozomi (~2k, T)

Two sisters unexpectedly have the Black Cloaked Envoy over for tea. A fantastic little piece about the complexities of being Dixingren in Haixing.

–

Little Storm Cat by starandrea (~34k, M)

Nekomimi!Zhao Yunlan AU! One of the things I enjoyed most is the description of nekomimi culture, but what really surprised me about this fic is how familiar Shen Wei’s struggles with communication feel. (Me, putting my phone down partway through chapter 2 and staring at the wall: “Oh my god, he’s me.”) The overthinking and literalism and difficulty expressing himself – even the way his thought processes work – just, damn. Not a lot of stories portray something similar to how exhausting navigating new social situations feels when you’re parsing everything through neurodivergence, but this fic is a good picture of how it feels for me.

–

Accidental Meeting by tinypinkmouse (~19k, T)

Alternate first meeting AU! Teenage Zhao Yunlan summons Heipaoshi after he gets in a motorcycle accident that leaves him stranded in the countryside. Their relationship forms a nice thematic parallel with canon; Kunlun’s impact on a younger Shen Wei is now mirrored by Shen Wei’s impact on a younger Zhao Yunlan. 

–

chat group: Jiajia GET SOME SLEEP by Anonymous (~3k, G)

Has the sort of chaotic, fever-dream quality that does, indeed, feel like grad school. I love fics where Shen Wei’s students care about him enough to surreptitiously get into shenanigans on his behalf, and this one genuinely makes me laugh.

–

vices by lunarriviera (600 words, T)

Zhao Yunlan catches Shen Wei smoking a cigarette. Fits a lot of humor and intriguing character development into a short fic! 

–

Take Me to My Tomb by BlackwaterVial (~10k, T)

Tomb explorers AU! Zhao Yunlan is about to break into the tomb of Shen San – and in a stroke of good fortune, the nice professor who’s tagging along seems to know where all the traps are. Delightful situational humor. Equally delightful Shen Wei getting shoehorned into offering increasingly absurd explanations for his behavior while also trying to keep Zhao Yunlan from getting killed by traps (which Shen Wei put there to keep people from graverobbing Zhao Yunlan, and now has to disable so that Zhao Yunlan can graverob Zhao Yunlan).

–

Threat Level: Bears by marycrawford (~3k, T)

Here I am, back with my loving Shen Wei whumpfic agenda. Does a great job digging into Shen Wei’s sensory experiences while he’s exhausted, alone, and facing imminent peril (bears). Also makes me laugh over how much a delirious Shen Wei reminds me of my 5 year old nephew. We’ve all been there, buddy. Just not usually with bears.

–

There's Two of You! by Noppoh (~13k, M)

YOHE Ye Zun fix-it AU! I love fics that answer the question about what would happen if some small, particular detail changed. Da Qing finds Ye Zun while doing reconnaissance on the rebel’s camp in cat form. What would happen if Ye Zun had a cat who cared about him?

[xparalynx]

Some anti-abuse paraphilia flags

!!tw: mention of abuse!! cw: mention of pedophilia and similar paraphilias

Beforehand I'll say the obvious: children can't consent and therefore the antt-abuse stance doesn't allow adults to engage with children in a sexual context.

As someone who experienced sexual abuse as a child, I know first-hand the trauma that such experiences can cause. My own experience, while not as extreme as others, left me traumatised and I am still effected today. It’s because of this that I feel so strongly about creating a space where we can address sensitive topics with both empathy and responsibility.

We should create the understanding that some attractions or feelings, such as those involving minors, can be incredibly difficult to process for those who experience them, especially with many people calling them monsters or predators for just experiencing attraction can lead to serious mental health issues including depression or even suicide. But just as we work to create support systems for those struggling with mental health issues, it’s crucial that we also address these feelings in a safe, healthy, and non-abusive way.

I do not condone harmful actions. Children must be protected, and abuse of any kind is unacceptable. That said, I believe that simply having these attractions does not make someone inherently evil or a monster, but rather a person who needs help, understanding, healing, and clear boundaries. People can be struggling with feelings they have no control over, but that doesn’t mean we should ignore the fact that acting on those feelings can easily cause harm.

Obviously people are individuals and in that not all people have the same struggles, experiences and thoughts meaning that while some people attracted to minors might

As I explained in a different post I'd like to propose the term minophilia instead of MAP since MAP seems like it want's to take the paraphilia name away from paraphilias related to minors but instead of doing that we should destigmatise and educate about paraphilias. Often Pedophilias is used is often used as a catch-all for attraction to minors, but technically, it refers only to prepubescent children. Other terms like Infantophilia (attraction towards babies), nepiophilia (attraction towards toddlers), hebephilia (attraction to early pubescent minors) and ephebophilia (attraction to mid-to-late adolescents) exist, but there isn't a widely used neutral term to describe all paraphilias related to minors where the term minophilia would be aplied.

I created the following flags and this conversation to highlight that we can acknowledge the complexities of these feelings without enabling harm. This is about showing care for those who are struggling, giving visibility to those who are the most stigmatised and demonised, while still maintaining clear boundaries to protect children and ensure responsibility. I hope these flags can serve as a symbol of ethical accountability, where people can express themselves responsibly without fear of stigma, while also emphasizing that harmful and abusive actions are never okay.

What is going on in one's mind, what fantasies they have, etc. is up to them alone. Having certain attractions or fantasies itself is not harmful. Acting on one's attraction through fiction or roleplay with consenting adults is not harmful. Fantasies should not be policed, what matters is how people act on their fantasies.

I also created the auto- versions which means being aroused by imagining oneself as a minor rather than being attracted to minors (one can be both tho). I myself am a autminophile as a result of my trauma from sexual abuse as a child. Since that can be a result of trauma I included trauma recovery in the meaning of the autominophilia flag. All other flags have the same meaining as the umbrella terms anti-abuse minophilia and anti-abuse autominophilia.

anti-abuse minophilia

anti-abuse autominophilia

anti-abuse infantophilia

anti-abuse autoinfantophilia

anti-abuse nepiophilia

anti-abuse autonepiophilia

anti-abuse pedophilia

anti-abuse autopedophilia

anti-abuse hebephilia

anti-abuse autohebephilia

anti-abuse ephebophilia

anti-abuse autoephebophilia

Note: Ephebophilia doesn't necessarily fall under the minophilia umbrella but it can be under it.

This is not radqueer.

To learn about my stance on the radqueer community click here.