#and it still happens by the way. you're just seeing less of it

[jimmy-buffet-babe]

{....well not to sound like a bitch, but i /did/ die. I've died a few times actually. Ten...oh this one would be....twenty...yeah! Twenty. Times. And this is the first time that anyone besides death is here to bring me back, and they're just here because technically they're the only one who CAN retrieve me due to legal reasons! So sorry if I'm a little shocked to see people actually show up for me instead of the other way around, Sorry if I'm concerned when I see one of my best friends upset who usually stands as far from me as possible and just gave me a big hug, sorry if i want you to be honest with your feelings instead of holding them all in and killing you faster!

And you know something? LUNA? there is a difference between being emotionless and being an asshole. You tread that line very thinly, my love. And yet, I forgive you still. But if you're gonna chew me out and you're gonna ride my ass every. Single. God. Damn. Time. That you have an emotional breakthrough. Well first off, I'm happy for you, glad to see you grow emotionally. Second off, atleast buy me a fucking dinner afterwards- I've done jackasses that do more for me for less!

And I'll tell you something else! You and your brother need to sit down, preferably with someone with therapy experience, and talk about this shit. Damn the fucking cosmic dickwads that make the stupid rules for everything and say you can't, they won't be able to shit if the FUCKING SUN AND MOON EXPLODE! Hell! I'll stop regenerating all together and turn to space dust! Last of my kind and nobody gives a fuck! Why should they?

I keep it a secret from everyone because I'm so fucking scared they'll take advantage of it and kill me just like they did with my family, and my baby! And yet! And yet here I am killing myself trying to make other people happy! To keep them safe! Because all I want is to have someone to be close to and to care for even if they don't give a shit about me. Even if they'd be better off draining the blood from my body and mounting my head on a wall. FUCK! I'm dating a contractor and so far he's the nicest guy I've been with in ages! And i don't care what every body else thinks of him because /i/ love him.......and i love you too. More than you know}

☆they look around at everyone, shaking now☆

" .....Sublime, I think that's enough- "

{Oh is it? Is it Elliot? Mr i don't give a fuck about what others have to say? Anyone ever wonder why you always work so closely with Lucifer???}

" sublime, i don't think- "

{ Think what, feldroy?? I didn't think you still /could/ think since you shipped yourself off to heaven}

" sublime- "

{ You're. Not. An. Angel. You are a beautiful, wonderful, eldritch being that happened to be born into one of the oldest and shittiest families among the olds ones-}

" Sublime that's enough, Feldroy /is/ an angel- "

{ But he's not! You are! You were! Only difference is you tried to make an honest suggestion to the big guy upstairs and got your ass kicked all the way down to Dantes curb!

I'm sick and tired of lying, and everyone else lying, and having to lie for everyone else. You want to be around me? You want to be a part of my life? Quit the fucking lying, be honest about your damn feels, and if you care about me FOR FUCK SAKE! JUST TELL ME!!! IM GOOD AT GIVING HUGS AND ADVICE, IM NOT A GOD DAMN MIND-READER PEOPLE!!!}

☆they broke off into sobs, shaking like a leaf as they fell to their knees, their scars glowing a sickly green.☆

The sound of an approaching train can be heard. Grab your tickets, hold em tight. It's gonna be one hell of a ride!~

Mr time

Mrs Earth

Ms judgement

Mr Hyde

Ms Octayve

Hm....guess they lost theirs

Ah!

And Mr Gecko.

ALL ABOARD!

[ariadne-mouse]

I keep coming back to like, if the entire point of Ludinus & BH's plan here was only to prevent a second mass destruction event like Calamity - the gods being too big to fight with each other without mass collateral damage, and having the ability to wipe out a city like Aeor - then I could see there being a logic in "the gods gotta go, one way or another", setting aside the possibility of mortals to once more develop that same power as Aeor did in the Malleus Factorum, and notably, that we don't know if the BH Third Option will be an effective de-powering of the gods themselves in perpetuity, since it's unclear what will happen to their divinity, how permanent the transformation would be, or what Predathos might do (stay as a presence in a Vessel as insurance? be released and stay on its own? be released and go, taking the threat against the gods with it?). But again, setting all that aside, I can see the logic of looking at the Calamity and going "we must prevent this from recurring at all costs", and not trusting that the gods will never reach the unanimity break the divine gate, and the story digging into the ethics of ends and means. Sorry, gods, you're just too big to be here - shrink or GTFO. (Note if this is the case, this would/should also apply to the Titans if they were still in play, as they have the same widescale destructive capacity.)

But Ludinus and BH also heavily cite more day-to-day systemic oppressions and inequalities among the world of mortals, perpetrated *by* mortals. The power of temples, the intrusion of worshippers on communities like Hearthdell, and otherwise the presence of gods-based religion in all facets of life creating unequal outcomes. Now, I tend to agree with meta positing that we didn't get a strong narrative of gods-based religion being the hegemonic power in Exandria, only that, like other power structures from, say, governments - it exists and can be used for good or ill, with disagreements about what "good" and "ill" are. But Ludinus certainly wasn't spending any time trying to make the Empire's government more agnostic or materially improve the lives of the common people there or anywhere else, despite his vast influence (and he maintained allies like Ikithon, whose idea of a youth enrichment program was the Volstruckers). Critically, the idea that his or BH's plan will effect systemic mortal change hinges on the gods' fate changing the power of their followers, who comprise the presence of gods-based religion on Exandria itself, and these situations where inequality is indicated.

However, we also don't yet know exactly how the gods taking any of the 3 choices - become mortal, run, be eaten - will materially effect divine power that is wielded by mortals. Maybe it will change, maybe it will diminish either permanently or temporarily, maybe it will be the same with the rationale it is powered by mortal faith as opposed to some intrinsic god-stuff. We just don't know yet. Moreover, even if the powers vanished, the faith and the associated sociopolitical structures might remain. It feels like a gap in logic to me which weakens the conviction of the road BH are taking now, and tempers the triumph that this is the "best" solution, because it's still unclear how it addresses the actual problem statement of "no more Calamity AND no more inequality among mortals from gods-religion".

One aspect I didn't touch upon above is that of answering prayers and granting boons, which sort of sits in the middle between the gods' own power and what mortals wield, and is part of the tapestry of the gods' influence in mortal life. Ludinus's plan to kill the gods did follow that any sort of "favoritism" would no longer be in play, but the BH Third Option is less clear on that. It is certainly possible that the gods will become unable to answer any prayer or grant any boon in the same fashion they might have before, and this would very literally remove the issue of "unequally answered prayers" for a measure of that concept: all phone lines are down, no one gets to make a call. But neither Ludinus's plan nor BH's would necessarily solve situations like Bor'dor's, where his mother took on the punishment intended for him believing that her faith in Melora would protect her - or at least would not be a linear "this kind of thing definitely won't happen anymore" because mothers protecting their children and faith in optimal outcomes are not solely the providence of religion, nor is imperfect access to power and safety. The kid Bor'dor accidentally harmed was rich, and this informed the severity of the punishment/lack of forgiveness - there is a very local class struggle aspect there which the gods played no part in, and which their removal would not prevent.

The BH Third Option may be appealing in its potential bloodlessness, but it's also so recent and zoomed out that BH themselves haven't fully revisited what more specific problems they are actually trying to solve, and the story on the way there hasn't scaffolded sufficiently to make it clear. Perhaps there is a narrative to be told in BH taking action despite uncertainty - "we don't know that this will change anything or everything but we have to try" - but that is still weakened by the insufficient exploration of religious hegemony in everyday life, and in BH themselves not solidifying their trajectory of intent earlier (in either direction!) even if their means were uncertain. Like, there is absolutely a version of this whole thing which could have better supported the rationale to shake the etch-a-sketch, whether framing it as "right" or "justified" or even just "logical" from a character-driven arc perspective, but just that's not quite what we've gotten, nor does it seem to be explicitly about about making a desperate and imperfect choice. It's somewhere in the muddy middle.

Anyway, I find it interesting to try and follow these throughlines - and very eager to see what happens next, because it will help define some of these ramifications more clearly, which will absolutely make for a fascinating end of C3 and C4 world state whatever they are. I'm here for it! I'm also still enjoying the show, enjoy BH as characters, etc, all of that, if that need be stated. I will say - this is all certainly taking a chance and rolling the dice!

[catbolt]

Hi! I have 2 chronic illnesses (specifically me/cfs and fibromyalgia) and I've always wondered how the boys would help to take care of a chronically ill mc? I know Xavier would probably nap with her, but I was hoping you could write some drabbles or something please? I really, really appreciate you reading this, even if you don't take it up. Thank you! :) <3

— TAKE CARE

[TAGS] fluff, xavier x mc, zayne x mc, rafayel x mc, sylus x mc (no caleb bc tbh i'm not quite sure how i want to write him yet), 2nd person but canon hunter mc is referenced

[A/N] hii anon! did this sort of headcanon style, hope it's to your liking! don't have any personal experience with chronic illness so kept things pretty vague to avoid mischaracterization (but hopefully still suiting the prompt.)

xavier

doesn’t overburden you with too much talk or make a big deal out of your flare ups, instead spending most of the time just silently, patiently by your side . Napping, watching mindless TV, reading a book side by side with you in bed. 

xavier def gives parallel play vibes-- even if you two aren’t doing the same activity he’ll be next to you, comforting you with the simple warmth of his presence. “need anything?” “want a massage?” “tired?” is as much as he’ll probe. he understands what you need without you even having to say it, often anticipating your needs before you even realize them yourself.

personally he does not gaf about work drama but since he knows you get antsy not knowing what's happening at hunter HQ whenever you have to call out from work, he always prepares a rundown of any work tea for you. he finds himself being even more nosy and attuned to the other hunters at work, just so he can see your eyes light up whenever he gets to tell you about which of the new recruits are flirting with who.

zayne

sometimes it’s a little hard for him not to go fully into doctor mode whenever you're having symptoms, but he tries to rein it in so as to not frustrate/overwhelm you.

he would have very strong reactions to any signs of physical distress from you. seeing you in the middle of a flare up makes him have to confront that you're not one of his patients, you're... you, which is harder, makes things infinitely more complicated. he can't just be calm and orderly as he usually is and prides himself on being when it's you who's in pain.

he's trained himself to panic less and stay logical when it comes to your symptoms, but he has to concentrate to do so, walking himself mentally through his own medical training on your condition to talk him down from overreacting. you wouldn't have thought a doctor of all people would be the type to be on edge about something like this, knowing he's familiar with similar conditions, but for zayne, he definitely has to care for you while also battling his own emotional rollercoaster.

rafayel

cheers you up with little doodles and gifts, trying to keep your spirits high whenever symptoms get particularly bad.

i have this image of him just making little sculptures out of shells from the beach and putting them on your nightstand to decorate the space especially during those times where you're stuck in bed for days. even if he can't be around 24/7, he makes sure reminders of him are around when you go to sleep and when you wake up

video calls you a lot whenever he's out and about by himself, at the studio, taking a walk, even at events, because he doesn't want you to miss out on any of the fun even when you can't physically join.

sylus

definitely the doesn't ask questions and anticipates your needs easily type. sometimes he even overdoes it because he gets carried away but it's sweet either way, like when he prepares a bubble bath for you with a bath bomb and a bunch of essential oils to soothe your muscles and then you have to remind him you took a shower like three hours ago already

sends mephisto to watch over you during flare ups when you're napping or if he's out, and will send checking in texts frequently even though you know he has a full live feed of you from mephisto.

makes luke and kieran also do whatever you need whenever he's not around and you're having strong symptoms. notes under the door saying "boss wants you to check your phone" "boss wants to know if you need anything" "boss says he's working late and that he ordered you dinner, so you should eat without him" are a frequent amusing feature of sylus' care

[kabr0ztrousers]

how about fem reader being kidnapped by aliens and being touched and experimented on by there weird science tools. And then aliens needing readers milk to feed there babies cause it's better than theres.

Happy to oblige, and thanks for your patience! Without further ado, here's:

Kabr0z Writes Episode 25: Suddenly, Sci-fi

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Alien abduction; kidnapping; dubcon; noncon; weird science; sextoy use; drugging/intox; hucow; overstim;

###################################

You didn't often get chance to come out here. You used to live much closer to the moors, but had to move into the city for work. You don't own a car, no point when there's trams and buses everywhere, so it's only when something brings you back to your hometown you get to revisit your old stomping grounds and reminisce on the past. You wished it had been on better terms, but the funeral was weeks ago now, and the old house you grew up in now sat empty, ready for the buyers to move in. You doubt you'll ever find the excuse to come here again now.

You shiver. From the brisk January winds, from the weight of memory.

There's a sound, you're not sure where from. More of a feeling than a noise, like a purring engine, heard from underwater.

Light. All around you, a perfect circle of blinding azure light. Your skin tingles and you notice dirt and pieces of grass floating up past you. Your hair looks as though you're in a swimming pool, floating beneath the surface, spreading out in a soft brown halo around your head. Your stomach flips and you're no longer in the moors. You're in a room, lit by that intense azure light. You screwed your eyes shut against the glare, you could still see the blue but it's less painful this way. There's a chittering sound around you, like marbles being shaken in a jar. The light cut out. You opened your eyes.

The room is still very blue, but lit much softer now. The bare walls and floor a dull silver. The chittering was still happening. You remembered something, that conspiracy nut at work always said if you think you're on an alien spaceship, you should stomp out some numbers. What were the numbers? You racked your brain. Two, three, five, seven, eleven? Whatever, it sounds like a plan.

You start stamping. You're not sure what doing maths at them will achieve, but they do seem to take notice. You finish stamping eleven times, and something taps back. Thirteen taps. You hesitate. 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, what next? Again you tried to think back to conversations you earnestly tried to not have at the time. Seventeen. Still not sure why, you stamped seventeen times, carefully counting your steps. The chittering started again. Louder, more insistent. The. The door opened. Whatever it was that stepped out into the room was in some sort of bodysuit, it looked pretty heavy-duty, and whatever it was he was holding you didn't want to get on the bad side of it.

You allowed yourself to be shepherded to another room, the alien keeping you at a distance from itself.

It was a curious sight, it had six limbs you could see: two legs and four arms. It only came up to about your shoulder, at a guess, but had a pronounced slouch so you weren't sure if it would normally be that short or if you just had the jailor with terrible posture. It showed you to a bench and motioned towards it. You sat, assuming that's what "pointing at the knee-high table" means in their culture.

That, on reflection, was a mistake.

More of the azure light bathed you. You couldn't move a muscle, paralysed where you sat. The alien opened a cupboard hidden in the wall and pulled forth a long stick with a hoop on the end. Weightless and unable to resist, it was an easy job for it to lie you down and take a bladed implement to your clothing, stripping you naked with effortless cuts. Once it had satisfied itself that every stitch of fabric was removed and you were quite immobile, it removed its suit.

A huge beetle-like creature stood before you. Mandibles chittering that rattling language into a device stuck to its thorax.

It pulled more tools out from the wall. Smaller ones, less for herding at arms length. It stood over you and started prodding you, dictating notes at your reaction. At least, that's what you guessed it was doing, it might just make that noise.

The tests got steadily more invasive. Once it had satisfied itself poking you, it started pushing devices inside you, one went into your mouth, one in your ear, it opened your legs and pushed thin probes into your asshole and your pussy. Was it taking your temperature?

It withdrew the probes, and pushed a tube into your mouth. You could see something inky-black start to flow down from the ceiling into some clear piping running down near you. You couldn't look around to see what was happening precisely, but you could guess. Something bitter flowed over your tongue from the tube. You gulped it down on reflex. It stung going down, like drinking indigestion. You could feel your heart start to race and your cheeks redden. Your whole body felt like it was blushing. Your clit started to tingle and throb. Your pussy ached and clenched. Your breathing caught and your eyes rolled as you felt hornier than you ever have before.

The alien thrust pushed something up to your pussy, and you came immediately. You heard it scurry back as your abs clenched in time with your cunt and you felt a stream of fluid escape you. You've never squirted before, who would've guessed all it newded was a cocktail of alien drugs.

The orgasm died down, but the neediness remained. You didn't care about the whole abduction thing. If you could speak you'd be begging it to fuck you. You didn't need to beg. It pressed something against you again. Again your whole body bucked and clenched, but it wasn't deterred now it knew what to expect. Something round was pushed into you. It only went an inch or so in, but you could feel the shape of it. Curved upwards, the end nestled exactly on your g-spot. A chittered command. It started to buzz. You felt your back arch as an animalistic groaning wail escaped you. You were shaking again, being held in an orgasm for minutes before it dies down. You could still feel it buzzing, driving you to another. Tears welled in your eyes as your aching cunt clenched and leaked in protest.

The alien kept taking notes, repeating the same pattern of chittered speech when you climaxed again and again. The repeated orgasms were taking their toll. Your mouth was dry but for the drip of bitter drug, your legs were twitching and aching, your abs were on fire.

Then it pushed a needle into your arm.

You couldn't see it coming this time, but you felt something hot in your veins. Your skin felt as if it was on fire, then freezing. Your breasts started to ache. With every fresh orgasm you felt hot, then cold, then your tits would ache more, over and over.

Ten? Fifteen? You don't know how many times you came until it happened. You felt a stream of milk spray from your nipples. Spurting out of you, pulsing in time with the painful clenching waves.

The chittering was manic, as though the creature was possessed. Devices were secured to your tits, probes suckling the milk from you in gentle sips, the new sensations only serving to speed up the frequency with which you kept cumming.

You don't know how long ago that was, time is meaningless here.

You were moved to another facility, then more women joined you, then men started to appear too, hooked up to similar machines.

An alien had come to your bedside once doing its rounds of the inmates. It explained in broken English, they had bought Earth in a land deal, and most humans are now livestock for them. They don't believe in eating sentient beings, but humans produce edible byproducts, which can be extracted.

So here you are. A dairy cow for aliens.

Forever

#############################

A/N: There's one more sci-fi story in the requests box, which will be tangentially attached to this but not really. I might reuse the alien race, they're fun.

If you want to see anything, get anything, or ask anything please don't hesitate! I'm hungry for ideas and inspiration, I won't judge, and I won't name you if you don't want

[kurara-black-blog]

Father is enraged in a way you never thought possible. Not because he is unfeeling, no, but as the man who survived years as a merchant in a ever growing and changing economy and then years in between arrogant nobles who looked down at his bought title, he has the art of looking unbothered and composed down to a science. Truly, he practically was the one to teach you how to behave in high society, even more so than your mother.

So to see him glare so openly at Cervan, eyes blazing like a burning sun, his eyebrows so furrowed that you're certain his forehead hurts by now and mouth set to a sneer he doesn't bother to even hide, much less correct... It is jarring.

Out of all things happening right now, many confusing and surprising things, his reaction is the one that startles you the most. You never once thought he'd have such strong reaction to someone asking your hand in marriage. Granted, Cervan isn't just anyone, but still. If one is to analyze the situation coldly, there is no better husband to any noble lady than the Minister of Defense himself, who has been praised enthusiastically by the very king many times. It'd be an honor for any father to hand their daughter to such man.

Not to your father, it seems.

"Cervan, what is the meaning of this?" Father asks as soon as his behind meets the chair, holding the crumpled letter in one hand. The maids are still serving the food and the head of the house has barely sat down, meaning Father is being terribly rude.

It bothers you. Anything that troubles Cervan troubles you, since you care so deeply about the older man, so to have your own father be like that... it's like something pinches your heart.

"Father, please, mind your manners," you remind him softly,. "Whatever is happening, we can talk it through like adults."

Your heart thumps against your ribs when Cervan gives you a charming grin in thanks. He then turns to your father, demeanor back to his usual business-like attitude, though you can tell he is trying his best to let sincerity slip with his next words:

"The meaning of it is exactly what the letter says. I wish to marry your daughter."

"What for? What do you want?" Father practically growls, allowing said letter to fall on the table by his plate. "It can't be money nor power, you have more of it than three generations of our family could ever provide. So what is it? A pretty young little wife you can show off?"

Oh.

Oh!

Now you understand. Father is worried that Cervan wants to marry you just to have a younger wife he can use and abuse however he likes, which is sadly something pretty common within nobilily.

But Cervan would never do such thing and you try to tell your father as much, but Cervan is faster to answer.

"Absolutely not," for the first time since your father appeared, Cervan looks truly affronted. "I would never dare to see Lady Y/N as anything but the bright person that must be respected above all else."

"Then why?"

"... is it truly too hard to believe I simply fel deeply in love with your daughter?"

Bad End: Kept Safe (1)

[Art by Miu_A]

You ever give someone advice, knowing full well they aren't going to take it? Even AFTER they have begged and pleaded and WHINED at you, for hours, for it? Even after they poured their heart and soul out to you? And you, a good friend, carefully and tactfully, tried your best to help? LIKE THEY ASKED?

Ever find yourself the designated "run too dramatically weep in the arms off" friend?

I have.

It is hell. I am in hell.

This is my punishment for all those hours I spent reading and playing Otome Isekai junk instead of, I don't know, solving world hunger or something. Because it HAS to be. I am clearly being punished. Repeatedly. By some sort of petty, petty, anime God.

Fuck you too, buddy.

A fresh round of highly dramatic Protagonist sobbing peirces the air. Dear lord, she has a set of lungs on her, does she? It's like an air siren. But more... upset toddler. It was bizarre. I'd LIKED her as a character. I HAD. Bright and cheerful, determined with a good heart. She'd been a bit naive, yes, but she'd grown. Love had changed her for the better.

But THIS?

This was some middle school "he threw away my secret note, that I didn't sign, so that means he HATES MEEEEE~" bullshit. It went on and on and ON! God, it'd been MONTHS! Years!

I made friends with the Protagonist when we were in The Royal Academy. The story's setting. It SHOULD have finished by graduation. SHOULD. HAVE. But DID it? No! This nonsense had spilled into the COURT! The general population! Actual political factions were starting to get involved!

All because my "friend" COULDN'T PICK A MAN.

And she didn't listen. I tried. God, how I TRIED! No matter HOW I phrased "just fucking TALK to them" it didn't get through her dense fucking skull. I tried taking a break. To calm down. She HUNTED ME DOWN with her little Harem of political trainwrecks!

That poor port city STILL has yet to recover from the chaos they unleashed.

I don't... God, I don't even LIKE her anymore. I've just been reduced to her HANDLER. Forced into girlish tea parties devoid of any taste, because no one ELSE will come. Followed by winces and pitying looks by every lady in all of polite society. The sacrifice to keep HER distracted, lest her gaurd dogs decide its a good idea to do something unhinged again.

It's exhausting.

I'm not even listening.

She seems to have worked through her usual cycle of "cry, mope, what about meeeee~, then I going to go be Plucky at them! Tee Hee~♡!". Good, good. You go have fun, you little train wreck. I'm going to go find an actual ADULT to hide behind.

I have my maids change me out of an outfit that, frankly? I am too old for. I am not sixteen. We are not GIRLS, for the heaven's sake. We are WOMEN. It was a cute outfit. I enjoyed wearing it, back when I was physically young enough that it was appropriate. But even THEN... that's the down side of the whole "isekai" thing.

You keep your mental age.

Everyone around you? INFANTS. Fresh faced babies. You are being flirted with by fourteen year olds and? It is DISGUSTING. They can never be anything more then "cute kids" to you. The characters you once thirsted over? Reduced to actual, living, breathing, pre-schoolers.

There's no going back after that. I'll NEVER unsee it. Can only continue to age, even as they simply... grow up. And then? When they started behaving like FOUR YEAR OLDS? Forget it! I'm beginning to share my parents fears I may die single.

At least I have a refuge. A place of SANITY and SENSE.

I grab the imported wine I had purchased. I'd noticed him drink it before on special occasions. Found a tea seller that was willing to also bring some back. Mother LOVED the tea and my friend was going to love the wine, I could just tell.

Cautiously poking my head out of the guest apartments i was staying in, I checked the hall. Left. Right. Left. Thank god. No Protagonist in sight, she hasn't come back yet. Better hurry though.

I walk fast and keep close to the wall. Ducking into alcoves at every new female voice. Passing servants, Nobles, and the occasional Knight either murmur what they know of Protagonist's last known location or politely pretend not to see me. For anyone else, this would be scandalous behavior. For ME? Well... everyone knew EXACTLY why I was being driven to such extremes.

I thankfully reached the governance wing unmolested. It was far quite and none of the pack of fools ever really set foot here. Not ever the ones who were SUPPOSED to be busy learning their future roles as leaders of this country. God, I could only hope the third prince somehow quietly pulls a coup.

Not that I'd SAY that.

The gaurds don't even bother to announce me, I'm here so often. Merely opening the door. I maintain my decorum none the less. JUST long enough for the doors to finally close and I am able to drop my social mask like whipping of my bra after a long day. Oh thank fuuuuuuck. FREEDOM!

A familiar chuckle, like incense smoke, wafts from the second floor of the office.

"Oh my~, so tired?" My friend muses, his voice that ever lilting purr. I hear him closing whatever heavy tome he's currently studying. "And so early in the DAY! Was it the little nuisance again? Surely she must have SOMETHING better to do?"

Gently putting the wine I'm gifting him on his desk, I then throw up my arms. You would THINK! Wouldn't you?! It's an old complaint. And frankly? I'm glad he still let's me vent about it. It HAS to get old. Yet? He let's me complain anyway.

I met the, roughly translated, "Keeper Of The Shield" at one of the Crown Prince's many ridiculous parties. I was dragged along as Protagonist's plus one. Because GOD FORBID she bring one of her suitors! That might lean towards CHOICE! Can't have THAT!

It was an overly dramatic, gaudy, slow motion trainwreck from beginning to end. I? Got very, VERY drunk. I knew I shouldn't. It was wildly inappropriate. But I was HORRIFIED. Hid near the balconies and drank to forget. Contemplating jumping.

Was likely the only one there my age NOT in ten layers of bows and fabric flowers. It was probably why Crevan decide to talk to me. That and the look of abject suffering. He informed that, sadly, the balconies were locked. But if I planned to maim my self to escape, he could probably boost me up enough to reach the upper windows.

I choked on my drink and guffawd like an idiot. It was SUPER flattering. Very pretty. And honestly? The best conversation I'd had in YEARS. He was droll. Witty. Snarky. In just as much hell as I was. We gleefully narrated the drama playing out before us in as cutting a manner as possible. Grown adults, government officals! Behaving like fucking CHILDREN.

Only after, did I learn I had been chatting with the equivalent of the minister of the Defense. THE commander of our nation's defensive forces. All of them. Knights, army, spies. All of it. And the poor man had been dragged from his desk to play party prop by a glorified teenager. I was horrified. Appalled. Fucking OUTRAGED to learn that it was just... normal!

This country was a nightmare! Otome games are HELL. Lacey, sparkly HELL!!!

But at least I had Crevan to keep me sane. He was always willing to listen. Advise when he could. We had HOPED that Protagonist would start maturing... I'd even mentioned it, but it just seemed like she back slid again and again! Trapping me. Isolating me! Ruining my chances to move ON and have a LIFE!

I don't know what went wrong! Is it me? Am I too hand holdy? It's starting to destabilize the country! Not that the royal family even seems to notice! God no, if it weren't for Crevan, the whole PLACE would have collapsed!

I flop down on my couch. Technically it's not "mine", but honestly? He's fooling no one. The man barely had ANY guest furniture before we became friends. It's totally my couch. (He even got a tea table for us, the softy.)

"Oh? A gift? How thoughtful, dear~" It's only months of friendship that keep from jumping these days. I should get that man a BELL. "Would you like some?"

I can't help but huff a laugh. He always looks to PLEASED when he gets the jump on someone. Startles them. A mischievous asshole, that one. Touchy, too. Forever cupping my cheek or earnestly taking my hand. Patting my head. Guiding me by the elbow or shoulder. He has so few friends... I am certain he is touch starved.

A thought occurs to him, as he pours two cups. A sly grin stretching across his face as he turns to offer me a cup. The wine's scent mixes, burning and delicate, with the ever present smells of incense and his favorite herbal cigarettes. Blurring the senses and relaxing. It's a pretty strong drink.

"You KNOW... it just occurs to me! Darling, if you want to avoid that pest? Why not spend the day HERE? I'd love to have you. " his voice becomes low and serious for a moment, almost catching me off gaurd, bouncing back before I can really think about it. "You could trash my shelves again! Camp out on my couches! It'll be like a little party~ Just you and me! Not a care in the world. You won't have to worry a single thing~"

He grins, glasses catching the light, toothy like the old scheming fox he is.

"I'll keep you nice and safe~"

[growling]

how do we feel about low/no empathy Wolfgang chat. He has a strong sense of justice and really wants to do right by others and his intentions aren't purposefully malicious but that does not automatically mean he has high or even usual amounts of empathy, in fact dare I say he's gonna have to be one of the least empathetic students in Eden's Garden. Damon has more empathy than him going by his inner dialogue, though that could also be sympathy or something other, I am not well-versed on Having Feelings and all. Honestly it might have been sympathy. Still 10.2% higher empathy than Wolfgang

Similiarly I propose NPD (narcissistic personality disorder) Damon and Eva. Damon is so narcissistic it's not even funny - his insecure little lines made me snort a few times in the beginning but as it kept going on and on I honestly just felt bad for him. And I'm saying this in the most positive way possible as a narcissist myself. He literally acts how I would do if I didn't know the concept of fear and an inside thought, I fully understand every single thought process that he has and conclusions he comes too (but agree with only about most of these. Damon you're so socially inept.......), I don't even have to project on him he's doing that to himself. I want to give him infinite brownies and affection and kisses directly on his mouth I will not be able to rest safely until I know he's happy. Damon my little shitcritter I am so fucking sorry the fandom mischaracterizes you so badly and treats you either as a joke or an un-nuanced asshole that hates everyone and everything. Always happens to my favourites that also happen to always act suspiciously cluster b.............

Eva is a different flavor of NPD altogether and I got less on her because I'm still figuring her out like a fun little puzzle since she doesn't have a PoV but I am. Feeling semi strongly about it. I also recall seeing some other poster hc her with BPD and hell yeah I can also adopt this into my beliefs. Love this horribly self-sabotaging specimen her arc brought me indescribable agony. Unfortunately suffers from a similar yet slightly different mischaracterization hell from Damon being that she's either a sad little victim girlboss babygirl that did nothing wrong ever or an evil heartless bitch worse than Satan himself that deserves no compassion whatsoever. My faves cannot win! So sad. Anyway I also got "Jett is not entitled to Mark's friendship and Mark is not in any way 'cruel' or 'unfair' to him for not liking him back" for my future post ideas but I am unsure as to whether the P:EG fandom is quite ready for that one yet unless I am mistaken

[ckret2]

Not speaking about Goldie bill, but general gf bill. Do you think it means anything that bill dad is generally absent. With bill mom we have him drunk calling her and the lullaby "stay safe with mommy". But with the dad, we have nothing specific to him, just bill mom or bill parents overall. I feel like if he was a bad or even just absent dad, Alex would have found a way to hint that (gf loves bad dads and their impact on their kids with filbrick, Preston, soos dad). But if he was good, it's weird to focus only on bill mom. Maybe it's just Alex making bill a momma's boy?

This is a situation that I think more likely has a doylist explanation than a watsonian explanation: most people have sappier feelings over moms who love their babies than dads who love their babies; most people see moms as the primary caregivers.

If you're a writer for cartoons who wants to punch an audience in the feels as quickly as possible with minimal words, without having to spend precious space trying to swim upstream against the audience's (and perhaps your own) preconceived notions about parents? Then you have the sad lost trainwreck of an adult try to call his mommy when he's at his lowest, not his daddy.

And you have mommy sing him a lullaby, not daddy.

And you have the giant baby taunt him with "what would [your mother] think" rather than "what would [your father] think" because the audience in general is already conditioned to assume a mother's love is unconditional, but the audience in general doesn't have that conditioning with father characters, so alluding to Bill's father might've made them think it's an effort to threaten Bill rather than guilt-trip Bill.

Like, when Bill calls his mom and gets a lullaby from his mom, a few fans go "huh, I wonder where his dad is?" (Case in point: this ask.)

But, on the other hand, if Bill called his dad and got a lullaby from his dad, A WHOLE LOT of fans would go "where the hell is his mom?? did she abandon them when Bill was still a baby?? Is that why he's messed up?? Is his dad the only one raising him?? Or is his mom the breadwinner and dad stays at home, and if so that's unexpected enough to be worth theorizing about, how did that happen, what was her job, why wasn't dad working, how did THAT effect Bill—"

Basically: if your audience is in a culture with sexist assumptions, and you're not telling a story that's specifically & deliberately trying to buck against those assumptions, sometimes making a point to buck against them will unintentionally register with the audience as Weird In A Noteworthy Way and make them veer off course from the message you're actually trying to send; and in those cases... sometimes it's less effort to roll with the sexist assumption than to reverse it and/or balance it out.

And I sincerely think that—consciously or unconsciously—that's what happened with Bill's parents. That Bill's mom wasn't highlighted because she was more involved, but rather because moms simply get used for sad backstory parent moments.

I think that's the answer strongly enough that I think trying to create a Watsonian explanation that makes Bill's dad notably unimportant/bad would actually stray further away from their intended dynamic. He might be the secondary parent, but in a "normal" way (i.e. a way most of our society sees as normal/not evidence of an unhealthy family dynamic).

[cantgetworsethanthistbh]

Ford is Not used to being dependant on someone as an adult - especially since Stan isn't dependant on him At All in return. It's gotta be doing weird things to his neurons, he would probably sit like a dog if Stan told him to, he is pathetic amounts of in love with him this is past partner in crime he's his hero, his guide, his Muse, his god, Ford is in a really weird headspace

OOOH i love this version of stancest sm. i know this is likely about the little ford au but i also just love this kind of stancest in regular sea grunkles and kills me. so much of stancest (and tbh just in their canon dynamic) is stan nipping at ford's feet and following ford's lead even their sea grunkles era. a lot of darker stancest always infers with ford being obssesive and controlling too and usually stan lets it, because hey thats their dynamic and its better than nothing.

but the opposite has SO much potentil. ford following stans lead. to think of ford realizing that he's way WAY out of his depth and that he needs stan way more than stan needs him now?? maybe he ALWAYS needed stan more than stan needs him?? after all, what did ford say about how stan wouldve been able to see through bill's tricks?? if they were together, the apocalypse wouldve never happened...

ford would think he's so lost now, lost without any purpose now that bill is defeated and he doesnt want the fame anymore either now that he knows his chase for it is what made him lose his brother, so he feels SO empty. except hes not. theres stan. stan whos strong, brilliant, charming and the most selfless hero ford would ever know.

ford wants to protect him so much but another day of stan saving his ass from a monster they were investigating (because he got too curious again) and ford thinks he could never EVER measure up to the way stan protects him, loves him, cherishes him and takes care of him. it makes ford feel awful, unworthy of this love after he promised he'd do anything to earn back that second chance stan too gracefully gave him. he can't fathom the idea of stan finally wisening up and leaving him even if its no less than he really deserves, because what else will he have anymore if he doesnt have his best friend, his hero, his true muse? it'll fester in his mind, growing and growing and growing, and he shoves it down deeper and deeper as much as he can.

but one night, one bottle and a million inhibitions thrown over the railing of the stan o war, he'll finally break when stan smiles at him while they sit on the deck, looking so happy when that makes no sense.

stan deserves the world, the entire galaxies, and ford can't give them to him at that very moment. he'll start crying, overwhelmed with how much he loves stan and how stan deserves the best— one ford has to grudgingly admit isnt him.

"woah, woah, sixer," stan interrupts worriedly, face falling. "what's wrong? come on, we arent even that drunk yet."

the joking tone makes ford feel worse, because how could stan stop smiling because of him and still try to make ford feel better? "i'm sorry," ford chokes. "stan, god, i'm so sorry."

"stanford," stan says placatingly. ford understands that stan understands too, that this isn't about the alcohol, or about crying out of nowhere. his hands cup ford's face, so large and warm, like a place where ford could hide his face forever with the depths os his shame and stan might even let him. that breaks ford even more. "hey come on, bro, s'okay..."

"don't leave me."

"i'm not leaving you, your big brain knows that."

you should, ford thinks but will never say, because he can't. "i can't lose you again," ford whispers with shaky breath. "i w-wouldn't know what to do with myself—"

"ford—"

"— because you're so brilliant, and brave, and good—"

"— i guess but—"

"—you're so good stan," ford interrupts whatever faux preening stan was going to do. his brother doesnt believe him, and ford practically crawls into his space.

"you are so, so good. you are so good and you don't even realize, i—" ford's breath hitches. "i don't even know how i could ever repay you..."

"pff, alright," stan scoffs, looking away, cheeks bright red and smile unconvincing. "jeez ford, you really are drunk." he laughs, his shoulders stiff and unmoving. "like what, are you trying to suck my dick?"

"is that what you want?"

stans eyes snap back to him, wide and full of shock.

"what?"

"is that what you want me to do?"

"no, ford– i'm not–"

"stan," ford says, reaching his hand now to cup stan's face, and god he's just as much of a perfect fit in ford's as he was in stan's. stan is so much bigger and better than anyone else, but with his own extra finger he just might be fit for ford. "stan, it's okay. whatever you want, whatever you need, i'll do it. for you."

sort of something like that. i really really like to think of a slightly toxic, but like in the "its toxic and also the healthiest way this dynamic can really go about" ending where ford tries to overcompensate to stan with sex and romance and stan is relunctant at first but seeing just how willing ford actually is really starts getting into the whole dom/sub— which fulfills some purpose for ford AND he gets to have stan come all over him so its kind of a huge win on all fronts

[californiannostalgia]

absolutely brain-stimulating take

Possibility 1: maybe even the gods themselves may want to become mortal kings or reclaim that perfect godhood. Although, if any of the gods actually regained godhood, predathos would eat them. So anyone who doesn't want to be eaten will not ascend to godhood, and anyone who is mortal can theoretically be assassinated.

We are about to watch post-French Revolution Exandria. Divine Rights of Kings have been disproven by the gods disappearing from direct contact. No one exists who can prove they are monarchs supported by the actual gods.

(VM joked about being gods all the time, but they're not, and the world knew it. See: Otohan against Keyleth. Godlike mortals can still be struck down. They're different from an immortal being unreachable behind the Gate.)

Possibility 2: holy wars could be spawned by those who claim to be gods reborn. Holy wars are always a valid concern, especially if you look at the Bright Queen and Dwendalian king duking it out with absolutely no involvement or encouragement from the pantheon.

Many different ways this could go. First, if you claim to be a god in a mortal body, but you are not: the followers of the actual god may call your bluff and try to kill you for identity theft reasons. You might survive and become a king after all! But that's just how kingdom-building goes, and now the pre-existing countries are all staring at your new startup wondering if they can shank you. You should start diplomacy.

What I'm trying to explain is that kingship by a mortal has ways it can be checked. A mortal king is different from an eternal power sealed on another plane.

Now, if you claim to be a god-king and are actually the rebirth of a god: how invulnerable are you from mortal threats if you can't ascend to True Godhood without being eaten? Is it practical to declare yourself to the world and jump into the middle of mortal conflict?

It might be better to just be the Pope of your Vatican than to be a king. You wouldn't have to make war if you're a modern Pope uninterested in religious military campaigns. Even if you are killed, you will be reborn. You can still continue helping the mortals you like and watching them grow.

The whole deal about rebirth may be annoying bureaucracy, but at least you get less PTSD triggers about the thing that killed your siblings wiping out your entire family. You and your siblings are an indestructible idea and lineage now.

TLDR: This post discusses mortal politics. I get that the French Revolution, or the Protestant Reformation, or whatever revolutionary thing that happened is scary change. Revolutions are conflict-heavy business.

Would it have been better to continue the absoluteness of kings without the French Revolution ever happening? It's a possibility. But I and a vast majority of people would not have had human rights ratified in that world. Freedom of choice doesn't happen without blood.

I say this as someone from a country that deposed two presidents in ten years, whose parents lived through military tanks shooting down democratic revolutions, whose grandparents survived a war driven by outside forces. No society can ever agree to like a revolution. But once the idea is there, you can't kill it. It will keep coming up.

This may as well be happening

[naomihatake]

I love you just as much as I hate you

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ pairing: caleb x fem reader / love and deepspace

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ tags: angst, hurt (with too little comfort), slight smut at the end, are they enemies or are they lovers? (I don't know)

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ summary: She took revenge on his behalf; however, that doesn't mean she hates him any less.

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ content warnings: it contains spoilers (even in the author's note), tension, toxic relationship, manipulation, descriptions of torture and violence, they match each other's freak

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ word count: 2.4k

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ theme song: "See You Bleed" by Ramsey

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ A/N: I don't know how I ended up writing for Caleb out of pure spite and the burning need to get this toxic idea out of my head. Imagine that this isn't the first time they kiss or have sex. At the end, I'll explain a few details that mean a lot to me because they were intentional. Their relationship is toxic and if there's softness portrayed, that's just a glimpse of their complex feelings. I wanted her to mirror his behavior, and no, she doesn't have a chip. I fully believe she has the potential to turn twisted because of the events she went through. What she does isn't moral and I give zero fucks — I like it only when they're both twisted for each other. If you've watched the main story and Caleb's myth, the fact that she killed several people will make more sense to you. If you didn't read them, however, there are only small hints as to why she's done it.

There was a faint scent of something in the apartment. Familiar and metallic, it had Caleb scrunch his nose as he frowned deeply. 

Then, his eyes widened in pure horror and he sucked in a quick breath. Boots and uniform still on, he rushed to her room, fingers gripping at the knob as he pushed the door open in a hurry. The door hit the wall, getting the attention of the young woman who just took off her shirt, exposing her back and the straps of her bra. 

The pristine, white shirt was stained in red, in blood. Curtains drawn open, the moonlight fell in eerie waves over her figure, accentuating the soft lines of her body. Soft, except for the unusually sharp gaze she shot Caleb. Dangerous, murderous even. A pair of dark eyes, cold and unforgiving. Splatters of blood on her face — on her beautiful face, on the mesmerizing face of his very obsession. 

“Is there an issue?” she arched her eyebrow at him. 

He doesn't even remember a time when she acted like this with him. So unforgiving, just like her gaze, her tone sent a shiver down his spine. It was unsettling. 

“What's with the blood, pip-squeak?” he almost growled. “What happened? Who did this?” 

Coming closer, boots hitting harshly against the floor, he couldn't believe his eyes when he saw a cruel smile curl her lips up. 

“You're so stupid sometimes,” she shook her head, chastising him in a soft tone. 

She threw the bloodstained shirt on the chair at the desk and turned to him. 

His gentle fingers gripped at her shoulders firmly — what a contrast — as he raked his gaze over her body. Dry blood, but no wounds and no bruises except for some old ones. A greenish bruise on her ribs, a fading scar from her side running down under her jeans. After spending so much time training and fighting, he recognized each and every kind of injury and none of the ones on her body was new. 

“Enlighten me, then,” but his tone turned to a whisper as he realized she wasn't, in fact, hurt. 

It was someone else's, then. 

“You're an idiot for thinking of me as naive, gege.”

Oh, the light and almost scary chuckle that left her lips, the way she looked at him with some kind of pity, like he had been wrong about her this entire time. As if the view he had of her was wrong, so inaccurate. 

And she was glad. More than that, even. She was delighted to watch the confused and worried look on his face, to watch her gege recognize nothing of the woman he once knew. 

It's because of you. You did this to me. You ruined me, you turned me like this. 

And I kind of like it. 

The young hunter stepped closer to him, pressing her own hands on his shoulders as she made him step back in sync with her. Until his legs hit the bed and she pushed him harder. He relented and the mattress dipped under his weight. 

She harshly gripped at his jaw with one of her hands, thumb and pointer finger pressing against his face with force. Pulling, she tilted his head towards her. 

Caleb could only see the crazy look on her face as she leaned over, covering his view with the strands of hair falling in a curtain around their faces. He curled his own hand on her wrist, applying the same amount of pressure. Just to test her resolve, to see if he could put a stop to her tantrum. 

“I hate you,” she murmured. 

Crazy eyes locked on each other, harsh grips of their fingers on each other's bodies. Her blunt nails dug into his face and he was left breathless. 

Did it arouse him or did it scare him? Did it worry him? 

A mixture of feelings swirled in his purple eyes, intense as they clouded his judgment. Those words shot like an arrow through his already broken heart and some shards scattered around at their feet. But none of the sharp shards seem to touch her, because she didn't move an inch. 

His hurt gaze didn't move her. 

“But you can't hate me with every fiber of your being,” he whispered softly, like a snake promising her eternal knowledge with a beautiful, red apple caught in his fangs. “Right?” 

“That's one thing you're right about,” she hummed lowly, counting his promises and words, the pros and cons. 

At the end of the day, she was not an ordinary civilian anymore, hasn't been for years. She hadn't become a hunter just to be underestimated, she hadn't become a weapon for others to treat her like a soft little thing. A hunter who's seen blood and death, who had almost died, who had cut her own body while trying to save another's. It all had led to the person she was at that very moment. 

But they all made that mistake lately — of acting like a human couldn't do horrifying things out of rage, out of hatred. Everyone thought there was sanity left within her, but she knew they weren't right, not anymore at least. 

They thought of her as weak, as frail and fragile. The only fragile thing within her was her sanity, and Caleb pulled at the last string in the past days. 

“Because I hate them more, Caleb. And their biggest mistake was choosing you as their lab rat. They thought they did something, he believed he had finally found the perfect person to put to test. But they were so, so wrong, gege.” Such a sweet voice, such a soft and mellow tone, dipped in secrets and crimes. 

She ran her thumb over his jaw, leaning in closer, so close their noses almost touched. 

Tilting her head, she whispered softly at his ear, like a little devil wrapped up in silk. 

“Because they all screamed when I ripped off their limbs. Because they all begged when I cut their fingers, one by one.” 

He gulped, eyes widening slightly at the information. The actions in itself didn't sound scary, no, but the fact that she was the one doing it all, the fact that she was most probably not lying. The scent of blood filled his lungs in a disgusting manner, despite how many times he's felt it. 

“Someone told me at some point,” she started off as a sweet, loving story of a long time ago, “that the best revenge was to keep someone alive, because one can only feel pain when they're alive. And I followed that advice. I kept them alive for as long as I could and they were in pain the entire time. I woke them up every single time and I ruined their bodies, until they died of pain.” 

He felt hot underneath those clothes, like fire was licking at his spine, at every inch of his skin and flesh. 

However, no matter how insane and almost good it felt to hear those words, Caleb didn't believe it. Not fully, no, because she wouldn't do that, she was not the type to—

“Do you want to see their fingers arranged like beads on a necklace? You look at me like you don't believe a thing I've said.”

The next thing that slipped from her mouth was a sweet laughter, filled with joy and amusement. 

“I can't fucking believe you either, gege,” she spoke through chuckled, eyes sparkling. “I can't believe you're so dumb when it comes to me. I can't believe you refuse to see what's in front of your eyes.” 

Just like that, she put one knee on the bed, next to his thigh. Doing the same with her other knee, she straddled him as she caressed his cheeks with the back of her fingers. So gentle, contrasting with her gaze, with her words and behavior. His gloved hands curled into her bare waist, settling on her body. Somewhere in a corner of his mind, he thought he felt her warmth seep through the leather material. 

Leaning in, she pressed her nose against his cheek. All he had to do for her body to soften just slightly was to wrap an arm around her waist. 

“Only I can hurt you, Caleb. I deserve to do that. You've put me through so much pain and yet—” she scoffed darkly. “They dared to touch you. They had it coming. This entire time, they should've known. Their idiocy was their own decision.”

Breathless, wordless, and so confused. That's how he felt at that moment. 

“I told you not to stick your nose into it.” Of course. Her ever-loving, overprotective, gege. 

“Do not order me around,” her fingers slipped to his neck, pressing lightly. “I am not your subordinate. You are not my Colonel. They are the dogs following you around, not me.”

“You've never been a dog—”

“Oh, you are wrong,” and she let out a nervous laugh, gulping. 

Intense feelings crawled up her throat, cutting her breath as they clouded her mind. Wrath bubbled to the surface once again. 

“I was a dog, Caleb. I was a dog every single time I weeped at your grave, I was a dog every single time I thought of you while I thought you were gone for good.”

She pressed her fingers against his neck a little tighter, a little more. 

“I was a dog when I felt my world crumble every time I looked at our photos together. But not anymore.”

The grip on his neck loosened up and she took in quick breaths, eyes a little hazy as the adrenaline washed over her. 

Still, he dared to regard her with that loving and worried look in his eyes. 

“But you don't hate me.” A plea. “Right?” So pitiful. 

“I do,” she shook her head softly. 

Softening in his hold once again, she looped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her face into his neck. The dry blood on her cheeks was uncomfortable against his skin, but she didn't move just yet, especially when he wrapped his other arm around her, pressing her closer to him. 

“But if I tell you that I also care about you, it'll get to your head. You'll ignore the other side of the coin like the idiot man that you are. I love you just as much as I hate you, and my hatred is nothing kind of shallow.” 

Behind her back, he peeled off his gloves and placed his bare hands on her body. With something akin to a whimper, she melted further into his body. Lava licked at her chest, falling like hot droplets into her stomach. 

Caleb whispered her name, but she refused to hear him out any further. With a press of her palm over his lips, she regarded him with her dark gaze. 

“You'll dig yourself a deeper grave if you continue talking. So be a good boy for once, darling.”

He parted his lips against her palm and nibbled at the skin, gaze mirroring hers. With a gulp, he pulled her hand down and pressed their mouths together. Heavy breaths and heated kisses, his warm hands and her cold touch. Languid and hot, deep and hungry for each other. 

A groan escaped him when she bit at his lower lip hard enough to draw blood and she licked at it, pulling him further into that burning ocean of passion. Her kisses didn't soothe the pain in his lip as it only worsened, but he's already grown addicted to the drug that stole her name. 

“Say my name again, Caleb,” she ordered him in a soft tone, pressing her thumb against his pulse. 

The beats of his heart right under her fingertip. And like the idiot that he was, instead of moving away, he let his head fall back and exposed more of his neck to her. 

“I could kill you right now,” a breathless whisper left her lips. 

“But you won't.” Such a defiant man he was. Putting so much trust in her hands it was hard not to give in, not to give him exactly what he wanted. 

She intended to take just as much. To take his kisses, his conscience and his sanity, to occupy his every thought and steal his freedom. Just like he had stolen her soul when he left, when he supposedly died. 

Hips pressed together and clothes thrown onto the floor. Bodies glistening with sweat and wanton moans. Soft curves and harsh bites on their skin. They gripped onto each other and took. 

Drinking up her pleasure, he lifted his hips and she threw her head back. Caleb took the opportunity to leave hickeys on her neck and chest as he pressed her down on him, drawing more sounds from her lips. A sweet melody dipped in sin, a few hushed whispers of ‘I need you’ and ‘you feel so good’.  But she never said anything, simply listening to the endearing pet names, the way he desperately tried to get a word out of her. It was with no avail. 

They took and took from each other until there was nothing left. Until she fell limp on top of him and curled her fingers beneath his shoulders, gripping onto his body. In utter silence, they both looked at the night sky outside the window. 

His fingers curled tighter into her as he pressed her body against his, chests glued together. Caleb found himself in a strange position; almost vulnerable. She gave no signs of love and something within him broke. From the high he's been through a minute ago, he felt himself spiraling into the abyss. 

“This is how my pain felt like,” she whispered softly as she drew circles on his bare shoulder. As if she knew what he was thinking, like she willingly chose not to call his name when their highs reached their peak. 

He couldn't find it within himself to argue. He accepted the pain just like a dog, until she decided it was enough. 

With a lift of her head, she cupped his face in her palms and kissed his forehead. A tender gesture that he gripped onto with his teeth, closing his glossy eyes.

Caleb knew what she was doing and he let her. Just like she's known how she was manipulated and had let him do it. 

rant warning! so. why is he vulnerable at the end? she did just use sex as a way to make him feel bad; that thing where you feel emotionally exposed after orgasms is a thing and I wanted to show that. she uses it, but in the end, she relents - she still cares about him.

they're both very self aware individuals and know what the other is doing, but they just let it happen. when they're stubborn, they're stubborn at the same time. she gives him a taste of his own medicine.

if you wonder who exactly is the man she killed; well, it's Professor Lucius. just because that man is dead, doesn't mean there's a happy ending.

also, I called him a 'dog' at the end because I used the same word in her speech when she talked about how she felt - it was intentional. I showed more of her twisted behavior (instead of adding his own crazy shit) because that was the detail I wanted to portray in this oneshot.

I hate a lot of thoughts about him, ngl. anyways, I'd appreciate opinions and criticism. have a great day! <333

[candiiee]

prologue. “stay still.”

warnings: experimentation, bandages, dark themes, blood, cutting, self harm, loss of appendages/limbs, knives, suicidal Reader, strangling someone to death

a/n: I’ll work on this at the same time as my other series! trust!

Pain is all you've ever known. From every breath you take, praying it's your last. You're alive because he wants you alive. laying on the operating table everyday, as your organs are poked and prodded, your screams and tears of pain falling on deaf ears.

Heartless is what he is. (At some point in your miserable life, so were you, the still beating organ in his hand, blood oozing, warm, sticky and red.)

He's a monster, smiling casually as he does unspeakable horrors to you.

You yearn for death, whatever hell there is down under would seem like heaven compared to the horrors you relive everyday, even in your dreams, or nightmares for that matter.

Are you even human? You asked him once, barely finding your voice, as it was hoarse from screaming. His only response was a smug grin, his glasses and scalpel glinting in the light that always shined down on your face.

Bloody bandages appeared to be your only layer of skin, constantly soaked and dirty. What was once white, now red. You don't even know how you look like. In fact, you don't even know how he looks like. Only that he has glasses, a mustache, and is a he.

The world is only suffering for you anyways. Pain, suffering, and scalpels. Hope was something unknown.

The same cycle everyday, cut, bleed, dress wounds, sleep, repeat. And on occasion, you got a prize for your 'hard work'. A lollipop, and something that made noise when you put it on your head. These were your comforts, very little, but comforts nonetheless.

It was disappointing to find the lollipop was no longer there after spending an hour sucking on it, not chewing, to make it last as long as possible. You were left with the stick, a tough, and chewable thing.

After testing to see if it could be sharp, drawing circles on the small patches of skin that weren't covered in bandages, drawing blood. It hurt a little, but compared to what you felt on the operating table, it was just a tiny sting.

You smiled.

.

Usually you were left on the operating table, sometimes even days on end, because you weren't important enough to remember. But today was different. Today you were allowed to wander a new room. It had something soft covering the floor, and of course you had to roll around in it.

It was wonderful exercise, according to him. He didn't leave the room, instead writing down something while watching you. That was new, you thought, at the same time noting it down for future reference. Nether less, you could also care less.

After who knows how long, he grabbed your hand and forcefully led you back to the room, inciting fear again. Weren't you good? Didn't you do a good job? You thought you were done. As he strapped you down on the table again, solidifying the belief that it was your fault, you didn't scream. You didn't wail. You didn't thrash.

That's what he wanted. Even as he injected who knows what into your bloodstream, you didn't cry.

Not even when you felt a chill go through your body, as something new once again added itself to your body.

.

You had no way how to tell the time. Nor did you know how. It was pathetic, honestly.

As time went by, you knew for a fact that while you did want to die, you didn't want to die here. It seemed impossible though. Everytime something new happened to you, off it went. God forbid it helped you out of here. One time something scaly and leathery exploded from your back, a fresh wave of pain as bones snapped and reformed.

Wings, you had thought suddenly, through the pain. He let you keep them for a bit, then off they went, your beautiful wings separated from you.

Another time sharp claws took the place of your regular nails, gleaming in the small lamp that lighted your room. You scratched your arm, to see if they were as sharp as you thought. They were, as blood oozed from the fresh cut.

Those got regularly filed down, leaving them dull. No matter. A few minutes of scratching the stone wall, and they would turn sharp again.

Webbing formed on your hands as well, but he deemed them useless, so they stayed.

Finally, today, a tail. As you let him inspect it, a stupid, foolish idea occurred. What if.. no, that was dumb.

But you could feel the newly formed nerves, muscles blood, beckoning you to move it. Around his neck. And tighten, and not let go. The smallest of smiles spread across your face, entertaining the idea.

Could you really do it? You didn't know the way out, but..

He reached for a knife, preparing to remove the wonderful new part of you. You striked first, the scaly tail wrapping itself around his neck, and squeezing.

His eyes widened, as if he couldn’t believe you were capable of such violence, if such cold heartlessness.

His mouth opened in a silent scream, as you continued to restrict his airflow, delighting in being the cause of his panic.

What you weren’t expecting was for him to fight back.

Reaching behind him, his hand scrambling for something, anything, finally finding it, and bringing it downwards into your tail, stabbing it, the syringe penetrating your skin.

If he had done such a thing ages ago, you would have cried, screaming, and given up at the slightest bit of pain.

Instead, you smiled, squeezing tighter. Sure you were a little put off, but nothing that you couldn’t handle.

While you thought this, he struck again, slashing wildly with a cursed scalpel.

That got a reaction. But one of annoyance, as blood started to ooze out of the newly formed wounds.

Nether the less, you squeezed tighter, till finally, he stopped resisting, slumping forward.

You let go, stepping over the body, a small smile playing on your lips. You were free.

The only way out was the door. So, grabbing the lollipop stick, and that other thing that you had no idea was, and made your merry way out the door.

.

That place was like a maze, designed to keep you trapped there forever. But you had finally managed to find the exit, stepping into the cold air, seeing the sky for the very first time.

You took a deep breath, relishing the feeling of fresh air flow through your lungs.

Taking a step forward, you stumbled, feeling a bit dizzy. Was it the blood that was still leaking out of you?

That was bad. You couldn’t make a glorious escape if you were going to die of blood loss. That would be pathetic.

Nevertheless, you walked for who knows how long, ignoring the blood soaking your bandages, utterly focused on putting as much space away between you and that wretched place.

.

You collapsed, groaning as you slumped into a pile of trash bags.

A nap wouldn’t hurt, right?

Laying there, thinking that you were probably going to die, you heard something clatter to the ground, and a scream.

Mustering as much strength as you could, you turned your head to the source of noise.

It came from a skinny looking guy, with a brilliant green hair, looking horrified. You slowly blinked, your breath slowing. Your last thought being that his hair looked nice.

And then the world turned dark.

©candiiee 2025

tag list: @cvnt4him , @dokidokidraft , @thoristhings @dinorawrss

Ask to be added <3

[aventurineswife]

can i request parental Venti(Barbatos) & reader? I have no specific scenario but maybe its Venti comforting reader who have a bad day?

Where the Wind Finds You

Summary: After a tough day, you find solace under the oak tree in Windrise, trying to escape the weight of your emotions. Venti, ever the caring but playful bard, arrives and comforts you with his lighthearted antics and philosophical words. His presence and the gentle music from his lyre help lift your spirits, reminding you that even on bad days, you're never alone.

Tags: Venti x Reader, Parental figure!Venti, Teen/Kid!Reader, Fluff, Lighthearted Banter, Emotional Support, Platonic.

A/N: Didn't knew if you wanted reader to be either an adult or a teen/kid 🧍‍♀️

Mondstadt was alive tonight. The air carried the songs of the bustling taverns, the laughter of friends, and the occasional sound of a lyre string plucked by a street performer. However, none of this reached you.

Sitting quietly beneath the massive oak tree in Windrise, you traced patterns in the grass with a stick. The world seemed smaller and heavier today, pressing down on you in a way that felt suffocating. You weren’t sure if it was the argument with a friend, the weight of an overwhelming task, or simply a bad day, but it was enough to leave you here, hiding from Mondstadt’s usual joy.

You almost didn’t notice the soft rustle of leaves overhead, a breeze carrying the faint scent of apples and the familiar hum of a certain bard.

“Hmm,” came the lilting voice, “it seems the winds have guided me to a rather gloomy cloud today. Now, why would that be?”

You looked up to see Venti perched on one of the lower branches, his legs swinging lazily. His eyes, glowing faintly in the moonlight, studied you with a mix of concern and playful curiosity. He tilted his head, offering a small smile, one that could make even the weightiest troubles feel a little lighter.

“Not in the mood for jokes, Venti,” you mumbled, looking back down.

He hopped down gracefully, landing beside you with a soft thud. Settling onto the grass, he leaned back against the tree, letting his lyre rest across his lap. “Ah, so it’s one of those days. I see. Would you like me to play a song to cheer you up, or shall I sit here in silence and let the wind do the talking?”

You shrugged. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will,” he said, his voice unusually soft. “But even the strongest winds need a moment to rest, you know? Besides,” he leaned closer, his tone turning teasing, “you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Despite yourself, a small smile tugged at your lips. That was the thing about Venti—he had a way of making the world seem less heavy, even when you weren’t ready to admit it.

“I just… had a bad day,” you finally said. “Everything feels… wrong.”

Venti nodded, resting his chin on his knees. “Bad days are tricky things, aren’t they? They sneak up on you like a storm cloud, blotting out the sun. But you know what storms hate the most?”

You glanced at him. “What?”

“A good, strong breeze,” he said, puffing out his chest dramatically. “And lucky for you, I happen to be an expert in blowing storms away!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics, the sound surprising even you. He grinned, clearly pleased with himself, before settling back into a more serious tone.

“Jokes aside,” Venti said, “it’s okay to feel like this. The winds may carry us far, but even they don’t always know where they’re going. And that’s alright. What matters is that you don’t let the weight of today keep you from soaring tomorrow.”

You nodded slowly, the knot in your chest loosening just a little. Venti strummed his lyre gently, a soft melody filling the air. It wasn’t a grand, sweeping song like the ones he played in the taverns, but something quieter, more personal.

“Remember,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “even when the winds seem still, they’re always there, ready to lift you up. Just like me.”

You leaned against him, and for the first time that day, the world didn’t feel so heavy.

[transfemme-shelterdog]

On the kink discourse: //CSA mention, suicidal ideation mention, OCD guilt + shame

Ageplay is another one of those really stigmatized kinks that people hate on even if both parties are consenting (because obviously there has to be some kind of abuse dynamic going on. demonization the Dom as well)

This is something that I've never admitted to in my life, but I love CG/L dynamics. I didn't really have a choice in developing it; I involuntarily age-regress and because of sexual abuse I faced as a child from my father, my brain has crossed wires and made it so whenever I (once again, involuntarily and usually because of a trigger) age-regress, my mind goes into a sexual space (subspace/littlespace). Or if I am in a sexual situation, my brain will cause me to age-regress as a coping mechanism.

For a long time I was ashamed of this, even to the point of getting rid of or hiding comfort items I would use during regression because I wanted it to feel as horrible as possible so it would stop happening (at least, that was my logic). I, at one point, had tried to get into SFW age-regression spaces but upon seeing the sometimes vitriolic reaction they had to CG/L people existing at all made me feel like I was unwelcome because of the unwanted feelings age-regression brought out in me. I ended up leaving those spaces because I felt so guilty that it was making me suicidal (I have Moral OCD, for reference). My brain was a constant stream of 'I'm sorry. I know I'm bad. I don't want this either. I want to be normal. Why am I so broken?' (This isn't to say that SFW age-regression spaces can't be a thing, I just wish there was more empathy for people in situations like mine)

It wasn't until I realized that I was acting in the same neglectful way towards myself that my parent's acted when I was a kid that I started being more gentle with myself. I still feel a lot of guilt and shame regarding this (which is why I'm on anon even while logged in to my kink blog. just having this blog has helped immensely with it, but it's still a work in progress).

(Also, I just want to say that I love your blog a lot. I love the nuance you give to lots of topics. It's oddly reassuring when I'm getting trapped in the OCD thought spirals about being a bad person)

You're more than welcome Anon. You're not a bad person for having agere coping mechanisms, and I hope you realize that. Everyone copes with trauma in their own ways, and no way is more or more less valid than another. It's neither morally good, nor bad to cope the way you are, and that means that you have all the right to do whatever helps with your trauma best.

You're a good person, and deserving of love and support. I hope you know that sweetheart.

Agere all you want and all you need, I'll always be here to defend and support you. <3

[ughtyrell]

S2 Jayce away from his Viktor and falls for another

Fic where S2 Jayce is separated from his Viktor. He makes a great effort trying to get back to his Viktor, to find him, needs to because he needs him. Still, he meets another Viktor and he can't help but be drawn to him. His greatest strength and weakness will always be Viktor in any world or time. He can't help himself.

They meet, become close, fall inlove and Jayce spends less and less time trying to get back to his original Viktor. His project to find him is not abandoned but less time is spent on it because he was feeling hopeless. At the verge of giving up even as he continues to work.

Of course this is when his original Viktor shows up, the glorious evolved Viktor who has done so much wrong, still Jayce immediately drops everything and zeros in on him. His Viktor. He's amazed, he's scared, he runs to him and into his Viktors arms.

"Are you my Viktor?" Jayce says after crying in original Viktors arms, gripping him like he'd disappear.

Original Viktor looks sadly at Jayce, fondness and pity in his eyes.

"Oh my poor Jayce. To be stuck here for so long. I've been traveling timelines and world's looking for you."

Jayce shudders, a few stray tears running down his face but with relief. His Viktor has been looking for him.

"Come Jayce, time to go home"

And this is when the Viktor of this world interrupts, voice low, confused and hurt.

"Jayce...?"

And just like that Jayce remembers his Viktor of this world who he has been creating a life with. Who has just seen everything from the moment he ran to his original Viktor. Guilt, shame, confusion, love he feels all at once. His original Viktor holds him tighter and he sees original Viktor's eyes narrow just the tiniest fraction.

"Viktor..."

Jayce says looking from original Viktor to the Viktor of this world.

Please this idea won't leave me alone. The hurt, the angst and disaster this situation Jayce has found himself in. What shall he do.

Worse if at one point Jayce says, "I never stopped trying to find my way back to you either Vitya" to original Viktor infront of this world's Viktor.

I imagine the divide he feels. He's made a life with the Viktor of the world/timeline he's been stuck in. On the other hand his Viktor has been searching for him. Needs him because he has no one. And Jayce has been yearning for him all this time, even when making new memories with the new Viktor, he never forgot his original. The one who he has been through so much with. Though the same can be argued for the new Viktor. It was just a lot easier, softer memories than the former.

If anyone has written something like this or does in the future, please tag me immediately.

New Viktor thinking back to the time he asked Jayce about the project he worked so hard on when they first met and Jayce told him it was something close to his heart and personal. With a far off, heart wrenching expression so he never felt it was his place to ask. Assuming Jayce would tell him when he was ready.

I feel like this Jayce's original Viktor was corrupted by the hexcore, going around "healing people" and Jayce instead of trying to kill him. Talked to him. Forgave him and promised they'd live out Jayces life span together in peace. Then something happened and he ended up in the new Viktors world alone and confused.

Jayce and new Viktor calling each other teammates, husbands or something because Jayce couldn't bare to call another Viktor his partner.

"What does this other Viktor have that entices you so much you're so willing to abandon everything here." Him is unsaid outloud but heard clearly.

"He's, well he's my partner."

And you see original Viktors eyes soften as Jayce says this. Happy and honored. While new Viktors eyes go hard.

"Partners? You said you didn't like that term."

Another miniscule betrayal that feels huge in light of everything. It makes original Viktors mouth twitch into a small but pleased smile.

"My Jayce. How sweet you are to me."

And without thinking Jayce replies, "always." with a proud expression. Which immediately shutters into guilt as his eyes swerve to new Viktor.

Original Viktor has game and is easily seducing Jayce back. He would just take him but Jayce taught him about the right to choose and free will. Jayce would be upset if he did that, even for a little while until original Viktor makes him forget all about this new Viktor. Besides, original Viktor knows Jayce will come with him. Like it was just said, they're partners nothing will come between that even if Jayce felt lonely enough to go with some cheap, lowly, defective knock off.

PS, keep checking on this post bc I feel like I keep adding more shit that hurts me

[bitterfishiesstuff]

Let's see if tumblr takes this down lol

Angel/demon au that was inspired by @letshareapapou (let me know if you don't want me tagging your every time I give credit. It's the easiest way I now of to link people to you).

Ficlet and greyscale ver under the cut

Tech frowned as he felt one of the souls tied to his church falter.

Sometimes it felt hopeless, the very human cycle of seeking redemption and falling back into temptation. A cycle as old as they existed.

What right did a demon have to preach of faith and love, when he'd fallen from grace for questioning and a supposed lack of emotion? Was he leading his small flock of wayward souls even further from finding their own paths? Did his very presence make them more likely to sin?

It was a possibility. Most angels insisted coruption was in demons very nature.

The rustle of feathers and the smell of gun oil, an odd scent for an angel Tech mused not for the first time, tugged at his senses just enough to pull him from the downward spiral he found himself in more and more often. Wracked with guilt, he didn't react when the angel touched his shoulder to straighten his robes.

"Humans fail. It's what they do." Crosshairs rasp did little to sooth, his words even less.

"... He was progressing. I assumed-" Tech froze as a chill arm wrapped around him. For as brightly as Crosshair could shine with grace, he was always far too cold.

"You'll get him back on track."

"I need to go to him."

"When you've calmed down." Crosshair countered firmly. His hand adjusted heavy robes, lovingly patched and added onto over the years. "Which I can help with.'

Pale wings dematerialized. Humans would only see two normal men if they had walked in on them, which couldn't happen. His home was filled with to many wards, angelic and demonic for a human to ever stumble in unwelcome. Tech could still see the golden wings framing Crosshairs halo though.

"My flock-"

"Will be here Sunday. Including your wayward lamb." The angel declared with such confidence Tech knew he was going to make sure of it personally. "Your tail is showing, and you're leaving scorch marks on your floor. If you go out to him now, he'll think he's damned and never come back."

Tech looked down to see cloven hoofs burned where his shoes had touched wood with a defeated sigh. "I have not earned your grace."

Crosshair smirked, his hands pushing off the robe he'd fussed over just a few minutes ago. "Silly preacher. Remember your sermons. Grace is given, all you have to do is ask."

Tech grabbed the hands undressing him, and held them tightly. He took his worries, inspected them, and then handed them to the high power that had cast him out. They still listened to him. They always had, even when he stepped too far from the light.

"Please."

[cry1ngame]

𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓

notes - I don't really know how I came up with this. I guess I wanted something solid for my first post here - I of course had to start with Damian!!!

summary - You're so wrapped up in your own worries that you don't see how Damian sees you, more than you realize. He has his own way of reminding you, though.

warnings - rushed ( may have glossed over some mistakes ), vague cursing, tension & a bit suggestive - if I'm missing anything, please tell me!!

---

RAW had been a slog tonight, not that it ever wasn’t for you personally. It was worse without a certain someone around, though you’d never say it out loud. Funny how that certain pain in the ass could make you feel...comfortable? Distracted, at least. Especially when you were planted on the couch, leg bouncing like crazy, half-listening and watching to Finn's endless pacing and rambling. Not that anyone else in this mess of a faction was listening, either. The group was unraveling at the seams, which, to be fair, you saw coming from day one. Why’d you even join these clowns in the first place? Better yet, why stick around? When you first signed up in WWE, you figured you had to start somewhere. And what better place than Judgment Day? - real smooth, rookie. The more you thought about it, the more it became crystal clear: you were either desperate, stupid, or both. Still, you got roped in and you had to stick it out now because, well...someone promised you an easy out. Not for free, of course. You had to earn it, doing all the dirty work for him. Damian Priest. You didn’t give a damn about the Judgment Day lore, why he hated them and why they hated him back, half of it flew right over your head, and the rest didn’t interest you. All that mattered was Damian, with that stupidly handsome face and the confidence that set your brain on fire. You’d do anything he asked, and he knew it. You hated how much power he had over you. How did this all even start? You couldn’t pin it down anymore. All you knew was that you were stuck, feeding him intel, tipping him off about ambushes, covering his ass, all so he could leave the group in shambles and give you the chance to get out too in the end. That was the deal. But the more time you spent around him, the less transactional it all felt - at least for you. You didn’t want to admit it, not even to yourself, but you wanted something more from Damian. Something real. Something that wasn’t just favors and strategy. You couldn’t let yourself hard on it too long, though, because it wasn’t going to happen. Not with him.

You were spiraling in your head when Finn finally wrapped up his rambling. Everyone started to scatter, and you stepped out into the hall, replaying all the takeaways in your mind like a mantra. But the second you caught sight of Damian Priest walking toward you, every single thought you had nearly vanished. Damn it. He was dressed sharp tonight, you thought, black pants tailored just right, a fitted dark shirt unbuttoned just enough to tease, and a leather jacket that screamed effortlessly cool. His silver cross chain glinted under the dim hall light, catching your eye like it had some kind of gravitational pull. His hair, slicked back and perfect, framed his face in a way that made his sharp jawline and piercing eyes impossible to ignore. Fuck him. He could walk out in a trash bag and still look like he owned the world. And no, that wasn’t your love-struck brain exaggerating. The man just had it. Fashion wasn’t second nature to him - it was his nature. Style bled out of him the way regret bled out of you. What were you even doing? What were you thinking? Your thoughts churned into a messy cocktail of self-loathing and denial, and for a second, you wanted to disappear into the floor. As far as you knew, Damian didn’t think about you at all, certainly not the way you thought about him. To him, you were just a pawn. A loyal little informant doing what you were told.

“Got something for me?” Damian’s voice cut through your thoughts, low and smooth, his accent curling around the words in a way that made your pulse skip.

“Uh, yeah.” You cleared your throat, reaching into your jacket pocket and pulling out the folded note. “Everything’s in here. They’re planning to hit you after the match next week. Same routine, same overconfidence. Among other things, it's all on there." He took the note, his ringed fingers brushing yours just enough to send a jolt up your arm. You tried not to let it show, keeping your face as neutral as possible, but the smirk tugging at his lips told you he noticed.

“Always prepared,” he said, his tone lighter now, but with a weight underneath it you couldn’t place. He unfolded the paper, scanning the contents for a second before tucking it into his jacket. “I’d say you’re too good at this, but I’m not sure that does you justice.”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure how to respond. “I just…like to stay ahead. I know you do too. That’s all.”

“Claro que si, como no.” His smirk widened slightly, but his eyes softened in a way that made your chest tighten. “But you don’t just do it for yourself, do you?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He stepped a little closer, his gaze never leaving yours.

“You’re not just giving me information,” he said, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “You’re keeping me alive out there. That’s not nothing. Sacandome del apuro..." You blinked, caught completely off guard by the subtle shift in his tone. He wasn’t just talking about tonight. He wasn’t just talking about the intel. And then, before you could find your footing, he leaned in slightly, close enough that his words felt like a whisper meant only for you. “You’re a lot more than you think you are,” he said, his voice smooth but heavy with meaning. “At least to me. Mas de lo que tu podrías significar para Finn jamas.”

The words hung in the air, and then, just as quickly as he’d leaned in, he straightened up, his usual smirk returning. But his eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer, like he was daring you to read between the lines. Maybe he wanted you to.

“Thanks for this,” he said, patting his jacket where he’d tucked the note. “I’ll see you around, maybe even return the favor - apart from just getting you out of that shit show of a faction ."

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, heart racing, mind spinning. Subtle, yes. But it was enough to light a spark in your chest that you couldn’t ignore. It was something you always seemed to forget about him in the middle of your spiraling - that every time you found yourself spiraling over that damn man, he managed to one-up you, like he could read your mind and knew exactly how to handle it - how to handle you. It was subtle, sure. But the weight of what he didn’t say was enough to leave you reeling. Every. Single. Time.