#feedback would be appreciated! ^^

[etoiile]

RAINY REDEMPTION

synopsis: your ex-boyfriend shows up at your doorstep, soaked from the rain and hoping for a second chance.

starring mikage reo!

genre(s): angst/comfort, fluff at the end, exes to lovers wc- 1.4k

notes: first time trying angst like this. hope you enjoy!!

the last person you had expected to see upon opening your door was your ex-boyfriend of 2 months, mikage reo. he stood before you, soaked from the rain from head to toe, wearing a sheepish smile that contradicted the unease in his eyes. "can i come in?" he asked, his voice laced with uncharacteristic hesitancy. "it's really pouring outside."

stunned and speechless, you merely gestured for him to enter, an invitation he swiftly accepted. as you darted wordlessly to fetch a towel, a tumult of thoughts stormed your mind, each raindrop that fell echoing a question.

what was he doing here? why was he out in the rain? he never ventured into this part of town. what's going on?

shaking off these thoughts, you handed him the towel. grateful, he quickly began drying his hair – the beautiful, fluffy hair you used to run your hands through, to which he'd almost purr as he melted into your touch. the hair that had been long enough for you to braid and accessorize, filling an entire album on your phone dedicated to the different looks you'd given him. it had been months since you last saw it, and now, with no explanation, it was in your apartment.

breaking the silence, you questioned, "what are you doing here, reo?" your voice, calm and level, carried a coldness unfamiliar to him. he disliked it greatly.

"i was taking a walk, and it started raining." he answered simply.

you knew immediately and without a doubt that he was lying. you knew him best, after all.

eyeing him, you demanded, "what are you really doing here?"

a chuckle escaped his lips. that low, boyish chuckle that still sent shivers down your spine. he scratched the nape of his neck before nervously joking, "you got me. you always did know when i was lying."

"what are you doing here, reo?" you snarled, a sharp edge to your voice.

panic and fear washed over his features before he blurted,

"i still love you, y/n."

you took a moment to process his words before your entire world began to spin before your eyes.

your heart pounded, and your vision got fuzzy. your knees went weak, feeling like they might give out. nausea hit you hard, and you wanted to faint, cry, and run away—all at once. it was like a rainstorm of emotions hitting you like a torrent, messing with your whole system.

"..no."

"no?"

"no!" you screamed, tears flowing. instinctively, reo reached out to wipe them away, but you slapped his hand away, making him wince.

"you cannot," you sobbed, "break my heart, tell me it's over, and not talk to me for months,"

reo's eyes began to water too.

"and then come marching back to me, and tell me you fucking love me, reo. no. you cannot do that to me."

"y/n," reo started, but you cut him off.

"i," you breathed through tears, "was just starting to get over you, to come to terms with the fact that you didn't want me around anymore."

by now, reo was freely crying too.

"and then you just waltz through my doorway to tell me you love me? are you kidding me?"

"y/n," reo tried to start again, coming as close to you as he thought you'd let him. "i'm so sorry."

"you're sorry? that's it?" you spat angrily.

"hurting you," he uttered, "was the greatest mistake of my entire life."

gently, he took your hands in his, relief washing over him when you didn't push him away.

"i did so much to tell myself that i'd be fine, that you were just another girl, and i'd find someone else." you almost rolled your eyes.

"but it wasn't true," he breathed. "not one bit. not even close. no one," he squeezed your hands, "could ever come close to you."

"i miss your voice. i miss your laugh. i miss waking up in the morning and seeing you smile. i miss spending time with you doing anything: cuddling and a movie, buying groceries, baking things, going to restaurants. y/n, i miss you so much my entire body hurts when someone mentions your name. i miss you, y/n, and i'm so, so sorry that i hurt you."

you're sobbing uncontrollably now, and his heart aches, knowing he's the one who made you this way. he'd always hated seeing you cry, but he hated it a thousand times more when he was the cause. he vowed to never make you cry like this ever again if you decided to let him back in.

hesitantly, he reached up to your face, fingers trembling with the fear that you'd push him away once more. luckily, you don't. you don't slap him, nor do you yell at him. instead, you let him tenderly wipe the tears from your skin, a silent ode to his love. it felt like a soothing melody in the midst of chaos, a gentle reassurance. you allowed him to cup your tear-stained face, a silent acknowledgment that, in this fragile moment, a sliver of hope had found its way into both of your hearts.

"y/n, i need you. the months we've spent apart have torn me apart completely. so much so that i couldn't even get out of bed to get to practice. nagi had to come get me out of bed, and that should really tell you something."

he winced as he observed your unamused expression, then took a deep breath.

"i know i can't change the past. no matter how much i wish i could, i will never be able to take back the harsh words i said. i will never be able to undo my horrible actions. i know i was a terrible boyfriend to you, y/n, but please. i love you. i know i need to respect your wishes and boundaries, but if you still love me too, i'm not going anywhere." he looked at you desperately, his purple orbs silently pleading with you. "do you?"

silence lingered, the air thick with trepidation. then, you broke down again, burying your head in his shoulder. "of course i do," you mumbled softly, sobbing. relief deluged his body, and his hold on you tightened ever so slightly.

"reo, i love you with every fiber of my being. i love you so much that i never stopped thinking about you for a single minute since we split. i love you so much it took all of my willpower not to jump into your arms the moment i opened the door. reo, i love you so much that it scares me." you confessed, your voice no higher than a whisper. if he hadn't been desperately clinging onto your every word and move, he wouldn't have heard it.

"then please. one more chance. we can make this work, i promise. i swear to you with my life that i'll be better. i'll make you happy. i'll do everything in my power to be the best lover you've ever had." he looks at you anxiously, trying to read your expression. "we can take it slow. ease back into it. but please don't give up on me, on us, just yet. im begging you."

in the quiet aftermath that followed his plea, a heavy silence settled. the air thickened as his words lingered, creating an atmosphere filled with uncertainty and anticipation. your contemplative gaze met his desperate one, and for a moment, time stood still.

"please, y/n. i need you."

you stayed silent for a bit, and he held his breath the entire time. his heart was beating so fast he thought it'd leap out of his body.

"ok." you finally sighed. "let's give it another shot."

elation, bright as the sun after rain, soared through his body as he engulfed you in his embrace. the warmth flooded all your senses as he squeezed you tight, never wanting to let you go.

"thank you," he whispered, tears soaking your shirt. "thank you so, so much."

a nod subtly affirmed, an unspoken acknowledgment of the gravity in the air. "yeah," you breathed gently, taking in what had just occurred. "it'll be ok. we'll be ok."

"i love you," he sobbed, the words pouring out in earnest. "i love you so, so much."

excitement and joy rushed through his body like a heavy downpour upon hearing the four magical words you next uttered:

"i love you too."

© 𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐈𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 please do not copy or repost my work on any other site. interactions appreciated! 🤍

[whimstories]

I colored it! 🥹🥳 I'm learning color! 😭🥳

[littlecrittereli]

Wanted to doodle some comfort bros to balance out the angst of my recent posts lol

Hey pookies! Just wanted to say I really appreciate all the love and support I've been receiving lately for Decoded! I always love your comments/asks/fanart/memes, it genuinely has been bringing me so much joy and I'm so grateful for it <3

I know I said I had a lot of art to post (and then proceeded to post none of it LOL) I'm just a little overwhelmed rn with some life stuff so sorry for the wait! I also have a lot asks that I haven't gotten to and I apologize for that as well!

Trying my best to keep up, but I haven't had a lot of time recently. Art's gonna be a little delayed, but don't worry Chapter 8 is still gonna come out this Saturday as scheduled!

[yesmissnyx]

BRB, making an online course that helps men become more secure in being submissive so they have a better chance at getting matched up with the femdom of their dreams.

[mintycitrus]

🩵🎨

[eon-break]

IT'S NOT FAIR, 'CAUSE I KNEW YOU LIKE THE BACK OF MY HANDS

PORTER ROBINSON — CHEERLEADER

[flemish-giant-jackalope]

In the middle of the lab a werewolf lays on his back. His legs and arms chained to the ground.

You would think he would protest more but the amount of drugs and aphrodisiac coursing through his veins prevent it.

It also helps that you're currently riding his dick in a desperate attempt to milk him dry. He is in utter bliss, drooling with his tongue hanging out of his maw.

You're in a cowgirl position. Wearing nothing more than a tiny chastity cage and your sweat. On the cage there is yellow warming label attached. The following text printed beneath it.

"Extractor is in use. do not remove!"

Officially you are designated as a biological extractor unit, and property of the laboratory. But the lab personal has given you the nickname "fleshlight". To your own drugged and hypnotised satisfaction.

You whimper as you're desperately try to get past his knot. You want it so bad! You want to be praised for a job well done! You want to be a good fleshlight!

A person wearing a lab coat approaches you. You're so out of it you don't ever hear them approach.

"Are you having difficulty fleshlight?"

You flinch when you hear them. Which you instantly regret as your hole clenches around the werewolf’s shaft.

You stop to let your hole relax. Looking up at them you let out whine. Laboratory equipment can't use words.

They look down at you amused. "it's ok you cute little fleshlight. This is our biggest subject yet, so you just need more time to stretch that pretty little hole of yours."

With a gloved hand they take your chin, and softly raise it till they know they have your full attention. With the same tone you might politely ask a machine to do something, they say; "you're only goal in life is to be a good stretchy hole."

You zone out as the words trigger intake training. As you relax completely your eyes glaze over and a lazy smile forms on your face.

The lab assistant, still holding your chin in their hand, slides a gloved thumb in your mouth. You don't even mind or register it. You're completely focused on relaxing your ass as much as possible, while drooling happily on their thumb.

They pull their one hand back softly. Reaching their other hand into their lab coat they take out a vial. With a routine that must have happened a 100 times they collect the saliva from their thumb.

While keeping their eyes on the vial of saliva they say: "activate extractor routine 4"

You place your hands on you calf’s, using all your weight to try and conquer the werewolf’s knot. You ride it up and down slowly.

Pleased with the consistency of the sample the scientist takes a step over the werewolf’s leg.

Their standing behind you as you blissfully ride the werewolf’s cock. Desperately trying to stretch your hole. A mantra going through your head.

"a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight,"

The squat behind you and inspect your progress

"Fleshlight sit"

You stop at the tip of the werewolf’s cock and let your weight glide you down. Your hole slightly stretching over the knot.

The blue medical glove glides easily over the lubed knot. Their index finger gliding upwards towards your hole, and glides in with little resistance. They hum satisfied and glide a second finger in. The smile on your face just widens, happy to inspected like a good piece of lab equipment.

They glide their fingers out and collect the liquid in another vial. "It seems you do need some more help." they stand up and put one a new pair of gloves.

While still behind you they put their hand over your mouth. Index and middle finger pushed inside your mouth. You start sucking on them.

"Your intake training is still doing wonders" they get a small vial from their coat and open it one handed. Holding it under their nostrils the smell already giving you a rush of endorphin. You get the simple command of "breath in"

You fill your lungs with the product as if it was the first breath you ever took.

"gooood fleshlight" the scientists says with a smile.

The chemicals course through your system and you hear your heartbeat in your head. As a pleasant heat flows over your body, your exhale takes any bit tension left in your body with it.

"Fleshlight ride"

You move your body up and down the length of the shaft. Feeling your hole open up more and more. Al the wile repeating the mantra in your head.

"a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight,"

After a couple of minutes later you almost get over the thicket parts. Joy radiates your face as drool slowly leaks out of your mouth. The scientist eagerly collecting it in a vial.

While putting the closed vial in their lab coat, they look at the werewolf’s head. Still drooling and content, but with a quickening breath.

Smiling but determined the scientists quickly gets your happy vile from their coat.

"Fleshlight tip"

You stop at the top of you ascend. The tip of the werewolf’s massive cock keeping you nice and loose.

Quickly they put the vial under your nose.

"Breath in"

Still swimming in the effect of the previous huff you greedily inhale again. Your mantra only getting louder in your brain. There are no other thoughts allowed.

"a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight,"

A knew intensified wave of heat flows over you. Spreading to your whole body as you feel it loosen.

You can feel every cm of the werewolf’s cock in detail.

"Fleshlight sit"

You fall down and you feel the scientist putting a bit of their weight on your shoulders.

You slam onto the knot and your ass opens up. Feeling your ass stretch over the knot feels like heaven. And then suddenly

"pop"

The werewolf’s breathing is getting erratic.

"Fleshlight ride" the scientists commands, getting a bit breathless themselves.

You've never felt so full in your life! As you ride you feel the knot gliding over prostate again and again. Precum is being pumped out as you continue going up and down. The knot has now swelled too much and you can't get it out anymore. You don't care! A good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight! A good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight! And you've taken the knot! You want to be the best fleshlight!

And the best fleshlight are used and filled with cum!

The werewolf’s is panting heavily, even with all the drugs coursing through his veins he tries to hump the fleshlight. A low satisfied growl begins as he cums.

The knot swells a final time as your locked into extasy! With every wave of cum, the knot pushes into your prostate making you leak more and more, as you feel your belly swell more and more. Desperately you move up and down trying to get every last drop off cum out of the beast beneath you.

The scientist has a hand in their pants too, no longer able to contain themselves. They quickly bend down and grab your chin, bending your head backwards, forcing you to focus on their face and voice.

Slightly out of breath they say "You're a very good fleshlight and deserve a reward"

Without any objection from you they open your mouth. You see them open theirs and letting their tongue hang out. A droplet of their spit falls on your face. You're delirious with joy! You're being praised for a job well done and are going to get a reward!

Al the while you still feel the werewolf filling you up.

"You deserve it, fleshlight can cum"

They say before pushing their tongue in your mouth.

Fleshlight has been good! Fleshlight has been good! Fleshlight has been so good!

You ride werewolf’s dick for all that you still can. Your moans into the French kiss as you feel a well-earned orgasm rock you to your core! You're abused prostate finally giving you release as you spray cum out of your cage onto the belly of the werewolf!

Releasing the kiss the scientists the scientists place their face next your ear. Observing the beautiful scene of your cum on the wolfs chest.

"Good extractor, you've been a very good extractor."

They coo softly. "Now rest a bit while the subject knot shrinks. And then will take this good little extractor to collection" they say with while petting your cheek. You push your face into their hand with the little energy you still have.

Still smiling they pet your head a little more. "I'll get our favourite lab equipment some water. We need to maintain you properly so you can do your job so well." with a smirk they add "Sit tight, I'll get our equipment their liquids"

[bartholomeacorsair]

12th>>>

[shortbreadly]

*goes back in time and kicks a chair* don’t you guys just love shotgunshipping?

[ribbittrobbit]

FABIAN!!!! ARAMAIS!!!!!!! SEACASTER!!!!!!!!!

wasn't planning to finish this today, but the spirit of fabian compelled me.

[copia]

ghost covers ⛧ Sympathy for the Devil — The Rolling Stones — "But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game!" footage | title font

[squoobest]

this pleasant étoile shows up at your door

[chaewberry]

the art of touching

diluc ragnvindr x reader word count; 6.8k tags; friends to enemies, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, blood and injury, reconciliation, when your love language is being annoying asf. epilogue; chapter one; part one, part two

READ ON AO3!

You continued to walk through the city; you, trying to steer the Captain off course one step at a time, having the most fun when he’d realise he’d been guiding you wrong the whole time and gently steering you back toward the path that led to the gates. Every so often you’d stop to pet a cat, bending down to the feline despite Diluc’s half hearted warning about staining your dress before he himself kneeled down to deliver the petulant animal a scratch under the chin. Then, you were on your way again, stepping carefully not to slip into ice slicked stones.

You asked him your questions about the questionable material you’ve been reading - “how dangerous can a simple glance be, or a kiss?” - and after he laughed at the state of the book itself, declaring you to be the most awful of readers he had met with the most love for books regardless, he answered you as honestly as he could. On the matter of touch Diluc was indeed forthcoming, explaining in muted detail what harm a touch can cause, as if he were an expert on such things. The insinuation that he was not vexed at him, which made you laugh again and again, despite the shimmering in his eyes.

“But,” you said, “you don’t always think of the meaning of your actions - sometimes you just do things without thinking too much about them, or the consequences.”

“I suppose,” Diluc conceded. “But whether my intentions behind such actions are misinterpreted are not entirely my fault.”

“Kindness without honesty can be manipulative.”

“Doesn’t it depend on the person my kindness is intended for?”

You conceded, “I suppose.”

People would occasionally stop and greet the young Captain, old ladies cooing and fingers twitching towards his cheeks before remembering themselves — this was no longer the small spitfire child that would ran through the streets with a sword too big for his small hands, but a man grown with a post too insurmountable to measure by the weight of his claymore.

A few particular inquiries slipped in, the nature of which made Diluc’s cheeks blaze as he vehemently shook his head. His arm, wounded around yours - he was escorting you, nothing else - would tense up, tighten around yours, most likely unwittingly. A few of the old cronies even fussed around you. One tightened up your winter coat around you, tying up a few buttons you had, due to laziness, left open, chiding you as she did so. “Young ladies like you are prone to colds!” You agreed with her, despite the fact that you hadn’t fallen ill once in the last three years. As she rounded up on Dilic and started fussing about the state of disarray his clothes were in (“why does it matter if you were training? Shame on you!”), you wondered how different your walk around town would be perceived if you weren’t currently hanging on the Darling’s arm. 

Soon enough however you took pity on the Captain and his now rosy pinched cheeks and attempted to make your daring escape, swiftly making up an excuse to pardon your retreat. Tagging at Diluc’s sleeves, you guided him away from an unthinkable fate. Any teasing remarks about the hubbub of old cronies cooing over Diluc’s cheeks wouldn’t be nearly enough to convey the sheer hilarity of the situation, so you simply stayed silent and filed the images away for later use. Promising blackmail material and whatnot. You’d have a good laugh over it with Kaeya later on too, to be sure.

“Then, what about a glance?”

Diluc hummed. “I can see how it can be dangerous.” He grabbed the book from where it was nestled at your side, flipping through the pages for a moment and reading some passages sporadically. “This is a predetermined story - you don’t have to ask yourself if the emotional glance of the knight towards the main lead in the story is hateful or endearing. It’s clear.”

“How so?” you asked, the gripping urge to hear his thoughts on the abysmal reading material too delectable to let go. You’ve read that book a handful of times already, from start to finish, from cover to cover, you had creased the pages where something had caught your interest and kept them that way until that interest was resolved, the meaning behind a word or action found, and then straightened out the dogged page out.

There were no fresh interpretations you could hear from the Captain, nothing too scandalising that would have you clutching at your pearls in astonishment — but the more he talked, the more surprise you derived from the knowledge Diluc seemed to have for such tasteless literature. He thought of him staying up to read such drivel brought a smile to your lips. You wondered, not for the first or last time, how much of his personality was buried beneath the heavy coat of duty and honour; two characteristic traits that in others played a mute role, but to the young Captain were his idiosyncrasies.   

These aimless conjectures that were building up within your mind came to a sharp finale when the sour smell of Sumerian tabasco mingled with the sharp winter snow and soon, something far worse than gossiping old ladies stopped in front of your path.

The elder Master Ragnvindr was a cutting figure amongst the commoners of the city, with his towering form, shocking red hair and eyes that held too much familiarity for you to be truly lax under their gaze — a shrewd man, for he had to be in order to have come so far after making an enemy of all the old families in Mondstadt. A lesser man would have crumbled a long time ago (you were not un familiar with the underhanded techniques used to undermine and overthrow, to humiliate and offer faux paus sympathy in the faces mirroring despair), and yet here stood this man on his own two feet, gravitated by his own power and through means entire his own.

Even your mother, a woman in a class of her own, tiptoed around Crepus Ragnvindr, a witting contrast to your father, who often met the man head on when it came to tampering with his business.

Diluc paused. “Father.”

The arm curled around your elbow tightened for a moment before letting go completely. You left your arma dangling by your side for a mere moment before clasping them together. Your gloves did almost nothing to prevent the coldness that now seeped within the seams of the fine garments and, the further Diluc stepped from you, the colder the air around you seemed to get. The vision hangs from his hip like a talisman. The falling snowflakes evaporated into nothingness around it.

It must be nice to always be this warm.

“Diluc, Miss Wolfram,” Master Crepus greeted, bowing slightly as he addressed you. “I hope I am not intruding.”

“Not at all,” you said, beating Diluc to it and watching with mild disinterest as the boy clamped his mouth shut. “This kind knight was simply escorting me to the gates - my coachman is waiting for me, ready to deliver me home at once.”

“It is getting rather late,” the man nodded, smiling, “But I am glad to see that you’ve been faring well, Miss Wolfram, and of course, the fact that you get along with Diluc pleases me as well.”

“Father!” Diluc all but yelped, looking ready to stomp his foot in the snow and deny the seemingly baseless accusations the older man threw at you two. “It is not like that.”

When your father, the heir to a world renowned family of merchants that stemmed back to the Mondstandt of old, had agreed to transport Crepus’ wines to all four corners of the world, had dealt such a nasty hand to the man in front of you you wondered how it was that their business transactions went on for three more years. Finally, though, it seemed Master Crepus patience was all but wrinkled out, for in a manner of days he terminated the contract and pulled all business dealings away from your father’s company, opting instead to pour his wine locally and share it now with the rest of the world through a Sumerian transporting goods company.

Of course, you were not without shame.

Even though Master Crepus had always been nothing but amiable; welcoming you into his house whenever you decided to venture into it with nothing but a smile and pleasant words, making sure you lacked nothing during your stay, no food, no water, sweet delicacies served by maids in masterfully crafted ceramic plates and the freedom to venture into the Master’s personal library inside his office where the smell of ink, the yellowing pages of hard covered books and the kindled wonder of what said pages contained brought you back to the still waters of the lake, the soft grass underneath your palms, a false sense of anonymity.

Of course, you’d rarely venture into that part of the house, not unless one or two brothers were with you; an admission which mortified you, however slightly, because when did you ever know shame? When have you ever known to display it — how could you not?

There were fine lines that shouldn’t be overstepped. That was all.

You had no doubt that hidden beneath the heavily veiled layers of hospitality and freely given privileges, the elder Ragnvindr was by no means thrilled to house you and feed for those few hours which you made your presence in his household known.

A kind man indeed, though no less shrewd. Surely. 

Resisting the urge to shove a clump of snow down his throat you turned to the flustered first son, blinking innocently at him. “Are we not getting along then, Captain? It seems I have overstepped.” You made sure to take a full step back from Diluc now, covering your face with your fan. “How embarrassing - I will make sure to keep my distance from now on.”

Teasing him was fun — watching him going through the five stages of grief as you twisted his words into something foul and threw them right back at his face was ecstatic. There was something to be said about such corrupted notions.

“That is not what I meant and you know it.”

“Woe is me!”

It was the oldest trick in the book in the line of nobility; using offsprings, the promise of companionship and friendship to weasel out secrets. Secrets which would be then used to deal a heavy blow to one’s enemy, crippling and despairing if one was much too fond of money and reputation. It was something your mother had always drilled into you and your brother both — and also why your friendship with the outcast nobility both infuriated her while simultaneously pleased her. Your father, on the other hand, would rather lay down on the gardens and lick the dirt off of every stone and pebble before he willingly invited Diluc or Kaeya into his home, bending such a strict rule only on special occasions, such as birthday parties, where he stood plastered to the wall, becoming one with the paint while he hawked on.

It would have made for an excellent anecdote if not for the mortification dwelling deep within your bones. It was clear that neither boy had ever felt welcomed into your family’s manor, which in turn made you all the more unwilling to step foot into Dawn’s Winery and all the more willing to invite them over as much as you liked and could. Their discomfort, though feeding your own, was sometimes the best amusement you could derive from this dreadful back and forth.

Diluc, in particular, was so transparent at times that you couldn’t help but want to take a stab at the heart he had taken to adorning in his sleeve. Sometimes you wanted to squeeze his neck between your hands and watch him squirm. Sometimes you just wanted to see him squirm regardless of whether you were the cause or not. It must be all the rage boiling beneath your skin. Diluc had so much — so much to give, so much to be taken away. The Darling of the city, the Young Captain, the Master-to-be.

Woe is me. 

You cleared your throat, intricately, like a lady should, and hid beneath it the laugh that threatened to burst from behind your teeth.

(Kaeya had once said, inexplicably, “there’s no hiding what you are, Wolfram.”)

“Do I have to say that we get along three times for you to believe me?” Diluc asked, eyes glued to yours. His sudden sombre expression and crossed arms made you want to win this spat even more, made you want to stop before you put your foot where your mouth was, hear something you didn’t care to hear.

“No. That would be a weird way to phrase it,” you smiled, lowering the fan. “Say you like me three times and then I’ll believe you.”

Of course — who would you be if not a constant construct even to your own self, your own hands picking at a stubborn scan and licking the fresh blood that poured out? It was an undilated moment of catharsis to look at the reflection in the mirror and recognize at least the worst aspects of what made you you .

Crepus was apparently content in waiting out your antiques, only looking mildly amused if one took regard to the slight upturn of his lips.  If he had caught on to whatever game you were playing with his son or with him, he didn’t say.

“I will not be doing that. It’s highly inappropriate.” Diluc couldn’t even bother to seem mirthful by the idea, nor flustered or bothered. You would have taken any reaction but the lithe one that seemed to take over his face at the moment, betraying nothing.

“So you see,” you turned to Crepus, no longer feeling cold, “we do not get along, please cease feeling pleased.”

Diluc was such a filial son. The pragmatic ideology you harboured had been proven thus indeed to be true. You would have taken one softly muttered, hardly uttered, measuredly whispered I like you than three blunted and crude ones. Yet the knight couldn’t even give you that in front of a father he diligently admired. The taste of betrayal would most likely sear his tongue off.

The thoroughly mirthful Crepus in front of you had you grinding your teeth. Banking on your misery, surely he knew how much the fact aggravated you. You would abhor every word that’d come out of his mouth. 

“I must apologise on behalf of my son, Lady Wolfram,” the man said, turning the world on its axis. “He is still young and a stranger to notions such as charm, as chivalrous as he may appear to be.”

Diluc sputtered at your side, positively fuming now, steam rising from beneath the soles of his shoes, the snow that had landed on top of his red crown melting.

Unsettled, having lost track of your position in the conversation, you floundered for what to say — something ambiguous, surely, for it wouldn’t do to entirely agree with him or flat down reject his statement regarding the buffoonery display his son had insulted you with.

“I find his foolishness quite charming.”

There; a statement that was possibly lacking any resemblance of seriousness and could be seen as mocking, or perhaps it could be you, one of Diluc’s unknown element that had shoved itself into his life when Kaeya had brought you into the grape fields to catch butterflies and whatnot, simply uttering a teasing remark splattered with a modicum of fondness.

Whatever the case, Diluc took the teasing from both you and his father lightheartedly, even laughing alongside one Crepus’ following remarks despite it. A gentle, tender and modest boy who wanted his ambitions and title to overshadow the last remnants of childhood and shed the last traces of baby fat sitting on his face.

Diluc was genuine in everything he did, putting his entire self and body in his endeavours.

You laughed at something he said, talking animatedly with his father, and hid the sour expression threatening to overtake your face behind a smile.

More pointless chatter followed until your coachman stumbled through the gates, pale and almost out of breath from fright. His condition only worsened when he laid eyes upon the head of the Ragnvindr family and you almost lost the man to a stray rock laying on the road. You watched him trip over it, stumbling not unlike a fool before righting himself once again. He bowed with respect to the men by your side before settling to you with an imploring, almost pleading gaze.

“My lady, it is getting rather late,” he said, “your Lady Mother will be waiting for you.”

Crepus stepped forward. “It was thoughtless  of us to have occupied the young lady’s time as much as we did. I must implore you, however, to wait a mere moment more.” He turned around and signaled with his hand. A man you hadn’t seen before standing behind Crepus came forward. Bowing at the waist, he held up a considerably expensive looking bottle of wine.

Crepus, thanking the man, turned to you. He was smiling still, and you could only surmise that you had been caught in some peculiar way. You withered as the last few seconds of a sweet yet short lived victory vanished in front of your eyes.

The man could have opened his mouth and said that he was buying out your father’s business and leaving your family utterly and despicably destitute — truly, he could’ve said anything, and you would still be less bewildered.

“For your birthday next month. An early gift, if I am allowed.”

The bottle in his hands seemed to you not unlike the forbidden fruit. Still, you accepted it with grace, careful not to fumble. “I - thank you, my Lord. I was not aware…,” you paused, hands tightening around the cool neck of the bottle. In truth, you were wholly unprepared for the reality of someone like Crepus remembering your birthday, much less caring enough to go through the trouble of procuring a gift for you.

No longer after he and your father parted in anger, common invitations for events such as these had stopped, even though you had meticulously tried to keep the tradition going with Kaeya and, consequently, Diluc, every invitation you’d sent would go unanswered.

A laugh pushed itself out of your mouth — yes, in truth you had to congratulate the man for delivering such a devastated defeat. The man took the winds right out of your sails. Barbados himself would be displeased.

“I must thank you, Master Crepus, and even more so since you saw fit to give me such an expensive gift.”

Diluc shuffled next to you but you couldn’t deign yourself to look up at him now.

You could only hope he remained as is for the rest of his life, despite the fact that he admired his father so and dogged his every footstep and hogged his every shadow. Diluc just as he was now - ignorant yet strong and brave, never petty or particularly mad - was truly the best outcome you could wish for at this moment.

“Nonsense,” the beast of a man retorted, waving away your words. “But it would seem that I am late for an appointment. Diluc, would you be so kind as to escort Miss Wolfram and her coachman back to the carriage?”

“Of course, Father,” you heard from your left.

As it were, you could only blink down at the chilled wine on your hands. “Yes, that would be most preferable, thank you.” 

You remained silent on your way back to the carriage, afraid that if you opened your mouth filth would spew out. Worse yet, Diluc was silent. He seemed alarmingly content with staring at you and doing a disastrous job of concealing the heat in his gaze.

He must have wished to say something, gazing at you perhaps in order to gain permission, yet you only ever looked in front of you now. You felt thoroughly chided. Worst yet, embarrassment brewed hot within your veins.

The walk from the gates and over the bridge where the family carriage awaited took no more than a minute. Now, with the well meaning gift in hand, your coachman opened the carriage door, silently ushering you inside with a delicate bow.

You glanced back towards the city walls one more time, noting how high they stood indeed with morality etched into the very stone and the falcons flying overhead. With a hand, you tried as best as you could to gather up your silk skirt to mount the carriage, except the step of the damned thing was all too high already — incredulously, the cold bite of the chilled wine was thus removed from your grasp, replaces by numbing warmth as Diluc, no close to you once again, sought fit to assist you. 

The urge to slap his hand away was making the skin of your fingers itch — and yet your traitorous knobs of flesh and bones, so cold perhaps that have grown a consciousness of their own, now freely sought out that would make blood flow again. And so, having already taken the offered - offending - peace offering, you used the momentum he granted you to push up into the carriage before one particularly expensive wine was once again pushed into your care.

You only glanced at the boy waiting outside the coach window one last time before the coachman started urging the horses onwards — perhaps there was a semblance of blame on your face, unwittingly as it would have been, for Diluc to look at you the way he did before he disappeared out of sight.

The Wolfram family manor was rather conveniently located away from the city and Springvale village; a plot of land in the wilderness of the small and boundfull nation which your family had bought some thousand years ago, right after the fall of Decabarian and the old city that now laid in ruins, rumoured to be housing one wild beast or another.

Build into the slopes of the mountain near Starnatch Cliff, it was a true labour of petty love and vain pride, higher than any other, overlooking down the thick patches of trees and far away into the city with the beautiful big windmills and the glistening river encircling it — your ancestors must have truly felt as if they stood on top of the world, crowned by the lofty clouds and with the wide open mania that was the ocean down below, their feet steeped into the cold, harsh sand. The sun never shined above that particular shore, and almost always the winds were howling against the rocky mountains surrounding it.

From your room you could see only the sea, stretched out as far as the eye could see, losing sight of where the water started and where the sky ended. An endless barrage of blue, so maddening to the eye if one were to stare at it for longer than five minutes, more than ten, so easy to get lost into the seemingly nothingness it offered, a vast expansion where you could stare at forever and where you throw your everything.

The paper birds sitting by the red painted window were yellowed from the sun and brittle with age, some corners crumbling, some teared off completely, the ink invincible against the folds of their wings — they would take their first and last flight out into the open ocean or they would remain inside the room with you forever. 

The house was quiet and dark when you entered save for a low fire in the fireplace which served to keep the house warm throughout the night and a few floor lamps articulately placed into corners.

Elinda, the middle aged head maid who you’d known since you were in diapers, shuffled forward, long black hair braided on her head like a crown. She said nothing as she took your coat to hang, letting instead the soft disapproval marrying her mild features tell you all you needed to know. You would have rolled your eyes - it was not so late that you needed to be scolded, nor were you at fault that the nights had grown longer and the days shorter - but gods knew the woman was dealing with as much as she could without your attitude on top of it. 

“It is well before eight.” 

“Seven-thirty, in fact, my lady.

“Then it is good that I am not late.”

She begonned you closer, all pursed lips and fluttering hands, fusing over the snowflakes that had decorated your hair, the state of your clothes, the coldness sipping into your fingers. “There has been a quarrel,” Elinda admitted, grabbing you by the wrists and marching you in front of the fireplace. She sat you down on the pillows which had been placed on the floor, on top of the expensive carpet your mother had bought from Sumeru some years ago. “Your good mother and brother - oh, it was dreadful.”

You held your hands close to the fire, feeling the coldness melting from your joints. “You should stop worrying about such matters Elinda, gods know your hair will gleam silver before its time.”

“Do not jest, my lady,” she admonished softly, sitting behind you, fiddling with your hair; unbraiding, unpinning, brushing the soft knots out in a most gentle manner you had no patience for yourself. “It was quite serious. I will not think you a fool in the matter, for surely you must know something.”

“And?”

Her hands faltered for a moment. “And I would implore a show of patience and reverence in the days to follow. If not for your mother then for yourself.”

“Mm. How is mother?”

Elinda’s gentle hands worked through knots. She grabbed the brush she had deposited by her side and, running it through your hair, she replied, “down with a low burning fever. His Lordship brewed some medicine for her and she is now resting.”

The probability of your father abandoning his study to take care of your mother’s health instead of registering the task to a servant was hardly a surprise. The man had always been sensitive to your mother’s needs, more so since her bouts of mass hysteria had doubled the last few years. It was an illness that had long plagued the Lady of the house, even before she married into the Wolfram family.

That part of him, you didn’t know what to make of.

“I am glad it’s nothing serious then,” you answered, pinching at the hem of your dress that was wet with snow.

“I know, my lady. Should I braid your hair for bed?”

“No, leave it,” you said, rising from the feathered pillows in front of the fireplace. “Can you please fetch me some bathing oils?”

Despite Elinda’s protestations and endeavours of sending you off to bed immediately, turning a blind ear to your own objections and complaints about going to bed with a day’s worth of dirt and tiresome weight upon you, in the end she dejectedly went to fetch the oils while you climbed up to your room. Your fingers had warmed now enough to fumble with the laces of your corset nimbly. You threw it somewhere on the floor next to your bed, followed shortly after by your dress which was hanging onto your body like a skirt, and then the old-fashioned undergarments you should’ve burned in the garden at the back of the manor a long time ago. The stockings you placed into the bin with the other unwashed clothes for Elinda to take away.

Whatever jewellery you wore was promptly taken off and laid out on the vanity table. It was the only thing in the entire house that had been imported from Fontain, with a large mirror and impeccable craftsmanship. Everything else was a mix of Mondstadt and Sumeru. Your mother had taken the task of remodelling and re-decorating to an outwardly level, and your father could do nothing but accept her whims and wishes. Despite her misgivings, her taste was impeccable.

You stood in front of the freestanding bathtub, oval in shape and pitch black, waiting for the water to turn scalding hot and fill the tub. 

Elinda, none the wiser and too preoccupied with balancing the necessary items needed for your bath in a wooden tray to take stock of your state of undress, only paused to blink before resuming with her work. She set everything up in a small round table you had placed next to the tub. “I brought the lavender oil for your bath tonight; I heard it is good for the nerves, so please do not be afraid to use it.”

Unperturbed, she steered you towards the bath, now filled with steaming water, and all but forced you inside as if you were an unsuspecting victim -- you let her manhandle you to her heart’s content. The rapid warmth that wrapped your senses and flesh untangled your nerves and put a stop to your mind. You sighed, sinking further beneath the calm waters and closed your eyes.

Elinda retreated from the room only to return ten minutes later with a cup of tea in hand. She left it at the table next to the bath and set upon putting the bubbles and the lavender oil on the water, scolding you in a manner that only made you laugh at her. She then assiduously proceeded to scrub whatever skin she could grab on until it was red and raw before taking a hold of your scalp. You would have felt threatened by the tight grip on your hair if it was anyone else. Elinda, as it were, worked you so thoroughly you almost went under, blinking roughly the traces of sleep and water out of your eyes.

You managed to chase her out in the end, but not before promising her you would take utmost care in not drowning. 

“How old am I, do you think?”

The old suffering look she threw at you as she left did nothing to curb your laughter.

Despite the hot bath mixed with everything lavender and the chamomile tea you had downed, sleep scarcely touched you again, leaving thereafter to twist and turn on your bed, underneath the covers, as if you were in mourning. The long sleeved, silky nightgown you wore that reached down your ankles further drove you to madness; riding up with every move you made until it rested just below your hips.

Perhaps it was still too early for your body to sleep.

Reasoning with this, you threw the covers off your body and left the bed. Rummaging through the personal items Elinda had picked up and brought to your room before retiring for the night, you finally fished out the accursed book you had read from cover to cover, every word detestable, every description of imagery annoyingly overdone and with a prose too flowery for your liking; in a word, the book was truly something for ancient tastes, and the housewife’s of old no doubt took great pleasure in gathering at each other’s houses in order to dissect the then scandalous passages over tea and biscuits.

You sat down on the divet next to the gargantuan windows, gazing out towards the black sea and the brittle rocks that stood against its rampant and constant lashes.

You flipped through the book again, stopping at random pages to read random paragraphs in order to further instill your hatred for that particular piece of literature. There were so many more pieces such as this, old and new, that you’d never be rid of the genre. The only saving grace you had at your disposal was if the old crony finally moved on from such doomed love affairs and ecstatic erotic adventures and into something more of substance. 

Now, awake and irritated, you sprung up from the divet and stalked out of your room, careful not to make too much noise, lest Elinda materialized out of the shadows like a monster out of the abyss, smelling the sleeplessness on you.

As you tip-toed down the stairs, clutching your nightgown above your ankles, you strained out your ears for any sound of activity. If your mother was resting from her fever then your father must surely be at his study, poring over the last documents of tonight's work before retreating to bed at your mother’s side. You surmised that Federick, your brother, must’ve shut himself in his room after his argument with her and has now long escaped through the windows of the manor. 

You had caught him enough times to now know that he was as slippery as he was irritating.

The family library was on the second floor of the three story manor — a true testament to your mother’s roots which stemmed deep within Sumeru. Her collections were her pride and joy and an endless endeavor on her part. When you and Frederick were young she would sit you in front of the fireplace your father had built in the vast room an a sea of pillows and blankets and read aloud for hours upon hours; classical myths from nations from far and beyond, historical records about past civilizations that were new laid to rest beneath the raging sea, about ruins, brittle and yet everlasting, basking underneath the sun, of ancient forests and trees that were connected with the very essence of life, of trees whose roots connected every continent together, mythical retellings tinged with more adventure and romance, the noble sacrifices of heroes, waxing poetics of immortal being that still walked around.

Back then, when her healthy mind and body reigned over her illness, she was a person who you sought out frequently. Now, the fireplace always remained cold even in the winter, and scarcely was the enormous table in the middle of the room used.

Except, as it seemed, for today.

You walked through the low lit hallways, your footsteps silenced by the soft and plush carpet underneath your slipped feet. Your mind was half lost in thought when you saw the room to the library half opened, light streaming out of the gap and spilling into the hallway, just a few steps shy of hitting your figure in your nightgown. You made to walk in -- it was not, after all, unlikely for someone to be in the room, owners of the house and servants alike. Knowledge was abundant and everyone was free to pursue it in the Wolfram estate. Even Kaeya, when he felt brave enough to pay a visit, had taken to reading the tomes in the library before enlisting your help to sneak some of them out and returning them a week later. Were you brave enough to do the same in the Ragnvindr manor, you no doubt would uncover many hidden wonders, though as it were, you were only warm enough to the belief of admiring from afar.

The first step was taken, your grip on your nightgown loosened, spirits ready to conduct a warm greeting to whomever was at the other side of the door. You paused once again, however, when you heard the familiar tone of your father’s voice, speaking in a way he did whenever he was aggrieved by something or someone, only mere steps away from unmounting the old family sword from the wall and skewer someone thoroughly through.

And another voice as well, rolling over your straining ears like a current, no less tinged with irritation but lower in tone. 

You crept closer, plastering yourself on the wall as if to become one with the paint, hair brushing against your cheek. From the opened crack you could see only the stranger’s back, covered with a black winter coat made out of the finest animal pelt, and an egregious high hat he deemed tasteful enough not to take it off at his entry to the manor and entirely focused on arguing back against your father.

A foolish endeavor; your father never cared enough about anything to be forced to argue back and forth. The man’s fervent attempts, therefore, should be at least commended.

“Enough,” your father said. “I’ve discussed this numerous times. No matter what you tell me, my answer will be the same as it has always been.”

“We have an opportunity now,” the stranger went on, “he can be our prize winning stallion in this dispute.”

“Dispute? Stallion? You have been a fumbling fool at every turn. No prize is worth the risk for what you’re doing.”

“I disagree.”

“Then do so with your reflection. This discussion is done.”

You could have laughed at your father’s dry tone.

The stranger kept quiet for a moment before gathering up the courage to speak again. “There have been some concerning rumors lately regarding an ancient noble family, talks of an alliance through the means of -,”

The unmistakable sound of a palm hitting wood made you jump, jarring you from your frozen state and almost making you lean forwards on the door. 

“Insulting me with your baseless conjectures will only serve to drive me further from you and the others. Let me put your mind at ease; such rumors are false when it comes to my family. I neither want nor have a need for such an alliance.”

Even after the magnitude of refusals the man refused to take a step back. You could imagine the wheels inside his head spinning with all sorts of promises and talk delivered with such flowered prose that he could deliver amiably enough to make your father’s stand on the manner upon which they were arguing about take a different and more favourable route.

You, however, with a burning feeling settling itself in your stomach and an itch to pull that hat off that man’s head, decided to do what you did best. Knowing neither shame nor tact, you pushed the door open and called out, “Father.”

Both men turned with various degrees of alarm; your father, who had both hands on the table and was bending over documents and books, did nothing but merely blinked at your ill time's arrival. Your presence didn’t seem to startle him at all — the same couldn’t be said for his companion, who at the same time you spoke up, jumped and clutched his hat atop of his head, fumbling to pull it further down on his face. He whirled around, taking in your state of dress. He struggled, caught between wanting to properly greet the daughter of the man in front of him or taking his roaming eyes away from the satin nightgown that hugged your body.

“Ah, greetings to the young lady of the house.”

Your father interjected, “this young lady should be in bed by now.”

“My apologies for interrupting, father,” you said, eyes still glued to the strange man. “I couldn’t fall asleep so I came down to borrow a book.”

He sighed, sounding more dejected than he should. “Go on and grab a book then, while I walk our guest to the door.”

The smile you gave him could rot away teeth. “As you wish, your Lordship.”

The man, half a step out of the library, turned his head to the left, giving you one last glance, while your father walked ahead. You considered dropping the smile adorning your face, but in the end all you did was clasp your hands behind your back and lock your ankles together as you bed him goodnight in a manner handsome enough befitting your station.

Left alone in the room, you made a considerable attempt to feign propriety and not google at the papers scattered throughout the old oaken table — you stalked forward nonetheless, fingers grazing their edges before sitting down on the chair your father had presumably used. Making sure not to disturb them from their original position, your eyes greedily soaked up the information written on them.

Letters regarding the trading routes with Liyue, a rather concerning letters from a trading company with Inazuma stamps and a stain you could only hope was blood, a miniature map of Mondstadt with old and new routes penned down, marking the dangerous ones with red marks, letters of business between your father and his competitors or friends.

Nothing interesting caught your eye so far, and every passing second your curiosity dwindled down to spluttering ambers. 

You got up from the chair and made your way to the shelves. While you searched for a book that would catch your fancy, you mind raved over the possibilities and likely scenarios. In retrospect, the lack of any substantial information in this room was the most realistic outcome. Your father wouldn’t dare to keep anything of import laying around anywhere in the house. Everything he kept close to his chest was more likely to be found underneath the floorboards in his study or locked away in one of the drawers of his desk.

But, living in ignorance was not something you could ever aspire in life — and so, with two new books underneath your arm and a prep in your steps, off you skipped and schemed.

[nyssasatelier]

Two things:

1. YOU ARE GORGEOUS 😍

2. YOUR POSEIDON IS ALSO GORGEOUS THAT I WOULD GIVE HIM EVEN MYSELF AS OFFER

Bonus:

[woolieshubris]

So, you've been sent bait: A Guide for Internet Posters and Readers

Disclaimer: I am simply an autistic internet poster with a special interest in human interaction, abuse patterns, and internet culture. I am not a scholar and I do not have a degree in these things. While I have done research into the topics of cancellation, online abuse, and harassment, I am far from an expert.

Introduction:

I've seen this happen dozens of times before. A semi popular blogger will suddenly seem embroiled in a controversial topic, receiving harassment and accusations of some pretty terrible things. It goes on for about 24-72 hours, and then poof, it seems to be completely over, (however, of course, it can be brought up again without warning.) This can be emotionally damaging for the blogger, for the supporters of that blogger, and for the shock waves it will undoubtedly send into the greater community. This also further spreads discourse and popularizes harmful ideologies to people who might have previously never heard of them. The targets are almost always trans women, (with transmisogyny doing most of the cancellation legwork) and it seems to always have the goal of turning fellow trans people against the target. (Though, of course, I've seen this done with autistic creators, nonbinary creators, ect. Trans women are just the most popular target.)

Now, the goal of this guide is to help people understand how this happens, be able to recognize the patterns of a targeted harassment campaign, and be able to try and prevent it in the future. I'll be writing this as a guide to the target, however, I think it's important for lurkers/readers to also be able to recognize these patterns so they too can avoid being manipulated into falling into these pitfalls. A large portion of this harassment initiative is to use "useful idiots" in order to do most of the legwork. As a reader, you must avoid becoming a useful idiot, (which I'll be referring to as fools from now on) and you must be able to tell when other people are being used in this manner as well. This is the most effective way to protect people from unwarranted harassment campaigns.

Section 1: Bait

Types of Bait:

You've been sent bait, but you aren't sure if it is actually bait, or a genuine question from a fan. You don't want to ignore someone's valid concern, so you answer it even though you might not be sure. This is your first mistake! If you think it might be bait, it's best to treat it as such. Think of bait asks as toxic waste. If you aren't sure, it's much better to be safe than sorry. If you receive a bait ask, your best bet is to delete it and not respond at all. Yes, it will probably rattle you, and you'll probably feel bad about deleting the question, but you need to understand that it doesn't matter. If this person was asking a genuine question, they would understand if you don't want to answer. If they get annoyed or angry at your lack of answer- they were likely asking it with the intent to hurt you.

The first type of bait is bringing up a controversial topic.

While certain topics (like queer rights, abortion, Palestinian freedom) do actually matter in the real world and I would believe are worth responding to or making your position clear (as long as it is something you do have an opinion on) this does not mean all controversial topics are equal. Many topics that are "hot debates" online do not matter in the real world. (for example, proship vs antiship). Regardless of the validity of the debate, if it doesn't matter in the real world, it likely isn't worth publicly stating your opinion on those things. That is why people who are active in those movements try to make these things seem like they have real world consequences- to try and make their debate more valid and easier to pull more people into. The real goal with many of these topics is not to try and have a reasonable discussion. The goal is to try and pull as many people into them as possible. If they can successfully get ANY response out of you, then they win. Their debate is now broadcasted on your platform. Their thoughts, arguments, philosophies are now spread to thousands of people instantly. Even if you respond with an answer like "huh?" "what?" or "what does this mean???" they still win. Your acknowledgement of the debates existence at ALL is a win for them. They get to publicly platform their beliefs on your profile. If you respond at all and express even the slightest hint of an opinion, then they will have an entire section of fools that can now send you messages about this topic. Death by a thousand paper cuts. This is the most common type of bait, and the reason is simple. Internet debates can suck in people and can quickly rot peoples brains. Like sleeper agents, people will automatically start trying to chime in the moment they see the hints of any debate. If you fall for this debate, the best thing to do is delete everything, block main players and wait it out. With any luck, it will be completely forgotten by the end of the week.

The second type of bait is an accusation.

Again, while some allegations or accusations are worth responding to, if it is completely false, not responding will be your best bet. If you do respond at all, the allegation and your name will be linked in peoples minds. Even if you deny it, people will be confused as to why it was brought up at all. They might even think that you are lying or deflecting. Responding to the accusation at all is treated as a confession. If this accusation is something you've heard before, it would be worth looking into the source of the claim- someone might be spreading lies about you. However, if this accusation is something you've never received before, it is almost certainly bait. They are trying to make you look bad. Just delete them. If this is something you are receiving from a specific person, ask them about it privately. Never respond to false accusations on your public platform unless you know the source of the accusations. If you have to respond to them, you need to link to the accusation in full, not vaguely describe them. When you vaguely describe them, then you are putting the duty on the readers to find the accusation- they'll read it on the accusers terms- putting the ball directly into the accusers court. If your reader reads it directly from the accusers, then it will automatically make your refutation look dubious by comparison. Make it easy for the reader to see the full accusation and point out the absurdity of the claims. By laying out all of the information clearly, the readers will be able to easily figure out that the claims were bogus. In future confrontations, your supporters will likely even respond to the accusers for you, now that they fully understand the arguments against you. Supporters love to correct people, and this can help you significantly- just as much as it can hurt. It's a double edged sword, so if you point it in the right direction, it can help protect you against false accusations.

The third type of bait is confusion.

This type of bait is a bit harder to spot, and it's usually blended with the other two types. This type of bait is deliberately confusing. The confusing nature is what makes it such effective bait. A vague message can be read a thousand ways, and as long as one person can spin it in a way that makes you a "horrible person" then that can quickly become the narrative. If you receive a question that you do not understand, you have no reason to answer it. If you can't answer, simply not acknowledging it at all is the smartest thing to do.

How to deal with bait:

As I've stated in the previous sub-sections, the first time you receive any type of bait, you should ignore it. The intentions of the bait may differ, but they all need to be treated in the same way- with no respect at all. Anyone who tells you otherwise is someone who wishes for you to be hurt or a fool. If you receive it more than once, try blocking the person. If you continue to receive it, then that means that in all likelihood it's more than one person sending you the bait, and it might not be bait after all. However, you should proceed with extreme caution. You do not respond to the bait- you figure out the source of the questions and answer it on your own terms. Simply making a post like "Hey, for the record, I support dolphins." will go over a thousand times better than a post that goes like "'Why do you hate dolphins?' I don't." If you are receiving bait, another way to deal with it is by turning anonymous asks off and looking into the blogs of people sending you the bait. Search terms relating to the question they asked. If it's something they seem to get into a lot of internet fights over, block them. The approach you must always consider bait with is that all of the bait asks you receive are sent by one person trying to seem like a group of people. This is on purpose- they want to intimidate you into answering. This is why blocking and turning off anonymous asks can be useful tools. It forces them to unmask themselves.

Footnote 1: The response by these bait people is often "keeping on anonymous asks allow people to feel safe in asking these important questions." Your safety is more important. This is just trying to guilt trip you. Fools will also often respond similarly. After all, it can sound compelling. However you are not a publicly traded company. You do not need transparency. You do not have body guards or multiple employees. You are a singular person with a right to privacy and safety.

Summary

In this section, we discussed the main types of bait: controversial, accusatory, and confusing. We also talked about the best way to deal with each type, as well as the pitfalls of responding to each type, and how to deal with a larger harassment campaign.

If you personally have fallen victim to any of these techniques, either as a fool or a poster, I can understand how you might feel- however the important aspect of these types of bait is that they can and do trick people. If they didn't work, they wouldn't be used. It is not your fault for falling for it- it is completely on the perpetrators of this abuse. However, I hope this guide can help people to protect themselves or recognize when these things are happening to them.

[czerwonykasztelanic]

La Liberté ou la Mort! Acrylic on canvas. Somehow managed to exceed my own expectations.