#her path is due to how she was harmed as a child

[thisisntreaver]

Thinking once more about the chain of events of fable and how if William had been able to destroy his mask Jack wouldn't have attacked Oakvale and the hero of oakvale and Theresa could have had normal lives. Theresa never would have butted in Lucien could have had a chance to grieve healthily and he wouldn't have killed Rose and Sparrow wouldn't have spent their entire early life on a quest for vengeance that wouldn't sooth the hurt. The darkness would never have entered Albion and Logan and the HOBW would never be pit against each other. And if none of that had happened Gabriel would have just been able to live his life.

Which is a really long winded way to say this is all Jack fault

[jazelock]

8 Books I Read Growing Up: A Poem

"The Intrusion," Banquets of the Black Widowers - Isaac Asimov || The Witches - Roald Dahl || Hickory Dickory Dock - Agatha Christie || The Giving Tree - Shel Silverstein || The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde || The Return of the King - J. R. R. Tolkien || "A Scandal in Bohemia," The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle || The Eyes of the Dragon - Stephen King

[babushkatty]

Tranquil SAGAU - Part 3

-> Part 1

-> Part 2

-> Part 4

Turns out, you did jinx yourself last week.

You should have learnt your lesson from all those times you and your sister had spoken bad luck into existence, be it unannounced guests or other inconveniences.

But you didn't, so here you were.

Staring down motherfucking Ursa the Drake, with Dvalin pinning them (her?) down with his massive body and motherfucking Crepus Ragnvindr looking at you both simultaneously like it's Christmas and like he thinks he's schizophrenic.

Diluc didn't look any better. He was as white as a sheet and if you were any better at identifying emotions, you'd think he was about to cry.

...surely not?

But then again, he was younger than in the game and his father was right there, alive and well - you doubted he was anything like the cold and grumpy Diluc who closed himself off from the world that you knew.

A terrified baby that was probably overthinking how Ursa would kill him, his father and the whole cohort they traveled with all the way to Tuesday.

...now you just felt bad for judging. You wouldn't be any better in his place, especially without your scary Dvalin priviledges.

"Ursa, darling, what exactly are you doing?"

All you got for your troubles was a roar in your face.

Except it didn't even feel like a scary dragon about to eat you, it felt like a child throwing a tantrum.

...the notion of Ursa being this uncontested and plaguing Mondstadt for a thousand years while being a mere child was kind of terrifying actually, so you very deliberately decided not to dwell on it. For your own sanity, if nothing else.

"Dvalin, you know Ursa, so... Any ideas?" You asked the dragon, who looked almost bored as he outright lounged on Ursa as if they (she?) were his beddings. If that didn't make a statement, you didn't know what would.

"While we did not cross paths frequently in the past, I had always thought her to be... Especially nefarious."

Ursa trashed around, but Dvalin didn't budge and effortlessly kept them (her? her.) pinned down.

"She reminds me of Durin. But where Durin was oblivious to the grevious harm he caused and merely wanted to play, Ursa is fully conscious and reveling in the pain she inflicts on others, often being open to agreements that involve human sacrifice."

Ursa screeched. In protest, maybe?

"For now, there is not much that can be done. You would need to be much stronger to subdue her permamently, which requires time. But I shall stall her until you are strong enough, alongside Boreas."

Oh.

So your scary Dvalin priviledges were being voided. It was a shame, you really liked his company -- his stories were a delight to listen to and he spoiled you rotten for comfortable accomodations, any bed or chair from now on would be a massive downgrade.

Still, it was understandable. Responsibilities and human lives were priority over your comfort. You weren't going to complain too much.

"I'll miss you," you say as you stroke his wings, not really having access to his torso or head to hug him properly due to Ursa.

Speaking of Ursa...

"Be good. You're making trouble for everyone."

And maybe you were being reckless and simply asking for your arm and face to be bitten off, but you flicked her on the snoot, because you only live once and Dvalin had you mildly convinced nothing in Teyvat would hurt you.

Ursa startles and then, honest to God, whines.

Dvalin huffs in what you assume is amusement and grabs at Ursa with his massive limbs. His wings stretch as he readies himself to take flight.

"I will miss you too, (Name)."

And just like that both dragons are gone like the wind.

...

That left you all alone to face the Ragnvindr and C.O., so you put on your customer service smile and clap your hands in fake excitement you really don't feel.

If nothing else, working in retail taught you how to play the fool.

"So, now that that is done and over with. I believe you have a mess to clean up?"

Crepus looks at you like you grew an extra head, before doubling over in a hearty laugh that broke through the weird atmosphere that settled over the caravan as easily as a hot knife through butter.

Diluc still looks like a poke would knock him over, but at least he got some colour back in him.

"Ah, thank you for that."

Crepus walks over to you and offers you a handshake, gripping your hand firmly and with enthusiasm that was entirely on him. Not that you weren't excited to meet characters from Genshin... but that was the thing, wasn't it? They weren't the characters you knew in Genshin. Crepus was barely a mention, Diluc was a different person entirely and the rest of the caravan were either NPCs hanging around on the map somewhere or didn't exist in the game at all.

So, you had to treat them like actual people.

And you weren't good with people.

"No problem. I'm (Name) (Last Name), just call me (Name) please."

Smile through the pain Harold, grant me your strength.

"Crepus Ragnvindr, and the redhead over there is my son, Diluc. It's a pleasure to meet you, (Name)."

He lets go of your hand and smiles so brightly you half-heartedly wished for some sunglasses. Was this man sunshine personified? Certaintly felt like he was.

"I would say I wish we met under different circumstances, but that's not exactly the truth, is it? Any other circumstances would have me trying to fight Ursa the Drake and that was bound to end badly for me, so... Thank you for saving my life."

And at that precise moment the Knights of Favonius spurred on by Kaeya Alberich himself burst into the scene, weapons ready.

...Kaeya looked like such a baby too, it had you thinking on just how young the literal children like Diona would be.

☆(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ* ✨ Author Note✨

Suprise, we're 4 years early in the timeline! And I have no idea what the timeline is besides what little I glimpsed from the Wiki, so lore accuracy is thrown out the window!

✨ I still can't tag the one person that asked to be tagged and I'm feeling horrible for it even when it's not my fault ✨

Also, yes, ✨ is my favourite emoji, why do you ask? :D

Also, also -- yes, I did pump out 3 parts in 2/3 days, it is an anomaly, do not expect such pace from me especially since I'm about to throw myself head first into HSR.

✨Self-plug time✨

My UID is 715 837 832 and I got a lvl50 Bronya as support.

I am still on Walt copium, even though I didn't get him even once despite the many, MANY rerolls I did, but that is neither here nor there.

[mintjuliee]

Lin and Suyin - On Why Sometimes Love Means Saying "No"

In cases where you are raising a child, caring about them can often mean saying "no" or presenting as the opposition. This is particularly true when the child in question is displaying harmful behaviors.

The most blatant example of this between the Beifong sisters is the flashback in Old Wounds, wherein you see Suyin skipping school with a couple of other kids— a bag of items that they have likely stolen spilling over on a coffee table.

Teenage Lin confronts Suyin with a blatant look of disproval. Her inquires are met with:

"Oh no, are you going to tell mom? It's not like she is going to care."

ERRRT. Back up. What is really going on here?

A cry for attention.

It is not normal for a twelve year-old child to say that their mom is not going to care about them engaging in dangerous behaviors. I would even argue that the most important sentiment behind that statement is "she isn't going to care."

And what we see in the next flashback a few years later proves that Suyin was and is, in fact, testing the waters. She is now driving a getaway vehicle after a robbery. Her behavior is doomed to escalate, because it is not being met with any parental opposition.

How far can I take it? When will it matter?

This is the part where a parent should be stepping in to intervene. They should be trying to figure out what is lacking in the child's life or what they are seeking. However, what we witness instead is that this burden/role has fallen to Lin.

Mind you, in the first flashback Lin herself is a teenager. She lacks the experience or maturity to be dealing with a child displaying these behaviors, which is shown when she escalates the situation by insulting the two boys. And yet, she still tells Suyin :

"Su stop. You have so much potential. You're ruining your life."

In the second flashback, her words are:

"I'm not letting you get away with this." "So, once again, Su gets to do whatever she wants, and there are no consequences."

Lin is acting as a psuedo-parent in the absence of Toph. She cares about her younger sister and is attempting to show this by drawing a line. Suyin is lashing out against Lin like she would an authority figure.

Toph in this situation, I believe, would not be that concerned with Suyin's behavior, because she herself engaged in rebellious behavior as a kid. The key difference— and what I think Toph failed to realize in raising Suyin— is that she herself grew up with extremely strict parents from the get go. In Toph's case, breaking away from them and finding her independence was key to her growth. It was a good thing.

This is completely different from a kid being raised and allowed to do what they want from the beginning like Suyin. The lack of parental guidance and attention as a foundation produced an entirely different issue than what Toph faced.

"We didn't have a normal childhood. Neither of us knew our fathers, and Toph was always busy being Chief of Police. Because mom grew up in such a strict house, she gave us all the freedom in the world, hoping we'd figure out our own paths."

"That sounds like a good thing."

"And in a way, it was. But we both ended up fighting for mom's attention. Lin followed in her footsteps and became a cop. I was more of a rebel."

Bingo. Here we have Suyin admitting her rebellious behavior was attention-seeking towards her mom. Unfortunately, due to Toph being often absent due to her job, it would seem this behavior often went most noticed by Lin.

An older/younger sibling tale as old as time.

Lin and Suyin were both acting in accordance with the hands they were dealt. They were young. Mistakes were made. Lin should never have had to act as an opposition to her sister's behavior as a teenager; she should have been able to act like a kid herself. Suyin should not have been left to her own devices to the point where she is acting out to seek attention.

So, what do we arrive at? Compelling backstory for two middle-aged women, who present as awesome, strong characters 😎 Something rare in media, animation being more scarce. I love them so much. Almost as much as they love each other.

[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.

[shakytailstudios]

The Dueling Fates of the Guardian Neos & Lady Glasswing

In a world familiar yet strange, tragedy and a gifted Butterly pendant sends a child on a dangerous and destructive path in a bid to undo what was wrought.

While circumstances and the will of the Kami see a very different child granted an opportunity to be something she never truly thought possible, a hero.

These designs are for an AU, I have outlined but only written a fraction of, where in Marinette and Chloe oppose one another as the mysterious Lady Glasswing and the fiery Neo Guardian of the Kwami.

Thematically, its centered-on idea relating to "good victims" and "Bad victims" and how that status impacts victims. How systemic and social failures can lead to destructive and harmful behaviors while support and guidance can serve to correct and heal.

Both would serve as sort of mirrors to one another, spoilers below:

Chloe was a "bad victim" in response to emotional and psychological neglect and abuse. Which largely caused her to act out in harmful ways and be rejected, only reinforcing her behavior.

Marinette was a "Good Victim" after a tragedy. She didn't make waves or lash out, didn't try to cause trouble & so didn't get the support she needed & began spiraling as a result.

Thanks to the support of the Kwami and a growing team of people who refuse to be chased away by her temper as well as an outlet that sees her getting positive feedback, Chloe begins to heal and improve.

Meanwhile Marinette's increasing alienation from people born of systemic and social failures, exaggerated by the Butterfly's use see her becoming more destructive and callous in her isolation.

Thematically and narratively, the idea would also be for Chloe's attitude to steadily shift from "Spite/defeat Lady Glasswing no matter what" to "Save Marinette from herself the way others saved me."

Notes:

Glasswing is also a type of Butterfly and rather fitting as Marinette comes to believe her Akuma are forcing people to show their true selves. She also has to Akumify Caterpillars into cocoons to get butterfly's.

Chloe starts out constantly swapping between Kwami and so doesn't have a "Designated" Kwami, but she trends towards Sass for the Second Chance theming and Roaar for the combative outlet, her suit adapts its colors to her Kwami.

The team is loosely made up of:

Adrien - Horse & Ladybug

Sabrina - Fox & Turtle

Zoe - Black Cat & Dog

Kagami - Dragon & Peacock

Fei Wu - Mei-Shi & Mouse

Lamb & Rooster are indetermined, & I'd be using my 12/15 Kwami Lore, seen over on my main blog.

Lila would have Trixx at the start but lose him due to irresponsibility in the field due to fame-seeking. She ends up wielding the stolen Prodigious on Marinette's side while beginning to realize she is in over her head.

Ironically, with no Gabriel to ruin her life, Fei's much more well off but wants the Prodigious back.

[wishful-thinking64]

Hazbin Hotel & Helluva Boss Rewrite Ideas #02

Hello! Hello! I've come to bring rewrite ideas for both shows once again! People seemed to like the first one and I like coming up with story ideas with and for practically everyone so here are seven more rewrite ideas for Hazbin Hotel & Helluva Boss! ______

#01.) Have Alastor's magic sigils be radio symbols over Vodou symbols as it not only makes way more sense with Alastor being the Radio Demon but to not play into a harmful stereotype about a real life religion.

#02.) On the topic of religion, don't be afraid to add a few more religious figures from the Bible or the Torah! As long as you're being mindful about the material you're pulling from, I really don't see this as much of an issue. People make their own spin on angels, demons, Jesus, and God all the time! But for once, this is where Viv gets cold feet even though she already has Adam & Eve there but not their two main children? Or the reason behind why their parents and everything else exists?? Seriously Viv??? #03.) In any case, if you do add the first two siblings then I suggest having Cain possibly work at the Hotel as some kind of repentance considering he's both the first real Sinner and for the fact that he feels guilt over killing his little brother. #04.) Alright, now for some ideas for Helluva Boss! I feel like we've all grown tired of seeing the, "Two people arranged in a loveless marriage," trope with how often it's been appearing and HB is no stranger to this trope and tries to use it as a way to rectify Stolas' affair with Blitzo.

I mentioned this in my third One Hell of an Unpopular Opinion series but if you want to stick loosely to HB's canon then you'd probably be better off with making Stella a surrogate mother as we still haven't seen her interact with Octavia and there was no real point in having Stolas marry Stella if all he needed to do was secure an heir. Besides I'm pretty sure that's what Paimon did in order to get Stolas as we see no signs that he had a mom growing up with how he was raised by a butler. On the contrary, should you wish to keep Stella as Stolas' wife, I'd recommend going the path not taken. By which I mean, have Stella and Stolas marry because, at one point, they did genuinely love each other but over the years that love dwindled and eventually faded out. Even though they'd be better off parting ways they choose to stay together as Great Horned Owls (the owl that the actual Stolas from the actual Ars Goetia seems to be based off of) and Snow Geese (I refuse to believe she's a swan especially since her brother has ice powers and lives in an ice castle) typically mate for life. From here, I'd have Octavia not be born out of the "necessity" of an heir but rather as a last ditch effort to see if their relationship can be rekindled as many couples in real life think that having a child or children will "fix" their relationship. #05.) Sorry for getting somewhat depressing with that last bit. To make up for it, write a fun chapter about I.M.P. having fun by rewriting Episode #05 of Season #01, The Harvest Moon Festival! A lot of people like The Harvest Moon Festival as it is though the majority agrees that it should've been a Millie centric episode. So have her be the reason they go to the Harvest Moon Festival over Stolas, show her competing in the Pain Games, and have her stand up for her husband due to having enough of her family constantly shit talking him. Overall, have Millie excel at being the bad ass girlboss that HB makes her out to be! #06.) Give Octavia some type of found family or friend group. Have her attend a prestigious private school (I doubt Stella will have her daughter attend a regular public high school) and have her become friends with the school's outcasts. The reason this group could be outcasts is because they actually earned their right to be there by getting good grades while most of the students are probably the offspring of Hell's high ranking officials. But seriously, this girl needs (and deserves) a support system STAT! #07.) Properly explain what it takes to get a soul into Heaven. I don't care if you explain this via The Ten Commandments, trusting that Jesus died for humanity's sins, or by using another set of rules from a different religion that isn't Christianity just be certain that your explanation is clear and concise and makes sense for what you have already pre-established for your rewrite. Don't do what the HH series did by saying, "Yeah, we don't know," because that is genuinely how you lose an audience. You can't have the ENTIRE premise of the show being about wanting Sinners to get into Heaven when HEAVEN doesn't even know what gets a soul there in the first place! ______ Well, those are all of the ideas I've got for now! See ya guys!

[madewithlove-sophie]

What Did Love Do? | ii. | JJK Fanfiction

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Chapter ii. The Fated Pair

A warning for those squeamish with blood and s/h at the beginning

The birth of the honored one shook the Jujutsu World, shifting the balance between chaos and peace.

A child born with the six eyes and limitless technique. A child blessed by the heavens.

It is due to this event that people of the Jujutsu World did not know of the birth of another child just 7 months later.

The birth of the unworthy child. Upon her birth, cursed the fate of her clan.

Thrown away by her own clan at birth and taken by a mere maid. Y/N Akayami was a child cursed by the God's.

Yet who would have thought, these two were destined to cross paths and disrupt the world of Jujustu.

-

"Get that wretched thing away from me!" A woman, beautiful yet terrifying shouts.

Upon feeling the shift of cursed energy, seeing her child's eyes. Red. Beautiful. Dangerous. A Curse. She knew her child she gave birth to a few minutes ago was not hers. A monster.

A chilling scream echos in the hospital room. The newly made mother, throws her child to the ground and attacks the crying baby with her technique.

A barrage of invisible slashes scatter the room, harming the doctors and nurses.

A minute passes. Pause. Silence.

The mother looks around as the dust settles. The window panes shattered. The smooth wooden floor riddled with large jagged splinters.

Before the dust could lay back on the ground. A wailing cry.

The baby is unharmed. On the floor. Wanting the warmth promised by her mother.

A sinister aura of red protects circles the child.

The doctors and nurses unable to move watch helplessly as the baby cries for its mother.

A laughter echoed maniacally through the room. The mother stands and grabs the nearest object that would bring her relief.

A scalpel used for the operation.

Suddenly there are two bodies on the ground. One of the lifeless mother. One of the wailing baby.

The doctors unsure of what to do watch. Unable to move.

Yet one nurse, rushes to the crying baby. The red aura long gone.

"Shhhh it's okay." The nurse coos at the baby, calming her down.

Red. Crystal Red.

Two beautiful rubies stare back the woman. How could this baby be a monster? The nurse thinks as she starts wrapping the baby in white cloth.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Footsteps heard from the corridor enters the disheveled room.

Shiro Akayami, the head of the ancient and powerful Akayami Clan, walks in.

He looks around and sees the scene before him.

A woman called his wife lies on the floor. A scalpel on her hand.

A baby softly crying held by a worried nurse.

"Akayami-sama, it happened so fast we didn't-" Before the doctor could finish, a deafening slash tore through the room, silencing his words and claiming the lives of the doctor and two nurses standing nearby. Their bodies splat on the ground as if rags were thrown on the floor.

The nurse gasps in surprise as she witnesses the gore before her.

Shiro Akayami slowly turns to the nurse. Dark evil eyes stare at the woman on the floor holding his child.

He leans over the two. Sinister. Dark. Evil.

"Kill the child. I do not care how gruesome," he declares, his voice devoid of emotion, as he stands tall and resolute. With hands clasped behind his back, he strides toward the door, leaving an unsettling air of determination behind him.

"Make no mistake." he states icily, his gaze fixed ahead as he exits the room, leaving his ominous directive hanging in the air.

- 5 Years Later -

A small child walks hand in hand with a maid, their footsteps echoing softly on the polished wooden floors of their master's traditional Japanese house. The dim glow of lanterns casts flickering shadows across the tatami mats, while the moonlight filters through shoji screens, painting patterns of light and shadow on the walls.

Her beautiful ruby eyes peek out from beneath her long bangs as she rubs the sleep from them.

"Are you sleepy, Y/N?" A gentle voice asks the child.

"A bit," the child yawns as the two make their way across the lavish garden of their master's home, unaware of another child watching them from across the garden.

"Hey! You there!" A young child shouts from his chair, pointing at the two.

The maid stops her steps and turns to her master's child, bowing respectfully as the young girl hides behind her.

"Satoru-sama," she says, mimicking the deferential tone she uses with the child's parents.

"Who's the kid behind you? You're always in a rush to hide her," he points accusingly at the young girl cowering behind the comfort of the maid's skirt.

"She is my child, Satoru-sama," she responds, her voice strained with a hint of urgency, eager to leave the uncomfortable situation behind.

You're a kid too, you know. The maid says to herself, aware of the boy's somewhat superiority complex.

Satoru, with a sneer, comments, "She looks like a scared little mouse. Can she even speak?

The maid, filled with a motherly protectiveness over the child, reprimands Satoru. "Satoru-sama, have you—" but before she could finish her reprimand to the rude child, the young girl behind her leaves the comfort of her shield and yells.

"Yes, I can! And you look like a frog!" she shouts in defense.

The maid, shocked by her child's outburst, gasps and covers the child's mouth with her hand.

"She did not mean that!" the flustered maid says, her voice tense with worry about the repercussions the child's words might have with his parents.

Young Satoru gasps in surprise and points at the young girl. "You're rude!" He shouts in defense.

The maid laughs in embarrassment. "She doesn't mean that." The maid repeats.

The maid removes her hand over the child's mouth and slightly pushes her head down in a bow.

"She's sorry about what she said, Satoru-sama," the maid says, wanting nothing more than to leave the young boy and head to their room. "Apologize to Satoru-sama, Y/N." The maid whispers to the child.

"I didn't meant it," the young girl mutters in apology.

Satoru laughs at the young girl. "It's 'I didn't mean it,' stupid mouse," he says confidently, reveling in his perceived superiority over the girl.

The young girl fueled with anger suddenly stomps on young Satoru's. "You're a meany!" She shouts in frustration over the annoying ugly boy before her.

Satoru gasps although not in pain but surprise at the young girl's defiance. Before he could say anything the maid laughs in embarrassment.

"Ah, young Y/N is cranky for not eating any chocolate this evening for dinner. Please forgive her rude behavior, Satoru-sama," the maid says, her voice tinged with a subtle hint of concern as she carefully chooses her words, hoping to deflect any suspicion or ire from the young boy.

The maid rushes to pick up the young girl and carries her over her shoulder. The child's dress frills in the air as the evening air chills the night.

"I'm not cranky," the girl mutters before turning to look at the young boy at the center of the garden, teasing him as she stares at those big, blue, ugly eyes.

Before the two disappear inside the house, she sticks her tongue out at the young boy in playful retaliation.

Young Satoru sneers in mock annoyance at the girl's antics. What an annoying girl!

Satoru walks to his bedroom, his footsteps softly tapping the ground as he considers their exchange.

Eventually, young Satoru lies on his bed, about to sleep. Before he could succumb to slumber, he exhales loudly, thinking about the encounter. "Red," he murmurs, remembering the peculiar crystal rubies of the girl he encountered.

-

Editor's note: A the start of childhood romance ~

[profoundlyfaded]

So another Emmrich post, mulling him over - I can’t help it, he’s written really well and there are a lot of layers to tug at.

Today it’s his magic, specifically, Death Whispering and why it links to his fear of death. This is an incredibly rare type of magic that can’t be taught, rather manifesting within an individual.

How magic works in Thedas, and how it manifests, is an individual experience for mages. In Dragon Age: Origins, Wynne talks about her magic manifesting while in a fight with with a child who was bullying her. She manifested fire, and was subsequently taken to the Ferelden Circle. From the way she describes, and later with Anders, there is the suggestion that magic manifestation is sudden and can’t be predicted. That said, these two characters are from Ferelden and as a nation are afraid of magic. This is a very Southern Thedas Andrastian view of magic. But trauma, as in Wynne’s case, causes outward, violent manifestations of magic that can no longer be contained. I use the term violent due to it being uncontained as opposed to actual potential harm because I think Emmrich experiences a violent manifestation of power in the form of Death Whispering.

Navarra has a much more open attitude to magic, specifically where death is involved. It’s a celebrated art - how other forms of magic are viewed is unclear, but necromancy is celebrated. This incorporates all the skills we’ve historically seen in game around the use of spirits and communing beyond The Veil. Given what Emmrich tells us in the game, be it to Rook directly or in other conversations, he’s known he was magically inclined since a very young age; by comparison, Wynne and Anders both experienced their magical awakening at 9 and 12 respectively.

Given Navarra’s reverence of spirit magic, I suspect that Emmrich has been interacting with spirits since before he was orphaned. If the populace revere this type of magic, it’s entirely possible that his parents were delighted with this development - it would set him up for life away from difficulties of Working Class living. But they died, he is orphaned and he manifests Death Whispering as an ability.

It makes absolute sense - suddenly alone in the world, Emmrich is given the ability to call out into the wider beyond and draw back those last whispers of the dead. Probably as a result of stretching out to find his parents, to receive comfort and have all those unsaid moments.

I’m not crying, but you are.

His parents are probably the two people he’s never been able to Death Whisper - his remark that their graves are a shrine rather than actual graves suggests that his parent’s bodies were unrecoverable, both physically and spiritually. But he’s still reaching out for them, as indicated by his regular visiting to their graves decades later.

Emmrich has a lot of unresolved grief and trauma around the loss of his parents; and manifesting Death Whispering as an ability must be kick to the stomach when he can’t use it to comfort himself and fulfil his needs.

Emmrich treasures this gift, and he should. He puts it to noble uses - settling wills, questioning murder victims but also, providing comfort to those by recovering lost last words. He tells us in the Romance Scene that when he speaks with the dead, their echos abide with him; thoughts and passions, hopes and desires, but also surely, the deep echoing loss that the departed may feel comes with that.

While there is something beautiful and ethereal in that, he’s exposing himself to trauma but from both sides of the coin. This strange talent probably fuels his fear of death in many ways through unacknowledged vicarious trauma. Emmrich has the power to know that regret continues for the souls of the departed - there is no peace on the other side. Lichdom, however, would free him from that - another reason to walk that path.

And he is a man of regrets; he talks openly of having wished to have been married earlier; regrets regarding Hezenkoss; regrets for not having his parents growing up. I wonder if he fears that he would become a manifestation of despair in his death? All that compassion and quiet strength stripped away in the raw reality of the great fade and death.

But his fear of death comes from knowing the truth, that everything continues after, able to be draw back into the body and relived.

Again, I’m not crying, but you are.

[bwat5-blog]

**SPOILERS FOR ALL OF ARCANE**

Why did Vi and Cait get their happy ending but Jinx didn’t?!

Now obviously discussing this I can’t know for sure. None of us can. But this is my best interpretation of why things played out how they did.

Vi- Vi’s entire arc is learning to let go and let herself find peace and happiness. We see her as a kid for an extremely brief time, and even then she ends that part of her life trying to turn herself in, and fighting armed thugs to save her family before she is even 18. From then on she is thrown in Stillwater and her journey revolved around who when she is thrown out? Jinx. She suffers, and fights, and punishes herself all in the name of reminding Jinx she is Powder, saving Jinx, bringing Jinx to justice and so on. Vi CANNOT live for herself due to her guilt and pain and grief. Her relationship with Caitlyn helps her through this little by little, until even Jinx tells her she has to let go and she deserves to be happy. That’s one of many reasons the caitvi cell scene is so important. Not for the steamy quality (although god damn) but because mirroring Jinx’s own revelation Vi is done “running in circles). She ends the show grieving, in pain, remembering Jinx and her mom and what they have lost by the fire. But she has finally found a path to peace for herself that she deserves. She gets her happy ending because she has learned the lesson. I would love to see her and Cait again. But i would understand if we don’t because they have become who they are supposed to be.

Jinx- Jinx quite simply is not dead. I could always be wrong, but it seems incredibly obvious from multiple bits of evidence. With that being said why then do we leave it like she is? Because her adventure/arc is not over. Arcane follows the destruction of the child powder, the birth of Jinx, and Jinx’s struggle to separate from the guilt and pain and grief over what happened as Powder, and eventually find who she is as Jinx. Now unfortunately this struggle is violent, and heartbreaking, and accrues a cost. Jinx’s big lesson is breaking the cycle (letting go of the past as Echo says). There is no universe where she is as she is now. And just fucks off to an apartment in the city and lives a happy life as Jinx, with everything she has done. Officials and citizens know who she is and fear her. And even though Vi and Caitlyn are at peace with her now, the fight to keep her safe against the government that would certainly want her punished would keep them all in turmoil. Zaun wants her to be a leader which would just be continuing the cycle, and every corner of Zaun is haunted by memory that would harm her recovery. Jinx realizes there can be no peace for any of them unless she walks away and starts over. We don’t see her happy ending because she is off to find it.

[lwjsbedtime]

I thought about this a while ago, but in an ATLA universe, LWJ would be the only waterbender in a clan full of air nomads. His mother is also a waterbender, which wouldn't usually matter much, as the clans have ways to influence elemental persuasion inside the womb. Except, Mama Lan thought if she had a little waterbender baby, they might let her keep him longer, so she didn't announce her pregnancy until it was much too late to do anything about that without harming the child.

It was still a 50/50 chance LWJ would harmonise with air anyway, but (much like his mother), he's much too disobedient to make LQR's life that easy. And so, several months later, the Lan clan found themselves in possession of a small, screaming, water blessed child.

Unfortunately, they neglect to obtain both waterbending scrolls and tutors, making LWJ's education hellish.

LWJ has to work four times as hard to adapt the water he resonates with to air-based techniques. Due to his clan's strict rules regarding discipline, he has been denied a non-Lan tutor, though his uncle does give him an allowance for purchasing any relevant educational text he may find (not many, in Gusu, the largest state of the air kingdom).

Rather than be dissuaded, however, he counts himself lucky to at least have one point of reference for how he might control his powers. As a child, his mother taught him some small tricks to entertain himself with whenever he missed her company - petty acts of water manipulation meant only to excite, or catch the eyes of anyone close enough to see. But whenever LWJ actually tried them outside of her home, he was scolded for mischief, until he stopped playing altogether. He waited eagerly for the days he could see his mother in person, when they would practise their bending together. Little LWJ loved his mama so much. 🥺

Sadly, when he turns six, Mama Lan dies, and with it LWJ's last connection to his waterbending roots. He almost loses hope of ever living up to her wish for him - to become a bending master, so he may have the strength to freely choose his own path in life.

Unwilling to spurn his mother's efforts to teach him, he pushes himself harder to utilise airbending techniques - and to some surprise, he excels. By his sixteenth year, LWJ is well known throughout the land as one of the most accomplished young masters the current generation has to offer. However, he is also unsociable and - not counting his brother, the pheasants he keeps birdseed out in his garden for, and an assortment of illegal rabbits - friendless.

So ofc, when WWX arrives at CR and takes an interest in LWJ, Lan Xichen is more than willing to push them together. WWX (not surprisingly, for a Jiang) is also a waterbender. He could help LWJ open up more; let him feel like he really belongs in this world - that he isn't just a defective airbender, like XC knows he fears. Maybe Wei-gongzi will even teach his brother some of the Jiang clan's more basic techniques! LXC is thrilled.

...WWX is mainly super impressed that LWJ can fly by manipulating water in the clouds. So cool! No other waterbender can do that. He begs for his - clearly superior, gifted, handsome - gege to teach him his tricks. LWJ misinterprets this as showing WWX how to make spinny balls of water, and little arching fountains like his mother taught him.

LWJ has never been readier to demonstrate something in his entire life, so ofc, he has to call WWX ridiculous and huff about it a bit first - he cannot come off too eager. That would be weird.

Anyway, LWJ eventually shows WWX his tricks:

(Like this, but with better posture, and a straighter expression.)

WWX is...still impressed, somehow? He copies LWJ's technique, turning it into a raging offensive attack capable of wiping out many enemies at once.

LWJ does not find that attractive, at all. ...Still.

The boys spend the rest of the afternoon attempting to turn children's games into dangerous weapons, and end up returning from the back hills utterly drenched in water. LXC is a little concerned, but mainly happy his brother seems so content to play with his new friend. LQR is less pleased, but with a little careful redirecting from his eldest nephew, LWJ never has to know by just how much.

Going forward, WWX and LWJ continue to meet after class to spar, drawing the curiosity of the other disciples, and starting all sorts of strange rumours, such as WWX using bloodbending to manipulate Lan er gongzi to his will, and LWJ taking WWX away from CR main to punish him sadistically.

When he hears the rumours, WWX laughs.

Wwx: Jokes on them! LZ and I go out there to get each other wet!

Nhs: ...

Jc: ...

Wwx: What? 🤨

The next day, significantly more rumours have popped up, about WWX taking poor, innocent Lan er gongzi into the back hills to corrupt him. Most of them still involve bloodbending and sadism to some extent. LWJ and WWX - painfully oblivious - go about their usual routine together without change. (It should be said, this is only because the disciples are too afraid to gossip around LWJ, leaving him constantly out of the loop, whereas WWX all but confirmed the rumours early on.)

Disciple: Hey, do you really get LWJ wet everyday? I didn't think that was possible with a man.

WWX (obnoxiously proud): Well, someone has to do it. He's way too stuffy to get himself messy.

Disciple: ...

Entire class: ...

LQR: ...😨

Thus begins LQR's master plan to get that devil WWX away from his precious nephew's remaining virtue. Unfortunately, the beating he gives them both for staying out dilly-dallying after curfew only ends with the pair splashing each other in the cold spring, nude.

He next tries sending them off in a group to deal with water ghouls in Caiyi - in order to focus their attention on something other than being promiscuous - and the pair come back with WWX hanging all over LWJ's shoulders! Apparently, they worked in tandem to raise a waterbourne abyss out of the lake, encased in a swirling torrent of water. While that is an impressive feat - no doubt possible only due to LWJ's familiarity with airbending - it most certainly does not excuse the way that Wei brat is pressing up against his WJ's side.

And why is WJ blushing about it! Teenagers are truly going to be the death of him, LQR swears it.

But it gets worse.

Nearing mid summer, the pair of boys seem to actually realise that since they both like each other, they can act on it (LWJ may or may not have finally heard the rumours about WY sullying him). This leads to a series of increasingly strange waterbending peacocking on WWX's part, reciprocated - to everyone's surprise, despite the raunchy hearsay - by LWJ. Their courting rituals only grow harder and harder to bear the more confident they become in the other's affection. NHS swears he caught WWX kissing up LWJ's arm in the library pavilion once, and LWJ actually giggled when he reached his elbow.

...LXC is still ecstatic. You can't bring him down with excessively sweet romancing; not when WJ finally looks happy for once. He jumps the gun a little by sending a betrothal request to YMJ, but thankfully it's well received on both ends - even if WWX's face did go a startling crimson colour when the match was announced, and WJ appeared for a moment to stop breathing.

LQR is at his wits end. XC betrayed him! Now that marriage is on the horizon, those brats have grown even more bold, if possible. Yesterday, he heard his nephew spouting poetry about WWX being the 'boisterous river' leading to his 'calm pond'. What nonsense! Don't even get him started on what he hears at night! When he and the rest of CR is trying to sleep! If he wasn't so embarrassed about it, he'd definitely confront those hooligans and have them spayed!

...LXC is still ecstatic, and that's why he pointedly drops off a bundle of silencing talismans at his brother's home the day after WWX moves in (unofficially. Officially, he knows nothing, saw no nude bottoms, and has nothing else to say on the matter, thank you very much).

A few years later, after marrying and travelling for a while, Wangxian adopt a young firebender toddler, whom they name A-Yuan. When it comes time for A-Yuan to learn to control his element, LWJ splurges on the very best of Wen tutors. He knows from experience, the child will learn better from someone of his own element, as he did with his mama. Fond memories rest in his heart as he sends his baby boy off to his first day of classes, a proud husband sniffling at his side.

All is peaceful and happy.

The end.

----

The past, probably:

QHJ, minding his business, meditating: 😑

Mama Lan: Hey, cutie!

QHJ: E-excuse me? 😳

Mama Lan: Watch this!

QHJ: Uhh...

Mama Lan: Bloodbended the fuck outta your Elder Mu, by the way. Want to help me escape? 😉💋

QHJ: I've never felt more concerned, nor more aroused in my life. Please, marry me. 🥺

Mama Lan: Okay?

----

Edit: I'll probs mention this again in another post so it doesn't get buried, but I've updated my fic masterpost to hopefully be more informative/easy to navigate. Fics are now labelled based on whether they're Bottomji/Bottomxian, and additionally, there are new notes regarding things I thought worth mentioning re:this blog/tropes/content warnings ✌️🌸

[lakesbian]

and now for our Checking In With The Dallon Sisters poasting

Panacea shook her head, “Tattletale found a way around my sister’s invincibility. Glory Girl was bitten pretty badly, which is why I didn’t come sooner. I think it hits you harder, psychologically, when you’re pretty much invincible but you get hurt anyways. But we’re okay now. She’s healed but sulking. I- I’m alright. Bump on my head, but I’m okay.”

victoria is demonstrably having a bad time with the previously noted psychological pain of being forcibly reminded that, no matter how hard she tries, she will never be the spotless, invincible, perfect hero she wants to be. the bug bites suck obviously but the "sulking" After being healed is an indicator of where it really hurt--not just physically.

(amy's power reminds me of. do you guys know that one tumblr post about the concept of exploring the horror potential inherent to D&D-esque fantasy healers? like, the horror inherent to being perfectly, magically healed from horrifying injury a hundred times over, and being expected to just get up and keep fighting afterwards, without any regards to how your mental health is doing. that's exactly how amy's power functions: you're made physically better than ever, and expected to get back up and keep being a hero, but you still have the memory of the pain and the lingering psychological aftereffects. but, like, you're fine now, so you just need to get over it and go back to throwing yourself in the line of fire, okay?)

amy is also right off the bat clearly not doing so hot--she's acting very shy and withdrawn and unsure compared to both of her prior appearances. obviously that is due to the horror of some random villain going "btw, remember that you're ontologically an invader into the family you are trying to belong in!" but i think it's probably compounded by the fact that amy is so used to being treated either 1. like she's intrinsically awful/unwanted or 2. like she's only valuable/desirable as a resource by Everyone But Victoria that walking into a room of heroes w/o victoria by her side is always liable to make her insecure and withdrawn.

oh, and the burnout. obviously the severe fucking burnout.

“No, I hated that he would have a normal life, because I’d given up mine.  I was scared that I might intentionally make a mistake.  That I might let myself fuck up the procedure with this kid.  I could have killed him or ruined his life, but it would have eased the pressure.  Lowered expectations, you know?  Maybe it would have even lowered my own expectations for myself.  I… I was just so tired.  So exhausted.  I actually considered, for the briefest moment, abandoning a child to suffer or die.” “That sounds like more than just exhaustion,” Gallant replied, quietly. “Is this how it starts?  Is this the point I start becoming like my father, whoever he was?”

the "every second i rest, someone dies" conundrum would be nightmarish for her even if she had the healthiest social support net on the planet, but her circumstances make it infinitely worse. she's treated by everyone in her "family" but victoria like an invader, and even victoria has unintentionally stressed the importance of using her healing power in the way that the family wants (i.e. to cover up victoria's police brutality) in order to Be A Good Family Member. amy has internalized that being a good dallon is the same as being a good hero, and failing at being a dallon is the same as being overcome by her ontologically criminal roots. so she works herself to the bone, and when she inevitably starts to falter, she views it as an indicator of something intrinsically wrong with her rather than as a sign that her family + society's expectations for her are harmful and unfair.

and dean's advice for her only reinforces this further:

Gallant let out a slow breath, “I could say no, that you’re never going to be like your father. But I’d be lying. Any of us, all of us, we run the risk of finding our own way down that path. I can see the strain you’re experiencing, the stress. I’ve seen people snap because of less. So yeah. It’s possible.”

he suggests that she try to take a break, but only in the service of "so you can heal more people in the long run." he validates the idea that she could go "down that path," as if becoming a villain--becoming A Bad Person--is a risk all heroes have to fight against on an individual level, as opposed to criminality being a result of circumstance and not even inherently immoral. and of course dean thinks that way--he's a millionaire child soldier, his entire life is predicated on individualist thought with ignorance to the ways in which systematic factors impact people. acknowledging that amy is being horrifically mistreated would mean not only acknowledging the flaws in the PRT system, but acknowledging what might lead people to stray from it, and he simply can't do that. it goes counter to every idea that his life is built on.

he never even tells anyone that amy thought about letting a child die, or if he did, it didn't go anywhere. she was desperate for help all along, increasingly ready to explode, and everyone just ignored it. because as she says:

"My sister’s all I’ve got. The only person with no expectations, who knows me as a person. Carol never really wanted me.  Mark is clinically depressed, so as nice as he is, he’s too focused on himself to really be a dad. My aunt and uncle are sweet, but they’ve got their own problems. So it’s just me and Victoria. Has been almost from the beginning."

this is also where we see another more blatant sign of her crush on victoria--it's very ambiguous as to whether dean is interpreting amy's feelings towards him as meaning "wants to date me" or "jealous of me for dating victoria" but i think it's probably the former because there's no way he would keep his mouth shut if it was the latter, lmao. really what this scene is doing is introducing all of the stressors amy is experiencing that, because they're going unaddressed, because everyone else is refusing to address them and she has internalized that's how it should be, are going to boil over horrifically later on. that burnout and fear of accidentally-on-purpose making a mistake will lead to truly being unable to heal victoria later on. that sense of obligation, that if she can't keep healing she's turning into her father, will contribute to her being unable to just walk away from victoria instead of trying to heal her. her crush on victoria--the ultimate example of how her should-be family has ostracized her--will boil over in the impulsive brain alteration & the sexual nature of the wretch's design.

and all of this would've been avoidable if not for, as mentioned in the prior post abt this interlude, the dallons' and the PRT's enforcement of wallpapering over the kid heroes' pain to Keep Up The Show.

[running-with-the-feels]

I have been hyperfixatint on zombies movies and the mk subzero bros and I bring a new Au, A zombie apocalypse Au, which more or less comes from a virus that originated from the Netherrealm because I want the meshing with literal hellscape to have more consequences. So the Netherrealm virus, idk what to call it, but essentially, turns people into demons, tjr transformation happens fast, how it changes the person depends on environmental factors and the nature of the person.

Bi-Han and Kuai Liang are super young and still living with their family went it begins to spread wildly throughout Earthrelam. Their sister got it when their were trying to escape from a horde of demons, and ended up harming Kuai Liang, leading him to become infected too, but as he was really young, Bi-Han was able to wrestle him enough to get a gag on him to keep him from biting. And it was almost like……Kuai Liang depsite not having any memory or cognitive ability as a human he could still regonize Bi-Han as an important person to him.

So now a young preteen Bi-Han is trying to survive with a feral demon young Kuai Liang who barely is aware of his own identity due to the virus.

The Lin Kuei end up taking them still but it’s further down the line, and they more or less still turn Bi-Han into an assassin. While promising him they will ‘help’ Kuai Liang and try to find a cure, while just using Kuai for experiments and as a free attack dog

Yes, yes, this!!! More of this!!!

No but seriously, that adds so much angst to Bi-Han's character bc he's trying so hard to save his brother and he knows he's being manipulated but he can't give up hope

I'd imagine that Kuai Liang gets "Sent" (ie let loose) on a mission and crosses paths with Hanzo, who along with the Shirai Ryu is working to find survivors and rebuild, and Hanzo sees that he's been infected a long time, but still maintains some level of awareness

Like, most demons just kill everything in sight, but Kuai Liang let the child Hanzo was trying to rescue walk right past him without even growling, and later Hanzo sees him petting a cat

So he's obviously still in there, still a person, and Hanzo knows that this can't be ignored

Imagining that Harumi is still alive, she's probably trying to find a cure, so when Hanzo radios in to tell her what he found, she tells him to bring Kuai Liang in, as they can try and see what has allowed him to fight the virus for so long.

Cue Bi-Han being pissed off and terrified bc his brother has been kidnapped and is about to be experimented on, so he goes rogue to try and find him

Meanwhile Kuai Liang is being treated gently and kindly by Hanzo and Harumi as they try to cure him, the both of them visiting every day and giving him little reminders of human life (toys, candy, blankets, paintings, etc) to see how he reacts

They do eventually find a cure and the job then becomes helping Kuai Liang adjust to being a person again (sans demonic bloodlust) and that's when he and Bi-Han reunite.

Obvs there would be eventual subscorprumi

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 9}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: Back on Tatooine, where you once resided, a lot of thoughts and emotions consume you. Trying your best to field them while Din is away on a job with an eager young man who is willing to prove himself worthy of joining the very Guild that Din betrayed.

Word Count: 8.8k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical fighting, gun violence, ptsd, trauma, nightmares, physical illness, vomiting, avoidance of food, food trauma, physical descriptions of injuries (brief), thoughts of suicidal ideation, mention of past suicide attempt, mentions of past self-harm (not detailed), description of scars, body image issues, sexual trauma, mention of past SA (not detailed / brief), reference to past captivity / slaving environment, major angst, mental illness

A/N: hello, hello. a lot has been going on in my personal life and i had exams due last week. i received a comment on chapter 7 regarding san's mental health and how it felt 'rushed' bc she didn't exhibit typical trauma responses 'enough'. and while i appreciate the reader reaching out, to hear that i'm not writing an angsty enough exploration of her experiences and trauma was a little disheartening, bc i don't want to write such a full bodied character with a rich background to feel 'glossed over'. especially with having planned exactly that for this chapter. healing isn't linear, good moments and passages of time where things almost seem to be okay is completely normal. so with that in mind, this is a rather heavy chapter, i've had it planned for a while to explore san's mental state now that there is no impending return to her mother or inherent survival instincts she's reliant on with din willing to watch out for and protect her. thank you all for reading, i appreciate each and every one of you, you have no idea how much

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

Sparks flew inside the control room as you rushed to your seat, hands grabbing onto anything it could to help keep balance as you did so, the ship wavering heavily with the effort it was taking to keep the course of flight steady. Alarm blaring to let the pilot and crew know that some damage was taken from a successful hit to one of the engines. Din seemed to be collected, but you could tell that being tracked by another person piloting a ship the second he dropped out of hyperspace was a worry to him. The ship sputtered loudly as the same engine took another hit.

“Hold on.” He announced as he maneuvered the ship into a smooth spiral. The movement offset your sense of gravity and you shut your eyes tight as he tried to evade the determined attacker. One the ship was back into a right side up path, he was muttering to himself too low for you to hear over the cacophony of the ship and blasters raining down all around, some of them zooming past you into the empty space around the ship before tapering off with nothing to land on and cause damage. The bright red of their beams lighting up the near darkness of the control room.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.” The voice transmission crackled with static as Din quickly jerked one of the few gear shifts, this one seeming to be for some sort of speed control system as the ship lurched to a halt. The spare second of silence with the engines ceasing operation was broken by a twin wooshes that made you think enough damage was done in such a short time that the ship would falter and you’d be left floating dead in space with no running mechanics. Your chest panged with the force of falling forward and the belt around you dug into your front. As soon as you were able to, you turned your head over to the Child, seeing him struggling just the same as you, if not more so due to his size.

With the attacking ship now in front of the Crest, Din quickly locked onto it, the screen beeping with a good track.

“That’s my line.” His voice was even, only a hint of the annoyance he was feeling seeping through before he fired a hit with every blaster canon that was still operating. The ship exploded in front of you with a roar, the flare of it so bright it lit up the control room in a red and orange hue.

Alarms were still blaring as Din tried to gather diagnostics. He only managed to come to one conclusion before the engines powered down and sent you all into darkness, either by his hand or of their own accord to conserve power: the ship was losing fuel.

“Can you flip that back up switch on the wall behind you?”

“Oh, um, yes. Of course.” You unbuckled the belt from around you, still feeling it pressing into your skin even though it had lost its tension. Standing swiftly, you felt around the wall for what he was talking about and flipped it. As soon as you did, a faint red glow signaled that some things were back up and running, drawing from whatever power you had just engaged. He was busy switching switches and pressing controls, trying to get the ship to sputter back to life as much as possible. He seemed to know what he was doing as the engines kicked back on and the ship was moving through space once again.

All was quiet for a few moments of travel until the brightness of an approaching planet came into view, growing to encompass most of the view from the control room as it loomed closer.

“This is Mos Eisley Tower, we are tracking you. Head for bay three-five, over.”

“Copy that, locked in for three-five.”

“He’s fast asleep.” You carefully cradled the Child in your hands, having decided to bathe him while the ship closed in and landed on the planet. He was snoring quietly, the sound rather cute. It had been a challenge, he was small enough to fit in the fresher sink but he hadn’t been a fan of the water temperature the second it had begun to cool during the endeavor. You had just cooed to him, letting him know with soft words that he was alright and could sleep as long as he liked afterwards.

“We can secure him in my room, while we go and get a lay of the land.”

When you didn’t say anything in response or move to place the bundle in the small space, Din came up behind you and placed a hand on your upper arm in a silent question. It took you a moment to gather your thoughts, to figure out how to best explain your hesitancy without seeming too…you didn’t even know. You felt guilt for nearly leaving the small being behind in your attempt to run away from your own fate. Abandoning the only other being who you knew had gone through what you had as your temple got stormed and destroyed all those years ago. How easy it had been for you to defer to self-interest and preservation when he was so reliant and those around him. Another victim you hadn’t even given any thought to. He could easily fall into another situation like the one that you had both found yourselves in, captive at the hands of someone willing to sell you for their best interest. But he couldn’t fight his way out of it like you could.

“He’s…he’s so small, what if he wakes up and get confused?” Your breath shuddered as you spoke, giving away the emotions you felt consumed by.  You avoided looking over at the man close by, not wanting him to get a better read on your thoughts than he already was by the was you were having trouble speaking and muscles so tight you were worried they would snap if you moved too fast.

“He’ll be okay, we won’t be gone long.”

You nodded before securing him in his own little hammock, the door to the small space shutting and locking behind you as you followed the man down the ramp and into the sunlight. As you did so, three small droids no taller than your knees began to approach with various tools in their hands. The suddenness of Din brandishing his blaster and firing a shot toward them had your next step faltering. Confusion colored your expression at the rather admittedly pointless action.

“Hey!”

A short woman with extremely curly hair in a jumpsuit appeared from inside the hangars enclosed space, brandishing a heavy-duty diagnostic clipboard at him.

“You damage one of my droids, you’re gonna have to pay for it!”

“Just keep them away from my ship.” Din pointed a finger at them as they had popped back up from their cowering crouches and busied themselves in the presence of their owner.

“Yeah? Think that’s a good idea, do you? Let’s look at your ship.” Her eyes took in the tall form of the armored man in front of her, flickering to you behind him still atop the ramp, hidden mostly in the shadows of the interior. You had stopped following so closely as the blaster shot had rang through the air, not wanting to cause any trouble of your own. It was now, you were realizing, that you hadn’t really seen the man interact with another person in such a setting. The display he was putting on new to you after putting so much distance on direct interactions back on Sorgan. You had never actually seen him in a larger, more intricate setting.

Of course he would be different than when alone with you, the cautious and careful demeanor reserved only for you and the Child. Gruff nature seeming to be the way he operated with other people, new people. He didn’t mince words, you realized, and was a man of so little to begin with. It would make sense he had no notion of alluding to things, saying them plainly as they came to him. As the mechanic took a precursory look over the rather battered ship, you adjusted the cloak over your shoulders, making sure the front panels of it covered the handle of your weapon that was fastened to your belt.

The hemming and hawing of the mechanic filled the space with a one-sided conversation as you and Din watched her swivel about, taking stock of things that needed to be repaired and the damage done in such a small interaction.

“How did you even land? That’s gonna set you back.” She stepped away from the ship, facing the armored man directly now. Her expression was serious, the glint in her eye letting you know she was confident in her skills and knowledge to know that what she said was true. That most people didn’t argue with her when she told them what was wrong with their ships.  

“I’ve got 500 Imperial credits.” Was his easy response as he reached into a hidden pouch on his belt, pulling out a small pouch.

“That’s all you got?” She swiped the pouch from his offered hand harshly, as if worried he was only brandishing them at her and not actually going to hand them over in exchange for the work. She turned to address the droids that were still milling about the hangar space. “Well, what do you guys think?”

They only chittered in response, now all gathered beside her.

“That should at least cover the hangar.” Her eyes darted from him to you and back.

“I’ll get you your money.” His visor was tilted down as he addressed her seriously, no notes of betrayal in his tone.

“Hmm, I’ve heard that before.” She turned her full attention and sharp eyes to you, apparently done talking with him. “What, your wife not have anything to contribute?”

You resisted the urge to correct her and when Din didn’t your stomach did a flip. You tried not to let that little detail wiggle its way into your already overwhelmed mind, not wanting to dispel energy on overthinking the exchange. She focused on him again, seeing that you weren’t going to respond based on the way you had tensed slightly at her words.

“She’s to help earn credits to pay for the repairs as well.” He didn’t turn toward you as he spoke, keeping his gaze on the rather animated mechanic in front of him. “Just remember-“

“Yeah, no droids. I heard ya. You don’t have to say it twice.” Before she even finished talking, Din was walking off toward what you assumed was an exist route that opened up into the street of Mos Eisley.

His figure disappeared up the small set of steps that lead to it without so much as a glance over his shoulder to see if you were following.

“Jeez. Whomp rat.” The mechanic muttered under her breath. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the exchange, it was so interesting to see him interact with someone who didn’t seem to be afraid or intimidated by him in the slightest. She reminded you a bit of Cara and it softened your heart despite the words she had used to address you.

“You coulda picked a nicer man. With better people skills, no idea how he managed to get you.”

“He’s alright most of the time.” You offered her a small smile, reaching into your own pocket. Ignoring the way your chest fluttered at the insinuation of her words, you held out a small pouch of credits to her as well. You had divvied up your own currency when taking stock of things last night, wanting to keep some aboard the ship, some in your bag, and some on your person in case anything should arise. You had forgone your bag today, opting to leave it on the ship since you didn’t anticipate being gone long despite not knowing what was on the mental do-to list of your companion.

“For your troubles.” She reached out far more gently than she had with Din. Opening the pouch to quickly look over what you had just handed her. She looked up to you, with a cheeky grin you weren’t too sure how to read.

“This will help cover the repair for the fuel line, but it’s a lot of damage.”

“We’ll get you the money, you have my word.” As you turned, the front of your cloak lifted with a gust of wind, your weapon glinting in the sunlight. Her eyes widened slightly at the exposure of it, but her demeanor didn’t change in the slightest. She simply nodded at you and waved you away to get started on the repairs. Turning her attention to the droids, she started barking orders of things for them to fetch her.

The streets were busy, the further you followed Din into the city, away from the hangar and the outskirts that bled into the openness of the desert. You tried to keep a distance of a few feet behind him, but he was a fast walker. As he turned a corner, you spied a display of storm trooper helmets mounted on spikes and your heart nearly stopped. Steps faltering, you stood in front of them and took in the rust and blood that had been baked into the metal from the heat of the suns. They had to have been here for years. But for all the Maker was good, you couldn’t recall ever seeing the set up before during your previous time on the planet. Maybe you had been too preoccupied, maybe it had been a recent installment as a result of a battle?

You knew there were Imperial remnants scattered all over the galaxy, that much was to be expected after such an all-encompassing and long regime. But you hadn’t faced an actual storm trooper since before your capture, when whispers of the Empire falling had just begun to spread through word of mouth and the destruction of the Death Star was still a startling event. You had considered coming out of hiding then, to reach out to the few who had been rumored to help eradicate the whole organization. But you had been scared, worried, ashamed.

The names Luke and Leia Skywalker said on every planet, ushered in reverent tones. You hadn’t been in touch with the Force much during those days, your saber locked away in a trunk and buried deep in the place you hadn’t been able to call home, despite being there for so long at that point. Meditation and practiced routines with a wooden staff had been all that you kept up from your training, worried about drawing attention by doing anything else even that far out into the desert with no one the wiser of where you were.

Your mind was trying fruitlessly to supply a reason as to why they were there in front of you, but it couldn’t. It just was. Glaringly, jarringly there.

“They got what was comin’ to them.” A passerby nodded at you, noticing the way you seemed almost frozen in your stance. You nodded back to them, not willing to verbally speak with the person. They moved on down the street, in the direction opposite of where you had been following Din’s lead. The man’s steps were shuffling, while Din’s were not. The armored man was suddenly beside you and when you turned back around you tried not to let your surprise show.

He looked from you to the helmets and back. The heat of his eyes through the visor could rival the suns for all the concentration he was focusing on you in that moment. As if he was trying to read everything, he could from the way wrinkles formed over your brow as it had furrowed to the slightest downturn of your lips as your gaze focused on the display before you and he was catching a glimpse of the memories playing behind them.

“Cuyir gar jate?”

Are you okay?

Pitched low, a few feet from you, you would be the only one to hear his words. They didn’t register for a second, your thoughts consuming you again the moment white armor filled your gaze. Anxiety hummed through you, making your fingers and arms tingle, your legs tense. Your lungs felt much like they had when still healing from the metal that had made a home in and around them, all those weeks ago, it was hard to take a full breath.

“Elek, ni ceta.”

Yes, I’m sorry.

“Nayc linibar at cuyir.  Ni shi turned rud bal gar rucuyir dar.”

No need to be. I just turned around and you were gone.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, a breath of space between the pauldrons atop his and the fabric of your cloak. Being this close allowed you the realization that he made up a large, broad figure. Intimidating to some, but you were beginning to see around the walls he had meticulously built and underneath the armor. Privy to things most people never would be, all because he was letting you. Maybe letting him catch a glimpse of your own nature would be helpful…

“Ganar gar ru'akaanir ti verde?”

Have you fought with them before?

“Elek, val ru'ram'or te jetiise bajur-taap.” 

Yes, they attacked the Jedi school.

“Pehea ruug'la rucuyir gar?”

How old were you?

“Ta'raysh.”

Ten.

Silence fell, something permeating it that you didn’t want to explore. Emotions overwhelming and the conversation too real to handle, despite giving the man answers to the questions he had asked. Having wanted to provide answers to him. He had wanted to know, however small and painful, he had wanted to know. You could understand that, you were traveling on his ship after all. Of course he wanted to know some things about you. Needing to be alone, to not have the weight of the visor trained on you, you took a step back and looked down the street to your right. A faint buzz of conversation and movement could be heard from further down, indicating that the marketplace wasn’t too far from your position.

“Ni linibar kebise, cuyir bic jate par ni at slanar?”

I need some things, is it okay for me to go?

Feeling the small tug at the corner of your mouth as you try to mask your emotions from the man in front of you, you cut your eyes at him to get a glimpse. The visor stayed still, facing the display of the helmets still, but that didn’t mean that where his attention was focused. He could’ve very well been clocking the nerves that were sparking all along your body as anxiety smoldered inside and you would be none the wiser.

“Urcir norac sha te crest?”

Meet back at the Crest?

All you could manage was a single nod of confirmation before you were walking away from him, down a side street.

There was no trace of you other than the collection of things that had been deposited atop the makeshift table when Din returned to the hangar and ascended the ramp into the Crest. He scanned the space of the hold, not finding any other hints as to where you were other than your cloak neatly folded and placed atop the crate he had given you to store your belongings in. Heaving a sigh, he went to retrieve a bag of his own when the open door of his quarters caught his attention. The small space was empty, the blanket you had wrapped the Child in laying in a crumpled heap right in the middle of the cot.

“Hey!” His voice boomed across the hangar as he bounded down the ramp with quick steps, tension drawing him tight and sparking the beginning of a headache about his temples. The unknown on top of the questions he hadn’t been able to keep quelled earlier today in front of those kriffing helmets. The stab of fear that he pushed you had made his chest tight underneath the armor until you had given him answers. Something he had so selfishly sought out from you, knowing he had to right. But you had shared with him.

The commotion of the mechanic jolting awake could be heard from somewhere within the enclosed area of the surrounding infrastructure. Calls of her being there and awake making their way to his ears as he tried to push down the panic that rose in him the longer he didn’t know where you or the Kid were.

Surely you wouldn’t have just taken him and run? You couldn’t have, you had all but promised him you would return to the ship. Why would you have purchased whatever you had and left it only to disappear with the Child?

“Where is he?” Din gruffly demanded as her small form appeared, cradling the Child in her arms.   

“Quiet! Oh, you woke it up!” She spoke between soft hushes and bounces in an attempt to calm him down. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to get it to sleep?”

“Give him to me.” Din pointed a finger at her, letting his anger and emotions get the better of him in light of the unknown

“Not so fast.” She fired back at him, her own annoyance flaring at his aggressive behavior. “You know, you have an awful lot to learn about raising a young one. At least your wife, really nice girl, came back and asked me to watch over him if he woke up.”

“She left?” His tone was still harsh, but not as loud now, as he realized everything seemed okay. It was good, you had come back and tended to the Child when you dropped off whatever you had gotten at the marketplace. Visor aimed at the now calm form of the Child, taking in the way he seemed to be okay at the mention of you and in the arms of the mechanic. He was gazing up at her with wide, curious eyes.

“Said she needed a few more things but wanted to check on the little one. A load more responsible than you, not even telling me he was on board all alone.”

“Was… she okay when she returned?” Din was hesitant to ask but pushed through the feeling because the need to know overwhelmed him. He could ask you, he was aware of that, but you would most likely give a perfunctory answer. Something to appease him and seem like everything was okay or at least that you have everything under control. But the shouting, the nightmare, the crying he could hear from the shower the night before. The way you had seemed so hopeless and fragile when you said you could still feel their hands all over you…

It was concerning. Din could help to heal your body, heal you of physical injuries and tend to them as they required. Should you allow him to. But mentally? He had no idea how to even offer his help, beyond pulling you to him and making you feel safe. But even that could be in poor taste, he was realizing, when so much of your trauma stemmed from physical touch in the first place. 

“Seemed alright, a little anxious. Was kind enough to bring me some lunch.”

“Did she eat?”

“I don’t know, I’m not her keeper.” The mechanic tempered back with a huff. She seemed to soften momentarily, as she hushed and bounced the Child in her arms once again. “I didn’t see it, but she could’ve while out and about.”

She continued on to let him know the progress on the ship, messing with the diagnostic readings on the mechanics she had hooked the ship up to. As she spoke, he retrieved the bag he had come back for, letting it hang from his hand in favor of tossing it over his shoulder. With a rather pointed remark about starting the other repairs aside from the fuel line, she glanced down at the cooing Kid in her arms.

“I figured you were good for the money, since you have an extra mouth to feed and the reassurances of your wife.”

“Thank you,” His words were sincere, relief flooding him as everything did seem to be okay. You had come back with a promise to return, talked to the mechanic to check on the progress of the repairs, assured her of proper payment, and acted with responsibility.

The mechanic seemed momentarily taken aback by his genuine thanks, much like you had been when he first extended what comforts he could provide to you.

As you rounded the corner, with a heavy second haul of items, you took notice of the scene in front of the hangar door. There was a young man beside two speeders, the mechanic who was holding the Child securely in her arms, and Din, who you could sense was rather tense even from the distance.

“Hey, Mando. What do you think?” A younger man preened as he leaned back against one of the two speeders parked outside of the hanger. He was about your height, if not a bit taller. Dark hair, an earring glinted in the two-fold sunshine beaming down on the planet, and predominantly black outfit with blue accents and vest. No armor adorned his body. Seemingly proud of himself for collecting them at what you were sure was the behest of Din, possibly for a job he managed to find. “Not too shabby, huh?”

Din was busy placing his bag atop the one closest to him, walking up and down the length of it as he looked it over. You watched him as he did so, approaching the small group.

“What’d you expect? This ain’t Corelia.” The young man nodded his head in greeting toward the mechanic. She didn’t seem too impressed, but the Child giggled in her arms, drawing attention to himself. Your approaching figure caught the young man’s attention and his brows disappeared into his dark hairline as you looked you over.

You had forgone your cloak for your second run into the city, needing to try on vambraces and some other items. That left you in your high collared tank top, your upper arms exposed and feeling the heat of the day. Your saber was secured inside the pouch fastened by two straps to your right thigh, over the black of your form fitting trousers. You had already made the knee pads you purchased as a part of your attire. In a huff of exasperation in the middle of the marketplace, you had braided your hair to one side and looped it on along the back of your neck with a pin.

“And who might you be?”

You ignored him, not liking his tone or the air about him. His entire demeanor and presence activating your instincts for flight. Instead, you sidled up a few feet from Din.

“Oh c’mon, don’t be that way. I’m here to help your friend, Mando.” The volume of his voice rose a little, making you uncomfortable even more so. You fixed him with a stern look, letting him know you weren’t going to play along, manners were for nice people and something about him didn’t sit right with you. He held his hands up in mock surrender, though the cheeky grin pulling at his lips made your skin crawl. He was exactly the type of person who you would’ve sourced information from once upon a time, but now you wanted nothing to do with his type.

“Mar’eyir a bora?” Find a job? You turned your attention back to the armor wall that Din made up, the beskar glinting beautifully where the suns shown on it directly, not wanting to deal with the young man anymore.

“Yes.” He responded in Basic, closing the distance between you and reaching for the strap of your bag to gently pull it from you. As he did so, he pressed his helmet to your forehead by way of greeting. The hand he wasn’t holding the bag with hovered over the small of your back as he walked you toward the entrance of the hangar space. He hadn’t touched you since untangling from you earlier in the day and it was thrilling, despite it being so casual. Despite the mental exhaustion that was settling in from a day of interaction with too many people.

“Give me a minute.”  Were the simple words thrown over his shoulder as he guided you through the door and down the steps into the enclosed space. The ship was open, as you had left it, and the side paneling along it was removed to show where the mechanic was working on things. You let him guide you further, toward the ship. He placed your bag town on the makeshift table, beside the one you had already dropped off earlier before turning to face you. He just took in the way you began to dig through it, pulling out a pouch that clinked. You opened it to reveal thin, dark rings of metal. Setting it aside you pulled out a vambrace, one that was made of a dark metal as well, it would fit perfectly over the gloves you adorned.

“I haven’t programmed my chain code into it yet, I’m a little hesitant to, if I’m being honest. But I got one with communication controls.” You held it up to show him with a small grin, rather proud of your find and the cost hadn’t been too bad to get it up and running. The scrubbing and reprogramming had been a bit steep, but it would be worth it to have a scrapped mechanism you could customize for your needs. “It only has short range, but I figured that would be good enough for while you’re out on jobs or I’m away from the ship.”

When no answer came from him, you turned worried eyes over the helmet. Your mouth was open, and words were rushing out before you could stop them. Letting the man in front of you be privy to the overthinking nature that you possessed. Prattling was a nervous habit, one that you had thought you had grown out of being alone a majority of the time, it having turned into stubborn silence in wake of a mental barrage. But something about the man in front of you brought it back to life. Not wanting to seem like a bother or say the wrong thing and then ending up saying a whole lot more than was necessary.

“That is, if you want to keep in touch while separated. I didn’t mean to insinuate that I needed to be able to get ahold of you at all times. You’re a grown man. I’m assuming? I mean, I’ve seen…you…before but you’re rather fit and that doesn’t really reflect age. Oh Maker, I don’t even know how old you are, I might be older than you.” You ducked your gaze, eyes focusing on the cuirass as you felt the heat of embarrassment creep up your neck. Self-consciousness taking a hold of you with its gnarled hands and pulling to make your skin feel too tight and uncomfortable.

“Calm, mesh’la.” Din’s deep voice washed over you in an easy chuckle paired with the nickname he favored had your stomach fluttering. He closed the distance and brought a gloved palm grip to rest it atop both of your hands where the vambrace was still in your grip. You hadn’t realized that they had begun to tremble slightly.

“I just- I don’t want to overstep.” 

“It was good for you to get a comm link.” His fingers tangled with your own as he took the vambrace from you and began to inspect it. With the helmet no longer trained on you so directly, it was easier to take a deep breath to recenter. The device beeped to life under his gloved fingers, and he punched in some information before holding moving to fit it over your hand and secured it to your left wrist. He lifted a hand to the right side of his helmet and your comm link blinked to signal an incoming transmission. All set, it seemed. “Your puck had your age displayed, we’re very close.”

He shifted on his feet, creating space as he did so. A weird tension blossomed in the space, putting you on edge. Both of you so consumed by internal conflicts and worries. Of the unknown that had settled over the coming days.

“Don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

“Okay.”

“Just… be here when I return.”

“O-of course.”

Without another word, the armored man departed.

Being aboard the ship alone was a weird phenomenon. Yes, the Child was still with you, but it was a foreign feeling to be here without the shape and presence of Din Djarin. He had told you that the space was yours as much as it was his, but that hadn’t settled into a concrete thing quite yet. It was still new, all of it and it was overwhelming.

Being out of captivity, being free, traveling, being on a ship. Having a ship be your new settlement of sorts, something you hadn’t ever really considered as you sought out whatever peace you could, too ignorant of ship mechanics and it being too handsome of an investment to make. Breathing out a heavy sigh, you cradled the small figure in your lap. You had been sat for quite a while, meditating. The Child settling into the space of your crossed legs to do the same. It had taken him a long time to settle and focus, as it always did when he wanted to join you, but once he did he had been silent for as long as he was able to.

He was fidgeting now, breaking your own concentration.

Feeling a little foolish, you hit the call button on your vambrace. Heart beating fast as it waited for pickup to make a connection. When it pinged, you startled a little at how quickly the low, full-bodied voice displayed cleanly over the line.

“What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing! Everything is okay.” You had no idea why you were so nervous; it was just a conversation.

“…okay.”

“Um, I was- I was wondering if I could take ad’ika out for a while.” You gathered the Child in the crook of your right arm, his eyes trained on the small speaker Din’s voice was coming from. He cooed as you stood, reaching for the vambrace, but you offered him your fingers instead. He gripped them tight, legs kicking out slightly as he wiggled about. You felt a wide smile pull at your lips as he loosened his grip and you made grabby motions at him, picking at the fabric of his outfit. His giggles were loud, and it made warmth blossom in your chest to hear them so unbridled. Your own soft laughter joining his. “Just for some fresh air! We’re so far from the city center, just around the hangar, so he can see the sunset.”

“That…should be fine.”

“Only if you’re okay with it. He’s in your care.”

“Ad’ika?”

“Oh,” You breathed a gentle laugh at the confusion you detected in his single word. Setting the happy child down atop the makeshift table, you opened a cannister of fruit for him to munch on before moving toward the paneling. You finished your thought as you opened it up to reveal the small kitchen set up and reached to activate the caf brewer, slightly nervous he was going to tell you it was an unnecessary shift. “Figured since we don’t know his name and he doesn’t want to tell me.”

“He talks to you, in actual words?”

“No, no, um, it’s…rather complicated.” You tried not to huff out your exasperation of finding only one pod of caf left in a storage drawer. You popped it into place and set a mug underneath where it would brew from once finished. The clink of the mug was loud, creating a bit of static over the line.

“No words. But talks.”

“…yes.”

“Letting him watch the sunset should be fine.”

“I’ll be on high alert, just want him to not feel trapped here on the ship is all.” When nothing was said in response, you shifted your weight from leg to leg as you stood before the caf machine began to brew with a sputter. “Okay, well, um, thank you.”

The line disconnected.

“Okay, ad’ika, we’re waiting on this drink, and we can go outside.” You turned to smile at him atop the makeshift table, trying to push down the weird feeling in the pit of your stomach. His little trill of a response fell on deaf ears. The guilt of having just messed up somehow bubbling up and making it hard to think. You focused on the line of liquid as it cascaded down from the machine into the mug, the noises it was making as it did so to try and center yourself.

Holding a steaming mug in one hand and a small snack in the other, you let the Child walk alongside you down the ramp and through the hangar space. You waved in greeting at the mechanic who was milling about. It seemed like she was about done for the day, the droids gathering things and putting them away in a flurry of movement around her. She returned the wave before disappearing inside.

“We have to be careful, okay?” We aren’t taking anything for you to hide in, so if you get scared I’ll hold you, got it?” You glanced down at him beside you as you walked through the door that led out to the street. He nodded, making little noises as he took in the empty surroundings. With the suns so close to the horizon, about to disappear beneath it, many people were already retired for the day.

You settled yourself against the wall that made up the hangar, facing the direction of the suns as they began to dip down and disappear. Sipping from the mug in your hand as you crossed your legs in front of you, leaving them stretched out from being busy all day. You had tried to understand what the mechanic was doing, asking her questions and to walk you through the basics of what she was doing before you had moved onto other things and looking after the small figure that was currently bustling about in front of you.

He was seated as well, small claws reaching out to play with rocks and watch a scant lizard or bug as it crawled about. Something with a stinger got too close to him and you waved a hand to get it away from him, the tingles of the Force sparking in your palm. That drew his attention back to you, his eyes focused on the snack you had brought out and was resting on your knee. He held a hand out much like you had just done and closed his eyes in concentration. The furrowing of his small brow created deep wrinkles and it made you hold a laugh back at how much like an old man he looked with them. The snack lifted into the air slightly, wobbled, and then fell back to your knee with a muffled thump.

“It’s tough, I know.” You soothed, knowing how hard it was to begin to harness the energy of things. The concentration and focus it took second nature to you at this point. Something that had come back to you easily, you were thankful for, after so many years of the ability being dormant. You raised a hand and motioned for him to give it another try. His eyes closed and he spread his claw wider.

The snack hurdled toward him, too fast for him to catch it and it smacked him in the forehead before falling to the sand. He let out a startled noise as it did, his wide eyes beseeching as he looked at you. You were setting down your mug and rushing over to him as his eyes watered and he began to breathe in a weird staccato.

“Oh, hey, hey, no, no.” Reaching for him, you pulled him to your chest and his claws dug into the fabric of your cloak. “You’re okay, ad’ika.”

You both sat there, watching the sky fade from orange hues to the darkness of night. As stars began to twinkle above, you pushed yourself up and made your way back to the Crest, the small creature fast asleep in your tight embrace.

Deciding on a shower to wash away the day, you wrestled with the notion of whether or not you should disengage the ramp to close up the ship. You trusted the mechanic, but that could only go so far. She said she had engaged the alarm system for the hangar once you returned, letting you know that she had shared it with your husband.

You knew she meant the word as a way of referring to Din, not knowing his name or knowing what else to call him. But that word, that term, it felt like a threat. The last time you had heard it, it had been one and it was triggering as all the ugly details of the last encounter you had with your mother rose up along with the acidic burn of bile in your throat.  

It felt like something was coming alive in your very body, awakening after a long slumber, and stretching its claws up your chest as it unfurled. Something dark and sinister, the weight of it suffocating and making it hard to breathe. It was something you recognized, something you knew too well as it perked up and burrowed into you, like it knew it was home and there to stay. Your head felt light as quick breaths were all you could manage.

Double checking that the door to Din’s personal quarters was locked and the Child was safely inside, you moved into the fresher with hands guiding you along the walls. Locking that door behind you, you turned the water on full blast, cranking the handle to make it as hot as it would go. The first drops of water barely had time to travel down to hit the tile of the stall floor before you were throwing up what little was in your stomach.

Tearing the off, it piled on the floor around you before you stepped into the stall. You hissed as the water hit your skin, the heat and steam of it filling the small room in almost a suffocating way. But it was welcome, the strong of it on your skin as it drowned the thing that was stirring inside. You had sunk to your knees, sitting right underneath the stream of water. Hanging your head, the wet locks of your hair stuck to your body as you got lost in the thoughts of how the day had felt too easy, too normal.

Everything from the way you had woken up to an empty bed after sleeping tangled in the arms of a man you hardly knew to the domesticity of talking to him on the comm link as you and the Child played around. It was all so casual, so domestic, so completely ordinary. And it felt good, to experience normal things, things people took for granted. And that felt bad, the guilt of wanting it to continue. To keep living when for so long you hadn’t wanted to.

You had done so many questionable things in your life, faced so many threats and that was before becoming the shell of a person at the hands of bandits had turned you into, who kept you so drugged up you hadn’t even known where you had been. You didn’t deserve any of it and how could you?

The berating words and actions of your mother having molded into your very psyche reminding you that you were a bad person for choosing to live your life the way you had wanted to at a young age. That choice leading you to a life on the run, to a life of stealing and cheating and hurting others to ensure your own protection. That choice leading to a target on your back that wouldn’t disappear until you took your last breath. It was all your fault, the hand you had been dealt. All a result of wanting to learn how to harness the skill a stranger had noticed in you.

Lightly tracing the scars you had dug into the skin of your thighs, your hands began to shake with wracking sobs. Tears falling fat and heavy from your eyes to coalesce with the steaming water cascading down your body. Eyes unfocused as you tried to watch the way your nails were now digging into the flesh as you gripped your legs so tight your knuckles popped.

Just as you were standing from your seat at the makeshift table, skeleton assembly of what would turn into a set of pauldrons, you sighed. It was late, sleep evading you in wake of your breakdown. To distract yourself, you had set to working with your hands, beginning to work the materials you had gathered into armor for yourself.

The metal rings in various sizes you had purchased earlier were strewn about in small, organized piles alongside two types of pliers, a mandrel, and a pair of snug leather gloves to protect your fingers as you worked. You had purchased rings that were already annealed twice over, before and after the openings were flattened and drifted in the traditional wedge style you preferred over circular. It would turn into a sturdier piece, the strength due to the harder to damage bonding.

Stretching your back, hands on your lower back you paused as faint footsteps sounded outside as someone trekked toward the ship. Shrugging your cloak on over the full outfit you had changed into after your shower, you made sure the Child was secure in the hammock and hit the panel beside the door to close the small space off from the rest of the ship, the mechanism for the lock clicking.

A blaster shot buzzed through the air and you dodged it, the hit making contact with the paneling behind you. It pinged before ricocheting and the single light you had on went out with a pop. A muttered curse was all the warning you had as you turned on your feet and raised a hand, reaching out with the Force to hold whoever had dared to enter the ship in place. The figure looked vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t place them in the sudden darkness of the ship.

The sounds of the person struggling against the hold you had on them were too close for comfort, and you swiped a foot out to kick their feet out from under them. As they went down, they fired something that wasn’t a blaster. The sting of something sharp reverberated down your right arm, tingling as a cool feeling washed through your veins almost immediately.

“Sedative, learned from a friend it would be the only way to take you down.” The voice spoke into the darkness, not registering quite yet in your mind. You cursed, pulling the long needle from where it had penetrated the fabric of your cloak to embed itself into the flesh of your arm. You dropped it to the ground, feeling the coolness of the sedative take over, lighting you up and muddling your brain in a way you hadn’t been in weeks.

You tried to move away, to put the makeshift table between you and the voice, but you ended up leaning heavily on the surface, arms already feeling too heavy to control. The hush of a blade being drawn had your heart beating a little faster, only aiding in the drugs taking over that much faster.

Breath hissing out as the blade sliced into the side of your thigh, you tried to step back but stumbled as your legs felt as if weights had been tied to them. Arms swiping across the table as you tried to balance yourself, sending the metal rings atop it to scatter everywhere with little pings. Vision wavering from focused to fuzzy made it hard to see the rope and cuff links now in the man’s hands, mind too sluggish to listen to your instincts and put up more of a fight. Blinking profusely, your eyes took in younger man Din had left with yesterday. Only Din was nowhere to be seen and the man seemed particularly focused on you.

“Don’t hurt either of them, take me. Turn me in. Let them go, my bounty is high.” You could only watch as he approached you, body too heavy to usher away from him. His response sounded so far away, as if you were struggling to hear him across a vast distance and not a few feet.

“How many times do I have to tell you people, I don’t care about the money.” He snarled, face ugly as it contorted with his anger and continued misunderstanding. He shoved you harshly to the ground, the body that was no longer under your own control going with the movement. The rings scattered over the floor dug into your skin and clothing, stinging as they did so. He threw himself over you, legs heavy on your own as he pinned you to the floor, reaching to secure the cuffs over your wrist. You swiped out as adrenaline sparked at being pinned down, surging up as best you could with bared teeth. He screamed as you raked your nails down the column of his neck as hard as you could manage, drawing blood in thin lines.

With a scowl he took hold of the front of your cloak and slammed your head down to crack against the metal of the floor. You shouted out at the pain that blossomed there, fuzzy vision graying at the edges.

“I’ll do whatever you want, just let them be.” Your words slurred as you begged, too far gone to do anything else, the sedative he used was either high quality or he had used a lot of it. If it was the only way to get him to change his mind, alter the motives he was working off of, then it was an offer you would make. For the sake of the Child, for the sake of his safety with Din. You could faintly sense the tears that were falling from your eyes, the thought of the Child being captured hurting even more than the predicament you were in. You would take on the world for him to have a good life, the chance at a good life.  

“Not lookin’ for that type of action right now, sweetheart.” Your attacker moved to cuff your ankles together over the leather of your boots. The rope in his hands going around them next. “But Mando is in for a surprise if he ever finds his way out of the desert. His quarries are mine now.”

The look of triumph that could be glimpsed from the faint light seeping into the ship was the last thing you saw as your vision blacked out completely.

The run was rising just as the mount Din had secured entered the outskirts of Mos Eisley. The deep navy-blue of the night sky fading on the horizon to the muted haze of peach sunlight that was cresting over in the signal of a new day. Everything was quiet, the city asleep in the early hour. Outside the hangar entrance was the speeder Din had been comfortable leaving behind with Callican, foolishly he muses now. Whatever had transpired between the young man and Fennec Shand had inspired his abandonment of the job to capture her. Din could only hope that Callican hadn’t done anything too foolish or rash in his shifted focus.

Brandishing his blaster, Din entered the hangar space with quiet steps.  

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taglist: @strawberri-blonde @moonknight-s-cumdump @js-favnanadoongi

dividers by the lovely saradika

[sharper-than-a-serpents-tooth]

What if Anastacius was in unrequited love with Claude's mother and Anastacius never acted on those feelings because he didn't want to be like his father who abused his position as Emperor and would force himself on powerless maids. What if Anastacius and Claude's mother are much closer in age than initially assumed because Aevum raped the Empress' maid when she was still a minor. I once suggested that Anastacius might have been parentified because Claude's father ignored Claude entirely and his mother was unable to raise him all alone since she was terminally ill and expecting to die soon. This shifts the family dynamic by one position, placing Anastacius next to Claude's mom as the one who slips into the role of the father who failed them and has to take care of Claude and protect him. Both Anastacius and Claude's mother raised Claude in a sense and might have supported each other in a way a couple should. Claude's mother was probably a good person who would listen to his problems when her illness would allow it and comfort him but would also tell him when he had done wrong rather than faking sympathy and using flattery on Anastacius like the others who were hoping to take advantage of their friendships to him once he has become Emperor. Although it was of platonic nature Anastacius who never knew anything but the toxic power plays of the nobility was receiving unconditional love by a commoner, similar to what Claude would experience years later and lose that love, a stroke of fate which would eventually lead him down the dark path of a tyrant who would drink, sleep around and even dabble in dark magic to destroy himself.

Anastacius considering to kill Claude throughout his youth but being unable to go through with it due to the affection he held for Claude's mother draws another parallel to Claude, Diana and Athy. Athy said Anastacius tried to kill his brother so many times...it may have been similar to how Claude let Athy almost drown but changed his mind and saved her. Anastacius wanted to kill Claude but made excuses to let him live a little longer. He loved him and he hated him. He rejects Claude after Claude's mother died. Maybe he even thought to himself had Claude not been born the maid would still be healthy and alive. Claude never should have existed at all. He never should have been born. He sees traces of Claude's mother in him and is nice to him, he sees traces of his father in him and it makes him sick. His father chosing another woman over the Empress is the reason why this child exists. Claude was born out of sin, out of adultery and rape. Claude is the living proof of this betrayal that the Emperor committed against his partner just like Athy is the proof of Diana's "betrayal". Someone choses the wrong person over the person they should have chosen, a mother becomes ill due to the pregnancy, dies of mana sickness and the betrayed has to "raise" the child they have complex feelings for.

Claude said Anastacius was like a madman begging to be killed. Imagine if he wanted that woman's child to become Emperor that badly, he would sacrifice his own life. Did he see no reason to continue living anymore and wanted Aeternitas to be taken down with him before he could actually harm Claude? Why would Anastacius become interested in resurrection? Could there be another reason why he wanted to create a powerful wizard child artifically instead of the natural way that he knows would endanger the mother? Did the death of Claude's mother traumatize him so much it changed how he viewed motherhood?

[kybelles]

pacat will never not have my distaste bc of this last line cause imagine saying “uhmm actually child prostitution is indeed better than sexual slavery aka the main theme that i built my series on before i decided to go on a softer path instead of keep going with the slavekink novel while continuing to use some aspects of sexual slavery to further the romance between my main characters” it’s like???

setting aside the fact that in terms of meaning this line makes no sense (“which is no choice at all” / “yet still more than is afforded to a slave” -> which is the truth?) claiming that sexual slavery is worse than child rape and prostitution is hypocritical because it overlooks the inherent harm and exploitation present in both scenarios. while the portrayal of sexual slavery within the context of a fictional narrative may be intended for entertainment or thematic exploration, it still involves the dehumanization and exploitation of individuals. on the other hand, child rape and prostitution involve the exploitation and abuse of vulnerable children which is universally condemned due to its severe and lasting impact on victims. therefore, attempting to justify one form of exploitation as somehow less harmful or immoral than another is hypocritical and fails to recognize the gravity of both situations and does them a disservice.

it also makes me grimace how pacat goes out of her way to show how horrible the working conditions are for even the adult pets (from rape rings to participating in other sort of horrible and humiliating activities to keep their patrons’ interests) and yet when damen voices a correct point about the pet system, she has laurent (a character known for his wit and insight) dismiss his point. it makes no sense for me in any way.