#it's not for an addiction reason although that would be a good reason to bring it up with a therapist unironically that's not embarrassing

[sunspira]

mentioning "genshin impact" to my therapist has been the most humiliating moment of my young life

[theboombutton]

The interesting thing about tmagp episode 9 is that, from one perspective, it's about a pair of dice that kill you if you roll a crit fail. And in TMA that would be very End-coded. Games of chance were End-coded, and death is obviously The End. Open and shut case.

Except it's not, here. The statement giver had never seen anyone roll a 2 before he ran into Gary in that coffee shop, even after thousands of rolls. That's not an End artifact. Those dice are going out of their way not to kill anyone, save those who try to part with them.

The compulsion to roll feels like the Web, but is it? Certainly games of chance can become addicting, but I don't think that's the whole story. The Web is about the fear of the loss of control, yes, but it's also about something else controlling you instead. Here that something else is an embodiment of "random" chance - although again, it's not properly-random, not even pseudorandom. I have thoughts on that but they're best addressed further on.

Weirdly, of all the manifestations of Fear from TMA, this statement seems most akin to Jude Perry's - rolling the dice with other people's lives and fortunes, for the thrill of sometimes devastating them.

Which brings me back to the possibility of AU Fears.

In the Protocolverse, why shouldn't there be a Fear associated with chance and luck and fate and misfortune that happens for no good reason? A fear of lacking control and losing everything, without anyone else necessarily having that control.

This is where the way the dice are rigged becomes possibly meaningful. Their outcomes aren't random - they're what humans expect random to look like. They operate according to the gambler's fallacy, where the longer a chain of bad luck you have the more you're due for a good roll, and vice versa. Snake eyes aren't just a normal outcome of the 1-in-36 chance of rolling 2d6 - they're reserved for when someone is cursed with truly rotten luck. Notably that isn't true of boxcars: those just happen sometimes, without prerequisite.

Logically, a Fear of Misfortune wouldn't operate on the actual rules of probability, would it? It would be shaped by the superstitions of those that feared it.

(Also, I hope this statement puts the "they're not fears they're desires!" theory to bed. This guy didn't want the dice, and didn't especially want to roll them, but seemed compelled to anyway.)

[baeshijima]

— of lattes and dozing generals

in which you're just a cafe employee, and he is the luofu's revered general — the one who can never seem to stray too far from you, no matter how much time passes.

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 10.4k wc, fluff, some angst, hurt/comfort, coffee shop!au(-but-not-really-but-yeah-but-also-not), set slightly before current timeline, (old) friends to lovers, (attempts at) humour, pining pining bc they are old..., mentions of death (reader killed a mara-struck for the first time), hints of blade x reader if you squint

A/N : after a month the fic is done... i am so unwell for this man good lord ಥ_ಥ

General Jing Yuan is a cafe addict. That much is common knowledge among the citizens of the Luofu. Spanning from those who have been around for as long as he — and even older — to children and visitors alike, there’s not one person who hasn’t heard of this rumour.

When asked by a few brave (or nosy, depending on how you look at it) souls, the corners of his lips merely quirk up in a display of fond affection as he vocalises with equal sentiment, “They have my favourite there. How can I possibly resist the temptation?”

…Yeah. Whatever that meant.

Unsurprisingly, word spreads fast. News of the Cloud Knight’s general making regular trips to a meagre cafe? Just what in the world did they have to cause the great, beloved General Jing Yuan to return time and time again?

In the end, no one could actually figure out what his favourite item on the menu was. Every time he went in, it would always result in him leaving with something new! The only consistent occurrence, however, was the same employee taking his order with an expression akin to that of exasperation.

Meanwhile, to the regulars who have grown used to his profound presence within the humble cafe, they know better. This so-called ‘favourite menu item’ rumour that’s been going around? Preposterous! Having bore witness to the general breeze through the entrance in a bee-line to wherever it is you may be currently stationed (typically behind the counter) on many occasions, they’re confident the last thing in Jing Yuan’s mind when visiting is the menu.

After all, for what reason would he have to visit other than to converse with and see his favourite employee?

As a Xianzhou Native, you’ve experienced many oddities and menial routines throughout your extensive life. From being a medic-slash-supporter during countless wars and purges to your current job in a humble cafe, your options are beginning to run thin. After all, life is about exploring the new and revisiting the old (in your philosophy, at least), and there’s plenty of time to do so after having lived as long as you have.

Granted, outside of your role in purging the Denizens of Abundance, it’s safe to say your current occupation in the cafe has been your longest one yet! Well, you suppose the citizens of the Luofu — and, by extension, the Xianzhou Alliance — were never really ones for drastic change. At least the outworlders who come to visit bring some semblance of entertainment in your mundane life.

Yes. Your simple, mundane life you have come to appreciate.

“I see you’re busy as ever,” comments a baritone voice — languid in intonation yet you’re no stranger to the power which belies it. Against your better judgement, your eyes lift from the marbled counter to meet the smiling face of the bane of your existence, and the general whom the masses respect and fawn over. “Mind taking another customer?”

Ah. Right. This guy.

Out of everything that has been thrown at you, you’re almost certain this man takes the cake for the strangest experience in your life. And the longest, you suppose.

Although, it seems the same can’t be said for your coworkers, as you practically hear their beams of excitement before they can vocalise it.

“Welcome back, General Jing Yuan!”

You sigh at the enthused greeting from one of your coworkers, the beginnings of a headache teetering along the edges of your conscience. 

Ignoring the commotion, you resume your work. What was it you were making again…? Oh, right. One milk tea and a—

“If you keep frowning like that, you’ll drive away customers.”

“Will it drive you away?” you retort, focusing on the last part of the order. After securing the small fruit tart from behind the display case, you pass the milk tea and pastry to a coworker so they can take it to the customer.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he drawls, impish smile magnified by the glimmer in his eyes when you turn to make contact, “but it’ll take much more than that to drive me away.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, unsure of what it is exactly he wants from you this time. Your eyes begin to narrow. “Are you saying a smile will drive you away?”

He feigns an exaggerated expression of hurt. “Drive me away? Oh, how your accusations wound me!” A chuckle bubbles from his throat when you glare at him for his theatrics, lifting his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I concede. Would you believe me if I said I’m worried your attention will be stolen away from me if you smile?”

“Not at all.”

“I’m merely looking out for you, [Name],” he says with a sigh, a shake of his head and a light tutting sound. “While I am immune to your smile, the customers are not. I don’t wish for you to be bored due to the lack of customers.”

Seriously, you can’t believe this guy sometimes. If he wants a challenge, then you accept.

And so you close your eyes and present your best century-perfected customer smile (which, to your credit, has been the number one selling point for many of the regulars and returning customers), deciding to play along with his whims. “Welcome back, General Jing Yuan. Would you like your usual today?”

(Granted, he likes to vary his order every now and then but the caramel latte seems to be his most consistent choice as of late. Pretty good taste, if you do say so yourself.)

“…”

…Why is it so quiet all of a sudden? Did everyone just unanimously decide to up and leave?? Is there a minute of silence you’re unaware of???

A meek cough disrupts your thoughts. Relieved at the new sound, you open your eyes only to be stumped by the general in front of you. His prior relaxed posture is now rigid, eyes focusing everywhere but on you. Wait, upon closer inspection, is he… shaking?

“...Please excuse me.”

Huh?

You’re not given much time to process his words. With one swift turn he’s already stalking towards the door.

“Hey! What happened to not being driven away?!” He doesn’t turn back at your shout. No, it seems to only make him speed-walk faster. Barely a blink and he’s gone, the only indication of his presence being the echoing chimes of the bell.

He bigged himself up saying he wouldn’t be driven away but then he goes and leaves you in the dust the moment you smile.

What a hypocrite.

(Unbeknown to you, the regulars who happened to witness the spectacle could only chuckle in fond exasperation at their general’s splutter and flushed skin, the only time they can truly get a read on his thoughts, and your dumbfounded expression.)

“One milk tea, as always.”

“No need to sound so enthusiastic,” Tingyun laughs before thanking you. A satisfied hum leaves her lips when drinking the beverage, and that’s all the indication you need to know you have, once again, aced the recipe.

Well done, me! You deserve a pat on the back and a century-long holiday away from as many people as possible!

Graceful movements snap you out of your fantasies. You blink rapidly to process the flutter of a fan, a disarmingly sweet giggle and a cold, paper-like material pressed into your palm.

“Have fun with your dream man~”

“Wait what—”

And then she’s gone, leaving you to stare blankly at the place she was standing mere moments prior. You’re starting to see a pattern here with people abruptly leaving you in a fit of confusion.

Well, nothing you can do about it now, you suppose. So instead you move your focus to the small, thin object enclosed in your hand. Its now-exposed surface gleams under the cafe lights, the reflection obscuring the details. A picture? But what can you do with a—

Wait. Is that… Jing Yuan… winking at the camera…?

Sure enough, under the pressure of your scrutiny as you hold the picture in various angles and heights, the winking face of Jing Yuan stares back at you in mockery. Somehow, this photo feels slightly more personal than the usual ones Tingyun distributes to the masses. Actually, you’re not sure how she even manages to obtain these photos in the first place and, quite frankly, you think it's best you don’t know.

…The hell am I supposed to do with this?

Just as you were wondering what to do with the polaroid, a familiar voice comes from behind — almost as if the small, glossy image clutched between your fingers had the ability to summon him. “If you wanted my photo, all you had to do was ask.”

“Please don’t misunderstand, general,” you deadpan in response, your head swerving to meet his amused gaze before placing the photocard on the counter. “I was given this against my own will.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm,” he hums, a melodic sound which serves to speed up the palpitations of your heart. It comes to an abrupt slow, however, when you spot the corners of his lips lift into a smug curve, already dreading whatever it is that may leave his lips. “I wonder why I find that hard to believe.”

“That's not my problem.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

…

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” He laughs at your groan, eyes crinkling with joy at the dispense of your suffering. Yeah, why suffer when you can make drinks? Besides, you already know he’ll accept whatever it is you make, so there’s no reason to ask for his opinion!

He follows close behind when you venture behind the counter in search of some ingredients, uncaring for the stares he receives from the customers who aren’t regulars. 

When you crouch, you shoot one last accusatory glare at the still-smiling general before disappearing to rifle through cabinets underneath. “For someone in a position such as yours, you sure do have a lot of spare time to be spending it on a humble cafe worker such as myself.”

You’re not sure if he responds, too focused on searching for what you need. After finding the ingredients, you rock back on your heels and stand, the top of your head brushing against something smooth. When you rise, you realise it was the back of Jing Yuan’s hand which you made contact with, as he grips the edge of the counter where your head most definitely would have hit if he hadn’t cushioned the impact.

He merely grins when your eyes travel up the length of his arm to meet his gaze. “Well, what can I say other than you are worth every second of my time.”

…

“Don’t look at me like that, [Name].”

“Like what?” You watch as his smile strains when you repeat his words from earlier, a victorious grin creeping its way onto your lips. “Alright, alright. I’ll make your drink now. It won’t take long.”

True to your words, it doesn’t take long. Within a matter of minutes you’ve prepared a caramel latte. (It was the only thing you could find ingredients for. Perhaps it’s time to go shopping again…)

After securing the lid on the takeaway cup, you hand it over to him. He reaches out, your fingers brushing slightly and—

The silence is unnervingly loud as you both stare blankly at the spilled drink rolling across the counter.

“...I’ll be charging extra for that latte today.”

“Aha…”

You’re no stranger to quiet days in the cafe, and neither are the staff and regulars. After a particular incident way back when, it’s safe to say the establishment has faced many peaceful shifts. Though that’s not to say there hasn’t been any disputes from customers, but they’re usually small, easy to resolve issues that only require a practised smile and a (sometimes threatening) deal before sending them on their merry way.

Today, however, doesn’t seem to be one of those easy days.

“Sir, I’ll have to ask you to leave,” your voice resounds in the quiet cafe, stern and unwavering. The man in question tears his attention away from his phone to glance over his shoulder, his once haughty expression now fallen into a scowl.

“And why’s that?” he asks after telling the other person on the line to wait for a moment. “I’m not being disruptive to anyone.” With the progressively hostile looks he’s been getting since earlier, you beg to differ. Well, even if he clearly is an outworlder unaware of the Xianzhou customs, that doesn’t justify his ignorance.

And you decide to tell him just that.

“Since you seem to be a visitor, let me give you a piece of advice: it would do you well to cease all mentions of seeking immortality when aboard any of the Xianzhou ships, lest you want to make an enemy of yourself to the locals.”

“Oh? And who are you to tell me that?” 

Your eye twitches at his haughty tone. Within a second your signature customer smile is plastered onto your expression, an even tone conveying your next words, “A Xianzhou Native, of course.”

And the next thing you know there’s a seething customer causing a disruption in the middle of the cafe. Though not unexpected, you still held onto a fraying hope that the issue could be resolved somewhat peacefully.

How bothersome.

A light weight plops itself atop the line of your shoulder, shifting slightly with a soft brush against your jaw before coming to a still. With a blink, you and the man share a brief moment of confusion, and you find yourself more stupefied at the finch gazing up at you with a slight tilt of its head.

It looks familiar, but that isn’t much to go off of. Besides, the first person to come to mind already said he would be busy this week, so you highly doubt he’s managed to appear at just the right time like always… right? Right—

“What seems to be the issue here?”

Your answer comes in the form of a tender warmth encasing your back, a beguiling voice resounding from behind, and a familiar scent relaxing your tensed muscles. It doesn’t take a genius to recognise who’s standing behind you, but perhaps it’s because you’re so used to his presence that you can identify him the moment he steps into a room.

“General…” you trail off at his unexpected appearance. Jing Yuan does not meet your gaze, however, instead choosing to remain upright behind you and fixate his focus onto the man who kicked up a fuss, expression hardened into that akin of a general.

The little finch is not deterred by the overwhelming presence Jing Yuan now exudes. Rather, it chirps happily and nudges its head against your jaw once more before making itself comfortable along the slope of your neck. Looking at it a little closer you realise it's the one who sometimes greets you when you and Jing Yuan meet up, finding purchase on your shoulder during a round or two of starchess. A smile makes its way onto your lips when it leans into the touch of your finger.

It would seem the small bird did a great job in distracting you, however, for the next thing you know wind sweeps past you, exclamatory apologies spewed out in haste follow and gradually fade in its wake. There’s a faint chime of the bell and a missing presence in front of you.

Oh, you blink, he ran away.

Jing Yuan turns to you then, expression much softer than it was a few moments prior. “Are you alright?” he asks, his hand gently squeezing your free shoulder.

“Yeah, thank you,” you sigh. Your fingers lift to massage away the built up tension in your temples. “I’m sorry you had to see that on your break.”

There’s a small pause. “You shouldn’t apologise for something like that.”

“Huh…?” It was a mistake to meet his gaze, you belatedly realise, for your breath is ceased by the flame which burns molten gold, your heart caught in your throat amidst a gravitas you haven’t seen for a while.

His lips part, tone gradually changing to something more light-hearted; a stark contrast to his current expression. “You were just doing your job. It was that customer who was in the wrong. Honestly, he should have known better than to talk so flippantly about that topic.”

Well, you can’t refute his words.

“What are you doing here anyway?” You cough in an attempt to divert the topic, only to raise a brow at his unreadable countenance. “I thought you said you would be busy.”

Jing Yuan pauses, as though hesitant, before responding, “I sent you a message to send notice of my visit but you didn’t even leave me on read, so I knew there was something wrong.”

“I didn’t even notice…” Without a moment’s haste, you pull out your phone. There on your home screen displays notification banners: 6 unread messages from my headache <3.

my headache <3: I have some free time, so I will be paying you a visit. Don’t mention this to Qingzu though, she doesn’t know I am taking a break. =w=

my headache <3: Are you busy? You don’t usually leave me on delivered for longer than five minutes.

my headache <3: Did I do something to make you mad?

my headache <3: [Name]?

my headache <3: …

my headache <3: I will be at the cafe soon. Wait for me.

A pang of guilt seeps into your conscience. You hadn’t realised he sent so many messages. Did that customer take up that much of your attention? Also, do you really not leave him on delivered for more than five minutes??

“Oh! You kept the heart I put there?” Your thoughts are promptly cut off by the baritone voice resounding beside your ear. His light breaths puff against your skin as he leans against you, peeking over your shoulder to read the messages he sent.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you huff, eyes trained onto the device to avoid meeting his gaze. “I said you could make any changes you wanted to your contact name and this was what you wanted.”

He stiffens at your words, breath stuttering ever so slightly against your skin but quickly catches himself. There’s no response for a while, instead a wave of calm washes over you as you scroll through your phone with Jing Yuan watching from his place over your shoulder, sometimes recalling a particular memory which comes to mind at certain photos in your camera roll.

It goes on like this for a little while until he shifts, strands of silver brushing against the shell of your ear when he releases a light sigh. You glance over your shoulder only to see him already looking at you, the lines of his features soft and gentle.

“You know,” he starts, voice soft with a twinge of nostalgia seeping through, “I’m your first and longest supporter.”

Well, that certainly came out of the blue.

But he’s not wrong, and perhaps that is why you find yourself huffing out a breathy laugh in response. “What? You want me to praise you?”

“Would you?” he asks, an instantaneous response to your lighthearted jest.

You stare at him, incredulous, but he doesn’t falter. His gaze holds weight, seizing your breath and rendering you speechless. Ah, he really isn’t good for your heart.

“Keep dreaming, general.”

Despite the scoff backing those words, you make no effort to hide your smile. And though you don’t catch it, Jing Yuan makes no effort to hide the adoration glistening in his gaze.

Sidestep to the left. Duck. Step back. Parry. Clang! Step to the right. Pivot. Clack! Raise your arm—!

A sword flies up, twirling mid-air as it plummets back down and digs cleanly into the grass. It gleams under the artificial sun, becoming a focal point in the otherwise barren grounds. You straighten your posture, spear at your side and a bottle of water in hand as you approach the worn-out aspiring Sword Champion.

“You’ve improved, Yanqing.” You smile when he looks up, breathing ragged as he mumbles his thanks before guzzling down the fluids of the water bottle now in his hands. You sit beside him, and it’s not long before a refreshed sigh escapes him, setting the near-empty bottle in his lap.

A lapse of silence. A faint breeze. A wave of heat. A shift of gold.

You sigh upon noticing the boy’s gaze switching between you and your weapon. “What is it?”

“That spear,” he starts, “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“How so?”

“It’s different from the spears the rest of the Cloud Knight’s use and, even though it has a similar aura to the general’s Devastator Glaive, it feels like… it was almost made for you. A weapon that only you can wield.”

For a teen yet to explore the larger part of life, he is frighteningly perceptive. He’s quick to pick up subtle nuances and yet retains that innocent curiosity which enables him to ask questions most adults would not. It’s part of a child’s charm, and you can only hope he will never be robbed of that part of him.

“Made for me, you say?” You cast a glance to your side, vision tunnelling into the fine details which adorns the crafted spear. Despite the many centuries the weapon has braved through, it still appears as though it were only crafted yesterday. Its colours are still vibrant and its exterior holds minimal wear. Your breath hitches when your gaze trails down towards the hilt and hones in on the faintly carved names: yours and the one who gifted this to you.

Your mind numbs. There’s a matching bow which sits in your home, you recall, locked away in a spare room deep within the confinement of your walls. There are other accompaniments, too, surrounding it in decorated, bejewelled boxes filled with handicrafts ranging from everyday trinkets to carefully crafted ornaments carved from the purest of jades.

It sits there, collecting dust all year round. All year round except for one single day — a day when your thoughts surge to new heights and can only be tamed when in that room, cleaning off layers of dust and spiralling into seemingly endless nostalgia. It serves as both a commemoration of the past as well as a reminder for what will never again be.

Immortality truly is a wretched thing.

“[Name]?”

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts. Yanqing, who was sitting beside you mere moments prior, is in front of you with a hand on your shoulder. He probably shook you while you were lost in thought, you surmise. How mortifying…

“Your teacher seems to be slacking off,” you cough, swiftly changing the topic. He doesn’t take note of your awkward transition, but, if he did, he’s done a good job hiding it. “Is he busy?”

“The general?” he repeats in a murmur, chin held between his thumb and forefinger with a contemplative expression. He blinks. “Nope! No clue.”

“I see,” you sweatdrop. Worry begins to pool in the back of your mind, but it is quickly smothered when Yanqing jumps up, bouncing on his heels as he shows off his recovered energy and readiness to spar with you for another round.

You cast one last glance at your spear before standing, following close behind an eager Yanqing as he bounds to the middle of the field with his sword in hand.

(You can still recall him; the young man who gave you these gifts way back when, putting on airs of nonchalance in a poor attempt at masking his bashfulness, the furtive glances, the hand raised to rub the back of his neck, the awkward cough he always did before excusing himself after gifting whatever it was he made that time — all of it is practically ingrained into your mind.

You can still recall him; how could you not when he is the same man who haunts you when in your lonesome.)

--

He’s not here. Again.

You’ve lost count of the number of times your focus darts to the door when a resounding chime of the bell is heard, only to be left with aching disappointment when it turns out to be anyone other than Jing Yuan. His radio silence is concerning, though you suppose any kind of silence from him has that effect considering he always made sure to notify you when he would be busy, therefore unable to visit you due to urgent matters.

Has he been well? Has he been eating regularly? What of his sleeping habits? He’s not overworking himself again, is he? What if he left on an expedition without saying anything?

Your answer appears in the form of Yukong.

“The general?” she repeats, blowing lightly on the freshly brewed coffee before answering you. “While I am not completely in the know, I’ve heard in passing that he has been cooped up in his office. For once.”

It’s practically common knowledge to the Luofu citizens how Jing Yuan tends to be absent from the Seat of Divine Foresight. More often than not, he will appear as a hologram, sometimes choosing to instead give advance notice of his lack of presence. Well, you suppose most have grown accustomed to finding him at the cafe. So for him to now hide away in his office without a word is of course a matter of concern. After all, the last time he did this was years ago, and that was because he didn’t want you to worry about… him.

You pause, fists clenching at your belated realisation. A tinge of frustration begins to creep up, but the concern over his condition is far more prevalent, curling around and constricting your heart as worry clouds your senses. “That guy…”

--

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he comments, voice languid in a valiant attempt to hide the undertone of surprise at your arrival. He quickly recovers with a genial smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your arrival?” 

Admittedly, it would have fooled many others. Unfortunately, you have known him too long to be fooled by such tactics. You’re sure he knows, if the slight waver in his gaze has anything to say about it.

Instead of answering, you choose to remain still in front of the now-shut doors. He doesn’t seem to notice though, as he merely resumes his task in a robotic manner. Except for the two of you, the office is void of the usual stationed knights and his few assistants, making the room feel much larger. It’s daunting.

Your unease does not fade after hearing his voice. No, it only heightens, his sluggish movements and voice laden with exhaustion further spiralling you into a state of distress over his well-being. You watch his slow blinks, head dipping slightly only to snap up to prevent himself from falling into slumber before continuing to sign document after document, replacing each signed sheet with a new one in a never-ending cycle.

It would have been comical if you weren’t aware of the fact he’s been neglecting his health to finish these papers.

Typically, he wouldn’t be having this issue, always having been the type to get his work done ahead of time despite his… less than professional demeanour at times, though it seems the papers have been brought in heavy bulk this time around; that, or they contained pressing matters which couldn’t be put off.

“Take a break,” you finally say, unable to stand the sight of him pushing himself any longer. He doesn’t spare you a glance. If it weren’t for the brief pause in his writing before continuing, you would have thought he didn’t hear you. Teeth digging into your lower lip and eyes narrowing into a glare, you try once more. “I’m serious. Take a break.”

Palpable silence douses the room.

And then he lifts his head, meeting your furrowed gaze. His eyes are anything but bright, a dull glaze coupled with dark eyebags signifying his lack of sleep.

“I have to finish signing these papers,” Jing Yuan sighs out, giving what you assume to be an apologetic glance before lowering his head back down to resume the paperwork.

Unfortunately for him, you won’t allow him to succeed in his attempts.

“And I don’t want you to collapse from overwork again!” He flinches at that, and you know you have managed to convince him when he places his pen down on the table’s surface and relents with a deep sigh. When he finally nods, defeated, the building tension dissipates and you’re able to breathe without worry again.

With cautious steps, you make your way over to the large chair. Having been in this room countless times, it’s easy for you to glide to where Jing Yuan sits despite the darkness which now drapes like a veil over the interior.

When you reach his seat, your eyes harden at the scattered documents, staring at them for a few seconds in hopes it will miraculously burn them, before tearing your gaze away and focusing on your weary friend.

“Let’s get you home,” you mutter. You lean down and prepare to help him stand in case he needs the extra support after having sat for too long. It doesn’t go as planned, however, when he tugs you down beside him and plops his head onto your lap. “Hey—!”

“Just for a moment…” he intercepts, voice heavily laced with sleep. The second you lock eyes, you know it’s all over for you. “Just for a moment, stay here with me.”

And you sigh knowing ‘a moment’ will turn into hours. But you’re fine with that. As long as he gets his rest and can finally let his guard down, you would gladly lend him your lap for days on end.

“Fine.” You shift slightly to provide him more comfort. “Take as long as you need. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He responds in the form of a grateful smile and soft squeeze to your hand. Within a matter of seconds he’s sound asleep, the steady rise and fall of his chest soothing the dull ache in your heart.

Cautiously, you raise your free hand and reach out to his peaceful expression. His hair is silkier than you last remember, easily threading your fingers through the soft strands to brush them away from obscuring his features.

‘Than I last remember’, huh…

Your eyes trail to the hand clutched in his.

Thinking back on it, it has been a while since you last relaxed like this with him. Life tends to be busy, the cafe takes up most of your time, and Jing Yuan has his official duties to take care of. No matter how lax he tries to play it off, you’re aware he has his hands full with governmental affairs and conjuring a multitude of tactics to minimise losses. That’s the kind of person he is — to badger you about the happenings in your life, yet hide away and gloss over his with a genial mask so as to not worry you.

You’ve always hated that part of him. Why can’t you worry for him? Why must it always be he who consoles you but not the other way around? Does he truly not know how his evasive tendencies pain you, intentional or not?

Questions, questions, questions; all these questions and yet there’s never a concrete answer.

Is he… really so oblivious to the way his secrecy is what spurs your distance with him?

Your hand pauses.

Perhaps steadily drawing a line between you is a pointless pursuit in clinging onto the past, a fleeting hope for everything to revert back to the way it was before; to deny the happenings of bygones which paved the way for the present.

Things will never be what they once were. You understand that. You accept that. And, perhaps, that is what makes it hurt all the more.

Four familiar faces emerge from deep within the hidden crevices of your conscience, ones you have not physically seen for a long time — too long, perhaps. And yet they appear just as vivid as before everything went up in flames, endlessly haunting you when you’re left alone with the silence of your own mind. No matter how tightly you shut your eyes in blatant refusal of their presence, nor the strength in which you cover your ears to drown out the remnants of their voices, they never leave you alone. They cling to you, desperate; the same way in which you are to be free of them.

But even so, in spite of the hostility and bitterness and hurt which remains in their wake and binds itself to their legacies, you cannot help but to wish they are doing well, wherever it is they may now be.

And maybe it’s the full moon glaring down at you which spurs this wishful thinking but, on the off-chance they return, perhaps those of you that are left can gather at the cafe after closing hours and chat about anything and everything, exciting and menial, you have come to experience in the time spent apart.

(Just like old times.)

But, of them, only Jing Yuan remains, and maybe that is why he doesn’t manifest alongside them as a result of this aching nostalgia, instead resting peacefully on your thighs with steady, even breaths; the only indication that he truly is here with you.

“We will be okay, Jing Yuan,” you find yourself whispering as you gaze down at him. “We’ve made it this far, and we’ll continue on, braving through our fate.”

The image of him blurs, his colours further contorting the more you try to blink it away. It is then you force your eyes shut, lean down towards him, lightly brush away his fringe and press two fleeting, chaste kisses: one against the skin of his forehead and the other atop the mole under his left eye. “If not for myself, then, for you, I’ll be okay.”

Whether that’s to reassure you or him… you’re not sure.

For as long as you can remember, Jing Yuan has always been with you.

It wasn’t merely a matter of staying by each other’s side during the day; no, it’s more than that. Your relationship runs deep — centuries bordering a millennia worth of memories tucked away in the crevices of your mind — and it would be an understatement to say you know each other like the back of your hand.

Together, the two of you have been through it all, in practically every sense of the word.

--

Despite enlisting into the Cloud Knights, it was far from what you wanted, instead aligning with the demands of your parents. To have that expectation of continuing your family’s tradition, to have that burden of battling for the Xianzhou Luofu’s legacy, to have that constant worry of one day being mara-struck due to your race, to perhaps never be able to do what you want for yourself, shackled to generations of family service… that was the meaning of your existence. Whether you liked it or not.

You eventually gave up, simply accepting your unwanted fate and following the hollowed footsteps carved by your ancestors. That was how you ended up amongst the new recruits for the Cloud Knights and listening to the current general’s speech about glory and honour and pride — all for the Xianzhou Alliance; all for the Xianzhou Luofu; all for the Cloud Knights.

Fate is such a weird thing, you remember thinking to yourself as your gaze swept across many others in the same uniform as you. Because despite you all looking the same, despite you all holding the same make of spear, you knew their passion and dedication to serve the alliance would far outweigh your own.

He was no exception.

Contrary to you, the boy who stood a couple rows in front wanted to be there. It was obvious in the way his eyes glimmered, the way he held himself in an upright posture and focused with rapt attention on the general at the front. Perhaps that was what caught your eye back then — the pure, unadulterated desire rolling off him had rooted you in place and forced your attention to be on him.

With a sigh you averted your gaze. There was only one thought which resonated within you in that brief moment: you would never grow close to that boy.

For, unlike you, he was made to shine under the glow of the artificial sun, while you were a passionless bystander relinquished of your fate.

--

It wasn’t long before you made a name for yourself amongst the new recruits of the Cloud Knights. It stemmed from a training session-turned-competition. One which you came out on top.

A natural prodigy is what they called you.

A lucky fluke is what they whispered behind your back.

Looking back, you’re not sure why you tried so hard. Did you think you would have it easy if you won? If anything, it probably made your future that much more troublesome with weighty expectations and watchful eyes from those around you.

Well, there went your quiet life.

At least it couldn’t be as suffocating as it would be back at home. The most you would receive are jealous glances from your weaker peers, or urges from your trainers to try a bit harder. But what reason was there to try when the outcome never changed?

“Why are you here?”

“Huh?” When you looked up, hands still gripped tight around the length of your training spear, your unimpressed eyes met pools of gold. They widened upon contact.

“Wait— that’s not what I—!” he had cut himself off with a sigh, pink dusting his cheeks. He quickly regathered himself and faced you once more. “I mean, why are you here when you clearly don’t want to be? I watched your matches earlier, but there was no light in your eyes… Kind of like now.”

Was that the expression you had? You would never know. What you did know was that the boy was persistent. Evading the topic would not work on him and, quite frankly, you were tired.

“I’m only here because of my parents,” you began. Your fists clenched and your eyes hardened as you lowered your gaze to the grass. “I hate my fate. I have no say in what I can or can’t do in my own life. That’s all there is to it.”

There was a moment of silence after your sombre words. Maybe now he would leave you alone and be on his way. Just like it should be. Someone like him who shines above the rest has no business with you, whose passion was extinguished before it could manifest.

“That’s not true.” Your gaze snapped up, words of protest ready to be let loose only for that burst of anger to dissipate the second you locked eyes. “You can escape your fate.”

“Hah! What nonsense are you—”

“Because that’s what I did.” You blinked once, twice. Your disbelief must have been obvious by the way he flushed slightly, the crimson tinge spanned from the tips of his ears to the apples of his cheeks. “I mean, my ‘fate’ was originally supposed to be a scholar or some kind of official in the Realm-Keeping Commission and follow my family’s footsteps, but look where I am now. I’m nowhere near that.” 

It was strange. He was not supposed to be someone similar to you. He was supposed to be someone you could only gaze at from afar. He burned brightly; you did not.

And yet, through his next words, you discovered that you, too, were capable of dreaming and hoping, the light suddenly appearing in what you deemed to be an abyssal darkness.

“I’m now a Cloud Knight, and I believe that you can also change your fate!”

A sense of camaraderie formed between you and the golden boy that day, an odd, tingling warmth coiled around your heart. Though an unfamiliar feeling, you found you didn’t hate it.

--

“Master asked about you today.”

“Tell her my answer is still no.”

“You don’t even know what she asked about!”

“Don’t need to.”

A sigh came from your left at your instant retorts, but that didn’t bother you. The sun was still up and you were set on soaking up as much of it as you could before Jing Yuan had to leave for his training.

It had been a couple years since you first met now, and you somehow became an inseparable pair; where one of you would be spotted, the other wouldn’t be far behind if not already there.

Well, most of the time, at least.

When Jing Yuan had caught the attention of the Sword Champion, Jingliu, he was offered a place in her team. He accepted, of course, and ever since then he began training under her guidance. As a result, those were the only times you were actively separated.

But by extension, you were somehow roped into her interest.

“So this is where you were.” You grimaced at the familiar tone, turning away as Jing Yuan scrambled beside you.

“Master…!”

“You go on ahead, Jing Yuan. There’s something I need to discuss with [Name].”

Although you hadn’t raised your head, the hesitation in Jing Yuan’s movements were clear. The silence stretched on for a long few seconds before he sighed, “I’ll meet you after I finish, [Name].”

And then he was gone, only you and the Sword Champion remained under the tree’s shade. Blades of grass swayed under the faint breeze, but that, too, came to a standstill within seconds.

“I noticed you didn’t take the oath earlier,” Jingliu said, the silence broken.

A humourless laugh escaped your lips. “I didn’t realise the Sword Champion was keeping such a close eye on me.”

“You’re hiding your talent.” You fell silent at her abrupt statement. Your fingers twitched when she continued. “I know you’re capable of more than you let on.”

What do you know? You thought to yourself as your fingers dug into the grass. You know nothing about me, so stop acting like it.

You never understood why she was so persistent. Was it because of how close you and Jing Yuan were? Had your parents somehow managed to contact and persuade her? What did she even gain from chasing after you when it was clearly a waste of her time? Why…

“Why… why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Because he worries for you.” Your body stilled at her words. You stayed silent for a moment before responding, albeit weaker than your previous tone.

“I’m fine. There’s no reason to worry about me.”

“…[Name]—”

“It’s probably best if you go. Jing Yuan’s waiting for you.” She faltered at your words, ultimately conceding.

A sigh escaped you when you noticed her fall back and prepare to head to their usual training spot. She lingered however, and cast a glance over her shoulder to regard you once more.

“You should visit our training sometime,” Jingliu uttered, her usual stern expression a touch softer than what you were used to. “It would be nice to train together, and you can spend more time with Jing Yuan. I hope you can at least consider it.” And then you could only watch as she walked away, the hues of the sunset steadily engulfing her form.

Back then you had scoffed at her words, unaware of the bond you would come to form with the members of the High-Cloud Quintet as a result of your wretched curiosity.

--

“Someone became mara-struck on the expedition.”

“What…?” A soft gasp came from your left. “Is that why only you…”

“Yeah,” you hummed. You had no courage to face your friend next to you, choosing to instead stare listlessly at your quivering hands. “It happened so quickly. One moment we were discussing tactics, the next we heard screaming. It was agonising. And then, in the blink of an eye…” you gulped, drawing in a harsh breath as your hands clenched into fists, “I killed her. I had to. I… I was the only one left from the team and she kept coming after me and I realised then I truly didn’t want to die and—!”

Your words came to an abrupt halt, smothered by an all-too familiar warmth. The beat of his heart against your ear calmed your erratic breaths, allowing you to regain some semblance of composure. Even when you could no longer hear the rapid pounding of your heart ringing through your ears you remained slumped against his chest, the fatigue weighing down your muscles.

“Jing Yuan,” you called in a hoarse tone, “am I a monster now?”

“You’re not,” came his immediate response. You couldn’t find it in you to believe him.

“But I killed someone, Jing Yuan! We were comrades in arms and I took her life!”

“The situation was out of your control and it was the only thing you could do. It was for your survival and to stop her from suffering any longer. You’re not a monster, [Name].” His voice was steady like a pillar of support, a calm sound that could make you believe all the prior happenings were a mere nightmare you’d just awoken from. His arms around you tightened and pushed you further into his familiarity. “You never could be. Never to me.”

That day was the first time you had ever cried so hard to the point you passed out, the exhaustion having finally caught up. That day you were left unaware of the tears Jing Yuan held back as he bore witness to your rare vulnerability, vision blurring and heart aching as he internally vowed to stay by your side — until he no longer physically could.

--

As you both grew older within this endless spiral of longevity, you could only watch as he became something more than a mere soldier of the Cloud Knights — as he began to be someone out of your reach and unfamiliar against a golden glow too radiant for you to perceive.

It wasn’t long after that you left the Cloud Knights for a placement in a newly opened cafe, having had enough of a life out of your control and dictated by others. You had stayed with the Cloud Knights long enough and you finally found the courage to leave after your numerous contributions.

And while your family may not have been pleased with your decision, Jing Yuan had been supportive, taking it upon himself to visit you when he could despite his limited free time in-between training and expeditions. The other four of the High-Cloud Quintet would tag along as well, sometimes relaying entertaining stories to embarrass the others or to simply catch up with you during your time apart as you readily prepared food and drinks for the six of you to enjoy.

It felt like a dream to still be able to laugh with them.

Unfortunately, all dreams must come to an end. It was a notion that was so glaringly obvious, and yet it never truly occurred to you; not when their visits gradually became less frequent. Not when you began to notice the tension between a couple of your friends. Not when a familiar cold lingered during the moments where all was silent and you were alone.

It was through those moments you foolishly clung to the fraying hope that everything would turn out okay — that all the budding tension would smooth itself out, allowing for you to all converse like it never happened and to move past the hurdle.

Perhaps it was because you had deluded yourself into believing everything would be okay that, the moment your fantasy shattered before your very eyes, it hit you in a way far more torturous than death could ever hope to be.

It hit you in the form of Jing Yuan returning to you on that fateful day in his lonesome, eyes hollow and empty, body battered and bruised; your heart which beat for him shattered when he slumped against you, your world crashing in pursuit. The after-effects of the sobs wracking his battle-worn being reverberated through your slack form, a seemingly endless stream of tears stung the skin along the crook of your neck as he released his unfiltered anguish within your trembling embrace.

You found there was no need to ask how the confrontation with Jingliu went, for his desperate grip and hitched breaths spoke louder than his voice ever could.

At that moment, you believed there was nothing more painful than the sound of his broken cries — your mind, body and soul yearning to take his pain and make it your own at the sheer despair in his eyes as he seeked your comfort. In that moment, you had never felt so powerless, so utterly weak and useless when all you could do in the face of his agony was lend him your familiarity in the confines of the closed cafe.

Even now, seven hundred years later, you still do not believe there to be anything more painful.

During your quiet moments, you’ve always wondered what it would be like to experience some of the scenes penned in countless novels you’ve read. Would they be just as heart-throbbing as the authors depict them to be? Or would they fall flat and lacklustre when put into a real-world scenario?

What about the stories you’ve overheard during your shifts, or the tales the regulars recounted during the slow days? Would they ever happen to you as well? You’ve always wondered about these things, however…

Just what is this situation?? Isn’t it a bit too similar to that one scene in a novel you recently read? Well, it’s not as if you’re hiding away in the middle of an apocalypse, but the setting of an empty cafe after dark where it is just the two of you still remains the same.

Jing Yuan stands before you, his imposing silhouette prominent against the fragmented brushes of moonlight, pools of molten gold stark against the night’s backdrop. He remains still in the face of your racing thoughts.

The pelting rain (courtesy of the alliance’s artificial weather) drowns your thoughts. In all honesty, you can’t recall how you came to be in this situation. One moment you were closing up the cafe, the next a sudden downpour arrived alongside a drenched general. In your haste to bring him inside, you didn’t stop to think about why he was in the rain in the first place, the only objective in your mind being to dry him as soon as possible.

And so that’s what you did. Only, in your attempt to persuade the man to share an umbrella and walk back home, you were pulled back into him, the umbrella rolling helplessly across the floor as he rooted you in place by the presence of his hands on your shoulders.

Which leads you to your current predicament now.

“What is it?” you ask upon noticing his silence. There is hesitation in his silence. It prolongs in the way a void is endless, stretching on for miles upon miles with no end in sight. There’s a flicker of light in the form of his voice as he brings himself to speak, his words firm yet lacking that usual self-assured intonation he always has.

“Am I someone close to you? No, do you consider me as someone close to you?”

“What nonsense are you…” your words die out when you fail to see his usual air of playfulness, a grave countenance piercing you in its stead. “Of course I consider you as someone close to me. I wouldn’t have spent centuries upon centuries by your side otherwise.” He doesn’t seem to take your light jest well, if his darkening expression has anything to say about it.

“Then why are you still formal with me, even when in private and away from prying eyes?”

“Because you’re one of the Seven Arbiter-Generals, while I am a cafe employee. In a realistic perspective, we are not the same and I’m aware of our boundaries. In fact,” you mumble, meeting his conflicted gaze with a blank one, “I should be the one asking you if I’m someone close to you.”

It’s silent for a brief moment, up until a whispered murmur of “And just who is the one speaking nonsense now?” shatters it.

Your patience, too, shatters alongside it.

“Then what else am I supposed to think when you’re always keeping things from me? You’re always asking about what I’ve done in the day and prying into the details of my life, but what about you? Whenever I ask how things are, or if there’s anything troubling you, you just brush it off like it’s nothing and avoid answering altogether! Am I not allowed to worry about you? Am I not someone who can lend you a shoulder?

You always blabbered about sharing each other’s pain, to not keep our hardships to ourselves, but take a look at yourself first. ‘Am I someone close to you?’ ‘Do you consider me as someone close to you?’ You have no right to ask me those questions when it’s you who's been the one keeping their distance this whole time. What…” A shuddering breath escapes you, your mouth running dry amidst your high emotions. There’s a dull pain which spreads through your bottom lip, your teeth digging into the soft flesh just as your nails do in your palms. Your eyes squeeze shut, and you can only hope it's enough to prevent the well of tears building behind your lids. “What else am I supposed to do if you refuse to let me in?”

You’re tired, you come to realise. Tired of his avoidance and tired of his secrecy. Even if you don’t have the energy to voice your other built-up sentiments, you have an inkling he already knows — whether or not he wants to admit it… well, that’s a problem for him, not for you.

The sigh you release is heavy; heavy with emotion and fatigue.

Your gaze drifts to the window behind the silent man. Despite the ripples in the puddles, the previous downpour has begun to let up, now only a faint pitter patter is all that remains. Seeing how Jing Yuan has made no effort to move or speak, you decide it would be best to leave as soon as possible. After all, there is no fight left in you, only a frail shell hollowed by your insecurities.

When you try to move, however, his grip tightens. You’re pulled closer than you were just a moment ago and his fingers dig into the fabric of your clothing — as though he were desperate to keep you in his sights. Your protests die before they can even arise, for the way his eyes glimmer despite there being no light renders you immobile.

“Do you really not see?” His voice comes in the form of a broken whisper, and you try to suppress the suffocating ache in your heart when he gazes at you as though he witnessed you pluck the stars and hand it to him.

“See what?” you scoff, a weak sound that pales against the hammering of your pulse. “All I see is a coward running away from his problems.”

A cold silence. A trembling grip. A shuddering breath.

“You’re right. I am a coward.” You’re taken aback by his ready agreement, though you’re unable to dwell on it for long when his voice gradually begins to rise, his emotions spilling over in pursuit. “I run from problems I cannot handle. I avoid anything that can be deemed as troublesome. I fear that if I burden you with my pain — with my hardships — you will grow tired of me and leave. You’re already so far away, you’ve always been so far from my reach, and yet…” A strained gulp follows his dying words. “And yet if even your fading silhouette is something I can no longer see, then I don’t know what I will do with myself.”

There’s a plethora of things you want to say, but none can be articulated. No matter how much you try and force the words out, nothing is uttered. Just as you think the words will string together, he laughs, humourless and empty.

“You’re right. I have no right to ask you when I’m the one pushing you away — when I’m the one causing this rift between us. But what else must I do to stay by your side, if not this? Where else can I reach you, if not shadowed by your light? You’re the last person I want to lose, [Name], so please,” his voice trembles ever so slightly, a detail that would go unheard if it were not for the fact it is just the two of you, a desolate silence, and frail streaks of moonlight, “don’t go to some place I can’t find you.” 

His chest heaves in tandem with his shuddering breaths, the only sound which punctures the still air. You’re not sure which is louder: that, or the white noise ringing amidst your senses. There is no room for thought, however, as you barely take note of your lips parting and the words which leave them.

“You… make me feel like a fool the longer I stay with you.” Your words are not loud, nor are they particularly harsh. But with the current atmosphere being so tense, you may as well have shouted them from the bottom of your heart with the way the echo ricochets within the empty cafe.

Even if your words are not loud, the silence most definitely is; deafeningly so.

After your… confession, for a lack of better words, belatedly registers in your conscience, you have half a mind to slap yourself silly. After all, who in their right mind responds to such an emotional, heartfelt barrage with… that.

You, it would seem.

(A petty part of you deems it fine considering the inner turmoil he’s put you through for Aeons knows how long.)

“Do you want to know something?” he asks, leaving you with no time to linger on your life choices. “When I’m with you, I feel like a fool as well.” Your surprise must have been obvious as he chuckles lightly with a gaze never straying from you. There’s a subtle shift in the atmosphere, one which lightens your heart without dismissing the emotions woven into the space between you. Before you can even think up a response, he continues. “Even if I rehearse what I plan to say to you, it rarely comes out the way I want. Sometimes the words don’t even come out at all. It’s always been this way, even before we became acquainted with each other.”

You blink at his words, stupefied. “You mean back when we were first enlisted into the Cloud Knights?” His sheepish chuckle is answer enough. “Wait— you mean— since all the way back then— huh??”

“Yeah,” he responds, voice light and teeming with unbridled affection, “since the moment I saw you in the welcome ceremony.”

????? Since then?! All you can remember is not wanting anything to do with him back then! To think you never noticed anything until he said it now, though technically it’s not entirely your fault since he never explicitly said anything… right?

Yeah, no it’s both your faults.

“I’m sorry to not have noticed anything till now,” you sigh, your head drooping. “Is there anything I can do to make up for it?”

(Jing Yuan just barely manages to control himself from kissing you senseless right then and there. Who gave you the right to be so adorable?? Not him, but you won’t catch him complaining.)

“Anything, you say?” he asks after a cough or two. Your eyes narrow at his behaviour before shrugging it off.

“Well, within reason…” you trail off at his pointed look, your mouth instantly shutting at his expression akin to — dare you say — puppy-dog eyes. It’s oddly cute, though you’ve always found his sleepy, cat-like demeanour to be the most endearing and heart-melting of all. (Not that you would ever admit this to him, of course. Well, not when he’s awake, at least.) And so, unsurprisingly, you relent. “Okay. Anything.”

“Then don’t be formal and act distant in public. Just call me ‘Jing Yuan’ familiarly like you used to.”

You blink once, twice. “...That’s it?”

“Well,” he drawls, “considering how you only addressed me as ‘General’ or ‘General Jing Yuan’, which was admittedly closer to my preference, despite being one of the few who were well aware I never wanted to be a general in the first place, I believe it’s the least you can do to show your sincerity.”

You scoff. “You sure know how to hold a grudge, foolish Jing Yuan.”

And he laughs, a breathy melody which sets your heart ablaze. Then you feel his fingers thread through yours, the faint callouses brushing against the back of your hand a testament to his battle prowess.

His lashes flutter shut as your hand is brought up towards his lips. Just as the plush of his lips grazes against your palm, his head dips, instead planting a soft kiss along the pulse point of your inner wrist. There’s a huff of laughter against your warmed skin, and you’re positive it’s because he found amusement in the way your pulse surged and stuttered under his lips.

Smug bastard.

His lashes flutter once more when they open into a half-lidded gaze, your wrist growing ticklish as his lips begin to move against your skin as he murmurs out, “I suppose that makes two of us, my foolish [Name].” When he turns to stare at you completely, his expression is nothing short of soft — eyes filled to the brim and overflowing with tender adoration doused in liquid gold and a warm, gentle curve of a smile that has you clammed up and breathless.

“Yeah,” you mumble after regaining some semblance of composure, unable to stop the smile which blooms on your lips, “I suppose it does.”

if you enjoyed this, then reblogs with/or comments are greatly appreciated !! <33

[igotanidea]

A pattern : Jason Todd x reader

(Part 1 of How to be a good boyfriend series)

Every word he said to her was a lie...

Or at least that was how he felt.

I'll keep you safe  - when he couldn't even keep her safe from himself. 

You're safe with me - when even as much as her leaving home meant being put on the spotlight. 

I love you - well that was true, but in his love he was so selfish it almost felt like a lie.

Selfish.

That was what he was.

Kissing her with a promise if tomorrow that could never come.

Holding and touching her, knowing he was going to leave her alone for the night. Again and again. Over and over.

Looking at her like she was his sun, moon and stars, even though that excessive attention was putting her in danger from all his enemies, real and potential.

So selfish. 

And yet he could not stop.

Not when she was making him feel the warmth inside. The sense of belonging. 

Not with the way she was bringing something long forgotten in him - happiness.

Then why did It feel like he was using her. Why did it feel like every time she laid her head on his shoulder or chest he was rather taking that warmth and serenity than giving it. Why did if feel like he was nothing more than a little kid, missing the embrace and promise of love and safety then providing it.

He shouldn't be a kid in this relationship. 

"Hey, what's bothering you?" Y/N asked softly, raising eyes onto him, reading his face, searching for the reason for the sudden tension she felt coming from him. 

"Nothing." he muttered. "I'm fine."

"Come on, Jay. Don't act like that."

"Like what?!" He bursted, suddenly getting a heavy wave of self-doubts. Even his Y/N was seeing that he was acting like a child. And this was clearly not what she needed. And now that she knew she was going to leave him alone. Break up with him. Break the heart that slowly started to open up and heal while being with her and--

"Hey. Hey, look at me!" She cried out desperately as he tried to (literally) push her away. Her hands found a way to his cheeks forcing his eyes on hers once more "Stop it. Don't cut me off. Talk to me."

"I don't know how to be a good boyfriend to you." he confessed looking down, unable to see the inevitable mockery that was going to reflect in her eyes. 

"How to--. Wait, what? Jason? Who put that thought in your head?"

"No one. I can tell by myself that I am not what you need."

"Jason--"

"No. Let me finish. I do want to be what you deserve. And that's why I asked Dick-"

"Dick? Oh my god, please don't tell me you asked the greatest playboy heartbreaker for advice in a relationship..." 

"Well, he's got some good tips on that-" Jason mumbled, though admitting that his older brother might have been right about something was at least painful. 

"No." Y/N shook her head, squeezing his hand "No. Jason. Forget them."

"But-"

"Hush. You listen to me now. Although Dick experience in the matter of relationships is undeniable - I don;t think you should take him as a role model."

"Then who, Y/N?! WHO!?" He yelled and regretted it a second later "I'm sorry-- I didn't mean too. It's just--" 

"Look, sweetheart. Lesson one, if you want it, is that there's no pattern when it comes to two people building something together. No one will tell you that when you do things a certain way it will work out. There is no magical number of things a girl and a boy have to do together to make sure they will be happy."

"There isn't?" Jason's face dropped at the sudden realisation. "But-- But then how am I supposed to make sure you are happy with me? How can I ensure that-"

"Jason."

"I really want to --"

"Hey. Stop it!" she chuckled leaning to kiss his forehead "We learn together. That's how."

"But-"

"Stop doubting yourself, okay? I am happy with you, mostly because I get to discover things I never did. Because you like them. Damn, do you think, I would even know I enjoy bike rides, if it wasn’t for you? Or would I know that I actually got the romantic part in me, if not for your Jane Austen addiction?"

"Um--" Jason blushed a little and it was so cute it made her laugh and peck his lips softly,  "Hey... what was that for?" He asked, getting even more flustered. 

"Consider it a gold star for memorising lesson one." she smiled.

"That every story is unique?" He tried to make sure.

"Yes. So let's make sure you don't ruin it with unnecessary silly thoughts, ok?"

He nodded. 

"Then I got one important question to ask...." she took a deep breath - "Jason Peter Todd... will you learn how to be in a relationship with me?"

"I will. And I hereby swear to not listen to Internet couches and tiktok charlatans."

"Finally, you're getting some common sense back..." she chuckled, knowing well enough that his words, even if a little teasing, were a sign that he trusted her. Both with learning, but most importantly - with his heart. And with that knowledge she pledged to keep that part of him safe.

[rafesapologist]

the setback ─ rafe cameron; part sixteen

summary: it's been two years since your departure from the outer banks and rafe cameron has seemingly convinced himself that he can go on with his life as if you never happened, except now more than ever his addiction is at an all time high. whether he was snorting lines of cocaine at wild parties or drowning himself in alcohol to numb the pain, rafe couldn't escape the memories of you. despite his efforts to bury his feelings, your absence lingered like a shadow, haunting him at every turn. meanwhile, you've been navigating life outside the outer banks, trying to carve out a new path for yourself. but no matter how far you've traveled, the memories of rafe cameron still linger in your heart, leaving you with a sense of unfinished business. as you find yourself facing new challenges and opportunities, you can't help but wonder if fate will eventually bring you back to the place where it all began.

warnings: drug use, alcohol, plot twist

author's note: okay i have to admit i havent sat down and wrote in awhile so pls forgive any errors, love u all

The following days felt rather protracted for Rafe since your sudden egress that morning at the Cameron's residence. His father was still absent as usual, likely plotting some sort of reprisal for the threats Rafe had made at the dock since it was unlike him to let such a thing go that easily. Truthfully, Rafe couldn't have cared less about whatever vengeance his father was brewing in his depraved mind, he could only seem to think about one specific thing as if his thoughts were a record that only had one track to play. You.

The hypothetically 'reasonable' thing to do would be to reach out to one of your friends, but knowing them, they'd glue their mouths shut before giving away where you were to him. But aside from the Pogues, there was really no one else to go to for answers besides them. Rafe knew you had a tumultuous, basically non-existent, relationship with your parents, therefore they'd be rendered no use in the search for you. Every option seemed to lead to a dead end for him, seeing how you kept your circle of friends diminutive and your family disconnected. It was practically impossible to find you.

Rafe realized he had made a mistake showing up unannounced when you had returned to the island, and that it had nearly drove you to despise him even more than you did before. He couldn't make the same mistake again, not when your view of him was now dimmed and tainted by the allegations that he was out to destroy you and your friends. The relationship between you and Rafe was more fragile than ever, and Rafe wondered if the situation itself was enough to diminish any chance he had of being with you again.

It felt like a cruel joke was being played on him. He finally had you back after two years of longing to see your face again outside of a chipped pixelated phone screen, an agonizing wait that was worth every minute of affliction he endured while you were gone. But now, it was like the past was repeating itself, a horrid nightmare that haunted Rafe like a bitter old friend.

Rafe did the only things he knew to do to cope with your disappearance—coke and parties. Like retracing the steps on a well-worn path, every turn feeling like deja vu with every line he inhaled. Sure it didn't make him forget about you, but it sure did make the pain more manageable.

"Damn Rafe, I haven't seen you rage this hard since your dad tried kicking you out last year," Topper's drab tone rang through Rafe's ears, although fortunately for him, his friend was far too high to pay it any mind.

Rafe responded with a half-hearted chuckle while he carelessly bent back down to the table to inhale one last line of the white powdered substance before him. He breathed it in with an ease only a seasoned addict could do, a shameful talent he acquired in an attempt to mend his affliction.

"Yeah, well," Rage shrugged, wiping his nose of residue, "he's good at bringing that side out of me."

Topper's brows furrowed at the remark, feeling as if it was a subtle hint at what Rafe was going through. It would only make sense if Ward had been the reason his son was becoming a full blown addict again, since Rafe held his father's words to a much higher degree than anyone else's.

"Hey, why don't we lay off for a bit and get some drinks?" The blond added, a pang of worry coursing through him at Rafe's flushed and disoriented complexion, his pupils dilated to the max.

With droopy eyelids and a gaunt look on his face, Rafe's hazy gaze met Topper's with a faint smirk present across his lips, "Yeah, I could use another drink." He slurred while he gave his friend an inept pat on the shoulder before wandering off to the bar.

As he strode through the crowd of people, Rafe's usual posh appearance was replaced with disarray. His hair had fallen into uneven tufts, his face pallid and streaked with sweat. His azure colored eyes were glossy and unfocused, darting around the room with an unsettling lack of coordination. His typical arrogant, assertive demeanor stripped away by a slack-jawed, dazed expression. If it weren't for the fact that he was surrounded by a hundred other intoxicated people, perhaps someone would've been concerned by the way he looked.

The more steps he took, the more he could feel himself go in and out of consciousness. The loud, thumping music and flashing lights only heightened the symptoms of his high as he reached a euphoric state. The world around him was hazy and blurred but he felt a blissful peace as his once-racing thoughts suddenly went silent. It was the first time in days Rafe had felt anything besides grief and anger. Between you and his father, he felt like a burden under the scrutiny he faced by the ones who knew him best, and figured, maybe you two were right; maybe he was the problem.

Before he could reach the bar, Rafe felt a finger tap him on the shoulder, urging him to turn around. He sluggishly turned to face whoever it was, only to be met with disappointment at the sight of a familiar brunette standing before him.

"Holy shit, what happened to you?" Sofia looked in horror at the sight of Rafe's sickly complexion.

He rolled his eyes, annoyed by her comment, "What do you want, Sofia?" Rafe grumbled through his slurred speech.

"I.. came to say hi cause I thought I saw you across the room. Didn't expect to see you here," she replied hesitantly while she continued to observe his bloodshot eyes.

He scoffed at Sofia's remark, his voice dripping with a mix of anger and derision. “Haven’t you done enough?” he shot back, his eyes narrowing into sharp slits. “It’s bold of you to even come up and talk to me right now.”

Sofia’s eyes widened at the venom in his tone, her brow furrowing with a blend of hurt and frustration. “Look, Rafe, I know what I did and I’m sorry but—”

“No,” Rafe cut her off sharply, his voice like a jagged edge. “A bullshit ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t going to fix what you did. And besides, you should be apologizing to Y/N, not me.”

Her face fell, the weight of his words hitting her like a cold splash of water. “I know,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “I made a mistake and I let my emotions get the best of me, Rafe. I was just so angry seeing you with her that I lost it.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, a harsh scoff escaping his lips. “I don’t give a fuck how you felt. You had no right shoving her into the pool like that. What if something worse happened to her? Then what? Your apology means nothing to me.”

Sofia's eyes filled with tears, her lower lip quivering as she struggled to hold back her emotions. “I didn’t think... I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was so caught up in my own pain and jealousy that I didn’t see how wrong I was.”

Rafe’s face remained a storm of anger and disappointment. “It’s not just about you and me anymore. It’s about her, and the fact that you let your anger turn into something so cruel.” His voice cracked slightly, betraying the depth of his frustration and helplessness.

Sofia’s shoulders slumped, her voice barely a whisper now. “I’m sorry, Rafe. I just… I can’t stand seeing you with her after all we went through together. You promised me forever.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, muffling the chaotic noise of the bar around them. Rafe's face softened slightly, a mix of weariness and regret settling over his features. He looked at her, seeing the remnants of a pain he once knew intimately, but now felt so distant.

“Forever?” Rafe echoed, his voice rough with a blend of bitterness and exhaustion. “That was a long time ago, Sofia. Things change. People change.”

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, the weight of the situation pulling him down. “What we had is over. I’m with her now, and you forcing yourself into this situation only makes things worse. I need to focus on fixing what’s broken.”

Sofia’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she shook her head slowly. “I know it’s over. I just didn’t want to be forgotten like this, to be left behind so easily.”

Rafe's expression hardened again, a wall of frustration rising between them. “It’s not about forgetting you,” he said, his tone sharp but tinged with a hint of sorrow. “It’s about moving forward. I’m trying to make things right for her, for us. But right now, all I see is a mess that needs fixing. And you’re only adding to it.”

Sofia's plea cut through the din of the bar, her voice cracking with desperation. “Please, Rafe, I only want what’s best for you. Please don’t shut me out like this.”

Rafe hesitated, his hand gripping the edge of the bar as he struggled with his own conflicted emotions. He turned back to face her, his eyes weary and clouded by the weight of everything that had transpired.

“Best for me?” he repeated, his voice hollow. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, Sofia. You had your chance, and you made your choices."

Sofia's face hardened, a steely determination replacing the remorse in her eyes. "Then I’m sorry for what’s going to happen, Rafe. I truly am."

Rafe’s brow furrowed, his inebriated mind struggling to grasp the gravity of her words. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, a chill creeping into his voice as he sensed the shift in her demeanor.

Sofia’s expression grew somber, her tone taking on a more serious, almost threatening edge. "I was going to tell you that your dad came to me and offered me a proposition. If I did something for him, he’d pay me a large sum. At first, I wanted to reject his offer, come to you, and do the right thing. But seeing how you reacted tonight... I really need the money, Rafe. I’m sorry."

The words hit Rafe like a sledgehammer. His heart pounded violently in his chest, the alcohol-induced fog momentarily lifting as fear and anger surged through him. “What did he ask you to do?” he demanded, his voice sharp and urgent.

Sofia’s gaze dropped to the floor, guilt and fear mingling in her eyes. “I can’t say,” she whispered. “But it’s something that could hurt you and... someone you care about. I didn’t want to, but I’m desperate, Rafe. I’m sorry.”

Rafe felt the room spin as his mind raced. The reality of Sofia’s admission was like a brutal awakening, the weight of his father’s manipulative schemes crashing down on him with full force. He took a step closer, his face inches from Sofia’s, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “No, Sofia. You aren’t going to touch her. I swear to God, if you do—”

The threat hung in the air, taut with menace, each word charged with a volatile mixture of fear and fury. His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, the intensity of his emotions almost palpable.

Sofia’s eyes widened, her fear evident as she recoiled slightly from the raw intensity in his gaze. “Rafe, I—I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m just... trapped. I didn’t know it would come to this.”

Sofia’s shoulders slumped under the weight of her decision, her eyes squeezed shut as if to block out the gravity of her choices. “Sof, don’t do this,” Rafe pleaded, his voice raw and desperate. “You don’t have to do what he says. No amount of money is worth this.”

Her head shook slowly, each movement punctuating the anguish on her face. “I didn’t mean for it to come like this,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “But I already made the deal. So now it’s either my life or hers, and I have to look out for myself, Rafe.”

The words struck Rafe with the force of a physical blow, his heart clenching painfully at the realization of the desperate position Sofia had put herself in. The intensity of his feelings for you surged anew, a fierce protectiveness that burned in his chest. “You’re choosing your own safety over someone’s life,” he said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “You know what that makes you?”

Sofia’s gaze remained fixed on the floor, her tears tracing a path down her cheeks as she wrestled with her torment. “You have no idea what it’s like to live like a Pogue, Rafe,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “This is my only chance to have a second chance at a better life for myself. And if this is what it takes, then… so be it.”

Her words cut through Rafe like a knife, the raw pain and desperation in her voice mingling with the weight of her choices. He could see the conflict etched into her features, the inner struggle between her dire circumstances and the moral cost of her actions. It was a choice born out of desperation, not cruelty, and the complexity of her situation only deepened his own anguish.

Rafe took a step closer, his voice soft but resolute. “I get that you’re in a tough spot, but you don’t have to sacrifice your own humanity to escape it. There’s always another way, Sofia. We just have to find it.”

Sofia shook her head, her eyes still lowered, as if the weight of her decision was too heavy to bear. “I wish I could believe that,” she murmured. “But right now, this is all I see. I’m sorry, Rafe. I never wanted it to come to this.”

Rafe’s voice trembled with desperation as he reached out to Sofia, his eyes pleading. “Sofia, I can’t let you do this. Just tell me where she is, please. I’ll do anything.”

Sofia’s shoulders sagged further under the weight of his plea. She looked at him with a mixture of anguish and resignation, the fight in her fading as the reality of his desperation sank in. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her resolve crumbling in the face of his earnestness.

“I… I can’t,” she said softly, her voice cracking. “It’s not that simple, Rafe. I’m bound by the deal, and if I break it, there’s no telling what might happen to me—or to you.”

Sofia’s eyes were heavy with the burden of her choices, her face etched with torment as she looked at Rafe. She could see the raw desperation in his eyes, the plea for her to help you cutting through the veil of her own fears and guilt.

“Rafe,” she began, her voice trembling, “I know you’re begging me, and I wish I could give you what you want. But I can’t jeopardize my life like this. You don’t understand—”

Before she could finish, Rafe cut her off, his voice strained with emotion. “I don’t care about your life right now, Sofia. I care about hers. You know what you’re doing is wrong. There has to be another way.”

Sofia’s gaze softened momentarily, tears brimming in her eyes. She took a deep, shuddering breath, struggling to keep her composure. “I can’t tell you, Rafe. I’m sorry. I... I have to go.” She turned away, her footsteps echoing with the weight of her decision, leaving Rafe with a suffocating sense of dread and urgency.

As she walked away, Rafe stood rooted to the spot, the last remnants of his resolve dissolving into an all-consuming fear. The finality in Sofia’s voice was a harsh reminder of the time slipping away, the enormity of his task pressing down on him like a relentless storm.

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[lucakaneshiroswife]

!- RANDOM SHU YAMINO HC’S -!

Warnings: suggestive content

Genre: NSFW

Word count: 610 words 3,228 characters

Published: 4th September . 23

! Minors and Blank blogs DNI !

"How can you be this pretty...?"

Regardless the way that our darling sorcerer presents himself to be, he actually has his needs, and they are a little intense. And so, like any other person, he always makes sure to appropriately care for those needs both when you are present and when you are not.

While Shu may not be straightforward with what he wants all the time, he still does have his moments where he just cracks. Although usually he finds it easier to just simply take care of his own ‘problem’ alone, which does often lead to you happening to stumble by when he is in the process of relieving himself.

When that happens, prepare yourself because you will end up on your knees between his legs as he sits in his gaming chair, fingers tangled in your hair urging you to keep sucking him like the good girl you are <3

Shu has a very obvious fixation on your face, the way you look just drives him insane especially during these moments. You always look so pretty for him and he frankly has no idea how you manage it with your hair sticking all over your face as you sweat, your eyes glossy and lips parted from just how much he pushes your limits. He has to admit that this obsession of his is one of the reasons he would suddenly thrust up into you, watching closely for your reaction with his usual smirk looking even more attractive as he does so.

Positions that allow him a full view of your face are everything for him. If there is anything he loves more than you then it will probably have to be the way you suck him, and trust me, he isn't shy to admit that. The way your warm mouth feels around him just makes him crazy, don't even get me started on the way you look while doing it, he is addicted to it.

Shu finds so much joy when he gets to incorporate toys into your intimate moments. After all, you do need to feel good while you make him feel good, it's only fair that way. Perhaps that's the only time he'd be 'fair' with you, and even then he makes sure to overstimulate you to see how much you can handle from a mere toy, surely you won't disappoint him right?

Despite his kind-hearted nature, Shu can and will be dominant. He loves being in charge and exploring different kinks that you both have. He is more than open to experimenting, he doesn't shy away from a new experience if it's with you~

Remember the part where he is not only an amazing sorcerer but also an amazing gamer? Yeah well if you didn't then it shows with the way he uses those hands of his. His touch is electrifying, setting your body on fire, he knows just how to tease and please. Making you beg for mercy but pant for more.

While Shu may not be the most vocal person in the bedroom, when things get heated and he approaches that sweet climax he does end up breathing up your ear, whispering nothing but absolute filth varying from how criminally tight you are around him to how good you are being for him.

Shu knows the importance of aftercare, especially after putting poor little you through so much. Don't worry he will take care of you, clean you up, bring you a cup of water or even strawberry milk before you find him wrapping his arms around you, whispering words of affection and love into your ear while kissing over the marks he left on your body <3

A/N: Yes I know I haven't posted in two months but I am back and I hope to finish doing this for ALL of Luxiem while the creativity is still there. I am just as thirsty and starved as you are. NOT PROOFREAD

ART CREDITS: I couldn't find the @ at all, lmk if you know them.

[thestarfishinjootsoffice]

Hey, would you be able to do a Sinclair brothers saving a child reader from a bad family and raising them themselves? Like the kid would be kinda timid but maybe warm up to lester first? Could they also know about what goes on in Ambrose but just kinda shrug it off for some reason? If you write this THANK YOUU!!

Wrote. This also kind of became a character study.

Warnings: murder, blood, mention of negligence from reader's parents. Mention of addiction, arguing. Ooc maybe?

Relationship: platonic, brotherly/fatherly figure.

Sinclair brothers x child! Reader from a bad family!

Preview; how it all started. You can skip this if you'd like, might get boring.

Nothing hits harder than an angry car drive with your family who has curtains with printed sunshine and glitters hung on their windows for people to see.

Sinking back into your seat as you watch them argue almost endlessly. The only times they weren't yelling in each other's faces were when they were sleeping or in public. Of course this results in negligence and the incapability to provide you both physical and emotional needs.

"Maybe if you stopped indulging in your disgusting addiction and acted like a proper father and husband we wouldn't be-"

"Oh for fuck's sake, M/N! Stop bringing that up or else I'm gonna fucking turn this car around, you slut! You think you're so perfect, tell that to the other men you've been sleeping with!"

Spending nights behind your bedroom door with your ear pressed against it, listening closely in case things get physical and you need to step in. You didn't even know why they were heading this way, apparently they thought it'd be a good idea to spend some 'family time' together. As if.

Eventually the car stopped, you perked up. Your parent's bickering died down for a moment which appeared odd to you.

"The car broke down, goddammit!" Your father exclaimed.

"You should've brought a better car." Mom retorted.

"We don't have enough money!!"

"And why do you think that is!?"

You sighed and followed shortly after both of them headed out. Shutting the car door close as you stood quietly while your father opened the trunk.

"Now I have to fix this damn car."

Their voices slowly drowned as you zoned out, you looked ahead of you and saw a man with a green hat with a beige jacket on top of a white tank top. He looked a little... Unwashed.

"Hey there!" The man called out which caused your parents to stop yelling.

"Are you three lost?" He asked, now getting closer.

"Well- more sort of the car broke down. And.. We're out of fuel" Your mother replied with a nervous chuckle.

"Really? In that case, I could let you guys in my truck and drive you to Ambrose. It's a small town but I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for in there."

"Might be a tight fit, but it'll work."

You could see the hesitation in both your parents' faces. Of course, they weren't really the type to accept the presence of people who didn't look like they have a hygienic and healthy lifestyle but they were left with no choice. They reluctantly agreed.

"M' name's Lester." The man who you now knew as Lester said.

"Uh, my name's F/N. Thank you, Lester, in advance." Your father thanked Lester.

Now you three were in his car, you had to sit on your mom's lap, it was deed quite a tight fit. Your parents weren't expecting the rotten smell and especially not the hanging bones but they pretended it didn't bother them. You ignored the smell and instead admired the 'decorations'.

"So uh, who's your wife and kid?" Lester asked, glancing at both your mom and you.

"I'm M/N and this is our child, Y/N. Say hi." Your mom nudged you and you smiled uncomfortably.

"Hello, Mr. Lester."

Lester only chuckled, although he kept his eyes on you a little longer before reverting his gaze to the road. "You have a beautiful family, I'm envious. It must be nice, huh?"

Your parents shared glances before agreeing.

"It is, I'm really grateful to have them in my life." Your father said. You could've laughed. You looked at him and noticed a knife in a knife sheath on his thigh. He noticed and took out the blade.

"Kid, you like knives?" Lester suddenly asked you, and your parents tensed up.

"I do-"

"I'm.. Trying to get y/n away from sharp objects. It's dangerous for them." Your mother cut you off with wariness in her tone, her distrust growing more by the minute.

"It's a bowie, a good knife... It'll cut through anything."

He said and stabbed the knife into the car dashboard and then abruptly stopped. You yelped out a little and held onto your mom as to not chuck yourself through the window.

"You... You said there's a town nearby, where is it?" Your dad asked, grabbing onto the seat.

"There is, right around that bend. I gotta flip my hubs into four-wheel. Mind giving me a hand?" Lester said as he opened the door and stepped out of the car.

"Look, I think you've done enough for us, Lester." Your father said.

"... Well, why would you think that?" Lester scoffed a little, sensing a bit of hostility.

"We wanna walk from now on, okay? I can't handle being in here. Just let us out." Your mother replied with a harsher tone, a look of offense settled on Lester's face and he frowned. A clear thick atmosphere now forming in the air.

"Uhh, we're really grateful but we don't want to trouble you anymore. Thank you." You spoke up, hoping to de-escalate the situation. He looked at you and for a moment his face softened slightly before glancing up at your parents again.

"Sure..." He said quietly, taking the blade off the dashboard and shutting the door. Now walking towards the other side of the car. You could feel the nervousness from both your parents – as he reached the door and opened it, their eyes landed on his left hand. Which was now missing the knife.

"Go on, get out then..!" He said although the anger was directed more to your parents. They quickly got out of the car, your father was the first one trying to calm him down – you noticed a stream in front of you, you looked back to make sure they were busy and decided to discreetly cross through with the help of the rocks, wanting to no further be near all this.

As you entered through, you could see houses and posters around. It was a ghost town though.. There was barely anyone. You walked around and saw a bunch of puppies behind a big glass window. You stopped and walked up to it, observing the small animals with adoration before a gruffy voice behind you snapped you out of your tranquil.

"What the hell is a kid like you doin' here?" A tall man asked with suspicion, looking down at you. You took in his outfit. A hat that said 'sweet bird 69' with a picture of a red car underneath. Dark blue shirt along with jeans.

"Uhm.. Me and my family are here for a trip.." You said quietly, backing away a little.

"And where's your parents?"

"I- they should be here..."

"Should?" He questioned, narrowing his eyes.

Then he looked behind you and before you could turn around you felt a firm grasp on your shoulder from behind.

"Y/n! what the hell did i-.. What did I say about walking away, sweetie. You had us worried." Your mother softened her tone as she caught herself, clearing her throat as your father came beside her.

"It's alright... What brings you here?- I'm Bo." He extended his hand to your father who shook it.

"I'm F/N, we were running low on fuel and our car broke down."

"Oh that's perfect, I run a convenience store a few feet away. You can... Keep your kid in my car. Just in case they get tired."

Your mother glanced at you before nodding.

"Yes, thank you. That'd be perfect."

You were carelessly shoved into Bo's car by your parents. Grumbling and sighing, you crossed your arms and begrudgingly sat still. Though something in the distance caught your eye. A big building – you looked out of the car of the window to check your surroundings before quietly opening the car and heading towards the building.

You looked at the big words on top of the door,

'HOUSE OF WAX'

"Hm." You opened the door and stepped inside, your eyes widened a bit as you took in the contents inside the 'house'. Many, many sculptures... Wax sculptures. You gently traced your fingers over them while admiring the beauty and art – Slowly walking into the kitchen. You saw more sculptures, this house was full of them. Looking around more you caught sight of baby chairs behind the door – disturbingly enough , hand and ankle straps on the one that said 'Bo' and a normal one that said 'Vincent'.

You turned around and a figure with long dark hair and a weird mask of some sort was outside the kitchen window. You gasped and it swiftly retreated back – having no idea whether or not you were hallucinating you breathed out and tried to calm yourself down. Hesitantly walking out of the house. You concluded you were smart enough not to investigate and made a run to Bo's car.

Huffing as you shut and locked yourself inside. Maybe you were tired, all this new stuff is making you see things. You should sleep – laying down on the seat, you nervously closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths. 'Mom and dad will wake me up when they're done.'

You opened your eyes and it was dark... It was dark. Where are mom and dad? Did they leave you? Forget about you? Your stomach churned and you unlocked the car door. Stepping out and feeling the cold breeze of the wind – so quiet.... Too quiet.

You walked, in search of your parents. There was what seemed to be a church not too far with the lights on. You could check it out? Approaching towards the church, standing right outside of the door and peeking in through the crack. There was that man from earlier, Bo, and... Dad? You squinted your eyes, Bo held something in his hand.

You jolted as your dad out of nowhere let out a blood-curdling scream, blood pouring from his head and running down his face and clothes. He cried out and grunted, trying to crawl away from Bo while sobbing. Holding his head as red that almost appeared black seeped from between his fingers escaped. Bo didn't let him get far, gripping onto your father's collar as he swung the weapon against his head one more time resulting in your father completely collapsing. His eyes rolled back as the slit in his forehead looked inches deep.

You gulped and backed away, quite frankly you couldn't care less if your father was getting killed. But maybe you shouldn't be here- you yelped out as hands grabbed onto your arms, instinctively thrashing against whoever was holding you. Looking behind you stopped momentarily, it was the masked guy! You couldn't see anything behind those empty holes where his eyes should be. And quite frankly - you're not sure if he wants to harm you or not.

Bo, who upon hearing your cry of surprise, quickly rushed out of the church and slammed the doors open. Stopping in his tracks as his eyes trailed down to you.

"Vinny, what are we going to do with them?" Bo asked with uncertainty. Vincent didn't reply.

As you didn't thrash anymore, Vincent loosened his grip but still held a firm grasp on you.

Bo sighed, "let's kill it."

At that, Vincent immediately shook his head and hugged you closer to him. Placing a hand over your head and pulling you to his chest gently.

Bo sighed again, a little more agitated this time. "Vincent, we can't raise a damn child. Nor the responsibilities! What if they try to run away and go to the damn police Or something?"

Vincent stayed stubborn and shook his head again. Bo exhaled and rubbed his face. "God dammit, you're so difficult."

End of story. life with them

Lester was quite happy to hear from Bo that they decided to keep you alive. Both brothers quite surprised, it's not the first time they had children come to Ambrose and get killed but none of them ever wanted to. And to hear Vincent of all people to initiate it was surprising, because normally he doesn't care about his victims. Vincent's cruel. Keeping his victims alive and all they could do is wait inside their wax bodies agonizing for death to come to them as their preserved bodies slowly rot overtime. He thought he knew his brothers – guess he was delightfully wrong. You first seemed so shy and timid – not really speaking unless you were spoken to and even then your responses were quiet and soft. He made sure to interact with you often, cracking jokes here and there and smiling a lot around you. 'Hey buddy, wanna go fishing?' Or 'Hey kiddo, wanna drive around for a bit?' It's mandatory. And the moment he noticed you warming to him first was the moment he realised how "hard work pays off" felt. He can't be around you a lot since he doesn't live in Ambrose anymore but he tries to visit more because of you – the sight of you smiling and running towards him when he comes back never fails to make his heart swell. Though he finds it a bit odd when you tell him how you feel about what happens here, he wonders if you're really telling the truth or lying so you can keep his guard down. He's cautious, he's friendly but he doesn't trust easily. You may be just a kid but he doesn't know if you're really not scared or you are and you're planning to escape. He loves you either way and tries not to think about it often, he just tells you and himself "Guess that means you're meant to be in this family!" (By the way he still hates your parents and his heart will ache for you when you open up to him about them.)

Bo couldn't believe this, really? He has to take care of a child?He just wanted to hand you entire to Vinny but the risk of you running away was too much for his insides to handle so he kept you on a close watch. He was tempted to put a leash on you but was stopped by Vincent. He doesn't see the appeal in raising a random kid, it would bring unnecessary trouble and responsibilities and make it harder for them. Or so he thinks. You weren't really troublesome at all you just kept your distance from him since he scares you. With this, he one day mentally himself on the cheek and decided to be more kind to you. Asking what you wanted for breakfast, if you wanted to shower, telling you not to go too far away from him etc. Eventually he finds himself doing more than just these, scolding you when you scrape your knees and putting a bandaid over it. Picking you up to help you reach stuff on the high shelves. He tries to convince himself he's only doing this for his brother's and his own sake – and yet he can't resist when you ask him to kiss your aided injuries because 'Grandma told me it heals better that way'. Think it's stupid Lester got you to warm up first. Yeah, it's only because he gives you sweets and takes you out whenever he pops in – and then next time Bo hands you a lollipop. Gets suspicious when you never bring up what he did with your parents. He expected you to hold the grudge against him, at least for a few months or years but no. He'll scoff if you tell him it doesn't bother you. Yeah, right. He's not stupid (just severe trust issues) he'll immediately assume you're trying to trick him and next time a tourist comes in you're gonna scream for help. Just be patient with him, he's had a rough childhood. Although the more days and weeks that pass by, the more he spends nights in his bed hoping you won't try to run away. Not because he's scared you'll snitch on them, but because he's scared that means they meant nothing to you at all. If you ever decide to open up to him about your family, he'll pretend it doesn't affect him as much as it actually did. To think you two had a similar childhood just makes his eyebrows knit together and his lips form into a frown.

Vincent himself didn't understand why he held you so protectively. But as the years grew, he felt himself yearn to cradle something in his arms. Something warm and small, something that'll smile up at him and giggle, something that isn't scared of him. He knew the moment he saw you through the window in that kitchen he couldn't let this chance slip – a chance to have a child. He feels so... Alone. The need to care for a living thing grows stronger. He tried his hardest, really. Tend to you and care for you. His touch was softer and he watched the old movies and read the stories of how people acted towards children so he could know how to not freak you out. And his heart broke a little when he saw that Lester was the one that you warmed up to first – but he didn't give up. 'Family don't give up on each other' was a quote he heard one time and stuck with him. Yes, he had already considered you as family. To make you like family, he had to treat you like one. Most of the time he gets frustrated because of his extremely limited vocabulary. It was difficult for him to speak and he knew that a child like you wouldn't be able to properly understand his body language like his brothers do, but when you do start to learn step by step he feels the glimmer of hope grow stronger. Is around you a lot and makes sure you're in his line of sight as much as possible. He feels guilty that you had to witness them do all these horrible things and tries to shield you away from it but if you confess you know and shrugs it off anyway it's a mix between surprise and suspicion. He wants to believe you, he does but what if you're lying? It's too heavy on his heart to bear – he can't. Gets more protective and overbearing and doesn't realise it'll most likely drive you off that way. But if you do start warming up to him he feels like the happiest and most content person alive. Will cradle you in his arms if you'll allow him and stroke your hair if you decide to open up to him – he may be a man of very little words but he listens like no else.

[max1461]

Two takes I see that don't make much sense are as follows:

From SWERFs, "sex work is exploitative to women, therefore it should be illegal".

From pro-lifers, "abortion is exploitative to women, therefore it should be illegal".

Never mind that the pro-life argument which says that abortion is exploitative to women doesn't make sense on its own. The more essential point is: if some group is being exploited by a given practice, you want to solve that by criminalizing the activities of the exploited party? That just seems odd; it's unclear how that is supposed to help. "Sorry, we're here to arrest you for getting exploited". What is the logic here?

For my own part, I think that sex work probably is exploitative most of the time, but I can't imagine that making it illegal and forcing it underground helps much with this. Sex work is still widely practiced even in places where it isn't legal, this much is obvious enough, and the illegality impedes effective strategies of combating exploitation such as unionization, which is an imperfect but extremely powerful tool, tried and true in a wide variety of industries.

I know that SWERFs resist comparisons of sex work to other industries, but their arguments mostly seem to focus on the idea that sex work is uniquely harmful to practitioners and never really seem to answer the substantive question of why the tools developed to combat exploitation in other industries should not be expected to be useful also to the sex worker. I think this is because they are guided by this feeling that all discussion of mitigating exploitation is small potatoes, since sex work is so harmful that it should not exist at all. But even if this is true, that is clearly not a feasible situation to bring about via criminalization, as the widespread practice of sex work even where it is illegal should make obvious! It's like these people are more interested in officially registering their viewpoint that "sex work should not exist" (giving it legal codification and therefore legitimacy) than they are in actually reducing real exploitation in the real world. For a comparison: I think heroin addiction should not exist, but I do not think that throwing heroin users in jail is probably the best way to achieve this, nor do I think that it constitutes particularly just treatment of said heroin users!

I guess this is the same conversation that the left has been having with the right about drug decriminalization and harm reduction for many years. You need to make an argument better than "this thing is bad, therefore it should be illegal". That's like, a child's understanding of how the law should work, it's more complicated than that.

Now I will say that I know that there exist people out there who do sex work and enjoy it, and do not consider themselves exploited, just as there exist drug users (although probably not heroin users) who enjoy it and either are not addicted or are addicted but view this as an acceptable trade-off. To these people I say that I do not have any interest in telling you how to run your lives, and if you genuinely do these things voluntarily I think that is fine and good. You are also my allies on this front. I think that very probably the majority of sex workers are exploited, and very probably the majority of hard drug users are trapped in a vicious cycle that they would be better off escaping from, and in policy discussions around these issues I think these concerns should take highest priority. Still, though, if you just have some deep passion for fucking people for money or whatever, a priori I desire a world in which you can do that; my discussion of sex work as something to which harm reduction is a reasonable sociopolitical approach should not be construed as opposition to your ends.

[gege-wondering-around]

Not Wednesday WIP

sweet @patolemus (love your work, you're such an amazing writer) tagged me and i was working on this little thing yesterday, so i thought it'd be good to share something of it rathen then my ongoing fic

He had opened the door, holding it with one hand, trembling on the door handle, and hiding the other behind his back while his eyes were filled with tears that didn’t want to fall; he wasn’t sobbing, he was just standing still looking down at the floor. Stiles immediately got worried, what if Derek wasn’t doing so well after all?

“Baby,” he had said that day of March, “what’s wrong?”

Derek didn’t hold his gaze and Stiles went in, staring at his eyes and searching for something that could tell him what was going on, but there was nothing, nothing that he could use as an indicator. Apart from the way he kept hiding one of his arms.

Upstairs, after Stiles hugged his boyfriend and brought him to his bedroom with a tender hand holding his shaking one, the boy sat his wolf on the bed, kneeled in front of him between his legs and stared into his eyes, which couldn’t hold his gaze for more than a second at the time.

He didn’t say anything, he had his hands on his knees, stroking his covered skin and took notice of how he kept hiding his arm behind his back, almost always keeping his gaze low and sometimes letting out a little whine when he moved his arm.

“Lemme see, mh?”

The question was surreal to Derek, there was nothing to see after all. His skin was fine, his boyfriend would see nothing there. So, he moved his arm away from his hiding spot and showed it to Stiles, who with pleading and caring eyes took hold of it with one hand, leaving the other to make soothing motions on his knee with his thumb.

But Stiles wasn’t blind.

Sure, there was nothing visible or tangible, skin was spotless and clothes were clean, but a little detail got away from the wolf: when Stiles touched his wrist, applying some pressure to feel his heartbeat with two fingers, it caused a little wave of discomfort to run down the wolf’s spine and there was only one reason why that happened there and not on his knees.

He looked in his eyes, blue as that drainful night, and although he knew, he didn’t say anything.

Stiles kissed his skin, leaving a few gentle, open mouthed kisses on his wrist and with his eyes, he told Derek he wasn’t alone, that it wasn’t his fault and that he didn’t deserve any punishment because he was a victim, not a culprit.

And Derek cried, because his boyfriend’s eyes were clear as day, allowing him to read everything and giving him the chance to not say a word, to not have to deal with the conversation that it would bring to.

ahhh this fic is going to either break my heart or yours, but either way, if it works it's gonna be a painful read (forgive me for it, i'm a sucker for making my readers cry... it means that i did a good enough job with the narrative that it brought to you the emotions i wanted to convey, still, forgive me again) No pressure tags @dontcallpanic (i'm addicted) @patolemus (can't ge tenough of your amazing works, forgive me) @hellameyers (it's been a while, hello my sweet foe) @hedwig221b (i'm a curious fella, i'd like to know you a bit) and everyone else who wanna join in

[daughterofcain-67]

𝕽𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 (𝔭𝔱.1)

(Dean Winchester x Female Reader)

(masterlist)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: The wretched mark that Cain had passed on to Dean was taking an affect on the elder Winchester. Sam had been worried about the changes in his brother's character. Abaddon had already been killed, Dean was insistent on keeping the First Blade to use on Metatron. But Sam was more concerned with how to get the mark off his brother sooner rather than later. But who would know where to even begin?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Spoilers in the plots of seasons nine and ten. Mentions of blood, gore, SPN violence, mentions of genetic experimentation.

The look on Dean's face was all that Sam could remember when he held the First Blade for the first time. And ever since that moment he's noticed how much easier it was becoming for Dean to kill without any second thought.

Then there was the excuse Dean gave every time he wanted to bring that stupid blade along on almost every hunting trip they went on. Even when they truly didn't need it. It was like an addiction and there were times that Sam just wished he had given the blade to Crowley without Dean knowing.

But what really set Sam on the idea of taking the mark off his older brother, was the moment Dean finally killed Abaddon. The mark was powerful on Dean and after the lights went out of Abaddon's eyes, you would think it would be over, right? But Sam remembered how cold Dean had become before he straddled the body and stabbed repeatedly. The overkill was unnecessary and Sam couldn't forget the blood that covered his brother's face, while Dean didn't seem to want to stop.

Sam hated what his brother was becoming, and he hated that Dean was trying his best to justify when he kills. That he claims to be "nothing like Cain" in the sense of being a ruthless murderer. But in Sam's eyes, and in the eyes of their friends, Dean was changing and he was no longer the man he once was.

The only thing that Sam wanted outside of killing Metatron, was for his brother back.

Which then brings us to Dean.

He wished his kid brother would keep his nose out of where it didn't belong. Sam had no idea what he was going through, how could he? He had the power to beat Metatron now. And he could bet that he was able to beat practically anyone effortlessly if it came down to it. They could finally save the world for good.

He looked down at his arm and gazed at the mark, gifted to him by the father of murder himself. He knew he wasn't like Cain. When he killed, he had a reason. that reason was to kill all those evil sons of bitches that got in his way.

Although the constant burning from the mark, the constant urge to kill, he couldn't help but wonder that with his brother's nagging actually had some kind of truth. He didn't understand what the hell was happening to him, but he knew that right now it didn't matter what was happening. They had a task at hand.

So now, Dean had yet another meeting with Crowley since Sam was having a meeting with Cass to see if he was having any luck with the factions to beat the former Scribe of God. And that's exactly where he was.

Dean sat down in a booth of a bar, leaned up against the back of the chair, with a glass of whisky on the rocks. The King of Hell was sitting across from him with some fancy kind of drink with one of those tiny ass umbrellas.

Honestly, Dean didn't really know why he was still bothering to see Crowley. He wasn't even sure if he would even get the answers he needed from the demon but he knew he needed to at least try something. He didn't really find much of anything in the books in the Bunker's library.

So a visit with the King of Hell was the next best thing, even if the bastard was on his kill list after Metatron.

"I take it the angel hasn't had any luck finding that winged wretch, huh?" He asked, his accent thick and Dean rolled his eyes a little.

"Small talk? Really? Isn't that beneath you?" The hunter asked, a little impatient.

"Woah now, Squirrel. Just trying to have a bit of conversation. Didn't think that was so wrong especially after you bloody Winchesters kept me locked up for so long. You should be glad that I'm talkative and even willing to see you now." Crowley pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let's just cut to the chase, alright? I don't even like being around you as it is." Dean continued, the demon placed a hand over where his heart would have been and feigned offense.

"So why have we arranged to meet?" Crowley asked, "I've already got what I want. Abaddon's gone and I'm the ruler of Hell again and I'm busy trying to get my kingdom back on track."

“I’m not gonna ask you to track down Metatron. I just want to know what the hell this mark is doing to me. I get enough of Sam bitching at me about how this thing is supposedly changing me. And I-“

“Let me guess, you want it to be nothing that way you can tell Moose you’re perfectly fine so he can get off your back. Am I correct?” The Winchester rolled his eyes a little but he couldn't exactly say the demon was wrong.

"So what's the deal with the damned thing?" He asked while Crowley took the cherry off his fancy little drink and ate it.

"Squirrel, I'd hate to tell ya, but I don't know what's going on with the bloody thing. Not a lot of people know how it affected Cain himself other than it of course gave him some sort of power, a thirst to kill. No one truly knows how it will effect the mind of the wielder." Crowley answered.

Dean didn't really know how much of what he was saying is true or if there was any more to this mark that the demon was holding back. But he didn't have the leverage to make him tell more.

"Well, if that was all you wished to know, I'd say that was a waste of chatting on. I'm surprised Sam isn't with you. Or are you still having marital problems?"

Dean's jaw tensed a bit. Things were always up and down between them and it didn't get much better after he got Cain's mark. There were times he liked to think they would still be there for each other, and he knew Sam was trying to look out for him. But it was just getting on his nerves.

"Other than this stupid mark he's wary of? Things are fine. Just focused on the job. The sooner Cass's group tracks down that asshat, Metatron, then the sooner we can focus on the next thing that comes out way." He said and the demon hummed a little.

"A hunter's work is never done. I can't say I pity you. But since there's nothing else to be done at this moment, I think I'll take my leave. Ciao."

Before Dean could protest, Crowley was gone. Dean grumbled to himself before he rested his arms on the table. Then he glanced down at his arm, looking at the scar.

Cain said there was a great cost with bearing this mark. At the time Dean was laser focused on killing Abaddon. But should he have taken things more into consideration?

Sam met with Castiel in his quarters since Cass was needed there while his followers continued the pursuit of Metatron. So now the two were simply in the angel's office so they could converse in private.

"So how are you holding up with the stolen grace?" Sam asked as a bit of an ice breaker and he watched Cass smile slightly, knowing that he'd say there was no need to worry about him.

"I can assure you that I'm holding up just fine for the time being. There is no need to he concerned when there are other important matters at hand. I know you came because you're worried about Dean," The angel said in his usual monotonous tone.

Sam gave that slightly awkward but point taken grin of his before speaking again, "Yeah, well, uh.. It's just that mark he got from Cain."

"You see that it's effecting him too. And what are you suggesting that we do?" Castiel asked, "You know that he cannot be without the mark until Metatron is defeated and he is the only one that can use the First Blade. You are already doing all that you can by not bringing it on every hunt you're on."

Sam sighed a little. He supposed the angel could have been right but even so, it wasn't comforting. Somehow it just wasn't enough. He's already thought about locking Dean up in the dungeon without the blade for a while so he's not a danger to anyone else yet.

Of course, the key word was yet. So there's a chance that Sam would have to do something that extreme.

"That's not enough, Cass. I don't want that stupid thing to affect Dean more than it already has. We have to come up with a plan or find someone that can at least help the situation before it gets any worse." The younger Winchester said.

The angel looked down at the hunter while he was sitting in the chair in front of him. He could tell just how worried the brother was and he knew that it was something that would never change. Even if there was seemingly no way for there to be any kind of relief before the changes worsen, he knew that Sam would stop at nothing to find a way to protect his big brother.

"There... there is a rumor amongst demons and angels alike." Castiel finally spoke again, causing Sam to perk up.

"A rumor? A rumor about what?" Sam asked as he sat up in the chair, giving the angel his undivided attention.

"It's simply a hearsay, so I can't promise this as some sort of definite truth so you must keep that in mind.'' The man in the trench coat warned.

"Yeah, yeah, just get on with it already."

"Well, there is a matter of Cain's descendants. Of course the ones mentioned in the Bible are dead because they were mortal and there are few left that carry Cain's blood in their veins. And even if they did, they wouldn't care his mark." The angel began.

"Okay, well what does that have to do with anything? If his decedents are slim pickings and they're human, it's highly unlikely that they'd know anything about the mark."

"Sam, I would appreciate a lack of interruptions if you'd like to hear what I have to say."

"Right. Sorry."

"Anyway, as I was saying, there is a rumor amongst Angels and Demons that there is one specific relative of Cain. One that wouldn't be mentioned in the Bible because she was conceived long after the book of Revelation was written. It is said that she walks among us to this day. The direct Daughter of Cain and Mistress of Murder. She is the spawn of a Knight of Hell and the Father of Murder."

"Wait, I thought Cain killed all of the Knights of Hell except for Abaddon who got away. How can she be a spawn of the both of them?" Sam asked, totally at a loss by the idea.

"Demons have their ways. Speculation from the ancient demons such as Azazel back in the day said that somehow, the demons obtained some of Cain's DNA and somehow used Abaddon's DNA, created a spell and Abaddon became pregnant. Cain's daughter is the first born-demon. She was born with the mark. All through experimentation and magic." Castiel said.

"That's insane! I knew demons were sick but this is just dispicable." Sam said and shook his head, and the angel couldn't help but to agree.

"The purpose of this was of course Abaddon's idea so that she had the perfect weapon to use against Cain. Cain supposedly doesn't know of his own daughter's existence and because she was born a demon rather than dying and becoming a demon, she is still living and arguably just as powerful as Cain himself, if not more powerful. But it's said that because Cain was once human, and Abaddon, of course, conceived with a human vessel, the child had some humane traits."

Sam was shocked at all of the overwhelming information. A demon that was born rather than a human dying and becoming a demon or being possessed? All of this was a bit much to grasp.

"So if this girl is still alive, why haven't we seen her? You'd think she'd want some sort of revenge since Dean killed her mother, right?" Sam asked.

"Well, that's a little complicated. The Mistress of Murder was not trained with the concept of family. It was said she and Abaddon never got along and because they clashed, supposedly because of her father's traits, she favored the idea of free will and not taking orders like Lucifer's demons. That was the time Abaddon told the girl who her father was and because she favored the human's idea of free will, she fought her mother and left Hell before going into hiding. Much like her father before her."

"That doesn't make any sense. Demons are pure evil right? How can one favor humanity? Especially one that you would think is born a demon." Sam continued.

"To be frank? That's the part that confuses everyone. That's why angels and demons only say this is a rumor rather than truth. There can be contradictions but some battle the contradictions and claim the humanity comes from faulty magic." Castiel answered.

"Well, first we'd have to find out if she's even real, right? Then maybe she knows something about the mark and can help us. If she was born with it then surely there's a way to subside it." Sam said, suddenly getting hopeful.

"Sam, this is going to be a bit complicated if she does know something. The mark is dangerous on anyone. And because she was born with it, because she's been killing since childhood, you don't know how she's handled her murderous urges over these last few centuries. She may not have the self restraint Cain supposedly had." The angel warned and Sam got up.

"We still have to try. She may not know how to get the mark off, but I'll take even the smallest bit of help rather than nothing."

Meanwhile, in Cincinnati Ohio, there was a little tattoo shop. It was a quaint little place that had been in business for a little while now. About four years to be exact.

There, sitting in a small chair with a handheld tattoo machine in her grasp and working diligently on her artwork, was the owner of the shop. A girl that no one truly knew anything about, but the mystery was a part of what kept some people coming, outside of the artwork.

You had practically shown up out of nowhere, bought a little building, renovated it and turned it into the little shop it was today. You were talented with your work, but outside of the fact that you were the owner of this place and had plenty of experience with your line of work, no one knew anything about the mysterious tattoo artist with the badass mark on her arm. Granted you enjoyed lying low and staying away from demons and angels alike, you got bored. You knew exactly where Cain resided before the current King of Hell and some human went and bothered him. But you yourself had never decided to go and meet the man you inherited the blasted mark from.

You didn't spare your father's life because you had compassion. Frankly you didn't care enough about your so called father to spare his life out of love. You barely knew the man. It was more to spite your mother.

You wished you could say you hadn't killed in centuries and of course you knew it was out of your demonic nature. But you figured if your father could walk away from Hell even if he was a demon, why couldn't you?

Of course, the urges were there. The thirst for blood was there and it never left. The burn from your mark ignited your entire arm constantly. It was a perpetual pain you endured.

But because you can't say you were clean of killing, that only meant one other option. You still were a killer. No one had shown you what it was like to be human and not kill. You couldn't deny your demon blood. You refused to go back to Hell, you didn't care to aid angels because they'd kill you anyway.

Humans though, as ideal as it may seem, their deaths cause too much attention. That would ruin your chances of lying low. Plus humans tend to miss other humans and you didn’t want to be investigated over a missing person’s case.

But with the ever growing pain in your arm, you found that you liked the hunters' idea of killing monsters. Victims that no one would miss. They don't have souls so it's not like their death would benefit heaven or hell.

So the monsters were your designated victims, at least for now. Hey, the mark never said who you had to kill. And even if you did want to kill humans, you refused to give Hell the satisfaction of giving them souls. And over the years, you had fun with it once in a while, depending on how demented the monster was.

"Hey, Y/N?" Your client asked as he sat up when you were done with your work. You hummed a little as you got what you needed to make sure the tattoo would be protected during the healing process.

"I was wondering if you were taking any apprentice positions. I have this nephew who's getting out of high school and he's got talent. He want's to go to college and get some kind of art major but he needs a job since his financial aid and scholarships won't quite cover everything." The client said.

You lifted a brow. This was the first time something like this had come up. You didn't plan on working and teaching someone else. Let alone a human, but because of your senses you knew that this was no human.

"Let me think about it. I'll get back to you." Was all you decided to say and he got up out of the chair.

"Huh, so they say you do have a human conscience after all, Mistress of Murder."

You hummed a little and took your gloves off before standing up, not bothering to look the demon in the eye when it showed off his black eyes to you.

"Oh no, Kid. I was just entertained by your charade. I thought that I would play along just for your sake. You do well acting human, but don't you have a new king you should be serving?" You asked.

"Well the new King of Hell has tasked me in finding you and bringing you back to Hell wince Abaddon is dead. So if you'll just come with me then I'll go easy on you." The demon said and you scoffed and rolled your eyes.

"Oh how merciful of you, Mr. Demon. But unfortunately for you, I don't plan on going anywhere, and I certainly don't plan on anyone ever finding out where I am." You said.

"Very well. Have it your way." The demon said and he lunged at you with all the force he could muster but you took a hold of his wrist, unphased by his attack.

"You must be new to this demon thing. You're the weakest little pest I've ever seen." You said and you gripped even tighter and the demon was unable to move when you pinned him to the floor.

Then you placed a hand on his head, his black eyes widening with horror and when he tried to leave his human vessel, your eyes glowed red and you smirked, "Oh no, I don't think so, Love. You came in my territory, and you won't be going anywhere."

Then the demon started convulsing beneath your touch, the human body was growing hot as the demon started chocking. Then it started to vomit some sort of black liquid before it finally stopped moving completely. It lay there lifeless, eyes still black and wide open.

Then your eyes returned to their normal color.

"Well, it wasn't the most satisfying kill. But like I said, Kid. I don't intend on anyone finding me." You said and with the snap of your fingers, the corpse turned to red smoke and the mess vanished as if nothing had ever happened.

But one of the things he said stuck with you. You lifted your sleeve and looked down at your father's mark.

"So... she's finally dead. Too bad, I was hoping I'd get to her first."

Thank you!!!

Thank you guys so much for reading! Your support and feedback is greatly appreciated! Be sure to stay on the lookout for part two! I’m hoping to get it out soon along with a masterlist! You all are amazing! 🖤

Taglist:

@johannelis2302nely @justtrying2getby-blog @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @alternativeprincess @doctorlexilouwhosblog

[oniriver]

FYI! Spoilers later on, (depends on what you consider spoilers tbh, but I wanna be safe). None for orv really, more so sctir considering that's the medium where I will specifically dive into a certain character's actions. I'd say the spoilers go until roughly the end of the Japanese Dungeon arc. Along with some mentions of Crescent Moon.

So there are a lot of parallels to be drawn between orv characters and sctir characters. I mean, despite having different stories, the backstories and personalities of some characters are similar between the two universes. You can talk about Kim Dokja and Han Yoojin's self-sacrificial natures, the fact that Yoo Joonghyuk and Sung Hyunjae have both had their existences worn out by a more powerful existence, etc. Now while those are definitely interesting parallels, I could probably go on hour-long rants about them, they are surprisingly not the parallels that have plagued my mind for months. The parallel that I constantly think of (unfortunately) is one between Uriel and Jellyfish. It's honestly a bit of a weird comparison, I am aware of that. However, I have come up with a ridiculous amount of justification for it in my head. (Whether the justification is good or not is, uh, certainly debatable).

So with that, please hear me out:

I want to start by saying I won't try to argue about Uriel and Jellyfish's similarities in terms of morals. I think, morally, they are very different characters. Uriel has a strong sense of justice, she is known as the Demon-like Judge of Fire after all, while Jellyfish, suffice to say, has very few morals if any at all.

Despite all of that, I will argue their similarities in terms of being an obsessed fan. Anyone who reads orv can see Uriel's love for Kim Dokja and how much she admires him, (to the point where a huge portion of the fandom looks at her and goes "just like me fr"). The real argument would come in the form of whether Jellyfish is a fan of Han Yoojin. This, in my opinion, is less glaringly obvious when presented in Jellyfish compared to Uriel.

Now, why do I think Jellyfish is a fan of Yoojin? While I could bring up her obsession with him, that isn't really concrete evidence in my opinion. One could say Diarma was partially obsessed with Yoojin, (constantly trying to catch and or kill him), however, Diarma was certainly not a fan of him. I feel that the reason behind Jellyfish's obsession with Yoojin is important and what she is willing to sacrifice to get him.

Let's start with their initial meeting. I don't really have much to say about it other than it was the start of her interest in him. Although in fairness, anyone would find him interesting considering he is an F rank constantly surrounded by S ranks.

The next meeting is the one in Sung Hyunjae's house, where Jellyfish attempts to coerce Han Yoojin into signing a contract with her. The thing is, this barely benefits her. At the time Jellyfish didn't know Yoojin was connected with the immoral people, she thought Sung Hyunjae was. So if she made a contract with him, it wouldn't matter to the immoral people (from her pov at least). Furthermore, Han Yoojin is an F rank. Not a born S rank, not even a regular S rank, an F rank. Other than his qualities as a caregiver, nothing (skill-wise) really sets him apart from others of his rank (again, specifically from Jellyfish's pov). Her job as a Filial Duty Addict is to recruit powerful people and, as much as I love him, Han Yoojin's rank does not reflect that. Yet despite that, she still takes an immense interest in him. So much so that she bends over backward, willing to accommodate ten people of his choice, some of which don't have to be S ranks, just to get him to sign her contract.

Later, in the Japanese dungeon, when Jellyfish has the chance to leverage Han Yoohyun's safety (considering Earth was about to collapse until Gyeol/Changling intervened), she no longer offers the choice of picking ten people to save. Instead, she only promises to save Han Yoohyun, because Yoojin wouldn't be willing to leave Earth without him. I think it's important to note that despite Han Yoojin knowing multiple powerful people who are special even among S ranks, Jellyfish only cared about a deal with Yoojin. She ignored Sung Hyunjae whose power was fostered by Crescent Moon. She ignored Bak Yerim who, despite not being born an S rank, was special through her water manipulation. She ignored Moon Hyun and Noah despite them also having interesting attributes (Moon Hyuna constantly going against born S ranks and Noah being an A rank who turned S rank through the Filial Duty Addicts intervention). She ignored Peace who, despite being a monster, was incredibly intelligent and loyal to one he perceived as his caregiver. Even Han Yoohyun, who Jellyfish offered to bring, was only offered a chance at survival because of Han Yoojin and not his nature as a born S rank or the fact that he constantly fights said nature. In the end, despite the fact that you could argue everyone in the dungeon was unique in some way, all she cared about was Han Yoojin. I simply find that noteworthy and I feel it reflects her thoughts on him.

So in my opinion Jellyfish is a crazed fan who is willing to collapse a world or two just to get Han Yoojin's autograph. And while Uriel is certainly more normal, (though she has her moments occasionally), I think their obsession with the main character is at least slightly similar.

Thank you for reading my nonsense <3

[kyoghurts]

hh-hi hi, i've been scrawling the mashle x reader tags all day, and i'm very desperate to see someone write anything for my gorgeous wife magarette macaron ;v; preferably fem-reader. i just think about her entry in the fanbook alot about how she'd like someone preferably stronger than her, and i'd just imagine a student who deeply respects and admires her who's motivated to improve their magical ability and their inclination for the arts (painting, dance, music etc, it might even be part of their magic ehe, something that'd compliment margarette's sound magic <3) to try and catch her eye. my apologies if it's too specific! i understand female/nb characters in the mashle fandom aren't exactly the apple of many writers' eyes, and i hope your studies are going well ;u; i would just like to see some content of my favourite character. thank you!

LOVE. oil on canvas

content ♡ prns used for margarette in this fic are they/them. gn reader. fluff. established relationship. not proofread. half assed poetry writing. gazing each at each other with lots of descriptive scenes and not many dialogues. wrote this while having writers block :( apologies

notes ♡ MARGARETTE MACARON THE NONBINARY EVER <3 sorry your request took so long :( the first few parts were written 2 months ago and left there until i could not pick out details from the outline i made, so i had to modify a bit until i visualise it properly. div creds to cafekitsune!

there'd have at least an answer to every call of your heartbeats each time margarette macaron comes to slip its way into your thoughts, the sound of their chuckles or the shape of their grin, the swift catch of eye as you bump into them at random intervals, the occasional quips and teases when chances arrive. you long to find an answer to your heart hammering inside your chest, you want this organ to quell itself because if this keeps up, you might as well just die from a heart-attack.

but even when you get the gist of your feelings, the answer doesn't come to you in details smaller than the canvas of a larger size than what you're used to. the big picture is there, but it lacks...something. and you don't know what it is.

(why you admire them so much to the extent of soaring high of inspirations. like a drug that streams in the bloodstream subtle but persistent, an addiction in a good way. each interaction is recalled even more vividly than the last. it’s enough to drive you insane.)

(why, that’d you even go as far as to take it upon yourself to scramble for ways to grab their attention. you don’t.. want to admit it, but perhaps a part of you is so driven to win this once-in-a-lifetime art contest because you want margarette to finally see you. in the same way you see them)

(and for reasons… you can’t bring yourself to conclude)

you’re standing in front of your piece like a man slowly decaying, a dejected look smothered all over your face, accompanied by splotches of paint and dirt. you probably look like shit, but even that thought doesn’t bring you to feel anything.

days—weeks of letting your emotions snowball into a flurry of frustration, anxiety, and starving ambition until it crashes against a wall, tall and sturdy, completely shutting you down. you’re spent. and now your mind inevitably falls back into a place you know so much and not.

your piece, although praised by many of your peers, you can’t seem to bring the same enthusiasm to yourself. yes, the message is clear, the artistry is well done, and yet… it lacks a detail so precise you can never capture whole. a fleeting dream in wide waking eyes, it flashes through your vision and yet can never be caught in the paint and tremblings hands that you have.

a missing part. a body without a heart, leaving a hollow in the left of the sternum, and between its lungs.

you’re about to heave a sigh of resignation when footsteps approach you, clean and smooth traces that you’ve heard and know so much, a calm stride despite everything.

margarette calls out to you, familiarity in their lips, honey-soaked tongue and well-poised and its sending you into a state of shock, tongue tied. why are they here? heart on your throat, eyes blown like a deer caught in a headlight. they smile, though different than politeness they often express, it’s curves at the end tells a more softer story. a gentle stroke of touch.

they look concerned, so to speak.

“it’s late out, (name).” they tell you, and you have to slowly gaze at the clock across the room and wake up from your daze, look at the windows to see midnight blues greet you in a gentle reminder. “why are you still here?”

“i only have a week to finish this…” you motion towards your canvas, somehow you can’t find the word to call it an artwork. not to margarette of all people.

“it’s lovely, dear” you purse your lips, looking down instead of accepting their words of praise head on, as if you don’t trust any of it, like how you don’t trust yourself.

“hmm, i do have some suggestions, take it as a grain of salt.”

you lift your head so suddenly it gives you a fright. “really?”

margarette’s attention doesn’t waver, they gaze your artwork with scrutiny, half lidded and in deep thought.

for some reason, you feel vulnerable with this. like they’re not just staring at your piece, they’re including you, too. it’s your work, after all, and from the way they tilt their head and eyes not leaving every single detail, it feels as though they’re looking through the artist’s intention— what’s beyond the efforts of the craft that most people always want to look past.

for some reason, it scares you how they’re so quiet, how close they are next to you right now. and though you don’t want to admit it, but the more you stare at margarette, the more clearer their features become. you wonder what it would feel like to trace the musical note marks traveling through the eyes to their cheekbones, how dangerous it must be if you swipe your thumb against their lips as you smudge the dark color that so attracts you. how it would all feel if you cup their face and scrutinise you instead. to memorize you the same way you’ve been studying art itself.

when they finally speak, a flood of ideas break through the dam. they tell you it’s mostly minor details, but to you, it means everything. and you’re not even exaggerating it, art has been your call, even your personal magic speaks for itself, and you want to let margarette know how much this means to you. how much of a burden has been lifted off your shoulders, in just an instant.

“your work inspires me.” they chuckle, faint and airy and it’s making you blush. “i hear a beautiful sound just by gazing at it.”

they turn to you, a smile on their lips.

you don’t want to tear your gaze, you say, “if my work sings to your soul, then…its fulfilled its purpose.”

“it has, my dear.” they might have noticed something on your face, because they start sifting underneath their robe, and pulls out a cloth. “you have paint all over you.”

“oh where-”

“here.” they lift your chin, wiping the side of your face with their other hand, and they take their time doing so. their movements delicate and gentle, your eyes on them the whole time, completely breathless.

(with the lights casting shadows across your face, twilight saying hello in your window, and the person you so admire from a place raw within a heart that feels hollow and not, empty but full and heavy, you want to capture this particular moment with this particular person in a time that’s suspended and remembered.)

(there are pieces that simply evoke too many emotions inside your ribcage, but this piece could actually lead you to an answer you’ve been putting on hold for so long.)

(the answer is simple, actually, you could laugh at yourself for this.)

you hadn’t realised that you did laugh, margarette stops from wiping and watches you in surprised amusement, the softness in their expression stirs your stomach in such a familiar way as you feel your face starting to burn. “sorry,” you say in between chuckles, “that was sudden.”

after a while of small talks and discussions towards your artwork, you finally call it a night. margarette walks you to your dorm, and you can’t miss the way they wave at you and mutter goodnight as you close your door.

you’re sure your going to dream about this for days without end.

you didn’t expect for your work to be displayed in such a grand way, with golden frames and a title plate situated under the piece. honestly, you’d think this is another dream questionable enough that you’re starting to battle reality, like right now.

you think you’re going to wake up soon and forget that day they announced your name as the first placer and that people literally hurdled towards you in utter shock and excitement, screaming in your ear until it bleeds from the “congratulations!!” to “you slayed like picasso on a caffeine high!” and “you've officially made the rest of us look like we're finger-painting with our toes. congrats on the epic win!” and more out of pocket forms of praise that you don’t want to hear any further.

you want to wake up that is until they stood on the hall to where your artwork was displayed, until they see the small plate with the title written in a small, minimalist text.

as you approach margarette anxiously, you soon find yourself not needing to be so tense. you watch as they scan your piece similar to that night, subtly taking each and every detail with their whole, undivided attention.

"congratulations," they say, their voice filled with warmth and sincerity. "you've captured something truly special here.”

this time, you smile with pride and gratitude. you don’t have to say anything for when they ask for your hand and they kiss your knuckles so delicate you feel elated, so over the moon that the answer to your heartbeats has been settled like stilled ocean. no longer in hunger for a call, no storms raging inside your poetic little heart.

you take one good look at your piece before margarette leads you to- well, this is most definitely not a dream, but you’re sure they ask you if you’re free at the moment, asking to join them for lunch.

your bright, excited ‘i’d love to!’ doesn’t leave any doubts, in fact, margarette can only squeeze your hand in response. as if saying they reciprocate how you feel, and that the missing piece has always been there for you all along.

© kyoghurts ★ reblogs & likes are well appreciated!

[rin-fukuroi]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 [𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Pairings: serial killer!Blade x fem!reader

Warnings: !dark content, i guess!, descriptions of murders and bloody wounds (of strangers).

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. Point Blank - Liar

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

Oh, I'm so inspired by this Blade's image that I want to write even more works with him in this role... I love the creepy, disgusting and frightening Blade as much as possible (≧◡≦) ♡

✦ He doesn't hide from you the disgusting things that his hands do. Blade is frighteningly good at things you can't even bring yourself to say out loud. He's cold-blooded, smart, and too into the taste to stop, despite how you slowly go crazy being next to him while he drags you down to the bottom of a sea of blood and corpses.

Blade no longer remembers what his first murder was like. These faces… disfigured by agony, mutilated and losing touch with this world, merged together in his mind, acquiring a completely new appearance that should haunt him in nightmares, but only you can disturb his sleep when you try to get out of his steel grip, almost breaking your bones, but every time he attracts you back, hugging tightly to his body.

— Where are you going?

Blade was never verbose, but his scarlet eyes sometimes tell you more than his words. Every time you try to escape from the metallic smell that has settled somewhere deep under his skin, from his cold body, from hugs akin to the most cruel torture, his gaze burns a hole in your nature, nailing you back to his chest, in which the barely audible beats of what should be to be called the heart.

✦ He likes to look at you when your face is distorted with disgust. You're chained to Blade like a faithful pet that follows him around, forced to just watch as his pale face is stained with splashes of scarlet blood. A weak-willed spectator who feels complicit in every atrocity that Blade's hands, which know no mercy, do. He beat, hacked, then smeared your wrinkled face with still warm blood, wanting to know when the day would come when your stomach would no longer be sick and your heart would no longer be pounding in your chest, ready to burst apart. When you finally break down.

But deep down in his mutilated soul, Blade doesn't want that day to come.

✦ He is aroused by the sight of your disgust for him, aroused by the fear that takes root in your veins, which has not left your body since your destinies intertwined. Your tears are the best part of his every performance for you. Although you start crying even at the moment when his blade pierces the body of another stranger, your tears, settling in wet spots on his cloak, are something for which he is ready to kill again and again.

— They're all dying because of you, and you can't even look them in the eye. Do you really think you can escape from this?

✦ How low do you have to fall for the universe to finally bring down its punishment on you for all the deeds that you had to witness? Aren't you guilty enough?

After all, he's right.

You really are the reason all these people are dying. And you've never even done anything to stop it, just feeding the monster, filling the void in his chest with sinful pleasure, when Blade enjoys every sound of despair, every plea uttered in a voice hoarse with sobs, every tear running down your fear-scarred face.

✦ You are the only reason Blade has become addicted to this feeling. Watching the fire go out in the eyes of his victims is so boring and has almost become routine, but the way your candle smoulders is what his blade is ready to chop fragile human bodies over and over again until he sees your eyes dim, soaked in darkness that devours his soul.

At some point, you still open your eyes, looking at his victims as if into your own reflection. They're all you. The same wounded, now devoid of soul. The only thing that distinguishes you from the corpses that Blade's heavy footsteps mercilessly tread on is your heart, which for some reason still continues to beat in your chest.

But one day, he promises, you will become a jewel in his collection.

[el-moscorrofio-y-el-mercachifle]

Which characters do you like the most and the least?

Hiii!!

Oh I love all the most important characters, although for different reasons! (I'm assuming this is about S1 lol)

I love Betty so much because I see myself in her a lot, which is something that I've always struggled to do with media representation with female characters. Growing up with such harsh insecurities, a family always trying to cheer us up about it, being so clumsy and a bit awkward, the self esteem issues, and even by the same first experience with a relationship that turned out to be fake! (Not fully the same, but something along those lines). When I first watched ysblf I felt very much like Betty pre change. Now I look back on it and still remember how it all felt! I see so much of me in Betty as a girl growing in the 2000s with lots of self esteem issues and my family as my backbone (although Betty is a much better, much smarter, and much a more patient person than me, by far lmao.) Leaving that aside, she's a genuinely good person. I love her real sorority, her genuine desire to help the Ecomoda employees, her love for her family and for Nicolás. I also love that fire in her. She's stubborn but determined. She's not perfect and allowed herself to be consumed by rage and her emotions because she's no angel. She never was. She slept with an engaged man knowing he was engaged, and she did it because she loved him. She accepted a bribe, and had it not being for her dad talking her out of it, she would have gotten the money because her family goes above anything else. She's fully human but so compassionate and funny and with so much love to give!

I love Armando Mendoza because he's so far from perfect and goes absolutely against the Prince Charming trope, but grows throughout the series and you can see how his actions torture him. He's so worried about not being enough that he ends up proving that he wasn't. He's driven by ego and fear and insecurity, and yells and threatens because he's so insecure in his respectability and leadership and deep down knows he's messing up (which is also a pain in the ego because he wants everything to be perfect to prove himself). He seems so big and threatening but he's actually incredibly mentally fragile. He has very little discipline and is so quick to get his defenses up... but he also has a weak spot for those under his charge. He knows he has power and doesn't want to abuse it. He's pretty much like an addict, always messing up and hurting the people he loves but can't stop it. He wants to be good but doesn't know how. He treats his gf like shit because he doesn't want her at all but he doesn't have the guts to face the consequences of leaving her. He doesn't want to hurt her but can't find another way to deal with her. They bring the worst out of each other.

I love Mario Calderón becuase he's a horrible person lmao. He's so calm and happy and charming that you's think you found actual prince charming, just to end up with a wicked witch lmao. His happiness and friendliness isn't sincere. He's too observant, and can quickly find people's weaknesses and doesn't care about exploiting them. He'll lurk in the corner and then insert ideas into Armando's mind. His biggest flaw is that he thinks he's much smarter than he actually is, but also is always suspicious of people around him. He's always making schemes but never thinks things through on the long run. He's totally okay with using and discarding people because he thinks they'd do the same if they could. He's totally okay with fanning the flames of paranoia in Armando's mind. He fears nothing but public humiliation, mainly because he likely lives off public perception. He's also hilarous and. Always makes me laugh!

I love Marcela because she's both so wrong and so right, and I can't fully blame her for either. She's sickly attahced to this man that she desperately wants but doesn't love, because she can't stand him or have anything in common with him, but NEEDS him because at this point it's a matter of principle, of pride, of ego, and most important, of family. He's her everything: her childhood companion, her boss, her fellow executive, her fellow owner of the company her mom and dad created, her basically adopted brother. They grew up together. It's a lifetime of attachment. Her own basically adoptive parents keep telling her all the time they're perfect for each other! But she's also so deeply resentful of him because he treats her like shit. She, just like him, is practically always on the defensive, but like an addict she cannot stop looking for him even though it hurts her so much. So she hurts him too. That's their game, the only thing they know with each other. It's a constant battle, one that keeps you on edge. At the same time, she's so full of ego that she hates every woman that Armando lays eyes on because she can't hold HIM accountable so she hates them instead. She hates Betty because Betty has everything she wants from Armando without even havi g to fight. She got it from day 1. She despises Betty because she represents all that should be between Armando and her. And it's a pain in the ego to know that Betty being so ugly and poor still wins this round over her. She thinks she should have all that because she's supposedly socially perfect and has worked for it, even though her "work" actually comes from a place of ego and hurt and pain.

Those are my favorite characters! Honestly, I could write ESSAYS about each of them, this js only the tip of the iceberg lmao

Regarding the ones I don't like, I honestly like mot of them. Different degrees, ofc. I like Mariana much more than I like Sofia, for example, and I dislike Patty much more than I dislike AM lmao.

The only character that J can totally say I fully dislike is Jenny. I dislike her so much that I skip her scenes in the rewatches jajaja whiny tones are absolutely jarring for my ears lmao but sometimes a good story can balance it out, but Jenny doesn't really have it. She's just bad because and we know nothing else lmao

Sorry this is a big rambli g with no editing lmao thanks for the question!

[notori]

On a more genuine note from my previous post though: I do not think Imodna will go the same way as Vaxleth for a few reasons.

Vax's story was very personal to Liam. It always frustrates me when people act like the Raven Queen 'took Vax away' (and thus she is a bad goddess) when in fact she answered his prayer and granted his wish. Vax's story is about "Take me instead!" - not some kind of "Don't let Vex die!", and certainly not someone who was raised from the dead without their consent and bound like a puppet. Unless such an ending is expressly what Marisha wants for her character, I don't see it being narratively satisfying. Even if Laudna dies in sacrifice to save the others, because of the breadth of Delilah's power, it would be more of a general "I'm dying to save everyone" and less personal (and impactful) than Vax's trading his life for Vex's.

I joked about how this is Delilah Briarwood vs Laura Bailey again, so don't sweat it, but it's true! The players play their characters differently. Liam loves tragedy and plays it well; Laura loves romance and plays it well. Percy also had a dark streak with a hunger for power, and Vex would not let him go. I see more parallels with themes like: "I feel cruel, but in control." and "Take the mask off." Meanwhile, Imogen and Keyleth are different characters and their love interests have different relationships with death. In the end, the reason Keyleth could not do anything against the Raven Queen isn't because she's a god and Keyleth is not, but because Vax - as a paladin - chose to honour his faith and uphold his end of the deal. Imogen is not in that position because Laudna is not in that position. Laudna may see herself as just a puppet, or a risk, or a dead end - but we the audience, and Imogen, know that she is not (maybe a bit of a calculated risk). If anything, I see us on the precipice of an arc of Imogen inspiring Laudna to fight for her independence again and figuring out a way to do that (this is a world of magic after all).

And that theme of fighting for independence is something that has been there since the beginning. We have seen it both in analysis and confirmed on 4SD that Laudna's relationship with Delilah is in many ways similar to struggling with addiction. And now, into year three of C3, we are really seeing that take form when things get rough. When things get out of control, when you get desperate, that's when you grasp at anything to make it easier. It would be a real kick in the teeth to have her not overcome that struggle. Of course, there's the possibility that she does overcome that struggle by getting rid of Delilah and dying as a result. But out of game it has been referred to more in line with addiction that is constantly managed rather than addiction that is ended cold turkey - which for some people is the only way. I'll admit this one is more a personal preference but I do see it overall leaving a bad taste if Laudna were to die from Delilah in some way (again). Presuming they resolve issues with the solstice and resurrection spells, True Resurrection does exist and I'm certain the Hells would work off a 25k GP debt to bring Laudna back for good (which I see as more of a final episode/epilogue/post-game situation).

Regardless, it's a beautiful story and I'm sure that whatever happens will be what the players want. However, in this case I genuinely don't see them repeating something they have done before. Although we saw many parallels last night, there is still much which sets Imodna and Vaxleth apart narratively.

[wayshadow]

More BlaCaviar/Pearlviar

I had done this a while ago, but many times I just scan the drawings and completely forget about them in my "Scan" folder. Also, lately I have been very stressed and losing hours of sleep, nothing serious, just family events and the fact that I am close to finishing my university degree. I've also been a little addicted to ARK: Survived Ascended but that's another topic.

Anyway, as I was coming up, a long time ago I had made a story that I never finished, but maybe one day it will end (XD) as soon as I drew it and I forgot about it. After years of the beginning of the marriage of Black Pearl and Caviar, adding the birth of their two daughters, the republic never knew who Black Pearl really was, it was only known that the Duskgloom Sea attacks had stopped, no one knew the reason, It just happened, without imagining that the beast of the Duskgloom Sea now inhabited the republic.

For a reason that I have not yet questioned, the republic ends up finding out who BlackPearl is, causing panic in the republic (Something not very surprising yupee) in addition to the fact that the sailors who have lost ships and family in the Duskgloom Sea, made a demonstration in they seeks justice since BlackPearl is responsible for those losses, she knows it, but she has changed and tries to make an apology that obviously no one accepts, they want to bring her to justice or take justice into their own hands. Caviar, who defends his wife, knows that there must be justice but not in that way, but the inhabitants of the Republic take him as an accomplice of the "Beast of the Duskgloom Sea" where things end up getting out of control, since even the Other Elders of the Republic get involved, Custard II being one of the most involved, since he sees the Sovereign of Duskgloom Sea as a great help to defend the republic, basically, a weapon.

As he is the "Leader" of the Elders of the Republic, he decides to propose a deal to Captain Caviar and BlackPearl, where he would calm all the Republicans, forgive the mermaid's crime but only if she agrees to be part of the arms of the Republic. republic, although it is a good proposal, neither Black Pearl nor Caviar are convinced when they learn of the bad tricks of Custard II, by not accepting a whole disaster results that ends in the separation of the members of the Salty Shark, the imprisonment of Caviar and the capture of BlackPearl. And I left it until then, I didn't take up the topic again because I was busy with my classes.

Regarding the separation of the Salty Shark, it was to keep Caviar and BlackPearl's daughters safe, since, if they try to use BlackPearl as a form of weapon or defense of the republic, they could do it with the girls as well, after They are all half Mermaids, this would lead to an adventure in the ocean, where the girls find out that they are like their mother, seek help from BlackPearl's sisters and blablabla. I stayed there and didn't continue, maybe one day I'll come back but, that's the context of these doodles

All the text above was translated with Google Translate, English is not my first language.