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edenesth · 10 months ago

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TWTHH Spinoff: Take Me Away [1]

Pairing: private investigator!Wooyoung x courtesan!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 5k

Trigger Warnings: forced prostitution

Summary: While working on a new case in town, Wooyoung was captivated when he stumbled upon a beauty unlike any other. Just as he began to believe that he might have found a Lady Park of his own, word got out that she was merely the newest courtesan at the town's brothel. Disheartened by this revelation, he nearly abandons his pursuit of her until he hears whispers suggesting that she may not have been there of her own will.

A/N: As stated in the title, this is a spinoff. If you have yet to check out the main story, it's probably better to read that before starting this.

Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist | Part 2

"If you're just going to hide in the corner and not even attempt to attract potential clients, then make yourself useful and collect my new hair accessories from this shop," commanded Iseul, one of the more senior courtesans, as she handed you an invoice listing her orders for specific designs.

Rather than protesting or attempting to evade the task as she had anticipated, you enthusiastically agreed, "Of course, unnie!" before taking the document from her and dashing out of the brothel.

"Thank heavens. Anything to escape that dreadful place," you whispered to yourself, clutching the parchment close to your chest. You were relieved to be away from the hellhole that was supposed to be your new home, even if only for a bit.

Instead of keeping an eye out for the shop whose name and address were stated on the invoice, all you could concentrate on was the sight of ordinary people living their lives freely. You remembered once dreading the idea of having to marry out of obligation once you reached a certain age, but now you would gladly choose that life over this one. At least then, you would only belong to one man instead of any man willing to pay for your company or... services now.

Had you known a week ago how drastically your life would change, you would have run away from home much sooner. You should have done it earlier, if only it weren't for your tender, foolish heart that still felt sorry for your deadbeat father. He had done nothing but drink and gamble away all the money you earned from washing dishes at a nearby food stall. And all of that just for him to sell you off to a brothel when he realised he had no money left to pay off his debts.

A week before today, he stumbled home reeking of alcohol and vomit after being gone all night. He moved to drag you to your feet while you were tidying up the shabby little home you had grown up in, his tight grasp tearing a hole in the thin, worn hanbok clinging to your frail frame. You struggled against his hold, crying out, "What in god's name are you doing, father?! Let me go!"

Confused about his intentions, as he typically treated you as if you were invisible and only approached you when he needed money, you received no response. He dragged you toward the entrance and threw you out, causing you to land roughly on the ground.

As you gazed at the expensive fabric before you, you looked up to see a well-dressed woman with heavy makeup smirking down at you, "You'll do just fine. Thank you, Mr. Han. We accept your payment. I hope you're comfortable with never seeing her again, unless you decide to pay the Mansion of Midnight a visit, of course."

Your heart stopped in recognition of the name. The Mansion of Midnight—the notorious brothel that had haunted your nightmares since you were old enough to understand its existence.

You couldn't believe it.

Refused to believe it.

How could your father do this to you? How could he sell his own daughter to such a place just to pay off his debts?

Anger and disbelief surged within you as you struggled to process the enormity of his betrayal. Tears welled up in your eyes as you fought against the overwhelming sense abandonment. Clutching the torn fabric of your hanbok, you felt a profound sense of loss and despair. This wasn't the life you had imagined for yourself, and yet here you were, thrust into a nightmare from which there seemed to be no escape.

Turning to look at him, you knew all hope was gone when you found him waving his hand dismissively in response to the woman you now recognised as the brothel madam, "Whatever, so long as this means my debts are cleared. Just take her and go."

His callous words pierced through you like a knife, confirming what you had feared deep down. There would be no rescue, no redemption in his eyes. He was willing to sacrifice you without a second thought, all for the sake of his own selfish reasons.

Disgust and rage bubbled up inside you as you stared at him, unable to comprehend how a father could abandon his own flesh and blood in such a manner. The man you once hoped would someday change for the better was now nothing more than a heartless stranger.

I guess I'm the fool for staying.

With a heavy heart, you turned away from him, silently vowing to never forgive him for his betrayal. In that moment, you knew you were alone in this world, left to fend for yourself in a cruel and unforgiving reality. But despite the overwhelming despair that threatened to consume you, you refused to give up hope. You would find a way to survive, to reclaim your dignity and freedom.

Now, trapped in this place, you cursed yourself for even pitying him when you should have abandoned him, just like your mother did when you were merely a child. She left him for someone who could offer her a better life, one with no room for you. She left you with this sorry excuse of a man. Sometimes, you wonder why they bothered bringing you into this world in the first place, just for you to endure a life filled with so much unhappiness.

Lost in thought and unaware of your surroundings, a startled gasp escaped your lips as your shoulder bumped into another man's, causing the parchment in your hand to slip to the ground along with a few items belonging to him, "Oh dear, I'm terribly sorry! I should have been more attentive. Here, let me help you gather your belongings," you apologised hastily, scrambling to collect his things while he did the same. Your movements paused when he accidentally grabbed your hand as you both reached for the same item.

"It's fine, my lady. Let me take care of it—"

As you lifted your heads to meet each other's gaze, your breath caught in your throat upon making eye contact. While you internally chuckled with a mixture of disbelief and sadness, realising how romantic this first encounter with this good-looking stranger could have potentially been if only you were an ordinary girl, he was too captivated by your beauty to utter a word.

So beautiful.

As Wooyoung took in the stunning lady before him, his heart skipped a beat. After encountering a woman as beautiful as Lady Park, he had almost resigned himself to the idea that he wouldn't find anyone more gorgeous. Yet, today, he found hope as he marvelled at you.

Judging from your initial reaction upon bumping into him, you were clearly not some rich little spoiled brat. There was a genuineness about you, a humility that spoke volumes to him.

Now, he just had to put his investigator skills to good use; find out who you were, which house you hailed from, and whether you were betrothed to another. If all went according to plan, he envisioned courting you, and perhaps, finally experiencing what it was like to have the kind of connection General Park and his wife shared—a love that transcended time and circumstance.

With determination in his heart, Wooyoung made a mental note to uncover the identity of this intriguing woman. You were a rare gem amidst the chaos of this world, and he was determined to unravel the mystery surrounding you.

As his gaze lingered on you, self-consciousness crept in. What if he was seeing through your identity? What if he knew the kind of job you were meant to be doing? The thought made you uneasy. Was that why he couldn't take his eyes off you? Perhaps it was his first time seeing a courtesan up close?

He could be disgusted for all you knew.

Blinking rapidly, you pulled your hand away and hurriedly stood up. Without giving him another chance to speak, you bowed deeply and politely excused yourself. You could still feel his intense stare burning into your back as you ran off, eager to get away from him for fear of his potential reaction when he realised what you were.

Tears of frustration blurred your vision as you struggled to focus on finding the damn shop you were meant to visit. Your heart felt heavy with hopelessness, knowing that thanks to your father, your life would never be the same. It was ruined now, irreversibly altered by his selfish actions.

Even if you were to somehow make your escape from this nightmare, your reputation would forever be tainted by this part of your history. There was no way you'd be able to hide the truth from anyone—the truth that you were once a courtesan at the Mansion of Midnight. The thought filled you with despair. No one would ever be able to accept you, nobody decent ever would.

Each step felt like a burden as you trudged along the unfamiliar streets. The world seemed bleak and unforgiving, with no glimmer of hope on the horizon. You felt utterly alone, with nowhere to turn and no one to confide in.

Help. Somebody, please help me.

Watching the mysterious, beautiful stranger he had encountered run off in the opposite direction, the investigator felt his heart pound in his chest. He tried to commit the image of your angelic features to memory, already excited to learn more about you.

For once, after completing his last assignment at the general's estate, he felt a glimmer of hope. Seonghwa had dismissed not only him but also Yunho and Hongjoong as soon as his grand wedding ceremony in the palace ended, expressing his desire for some alone time with his beloved wife. It seemed like everyone was moving on with their lives; the last Wooyoung had heard, the physician had returned to his clinic, and the dressmaker had resumed operations at his shop, both happy to grant the couple their much-needed honeymoon.

Except for him.

He had missed the thrill of working for the great General Park. While he loved his job, no other cases could ever compare to the adrenaline rush of working for his role model. Besides, that wasn't the only perk; he also had the opportunity to see the beautiful Lady Park nearly every day. He had been feeling bored, merely going through the motions with his current case until now.

His passion for investigating was reignited.

Screw his current case; it wasn't that important anyway. He had been hired by some wealthy old noblewoman to investigate whether her husband was cheating on her. It was while he was tailing the sleazy old man that he found himself in this part of town. But it looked like his new employer's case would have to take a back seat for now. Perhaps he should thank the old couple; otherwise, he wouldn't have stumbled upon his new dream girl today.

Yes, his new dream girl, because until just moments ago, that position had been occupied by Seonghwa's wife. Luckily for him, the general never discovered his tiny crush on her; otherwise, leaving the estate unscathed might have proven difficult. Jongho and Hongjoong had graciously kept his secret, for which he felt eternal gratitude. For his sake, he sincerely hoped the two would carry this secret to their graves. After all, he now has a new goddess to worship.

Without wasting a moment, Wooyoung immediately approached the people around him who had witnessed his accidental collision with you. Although most shook their heads, claiming they didn't recognise you, he tried not to be discouraged. With his skills, he knew he could gather all the information he needed in no time.

That night, he returned home and sketched the enchanting features he still vividly remembered before going to bed. His mind buzzed with the possibilities of who you could be. The following day, he planned to inquire again, armed with the drawing he had created. As the famous investigator Jung Wooyoung, he believed there was nothing he couldn't find if he set his mind to it. And now, he was investing even his heart into it.

The next morning, he rose extra early, having barely slept as endless thoughts of the mysterious beauty consumed his dreams throughout the night. He hastily devoured the breakfast prepared by his servants, bid his parents goodbye, and rushed out of his family estate toward that part of town once again. Eager to learn more about you immediately, he clutched the drawing tightly in his hand, feeling a glimmer of hope.

As he questioned people with the help of his sketch, some claimed to have seen you around but didn't know enough about you to provide further details. Nonetheless, it was a promising start. Surely, as he ventured closer to where you first emerged the day before, he would come across people who knew you.

True enough, it didn't take long for him to find someone who recognised the sweet face from his drawing. The middle-aged man smirked as he glanced at the parchment in Wooyoung's hands, "She's quite the beauty, isn't she? That, right there, is the newest recruit at the Mansion of Midnight."

"The Mansion of Midnight...?"

"Yes, it's the most well-known brothel in town, young man. Don't tell me you haven't heard of it? I suppose your young age explains it. Most of the patrons are older men, but I expected you would at least have heard of it. If you're looking for a future wife, she might not be the one for you. Beautiful as she is, she's merely a courtesan. Go find yourself a proper lady, son."

Disappointment crashed over him like a wave, his heart plummeting at the revelation. A courtesan...? All his idealistic fantasies of courting you shattered in an instant. He should have realised it was too good to be true. How could he have thought he found his own Lady Park so easily? With a heavy heart, he stuffed the piece of paper back into his pocket and trudged away, head bowed in shame. What would his parents or friends think if they knew he had been foolish enough to pursue a worker from a brothel?

Determined to rid his mind of thoughts of you, he committed himself to refocusing on his current case. In the following days, he threw himself into his work, seeking distraction like a heartbroken man. He constantly reminded himself that it was irrational to feel such strong emotions for someone he barely knew. Deep down, he knew that his infatuation was only with an idealised version of you, and not the actual you. Yet, despite this awareness, he still struggled to let go.

With a sigh, he scolded himself for letting thoughts of you distract him again while tailing his employer's husband. Shaking his head, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand—to observe the old man's interactions and track his movements. His heart sank as he realised the intimidating building his target eagerly approached. Numerous women, adorned in heavy makeup and revealing hanboks, lingered near the entrance, attempting to attract potential clients. The words 'Mansion of Midnight' adorned a large sign in the centre of the establishment, with red curtains billowing out from open windows of various rooms on the upper floors.

Of course, it had to be here.

Suddenly, a dreadful thought struck him.

He shuddered at the possibility of you being the company his target had been seeking all along. The mere idea felt repulsive—a vision of that old man with his hands all over your delicate form. He turned to leave, no longer willing to entertain such sickening scenarios involving you. At least the case was closed. He had obtained the answers his employer sought; her husband had been frequenting the brothel. Whether or not that constituted cheating would be for her to decide. He was finished and wanted to put as much distance between himself and this place as possible.

As he tried to leave the area, his steps faltered when he overheard a conversation between a stall owner and their customer, "Have you heard about the new courtesan at the Mansion of Midnight? I heard the poor thing is there against her will, that's why she always looks so sad. Apparently, her father sold her to settle his debts—"

That was all he needed to hear before a pang of regret pierced his heart. Why hadn't he investigated more thoroughly? Why had he given up on you so easily? If that were true, you must have been terrified. The idea of your own father doing this to you made his blood boil. Suddenly, he found himself understanding General Park's fury towards the former Minister Jang all too well.

Useless son of a—

A sudden wave of protectiveness engulfed him as he felt the urgent need to rescue you. Acting on impulse, he swiftly turned around and sprinted back toward the brothel. It wasn't until he reached the establishment again that he realised he lacked a plan. What was his next move after discovering your actual situation?

Think, Jung Wooyoung, think!

Before he could even formulate a plan, one of the courtesans approached him, her demeanour dripping with seduction. She pressed her chest against his side, trailing a seductive finger across his chest. Her mouth watered at the thought of entertaining such a young and dashing man after dealing with disgusting old men for so long, "Hello there, handsome. Would you like to spend a little time with us? Have some fun? Here at the Mansion of Midnight, we provide only the best services," she purred, winking at him. He struggled to push her off without appearing too rude, feeling incredibly uncomfortable with her touchiness.

"I-I... yes, I'd like to spend some time with the newest courtesan here, please," he stuttered, managing to free himself from her grasp.

With a scoff, she crossed her arms over her chest in disbelief, "You mean Miss Han? Why? Just because she's new? She's been here for a week and is still a virgin. I assure you, experienced courtesans like myself would know better how to satisfy you."

As she attempted to promote herself further, an older woman who appeared to be in charge intervened, glaring at her, "Enough, Iseul. What did I say about respecting our client's wishes? It's not you he wants. Accept it and move along," she reprimanded. Turning to Wooyoung, the brothel madam grinned, "So, you'd like to request Miss Han, hm? I understand. She's around your age and is still pure. If I were you, she might be the only one I'd want too. Tell me, how long would you like to spend with her? An hour or two?"

"I want her to myself for the rest of the day."

"Miss Han, you fortunate little thing! Congratulations on securing your very first client. This dashing young man seems utterly smitten by you, to have reserved your company for the entire evening."

You tightly clenched your trembling fists to your chest, suppressing a terrified whimper as you listened to the brothel madam's devious teasing. You had prayed fervently that nobody would request your services, doing everything you could to remain inconspicuous over the past week, hoping they might see you as more suitable for hard labour; you'd much rather be the lowest servant than do any of this.

Yet, here you were, already with your first client, and not just any client—this man had gone as far as to secure your companionship for the entire day. Such occurrences were rare, even for the most sought-after courtesans in this establishment. You couldn't fathom who this person might be, how he had learned of you, and why he'd spend so much to buy your time.

"Wh-who is it? This customer..."

"Wouldn't you like to know? It's none other than the famous private investigator Jung Wooyoung, known for his significant role in aiding General Park's capture of former Minister Jang. I suppose even men with a strong sense of justice are still susceptible to desire," The sly woman drawled, winking at you, "Don't disappoint us, girl. A client of his calibre could become a valuable long-term patron. Treat him well."

In anticipation of this highly significant new client, they went to great lengths to prepare you. After informing you of the news, the brothel madam called upon a team of staff to bathe you and dress you in a seemingly brand-new hanbok. It was almost as revealing as the ones worn daily by Iseul and the other popular courtesans. Usually, newer girls like yourself were given hand-me-down hanboks that were less appealing, given your status. However, this didn't alleviate the pressure you were feeling; if anything, it intensified, knowing how valuable this client must be.

God, why? Why me, of all people?

You should have known that all men were alike. No matter how noble or upright they might seem, they were ultimately driven by temptation. At the end of the day, they all desired the same thing. You could only hope that he would at least go easy on you. Your heart raced in your chest as you sat on the bed in the room assigned to you and him for the night, waiting for him.

To steady your trembling hands, you balled them into fists, feeling your nails dig into the skin of your palm with such force that you were certain they would break soon. Just as you were about to sink deeper into your endless pool of misery, you froze at the sound of footsteps approaching the room. Internally cursing your father once more, you braced yourself for what lay ahead.

"This way, Mr. Jung. She's ready for you."

Hearing those words turned your stomach. Yes, this was your current reality. You were nothing more than a commodity—a comfort woman for hire. An object for men to exploit when they sought release, to use as they pleased, as long as they could pay for it.

As you accepted your fate, you closed your eyes and bowed your head, the wooden door creaking open slowly. There was no escape from this—his reservation for the entire evening could only mean one thing. He hadn't bought your time just for conversation and a meal. No, he was here for the reason most men visited a brothel. This was it; this was how you'd lose your innocence.

"Miss Han...?" The man's uncertain voice echoed through the room.

Lifting your gaze to meet the individual who would be claiming your innocence tonight, your eyes widened in recognition as soon as you laid eyes on him. He was the handsome stranger you had collided with the other day. With a gasp, you uttered, "It's you..."

"So, y-you're the famous private investigator? Wh-what are you doing here?" You asked, then shook your head and cleared your throat, "Wait, I'm sorry. That was a foolish question; everyone knows why men come here." Inside, you couldn't deny the disappointment. His initial impression had been shattered now that you knew he was your first client. He didn't seem like the type to visit such places, but you supposed you couldn't judge a book by its cover.

His eyes widened at your implication, and he quickly shook his head, waving his hands to deny it as he stepped closer to you. Seeing you visibly shrink back, he made sure to keep a respectful distance, "No, you don't understand. I'm not here for that, Miss Han."

Lowering his voice, he took a seat in the nearest chair and continued, "I'm here to help you. My name is Wooyoung, as you already know, and I'm an investigator. I heard you're here against your will because of your father. Is that right?"

He fought to keep his composure, trying not to let his gaze linger too long on your features. He could feel the blush creeping up his cheeks as he struggled not to let his eyes wander further down to the sheer hanbok, which left your bare shoulders exposed thanks to its see-through material. Typically, such hanboks were reserved for married women about to spend the night with their husbands. The realisation that he was alone in a room with his dream girl dressed like that was enough to leave him flustered.

But he knew he needed to focus on the task at hand. Now was not the time to be feeling shy or distracted. He had a more important mission: to get you the hell out of here. So, he pushed aside his feelings and did his best to remain composed for your sake.

Nodding slowly, you furrowed your brows with scepticism, "Help me? Why? You don't even know me. What's in it for you? I have no money, and the only thing I can offer is..." Your voice trailed off as you glanced down at your body. Your distrust was palpable as you considered whether you could trust him. Just because he was the investigator who helped General Park capture the former Minister of Military Affairs didn't mean he had any obligation to you.

Understanding your hesitation, Wooyoung sighed deeply. He sympathised with your reluctance to trust a stranger, especially considering the betrayal you had experienced from someone you should have been able to rely on. He didn't blame you for questioning his motives; it was a reasonable response given the circumstances.

He looked into your eyes with a sincerity that struck you deeply, "Listen, not all men are like that," he said earnestly, "I know it may seem difficult for you to believe that someone would be willing to help you without expecting anything in return, but I'm here to prove to you that we exist. I'll admit your beauty captivated me initially, and I genuinely intended to court you. But after learning the truth about your situation, what kind of person would I be to not help? I won't rest until I get you out of here."

His words struck a chord within you, and there was a sincerity in his tone that you had rarely heard, not even from the people you called your parents. Despite your initial scepticism, you decided to believe him, if only for this moment. After all, if someone truly wanted to rescue you from this dreadful place, who were you to object?

You suppressed the shyness that arose upon his admission of his intentions to court you. Memories of your first encounter with him flooded back, making you ponder how different things might have been if you were an ordinary girl. Nevertheless, you were grateful he hadn't given up on you despite discovering your identity. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to have a friend in him.

Moving to sit across from him at the dining table in the centre of the room, you nervously fidgeted with your fingers, "Alright, Mr. Jung. I'll choose to trust you. I appreciate your efforts to help me, but... how do you plan to do that? The Mansion of Midnight isn't a small establishment. They've been around for as long as I can remember, and none of the girls working here have been able to just walk out as they please. As far as I know, I'm part of their property now."

"Not if I can help it. The larger the establishment, the more skeletons they have in their closet. Especially in a place like a brothel, I doubt their operations are entirely above board," he explained, "I'll keep returning for the next week, and buy up all your time. That'll keep other patrons away. Meanwhile, I'll use that time to snoop around. Trust me, we're getting you out of here, no matter what." He reassured you with a warm smile gorgeous enough to melt your heart, but you didn't let it show.

I most certainly hope so, Mr. Jung.

You couldn't help but admire his unwavering determination, even though a part of you hesitated to allow yourself to feel hopeful. You dared not raise your hopes too high, afraid of the crushing disappointment that would follow if his plan were to fail. Yet, at this moment, you were grateful to have crossed paths with him, whether or not he'd be able to get you out of here.

« Preview of Part 2 »

"Sir, Investigator Jung is here to see you," Jongho announced at the entrance of his master's study, an anxious Wooyoung standing beside him. The general raised his brows in surprise, "At this hour? Let him in."

Without hesitation, the investigator rushed into the room, "My lord, I apologise for showing up unannounced so late at night! I know you said not to bother you and Lady Park for the time being, but there's something urgent that I need help with—"

"Woah, breathe, Wooyoung. Calm down and take a seat. Jongho, please bring us some tea," With a bow, the assistant moved to leave before halting when Seonghwa called out to him again, "Wait! On your way back, let the mistress know not to wait up for me. I have a feeling this won't be a short meeting."

"Of course, sir," the assistant replied.

Feeling guilty for getting in the way of what should have been the couple's honeymoon time, the younger man sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, "Gosh, I really am sorry to intrude on your alone time with your wife."

The general smiled reassuringly, shaking his head, "Please don't worry about it. It must be important for you to rush here so late. Besides, you've helped me plenty before. It's only right for me to return the favour now. Tell me, what do you need help with?"

"I know I previously declined the bonus incentives you offered, but... would it be alright for me to accept them now?"

Wooyoung hadn't fully considered the financial implications when he confidently promised to return to the Mansion of Midnight every day for the next week. It dawned on him how costly even one night there had been. He couldn't possibly ask his parents for money to be spent on a brothel. Despite it being for a noble cause, they'd have a heart attack. So, he had no choice but to seek financial assistance from Seonghwa.

I was initially going to make this into a oneshot, but that would take me too long to post and I didn't want to make y'all wait any longer than you already have! So, voila! I'm breaking this into 2 parts. The next part will be the second and final part of this spinoff.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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#edenesth #the way to his heart #take me away #twthh spinoff #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #jung wooyoung #ateez wooyoung #historical au #joseon era #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x you #ateez fic

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 2 years ago

Note

How would the suitors reaction be when their wife ( Crewle daughter) is pregnant with triplets? And meeting the kids after birth?

With Ruggie, Jack, Lions, Malleus, Silver, Trey, Vil and Ace

Triplets Are Here | Yandere Twisted Wonderland Crewel Daughter

Ruggie Bucci

“What can I say I’m a beast in bed!”

He’s not going to act like it even could have been inherited to you

He’s got a whole new air of confidence

Not only does he have the woman of his dreams

But he knocked her up times three

Hopefully that will squash anyone else’s delusions about being with you

Either way he doesn’t mind getting rid of them the old fashioned way

“Awww they look like we had babies! Oh wait-”

“Just focus on feeding that one.”

“Yes Mama!”

Jack Howl

“...!”

“Jack?”

“!!!!”

“Jack?!”

“!!!!”

“If you faint now, I won’t catch you!”

This is the best news

A strong litter, a perfect mate

He’s protecting his already larger than average pack

“Back away or I will not hesitate to end your life. I’ve got four lives to protect now.”

Leona Kingscholar

“Geez…three?”

“Don’t make that face.”

“What face? I’m just surprised you took me so well.”

He has mixed feelings about it

Especially when he’s catering to you as your belly swells to an almost unbelievable size

And you groan in pain

“Why don’t the brats just get here. I hate seeing you in pain.”

He’s heard of other lions so jealous they kill their kin

But as he holds the little bundles he can’t begin to fathom it

He might just cry

Malleus Draconia

“If you and I were not made for each other, theres noway this could be.”

He’s ecstatic

But the entirety of Briar Valley and the world around you must be made to cater to you

Devoted to your comfort and health above all else

he even struggles to let Crewel see you

“Nothing will ever hurt my loves. My babes. My wive. I’d curse the world for you.”

Genocide Murder spree ensues should there be any pain or assassination attempts

No one’s so much as flicking you

He’d sooner rend them to ash

Silver

“Three…at the same time…?”

“Yes so we’ll have to get three times the baby equipment and–Silver?”

“Three…in…you?”

He’s barely processing any of it

Even when he’s practically carrying the four of you as you waddle places

“Our babies…”

“Aren’t they precious they have your eyes!”

“M-m-my eyes-? Agh-!”

“Its okay babe this is a good time to cry.”

“H-how did Dad do it!? I-I’m never letting any of you leave me!”

Any protective traits are amplified even higher

And if there was ever a time he refused to kill anyone in his pursuit for love

That has long since past

Trey Clover

“Well I did always say I wanted a big family!”

He’s thrilled to see your tummy rounding with his children

All while you incessantly demand for his sweets and cooking

And he’s jumping to his tooth brush after a rough morning

But its all made even better when they arrive

Little mixes of his love and himself

“They’ll have the cutest little teeth!”

He definitely saves them when they get older

But he’s the perfect papa

Poisoned sweets and all

Vil Schoenheit

“We’ll be parents…is that registering?”

“Barely. When we agreed to marry I doubted ever moving further than that.”

“Does it make you unhappy?”

“Not in the slightest.”

He’s brimming with anxiety

Worry eating away as he contemplates his own jealousy and the excitement of having a child

It doesn’t become much easier when the triplets arrive

He despises the paparazzi

So much so he’s willing to set his rabid fans on them

Purge them of every photo of his adorable babes

He’s the only one who gets the honor

A dazzling photo of your delivery is only for his eyes

Doxx the peeping toms

“They’re all mine. I’m willing to lose everything for them.”

Ace Trappola

“Dang! I really am amazing–Ow! Joking, joking.”

He couldn’t be happier

What better way to prove his love ownership of the sexiest woman alive if it weren’t for the giant round belly you had

And soon to be three little rascals that are further testaments of his status

He’ll whine about things

Probably more than you

But in the end he’s glowing with pride as you look down at your freshly born babies

“Ehehe they can’t deny that I may have children for days but I’ve got game.”

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felassan · 1 month ago

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GamesRadar: "It felt like we needed to do something": How Varric Tethras went from nearly being left out of Dragon Age: The Veilguard to becoming a foundational character

Interview | Exploring the role of Varric Tethras in Dragon Age: The Veilguard with BioWare's creative director, John Epler

Excerpts under cut due to spoilers.

John Epler: "Varric is such a fan favorite, and has been part of Dragon Age since Dragon Age 2 – it felt like we needed to do something. At the end of the game, it's very clear that a chapter of Dragon Age is being closed, even as a new one is being started, and having Varric involved in the ending and that final beat in the way that he was felt right to us."

""While it may have "felt right" for Varric to be in Dragon Age: The Veilguard and factor into its ending in this way, says Epler, it took some time for the team to come to that conclusion. With such a long development cycle, the loveable dwarf wasn't even part of the story at one stage. "It's interesting, because in some of our earliest versions of what we wanted to do for Dragon Age 4, Varric was not actually involved. Varric was doing his own thing as the Viscount of Kirkwall," Epler says. "But I think especially as we got to the version of Dragon Age: The Veilguard that shipped, it felt very strange to have a story about Solas not also include Varric. For us, having them [Solas and Varric] exist in contrast throughout the story - obviously, with Varric being something existing entirely in Rook's mind - provides different ways of looking at the core theme, which is regret." As Epler explains, Varric is "not someone who does a good job of confronting his regret", whether that be in Inquisition when it comes to his love interest and crossbow namesake, Bianca, or with his brother in DA2. Rook, on the other hand, is forced to confront them, while Solas's regrets "drive everything he does." He's a character that "refuses to be happy, refuses to feel joy, because he feels it'd be a betrayal of his people, of what he's done". But as Epler adds, having Varric "be the kind of linchpin" around which all the regrets hinge "felt powerful". Varric may not be good at confronting his own regrets, but his death and role eventually pushes Rook to face theirs, and in turn, you can try to help Solas get past his own if you so choose.""

"Without a mark on your hand like the Inquisitor in Dragon Age: Inquisition, or an army you can bring together like the Grey Warden in Dragon Age: Origins, Rook is "just a person with a team", as Epler puts it, so you have to make sure that they're as ready as possible to face what's to come. [...] Epler says Varric felt like a natural character to juxtapose Solas. Acting kind of like "the angel and the devil on your shoulder", Solas - while not actually a devil - is the one who's more focused on the mission and goal of stopping the gods, while Varric constantly reminds you that your team matters and you need to take care of them first and foremost. The decision to kill Varric early on was partly fueled by a worry that people would find Solas "a little too sympathetic in his goals". From past experience, Epler says the team saw a lot of that with The Trespasser DLC, where many really wanted to help Solas and believed he was right. But he is going to end the world, after all, and once you realize the twist about Tethras' true fate, Varric serves to demonstrate that "Solas will sacrifice almost anyone or anything in pursuit of what he sees as the greater good." But even if he is willing to go to extreme lengths, Solas does still regret what happens to his old friend. In fact, Epler explains that he even finds it comforting to think that Varric is still out there in some form. "Varric's a complex character," says Epler. "He runs away from his problems, he likes to shade the truth, even to the people that he's working with. The Varric that you see, the Varric that Rook experiences, [are] the best parts of Varric that Rook remembers. It's just this mentor figure that's always there for them. And I think even Solas finds some comfort in knowing that there's still a piece of him out there, even though he knows that it's manipulation, it's not the real Varric."

""DA2 starts with a character death about 45 minutes in, when your siblings dies. And the feedback we got, which was very fair feedback is, 'okay, but I don't care, because I've known this person for like, 45 minutes'. So having Varric die at the beginning, originally that was it. He was going to die, and it was going to be this big, shocking moment," Epler says. "But part of the problem with making a game 10 years after the last one, and needing to make it so existing players – but also new players – can get in and feel a lot of the same things, is you can't bank on two games worth of built up memories, built up attachment, to make the death land. For a lot of players it would have been like, 'okay, but I've only known this guy for 45 minutes. So why do we care?'" In order to still have the death at the beginning of the game, the team eventually landed on the idea of his not-so-real presence in the Lighthouse in order to give players more time with Varric. "And that's the beauty of game development," Epler adds, "something that you start off with as a way to solve a problem actually becomes so core to the identity game.""

"Varric Tethras was originally brought to life by Mary Kirby, a veteran developer who has worked on the Dragon Age series for many years at BioWare. Sadly, she was part of the layoffs last year, but as Epler fondly highlights, Kirby wrote the vast majority of the conversations you have with Varric. "She was one of the first people we told 'Hey, so we're talking about killing Varric, you're okay with this, right?' Because at that time, she wasn't even on the project," Epler says. "But Mary was fantastic to work with, she and I worked [together in the past]. I was Varric's cinematic designer for Inquisition and for DA2. There are a couple of things that came up towards the end of the project that I had an opportunity to write. And it was lovely to remind myself how Mary had always written Varric, and how that character came together.""

[source]

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #<- this is my spoiler tag #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost #solas #feels

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tired-truffle · 10 days ago

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Even the Gods Cry For Us

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 7.4k

Epilogue

Tag list: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @potatointhedirt @dedicated2viktor

"When the rest of the world won't have you, I will. Let your worries and insecurities die against my lips. Remember, you are welcome here. You are always, always welcome here." - Maxwell Diawuoh

Masterlist

“Mommy,” the little girl said as her mother tucked her into bed. “Can you tell me the story of Miláček and Viktor tonight?”

Her mother smiled, seating herself on the side of the girl’s bed, her fingers trailing across her daughter’s cheek. “Of course, sweetheart.”

The girl leaned into her mother’s touch, and she began. “A long, long time ago, the goddess Miláček was a mortal woman with extraordinary but uncontrollable magic. It is said that she came from another universe, and the strength of her love for Viktor drew her across space and time to be with him.”

“How did she love him if she didn’t know him yet?” The little girl interrupted.

Her mother chuckled. “Some things are just meant to be.”

When her daughter remained silent, she continued. “Their love was a force that transcended words, pure and unbreakable. But as their love grew, Viktor got sick and his body began to weaken and wither away. Despite Miláček’s ability to see the future and her powerful magic, she was unable to stop his decline. In a fit of desperation, they turned to dark forces to ensure he would live. It cost them the life of a dear friend and left them unprepared for an attack that would start a war between the upper and lower cities - nearly claiming Miláček’s life. As she had been desperate to save him, so was he to save her. He brought her to a man renowned for his barbaric practices, and she lived at the cost of her sanity.”

“Fleeing together, they carved out a home in the far reaches of the lower city. With Viktor's newfound powers, they found some semblance of happiness as he used his abilities to heal those who sought his help. But the high price of harnessing dark forces to keep Viktor alive began to take its toll. He became corrupted by their power and if left unchecked, would have brought about the destruction of the world in his relentless pursuit of perfection.”

“Viktor had transformed into something unrecognizable; the Machine Herald. In this new form, he left Miláček behind, consumed by his obsession with ridding the world of choice and eradicating emotion to achieve a false sense of peace. But Miláček refused to give up on him. Though he was too far gone in this plane, she could absorb the arcane, and willingly gave up her life to save him in death.”

“She became the goddess of the afterlife,” the little girl said smugly, pleased that she knew that key fact.

“That she did.” Her mother stroked her hair. “With the arcane power that she absorbed, she was able to save Viktor’s soul and create an afterlife for all the other lost souls stuck in the nothingness that was death. One day, she’ll bring your soul to rest there as well.”

The girl frowned, disliking the idea of death at all, even if it was peaceful. “What about the bad people? When they die do they go there too?”

Her mother nodded. “Even the bad people, everyone gets a chance to atone and rest, but only if they are willing.”

*~*~*

What had started as a small group had grown at an exponential rate. Souls started to gather at your sanctuary and you expanded, growing more land and homes for them to stay in. You felt their presence like a million pinpricks of light, each soul a unique constellation in your ever-expanding universe. Your consciousness stretched across the sanctuary, a vast network of awareness that allowed you to peer into every nook and cranny. You saw the newly arrived souls, wide-eyed and trembling, as they took their first steps into this strange new world. You heard the laughter of those who had found peace, their joy rippling through the air like a summer breeze.

But not all was serene. In the eastern quarter, a heated argument erupted between two souls over a trivial matter. You gently nudged their thoughts, soothing their anger and reminding them of the sanctuary's purpose. The conflict dissipated like morning mist under the sun.

At the borders, you sensed a dark, roiling presence - a soul so twisted by hatred and fear that it would poison everything around it. With a heavy heart, you reinforced the boundaries, denying it entry. Some souls were beyond your help, at least for now.

In the misty forests to the north, you felt a faint, confused energy. A lost soul, unable to find its way. You reached out, your essence forming a glowing path that only they could see, guiding them home.

Near the tranquil lake, an ancient soul flickered weakly, its sense of self barely a whisper. You enveloped it in warmth, offering a choice. The soul's relief was barefaced as it chose to let go, merging with the roots of an old willow tree. Its contentment hummed through the leaves, a soft lullaby for the younger souls nearby. There had been many souls who’d met a similar fate, to old to remember who they were, more than happy to become one with nature, to find peace.

It was as easy to you as breathing, all tasks able to be accomplished simultaneously without conscious thought. It allowed you to stay you, to focus on those you cared for most - your main consciousness remained with your loved ones. You didn't perceive them as pinpricks of light or constellations like the other souls, but as the flesh-and-blood people you remembered.

“Ah, Mila?” Vander’s gruff voice spoke up from behind you. You turned to him, his brows furrowed and his lips set in a thin line. “Do you have a minute?”

It was strange to see him like this after weeks of swimming through his emotions and knowing him as a half-beast half-man creature. He was so…normal, in comparison.

You nodded once and turned back to Sky, your game of tik-tac-toe half-finished in the dirt. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

Sky smiled at you, inclining her head. “You know where to find me.”

You followed Vander to the shade of a towering silver tree, its leaves shimmering like liquid moonlight in the gentle breeze. The bark was smooth and cool to the touch, almost metallic in texture. As you leaned against it, you felt a faint hum of energy coursing through the trunk.

Vander cleared his throat, his weathered hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. The movement was so uncharacteristic of the usually stoic man that it had you feeling wary. But you waited, giving him time to gather his thoughts.

“I have no right to ask you this after everything you’ve done for us,” he started, his fists clenching at his sides, “but I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“This is about Silco, right?” You’d been wondering when he’d come up, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it too.

Vander nodded, jaw tight. “As much as I hate what he did to Zaun and…my daughters,” a sore spot for him, you could feel it rolling off him in waves of anger, “he never gave up on our dream; independence for our home. And he raised Powder. While I disagree with his methods, he treated her like one of his own when I couldn’t be there for her.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’ve got enough on your plate and I don’t want to add more, but he’s just…floating out there. Knowing him he’s miserable and blaming himself for everything. We all made mistakes in the war with Piltover, and I blame myself for turning him away. I’d like to right that wrong, if you’d allow it.”

“You’d like me to bring his soul here?”

“I would be responsible for him,” Vander added, “like I said, you’re busy enough.”

“Well, there are no weapons here, or Shimmer, and even if there were it’s not like he could kill anybody,” you said consideringly. “Sure, why not? I’ll go find his soul and set you two up with a private space. You’ll be able to come and go as you please but he won’t until you feel he’s ready to be out among the rest of us. And if you need any help I’m here, I’m not as busy as I look.”

Vander’s face softened, hope filling his eyes as the tension eased from his shoulders. “Really? Just like that?”

You grinned, wide and all-knowing, your hair floating around you. “I’ve actually been thinking about it for a while. Everyone deserves a chance at redemption, if they want it. And I saw what he meant to you, how much your fight weighs on you. I want you to be able to rest knowing you did everything you could to reach him.”

"Thank you," Vander said, his voice thick. "You don't know what this means to me."

You reached out, placing a hand on Vander's shoulder. For a fleeting second, you caught a glimpse of the tangled web of relationships that defined Vander's life - threads of gold linking him to his adopted children, a frayed but unbroken cord stretching towards Silco.

"I'll begin the search immediately," you assured him, and you weren’t one to break a promise.

Despite initial doubts, Silco's progress surpassed all expectations. In what would have been a few months in Runeterra time, he ventured out amongst the other souls, closely monitored by Vander. Each small step taken settled a long-tormented piece of Vander's soul, bringing a sense of peace that he never would have rested otherwise.

*~*~*

“Who else is with Miláček and Viktor?” The girl asked, though she already knew the answer. Whether she was delaying her bedtime or honestly interested in hearing the story remained to be seen.

Her mother would indulge her, for now. “The friend they lost in their attempts to save Viktor’s life was a guiding force for Miláček, and she joined them in the afterlife.”

*~*~*

You found Sky lounging by a pond, her toes dipping into the water that sparkled like liquid starlight. As you approached, she looked up with a smile that could outshine the sun.

"There you are! I was starting to think you'd forgotten about our rendezvous," Sky teased, patting the soft grass beside her.

You settled down, your legs tucked beneath you. "As if I could ever forget you," you replied, bumping her shoulder playfully.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching as fish darted through the water, leaving trails of glowing bubbles behind them.

Sky leaned back on her elbows, her wild curls catching the light. "You know, I never thought the afterlife would be so...peaceful. I always imagined it'd be one big party, celebrate for eternity and all that."

You laughed. "Who says it can't be both?" With a wave of your hand, upbeat music began to play, seemingly emanating from nowhere and everywhere.

Sky's eyes widened in delight. "Show-off," she said, but her grin betrayed her amusement. She stood up, offering you her hand. "Care to dance, oh mighty goddess of the afterlife?"

You took her hand, allowing her to pull you to your feet. As you began to sway to the music, your feet barely touching the ground, you felt a surge of joy. It had been so long since you'd allowed yourself this simple pleasure, to just be in the moment with a friend.

"I missed this," you admitted. "I missed you."

Sky's grin softened. "I missed you too, Mila." She spun you around, your laughter mingling with the music. "But we're here now, together. And we've got all of eternity to catch up."

*~*~*

“There was also their friend who died ending the war. He and Viktor had been in conflict in life, but in death, they mended those bridges.”

*~*~*

Once Jayce had been ready, weeks after they had settled, he’d joined Viktor for what must have been days as they hashed out their issues. While you didn’t listen in, you had an awareness of their conversation, there was only so much privacy you could give when their existence was tied to your consciousness. They spoke of the past, of the rift that had grown between them. Their words flowed like a stream, sometimes rushing and turbulent, other times slow and contemplative. All streams inevitably come to an end, and understanding bloomed between them like the wildflowers at their feet. You felt the shift in the air, the easing of tension, and you knew they would be alright.

Of course, Jayce jumped right back into being himself. As soon as he returned, arm slung around Viktor’s shoulders, he’d insisted you and Sky join them at a campfire. Though surprised that Viktor had agreed, you were remiss to miss an opportunity to spend time with your friends - like how it had been before everything went to shit.

You gathered around the crackling fire, its warm glow casting shifting shadows across your face. Jayce had insisted on building it himself, regaling you with tales of camping trips with his mother as he expertly stacked the logs. The flames licked at the evening sky, sending sparks spiralling upward to join the ever-present stars.

Viktor sat beside you, his legs stretched out before him. On your other side, Sky lounged on a bed of impossibly soft moss that seemed to have sprouted just for her comfort. Jayce stood nearby, proudly surveying his handiwork, before settling down to complete your circle.

"I must admit," Viktor said. "I never thought I'd find myself enjoying something as…primitive as a campfire. The Undercity had garbage bin fires, but I would hardly count that as an enjoyable experience."

Jayce chuckled, reaching for a long stick to poke at the embers. "There's something primal about fire, something that speaks to the soul."

"Or maybe," Sky interjected with a mischievous grin, "you just like playing with sticks and pretending to be useful."

You laughed as Jayce feigned offence, clutching his chest dramatically. The banter flowed easily between them, years of tension and misunderstanding washed away by the healing waters of the afterlife.

As the night deepened, you found yourself leaning against Viktor, his arm draped comfortably around your waist. Sky regaled you with increasingly outlandish stories of her adventures in the sanctuary, each tale more impossible than the last - you would be sure to check on the cavern filled with massive bats, no good could come of that. Jayce, not to be outdone, countered with his own exaggerated exploits.

This was what you had fought for, what you had sacrificed everything to create - a place where souls could find rest, where old wounds could heal, and where love could flourish unbound by the constraints of mortality.

As if sensing your thoughts, Viktor squeezed your hip gently. You turned to meet his gaze, seeing in his eyes the same contentment that filled your heart. No words were needed; in that look, you shared a lifetime of understanding.

*~*~*

“And then there was Miláček’s mother. Though her soul had been scattered to the far reaches of the universe when Viktor, in his conquest, burned her soul out of her body, Miláček never stopped looking.”

“Did she find her mommy?” The girl asked, clutching her sheets tight to her chest. To be without her mother was simply unthinkable.

Her mother placed a tender kiss on her forehead. “She did.”

*~*~*

Not everything was perfect, getting used to your abilities had taken time and had caused many a headache as you learned how to shut out the thoughts and feelings of thousands of souls. Viktor was still healing, he had good days where he’d spend time with Jayce as they worked on numerous projects for your corner of the afterlife, or hours spent laying in the grass together, peacefully watching the clouds go by. There were also bad days where he’d shut himself inside, be unable to look you in the eyes, become withdrawn. But you were there for him, and you gave him space when that was what he needed instead. It would take him time to heal and you were more than willing to give that to him.

As soon as you’d gotten a grasp on your new powers, you’d set out in search of the pieces of Charlotte’s soul. You searched tirelessly, but Charlotte's soul fragments eluded you, too small and scattered to pinpoint. As you probed the furthest reaches of your domain, you stumbled upon a flickering presence - a tiny soul, lost and alone.

You drew closer, your ethereal form coalescing around the frightened soul. It was a child - a little girl with large, curious eyes and messy brown hair. Her essence quivered like a candle flame in the wind. You enveloped her gently, whispering soothing thoughts as you guided her back to the heart of your sanctuary.

As you materialized before her, the girl's eyes widened in wonder. "Who are you?" she asked, her hands held close to her chest.

You knelt down to her height, smiling softly to reassure her you were a friend. "I am the guardian of this place," you replied. "A sanctuary for lost souls. But you may call me Mila. It's wonderful to finally meet you, Elowen."

"You know my name," she whispered, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "Are you…are you an angel?"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Not quite. But I'm here to help. I’m…friends with your mother."

Elowen's gaze darted around, taking in the misty forests and glimmering lakes of your realm. "You know my mama? Where is she? I tried to find her but she was gone and I was all alone. Is she mad at me?"

"No,” you said with a gentle resolution, “she is not mad at you. If she could be here she would, but that’s what I need your help with. I'm searching for her, Elowen. Her soul has been scattered."

The girl's eyes lit up, hope blooming across her face like the first rays of dawn. "Really? I can help? How?"

"Your connection to your mother is strong. It's a beacon that can guide me to her. Will you let me use that bond?"

Elowen nodded eagerly, her small frame practically vibrating with excitement. "Yes! Please, I want to find Mama."

As you linked your consciousness to hers, you felt a surge of emotion - love, longing, and a fierce determination that belied her young age. Through her eyes, you caught glimpses of Charlotte - a warm smile, gentle hands braiding Elowen's hair, the sound of laughter and quiet humming echoing through a lamp-lit kitchen.

These memories were like breadcrumbs, leading you down a path you couldn't see before. You sensed the first fragile thread of Charlotte's soul, humming with a familiar energy.

"I can feel her," you murmured, your form pulsing with renewed purpose. "I'm going to find your mother, I can sense her now, thanks to you."

"I'm coming with you!" she declared, her small hands balling into fists at her sides.

You shook your head, your essence rippling with concern. "It's too dangerous, Elowen. The journey will take me to the farthest reaches of this realm and beyond. You need to stay here where it's safe."

Tears welled up in Elowen's eyes, her lower lip trembling. "But she's my mama! I want to help!"

Your heart ached at her distress, but you couldn't risk her safety. An idea sparked in your mind, and you gently took her hand. "Come with me. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

You guided Elowen through the sanctuary, the ground beneath your feet shifting and changing with each step. As you approached a sunlit clearing, you spotted who you were looking for.

Isha sat cross-legged in the grass, her hair adorned with small blue flowers. Before her, a makeshift arena of twigs and leaves housed two large beetles, their shells glinting in the soft light.

"Isha," you called to her. The girl looked up, breaking into a wide grin when she saw you. "This is Elowen. Would you mind if she joined you for a while?"

Elowen clung to your side, her earlier bravado fading in the face of meeting someone new. Isha, however, was undeterred. She waved enthusiastically, beckoning you closer.

You gently nudged the hesitant girl forward. "Isha, can you show Elowen your game while I'm gone?"

Isha nodded vigorously, her smile wide and welcoming. She jumped to her feet and extended her hand to Elowen.

Elowen glanced back at you uncertainly, but you gave her an encouraging nod. "Go on," you urged. "I'll be back before you know it."

Elowen hesitated for a moment longer before Isha darted forward, grasping her hand. She tugged Elowen towards the makeshift arena, already demonstrating the rules of her bug tournament.

As you watched Elowen's reluctance melt away, replaced by curiosity and the beginnings of a smile, you knew she was in good hands. With a final glance at the two girls, now huddled over the beetle arena, you had one more stop before you set off on your quest.

You found Viktor in a secluded glade, reclining against a gnarled oak tree with his eyes closed. You crept forward, barely disturbing the grass beneath you. With a mischievous grin, you prepared to materialize and surprise him.

But as you slipped into your corporeal form and reached for his shoulders, Viktor's eyes fluttered open. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. "I knew you were there," he said, warm with affection.

You pouted, your planned surprise foiled. "How? I was being so sneaky."

Viktor chuckled, reaching up to cup your cheeks. "Your presence is unmistakable, miláčku. I could never miss it."

He pulled you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You melted into him, giggling against his mouth. You could kiss him a thousand times and never tire of it. But as you pulled away, the reminder of your impending journey settled over you like a heavy woollen cloak.

"I found Elowen, and I used her connection to her mother to feel Charlotte's soul," you said, watching him carefully for his reaction. "I'm going to find her, to bring her back."

Viktor's body tensed, his eyes clouding with a familiar guilt. You took his hand, squeezing it gently. "Come with me. This is your chance to make things right."

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground. "I…I don't know if I can face her after what I did."

You held his chin in your fingers, lifting his face to meet your eyes. "Viktor, you've carried this burden for so long. Charlotte wouldn't want that. She'd want you to help her come home."

He took a shaky breath, squeezing your hand. "You're right," he said softly. "I owe it to her to try. To face the consequences of my actions."

"We'll do this together," you promised. "Every step of the way."

As you prepared to set off, Viktor's determination seemed to grow. He straightened his back, his chin lifting with resolve. You didn’t necessarily need him to go with you, you would be fine on your own, but he needed it - needed to feel part of the solution so that his guilt would stop eating him alive.

You and Viktor set off on your journey, your bodies shifting to their ethereal forms. Viktor glowed with the light blue of your magic, and you grew until he became an orb in the palm of your hand. Your skin melded with the darkness of space, your hair becoming the stars themselves.

As you traversed the far corners of the celestial landscape, you encountered wonders beyond imagination. Nebulae bloomed like tropical flowers, their swirling gases glittering with hues of violet, emerald, and gold. You passed through the heart of a dying star, its final pulses of energy washing over you in waves of a bittersweet goodbye. Comets streaked by, leaving trails of fire that scorched your fingertips.

You followed the tenuous threads of Charlotte's soul, each fragment a faint beacon calling out across the vastness of space. You found the first nestled in the core of a nascent planet, reaching through rock and debris to pull the shard free.

“It's…beautiful,” Viktor spoke for the first time since leaving the sanctuary, full of awe and reverence.

You nodded, carefully transferring the fragment to him. "Hold onto it for me. We'll need to gather them all."

Viktor's glowing form pulsed in surprise as the shard rested at his centre. "Are you positive I should be the one to carry them? I am the reason she is like this in the first place."

You pulled his form up to your lips, placing a light kiss against the glowing light of his soul. "I trust you, Viktor. Completely."

He didn't speak, but his grip on the soul shard tightened ever so slightly, a silent promise to guard it with his life.

You ventured on, collecting more fragments from the most unlikely of places. One shard spun within a storm of glittering sand, another floated in a pool on a desert planet.

Finally, after what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, you collected the final shard from the corona of a distant sun. As Viktor carefully added it to the collection he carried, the shards began to resonate, humming with renewed energy.

Exhausted but triumphant, you returned to the sanctuary, shrinking down to a more manageable size. Viktor's orb expanded, taking on his familiar shape once more. The shards of Charlotte's soul hovered between you, pulsing with a soft, iridescent light in the shaded glade.

With reverent care, you gathered the fragments in your hands. They felt warm, almost alive, as if they recognized your touch. You closed your eyes, focusing your energy on knitting the pieces back together. The shards trembled, edges reaching out tentatively towards one another like shy dancers at a ball.

But something was wrong. The fragments refused to fully merge, repelling each other at the last moment like misaligned magnets. You furrowed your brow, redoubling your efforts. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you poured more power into the process, willing the soul to become whole again.

The shards spun faster. For a heart-stopping moment, you thought you'd succeeded. But then, with a sound like shattering glass, they flew apart. You stumbled back, chest heaving, as the fragments settled into a loose orbit around you.

"Damn it," you grumbled, frustrated beyond measure. To have gotten her back at long last only to fail at the final step…

You tried again, and again, each attempt more forceful than the last. But no matter how much energy you expended, the result was always the same - a brief flicker of hope, followed by bitter disappointment that coated the back of your tongue like bile.

Viktor watched silently, his face twisted with concern. As you slumped to the ground after your latest failed attempt, he knelt beside you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"Perhaps," he said hesitantly, "there's something we're missing. A catalyst of sorts."

You looked up at him, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

Viktor's brow furrowed in thought. "The soul fragments, they're like puzzle pieces without a picture to guide them. They've forgotten how they fit together." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "What if they need something to remind them of their true form? Something to…glue the broken pieces back together?"

You pondered his words, your mind racing through possibilities. "Elowen," you breathed, the realization striking you like a bolt of lightning. "Of course! Her daughter - the strongest connection to who Charlotte truly is."

You jumped to your feet. "Stay here with the soul fragments," you instructed Viktor. "I'll go get Elowen."

You found the girl where you'd left her, still playing with Isha by the beetle arena. Her laughter rang out across the clearing, a sound of pure, uncomplicated joy.

You called out to Elowen as you made your way over, your voice carrying on the light breeze. She looked up from the beetle arena and a smile spread across her face, brighter than the midday sun as she scrambled to her feet.

Isha's face fell, her lower lip jutting out in a pout. You knelt beside her. "Don't worry, Isha," you said as soft as dandelion fluff. "I promise I'll bring Elowen back soon. You two can finish your tournament then."

Isha perked up at your words, her smile returning. She nodded eagerly, already planning new games for when Elowen returned.

You turned to Elowen. "I found your mom," you said, watching as hope bloomed in her eyes. "But she needs your help to put her back together."

Confusion wrinkled Elowen's forehead, her head tilting to the side like a curious sparrow. "Put her back together?" she asked.

You nodded, offering her your hand. "It's a bit complicated, but I know you can do it. Are you ready to see her?"

Elowen's small hand slipped into yours, her grip firm and resolute. "I'm ready," she declared, chin lifted high.

You led her back through the sanctuary, the trees whispering secrets as you passed, their leaves rustling in a language only they understood. Your realm responded to you, an extension of your soul that had grown its consciousness.

As you approached the glade where Viktor waited, Elowen tensed beside you. Her eyes locked onto the unfamiliar figure, wariness replacing her earlier excitement.

"It's alright," you soothed, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "This is Viktor. He's a friend who's been helping me find your mom."

Viktor stood frozen, his soul flickering with a storm of emotions only you could see. Guilt, hope, and fear swirled within him. His gaze locked onto Elowen, his past sins settling heavily upon his shoulders.

To Viktor, Elowen was a living reminder of what he had stolen - a child robbed of her mother because of his actions. The pain in his eyes was almost tangible, a counterpoint to the soft, pulsing light of Charlotte's soul fragments that spun beside him.

Elowen looked between you and Viktor as she tried to make sense of the stranger who you’d introduced as a friend. "Hello," she said cautiously, looking to you for approval. You smiled, nodding your encouragement.

Viktor swallowed hard and then inclined his head in greeting. "Hello, Elowen. It’s a pleasure to meet you."

You guided Elowen closer, watching as her eyes widened in wonder at the sight of the glowing shards. But before you could explain what they were, Elowen gasped, her small hands reaching out towards the fragments. "Mama!" she cried, tears welling up in her eyes. The soul pieces pulsed brighter at her exclamation, as if responding to her cry.

Your heart clenched at the raw longing in Elowen's voice. You placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention. "Elowen," you said softly, "your mama needs your help. She needs to be reminded of who she is." You knelt beside her, your eyes level with hers. "Can you tell us stories about her? About the times you spent together? It will help bring her back."

Elowen nodded eagerly, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. "Mama used to sing to me every night. Even when we couldn’t make dinner, she'd hold me close and hum my favourite songs."

As she spoke, the shards pulsed brighter, their movements becoming more coordinated. You nodded encouragingly, and Elowen continued.

She told of Charlotte working long hours in the factories, coming home with hands stained black from machine oil but still finding the energy to play hide-and-seek in their tiny one-room apartment. Of weeds they kept in plant boxes on the window sill, the only things that would grow in the toxic air.

She recounted how Charlotte would skip meals, claiming she wasn't hungry so that Elowen could have a little more, even though Elowen knew better. How she'd fashion dolls out of scraps of fabric and buttons, bringing joy from cast-off remnants.

With each story, the soul fragments drew closer, their light growing more intense. Your magic guided them, urged them to form, but it was Elowen who sealed them together.

"And then," Elowen said, her eyes shining, "there was the day Mama found that old book of fairy tales. She'd read me a different story every night. She did all the voices, even the scary ones!"

At those words, the fragments suddenly rushed together, merging in a blinding flash of light. You shielded your eyes, heart pounding in your throat.

As the glow faded, you saw her - Charlotte - whole and radiant, her form shimmering into solidity, her arm returned, looking younger than you’d ever known her. Her auburn hair fell in waves to her shoulders, matching Elowen’s. Her eyes fluttered open, confusion giving way to wonder as she took in her surroundings.

Then her gaze fell on Elowen.

Charlotte's breath caught in her throat, her hands flying to her mouth. "Elowen?" she whispered, disbelief and hope warring in her voice. "My baby?"

Elowen let out a cry of pure joy, launching herself into her mother's arms. "Mama!"

Charlotte caught her daughter, wrapping her in a tight hug. Tears streamed down her face as she buried her nose into Elowen's hair, breathing in the scent of her child. "Oh, my sweet girl," she sobbed, rocking gently. "My precious, precious girl."

A lump formed in your throat as you witnessed the reunion, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. You stood behind Charlotte, your magic fading to simmer in the background.

Charlotte pulled back slightly, her hands cupping Elowen's face. "How is this possible?" she asked. "You’re just the same as I remember, my love. How long has it been?"

Elowen pointed behind Charlotte and the older woman turned, her gaze falling on you. Your breath hitched, a tangle of emotions too complex to pull apart rendering you speechless. You opened your mouth, but no words came out - just a choked sob of relief.

"Oh, you wonderful, silly girl," Charlotte said, thick with gratitude. "Get over here."

She reached out, drawing you into the hug. You fell into it willingly as you joined the tangle of arms and tears. Charlotte's grip was strong, anchoring you as surely as it did Elowen.

"Thank you," Charlotte whispered, her words muffled against your shoulder. "Thank you for bringing my Elowen back to me. For bringing me back to her."

You couldn't speak, too overwhelmed for words. Instead, you poured your feelings into the hug, your essence wrapping around mother and daughter like a protective shield.

As you held each other, time seemed to lose all meaning. It could have been minutes or hours before Charlotte finally loosened her grip, pulling back just enough to look at you and Elowen properly. Her eyes shone with tears, but her smile was brilliant.

"Look at you," she said. "You've changed so much, my dear. You're radiant." Her fingers traced the starlight in your hair, sending tiny sparks dancing across your skin. "It's like you've become part of the universe itself."

You smiled, an ache blooming in your chest. "I've missed you so much, Charlotte," you whispered, unable to bring yourself to speak any louder.

Charlotte's eyes crinkled with understanding. "We have time now," she assured you, her hand squeezing yours gently as she gazed adoringly at the little girl still clinging to her chest. "All the time in the world."

A flicker of movement caught your eye, and you turned, searching for Viktor. But the spot where he had stood was empty. Your heart sank, a frown tugging at your lips. After everything, had he run away?

Charlotte followed your gaze, her eyes softening. "Ah," she said quietly. "He needs time, I think. This can't be easy for him."

You blinked in surprise, turning back to Charlotte. "You know?"

She nodded, a forlorn smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I remember bits and pieces. Enough to understand." She squeezed your hand again. "Tell him I'm here, when he's ready to talk. There's forgiveness to be found, if he's willing to seek it."

Relief washed over you. “Thank you.” you smiled softly. "I will."

*~*~*

Her mother glanced at the clock, it was well after her daughter should have gone to sleep. But what was the harm in indulging her curiosity just this once? “Did you know that she’s also the Goddess of Reunions?”

The little girl's eyes widened at this new piece of information. “She is?”

“She reunites souls after death who’d known each other in life. Mothers and daughters, friends, sisters, everyone with a connection are guided to each other.”

*~*~*

You kept a watchful eye on the souls entering your realm, always alert for familiar presences. Time had continued, and you had no idea how long it had been since you lived, but when you felt a distinctive energy crackling at the edges of your consciousness - chaotic, vibrant, and unmistakably Jinx - you reached out, gently guiding her towards the sanctuary.

As Jinx materialized, you noticed the tension in her shoulders, and the wariness in her eyes. She scanned her surroundings, fingers twitching as if reaching for weapons that were no longer there.

"Welcome, Jinx," you said, shimmering into view before her. "You're safe here."

Jinx's gaze snapped to you, recognition dawning in her eyes. "Mila? That glowy lady who blew herself up for the metal fortune cookie?" Is that how people remembered you? "What is this place? Where's-"

But before she could finish her question, a blur of motion caught your attention. Isha came bounding across the meadow, her face alight with joy. She skidded to a stop in front of Jinx, her hands moving in a flurry of excited gestures.

Jinx's eyes widened, her lips parting in disbelief. For a moment, she stood frozen, her gaze locked onto Isha's beaming face. Then, with a choked sob, Jinx fell to her knees, her arms wrapping around Isha and pulling her in for a rib-cracking hug.

"You're here," Jinx whispered, her voice cracking. "You're really here."

Isha nodded vigorously, her small hands patting Jinx's back. You felt a surge of emotion from Jinx - a tidal wave of grief, guilt, and overwhelming relief that pulled at her heart like a fishing hook. Her body shook with silent sobs as she clung to Isha, her face buried in the girl's wild hair - twin braids and died blue.

You stood back, giving them space.

A deep voice called out from behind you, rich and thick as he swallowed his hope-tinged sorrow. "Powder."

Jinx stilled, her body going rigid. Slowly, she turned, her eyes locking onto the imposing figure of Vander as he approached. Time seemed to stand still as they regarded each other, years of pain and regret hanging heavy between them.

Then, with a choked sob, Jinx - arms still wrapped tight around Isha - launched herself against Vander’s chest, crushing the little girl between them, though she didn’t seem to mind. He caught her easily, enveloping her in a bear hug that lifted her off her feet. Jinx clung to him, her face buried in his chest as her shoulders shook with silent tears.

"I'm sorry," she cried, her voice muffled. "I'm so sorry."

Vander's large hand cradled the back of her head, his eyes glistening. "Shh, it's alright," he soothed. "You're home now, Powder. You're home."

*~*~*

The little girl yawned, her eyelids fluttering as she fought to stay awake. “She has Viktor and all her friends, do you think she’s happy now?”

“Yes,” her mother replied, a knowing smile on her lips. “I believe she is.”

Silence filled the small room, the nightlight casting stars on the ceiling. Just as her mother thought her asleep, shifting to stand, the girl asked one more question.

“Do goddesses sleep?”

Her mother paused, having been unprepared to provide that answer. “Everyone sleeps eventually,” she said. “Even curious little girls.”

The girl giggled, her mother placing one last kiss on her forehead before wishing her a goodnight, and departing from her room.

*~*~*

You stood atop a grassy hill, your hand clasped in Viktor's as you gazed out over the ever-expanding sanctuary. The sky above shimmered with countless stars, each one a soul finding peace in your realm.

"It's time, isn't it?" Viktor asked softly, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand.

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat. "Yes, I think it is."

For eons, you had watched over the souls in your care, guiding them, comforting them, reuniting them with loved ones. You had witnessed countless joys and sorrows, rebirths and un-deaths, forgiveness and redemption. Everyone else had become one with the land, only you and Viktor remained. Now, a bone-deep weariness had settled into your soul. The weight of eternity pressed down on you, and you knew in the depths of your soul, it was time to rest.

Viktor squeezed your hand, his eyes reflecting the starlight above. "One last day," he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Let's make it count."

You spent the day wandering through your realm, revisiting all the places that held special meaning for you both. You walked beneath the cascading light of the Aurora Falls, your laughter echoing off the clear waters. You ate your favourite lunches in the Whispering Woods, where the trees sang ancient melodies as you passed.

As the day wore on, you found yourselves in the Meadow of Memories. Flowers of every colour stretched as far as the eye could see, each bloom holding the essence of a cherished moment. You and Viktor lay side by side in the soft grass, watching as the petals released glowing specks that danced on the breeze. Your sparks spun around them, carrying whispers of laughter, tears, and everything in between.

Viktor propped himself up on one elbow, his amber eyes searching yours. "Do you have any regrets?"

You reached up, cupping his cheek in your palm. How many times had he asked you this? And how many times had you given him the same answer?

"Not a single one."

As twilight fell, you followed a narrow path that wound its way to a cliff face at the very edge of your realm. You gazed out at the vast expanse of the universe, an empty sea where there had once been countless souls. Now, they were all housed within your sanctuary.

You turned to Viktor, drinking in the sight of him one last time - the angular lines of his jaw, the warmth in his amber eyes, the gentle smile that had never ceased to make your heart flutter through countless ages.

"Are you ready?" you asked, almost afraid, but with Viktor, that feeling washed away under his devotion.

Viktor nodded, pulling you close. "When I’m with you? Always."

You leaned in, your lips meeting Viktor's in a kiss that felt both familiar and thrillingly new. His arms encircled you, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened. It was every moment of joy, every hardship overcome, every whispered promise and tender touch shared over endless lifetimes.

Viktor's hand cupped the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your starlit hair. You felt the gentle scrape of his nails on your scalp, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. Time seemed to slow, each second stretching into eternity as you lost yourself in the feeling of him.

Your bodies began to shimmer, intertwining like threads of starlight. The boundaries between you blurred, two souls merging into one radiant being.

Together, you stepped off the cliff's edge. But instead of falling, you floated, your combined energy spreading outward like ripples in a cosmic pond. Your consciousness expanded, suffusing every blade of grass, every drop of water, every piece of starlight in your sanctuary.

You became the whisper of wind, the crash of waves against the shores. You were the heat of the eternal sun and the cool glow of the ever-present moon. Every flower in the Meadow of Memories held a fragment of your shared love, every star in the sky a spark of your combined spirit.

As your energies settled into the fabric of the realm, you felt a profound sense of peace wash over you. The weight of godhood lifted, replaced by the simple joy of existence. You were everywhere and nowhere, eternally present yet finally at rest.

A small part of your consciousness lingered, a gentle guardian watching over the souls in your care. You felt their joys and sorrows, their triumphs and struggles, but no longer as separate entities. They were a part of you now, and you a part of them.

You and Viktor found your final peace, forever entwined in the sanctuary you had created. Your love story had become legend, whispered by the winds and sung by the stars, a tale of the power of forgiveness, redemption, and a love that transcended life, death, and eternity itself.

But most important of all, you were together, always and forever, and nothing could pull you apart.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope this answered any lingering questions <3

I debated with giving them a Janet and Jason (from the Good Place) ending, but that was too sad, even for me :')

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hollowed-theory-hall · 9 months ago

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Hello! I have seen this question debated many times and I wanted to know your take on it cause I find your theories very compelling. Do you think harry should've been in Slytherin? Does he have what it "takes" to be a Slytherin? Is it because of voldemort's soul in him that lead the sorting hat to even suggest he could be in Slytherin? I know this is not one question but I would like to know your opinion on this topic in general!

First of all, thank you for the kind words! 😊

As for the questions, well, you've asked more than one question, but this ask kinda gives me a good reason to talk about how Harry isn't some golden Gryffindor. He actually has some anger issues and he most definitely has what it "takes" for Slytherin.

I'll start with the last question and then go backward, actually.

Did the hat consider Slytherin house just because of the Horcrux?

I don't think so.

I mean, Harry is incredibly clever, magically powerful, and has a cunning streak a mile wide all on his own. I'd actually go as far as to say he's more cunning, ruthless, and resourceful than many of the Slytherins we see in the books. So his own traits definitely are in line with a Slytherin sorting, Horcrux or no Horcrux.

We can try and discern if the Horcrux has an effect on Harry's personality then, and if its influence is seen like that. I'd say that I don't think so either.

Tom and Harry, while they have their similarities, are very different people. They both have a bad temper (although they react to anger differently), but Harry has low self-esteem whereas Tom thinks he is the best (while still hating himself). They're both stubborn, but Tom is much more obsessive than Harry in pursuit of his goals. Harry cares for justice and isn't willing to hurt innocents, Tom doesn't really care about any of that he cares for efficiency. If the Horcrux was influencing Harry's personality, I'd expect to see more similarities between them that go deeper than that.

So, I don't think the hat only offered Slytherin because of the Horcrux. Harry is a Slytherin in his own right.

Does Harry have what it "takes" for Slytherin?

So, I honestly got really excited at the sight of this sentence. See I love Harry, that's no secret. But one of the things I love about him is that he isn't the perfect noble hero. He can be angry, and cruel and ruthless. But he has a sense of justice, he wouldn't wish harm on someone innocent, but someone who did harm to him, or was mean to him or someone he cares for... then Harry can be terrifying when he wants to be.

So, now I'm going to go through some (I have so many more examples of this, and the examples here are mostly books 1-5 since that's what I had on hand) of my collection of quotes showing Harry Potter's vindictiveness and anger.

Harry's response to "have a good summer" at the end of his first year:

“Oh, I will,” said Harry, and they were surprised at the grin that was spreading over his face. “They don’t know we’re not allowed to use magic at home. I’m going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer.…

(PS, page 221)

This is Harry's (very justified) vindictiveness we see towards the Dursleys many times in the books. He uses the idea of magic to scare them and is gleeful at the thought of Dudley's fear. Harry is very much chill with vengeance.

“…He likes to keep in touch with me, though . . . keep up with my news . . . check if I’m happy. . . .” And, grinning broadly at the look of horror on Uncle Vernon’s face, Harry set off toward the station exit, Hedwig rattling along in front of him, for what looked like a much better summer than the last.

(PoA, page 435)

Same as above, just Sirius Black as the threat instead of magic.

Yes, thought Harry, that looked all right. There was no point putting in the dream; he didn’t want it to look as though he was too worried.

(GoF, page 25)

Harry can and does lie and conceal information, even from people he trusts (like Sirius) if he thinks it'll be better not to tell them something. Whether that is for his own image or for what they would think.

“Potter! Weasley! What are you doing?” It was Professor McGonagall, and her mouth was the thinnest of thin lines. “We were — we were —” Ron stammered. “We were going to — to go and see —” “Hermione,” said Harry. Ron and Professor McGonagall both looked at him. “We haven’t seen her for ages, Professor,” Harry went on hurriedly, treading on Ron’s foot, “and we thought we’d sneak into the hospital wing, you know, and tell her the Mandrakes are nearly ready and, er, not to worry —” Professor McGonagall was still staring at him, and for a moment, Harry thought she was going to explode, but when she spoke, it was in a strangely croaky voice. “Of course,” she said, and Harry, amazed, saw a tear glistening in her beady eye.

(CoS, page 259)

And he clearly can lie well, even at 12.

But Harry wasn’t going to stand for this. Gone were the days when he had been forced to take every single one of the Dursleys’ stupid rules. He wasn’t following Dudley’s diet, and he wasn’t going to let Uncle Vernon stop him from going to the Quidditch World Cup, not if he could help it. Harry took a deep, steadying breath and then said, “Okay, I can’t see the World Cup. Can I go now, then? Only I’ve got a letter to Sirius I want to finish. You know — my godfather.” He had done it. He had said the magic words. Now he watched the purple recede blotchily from Uncle Vernon’s face, making it look like badly mixed black currant ice cream.

...

He stopped there to enjoy the effect of these words. He could almost see the cogs working under Uncle Vernon’s thick, dark, neatly parted hair. If he tried to stop Harry writing to Sirius, Sirius would think Harry was being mistreated. If he told Harry he couldn’t go to the Quidditch World Cup, Harry would write and tell Sirius, who would know Harry was being mistreated. There was only one thing for Uncle Vernon to do. Harry could see the conclusion forming in his uncle’s mind as though the great mustached face were transparent. Harry tried not to smile, to keep his own face as blank as possible. And then — “Well, all right then. You can go to this ruddy . . . this stupid . . . this World Cup thing.

(GoF, page 33)

Again, vindictiveness and manipulation of Vernon through fear. Not only that, but Harry can keep his calm and keep his face blank even at 14 for the sake of getting something he wants.

“Get stuffed, Malfoy,” said Harry. “C’mon, Ron. . . .” “Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren’t you, Potter?” sneered Malfoy. “So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?” “You know your mother, Malfoy?” said Harry — both he and Hermione had grabbed the back of Ron’s robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy — “that expression she’s got, like she’s got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?” Malfoy’s pale face went slightly pink. “Don’t you dare insult my mother, Potter.” “Keep your fat mouth shut, then,” said Harry, turning away.

(GoF, page 204)

Harry has a bark (all of the above quotes are Harry having a bark). He can and does shoot back as good as he gets.

Harry isn't all bark though, he's got a bit. Harry's anger is palpable and so very real and I love seeing it:

just as Uncle Vernon burst out of the dining room, his trouser leg in bloody tatters. “COME BACK IN HERE!” he bellowed. “COME BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!” But a reckless rage had come over Harry. He kicked his trunk open, pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Uncle Vernon. “She deserved it,” Harry said, breathing very fast. “She deserved what she got. You keep away from me.” He fumbled behind him for the latch on the door. “I’m going,” Harry said. “I’ve had enough.”

(PoA, page 30)

Again, Harry has his vindictive strike. (Obviously, Marge had it coming, but that's also what Harry is thinking).

A boiling hate erupted in Harry’s chest, leaving no place for fear. For the first time in his life, he wanted his wand back in his hand, not to defend himself, but to attack . . . to kill.

(PoA, page 339)

“You killed my parents,” said Harry, his voice shaking slightly, but his wand hand quite steady.

(PoA, page 341)

Harry, at 13, was fully willing to kill who he believed led to his parents' deaths. And more:

So what if he had to kill the cat too? It was in league with Black. . . . If it was prepared to die, trying to protect Black, that wasn’t Harry’s business. . . .

(PoA, page 342)

He's willing to kill Hermione's cat if it stands in his way.

Harry stood there, feeling suddenly empty. He hadn’t done it. His nerve had failed him. Black was going to be handed back to the dementors.

(PoA, page 343)

Harry Potter, at 13, laments that he didn't have the nerve to kill Sirius himself. He thinks he should've killed himself. He sees it as a failure that justice would be served by someone other than him.

Harry sat there staring at Snape as the lesson began, picturing horrific things happening to him. . . . If only he knew how to do the Cruciatus Curse . . . he’d have Snape flat on his back like that spider, jerking and twitching. . . .

(GoF, page 300)

Harry felt oddly separate from everyone around him, whether they were wishing him good luck or hissing “We’ll have a box of tissues ready, Potter ” as he passed. It was a state of nervousness so advanced that he wondered whether he mightn’t just lose his head when they tried to lead him out to his dragon, and start trying to curse everyone in sight.

(GoF, page 347)

The above quotes are both situations Harry was willing and wishing to curse people. Even Crucio Snape. He's not as noble and righteous and golden as many fans and characters in the books make him out to be...

If Dudley’s friends saw him sitting here, they would be sure to make a beeline for him, and what would Dudley do then? He wouldn’t want to lose face in front of the gang, but he’d be terrified of provoking Harry. . . . It would be really fun to watch Dudley’s dilemma; to taunt him, watch him, with him powerless to respond . . . and if any of the others tried hitting Harry, Harry was ready — he had his wand . . . let them try . . . He’d love to vent some of his frustration on the boys who had once made his life hell —

(OotP, page 11)

And sometimes, Harry wishes for an excuse to fight. An excuse to take his anger out on someone. (He has a lot of anger in him)

Smirking all over his pointed face, Draco Malfoy leaned across Harry and seized the largest bowtruckle. “Maybe,” said Malfoy in an undertone, so that only Harry could hear him, “the stupid great oaf’s got himself badly injured.” “Maybe you will if you don’t shut up,” said Harry out of the side of his mouth.

(OotP, page 260)

He's threatening and witty.

“Oh no,” said Hermione, quaking so badly that her knees gave way. “Oh, that was horrible. And he [Gwamp] might kill them [the centaurs] all. . . .” “I’m not that fussed, to be honest,” said Harry bitterly.

(OotP, page 759)

And when it comes to people he doesn't consider innocent, or ones he doesn't care for, even if they never harmed him, Harry is still vindictive. The centaurs mistreated Firenze and Hagrid, so Harry doesn't really care if Gwamp kills them all.

That being said, he is more concerned about Sirius in the above scene.

And he can and does cast unforgivables easily by the later books:

Hatred rose in Harry such as he had never known before. He flung himself out from behind the fountain and bellowed “Crucio!” Bellatrix screamed. The spell had knocked her off her feet, but she did not writhe and shriek with pain as Neville had — she was already on her feet again, breathless, no longer laughing. Harry dodged behind the golden fountain again — her counterspell hit the head of the handsome wizard, which was blown off and landed twenty feet away, gouging long scratches into the wooden floor.

(OotP, page 809)

Harry raised the hawthorn wand beneath the cloak, pointed it at the old goblin, and whispered, for the first time in his life, “Imperio!” A curious sensation shot down Harry’s arm, a feeling of tingling, warmth that seemed to flow from his mind, down the sinews and veins connecting him to the wand and the curse it had just cast. The goblin took Bellatrix’s wand, examined it closely, and then said, “Ah, you have had a new wand made, Madam Lestrange!”

(DH, pages 152-453)

As Amycus spun around, Harry shouted, “Crucio!” The Death Eater was lifted off his feet. He writhed through the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling in pain, and then, with a crunch and a shattering of glass, he smashed into the front of a bookcase and crumpled, insensible, to the floor. “I see what Bellatrix meant,” said Harry, the blood thundering through his brain, “you need to really mean it.”

(DH, page 502)

So, I think Harry definitely has what it takes. He's clever, he can be ruthless, and he's capable of lying and hiding secrets when he feels it's the best option. He can hide his emotions when he really needs to, even if he rarely does. Actually, only in book 6, Harry starts sharing everything with Ron and Hermione on Dumbledore’s advice. Up to that point, he kept quite a bit to himself. And when someone wrongs him, he can and often will swing back.

And last but not least, should he have been in Slytherin?

So, this is an interesting question, because "should" can have two meanings.

1. Should've for the story — as in what is best for the narrative.

2. Should've for the character — in universe, which house the sorting hat should've picked.

So, for the first one, my answer is no. Gryffindor was the right choice for Harry for the narrative of the books as they are. Gryffindor is essentially the opposite of Slytherin and represents a choice more than just the traits and values the house represents. It represents Harry's choice even though he could've been a Slytherin he chose Gryffindor. And it's a constant choice with every heroic act. (personally, I'm not the biggest fan of equating school houses with morality, but it's effective in creating a clear narrative)

And while not all Slytherins are evil and not all Gryffindors are good, a Slytherin Harry Potter would've resulted in a very different story than what we have. So, for the story we ended up getting to happen the way it did, yes, Harry needed to be a Gryffindor.

For the second, maybe. Personally, I believe people (even if they aren't hatstalls) have more than one house they can fit into. Harry is both a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, and neither of them is more wrong or right for him as a person. I think deciding which one of them is best for him is up to a coin flip (and when in his life the question is asked).

He can be ruthless and cunning like a Slytherin. Selfless and courageous like a Gryffindor. He values justice like a Gryffindor. But he also has the selective loyalty of Slytherin to their own.

Point is, there isn't really a "should", because both suit him and he would’ve done well in both. Do I think Slytherin Harry is an incredibly fun concept to consider? Yes. Did I read way too many fics with this premise and would read more? Yes. Do I think he might've fit into Slytherin better than Gryffindor? Well, not necessarily.

Harry is much quieter than most in Gryffindor, but I think the constant scheming and image-keeping in Slytherin would be exhausting to him. He just doesn't care about all the gossip and politicalizing (something that occasionally leaves him out of the loop also in Gryffindor). So, again, both suit him about equally. The difference is that we get a very different story depending on his house.

#harry potter #harry potter thoughts #hp #hp thoughts #hollowedtheory #harry potter analysis #harry potter meta #hp meta #harry james potter #asks #anon asks #anonymous #slytherin harry potter

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merakiui · 10 months ago

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[01] 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝓇𝑒𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓉, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓃, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝑔𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓁 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁.

villain!azul ashengrotto x magical girl!reader note - welcome to this very impulsive magical girl parody! i'm not sure how many chapters it will be exactly, but i'm looking forward to writing more. i hope you'll enjoy reading! chapter navigation: [01] (you are here) // [02]

Magic is a messy, complex thing.

It can enchant and amaze with beautiful, endless possibilities. It can terrify with traumatic results. Like any sort of power in this world, it is a heavy responsibility for those who wield it. Everything has its dark side; you’re sure the same holds true for magic. No matter how marvelous it may be, surely there exists some shadow.

It’s also something you can’t use, and so the good and the bad don’t really apply to you!

Not that this is cause for envy. Rather, you’re relieved you don’t have to worry about experiencing the problems that accompany magic. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is; magic would only further complicate it. With no other plausible way to return to your world, you’ve had to make your home here on Sage’s Island. It’s an isolated place, boasting two elite magical universities and a bustling town.

It also happens to resemble a chicken wing on maps, so that’s a plus. Truly an ideal getaway! If only you weren’t trapped here indefinitely… Maybe then you’d have better appreciation for it.

As it happens, you’re a janitor living in the abandoned, decrepit dorm on the outskirts of campus. It took a month since you moved in, but you’ve managed to clean it up into a habitable space with the help of its resident haunts. The Headmage hasn’t been very helpful or present since your arrival, and so you’ve had to make do with what little you’ve been given. But for all of his troubling qualities, he isn’t inherently cruel. He’s kind enough to pay you for your services (but then that was only after you threatened him into an agreement), and he doesn’t overwork you (again, this is because you made it abundantly clear you won’t do anything if it violates your own sanity in some way, shape, or form). At least he’s willing to negotiate every time you argue for humane working conditions.

He’s an irksome guy. You can’t believe he has the gall to call himself the ‘embodiment of magnanimity’ when he’s done the bare minimum. Even the ghosts have offered more assistance and they don’t have any sort of authority here! You’re pleased to share a space with them. Sometimes they seem more reliable than the Headmage.

Despite your attempts to acclimate, the illustrious Night Raven College is still a place wholly unsuitable for a magicless human such as yourself. You’re the same age as some of the students here, but they feel like they’re on another level. Flying overhead on brooms, casting spells, mixing up potions… You listen in on some of their conversations while washing windows or sweeping the floors and wonder if all magic schools are this rigorous.

Maybe that’s any school regardless of its curriculum. Any sort of academic pursuit comes with difficulties; that’s normal. But magic is a facet unique to this world. There aren’t any arcane academies where you’re from, but now you wish there were. They seem so fascinating.

“Not much of my problem, though, is it?” you mumble, shaking free of that thought. Being a janitor is great. You can avoid the stress of school and keep up with the gossip exchanged in the halls. It’s like reading the newspaper, only it’s spoken instead of written.

Morning spills through the part in the curtains when you open them. You shut your eyes and bask in the warming glow of a sunshine smooch. It’s going to be another great day—you’re sure of this—and a day as pleasant as this deserves to be lived in its entirety. Perhaps you’ll have a picnic outside or you could even—

BAM.

Your eyes snap open just in time to view the raven who’s slammed itself against the window. Disoriented, it jerks itself up and away from the glass, flapping its wings wildly. You watch its attempts with a pitying frown. And then, inching closer to pull the window open to allow the raven respite, you see it: the blue flames racing towards you at a rapid speed.

With a yelp, you dive out of the way just in time. Due to the forceful blast, the window shatters in a spray of glass. Heat licks at your face, so hot it almost singes your brows, and you stumble to the other side of the room in a panicked daze.

“You lousy bird!” someone exclaims, the words pronounced in a growl. “Get back here so I can nab ya and prove that I’m worthy of bein’ at this school!”

The raven squawks, fluttering wildly about your room. A sleek, obsidian-colored feather floats into your hand. You don’t have time to admire it, for the curtains have just caught fire.

“Come on—I just put those up last week!” you bemoan, looking on in abject horror.

From the opening, a furry creature bursts through. He resembles a grey cat with his short, fluffy stature, but his tail is shaped strangely and there’s blue fire flickering from his ears. The same blue fire he’s currently conjuring in an attempt to catch the raven…

You grab hold of the coat rack—the nearest viable weapon you can think of—and jump in front of him. He startles and leaps back when you swing.

“What’re you doing?! You can’t do that in here! Fuck—my curtains! Don’t light anything else on fire!”

Baffled, the cat-creature scoffs at you. “How was I supposed to know someone’s livin’ in here? Not my fault!”

“It’s a residence! Of course someone lives here! I live here!”

“When they make me the Great Mage Grim, I’ll fix this place up for ya. That’s a promise! I just gotta catch that bird and prove myself a worthy candidate. Just you wait—they’ll be puttin’ my name up in lights!”

“Like hell they will!”

With a devastated groan, you whack the curtains down with the coat rack. They land in a heap, smoke curling from beneath the pile and sliding out the shattered window in dark, wispy tendrils. It takes a frazzled few stomps and smacks before the fire fizzles away, leaving you with charred curtains and the distinct stench of something scorched.

Still panting from the adrenaline rush, you loosen your grip on the coat rack. This is a mess. What am I going to do? I don’t have enough money to fix this!

You turn your hateful scowl on the cat-creature. “You!”

“W-Wait! Wait!” He raises a paw to his lips and gestures towards your bedside table. The raven sits perched, a golden chain wrapped around its neck and an envelope clasped in its beak. In all of the chaos, you must have missed that. “Don’t say a word. It’s right there.”

He approaches stealthily, slow as a sloth, and pounces. He misses narrowly, ending up with a mouthful of feathers instead. The raven caws and takes flight, circling overhead.

He spits feathers. “Myahaha! I got it! I actually—oh. Dumb bird… No one can escape the Great Grim.”

The raven lands on your shoulder next. It cocks its head at you.

“What? Is this for me?” you ask, even though you’re certain of the answer. You pluck the envelope from the raven, who sets to preening itself now that it’s no longer occupied.

“Give it here!” The cat-creature hops up onto your bed, reaching with an expectant paw. “That bird’s got my admission letter!”

“Your letter?” You hold it out of reach and stick your tongue out at him. “No ‘great mage’ sets someone’s home on fire. You’re a subpar mage, if anything.”

“I am not! You just wait—I’ll show you!”

“I don’t want to see anymore.” Turning away, you break the wax seal and procure the parchment waiting within.

He swipes at you impatiently. “Lemme see! What’s it say?”

Written in elegant script, complete with a stamp you’ve never seen before, it looks very official. Whoever wrote it is exceptionally good at cursive, their letters swooping together seamlessly. It’s almost like a decorative artwork with its double-looped O’s and dancing cursive. You marvel at the craftsmanship, wishing your handwriting could look as refined as this person’s.

To whom it may concern, Greetings and congratulations on your admittance into the program! We recognize your outstanding achievements as a model student and believe you have what it takes to do wonderful things. It is with great pride that we bestow upon you a piece of magical history, referred to as The Tried-and-True Trident. You will find it enclosed in this letter.

You look up from the letter just as an aureate necklace lands in your palm. The raven blinks at you once before lifting itself off of your shoulder with a flap of its inky wings. It departs through the window, up into the cloudless, cerulean sky, in a flurry of feathers. There’s a tiny trident pendant hanging from the chain. It winks at you in the light, so shiny you think you might catch your reflection if you stare long enough. You’re not sure what part of it is tried or true, for it looks more like costume jewelry than anything. At least it’s cute. Kind of fashionable, even.

With this historic piece, you are now free to wield the wonders of the sea as you please. You are expected to use these powers to defend those you hold dear from the threat of tragedy. You should have met with your mentor already. If not, we shall send someone to escort you. We look forward to beholding your excellent heroics. Sincerely,

“Gimme that!”

Grim snatches the letter before you can glimpse the name signed at the bottom. The enchanted letter tears in two and then, before both of your eyes, it promptly disintegrates.

You eye the fuzzball with a fresh bout of vitriol. “What did you say your name was again?”

“It’s Grim—the Great Grim—and I promise ya as soon as I—”

“Good. Now I know what name to carve on your tombstone when I put you in the ground for ruining my letter!” You reach for the coat rack, expression ablaze with newfound ferocity.

Grim yelps and scurries away. “H-Hold on! I can fix it!”

“How? It’s ash!”

“Well, what did it say? I’m sure I can explain it to ya!”

“It said something about this necklace. The something-something trident. Protecting loved ones from tragedy. Admittance into some program. A mentor…”

“Mentor… Mentor! Yeah, that sounds about right!” Grim laughs proudly. “Aren’t you in luck, human! I’m gonna be your mentor.”

“Sure you are.” You rest your hand on your hip, brows raised. “The same cat who destroyed my window and curtains is gonna mentor me in whatever this is. Funny story.”

His jaw drops. “A-At least pretend like it’s cool! And I’m not a cat!” He hops off of your bed with a huff. “Ungrateful human. You’re undeserving of the Great Grim’s teaching anyways! I don’t need you!”

“Other way around.”

“You don’t need me!”

“There we go.” You applaud him sardonically. “Look, I don’t know what any of this is. I’m sure it was a mistake. I’m not even a student here.”

Grim, who had been on his way towards the door, halts. He turns to face you slowly. “Yer…not a student?”

“I work here. There’s no way for me to be enrolled here because I can’t use magic.”

“W-Wha—can’t use magic?! Then why did you get in, but I didn’t?!”

You can only shrug. The necklace twists idly when you hold it up for closer inspection. “So this thing is supposed to help me? Hey, Grim, do you know what this is?”

You lower to his height and hold your hand out. He watches you dubiously before approaching and leaning in to sniff at the chain.

“Smells fine to me. Kinda like wet metal.”

“I didn’t ask for a flavor profile.” You heave a tired sigh. The day’s only just begun and you’re already swamped with nonsense. “Maybe that Headmage knows something.”

Grim gasps. “You’re chummy with the Headmage? You think you could talk him into lettin’ me join?”

“Why do you even want in so badly?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m a renowned mage! They should be begging me to join!”

Anyone could’ve sent that letter. It might not even be from the Headmage… If I knew the sender’s name, I could just track them down and ask them.

“You said you wanted to prove yourself, didn’t you?” You offer your hand again, this time to shake on it. “Become my mentor. That’ll show that Crowley you’re plenty capable. Then you can get into this school and I can find a way to return this necklace to its rightful owner.”

Grim folds his arms over his chest, avoiding your hand like it’s the plague. “And what’s in it for me? My services aren’t cheap, y’know!”

“You can live here with me. I’ll find ways to sneak you into the lecture halls if you wanna sit in and observe the class.”

“How about food?”

“Food is…” Nonexistent, really. That cheapskate Crowley! I’ve got to talk him into raising my pay. “I get paid at the end of this week. We’ll have to survive off of what’s in the fridge and the lunch I’m allowed to get from the cafeteria for now.”

Grim’s features soften. “Hm… I guess it’s not terrible. Could be better. But all great mages start from humble beginnings—including myself, but you’d never be able to guess!”

“Right…”

With how carelessly you tossed that fire around, you’re the last mage I should be partnering with.

“Do we have a deal, Grim? You’ll be my mentor and I’ll help you wherever I can.”

Grim places his paw in your palm, his chest puffed out. “You’d better start callin’ me Teacher!”

A smile strains on your lips. “Not happening.”

With a firm shake, your pact is made.

“So what spells do you know? Any that might be able to fix up a window and some curtains?”

“You don’t need those lame spells! The Great Grim can do plenty of other amazing feats.”

“Like?”

“Very amazing feats. Didn’t you hear me?”

“You don’t know anything, do you?”

Grim flinches, guilt flashing across his countenance.

“Is blue fire all you can summon?”

“I… I can do much more! This is just a fraction of my true power! If I had a magestone, this whole spell business would be a lot easier.”

“A magestone? Ah, those things the students have on their pens? I guess that would be helpful. Where can we get one, though?”

“I’d tell ya if I knew.”

“The library might know. If we head there now, we can spend the rest of the morning researching and then we can get lunch.” You reach to fasten the chain around your neck. It’s tucked under your shirt next, safe and sound. “Wait outside for a minute. I’ll change out of my pajamas, clean up the window, and then we’ll be on our way.”

Grim trots out the door without resistance. “I’ll grab a snack from the fridge while yer doin’ all that stuff.”

“One snack! Don’t eat everything!”

But he’s already bounding away, singing as he goes: “Free eats can’t be beat!” Sighing, you shut the door and turn to assess the state of your bedroom. It could be worse. Your bed could have been damaged, or you could have sustained quite the nasty burn.

One mess at a time.

You change into your uniform, which is really just a PE jumpsuit. The same one the students wear. This one has seen better days and it’s a size too big on you, but it’s all Crowley claimed to have on hand when you asked about work clothes. Once again, you soothe yourself with your favorite adage: It could be worse.

You could be homeless. You could be starving. You could be dead.

So it’s not so bad to wear the spare. It’s still got the dorm patch and class numbers sewn onto it, albeit both have worn considerably. Your eyes are drawn to them as you admire yourself in the mirror. Octavinelle Dorm… You’ve heard there are seven dormitories at this school, each based on a historical figure and representing the various spirits of these people. The sorting at the entrance ceremony was something special for the incoming first-years. You’d felt a little awkward to disturb such a grand occasion, even more so when the Dark Mirror announced to a hall full of talented mages that there isn’t an iota of magic in you.

Quite the humbling experience.

But sometimes you wonder which dorm the Dark Mirror would have chosen if your soul was bursting with magical capability.

As of now you’re a faux member of Octavinelle—whatever that implies.

By the time you’ve managed to sweep the glass, dispose of the ruined curtains, and patch the window with a temporary placeholder—what a relief for pasteboard and masking tape—Grim’s nearly through the few items left in your fridge. You yank him away just as he reaches for a container of leftovers.

“If you eat too much, you’ll spoil your lunch.”

“Can’t imagine that problem.”

“You sound so proud of your bottomless stomach.”

“And you’re not?”

You roll your eyes and tug your sneakers on. “Let’s be off.”

“How’re we gonna sneak me in?”

“How do you feel about becoming my temporary purse pet?”

Grim looks unimpressed when you hold your tote bag open for him. “No way!”

“It has lots of space and it’s stylish. Besides, shouldn’t your dedicated student pay proper respect to her great, glorious mentor?”

He doesn’t bother hiding his approving smirk. “Well, when ya put it like that…”

After Grim clambers into your bag, you lock the front door behind you and set off for campus.

“Please don’t blow our cover, Grim.”

From within the depths of your tote, he scoffs. “The Great Grim is the stealthiest mage you’ll ever meet!”

“I highly doubt that.”

It’s the second time you’ve found yourself in the library, but it’s still just as impressive as ever. You could spend hours here, wandering between shelves and skimming all sorts of tomes. Some of them are written in languages you can’t decipher, so you observe the pictures provided in hopes of gleaning any clues. Grim lounges on a chair beside you, absentmindedly turning through a thick textbook. You managed to find a relatively isolated corner in the very back and it’s not especially busy today. The promise of a hearty lunch keeps him well-behaved.

“Find anything?”

“Nothin’ important. Ugh. This stuff is the worst! Why can’t a magestone fall from the sky? That’d be a whole lot easier than this.”

“It sucks, yeah, but what else can we do?” You rest your face against your palm and scan through yet another page of information. “Let’s keep looking. I’m sure we’ll find something useful.”

“Nngh… I’m hungry.”

“You just ate.”

“That was hours ago!”

“Has it really been that long?”

“Feels like it.”

You lean back in your chair and stretch, listening to the satisfying snap of your joints as they crack into place. “Can you understand any of these words?”

“Most of ’em.”

You point to a specific place in the paragraph. “Can you tell me what this one means? I think I’ve got the general idea based on the graphics, but I could be wrong.”

Grim glances at it, his blue hues waltzing across the page. “It’s about merfolk.”

“Merfolk? They exist in this world?” And then you pause to gather your delayed thoughts. “Never mind. That would make sense.”

“What about ’em?”

“Where I’m from, merfolk aren’t real. They’re fiction.”

“Huh. A place without any merfolk… Bet they don’t have anyone like me either. I’m one of a kind!” Grim chuckles. “So where’re you from?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupts. You usher Grim under the table, who goes but not without protest. He ducks under just in time, hiding within the shadows. A student rounds the corner and stops short when he sees you. He’s holding a few books in his arms, each looking more heavy than the last.

“Ah,” the both of you say in unison.

He clears his throat and offers you a cordial nod. “I wasn’t aware someone had already claimed this corner.”

You eye him carefully. He looks familiar. Glasses. Silvery-grey hair. Blue eyes. Where have you seen him before?

“It’s all yours. I was just leaving.” You move to stand, but he steps closer.

He peers at the open textbook lying in front of you. A smile you can’t quite classify as friendly spreads on his lips. “Is that so? You seem especially engrossed in this book.”

“I like to stay educated.”

I genuinely can’t understand a word in this text.

“On the anatomy of merfolk?”

You shut your mouth at once. That’s what this is? No wonder the diagrams looked…unique. But you’re too committed to your story to falter now.

“Especially the anatomy of merfolk.”

The student chuckles, but it sounds hollow to your ears. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. You’re in Octavinelle?”

You gape at him like a fish out of water before realizing the jumpsuit and its patch. “Oh! Ohhh, no, not at all. This is an old uniform.”

He looks at you with more scrutiny until it clicks. “I remember now. You’re the magicless girl who so carelessly interrupted—ah, forgive me—fortuitously appeared during the entrance ceremony last month.”

What a little fake. You narrow your eyes at him, suddenly defensive. Now you’re made aware of who he is. He was one of the few in the audience during your awkward arrival. Back then, he was clad in a robe with his hood up and so you only caught sight of his glasses and the swoop of his silvery-grey hair peeking out. You’re certain this is the same guy. You could’ve said that without the backhanded barb.

“So my reputation precedes me.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “I disagree. You’re still quite the mystery.”

“Well, there’s nothing to solve.” You rise from your seat, reaching for your bag. “I’m just a janitor trying to get by.”

He hums. You can’t decipher the meaning in that, but you don’t particularly care enough to drive yourself mad over it. You feel around on the chair for Grim. He was just here a moment ago…

You drop to your knees to check under the table. Your heart plummets into your stomach.

Grim, you had one job!

“Is something the matter?”

You pop up from beneath the table so fast that your head knocks into it. “Shit! Ow! Yeah, no, I’m fine. I thought I dropped my pencil.”

You scan the rest of the space as discreetly as you can. The student watches you. You don’t like the way he seems to stare through you as if intending to gain access to your very soul. As if he sees something you don’t.

“Have a wonderful day. Study hard. Pass your tests. Get—uh—the scholarship or whatever.”

Flashing him your most nonchalant grin, you make your way down the aisle at a pace that is the exact opposite of relaxed. There’s no time to dwell on that off-kilter exchange. You’ve got a runaway cat-creature in dire need of capture!

The one day I take off and it’s the day my window’s ruined, I get a weird letter, and my new roommate is missing. That’s horrible luck!

You walk briskly through the library, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. Grim couldn’t have gotten far. You were only distracted for a few minutes, and the library is huge. Perhaps he’s just lost and waiting in place for you to find him. For some reason you can’t fool yourself into believing this train of thought.

Your search takes you out of the library and down the hall. Where could he have possibly gone? Surely he didn’t make his way back to Ramshackle. You check the time on your watch. It’s almost lunch.

Lunch! Of course!

You hurry towards the cafeteria with rekindled purpose.

I’m going to start calling him Gluttonous Mage Grim if he makes this a habit!

Fortunately, Grim is predictable. You’ve only known him for a day—not even—but it’s not so difficult to pinpoint his location after you’ve worked out his motivations. Unfortunately, you make it to the cafeteria just as the grand chandelier falls from its support in the ceiling, crash-landing in a broken heap. And standing just feet away from the damage, looking very guilty, is Grim alongside two students you’ve never seen before. Crowley’s there as well, just as frazzled as the feathers on his coat. He’s in the middle of lecturing them about the importance of this relic—how it’s been with the school since it was founded and it’s an irreplaceable piece that would cost over a billion Madol to fix—when he takes notice of you.

“(Name), it’s devastating! A most heart-wrenching tragedy! Why, it’s enough to bring one to tears.”

“Seems so…” You shoot Grim a vicious look. So much for being covert. Not so stealthy now, huh? “I’ll get the broom.”

“No, not yet. These three—” he turns towards them, yellow eyes fierce— “are expelled!”

“Expelled?!” the navy-haired student exclaims. He looks like he’s just stared Death in the face. “This can’t be… What will my mother think? I promised her I was gonna get good grades, attend all of my classes, pass my tests…”

“Hey, it’s not my fault. That hairball’s the one who started it!” the other argues, his arms folded over his chest.

“No way! It wasn’t me!”

Crowley clicks his tongue. “Unbelievable. This school has zero tolerance for blatant tomfoolery. Surely you’re all aware…” He pauses to look at Grim. “And you! You’re not even a student here! Just what are you doing, trespassing on school property?”

Grim flounders dizzily. “Spinning…”

“He’s my roommate.” All eyes flick towards you. “I’m letting him stay for now. Sorry if that breaks any rules. I just don’t believe in turning others away, even if they’re prone to causing trouble.”

“What a noble soul,” Crowley murmurs, impressed. “Well, if that’s the case, seeing as he’s nothing more than a talking pet cat—”

“I ain’t a pet or a cat!”

“I’m afraid my previous statement still remains in place. He’s not to be on school grounds.”

“You heard the Headmage. No school for you.”

But Grim’s already lying flat on the floor like a defeated pancake.

“Then what about us? That hairball can’t get the easy way out and leave us with the worst of it!”

“There’s a way to fix this, isn’t there?”

“Y-Yeah! Can’t you just use magic to fix it right up? It’ll be good as new. Someone with your skill should be able to do it.”

Crowley shakes his head, mournful. “Magic is not limitless. Not only that, but the magestone powering this great chandelier is cracked. And those are not so easily replaced. I fear this is the final day this miraculous chandelier will ever grace this grand hall with its light.”

The ginger-haired student grimaces. “Not good…”

The other withers. “Expelled… What am I going to do? I can’t go back home with this news!”

A magestone… That’s what Grim needs. You glance at the one set into the chandelier. A ghastly crack runs up the surface. Are they really that special?

Before both can succumb to their melancholy, Crowley says, “There is one way! Possibly…”

“Really? What is it?” they say at once, eyes bulging with hope.

“This very magestone was mined from the Dwarfs’ Mine. Perhaps, should you procure one of similar qualities, the chandelier can be repaired.”

“Then… Okay! I’ll get a magestone! As long as it’s all right with you, sir.”

“Ah, but the mines have been closed for some time. I reckon the magestones are all but gone.”

“I’m sure I can find one. Please, sir, I’ll do anything to stay here!”

Crowley seems to consider this. Eventually, he nods his approval. “I’m willing to postpone your expulsion for now.” The navy-haired student’s relief is short-lived when he adds, “However, if you fail to bring a magestone to me by the first rays of the morning sun, it will be expulsion for the both of you. No further exceptions.”

With a hasty nod, he says, “Of course! I understand! Thank you so much for the second chance. I won’t let you down!”

“Yeah, sure. Let’s get this over with.”

You gather an unconscious Grim in your arms while Crowley instructs the students on how to access the mine. They stride off with different degrees of enthusiasm. You open your mouth to ask permission, but Crowley beats you to it.

“Please do accompany them. I trust you’re responsible enough to handle any trouble?”

“If you raise my pay, I’ll do anything.”

He clutches his chest. “Your proclivity to bargain strikes through to my very soul! Ah, but since I am the kindest Headmage I shall grant your request.”

With a satisfied grin, you hold Grim tighter and run off after the pair. “Thanks again, Headmage!”

You follow them all the way to the Mirror Chamber. It’s just as imposing as you recall, but there’s a serene quality to the space that wasn’t there before. Maybe it’s because you’re here willingly and there isn’t an audience to witness your poorly timed debut.

You approach both of them. “Hey! Sorry to bother, but could I join you?”

They turn to look at you. Grim shifts in your arms, groaning.

“I don’t see why not. Welcome to the team,” the navy-haired student says with an awkward smile.

“Might as well. More people means a faster chance at finding that magestone.” He points at Grim next. “And he better be coming, too.”

“That’s the plan. I’ll make sure he won’t cause any problems for you.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Today’s just not my day. What bad luck…”

“No time to sulk. We’ve gotta get that magestone,” the other says, turning towards the mirror. “Dark Mirror, the Dwarfs’ Mine!”

Grim jerks awake then. “Myaah?! Where am I? What’s goin’ on?”

You hold onto him tightly, preventing him from squirming out of your arms. “Relax. You’ll be fine. I think.”

“What d’ya mean by that?!”

The Dark Mirror brightens with life. There’s a blinding flash of light and then, just like that, you’re taken to the mine’s entrance.

Magestone, here we come!

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x reader #marvelous marine magic: sweet sea sorceress #3M:3S #3M:3S chapter one

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cinnamonest · 1 year ago

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Yandere Profile - Baizhu

When I tell you I adore this man so much, he's so underappreciated and I intend to do my best to do him justice

ft. Changsheng the enabler and Qiqi the liability

WARNINGS: fem reader, dubcon/noncon, abduction, heavy drugging content, mentions of force feeding against a hunger strike, emotional manipulation of a child, homicide

What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

If one had to describe his nature in a singular word, it would be careful.

Incredibly, meticulously careful. There is not one single step taken that has not been perfectly planned out ahead of time, multiple possibilities and issues thought through and accounted for. He would not rush into something of this nature unprepared, and more importantly, his cautiousness comes from another trait he has in abundance: determination. Dedication to seeing a goal through, the firm resolution that he will obtain what he desires, one way or another, with no regard to what measures need to be taken to do so, nor how long it will take.

Not to mention, from a moral perspective, one might be surprised at how indifferent he is to the notion of doing something... unethical. People tend to associate medical professionals with some sort of assumed overall moral good, that someone who dedicates their life to the pursuit of the health of others must be a morally sound person in all areas of life by default.

Well, that is true to an extent. He does want to stay within ethical bounds. He's a generally good and compassionate person, yes, and would never go out of his way to harm anyone for the sake of it. He doesn't bear any malice towards anyone. He will inconvenience or burden himself if it means doing the right thing, when the right thing does not pose any risk to him and his goals. And when it's things he doesn't care too much about, he will relinquish a goal if he realizes it would do harm. So overall, it would be correct to say that he is a morally sound person.

But if violating certain commonly agreed-upon ethical boundaries is necessary to obtain his most fervent desires... well.

He's perfectly well-aware. He's self-aware, for starters, acutely so. He knows exactly what he feels and why, knows it is of abnormal degree, and knows what it will inevitably lead to. He knows that both from a social and ethical standpoint, such things are wrong, that it violates society's conventions and standards (not to mention laws) of what is acceptable behavior by limiting another's freedoms and violating their autonomy. It's not even something he really needs to reflect on. He just notices and becomes aware of an intense emotion, recognizes that emotion and its degree of severity, and draws an immediate logical conclusion as to what will happen depending on how he chooses to handle that emotion and how each course of action is perceived by society. Very simple, really.

It's lamentable — he himself has reflected on this to himself multiple times, often speaking aloud to Changsheng about it behind closed doors.

How troublesome that even I am not immune to these sorts of desires...In the end, the nature and instinct of any given creature is immutable, I suppose.

She rarely has anything to offer other than vague warnings of not letting it spiral out of control, which he assures will not happen.

But oh well. Sure, it's inconvenient, but there is no point in fighting something as innate as one's own feelings in this area of things. Suppressing the emotions would be a waste, so it is much wiser and more efficient to simply accept them, then work through how he intends to handle them.

Cautious, intelligent, perceptive, patient, self-aware, willing to violate ethics, and of an indomitable resolve. This combination of traits is, as you might imagine, more or less one of the worst hands of fate that could be dealt to whoever is targeted by the individual possessing them.

He's an easy person to warm up to, though. Very likable and pleasant. He's not nervous around you or anything, and gives no hint of any ill intent, so you have no reason to suspect anything. Well, he might be just a bit overbearing towards you, just barely noticeably touchy or insistent, but it's nothing that strikes you as indicative of anything you should genuinely be concerned over.

Except for this... aura. While nothing he does really concerns you, there is almost some tangible feeling of something being "off" in a way you can't really articulate nor explain. Regardless, he's been helpful and kind to you, so you brush it off as nothing.

There's also distinct lack of the intense outward expression of emotion usually associated with obsessive lovers and abductors and the like. He's fairly... calm about it all. Perhaps it's an ability stemming from his meticulous and careful planning to eliminate risk, or perhaps it's that he has full and acute self-awareness and accurate perception and understanding of himself and why he feels what he does. Or perhaps it's just his nature. Maybe some combination of all of the above. But even at his worst moments, he has a fairly calm aura about him, nothing seems to bother or upset him too much. He always seems to have calculated for every potential misstep or complication.

He does make an attempt to grow closer to you, though. He's masterful with an ability to orchestrate encounters that genuinely seem to be coincidence, as well as creating inconveniences for you that will lead you to seek him out. If anything, you're usually apologizing for doing so, since he seems so busy... but he dismisses it with a wave of his hand, assures you that it's fine, that he's very happy to be of assistance to you.

This, too, isn't just because he enjoys your presence, but it's also a preparatory measure in and of itself. The more familiar you are with him, the closer you consider yourself to be with him, the easier of a time he'll have handling you when the time inevitably comes that he'll have to take certain courses of action that you may disapprove of, to say the least. He needs all the endearment to you he can get before that happens.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

He's a bit conflicted, can't really decide if he wants to or not. His reluctance isn't really based in morality nor fear; he's not particularly concerned with the former on this matter, and he's fully confident he can successfully pull it off, so no need for nervousness.

Rather, he has the sort of possessive, primal desire to take you all for himself, one that he recognizes as a rash instinct that he needs to carefully ponder, and yet, he realizes that the direct consequence of acting on those desires would cause him to fall out of favor with you. He does love your smiles you give him, how nice you've been to him, your kind words, and he knows that would disappear, only to be replaced with resentment and fear, the moment he takes you away from your life.

He often sighs and mumbles to himself about it. What to do, what to do.... such a frustrating predicament.

Human nature is fascinating, isn't it? He's so consciously aware that this is abnormal and unwell, that he should attempt to resolve it, yet he has no desire to resolve it, only craving to further indulge in it. Yet he wants to be certain that he doesn't take any rash action, that he knows what he's doing through and through.

So, he refrains, at least for some time. However, it's not an attempt to refrain permanently — he knows full well that eventually, he will act on his desires, that it's only a matter of time. But for now, he wants to savor every word, every interaction, every smile, until he knows he will eventually cave in, and those things will be gone. He also reasons that, as aforementioned, by knowing you and being acquainted with you longer under your normal life and circumstances, he can attempt to endear himself to you and grow closer to you in that time, which will, he hopes, ease the transition when you no longer have your freedoms, that you will be more inclined to forgive him and act with empathy for him rather than hostility.

However, should he happen upon a coincidence, the stars align and the pieces all fall into place so perfectly without him having to arrange it, well, he'll certainly take the opportunity that presents itself. You show up complaining of fever or headache or something of that nature, and in your discomfort, it doesn't quite occur to you how unusual and seemingly irrelevant the questions he's asking you are—

I assume you let someone know where you were headed when you left home? ...No? Oh, I see....

You don't by chance have anywhere you'll be expected to be in the next short while, would you?

—and it won't, until it's too late.

Otherwise, should the opportunity not arise on its own, he has to wait. The days pass. A few months in total. But the longing and the ache and the scalding feeling of intense jealousy when he sees you with others, it all becomes too much, and he's forced to put into motion a plan he has now had quite some time to prepare for. Invite you over for "something important" with perfect timing, memorizing your schedule to hopefully ensure that it will happen before you see anyone whom you might inform of where you're going. From there, once he has you inside, it's no effort at all from that point forward.

He has a remarkable ability to give off this calm, nonthreatening aura, combined with a gentle and charming voice that lulls you into a sense of safety, that keeps you from noticing anything strange about what he's doing, even if you do still have that faint sense of unease in the back of your mind. It feels sweet and endearing, really, that you trust him so.

So he goes through with it. Sets up the necessary steps, and executes the plan as predetermined.

And then he tells you about it.

Once it's already too late, of course. You already drank what you were given without any hint of suspicion or distrust, and the way your eyes suddenly widen and your body twitches and slumps forward indicates it's setting in.

That's a regular part of the effect, terribly sorry about that. Oh, don't worry, you're not in any danger. You see, it's just... ah, how should I put it...

Thus he starts to go on elaborating on exactly what he drugged you with, and more importantly, begins explaining exactly why. As in, he openly confesses to being deeply enamored, as he puts it, and that he, likewise in his own words, has—

—some sort of abnormal psychological development that has taken place, although I'm not entirely sure how to best articulate it... regardless, I'm sure you now see that these impulses are inducing problematic behavior, but I'm afraid I have already succumbed to them, unfortunately...

He speaks with this lighthearted tone and whimsical sighs if he's explaining some sort of mild, harmless inconvenience, something of little consequence, all while he's gently going about sitting you back upright, closing your mouth so you stop involuntarily drooling, fixing the cup you spilled over and cleaning up what spilled onto the table. As if it's just a regular, everyday occurrence that he's paying little attention to, and not something of great weight and severity.

What this ultimately means is that you won't actually be leaving anytime soon. While unreasonable on its own, I assume that makes sense in the context of what I've just explained to you.

He turns back towards you, loops his arms under your armpits and hoists you up. There's a slight strained grunt with the physical exertion, but he manages to pick you up without too much trouble. He's still talking while carrying you through the door to the hall, but you don't really hear much it as you begin to succumb to unconsciousness — you only really process one more sentence.

You're awfully trusting, you know. You really ought to be more careful, should someone could have malicious intent...

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape?

The physical restraints aren't so bad. He keeps a reverse lock on the outside of the front door, and for a little while, a singular chain to your ankle.

After a short while, and a verbal agreement that you will not try anything, he gives you a surprising degree of leniency, gives you the ability to roam to some extent. You can be present at the front where strangers show up to the desk, even. But he'll be watching. He has ways, as he puts it, of knowing what you're doing.

You're not sure what to do. It seems like such an opportunity, and yet, you know that someone as calculated as he is wouldn't give you that opportunity without having a plan he could easily enact if something goes wrong. You know he doesn't really place that much trust in your word through your verbal agreement alone. You want to do something to try and catch someone's attention or something, but there's this gut feeling you have that knows that doing that would be a mistake.

He almost certainly wouldn't harm anyone, you're pretty sure of that being true, but... can you say that with one-hundred percent certainty? If pushed to the point of it being a matter of securing you and your arrangement, preventing someone who saw more than they should from telling, can you really be certain he wouldn't take drastic measures...?

You just don't know. Sure, you're fairly certain of his overall goodness of character... but then again, that's also what you thought when you brushed off the occasional comment or expression from him that used to make you feel some faint sense of alarm or unease — that he was certainly a good person, just a bit eccentric at times. You told yourself back then that he was not the sort of person who would ever do anything bad to anyone. You overestimated his goodness once, and look where that got you. Can you really be sure that someone who would go so far as to do what he's already done, wouldn't hurt or kill someone too, if it came down to it...? And when you think even more about it, doesn't the fact that he's letting you roam so much imply that he is ready to take some other measures if you tried anything?

You just don't know. It's all so uncertain.

And he knows that. You can tell from the soft, content, knowing smile on his face. He knows exactly what thoughts are going through your mind. As long as that doubt is there, hopefully you won't force his hand to make him have to take unsavory measures to ensure your security.

Now if you were to actually successfully, temporarily get away and be caught and brought back again, this is where Baizhu actually has a rather unique reaction, both intriguing and odd compared to how other captors and obsessive lovers would react.

That is, he harbors no resentment or anger over your desires to be free. In fact, provided he caught you early, his reaction is fairly calm. If you managed to get out for a while, he's more visibly panicked when he finds you, but he still manages to calm himself down by the time he brings you back, and doesn't lash out or have any sort of angry outburst.

You still endure some form of punishment — can't just let you get away with it, of course, you'd just be more likely to do it again — but you very quickly notice he doesn't really seem all that angry or anything. At some point, you question him on it, and he's very transparent with his answer.

To tell you the truth, I can't really blame you. You're only following your instincts. It's endearing, in a way.

Being angry, he explains, would be nonsensical, silly, unreasonable. It is only natural for a human to desire autonomy and as few restrictions on themselves as possible. Yet, it is also human nature to want to control others, and to have the object of their desires all to themselves, kept away like a treasure. Both his actions and yours are perfectly natural and reasonable, and since he himself has followed his natural inclinations and instincts, he can't blame you for doing the same and following yours.

And then, he smiles.

But it seems you weren't quite capable of achieving your goal. I suppose you'll just have to hope you have better luck on your next attempt... And I, that there won't be one.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Needless to say, Baizhu is both intelligent and perceptive. Most of the time, he can easily catch you in a lie. More importantly, he knows that given the circumstances, it's obvious you'll be trying to lie to him fairly regularly, so he's on guard about it, making him that much more likely to notice.

But on the rare occasion you do manage to trick him in some way, unless it was something that put you, him, or your situation in genuine danger, he doesn't get too upset. It's just the philosophy he takes, he explains as he shrugs it off— Really, it was foolish of me to not anticipate something like that. Considering the circumstances, I should never have allowed myself to become so unguarded.

Much like with attempts at escape, it's only natural to lie to him to achieve what you want. Likewise, it's only natural for you to receive some form of punishment to deter you from repeating the attempt of deception. Simple. So while he doesn't have a particularly angry or emotional response to it, don't expect to just get away with it either.

He's also very well aware when you manipulate him, acknowledges it even, but similarly to lying, he doesn't seem to mind too much. If anything, as long as it's something mild in nature, he finds it amusing, will chuckle and smile.

Oh, my. I see what you're doing... well, how could I say no when you're being so sweet about it?

That applies only to that which is mild, though. If your request or attempted goal is something that would actually be a risk, he gets far more serious and firm in his approach.

Surely you don't expect me to fall for that, dear. As much as I'd like to fulfill any wish you have, I know better than to take that sort of risk.

It was worth a try. You win some, you lose some.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

He knows that mental stimulation will be important to your ensuring that you remain of sound mind and health for the foreseeable future. There's limits, of course, he's not dumb enough to fall for requests for things that you could use to harm him or break out, but he'll get you what you want, within reason. Especially books, which, as he says, are important for keeping your mind sharp. Those he'll get you even without asking, often bringing you something at random because he thinks you might enjoy its contents.

And hey, he also might as well capitalize on the opportunity. To prevent boredom, you can also help him out. Lots of jars that need organizing and labeling, papers that need to be filled and documented, and so on. Of course, he'll double check to ensure there's no maliciously doing it wrong or anything, but he appreciates it if you're willing and compliant.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

He doesn't like to feel like he's being strict or harsh, but he does set specific guidelines. They're fairly short and simple.

One, you will not attempt to leave, or to rope anyone else into "helping" you.

Two, you will not attempt to cause any harm or damage to himself, his property, or any other residents or visitors you may come into contact with.

Third, you will not attempt to commit any action that intentionally causes, or has a potential to accidentally cause, any danger or harm to yourself.

Violate any of these conditions, and naturally, there will be consequences. All actions have cause and effect, this is just the law of the universe, so it is only fair to enforce a consequence.

He's still pretty forgiving, but if you push his limits, he'll begin enacting those consequences, getting progressively more intense according to the nature of your offense. Confining you to one room, putting you back into an ankle shackle, so on and so on. All done with this self-righteous attitude, telling you how it's for your own benefit that this is done.

But along the same previous lines of reasoning as to why he gives you things to keep you occupied, he knows how important stimulation is to one's psychological well-being, and can just as easily use this against you. If you've been very, very bad, repeated attempts at running away and total defiance, some more intense measures are needed. As with any other ailment, your poor behavior is something he has just the thing to treat with.

The dependency itself, you see, creates bonding. Being forced to rely on another for such basic needs is a process equally humiliating and endearing. The isolation, on the other hand, ensures that your brain associates only him with the positive chemicals and emotions induced by having stimuli to free you from boredom, as well as your needs being met and...

He continues to explain it out to you as he goes. You're still only restrained by one ankle binding, but he doesn't need much in that regard, because he doesn't really have to worry about you moving around in the first place. You can barely move a muscle anyway.

It is quite torturous, isn't it? He almost feels bad for you. You still have some control over your face, and he can see the obvious displeasure in your expression. Unable to move your arms, your legs, anything but the truly important muscular functions like being able to swallow and breathe and the like. Forced to sit there numbly while he brings cups of water and spoonfuls of broth to your mouth, when he wipes your body down in substitution for bathing. Yes, it's clear how much you dislike this, but that's the point, isn't it? This would not have to happen if you could just be a bit more compliant. That wouldn't truly be so hard, would it? He asks in such a patronizing voice. Should you keep your mouth shut and refuse to eat or drink, he'll sigh, give up for the moment and try again later. If this persists after a few days, though, he'll just have to force it, and is not above doing so.

After a few days of this, he'll allow it to wear off, provided you've proven your repentance and promise you're going to be good in the future. An unlikely promise, he realizes, but at least the sentiment counts.

Oh, and he does establish one other rule out of frustration after a certain incident: no taking his glasses and hiding them. Really, it was quite a childish act of spite on your part, and caused him a terrible deal of inconvenience. Best to address it and forbid that from reoccurring...

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Rivals are actually something you don't have to worry too much about, in terms of them getting hurt. Baizhu is calculated and reasonable, highly rational, and doesn't take any sort of rash action. And in his mind, as long as you're confined, other people are no longer an issue.

If he feels someone is becoming enough of a threat in the pre-captivity stage of his obsession, being aware of any affection another person has for you or vice versa will simply serve as a catalyst in your abduction, and almost certainly expedite that process, out of urgency to get you away from a perceived threat. Provided you are secured, though, he sees no reason to risk the potential consequences of taking any action against a rival, even if he does harbor resentment for them.

Do not, however, mistake that for instinctive reluctance. It doesn't mean he's the sort of person who would be to afraid to kill someone, or, as you might initially imagine he would be, a person who would feel an innate sense of guilt and wrongness, who is averse to doing anything truly wrong. No, he's more than confident in his ability to successfully pull off a homicide if he were to try, and honestly, he's really not that naturally guilty, that is, in the sense of the sort of person who would be haunted by their actions and feel guilty by instinct. Rather, he has to intentionally hold himself back, tell himself he can't do such a thing no matter how much he wants to, as a matter of dignity.

Homicide would, after all, be more or less entirely antithetical to his universal occupational creed. And while again, he doesn't have an instinct against it, he values his own self-image. He wouldn't feel guilty, but he'd feel disappointed in himself, ashamed to have failed to uphold the idea of sanctity of life and all that. And perhaps even more importantly, such an act is one of petulant spite, if you ask him, and he would be somewhat embarrassed to see himself committing such an act, as if it's an admittance of having let someone else's presence bother him so much. It's a matter, thus, of self-respect and dignity more than anything. Therefore, with you secured away, he'll simply leave them be... although he's not above perhaps a bit of pettiness if the opportunity presents itself, such as being able to mildly inconvenience them somehow without it being connected to him.

That being said, there is a limit to his inhibition for the sake of self-image.

There's one circumstance under which he would see it fit to kill: said rival is looking for you after your disappearance, and he gets the very strong sense that the individual in question knows something they shouldn't, or otherwise seems to have some correct suspicion of what has occurred. He feels their eyes linger on him, this narrow-eyed sort of glare. They ask some rather odd questions. Or perhaps they're foolishly upfront about it, asking if he wouldn't happen to have seen you on the day you were last heard from, an accusatory edge to their tone.

Baizhu is actually quite masterful at keeping calm and maintaining an innocent act in such situations. He doesn't get defensive or hostile, rather, he pretends he just doesn't perceive the subtle tone of accusation. No, I haven't. Terrible thing, that. I hope there's some good news to come out of that situation soon...

But to himself, this confirms that he can't afford to leave this individual undealt with. It's not his fault, really. They forced his hand. Not that he's overjoyed to finally have a reasonable self-justification to kill off the person that has secretly always bothered him more than he lets on, though, no, nothing like that.

His method is perfectly simple, although he may have to wait a while to be able to enact it. But no matter, he can bide his time. Everyone gets sick eventually. They'll come to him. And if it's too urgent, they clearly know far too much and he can't afford to wait, he simply makes an invitation, says he has something he heard or saw that may have some connection to you, and that he wishes to discuss it at once.

If it's the former, and he actually has the chance to drug them, he'll easily take that method, as it's the cleanest and the one he's most adept with. And if he invites them to speak with him, well, he'll still poison their tea and all, but he's not going to get his hopes up that it will actually be consumed, given they have every reason to suspect him. Unfortunately, this may mean he's forced to take more unpleasant means.

As much as he enjoys having them out of the way, it turns out the act of killing someone via means other than poison is actually quite unpleasant. He knows he's not healthy and strong enough at the moment to risk being overpowered if he attempted strangulation or drowning, so he just has to go full-on old fashioned and come up behind them and stab them to death. It's a very brutish act, really. Probably looks very awkward and ugly from an outside perspective. Ugh. Blood on his hands and face and the floor and the table... and now he has to wash this shirt, too... at least it will make a decent addition to the compost for herbs. Sigh.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

Baizhu is largely defined by a sort of passive attitude, although it does have its limits. But for the most part, he's very tolerant and patient. Part of it is just a natural disposition, while it's also in part due to years of having dealt with a wide variety of people of varying, and often unpleasant, temperaments, in varying levels of discomfort, and thus not always pleasant to deal with.

This can be to your benefit, in terms of the fact that he's forgiving and somewhat lenient towards you. If you put on a sweet act or a pitiful apologetic act, in particular, after getting caught doing something you aren't supposed to be, it turns out to be a weak spot for him. He knows full well you're doing it intentionally, but in his own words, he just can't bring himself to be too upset when you have that look in your eyes.

While beneficial under most circumstances, his patience and slowness to anger can also be incredibly frustrating if you're the bitter type who tries to make him mad. He knows you're doing exactly that, and he knows that not giving you the reaction you want will infuriate you further, and to be honest, it's rather cute watching you get more and more upset. He can hold out for quite a while like that, as long as your behavior is not something harmful to anyone.

Be careful overusing or abusing his lenience, though, or pushing the boundaries. If you take it a step too far, do something one too many times, that patience meets its end. You can tell exactly when you've crossed that line by the look on his face, narrowed eyes and a stern, unamused expression. He speaks in a firmer tone than usual, and is far more blunt with his words.

That's enough, now. I've been very patient with you. Do not test me further.

The sudden shift and stark difference to his usual demeanor is enough to make you freeze up, and deters you on its own, far more than it would coming from someone who usually speaks in that sort of voice. Should you nonetheless, perhaps out of spite, continue your defiance, it goes a step further.

He's still not the sort of person to show anger very outwardly. Quite the opposite. You know you have truly, royally fucked up because he goes dead silent. Takes a deep breath in, heavy sigh out. Puts down the pen or closes a book or whatever else he's handling with a harsh sound, stands up without a word. You can feel a twisting in your stomach from the aura coming off of him, feel a sort of dreadful tension in the air. When he does finally speak, it's in that same cold, firm voice, as he latches a hand onto your arm and begins to pull you off into another room.

Alright, then. I see you don't intend to make this easy.

You can start to sputter out apologies at that point, but you're not going to get any further words out of him. After all, you've made it clear that words aren't enough to get through to you anyway.

How do they express affection, or attempt to endear themselves to you?

Baizhu is very fond of pet names. Dear. Darling. Love. Even if it embarrasses you, he doesn't really care. It takes a while to get used to, he throws those terms around so casually, it makes you flustered and feel all warm and you're not really sure how to react. But it just comes naturally to him, really, he wasn't initially intending for it to have any effect, although seeing that it does have an effect is quite amusing.

Otherwise, he likes to just spend time with you. The activity doesn't really matter, in fact, you don't even need to be doing the same thing together or anything. You can be doing your own thing while he does his, that's also fine. He just likes being in your vicinity.

Doing things together, though, is very nice. He's fond of doing mundane, routine things with you. Laundry, cooking, cleaning. Helping him restock by handing him jars while he puts them in their proper place, or vice versa. The little things, the things that don't require a great deal of thought or exchange of words, yet allow him to bask in your warmth and the bliss of simplicity in life with someone you love.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

Baizhu is a fairly humble man. He's also objective, when it comes to such matters. Love you as he does, he still acknowledges your weaknesses and strengths.

Considering a person to be "greater" or "lesser" as a whole, he would argue, is in and of itself a concept that could only be born from a rather simple brain to begin with. Such a generalization fails to consider the complexity of the individual human existence. It is frankly impossible, or at least distasteful and lacking any respectable extent of intelligent thought, to take a single person — who has a unique skillset, physical and mental attributes, experiences, and a whole array of knowledge unique to that one individual — and condense all that complexity into one simple lump sum of "value", them do the same for another, and compare the two. The very notion itself is lacking intelligence, and only a person equally lacking intelligence and rationality, or perhaps simply a person of a neurotically grandiose nature, would try to claim one person is inherently of greater value.

But he can recognize those individual traits. If he's more intelligent than you are, he's very open to acknowledging it. If you're in better physical shape and health than he is, he'll readily admit it.

A person is what they are, they each have their strengths. If you ever get into the subject, he'll likely start philosophizing a bit about human nature — how tragic it is that so many humans obsess over those strengths that they are lacking, and in doing so allow the strengths they possess to go to waste. It is human nature to be discontent with oneself, perhaps—

Ah... am I boring you? Haha. No, no, it's quite alright.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He fully acknowledges before ever taking you to be with him, that doing so will be detrimental any hopes of mutual affection. That's part of the pros and cons he heavily weighs before going through with that. But alas, it's a necessary hurdle to face, part of the price of having you to himself.

For the short term, at least.

He's not unfamiliar with psychology to some extent, seeing as it and his own field are somewhat related. He's very well aware of the known effects that prolonged isolation and exclusion from the rest of society, as well as forced dependence, will have on a person.

So he's not too worried about it. Sure, you may be resentful now, but he can wait. As he always does. Patient, calculated. He knows eventually there will be a shift, and then a decline. First comes anger, then that will die down, then a period of quiet despond, and eventually, as the soundness of mind deteriorates, you will come back to him, feel the same fondness you did before. It's predictable, linear, like clockwork. The human mind and the human body are alike in that way, often following patterns that can be accurately predicted far before actually reaching that stage of progression. Just as he can heal various diseases and ailments by referencing existing knowledge of the body, so he can "fix" your mind and your sentiments by utilizing the knowledge of the mind.

If you start to become exceptionally discontent and disagreeable at any given time, he'll just go with the foolproof method that works every time — total isolation besides him, dark room, no stimulus, bound hand and foot or kept immobile by drugs. A few days of that and you usually crack. The cycle repeats, but he always knows just how to get you back to the way he prefers you.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Firstly, as aforementioned, he's almost amusingly transparent. He explains a good deal of what he does to you and exactly why he's doing it, what affects it will have, etc. Most captors would probably keep quiet on exactly how they intend for their actions to induce a bond with you or force you into this or that, but not him.

You're smart, see. He knows you'll probably figure it out anyway. What's the point of withholding it then? Besides, he has a habit of thinking out loud sometimes, so it just comes natural to him to sort of mutter about what he's doing as he goes about his tasks. No point in refraining from that when there's no real reason to.

It's not as if you knowing what he's doing or what the intended effect is will make it any less effective. Maybe you'll develop a bit of spite and fight the effects, thus prolonging the procedure, but it will work all the same in the end anyway. If anything, seeing you resist is rather cute. But you'll succumb nonetheless, so, no need to be secretive.

Another obstacle he faces that others in a similar obsessive predicament do not is, well, himself. Baizhu is forced to take his own health and physical capacity into account to a degree most others never would have to give a passing thought to.

You'd think that his frailness might serve as an advantage to you — and you'd be right, sort of. It would serve as an advantage to you, were he to not account for it.

Unfortunately for you, he does account for it, and goes to great lengths — paranoid measures, even — to ensure you cannot take advantage of it. These chronic problems sometimes follow patterns and cycles, and usually have warning signs before becoming worse, so if he knows he's going to be in a weakened state, he gets much heavier on the restraints, and goes ahead with drugging you into immobility, even though you haven't done anything to deserve what is usually used as a punishment. It's also one of the few times he'll give you a very sincere apology. I know it's unpleasant, but I don't have much of a choice right now. You know it's serious from the lack of his usual warm whimsical voice of his, instead speaking in a very blunt voice laden with discomfort. You suppose you can summon a bit of pity, even if you're frustrated.

You also notice, though, that he's always insistent that he's fine and doesn't need help, even if that's blatantly untrue. The man will sound like he's coughing his lungs up for a minute straight and when you rush over with a concerned look on your face, he forces a chuckle and smiles and waves his hand dismissively. No, no, it's fine, really, that's a regular occurrence, it will die down in a minute or s— and breaks out coughing again.

He doesn't want you to see him in a state he feels looks pathetic. You figure that out eventually, given that he always stands up and goes into another room if the coughing fits get too bad, and how you can tell he's forcing himself to act as if he's not in discomfort or pain when he cares for you during his episodes of poorer condition.

It's something he's very stubborn about too. Usually he's so transparent, but even if you push him, tell him you're well aware he's not well or that you're fine and he should lay down, he continues to downplay it and insist it's not that bad. Just a bit of an ache, he says, or just a bit drowsy. He's relentless on this, no matter how much you push.

There's another unique factor to your captivity, but it doesn't have much to do with Baizhu himself.

See, there's plenty of captors or obsessed lovers you might end up with who have companions or accomplices you would meet, but no other quite so... slithery.

And few quite so cold, either. Changsheng, and the dynamic she takes in relation to the both of you, is a very odd experience.

Firstly, she is of no help to you. You weren't really sure what to expect from a literal talking snake, but you at least figured that if she possessed human thought capacity, she would perhaps possess a sense of empathy as well.

But she never brings up or even really acknowledges the circumstances of your situation. You tried once or twice, but she immediately shuts you down if the conversation is headed in that direction.

These sorts of interpersonal relationships are no business of mine. Know that I have no intention of interference.

While a bit disappointing, you did more or less know that even if she empathized, she wouldn't likely be of much help.

She still takes some getting used to. To be honest, she moves so quietly that for the first little while, she nearly gave you a heart attack on several occasions. You'll be going about some idle task, turn your gaze to look at or reach for something, only to come face-to-face with a snake in very close proximity.

AH! Oh, I, um...

What is the matter?

N-no, I just... uh...

You are at unease due to my presence?

No! No, I just didn't... see you there...

She has a bit of a sharp tongue and stern nature, and you initially do feel very uneasy, both out of not wanting to upset her as well as some primal instinct telling you that the creature that sits next to you is a dangerous one, even if your conscious mind knows better.

She does feel the need to comment on whatever you're doing, especially when trying to do tasks to help (or just to have something to do) by doing some work in the storerooms.

By what system of organization are you determining the order to place these jars in, hm?

You are not plotting anything nefarious back here by yourself, yes?

You there... these counters are slippery. I instruct you to place me on the surface over there.

At first, you feel bullied and bossed around... but over time you come to realize that despite the criticisms, she's intentionally seeking you out, whenever Baizhu is busy. In fact, whenever he goes off to a house call by himself or to take care of some task, it's usually only a matter of minutes before she shows up.

And truth be told, over time, you do bond. It's an unspoken sort of thing, something you think she might have started doing without consciously realizing she's doing it, but she begins... scaling you, climbing over and on you in the same way she does her contractual companion. The first time, you were reading over some piece of mail slid under the door when you felt a slight weight on your shoulder.

What is that? Oh, I see...

Gradually, it becomes an unspoken norm, a habit that neither of you really acknowledge out loud, but you understand it's a significant milestone in your relationship to each other, whatever that relationship may be defined as. You'll be standing around, working on whatever, when you feel the cold scales brush against your ankle... and now that cold sensation is spiraling up your leg, then your waist, and she positions herself around your shoulders just as she would Baizhu himself. Often commenting on or criticizing whatever you're doing, but sometimes just... relaxing there. She likes being on a person — humans are warm, and while she wouldn't admit it, she just sort of enjoys the company sometimes. If Baizhu is unavailable, you're the next best option. And sometimes, she's merely using you as a means of transportation, telling you to go somewhere else so she can get off, with you being able to get wherever it is faster, especially if it involves stairs.

Or sometimes, you'll be sitting down and she sees no reason to go around you to get where she's going, instead just slithering right over your lap without so much as a word, either to cross over you to get elsewhere, or to rest on you for a while. Then there was that time you were laying on the couch, trying your best to take a nap when you stiffened and nearly felt your heart stop for the umpteenth time when a cold sensation spread as she slithered her way underneath your shirt, curling up into a ball on your stomach.

It is cold outside and there is a draft. You will have to suffice for the moment.

And you also notice that, although it may feel harsh, oftentimes her criticisms and advice are genuinely helpful, either making a task significantly easier or preventing you from potentially hurting yourself in a specific process. You still can't quite let go of a bit of bitterness over her essentially being cooperative in your captivity, but you can't say you don't appreciate her.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

He's actually quite touchy from the start. It's one of the few things that sort of unsettles you and gives some sense of something being "off" even early on. You're pretty sure you don't know each other well enough for him to have just brushed his fingers over your arm, or to rest his hand on your shoulder, or to clasp your hand between his for a moment as he tells you he'll see to this or that that you've requested. The touches continue to grow more noticeable with time, and they're just so very perfectly lingering for a time that's long enough to be noticeable, but not long enough for you to feel like saying something is a warranted reaction. No, you'd be overreacting if you said anything, right? It's not that bad, it's only for a few seconds, so perfectly timed as if he's knowingly releasing his touch at the right second. Always right on the edge.

Even after that, once you're living with him, he's very casually touchy. He'll run his fingers back and forth over your side or back when you're sitting or lying next to each other, runs his fingers through your scalp, rest an arm over your side or shoulders.

His drive, on the other hand, depends entirely on his current physical condition. Whenever certain chronic problems are flaring up and his health takes a negative turn, as you can imagine, his sex drive also plummets, and he's in too much discomfort to do much movement anyway. Other times, with other problems flaring up, it's particularly frustrating because he does still have a sex drive, but is in too much discomfort to do much... there's some creative ways to work around that, but nonetheless, it's irksome.

He's not particularly reserved about sexuality at all, actually, under the right circumstances. Of course, if asked about his reasoning for this, he acknowledges and understands the cultural sensitivity to such things, and concurs with the topic being something you don't just randomly talk about; that is, he obviously has a firm grasp on what is and isn't appropriate in various settings and doesn't violate conventions of appropriateness. It's just that when it's alone with you, he can talk about the filthiest and most intimate of things without batting an eye or any sign of embarrassment. It's just a natural part of human life, isn't it? If anything, the act is one that should be viewed as beautiful. The poetic sort of people tend to describe it as an ultimate expression of affection between individuals, and if you ask him, that's something that should be treasured.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

He views forcing that sort of thing as a behavior that's more or less beneath him. Barbaric, brutish, uncivilized... brute force, that is. Other measures, though, that's another matter. Things like drugs and coercion don't have quite the same vibe of brutality and inhumanity.

Regardless, though, the key factor is your experience. He's the type that can't really enjoy a sexual experience unless you're also clearly enjoying it... the catch being that you obtaining pleasures and enjoyment is not exactly the same thing as outright consent. As long as you cum, it counts as being mutually enjoyed.

He still doesn't really like the thought of having to be physically forceful though, that would make him feel brutish. He'll be sure to sedate you early on. If you're sluggish and barely moving, you can't really offer resistance in the first place... and you're more pliable to his hands, too.

And yes, he will use your pleasure against you, telling you that you clearly don't hate it all that much — just look at what you've done, he says, holding up the fingers coated in your own fluids, pressing them against your tongue, your jaw too weak to prevent him from sliding his fingers in. The mouth says one thing, the body another... but the mouth is capable of lying, the body really isn't, so it's better to trust that which he knows is being honest.

What is intimacy with them like? What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

He can't go too hard and fast... well, he sometimes does anyway, his efforts aided by adrenaline, which quickly catches up to him as soon as it's over. He's not particularly rough though, nor does he cause you pain. That's not to say he's entirely without a sadistic side — he does find himself enjoying seeing you in a state of humiliation and anticipation, he just prefers to use pleasures and intense, but not painful, sensations to do so.

Drugging

That is, of course, the one you likely anticipated the most. He's not at all shy about it. Even if you by chance had something consensual going on before being kept captive, he's very open about the desire to experiment on your body by triggering reactions to various substances.

There's a variety of different options to try, lots of combinations and records of the effects different traditional medicines have on the body. This one heightens blood flow and skin sensitivity, this one induced lactation... ah, but his personal preference is this one that gives you a buzzing, euphoric high, accompanied by a voracious appetite for pleasure and orgasms for the next hour or so. He gives you the full history of how ancients in this area used to use it for fertility ceremonial purposes back in the day, explaining it calmly while he ties your hands to the headboard, as you pant and whimper and gasp for breath underneath him. Quite nice, isn't it?

And if you're being less than compliant and agreeable, he can also go the route of sedation. Not entirely, no, he doesn't want you to be fully unconscious, nor forget any of it later. No, what he forces into your mouth makes you more... relaxed. You, after the fact and in an accusatory tone, use the word 'paralyzed,' but he insists that that's an overdramatization. Firstly, it's not the same medication he uses when he actually leaves you fully unable to move, and secondly, you can still sort of move your fingers and toes and head, your muscles are just relaxed and at ease, preventing movement of actual limbs. Your words slur, you feel dizzy and tired, yet you feel every little touch. And see, your abdominal muscles twitched when he runs his fingers over your stomach, so you still have some muscular control... Not to mention, he can still feel your insides spasming and clenching when he curls his fingers inside of you, too.

Oh, and even in general, he makes sure you take a daily dose of tea made from some cocktail of bitter herbs he put together. You're told it's a blend that boosts your metabolism and brain activity and blood circulation, so on and so on, basically like a multi-purpose medicine for overall health. Which is true, it does do all of those things. It just so happens that all of those things also are known to increase sex drive, not to mention a few of them boost hormone production. But that's just a side effect, of course.

Orgasm control

Baizhu has a very specific long-term goal in mind to train you for: getting you to cum on command. It's a fantasy he's entertained in his head quite a few times. No reason to not try to make it a reality, now that he has you here with him. The concept itself is fascinating, the idea that a largely involuntary bodily reaction can be gradually, perfectly conditioned to align with someone else's words. It's such an ultimate power trip and absolute control, the thought is intoxicating.

And of course, being as patient and dedicated as this man has already proven himself to be, you know there's no getting out of it. Hours upon hours of edging, being told not to cum because you can't without his explicitly telling you to. If you do, he pulls his hand away, ruining the orgasm itself, leaving you to whimper and whine, that much more so if, after a few failed attempts, he ends up applying an additional corporeal punishment to try and further the negative association with cumming too soon. If you're good and endure, cum when he tells you to, you'll be likewise rewarded in some way.

Over and over. It goes on for weeks, months, that you have these training sessions, until it's perfected. You yourself are almost shocked by the progress, to realize just how much your body and your subconscious has submitted — it's on one of his better health days, he has the energy and lack of any aches to be able to take you on your hands and knees from behind, and it does feel good, but you're not that close — and yet, when he pulls your upper half up, forces your back into an arch, puts his hand on your throat and tilts his head down to speak directly in your ear and tells you to in the lowest, huskiest voice you've ever heard him speak in to cum for me — and you spasm, it hits you like a punch to the gut with the way the high rushes over your body. It leaves you sputtering and shivering as you collapse onto the bed, wide-eyed in shock. Even he seems a bit surprised too, chuckling as he sees the stunned expression on your face.

Oh, that worked better than even I anticipated...

He can also use orgasms as a form of withdrawal and coercion punishments. Primarily at the times that you're immobilized. You'll begin to grow needy after a time, and that makes you far more compliant. He keeps track of how long it's been since you last got to cum, and makes sure to remind you, just so you know how long you've been missing it, and so you'll be that much more quick to crack under the desperation of need.

Instruction/Obedience

Sometimes, once you've reached a state where he's assured you'll be fairly compliant with him, he gets surprisingly passive when he comes to you for intimacy.

Physically passive, at least. Motions you over with a finger gesture, starts giving you instructions. His voice is always so charming and gentle that it's hard to call it a command, per se, but it's telling you what to do nonetheless. To take this or that off, to straddle his waist, kiss him, put it in your mouth, ride him, touch yourself, on and on as he walks you through each little motion he craves to watch with his own eyes. It gets more specific and lewd with each instruction, starting off with just take your clothes off and eventually progressing to telling you exactly how to touch yourself, rub in circles, curl your fingers, lower yourself down and take him in, roll your hips, bounce on his cock, look him in the eye when you cum, every little thing.

...Eventually, you figure out that he does this on the days where he's not feeling well enough to do the moving himself, yet is still in good enough condition that he still has a sex drive. What a clever adaptation.

Exposure

It's not something he uses often, seeing as there are other people than just the two of you in his residence, but it can make a suitable punishment whenever you're confined to one room, or when everyone else is out. There's something just endearing about seeing you all embarrassed and flustered after being forced into nudity, the way you try desperately to cover yourself with your arms, the way you get all pouty in your humiliation and refuse to look him in the eye as you demand your clothes back.

But this is your choice, he reminds you. If only you would be a bit more cooperative, that wouldn't have to be the case, but that's entirely up to you. Until then, if you want to get out of bed for any reason, you'll just have to walk around as you are. And no, he's not going anywhere. Why would he leave when he has such a nice view? He smiles when you puff your cheeks out and curl your hands into fists out of embarrassed fury. Eventually, you do have to give in, get up and go do whatever it is you need to — and you feel his eyes on you the whole time as you do. When you glare in his direction, he just tilts his head. Oh? Is something the matter?

Such a shameless pervert, you think to yourself. What's worse, you know if you say something, he'll pull some cheesy line about 'examining' you or another. Ugh.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

He'd be a bit worried about having any biological children. One one hand, there's a lot to be gained by having something tying you to him on such a deeply emotional level, that would likely cement you in place by making running away that much harder, and suppress your will to leave to begin with, or even accelerate your attachment to him.

At the same time, he has to be realistic. Is he really in any position to be caring for children, a task requiring great stamina? There's also the possibility you could turn children against him, or something like that. And if you were to encounter some sort of gestational health problem and require medical attention, there's no telling whether or not you'd be so stubborn as to to refuse to comply out of fear he'd drug you or something, which could pose very real risks to your well-being if he couldn't get you to work with him. So as nice as the notion seems when pictured in the ideal, there's just too many risks and complications that could take place.

But, there's a solution. One that will easily provide the same psychological attachment, and thereby allow a subtle degree of manipulation.

Once he can be sure you wouldn't try to harm her or anything, he deliberately ensures you and Qiqi spend time with each other. Initially, he tells you to watch over her while she goes about her tasks, help her out a bit. She can be forgetful, you know. Regardless of your sentiment, you can't bring yourself to be cold or rude to what is ultimately, despite the circumstances, still a relatively normal little girl.

Although he does, before leaving you two alone, make sure to give you a very firm warning. Well, the words themselves aren't a a threat, but there's an edge to his tone, when he responds to you raising your eyebrows and asking if he's really allowing this.

It's quite alright. I trust you surely wouldn't try to get a child involved in anything you shouldn't.

The words admittedly do have a bite to them. Would it really be a moral wrong, for you to try and enlist her for help...? It's not like he would ever harm her, but still, you question the sort of psychological damage you'd be risking. There's an inherent feeling of wrongness when you think about putting the kid under a situation that, if you succeeded in getting her to help you, would result in a great deal of distress and confusion and even long-term psychological damage from what would ensue. And when you think about it even further, you realize with a twisting feeling in your gut that if you escaped your captor and got him locked up... what would happen to her...? It's an unpleasant thought, even if you tell yourself you'd make sure she was cared for.

Nonetheless, eventually, on one of your worst and most bitter and resentful days, in a moment of desperation, you do finally crack. It will be fine, you tell yourself. You're doing something good overall. Someone like that shouldn't be responsible for a kid in the first place, right? So if you just get her to run by the law enforcement when she's out herb-gathering...

Listen, I, uh, I need you to do something for me, okay?

Mm...? Okay...

You wait patiently as the hours pass, hoping you look like less of a nervous wreck than you are, hoping you're not actually as jittery as you feel, a whole swarm of emotions of dread and hope and anticipation swirling in your gut. You practically pounce on the poor girl when she comes back through the doors.

Did... did they say anything? Are they coming?

You're met with a blank stare, a long pause.

Uh... who...? Was I supposed to... do something...?

You're pretty sure you gave up either the third or fourth time that happened. Can't really remember which. You start to realize that the reason he seemed so unbothered by the thought of leaving you alone with her wasn't so much his trust in you as much as it was complete assurance there was never any real risk anyway. Sigh.

But you don't hold it against her. You continue watching over her and taking care of her when you can. And the most frustrating part is that you know exactly what the intent is, and yet, you also know it's working.

You find yourself caring more and more about the girl. There was that time she stumbled and fell flat on her face and before you even really processed what you were doing, you'd already rushed over across the room to get her back up. Hey, hey, are you okay...? Or the time everyone else had stepped away for a moment due to some issue or another, leaving the front of the pharmacy unmanned for just a few moments — just enough time to find some big, disgruntled-looking guy looming over the child (who admittedly didn't seem intimidated or anything, just the usual blank stare), going on about some complaint he must have found no one else present to give to, and once more, without really thinking, you found yourself rushing over, picking her up and pulling her away, holding her to your side as if to shield her, finding yourself growing immediately defensive, glaring back. The hell is wrong with you? The owner will be back in just a minute, you'll have to wait. You find yourself a bit surprised at your own sharpness of tongue.

You feel this caring, protective swell in your chest regrading her. You're not so headstrong as to deny to yourself the truth, that you know you've developed emotional attachment towards and even some maternal instinct for the child. That admittedly, you wouldn't want to leave her, and that you'd worry how she'd fare by herself without you, even if you know she was doing fine before you. And most upsettingly, you know that that was exactly what the plan was.

Maybe if it had been one-sided, then, at least you could have shaken the feeling off, but that's not the case either. You make a habit of taking some time to yourself in a specific room every day, a time in the late afternoon when there's always a rush of people coming in, leaving Baizhu himself quite busy, so you get some time to sit and read or whatever task you set yourself to. A routine quickly develops — there's a set of pattering footsteps in the hall, she pokes her head around the door to check if you're there, and quietly shuffles in and sits next to you. Silent, but present. She doesn't say or do anything, she just sits.

Not that that's the only habit that develops. It's one of those situations that progresses subtly yet quickly, so you don't really remember when each starts. You just become aware one day that each little routine or habit has been going on for some time now. That when you walk around the back of the pharmacy going about your day, there's often a little hand clinging to your skirts or pant legs, quietly walking alongside you while latching on. That when you make yourself something to snack on, you get out two plates or bowls and make two helpings of whatever it is without really thinking about it.

She doesn't usually have a lot to say, but it's always pleasant, she's not quite like the stereotypical hyperactive kid, no, she lets you do whatever you're doing and doesn't interrupt much, just seems to want to be around you.

You allow it, of course. You don't have the heart not to, even though you know you shouldn't, that you shouldn't allow the closeness and should push her away because you know it will inevitably lead to exactly what he wants.

You can still pinpoint the exact moment, though, that you knew it was already too late. Sitting there doing some idle task or another in silence when you feel weight leaning over against your side, head resting on your arm, and that soft, monotone voice.

I like having you here.

Dammit. You could physically feel that tug on your heart. If that wasn't the final nail in the coffin, nothing else could top the emotion that gave you. You resign yourself to finally acknowledging that you've already fallen for the scheme.

...Not that she's just an advantageous tool. The flip side disadvantage is that she's also a bit of a liability. He's given her the 'if you tell anyone about her, she'll have to go away forever' talk several times over, and the poor girl always widens her tired eyes and seems very distressed at that notion, but her memory is not exactly known for being that great. There was that time some law enforcement came by to ask about you, saying something about how someone claimed to have seen a young woman in this courtyard area on the night of the disappearance. When your name is spoken, the girl's eyes widen, her lips part and she's just started to raise her arm up to point to the back room and say the words 'oh, I kn—' when she's interrupted by being picked up, hand clamped over her mouth and carried out of the room—

Ah, why don't you go run along—

And unceremoniously set in the hall, the door shut behind.

...Not good for a child to hear something fearful like a disappearance, that's all. Could give her nightmares or something. Surely they understand that...?

Thankfully, the present officials do, just nodding and continuing on, seemingly not taking that as reason to suspect anything. Poor Baizhu, it's one of the few moments he actually nearly lost composure, slumping back into a chair with a heavy sigh of relief as soon as they leave. That surely did not do his heart palpitation issue any favors...

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

One of the most unbearable things is the wait and the dread. It's never immediate. He always says something to the effect of ah, I need some time to think about how to handle this..., which you come to realize is just intentionally dragging out your fearful anticipation. To say he has somewhat of a sadistic side would be a fairly accurate statement, he doesn't really want to cause you physical pain, but he does find himself enjoying watching you squirm and shudder and stiffen, consumed with anticipation, dread and fear, as well as reactions of humiliation and embarrassment. He tries to refrain to some extent, but finds himself indulging in invoking those reactions from you more often than he'd like to admit for the sake of his own perception of his self-control.

It's not particularly painful, though, so you can be grateful for that... although there is a sort of dull ache after a while. Getting the drugs into your system is the only difficult part, as you squirm too much to safely inject you, but refuse to open your mouth, so compliance is a bit of a challenge, forcing him to find some means of holding you still. From there, your body sort of does the punishing for you. It's unlike anything you've ever felt — an unbearable sensation of heat, so intense it leaves sweat rolling down your skin, leaves you panting and shivering and gasping for breath, limbs twitching as they desperately pull against the binds keeping your ankles and wrists taut against the bedposts.

He wouldn't leave you to suffer that alone, of course. Well, maybe for a short while, half an hour or so, to heighten the desperation, but after that, he's right there to help you, affectionately running his hand over the top of your head and speaking to you in a soft voice, all far too gentle to be one and the same as the person responsible for your present state of misery.

What do you need? Tell me how to help you.

You're not compliant at first, of course. You shake your head and clench your jaw and refuse to just make this so much easier on you both. It takes a little while. A little more urging and comforting, running his fingers over your thighs and sides and all the parts of your flesh just sensitive enough to earn a shudder, before you start to melt into his touch, and eventually give in, tell him what you want.

There we go. That wasn't so difficult, was it?

Not that the torment ends there, of course. Just giving in to tell him isn't enough.

But you haven't been entirely... appreciative, have you? If I do this for you, it pains me to think it will only go unrecognized like everything else I do for you. If you ask with sincerity, maybe...

Once you've swallowed your pride entirely, then, you can get some semblance of relief. Although that itself becomes torturous with time. The intensity doesn't die down, the unbearable urge is still there, yet each successive orgasm begins to become painful, each erogenous spot on your body becomes sore and hypersensitive to the touch. You loathe to admit you end up in tears by the end of it. No worry, though, he's right there to comfort you through it... and ensure you this doesn't have to happen, but you continue to choose it time and time again.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Curvature. It's not really any one specific spot, per se, but he would say it counts. The degree of it doesn't really matter, whether it's slight or pronounced. He likes the way his hands feel running over curved areas like your hips and waist, thighs, shoulders. It's something he can appreciate even when his eyes are closed, late at night, just slowly running his hands over the spots and feeling the bends and dips. There's also, of course, the fact that it provides a nice sort of grip, a spot he can lock his arms or hands around and know you won't be able to pull away easily.

#qqi simultaneously being bzhu's greatest tool but also riskiest liability is amusing to me #yandere genshin impact #baizhu x reader

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lobotomisa · 4 months ago

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Corrosion [ l. yagami x gn. lawliet reader ]

♡ྀིྀི⋆.˚ PAIRING: [Yandere] Light Yagami / L's sibling Reader (Maybe oneshot)

♡ྀིྀི⋆.˚ SYNOPSIS: When L’s sibling joins the Kira investigation, Light Yagami is captivated by their ruthlessness and unpredictability. Seeing a perfect counterpart in them, he becomes consumed with desire to possess and manipulate them into his vision for a new world—no matter the cost or consequence.

♡ྀིྀི⋆.˚ RATING: SFW

♡ྀིྀི⋆.˚ NOTES: First writing post on this site! Enjoy!

The room is dimly lit, the shadows stretching long across the walls like dark secrets waiting to be unveiled. The atmosphere is thick with tension, the kind that prickles at your skin and sets your nerves on edge. You sit at the end of the conference table, leaning back in your chair with a casual arrogance that contrasts with the seriousness of the meeting. Your fingers tap a steady rhythm on the table, an unspoken reminder that you have little patience for the slow, methodical pace at which your brother, L, prefers to work.

Across from you, Light Yagami watches with a measured gaze. He’s been doing that a lot lately—watching you, studying you, as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle that refuses to give up its secrets. You’ve noticed, of course. You notice everything about Light Yagami, just as he seems to notice everything about you.

L, of course, is oblivious to the undercurrent of tension between the two of you. He’s too focused on his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard, eyes narrowed with that constant look of intense concentration. You’ve never understood how he does it, how he can immerse himself so completely in his work, shutting out everything else. Then again, L has always been like that—cold, detached, too absorbed in his pursuit of justice to see what’s right in front of him.

Which is precisely why you’re here. You’re not like your brother. You don’t have his questionable moral code, his unyielding sense of his version of right and wrong. A limiter. You’re willing to do what it takes to catch Kira, to bring this whole mess to an end—no matter the cost. No matter the consequences.

And that makes you dangerous.

You can see it in Light's eyes when he looks at you-- that flicker of something dark, something hungry. It's as if he can sense that beneath your calm demeanor, there's a ruthless pragmatism, a willingness to cross lines that not even your brother would dare touch.

“So, (Alias),” Light’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of the room, smooth and carefully measured, “I’m curious… what’s your take on Kira? You’ve been working with us for a few weeks now, but you haven’t really said much about what you think.”

You glance up, meeting his gaze with a knowing smile. “Does it matter what I think?” you reply casually. “I’m not here to speculate; I’m here to help L catch Kira.”

Light’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—interest, maybe. Or something more. “I think it matters,” he presses, leaning forward slightly. “After all, we’re all trying to get inside Kira’s head, aren’t we? To understand how he thinks, what motivates him. If we don’t understand that, how can we ever hope to catch him?”

You tilt your head, considering his words. “I suppose you have a point,” you concede. “But then again, I’m not sure Kira’s that complicated. He’s a killer, plain and simple. He thinks he’s doing the world a favor, but really, he’s just a self-righteous coward hiding behind a notebook.”

L glances up at this, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows better than to try to rein you in. He knows how little you care for moral posturing.

Light, however, seems intrigued. “A coward?” he echoes, his tone curious. “That’s an interesting perspective. Most people would call him brave… taking on the whole world, standing against crime and corruption.”

You snort, a sound of pure derision. “There’s nothing brave about hiding in the shadows, picking off people from a distance. Bravery would be facing his enemies head-on, not playing God from the safety of anonymity. Kira’s just another egomaniac, desperate for power.”

Light’s smile tightens just a fraction, but his voice remains smooth, unruffled. “And you?” he asks, his gaze piercing. “What are you desperate for, (Alias)?”

You raise an eyebrow, genuinely surprised by the directness of the question. “Me? I’m just here to do a job. And to have a little fun while I’m at it.”

Light chuckles, a low, pleasant sound that seems to resonate in the quiet room. “I think you’re more interesting than that,” he murmurs, his tone almost admiring. “You don’t strike me as someone who follows the rules… someone who plays by anyone else’s game.”

You smile back, but there’s a challenge in your expression. “And what game do you think I’m playing, Light?”

For a moment, his eyes darken, and you see that familiar spark, that hunger that’s been growing ever since you first walked into this room. “I think you’re playing a game all your own,” he replies softly. “And I think you’re very good at it.”

You lean back, shrugging nonchalantly. “Maybe I am. Or maybe you just don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

Light's gaze doesn’t waver. If anything, it becomes even more intense, like he’s trying to see straight through you. “Maybe,” he concedes. “But I’d like to.”

Over the next week, Light’s attention on you only intensifies. He’s always around, always watching, always finding reasons to be near you. He offers to work with you on cases, to share his thoughts and theories, to get you alone in a quiet corner of the investigation room where he can ask you questions, probe at your motivations, your desires.

At first, you find it amusing. Light Yagami is handsome, sure, and smart—undeniably so. But there’s something about him, something too perfect, too controlled, like a mask that never slips. You enjoy pushing at it, testing the boundaries, seeing how far you can go before you see the real Light Yagami underneath.

But soon, it becomes clear that Light is playing his own game, one that’s more dangerous than you first realized.

You start finding things—small, seemingly insignificant things. A note slipped into your bag, written in Light’s neat handwriting: “I know you’re not like the others.” Flowers left on your desk, no note, but you know they’re from him. Strange glances from Light's annoying little girlfriend (whose name you don't care to remember), as if she knows something you don’t.

And then there’s Light himself. Always so calm, so composed, but lately there’s a tension to him, a restless energy that makes you feel like you’re standing too close to a fire.

One evening, you’re alone in the task force headquarters. Most of the team has gone home, and even L has retreated to his private quarters, leaving you with a mountain of paperwork and a growing sense of unease.

Light appears in the doorway, his expression unreadable. “Working late?” he asks, his voice light.

You glance up, trying to ignore the way your heart skips a beat at the sight of him. “What’s it to you?”

He steps into the room, moving closer. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t overworking yourself,” he says softly. “It wouldn’t do for you to burn out. You’re too important to this case… and to me.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “I didn’t realize you cared so much, Yagami.”

He stops just in front of you, too close, his gaze burning into yours. “You have no idea how much I care,” he murmurs.

Something in his tone sends a shiver down your spine. You straighten up, crossing your arms over your chest. “What’s your game, Light? What are you really after?”

He smiles, but there’s no warmth in it, just a kind of dark amusement. “You,” he replies simply. “I’m after you.”

You blink, caught off guard by the bluntness of his words. “Me?”

“Yes,” he continues, his voice lowering to a whisper. “You’re different, (Alias). You’re not like the others. You don’t care about rules, about right or wrong. You understand that sometimes, to win, you have to be willing to do whatever it takes. I like that about you.”

You narrow your eyes. “And why do you think that?”

Light leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin. “Because I see it in your eyes. I see the way you look at me, the way you challenge me. You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

You hold his gaze, refusing to back down. “Should I be?”

He laughs softly, the sound almost a purr. “Maybe,” he whispers. “Maybe you should be. Because I want you, (Alias). I want you on my side, where you belong.”

You tilt your head, considering him. “And if I say no?”

Light’s smile widens, but there’s something almost manic in his eyes. “You won’t,” he replies. “Because you and I… we’re the same. We’re both willing to do whatever it takes to win.”

You feel a thrill of something—fear, excitement, you’re not sure which. But before you can respond, Light reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his touch strangely gentle.

“I’m not like the others, (Alias),” he whispers. “I’m not like your brother. I see you for who you really are… and I’m not afraid. I admire it. I admire you.”

You feel your pulse quicken, your breath catching in your throat. Light’s touch is feather-light, yet it feels like a brand, burning into your skin. There’s a gravity to his words, a weight that pulls at you, that tugs at something deep inside you that you hadn’t realized was there.

“I think you’re mistaken, Light,” you say slowly, carefully. “You don’t know me nearly as well as you think you do.”

His fingers linger against your skin, tracing a line down to your jaw, and you can feel the heat radiating off him, a kind of electric intensity that sends a shiver through you. “Oh, but I do,” he counters, voice soft but firm. “I see you. I see the way you look at things—the way you look at me. You’re curious. You’re drawn to me. I can feel it.”

You want to deny it, to push him away, to laugh in his face and tell him he’s imagining things. But there’s something in his eyes that stops you, something almost hypnotic. He’s too close, his presence overwhelming, filling up all the space around you until there’s nothing but him—his gaze, his touch, his voice.

“I think you’ve convinced yourself of something that isn’t true,” you reply, but your voice lacks the conviction you’d intended.

Light’s smile widens, and his hand moves to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair. “Maybe,” he murmurs, “but I don’t think so. I think you’re just afraid to admit it… afraid of what it means to be seen, truly seen, by someone like me.”

You scoff, but it sounds weaker than you’d like. “And what exactly do you see, Light?”

He leans in, so close you can feel his breath on your lips. “I see someone who’s not afraid to get their hands dirty,” he whispers. “Someone who’s willing to do whatever it takes to get what they want. I see someone like me.”

You feel your heart pound in your chest, a wild, frantic beat that you can’t control. “And what do you want, Light?”

His eyes burn with a fierce intensity. “I want you,” he repeats. “I want you by my side, standing with me when this is all over. Because you’re the only one who can understand what I’m doing, why I’m doing it. You’re the only one who’s worthy of being there.”

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you’re caught in his gaze, unable to look away. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, something that makes you feel exposed, vulnerable, and yet… powerful, too. As if he’s offering you a piece of his world, a chance to step into something larger than yourself.

But you’re not naive. You know Light is dangerous. You know he’s playing his own game, that he’s hiding something—something big. And yet, there’s a part of you that’s drawn to that danger, to the challenge he represents.

“I’m not your pawn, Light,” you finally say, your voice steady, though your heart is still racing. “I’m not going to just fall in line because you think you’ve figured me out.”

Light’s smile softens, and for a moment, you see something almost… tender in his expression. “I don’t want a pawn,” he replies. “I want a partner. Someone who understands me, someone who shares my vision. And I think, deep down, you want the same thing.”

You swallow hard, the words hanging between you like a loaded gun. “And if I don’t?”

Light’s grip on your neck tightens just slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of his strength, his control. “Then I’ll just have to convince you,” he whispers. “And I can be very convincing.”

The threat is subtle, almost lost in the softness of his tone, but it’s there, a dark undercurrent that sends a chill down your spine. You realize, with a jolt, just how deep his obsession runs—how far he’s willing to go to make you his.

You pull back slightly, just enough to break the contact, to put some distance between you. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Light,” you warn. “And I don’t think you realize who you’re dealing with.”

He laughs, a low, rich sound that seems to vibrate in your chest. “Oh, I think I know exactly who I’m dealing with,” he replies, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. “And I think you’re just afraid to admit that you want this too.”

You shake your head, trying to clear the fog from your mind. “I’m not afraid of anything, Light,” you say, your voice firm, steady.

He steps closer again, refusing to let you retreat. “Then prove it,” he challenges, his voice dropping to a low, seductive whisper. “Prove that you’re not afraid. Take a chance… join me.”

Your heart pounds in your ears, and for a moment, you’re tempted—tempted by the promise in his words, by the fire in his eyes. But you’re not foolish enough to fall into his trap, not yet.

“Maybe I will,” you say, your tone light, almost mocking. “Or maybe I’ll just keep you guessing.”

Light’s smile is sharp, his eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and amusement. “You’re going to be the death of me, (Alias),” he mutters, but there’s no anger in his voice—only a kind of dark, twisted affection.

You grin. “Good. I’d hate to be boring.”

He laughs again, but there’s an edge to it, a hint of something darker lurking just beneath the surface. “We’ll see,” he murmurs. “We’ll see who ends up bored… and who ends up broken.”

With that, he steps back, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turns and leaves the room. You watch him go, your mind racing, your heart pounding in your chest.

You know you’ve just walked into a game with Light Yagami—a game with no rules, no boundaries, and no guarantees. A game where the stakes are higher than you’ve ever played before.

And despite the danger, despite the risks… you can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. Because for the first time in a long time, you’ve found someone who’s just as ruthless, just as cunning, just as dangerous as you are.

And you can’t wait to see who will win.

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