#outside of like being a large part of my life for a long period of time and having to mourm that loss

[greenlighted]

i just remembered that eugene left the try guys so now they're not even tre tri guys anymore (which is like SO okay omg) and it does make me sad to see both ned and eugene go (for wildly different reasons, of course, but like both reasons contribute to the main point (and also both of those reasons are my own issues to deal with, not theirs - they have no obligation to make decisions regarding the prioritization of their personal life based on the emotions of their fanbase)). but the constant unrest in all of these subconsciously developed parasocial relationships ive found myself in is like actually so fucking much to process? like jenna marbles last video felt like saying goodbye to my best friend with all the love in my heart and then never seeing her again (i saw her wedding photos and it made me want to cry. i am so happy she's happy and healing and i wish her nothing but the best). but having to let go and mourm the loss of all of these relationships (the good and the bad ones) and process everything that comes with it is so overwhelming (which, again, is like not their issue - i am the only one with any deep emotional devotion to this relationship (not to say that these online personalities can't have genuine care for their audience, because they totally can, but its literally impossible for them to constantly be expected to develop and nurture connections with each an every single one of their fans on a persom level and they also have like literally no obligation to either. the loss of this relationship will literally give me emotions that ill have to bring up to my therapist while they literally do not even know i exist at all and that is entirely my own issue to process and heal from).

[b1asho]

While it's on the mind, here's my wings of fire designs too. Not as much of a brainrot but still fun. Bad take or am I cooking with some of them? Let me know in the comments. Here's some (too many) notes:

I really liked the original designs when I first read these books, but I wanted to try my hand at uhh changing them a little. Mainly making them more distinct from each other (even if this irreversibly breaks canon XD)

-Sandwings live in a mixed savannah and desert habitat and have bodies adapted for resource scarcity, effective hunting, and heat dispersion. They have large ears to help cool off and listen for stuff. They can fly, but pretty weakly in comparison to some others, mainly using flight to navigate their large territories , get onto cliffs, and scan for prey. They typically climb up somewhere and then jump off. They are built like felines, and use a solo stalk and rushdown hunting approach coupled with a sting instakill. They live in family groups, with a ‘queen’ title going to the alpha female 💪 and everyone else hunting and living together. They are immune to their own venom, which acts very similarly to a scorpion’s but in a massive dose, causing numbness, breathing difficulties seizures, and eventually death. It takes time for them to make more once they’ve expended the dose, so they rarely use it outside of hunting or life/death situations (though the prospect of being stung is very scary to everyone else, and they will instinctively raise their tail when startled or threatened)

-Skywings live in high mountainous and forested areas, with some living in the lowlands. They are powerful flyers and very acrobatic due to their tail, though this comes at the expense of their agility on land and the strength of their non wing arms. They have long legs with powerful talons for grasping prey midair or snatching them from off the ground. They hunt and live alone unless they have a partner. Communities are made up of a loose group of related individuals who rarely collect in one place at once(queendom structure are a more recent and ‘unnatural’ thing for them, but very useful for organizing military efforts and empire building). They stay aloft for long periods of time and usually only land on their cliff homes. They need a sprint or a takeoff point to get flying, though. Unlike every other tribe, they have a noticeable difference between male and female (being a nose horn and red face for males.) males are prized for these features, and having a pretty husband is seen as an attractive trait for a queen.

-Seawings live along the coast. They normally only venture out of the water for trade and other resources, since they can get everything else they need underwater. Their large neck houses gills protected by thick pads that will close when on land, while their lungs are in their mid chest. Primarily adapted to swimming, they have very strong tails and webbed fingers and toes. They will also use their wings to steer and paddle, as well as manipulate things their other arms can’t reach. They will hunt in packs, corralling fish and other animals into a kill zone. They are very clumsy on land and in the air with their short limbs and weak wings. Their bioluminescent spots can be flashed for communication, and compared to the other tribes they have pretty poor vocal ability (due to the gills in their neck getting in the way) and will supplement with other spot/sign signals. Every individual has unique spots, though their glowing ones come in consistent numbers, sizes, patterns, and places on their body so they can use them for common language across their group. However, Different groups from different parts of the ocean have different numbers of spots in different areas, making cross communication via only spots difficult. Their whiskers help navigate in close or dark areas, and are seen as a status symbol.

-Mudwings live in warmer areas, specifically marshes and other wetlands (though sometimes in some forested areas too). Their thick armor helps protect them from other mudwings/competition, while also acting as an insulator that allows them to easily venture a wider range than other tribes from warm climates. Physically, they are the strongest and bulkiest. They typically use the element of surprise and their overwhelming size and strength to take down large prey. However, unlike other tribes they tend to eat more plants too due to their large size (all of them are technically omnivores, but meat makes up the dominant part of their diet because of their energy needs and their ancestors). They are also the poorest flyers out of the bunch, having sacrificed that for size and strength, though they can do short bursts similar to a chicken to get to hard to reach areas or to surprise attack prey faster than them, they’re similar to hippos and are adapted to living in the water too, using powerful webbed arms to propel themselves and dig through the mud, and their large lung capacity to stay submerged and hidden for long periods. Their nostrils, ears, and eyes are located near the top of their head, which also gives more room for Tusks. They use these to root around occasionally defend themselves. Tusk maintenance and appearance is very important to them. They live in large groups of families in the same area and have more communal social standards than other tribes.

-Rainwings live in tropical areas and have a very small habitat range. This has caused them to look and act very different than most tribes, leading to poor perception of them. They use their long claws, strong grasping fingers, and prehensile tail to climb around, and are pretty much arboreal. They have wings meant for quick takeoffs and flight in dense areas, and are pretty agile and swift. They and aren’t that great at sustained flight or dealing with high altitudes and winds though . Their frill is delicate and used for emoting (probably originally for mating purposes) Their skin is packed with chromatophores that they can use to match their surroundings, and they have loose ridges in their skin that they can raise to enhance the effect. Their skin is constantly changing color due to their brain activity, though they have set patterns/colors for emotions and communication. They can also choose to focus on organizing their skin patterns to get coordinated colors and patterns, since normally it’s pretty disorganized. They eat a lot more plants due to their environment and due to social standards, but arent herbivores. They have the ability to spit acid out of hollow retractable fangs, and use precise shots of this coupled with their camouflage ability to get prey. They can also spray it at higher velocities for defense and offense, though this expends their supply much quicker. They don’t recognize a queen in their communities and are fairly disorganized into different cooperative groups.

-Nightwings are the result of a group that split off onto an island, though the volcanic activity on their original island escalated to the point where they had to emigrate. They are great fliers, using their wings and tail extensions to travel great distances to track prey and ambush from above. When on land, they aren’t particularly fast or strong, and instead are built for persistence. Their hunting tactic involves getting an initial bite onto prey, then waiting for it to succumb to infection. Their spines, horns, muscles, and talons are mainly for defending their kill from other Nightwings rather than hunting it in the first place. As a result of this competition, they aren’t naturally very social like other tribes, They are mainly nocturnal.

-Icewings live in the colder tundras and snowy forest environments. They are pack hunters, using their speed and persistence to take down prey, similar to wolves. Their long overlapping scales help them trap heat and survive in the cold, and while the guy i drew here is pretty skinny they also store fat much more readily than other tribes. Their bowed wings are mainly used to swoop in in prey, and like falcons they often take steep dives to grapple it. Their antlers only grow in at a certain time in the year, but royalty will wear embellished artificial ones in the meantime.

[monzabee]

run for the hills – lh44 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where fate decides to bring you back into Lewis’ life, making him question his belief in fate.  

Pairing: lewis hamilton x rosberg!reader

Word Count: 9.3k 

Warnings: cursing, crying, drinking and mentions of alcohol, mentions of brocedes (rip), kissing, unprotected sex (you shouldn’t be surprised at this point), oral (m receiving), hand kink, praise kink, minors dni!!

Request: “hey, Merry Christmas 🫶🏽 I was hoping I could request a Lewis smut fic where the reader is Nico Rosberg's sister (with a age gap of around 6-8 years with him and Lewis) and before 2016 they were just really close friends who just kissed once but chose to pretend it didn't happen. after years, they run into each other at a club or a party and they're pretty snappy at each other but there's a lot of tension too and they end up having sex where Lewis is really cocky and also the reader has a hand kink and praise kink? I'm so sorry if I made it too long, i love your writing <33” + “oooo please could i request something w lewis?! something gut wrenchingly angsty? sorry i don’t really have a plot in mind hhhh thank you heheh”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! HAPPY NEW YEAR, i started this fic last week and i honestly didn't think I'd finish it this quickly but here we are. don't let my words fool you, i got the request last christmas but if you know me then you know that i am not quick when it comes to working on requests (i'm working on this i promise), not that this fic is even remotely christmassy, but let’s just appreciate that it is supposed to be set during the holiday period lol. this was supposed to be a shorter one but here we are, lol, i'm not even surprised at my inability to keep things short at this point. i posted this fic and realised i forgot to copy and paste a big chunk of it so oh well. as always, feedback is appreciated, and i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee 

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

Lewis decided he doesn’t like cold a long time ago. That’s why, being the ever-decisive person he is, he chooses to spend his winter vacationing in places like the Maldives or Bali. His decisiveness is an important part of him, given what he does for a living. When he is on the track, in his car, there is no room for hesitation – he needs to be able to make split-second decisions under intense pressure, what’s not to love about that? So, once he decided he’d rather spend his time off basking in the sun rather than freezing to death somewhere else, he never looked back. He enjoys spending his time off in someplace tropical with his family, or without his family; most of the times away from the prying eyes and camera lenses of the media. 

But this time, it’s different – he's alone. 

Or rather, he thought he would be alone. The villa he rented out for the duration of the month is isolated, just how he likes it. He wakes up to the sound of waves crashing against the shore right outside his windows, and the distant chirping of tropical birds to accompany him as he lounges on the large deck, overlooking the infinite expanse of blue. There are no spectators around to gauge his reaction, try to get him to speak out about his plans for the next year when he moves to Ferrari, or what he’s going to do when he eventually retires one day. He hasn’t seen anyone from the racing world for weeks, and it’s been a much-needed break. He’d usually love to spend Christmas with his family, the only time he would ever tolerate the cold being when he is with his family, but this year he just wanted to get away on his own. 

There is no one around that expect anything from him. Just peace. 

He’s not a hermit, of course, but he enjoys spending his time by himself mostly isolated from all the other guests of the touristic area he’s staying in. The chef that works at the villa is on call for when Lewis decides that he wants to stay in for the night, the housekeeping staff come every morning to clean up around the house, then promptly leave, providing Lewis with the privacy he so desperately needs. But other than that, and a few nights spent outside in a restaurant or a club? He is all alone, and he is not complaining about it. Another thing about Lewis Hamilton is that he doesn’t believe in fate. He believes in setting and achieving goals; after all, that’s what he’s done all his life. His success isn’t some cosmic coincidence. It’s years of sacrifice by his parents, relentless effort, and unwavering determination. So, when things happen that feel serendipitous, like running into someone from his past, he doesn’t chalk it up to destiny. He chalks it up to the sheer unpredictability of life. 

And yet, as he steps out of the villa to head to a nearby beach club after dinner, he doesn’t expect to run into you, especially not after how the things ended last time, but there you are. His eyes find you at the bar with some guy next to you – he has to do a double take. Just to make sure, he tells himself. But no matter how many times his attention reverts to you, he knows it’s you. Of course, it’s you. Though he’s not a believer in fate or destiny, or whatever you might want to call it, there you are – dressed in a flowy linen dress. His first instinct is to ask the server to seat him somewhere else so that he wouldn’t have stare at you and your ‘date’ for the night. His grip on the glass in his hand tightens momentarily, and he exhales slowly, forcing himself to look away. This is not the moment, he tells himself. It’s not his business, not anymore. But still, his gaze drifts back to you. You’re laughing at something the guy says, your head tilted slightly as you sip from your drink. He can’t hear your laughter, no – but what a sound that would be to hear, he thinks for a moment. 

He knows he shouldn’t care who you’re with or what you’re doing; it’s been years since the two of you shared anything beyond... well anything, really. But something about seeing you here, in this place he thought was his private retreat from the world, feels like a twist of fate – or the kind of cosmic joke he claims not to believe in. But his eyes watch you as you throw you head back in a laugh and he can practically hear the sound in his head, his mind taking him to years ago when he used to be one of the people who got to hear it first hand; when he joined your family on karting days, or when you celebrated with him when he won a race, or even back to that one time when him and Nico were trying to drive those unicycles and you kept doubling over in laughter when they fell down – something your brother did not appreciate, but Lewis couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face as he watched you from the ground.  

Somethings never change, he thinks, as he notices the smallest of smiles that has crept its way onto his face, quickly disappearing the moment he catches himself. He knows it shouldn’t matter to him – let alone bother him. But old habits die hard, and the sight of your smile, that easy laugh, stirs something in him that feels like both longing and a pang of annoyance. You’ve always had a way of getting under his skin. Back then, it was teasing remarks that somehow felt more genuine than any praise he received elsewhere. He catches himself glancing your way again, his jaw tightening when the guy beside you leans in a little too close. It’s irrational, this surge of jealousy that claws at his chest. He knows he has no right to feel this way, but that doesn’t stop it from burning through him. He looks down at his drink, willing himself to focus on anything but you. But memories have a way of sneaking up on him, unbidden. The days spent at karting tracks, the shared dinners with your family, the quiet moments when it was just the two of you, talking about everything and nothing at all. Back then, it was easy. Natural. Like you were two pieces of a puzzle that fit together perfectly, until you didn’t. 

Just then, you glance over, your eyes scanning the room before they land on him. For a moment, everything stills. The laughter fades from your face, replaced by something unreadable. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition. His breath catches in his throat, and he curses himself for the way his chest tightens under your gaze. He watches as you excuse yourself, heading towards the restrooms, and he swears he has never gotten up so fast and walked so fast in his life. He doesn’t think, he just moves until he spots you in the hallway, queued behind some people waiting for the bathroom line. What kind of a club only has one bathroom? He thinks, but that’s not the point. 

He clears his throat. 

You turn, eyes widening in that familiar, guarded way. “Lewis.” Your lips open in shock as you glance behind him and then focus on him again, “Did- did you follow me here?”  

“Were you on a date with that guy?” The words come out of his mouth before he can stop himself, his voice colder than he expects. 

You blink, taken aback by the question. “Excuse me?” 

He stands there, regretting the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but that doesn’t stop the irritation from creeping up his spine. His gaze flickers to the bar behind him, where the guy you were with is still talking to the bartender, oblivious to what’s going on. “I asked if you were on a date,” he repeats, a little sharper this time as he emphasises the last word. 

You raise an eyebrow, the surprise on your face melting into something more guarded, a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “What if I was?” You cross your arms, your eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’m just out enjoying my night. Ever think of that?” 

He feels a rush of heat in his chest. “It’s not like I care,” he mutters, though it’s clear from the edge in his voice that he does. “Just curious.” 

You scoff, your lips curling into a sarcastic smile. “Sure, Lewis.” 

“So?” He inquires, “Are you? On a date with that guy, I mean.” 

You raise an eyebrow, clearly not amused. “Are you serious right now?” you snap, your arms tightening across your chest. “You’re standing here, in the middle of a hallway, asking me about my love life? What is this, high school?” 

Lewis feels the heat rise in his neck, irritation mixing with a sense of frustration he doesn’t quite understand. “I’m not asking for your life story, just... just an answer. Is it that hard?” His voice is tight, but he doesn’t back down. 

You scoff again, your lips curling into something between a smirk and a sneer. “You really think you can just waltz back in and start demanding answers like we’re still... You know what? Yes, Lewis, I’m on a date.” You throw a glance over your shoulder at the guy still sitting at the bar. “We met on the beach at the hotel I’m staying at, and I thought I’d let him treat me to a dinner and a couple of drinks before I’d let him fuck me six ways to Sunday.” You roll your eyes at someone on the queue gasping at your choice of words. “Not that it’s any of your business. Are you happy now?” 

Lewis’s hand grips your wrist, a little too tight, and without warning, he’s tugging you away from the bar, his jaw clenched. “Come on,” he mutters, his tone low and urgent, as he steers you towards the back exit. You’re caught off guard, stumbling to keep up with his forceful pace, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“What the hell, Lewis? Let go of me!” you snap, yanking your arm free once you're outside in the chill night air. The chill hits you like a slap, the heat of the club’s atmosphere fading behind you as the door slams shut. 

“Seriously?” he spits, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and frustration. “You’re gonna play it like that?” 

You take a step back, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t know what game you're playing at, but I’m not interested. What the hell was that back there? Dragging me out like I’m some kind of... of property?” 

He glares at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “You’re unbelievable.” His voice rises, sharp and cutting. “I ask you a simple question, and you throw that crap at me? What the hell did you think I was supposed to do? Just stand there and pretend like I didn’t care?” 

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Pretend like you don’t care? That’s rich coming from you. You don’t get to just waltz in, after all this time, and act like you can demand answers, Lewis. Like you have any right to know what’s going on in my life.” 

“Your brother would be so disappointed in you right now.” His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the air between you two freezes. The breeze picks up, but the sudden silence makes the world feel too loud.  

“You don’t get to talk about my brother,” you seethe, as Lewis's face hardens, his jaw tensing, but it’s the look in his eyes that hits hardest — it’s a mixture of hurt and fury, both so raw, you almost feel sorry for what you’ve just unleashed. 

“What did you just say?” His voice is low, almost dangerously so, the words slipping through clenched teeth. 

You swallow, but it doesn’t help the sharp edge in your voice. “You heard me. You don’t get to talk about him, you don’t get to fuck up my life and you don’t get to come back here acting like you still have any claim on me or my life.” You’re breathing heavily now, the anger and hurt mixing into a bitter cocktail that you can’t quite swallow – funnily enough, Lewis can smell the cocktail you had earlier. “You left. You made your choice, Lewis. And now you don’t get to barge back in and pretend like I owe you anything.” 

Lewis stands in front of you, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His eyes are dark, his jaw tight as he processes your words. He doesn’t know when the two of you got closer together, he can practically feel the anger radiating off you, “You think I don’t know that?” he spits, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You think I don’t know what I did?” His voice cracks slightly, the vulnerability slipping out before he can stop it. “I fucked up, alright? I fucked up more than you’ll ever understand. We all did – me, Nico, you.” 

“You don’t get to make me feel guilty about this, Lewis. You don’t get to act like I’m the one who fucked everything up.” Your voice shakes, but you keep going, the words coming faster, more bitter. “You kissed me and called it an ‘accident’, a fluke. You fought with Nico every chance you got. I had to pick up the pieces on my own.” 

Lewis flinches at your words, but his anger doesn’t dissipate—if anything, it only sharpens. His hands remain balled into fists at his sides, but there’s something else behind his eyes now, something raw, something almost desperate. “We wouldn’t have worked out,” he mutters, it’s something that he said to himself time and time again to convince himself of it, “I am– was your brother’s friend, you–” 

“You were my friend, too!” You exclaim, your hands swatting at his arms, chest – anywhere you can reach. “You left me, as if I meant nothing to you! You stole my first kiss and shattered my life to pieces on the same day!” You manage to get in some good hits despite Lewis’ attempts to calm you down, and the lump in your throat makes it harder for you to continue talking, “Do you know how many times I wondered if you kissed me just to piss Nico off? Do you know how that feels?” 

“What?” He asks, his voice low. Each hit, each accusation, it stings. But nothing hits harder than the raw emotion in your eyes – hurt, betrayal, and the weight of everything he left behind. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words catch in his throat. “You think I kissed you to get at Nico?” he says finally, his voice quieter now but no less intense. There’s an edge of disbelief, of hurt, as if the idea itself cuts deeper than your accusations. “Do you really think so little of me?” 

You cross your arms tightly over your chest, holding yourself together in the face of his raw honesty. “I don’t know what to think, Lewis. What was I supposed to think back then? You shut me out. You made me feel like it never happened – like I never happened.” 

“You were twenty-three years old,” he points out, “our age difference–” 

“Oh please,” you scoff, pushing at his chest one last time, “you’ve fucked girls younger than that.” 

Lewis flinches at your words, as if they’ve struck a nerve he didn’t even know was exposed. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. “You don’t get to throw that in my face,” he finally says, his voice low and clipped, tinged with a kind of frustration that feels different from before. 

“Why?” You ask, head cocked to the side. “I can’t comment on you fucking other people, but you can question my actions because I want to fuck–” 

“Say ‘fuck’ one more time and I swear I’ll–” 

“—what, Lewis?” you snap, cutting him off before he can finish his threat. “You’ll what? Walk away again? Pretend this conversation never happened, just like you did last time?” 

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his face tightening as he tries to rein in his emotions. “Don’t push me,” he warns, his voice low and taut, but there’s no real menace in it—only desperation. 

“Oh, I’m pushing?” You laugh bitterly, throwing your hands up. “I’m the one pushing? You’re the one who showed up here, dredging up every memory I’ve spent years trying to bury. Don’t you dare put this on me, Lewis.” 

“You think this is easy for me?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “You think I don’t hate myself for what I did? For what I didn’t do? I’ve lived with this every single day, and you—” 

“Fuck you!” you shout, stepping closer, your finger jabbing into his chest. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck–” 

His hands shoot up, grabbing your wrists – not harshly, but firmly enough to stop your movements. You don’t even fully register how quickly he pushes you against the wall, “You think I ran off and lived some perfect life?” he hisses, his face inches from yours as he inhales deeply. “You think I didn’t miss you every goddamn day? You think I didn’t lie awake at night, wishing I’d had the guts to ask you to stay?” 

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the rawness in his voice leaving you momentarily speechless. For a moment, the anger in his eyes softens, replaced by something else – something that feels far too close to the hope you’ve been trying to suppress. “Well... yeah.” You inwardly cringe how your voice sounds so weak, but Lewis tilts your chin back to make you look at him.  

“Is that so?” He mumbles, thumb caressing your chin as his eyes hungrily take in how your chest moves with each deep breath your inhale and exhale.  

Your breath hitches as his thumb lingers, his gaze dropping to your lips like he’s fighting every instinct to close the distance between you. “Lewis...” you start, but his name comes out softer than you intend, more of a plea than the warning you meant it to be. 

“What?” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous, but there’s a softness to it, an undercurrent of vulnerability that sends your heart racing. “What do you want me to do, huh? Walk away again? Because I can’t. Not this time.” 

You shake your head slightly, but his grip on your chin keeps you from fully looking away. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I don’t even know how to feel about you anymore.” 

His eyes darken, and his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans in, his forehead almost brushing yours. “Then let me remind you,” he says, his voice a low rasp. 

Your pulse quickens, every nerve in your body screaming at you to push him away – or pull him closer and he tension between you is suffocating. “Don’t,” you whisper, but your voice wavers, betraying the battle waging inside you. 

“Don’t what?” he asks, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. “Don’t do this?” You don’t answer, your throat too tight, your mind too clouded with memories, anger, and something else you’re not ready to name. He waits, his breath mingling with yours, his patience stretching thin. “Say the word,” he whispers, his voice rough with restraint. “Tell me to stop, and I will. I will let you go back and take him back to your room and do whatever you want.” 

But you don’t say it. You can’t. Because as much as you hate him, as much as you want to scream at him, cry, and push him away... you also want this. Want him. 

And Lewis knows it. 

His hand releases your wrist, sliding down to your waist as his other hand stays on your chin, tilting your face toward him. The kiss that follows isn’t soft, isn’t sweet – it’s desperate, raw, and filled with years of unspoken words. It’s anger and longing, heartbreak, and desire, all crashing together in a way that steals your breath and sends your heart into overdrive. A softer kiss might have been what you wanted, but Lewis knows this is what you need. His body presses against yours, and your hands instinctively find his shoulders, clinging to him as if letting go would leave you falling apart. His lips are warm and insistent, the taste of him intoxicating. Every move, every touch, feels like he’s trying to make up for everything he never said, everything he left behind. 

The kiss deepens, each second unravelling more of the carefully constructed armour you’ve built around your heart. His fingers grip your waist tighter, grounding you even as everything else feels like it’s spinning. You can feel the heat radiating off him with every press of his body against yours. Your mind screams at you to stop, to think, to pull away before you lose yourself completely – but your body betrays you. The years of hurt, anger, and confusion dissolve into the fire burning between you, ignited by a kiss that’s as much a battle as it is a surrender. 

Lewis pulls back just enough to let you breathe, his lips still hovering close, his forehead resting against yours. His breath is hot against your skin, his voice low and rough when he finally speaks. “You still want to go back and fuck your little lover boy?”  

“Who?” You mumble, breathless as a result of the kiss as your eyes become heavy with something you can’t quite describe. 

Lewis smirks, a glint of triumph flashing in his dark eyes. "Exactly," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your waist in slow, deliberate circles. His confidence is maddening, but the heat between you makes it impossible to summon the indignation you’d usually feel. 

You try to muster a response, something sharp and cutting to put him back in his place, but the way his gaze drops to your lips again makes the words dissolve before they even form. “Don’t do that,” you manage, though your voice lacks the conviction you intended. 

“Do what?” he asks innocently, though the rasp in his tone betrays his intent. 

“Act like this changes everything.” 

His smirk falters, replaced by a seriousness that roots you in place. “It doesn’t change everything,” he admits, his voice quieter now, almost tender. “But it changes something. Doesn’t it?” 

Your heart pounds against your ribs as his words sink in. You hate how easily he disarms you, how effortlessly he pulls you back into his orbit no matter how much you’ve tried to escape it. But deep down, you know he’s right. “I hate you,” you whisper, though even you can hear the weakness in your words. 

“I know,” he replies, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you. “And I hate myself for making you feel that way.” 

The sincerity in his voice cuts through the haze, making your chest tighten. But before you can think about it, you find yourself tugging on the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, pulling him closer to yourself as you mumble, “Kiss me again.” 

Your hands, which moments ago were pushing him away, now find their way into his hair, pulling him closer, as if to anchor yourself in the storm he’s unleashed within you. Lewis doesn’t hold back. His grip tightens on your waist, pulling you flush against him, the wall at your back the only thing keeping you steady. The kiss deepens, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that borders on desperation, as though he’s afraid this moment might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. When the need for air becomes undeniable, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours. Both of you are breathing heavily, the space between you charged with everything unsaid. “Tell me you didn’t feel that,” he says, his voice hoarse, his thumb brushing against your cheek. 

You can’t answer right away, your heart hammering so loudly in your chest it drowns out any coherent thought. But eventually, you manage to find your voice. “I hate you,” you whisper, but there’s no conviction behind the words. They sound hollow, even to your own ears. 

He lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “No, you don’t.” 

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” you snap, but the edge in your voice falters. 

“I’m not,” he murmurs, his gaze unwavering. “I’m telling you what I see. And I see you... still here. Still looking at me like that.” His hand trails down to your hip, his touch light but grounding. “If you hated me, you would’ve walked away by now.” 

You close your eyes, willing yourself to regain some semblance of control, but it’s impossible with him standing this close, his presence overwhelming. “This doesn’t change anything,” you say, though it feels more like you’re trying to convince yourself than him. 

“Maybe not,” he concedes, his voice softer now. “But it’s a start.” You don’t say anything to agree or refute his statement, and after a brief pause, he straightens, fixies your dress and tries to fix your hair as well. “Come on,” he says, “I’ll take you back.” 

“But, my bag,” you mutter, pushing out your lower lip in a pout when you realise your bag is on the floor. Lewis has to restrain himself when he sees your lips all puffed up because of him. Your voice is whiny, and he realises you’re slurring your words a little bit when you tug on his shirt, “I don’t wanna leave my bag here.” 

Lewis looks at you for a moment, his expression softening as he reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing against your skin with the same tenderness he’s shown all night despite all your fighting. With a soft exhale, Lewis bends down to pick up your bag, holding it out to you with the same quiet care. “Don’t make that face,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but laced with something tender. “You really wanna go back to that room, after everything that just happened?” 

You look at him, a mix of confusion and desire swirling inside you. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, the honesty slipping out before you can stop it. The words feel raw, vulnerable, but there’s something about his presence, the way he’s here, still so close, that makes you feel safe enough to say it. 

Lewis doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, his eyes soften, his thumb grazing the strap of your bag as he watches you closely, as though he’s searching for something in your expression. Finally, he steps closer again, the space between you narrowing once more. “I get it,” he says quietly. “But I’m not letting you go home alone tonight.” 

The words send a shiver down your spine. You want to protest, to push him away, but there’s something in his gaze, the way he’s looking at you now, that makes you second-guess everything you thought you wanted. You hesitate for a moment longer, the weight of your thoughts heavy in the air, but the pull between you is undeniable. It’s the kind of pull that’s magnetic, that doesn’t let you escape even when you try to resist. 

Finally, you nod, the decision feeling both like a surrender and a choice you can’t take back. “Okay,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. “Take me back, then.” 

You don’t even remember getting into his car, but you do remember the smug look he shot at your date – Carl, you think – when he helped you through the club with a firm hand on your back. The villa Lewis rented for his little getaway is entirely what you expect it to be – modern, grand, and secluded enough so no one uninvited would know he is there and bother him. The couch in the living room looks way too inviting and you make a mental note to avoid it for now. Sitting on it might make this whole situation feel too real, too comfortable, and you’re not ready for that. You glance around the space instead, taking in the clean lines of the modern furniture, the polished wood floors, and the sprawling windows that offer an unobstructed view of the moonlit ocean. You walk towards the windows, eyes taking in the view from inside the villa. The ocean stretches out endlessly before you, its surface shimmering under the moonlight. The soft sound of the waves crashing against the shore is faintly audible even through the glass, a gentle hum that seems to echo the turmoil in your chest. 

You wrap your arms around yourself, partly to steady your nerves and partly to shield yourself from the vulnerability creeping up on you. The view is breathtaking, but it does little to quiet the storm of emotions swirling inside you. You faintly hear Lewis calling out your name, but as if you are in a trance, you can’t take your eyes off the view in front of you. His voice calls out to you again, softer this time, closer. “Hey,” he says, and you feel the warmth of his presence before you even see him. Lewis’s reflection appears in the glass, his dark eyes fixed on you as he stands just behind you. 

You finally tear your gaze away from the ocean and turn to face him, your arms still wrapped protectively around yourself. “It’s beautiful,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile moment. 

Lewis nods, his expression unreadable as he follows your gaze back to the window. “It is,” he agrees, but there’s a weight to his tone, as if he’s not just talking about the view. His eyes flicker back to you, searching your face. “But it doesn’t seem like it’s helping much.” 

You let out a shaky laugh, more to fill the silence than anything else. “It’s not that simple, Lewis.” 

“Nothing ever is,” he replies, stepping closer until there’s only a breath of space between you. “But I’m here. You don’t have to deal with whatever this is alone.” 

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into it. “I don’t know what to do with you,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “With... us.” 

He exhales deeply, his hand lifting as though he wants to touch you but hesitates. “You don’t have to figure that out right now,” he says, his voice steady. “I just want to make sure you’re okay tonight. That’s all that matters to me.” 

Something about his words, his presence, eases the knot in your chest, if only slightly. “I don’t even know where to start,” you murmur, more to yourself than him. 

“Then don’t,” he says simply, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance. “Just be here. With me.” 

You look up at him, your eyes searching his face for any sign of pretense or ulterior motives, but all you see is the same man who’s managed to undo you with a single glance. “Show me your room.”  

“We don’t have to do that.” His eyebrows furrow as he reaches for your cheek, “That not why I brought you here.” 

“Isn’t it?” You try to joke, but his deep sigh is a sign of his disapproval. “I know that’s not why you brought me here, but it can be one of the reasons you brought me here.” 

“Can it?” He drawls, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.  

“For God’s sake, Lewis.” You sigh, turning your body towards the man standing next to you. “Do I need to beg you for you to fuck me?”  

Lewis’s smirk falters, his expression shifting into something deeper, darker, but undeniably tender. “Don’t,” he murmurs, his voice low and edged with restraint as he steps closer. His hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You don’t need to beg me for anything. Not now, not ever.”��

The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch, and for a moment, the air between you feels electric. “Then fuck me,” you whisper, your voice trembling with equal parts frustration and desire. “If you want me, show me.” 

He closes his eyes briefly, like he’s steadying himself, and when he opens them again, the resolve in his expression takes your breath away. “You think I don’t want you?” he asks, his tone low but firm. “You don’t know how hard it is to hold back, to stop myself from–” He cuts himself off, his jaw tightening as if even admitting it is too much. He reaches for one of your hands, freeing from your hold and places it on his crotch. “See what you do to me?” 

The crude act manages to steal a gasp from you, your eyes widening at how hard he already is. “Lewis,” you mutter, he responds with an affirmative hum, “show me your bedroom.” 

He takes your hand, his grip firm but careful, and leads you down a sleek hallway. The sound of your heels clicking against the polished wood floor echoes softly, a counterpoint to the pounding of your heart. When he pushes open the door to his bedroom, you’re momentarily distracted by how much the space reflects him. The massive bed dominates the room, its crisp white sheets and plush pillows inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the silver glow of the moon, casting the room in a soft, ethereal light. The massive bed dominates the room, its crisp white sheets and plush pillows inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the silver glow of the moon, casting the room in a soft light.  

You walk towards the centre of the room, the corner of your lip trapped between your teeth as you glance at Lewis over your shoulder before you run towards the bed and throw yourself onto the soft bedding. Lewis watches you with an amused smirk as you sprawl across the bed, your carefree motion starkly contrasting the simmering tension in the air. “Comfortable, baby?” he asks, his tone teasing, but the heat in his eyes betrays his calm façade. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, giving him a challenging look. “Very.” Then you narrow your eyes at him, “But don’t call me baby, I am not your baby.” 

He chuckles, low and throaty, as he steps closer, loosening the top button of his shirt with a deliberate slowness that sends a shiver down your spine. “No?” he muses, stopping at the edge of the bed. His eyes roam over you, drinking in every detail as if committing you to memory. 

Your breath hitches when he leans over, placing a hand on either side of your body, effectively caging you in. His face is so close to yours now that you can feel the warmth of his breath. “I like seeing you like this,” he admits, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Relaxed, it suits you.” 

A flush creeps up your neck at his words, but you refuse to let him have the upper hand completely. Your fingers trail up his chest, over the defined planes of his torso, and then slide beneath the open collar of his shirt. “I could say the same about you,” you reply, your voice soft but loaded with meaning. 

His response is immediate. His lips crash against yours with a fervour that steals your breath, his hands gripping your waist as he pulls you flush against him. The kiss is raw and consuming, years of tension and unspoken words pouring into the connection. When he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged, he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. 

You smile, your hands slipping down to the waistband of his pants. “Why don’t you show me?” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. In one smooth motion, he lifts you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carries you to the centre of the bed. He chuckles at the sound of your giggling, as he carefully lays you back down on the soft bed. His fingers work diligently to get you out of your dress, pulling the linen garment over your head as Lewis lets his eyes hungrily take you in. When your dress finally falls away, leaving you in nothing but lace and skin, Lewis takes a slow breath, his eyes scanning over your body with a mixture of awe and hunger. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with admiration. His fingers trace the curve of your waist, his touch sending shivers of desire through your body. 

You arch slightly into his touch, your breath coming faster, and you meet his gaze with a challenge in your eyes. “Are you going to just gawk at me, or are you going to actually do something?” 

He smirks, a flash of cockiness in his eyes. “Patience,” he teases, but there’s no mistaking the hunger in his voice as he lowers himself over you. With one hand bracing himself above you, his other hand slides down between your bodies, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His touch is slow, almost teasing, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as his fingers inch closer to where you need him most. “You like this?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly, his lips just inches from yours. His fingers find the lace of your underwear, his touch deliberate as he pulls it aside and slips a finger inside you, making you gasp. “You’re fucking perfect,” he groans, his lips crashing against yours as he deepens the kiss, his finger working inside you with a slow, steady rhythm. You can feel the heat building between you, the tension in the room thickening with every passing second. 

“Don- don’t say ‘fuck’, Lewis,” you tease him with a small smirk as your breathing becomes deeper, “it’s unbecoming.” 

“You’ll see who will be coming in a few minutes, baby.” He chuckles at the way your expression changes at the mention of the word, his fingers moving in deeper as your let out a disapproving moan, “What? You don’t like it when I call you that?” 

With another dissenting hum and a raise of your hips to meet his hand, you let out a long exhale. “I’m not your baby Lewis, stop calling me that.” With the patience that only he can tolerate, he continues the leisurely movements of his fingers. “I want more, please.” 

Lewis tuts at your words softly, chuckling as he takes in your reactions. “I think you have a very important decision to make here,” he murmurs, his eyes suddenly painted with something more serious, “because once I fuck you, I’m not letting you go.”  

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” The words come out choppy as your breathing gets more erratic, his fingers stubbornly keeping to the slow rhythm he’s set.  

Lewis's gaze sharpens, the challenge in your tone sparking a flame in his dark eyes. “Oh, you’ll see it, alright,” he murmurs, his voice a velvety promise as his hand withdraws briefly, leaving you breathless and aching. Before you can protest, he moves with deliberate precision, tugging his shirt over his head and revealing the expanse of his chest – sculpted, strong, and utterly captivating. “Get on your hands and knees.” 

The command leaves no room for debate, his voice firm but laden with heat. Your heart skips a beat as you meet his gaze, a mixture of defiance and curiosity flickering in your expression. “Bold of you to assume I'll listen,” you quip, though the slight tremor in your voice betrays your anticipation. 

Lewis smirks, leaning down until his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Oh, you'll listen,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Because you know exactly how patient I can be, but the same can’t be said for you.” 

A shiver runs through you at his words, and before you realize it, you’ve complied, shifting onto your hands and knees in the centre of the bed. You can practically feel his gaze on you, then all of a sudden, you can actually feel him behind you, the bed dipping slightly under his weight as he moves closer. “Good girl,” he says softly, his voice rich with approval, and the way your body reacts to the praise is almost embarrassing. “Oh, my beautiful darling.” His hands skim over your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on your hips. The grip is firm, possessive, sending a thrill through you.  

The sounds of him taking himself out of his trousers and pumping cock in his hand is pure debauchery, yet you find yourself pushing your hips back against his thighs. Lewis's low chuckle reverberates through you, a sound full of confidence and desire. His hand tightens on your hips, steadying you as he leans in, his chest brushing against your back. The heat of his skin against yours makes you arch into him instinctively, earning another throaty laugh from him. “You're eager,” he teases, his voice dark and dripping with amusement. “I like you like this.” 

You bite your lip to suppress the needy sound threatening to escape, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Maybe you're just slow,” you retort breathlessly, glancing back at him over your shoulder, a challenging look in your eyes. 

Lewis growls low in his throat, his hands sliding across your back. “Careful,” he warns, though there's a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “Push me too far, and I won't be nice.” Your breath catches at his words, but before you can form a response, you feel him guiding himself to your entrance, teasingly dragging against you. The deliberate slowness makes your frustration peak, and you push your hips back, a wordless plea for him to stop teasing. 

“Patience, darling,” he murmurs, his voice a husky promise. But even as he says it, he shifts forward, entering you with a deliberate motion that steals the breath from your lungs. 

The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve in your body alight as he holds still for a moment, letting you adjust. “Lewis,” you breathe, your voice shaky with need.  

His hands gently caress over the skin of your back and hips, soothing over the sharp feeling of Lewis easing himself into you in small movements of his hips. “You’re doing so well,” he shushes your whiny moans, his hands tracing your sides, grounding you. “You feel perfect, we’re almost there, darling.”  

“A-almost?” Your voice cuts his words off, voice shaky with need, “It’s not going to fit, Lewis, I can’t-” 

He leans over you, his lips pressing tender kisses along your spine, each one sending a ripple of warmth through you. His voice is a soothing murmur in your ear. “Relax for me, darling. Let me take care of you.” Your breathing steadies under his touch, the initial sting giving way to a fullness that leaves you breathless as he pushes himself fully into you. You arch your back slightly, pressing into him as his hands continue their gentle exploration of your body. The tenderness in his actions contrasts with the raw desire in his voice, creating a heady mix that leaves you yearning for more. “That's it,” he praises, his tone soft but laced with heat. “You’re incredible. See? We made it fit.” 

“I feel so full.” You manage to let out, voice whiny as the moan is ripped from the back of your throat. “It feels so good, Lewis.” 

He begins to move, a slow, steady rhythm that builds gradually, allowing you to feel every inch of him. The friction ignites a fire within you, and you can’t help the soft moans that escape your lips, each sound spurring him on. His grip on your hips tightens, his pace increasing as he finds the perfect rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. “You feel so good,” he groans, his voice low and thick with desire. His hand slides up your spine, tangling in your hair as he pulls you back slightly, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re mine, you know that? Only mine.”  

The moan that comes from you is dissenting, causing Lewis to slide his hand down your throat to use the leverage to pull you up on your knees, pressed against his chest. “No,” you say, hands extending backwards to keep holding onto him in an attempt to keep up with the rhythm in which he is fucking you now. 

His words send a shiver down your spine, the possessiveness in his tone igniting something primal within you. “Say it,” he commands, his voice rough as his movements grow more urgent. “Say you're mine.” 

Your breaths are shallow, punctuated by soft whimpers as you cling to him, trying to keep pace with his movements. The way he pulls you against him, his hand firm on your throat, sends a jolt of heat through your core. His hand is firm around your throat, but not uncomfortable to the point that you can’t breathe. 

“I’m not yours,” you gasp defiantly, your voice trembling with every move he makes.  

Lewis growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your back as his hand tightens slightly around your neck—not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you in place. “We’ll see about that,” he says darkly. 

His hips snap against you harder now, his rhythm relentless as if determined to prove you wrong. The overwhelming sensation leaves you gasping, your fingers clutching at his forearm for balance. His free hand slides down your body, gripping your waist to hold you steady as he drives deeper, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. 

“Still not mine?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. His tone is equal parts teasing and commanding, daring you to resist him. “Still think someone else can fuck you better than I can?” You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moans spilling from you, but the way he moves, the way he claims you, has you crumbling. “Say it,” he repeats, his voice a low growl that echoes through your very core. 

Torn between defiance and surrender, you meet his challenge with a shaky breath. “I’m-” you begin, but he cuts you off with a particularly deep thrust that has you crying out his name instead. 

“Hmm?” Lewis chuckles darkly, clearly enjoying your struggle. His grip on your neck softens slightly as his fingers trace the column of your throat in a soothing gesture. “Come on, baby, just say it.” 

“I’m-” The word catches in your throat as he shifts slightly, the angle of his hips hitting a spot that sends a jolt of pleasure through you. A broken moan escapes your lips instead, and Lewis smirks against your ear, clearly revelling in your unravelling. 

“Say it,” he demands again, his voice low and demanding. His hand slides from your throat to your jaw, turning your face just enough that his lips can brush against the corner of your mouth. The gentleness of the gesture is at odds with the raw intensity of his movements, leaving you breathless. 

“I’m yours,” you finally gasp, the words tumbling out in a mix of desperation and surrender. 

Lewis freezes for a heartbeat, his chest heaving against your back as the admission settles between you. Then, with a triumphant growl, he resumes his pace, his grip on you tightening as if he intends to imprint himself into every fibber of your being. 

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. His lips trail along your shoulder, leaving a path of heat in their wake. “Say it again.” 

“Yours,” you whisper, the word coming easier this time, though the weight of it still sends a shiver through you. 

His rhythm grows more urgent, his body moving with a single-minded purpose as he pushes you both toward the edge. “Never forget it,” he groans, his voice rough and ragged, “now come for me.” You blame the singular cocktail you had three or so hours ago for your compliance to his words, as you feel the wave of pleasure crash over you, obliterating any coherent thought. Your body trembles uncontrollably in his arms, your cries of release echoing in the room as he whispers sweet words of praise in your ear.  

There are a million other things Lewis expects you to say, but you surprise him with a, “I wanna taste you.”  

Lewis's movements still, his breath catching at your unexpected words. He pulls back slightly, his dark eyes locking with yours, filled with surprise and a flicker of intrigue. A slow, mischievous grin spreads across his face. “Oh, is that so?” he murmurs, his voice tinged with amusement and undeniable heat. 

You nod, your cheeks flushing under his intense gaze, but there’s a spark of confidence in your eyes. “I really do,” you say softly, the tremble in your voice betraying both your boldness and your eagerness. 

He studies you for a moment longer, his expression shifting to one of reverence laced with desire. "Well," he says, his voice low and gravelly, "who am I to deny you, darling?" With a gentleness that contrasts the fervour of moments ago, Lewis guides you to sit up, his hands warm and steady as they support you. He shifts to the edge of the bed, leaning back slightly, giving you room and letting you take control. His gaze never leaves you, his dark eyes glinting with anticipation. You settle between his thighs, your hands skimming over his skin, marvelling at the way his muscles tense under your touch. There's a sense of power in the way his body responds to you, in the way his breathing hitches when your lips brush against him. You look up at him, meeting his gaze with a small smile before leaning in. The moment your mouth closes around him, Lewis groans low in his throat, his head falling back as his control begins to slip. His hands find their way to your hair, his touch gentle but firm as he guides you, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Just like that,” he praises, his voice rough with pleasure. “You’re perfect, baby.” 

The sound of his voice, the way he says your name like it’s the only thing that matters, spurs you on, and you lose yourself in the moment, intent on unravelling him the way he did you. Your lips move with deliberate intent, your tongue tracing teasing paths that have him groaning your name like a prayer. His fingers tighten in your hair, a gentle tug that makes you glance up at him through your lashes. The sight of him – head tilted back, his lips parted as he struggles for breath, sends a thrill through you. 

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice ragged and filled with awe. His eyes find yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes your pulse quicken. “You have no idea what you do to me.” Encouraged by his reaction, you take him deeper, your hands gripping his thighs to steady yourself. The sound he makes is primal, his control slipping further as his hips jerk involuntarily. He tries to hold himself back, but you can tell he’s close to losing himself completely. “Baby,” Lewis rasps, his voice thick with need, “you keep that up, and I won’t last.” You hum around him in response, the vibration pulling another groan from his lips. His hand slips from your hair to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a tender contrast to the raw passion between you. “Look at me,” he whispers, his tone almost pleading. 

You meet his gaze, and the connection between you feels electric. His chest heaves as his breaths come in quick, shallow bursts, his control hanging by a thread. “I’m so close,” he warns, his voice a low growl. “Do you want me to stop?” The shake of your head is all the answer he needs. With a curse under his breath, he lets go, his body shuddering as he gives himself over to the waves of pleasure crashing through him. He holds your gaze the entire time, his grip on you tightening as if anchoring himself to the moment. 

When he calms down, he collapses back against the bed, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths. You sit back after swallowing, a triumphant smile playing on your lips as you take in the sight of him, utterly undone. “That was fun,” you rasp as you take in the sight in front of you. 

Lewis chuckles softly, the sound low and breathless, as he drapes an arm over his face, trying to regain his composure. “Fun?” he repeats, his voice laced with amusement and lingering satisfaction. He peeks at you from under his arm, his dark eyes glinting with a mixture of adoration and disbelief. “You’ve got no idea what you just did to me.” 

You tilt your head, feigning innocence as you crawl up the bed to lie beside him. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” you tease, your voice light but with a hint of pride. 

He turns toward you, propping himself up on one elbow, his free hand reaching out to trace lazy circles along your arm. “You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, his tone soft yet filled with a reverence that makes your cheeks flush. “And I’m completely at your mercy.” 

You laugh, the sound light and genuine, as you nuzzle into his touch. “I think you like it that way,” you reply, your fingers grazing over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch. 

“More than you know,” he admits, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your temple. The tender gesture contrasts with the raw intensity you’d just shared, and it sends a warm flutter through your chest. 

For a moment, silence falls between you, the only sound the soft rustling of the sheets and the slowing rhythm of his breathing. Then Lewis shifts, his arm slipping around your waist to pull you closer. “You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.” 

The weight of his words settles over you, and you glance up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his gaze. “Good,” you whisper, a small smile tugging at your lips.  

He smiles back, a look of pure contentment spreading across his face as he tightens his hold on you. “That’s all I get?” 

“We’ll see how you feel after we get home,” you mumble as you run a finger along the curve of his jaw, “you might be bored of me by then.” 

“Home,” Lewis muses quietly, breaking the silence and ignoring your words. His voice is softer now, contemplative. “I like the sound of that.” 

You glance up at him, his face so close that you can see the faintest hint of vulnerability in his expression. It stirs something deep within you – a mix of tenderness and longing that takes you by surprise. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “Me too.” 

[willowed-wisp]

könig as a dad [ könig ]

part two | part three

- Past the age of 35, he thinks he is too old to have a kid and he’d never meet anyone to have a kid with

- He gave up on that hope a long time ago… until you walked into his life

- No matter how you meet him, you have the conversation about kids pretty early on (you brought it up)

- He said, “My work stopped me… and I never met the right person…”

- “Do you think I’m the right person?”

- “You’re the ONLY one I’ve let in…”

- You decided to see what happened with no protection- you’d been tested and he was despite the lack of experience.

- He didn’t know how he’d react to you coming to bed that night, facing up at the ceiling beside him, “I’m pregnant,” König just turns to you. His large palm on your stomach, smiling at you.

- König doesn’t change during your pregnancy, you still have sex frequently and he remained calm and collected.

- You guys buy an actual house, you can afford it on his wage alone. Outside of the city, four bedrooms (you wondered how many kids he was going to want).

- But he shocks you when he says he’s been working on a project, and a crib is fully built from hand. He’d been working on it for a while.

- He’s also into decorating the nursery- had a fond love for wallpapering a gorgeous woodland print on the accent wall.

- König even corresponds the block painting with an shade from the wallpaper (he’s partial to a faded green)

- He is kid proofing things when he needed to for another year- the baby wasn’t even born yet.

- This man helps you indulge your food cravings- whether it’s fish fingers and custard or fries and ice cream. He’s going to the local store and providing.

- Every scan you have, he’s with you and is intimidating the staff unintentionally.

- You don’t know if he’s holding your hand constantly for or to help subdue that itching feeling that he needs to get out of the building.

- He’s framing the ultrasounds, each and every one of them. And he realises very quickly that he’s glad he met you or else he’d never have that experience

- Upset when he misses an appointment with you because of work duties.

- He’s never gone for too long, not as much as when you started dating.

- He never thought he’d consider retiring from KorTac but realised he needed to provide- despite having quite a lot in savings, he doesn’t spend a lot.

- Assures he’s there for labour, he doesn’t know how he’s gonna guarantee it but does. He’d never leave you in such a vulnerable situation on your own.

- I think with most of the COD guys, he’s definitely a girl dad. Being protective.

- Having a son may scare him, he doesn’t think he’s a very good role model. Ashamed of himself, no matter the reassurance you give him.

- That fear dissipates meeting his son, it was like looking a mini version of himself.

- This is when the healing starts for König, he adores your son and you remind him that it’s literally half of him.

- The anxiety is still prevalent but it lessened as time goes on.

- Imagine seeing this 6’10” ripped guy with a baby carrier strapped to his chest with his child in the carrier… that’s the image you see everyday when König goes on walks.

- It’s the only way your son stops crying.

- König hand makes baby food, even is partial to gardening and growing organic fruit and veg for his son. Unlike anything you’ve ever seen him like.

- You don’t even realise you’re pregnant again- periods not returning to normal from being pregnant.

- Your hubby isn’t phased, “Another member of our little army…” You cackled, quietly trembling in fear but König knows you’ve got this.

————

Does anybody want a part 2? Thanks for reading xx

————

masterlist

[apollo1three]

Hello! can I plz request the obey me bros with their children, you can choose if u want them to be their daughter, son or multiple. i just really wanna see them as like dads, like a scenario maybe when they learn to walk or say their first word you dnt have to if you don't want to! and if it's too much can i have just Beel Mammon or Lucifer :3

AHH MY FIRST REQUEST!!! I’m sorry for taking so long! I haven’t checked my dusty musty crusty a$$ inbox in a while ;-; also nonnie u don’t understand how much I love domestic, sappy, fluffy af stuff like this <3<3

Ofc I’ll do all of em, but I’ll do them in parts so you don’t have to wait for me to finish all seven ^^

------

An unimaginable type of love (Lucifer x f!reader)

The demon brothers with their babies (1/7)

Demons are not born, he once told you; they manifest – either as a product of great sin or demonic energy. Demons do not feel the need to procreate, they cannot- they do not get pregnant, and they certainly do not give birth.  

So how is it that the Morningstar finds himself staring down into sparkling crimson eyes, reminiscent of the deep shade of his, with a softness akin to yours? How is it that he cradles a squirming bundle made from the love between him and his human wife?

With a life only ever dedicated to servitude, Lucifer would’ve never dreamt of creating a family of his own. Never in his time in the celestial realm would he have imagined small, fragile little arms, reaching out for him to hold them in his. Never could he have imagined the possibility of a being regarding him in the sentiment with which he had once regarded Him.

He eyes your sleeping form, snuggled into the comfort of the large bed, and he’s overcome with a fondness that words could not explain the level of. To be loved unconditionally by you, and to be given the most precious gift of all. What had he done to deserve such a thing? - something that was once an unfathomable idea - did he deserve it?

He cradles his daughter in his arms, stroking her little face, and the giggle she lets out is so precious, so much like you, and has him nuzzling his nose into her puffed up little cheeks. You had once light-heartedly complained to him about carrying her in your stomach for nine months, only to have her come out identical to him. Though he'd never admit it, your husband was proud of the notion (at the time, you swore you could see puffed up feathers behind his form), but it was irrefutable how the child carried herself with a poise that was undeniably like yours: a mischievous, yet endearing glint in her eyes that surely meant trouble in the foreseeable future. Lucifer didn’t mind, though.

He mutters, “my darling, what are you doing up so late at night?”, to which his only response is a squeal and few kicks of tiny feet. He tuts back, playfully. “So noisy, my love. Won’t you let your mother sleep?”

There’s a slight breeze from the open balcony, and he gets up from his side of the bed with your daughter rocking gently in his grasp. “Let’s go outside for a bit, come now.”

The way he carries her is careful, protective, and much more assured than the way he had first carried her after her birth. He wasn’t used to dealing with humans, let alone any living thing, in their infancy. Angels and demons did not have an infantile period, and it shook him inwardly the first time he held her, so small and breakable. You, a fully grown human woman, were fragile enough as is – but a human infant? It took some stern reassurance that the child he considered so small and breakable was his just as much as she was yours for his paranoia to waver.

‘She’s ours, Lu.’

(Fatherhood. Such a human experience, and he had only you to thank for it.)

Ushering to the Devildom fireflies, she blows raspberries that makes him want to litter his daughter in even more kisses. So he does, far more unreserved than if it were in front of you (while he loved you and trusted you with his heart and soul, showcasing such unabashed doting was still awkward for new to him). So disgustingly affectionate; the past him would’ve laughed at the notion of such outwards display of emotion directed towards anyone or anything – a hit to his pride, to the very thing he embodied. But to the him right now, such a thought never even crossed his mind.

“Do you see that, my love? Aren’t they pretty?”, he smiles softly, tenderly, eyes creasing at the corners. He pokes at her mouth, now endlessly razzing. “Alright, who taught you to do that? Was it Uncle Mammon? Belphie?"

To the him right now, his pride was in the form of his beautiful wife, and his darling little girl.

“Daddy will always protect you two, I swear on it.”

Absentmindedly stroking her head, a thousand thoughts run through his head. He contemplates heading back inside as the wind picks up, worried you might be getting cold. You’ve been all over the baby since she arrived (and even before then, too), insisting that her crib be placed in the both of your bedroom (much to Asmodeus’s chagrin, adamant that your old room would make the most beautiful human-realm-esque nursery) – while your motherliness was extremely attractive (or rather, all of you), and despite your daughter being an unusually well-behaved little thing, you deserved some quality rest.

He heads back, moving to lower her into her pink-embellished, Avatar of Lust™, crib, but freezes.

“Da..da!”

His movements are miniscule, microscopic, as he looks down at the cooing and giggling tot.

“Say- say that again, darling.”

“Dada!”

Time seems to slow, and he’s overcome with so much fondness, so much love.

“Haha! That’s right, here’s Dada..!” He practically throws her up into the air, accompanied by more squeaky giggles, and if anyone asks: no- his eyes don’t water (it’s merely the brightness of the Devildom moon).

Amidst childish laughter, she says it once more.

He lets out a shaky laugh of disbelief. His eyebrows are furrowed, and there's an uncharacteristically toothy grin on his face. Slowly, trembling hands (a fault of the temperature, obviously, despite him once mentioning the immunity of demons to things as 'trivial' as the weather) press his daughter's small body to his chest.

His daughter. His. His daughter. His wife. His brothers. His family.

It was then that he realised, although perhaps he had always known, that the love he felt for you and the life the two of you had created was different from His love. It was unconditional. The sort of love that allowed him to understand Lilith, the sort of love that he would gladly die for, kill for, be destroyed for. The sort of love that was once unattainable, unimaginable, was now closer than ever.

Lucifer wanted to share this moment with you.

“M-MC!”

[brucewaynehater101]

Oops my last ask got sent in the middle of me writing it, sorry 😅😅

I was mostly done, but, I was saying:

Jason would think Tim is Bruce's favorite, and Tim would think Jason is Gotham's favorite. Both would be pretty upset about it, no one would be happy for a while.

Also, since Bruce basically agreed in the name of all bats to reside in Gotham, Bludhaven getting Nuked would be the City saying "Okay Nightwing, back to your nest". Like it's Deathstroke, yes, but under Gotham's influence.

Jason would cave instantly and explain Bruce's deal to Dick. Dick would, understandably, be massively pissed at 1) the deal being made without his consent 2) not being informed about it and being indirectly responsible for the death of a lot of people. He obviously respects the deal from then on because he loves Jason, but he always resents having his wings cut out.

Jason would also feel extremely guilty for the Bludhaven incident. Maybe he goes after Slade, maybe not, but now he has the weight of all of those deaths on his shoulder. Is his life worth theirs?

Since the deal, any of the Bats that spends too much time outside of Gotham starts to feel weakened by the pull of the City. Jason has it particularly hard, and whenever he gets too far or spends too long outside Gotham he looks progressively more corpse-like (pale skin, dead eyes, coagulated blood ...)

That's basically all I have! What are your thoughts? Especially on how would Bruce and the rest of the Bats react to it.

Hi!!! The first part of this ask is here.

Imma answer the full ask in this post, though ^^

Dick would be *wrecked* by the idea that he unintentionally caused the death of thousands (I'm not sure about how large Bludhaven's population is). Bruce and Jason would also both feel extremely guilty and upset about this as well. It's almost as if Bruce passed along his tendencies to blame himself.

I'm curious who is considered Bruce's children by Gotham. Do Barbara and Steph count? Are they limited as well?

And Dick. I hope to gods he just gets his own place in Gotham and doesn't move back into the Manor. I don't know how much Bruce and Dick's relationship could recover from this.

Yeah, this is typical Bruce behavior. However, that was Dick's city. The city Dick swore to protect. That was so many lives.

Dick may never trust Bruce ever again.

Bruce, on the other hand, is probably going to try to hunt sentient Gotham down for causing all those deaths (depending on how intentionally it was). This will cause tension with the family because: what if stopping Gotham kills Jason?

I'm curious how Bruce would judge Gotham? Gotham isn't human and doesn't have human ideals. It's a sentient eldritch being and shouldn't be held to human standards of morality. It has helped and harmed the Bats in equal measure. Does Bruce even have the right to try to punish or end it?

As far as Tim... I'm curious if he is as affected by the need to stay in Gotham. Maybe it only affects him after Bruce adopts him (and for that short period during Jack's comma where Tim was Bruce's ward). Would it thus get nullified when Tim gets emancipated (and another leading cause for him to do it)?

Also, if Tim gave back Robin, was that temporary or permanent? Did Steph take the role in the meantime? Did Tim become his own hero?

Interesting concepts all around ^^

[therealieblog]

A big part of Intuitive Eating involves the de-stigmatizing of food. How do we de-stigmatize food? By not assigning it moral qualities, and by not using derogatory, negative language when we talk about food.

Examples of moralizing, derogatory and negative language we, under diet culture, still use regularly when talking about food:

"Sinful"

"Fattening"

"Unhealthy"

"Deadly"

"Bad for you"

"Clean"

"Pure"

"Healthy"

"Good" "

Junk/Junk food"

"Crap/Crappy"

Words to use instead of: Instead of "Sinful", or "Fattening", use "Decadent", "Rich" or "Delicious". Avocados and dark chocolate and many organic, "healthy" foods will make you fatter if you eat them often enough. Is this really about health? Or is it about fatphobia?

Instead of "Unhealthy", you can just say what it is about the food that impairs your health. "It hurts my stomach," "It makes my skin greasy/makes me break out", "I'm allergic to it" "I feel nauseous when I eat that." That at least is honest. Saying any food that isn't on some diet culture list of approved foods is "unhealthy" is just not scientifically accurate or backed by anything other than fear mongering.

Yes, eating foods high in fat and salt and sugar in large enough quantities, for long enough periods of time can negatively affect your health, but the vast majority of studies done on exactly how it affects your health, do not control for participants' smoking, drinking, drug use, genetic predispositions (genetics makes up a significant portion of health by the way), sedentary lifestyle, exposure to chemicals in the environment, mental health status, or literally anything outside of what they eat, so... yeah... f@ck that.

Ditto with "Bad for you." It's just so formless and un-researched and based in fatphobia. What does that even mean? In what amount is it "bad for you?" would it be equally bad for anyone to eat "unhealthy" foods at any time? Is there a magic threshold past which one's donut consumption goes from infrequent to "bad for you" levels? Or, are human beings a wildly diverse group of people, who all have very different bodies, metabolisms, genetics, tolerances, tastes and needs.

"Clean" is just as bad as "Bad For You", only worse, because it's so moralistic. If food is made out of animals, plants and grains, and is considered edible by human beings, it's fucking clean. Now if you're talking about gross things falling into the food by accident during the process of making it, or if you're talking about pesticides being used on your fruit and vegetables, then I get wanting to make sure the food is "clean". But if you're putting food on some sort of angelic pedestal for being free from sugar, or saturated fats, or carbohydrates, then you are still stuck in diet culture.

Instead of "Junk food", which implies that the food itself is garbage, which is honestly just a horrifying way to think about and talk about food, you could say "play food", "fun food", "snack food". These foods: chips, chocolate, cookies etc. aren't meant to fulfill your nutritional needs. We eat them for enjoyment, or to pick us up when we're blue, to calm us when we're stressed, or just because it tastes good and we like eating it. I think gentle nutrition is important, and paying attention to how food makes you feel is obviously important, but the way we perceive food and talk about food, reinforces what we think of ourselves when we eat it. If we are eating "bad" and "unhealthy" foods, then we are bad and unhealthy people, and that is a mind-fuck, believe me.

I've performed a 25 year longitudinal dieting study on myself. I know what it feels like to absolutely hate myself for what my body tells me it wants to eat. Not fun. So please have a care with the way you speak about food, and the way you look at yourself in relation to food. Food is sustenance and life. It is meant to be enjoyed, not feared. Lets not talk about food as if the thing meant to connect us to life also makes us inherently morally deviant.

[falmerbrook]

Snow Elf culture?

*pulls up a chair*

Perhaps...

A wee disclaimer that I'm not particularly good or creative with developing cultures or societies, but my brain has just latched on to the snow elves in a way where I can't stop myself. But anyway

I developed a lot of this because of a big ass draft for a fic I've been writing on and off about Gelebor and Vyrthur, so a lot of my headcanons are religion heavy. I'll start there:

Gelebor seems to place Auri-El and the Chantry of Auri-El as having significant importance to the Snow Elves over the other gods/temples. He's probably got a bit of bias in that regard since he's devoted his life to Auri-El, but in order to differentiate their religion from the other elven ones I like to think that their religion in general worshipped Auri-El as not even just as the figure head of their pantheon, but almost monotheistical, while the other gods (Trinimac, Syrabane, Jephre and Phynaster according to Gelebor) were like minor divine figures or just legendary heroes even more than in Altmer myth, depending on the interpretation. My idea is that if their culture had been allowed to continue on, it would've eventually become monotheistic, but by the arrival of the Nords they were in a bit of an awkward transition period with it.

I also like to lean into the sun motif with Auri-El that they established in Dawnguard and with Auriel's Bow, partially because it's another thing to make their depiction of him more unique, and in part because it makes some very juicy irony for Vyrthur. Some ideas include:

- The more religious folk tend to pray at noon when the sun is at it's highest. - The two biggest snow elf festivals happen on the summer and winter solstices. As far north as they are, the summer solstice is during a time of year where the sun barely sets and the winter one is during a time of year where it barely rises. The summer one is more jovial and celebratory, with a grand feast. With almost 24 hours of daylight, the festivities last up to three days straight, with folks commonly staying awake for over 24 hours. Most of it is spent outside, with the celebration being focused on making the most of the weather and daylight hours to spend as much time in the sun and the light of Auri-El as possible. The winter festival is as large scale but lasts longer and is lower-key. It also involves a feast but features more winter foods and meat and alcohol. It is more pensive. At this point in the year, there is no full daylight, and so this season is seen as a test of one’s faith and mental fortitude. This festival acts as a break from this trying time, taking time to relax, build community (a strong community will allow them to make it through the winter and strengthen their minds), and bond with family and friends. It is about a weeklong break, where leading up to the festival everyone works harder to prepare for it and allow themselves to have the break. There are activities and festivities, but they remain indoors for the most part and are smaller. - I've referenced this before, but with long winters with little sunlight (due to harsh weather and short days), they see that time of year as a reflective test of will and faith.

Due to their proximity to dragons, it was hard to miss the connection between Auri-El (/Akatosh) and dragons, and so their depiction of Auri-El is either much more influenced by the iconography of dragons, or is a dragon (although their depiction of dragon Auri-El is much more benevolent than the Nord/Atmoran one). I got the idea for this one from this Reddit post (i know I dog on Reddit a lot but this one has got some fun stuff in it, even if it's a bit out there)

^On that note, later in the timeline (post Dragon War (the timeline is very fuzzy on when this and the Night of Tear happens. They are both sometime vaguely in the late Merethic Era I believe, but it's unclear which happens first or how long each conflict is)) some Snow Elves see a sort of unreturned, unofficial comradery with dragons, seeing themselves as both on the receiving end of the Nord's/Atmoran's brutality (disregarding whether it was warranted or not in the context of the Dragon War).

Ok here's some more general cultural ones:

I mentioned my reasoning for this in this post, but I like to think their general settlements were not as permanent, with a larger focus on wood and building into the sides of hills (good for warmth), while their temples tended to be made of stone and much more permanent. This is why there are so few identifiable Snow Elf ruins across Skyrim. Their cities and towns were easy to wipe out, scavenged for resources, or were in good places for Nordic cities (perhaps Bromjunaar was originally the site of a Snow Elf city?), and their temples were either very hidden (e.g. the Chantry of Auri-El) or eventually converted to Nordic temples.

I love this journal in general for gleaning ideas for Snow Elf headcanons for, but one interesting this is the use of "Old Ones" and "Young One". They're treated like established titles. From that I like to think they place a lot of emphasis on the respect of those older than you. The social hierarchy and whose opinions are most valued is heavily influenced by age. Folks call anyone older or more revered “Old Ones” as a term of respect, and anyone younger than them “Young Ones”. Old One is almost never used in a demeaning way, but Young One can be (not always). Typically, “Old Ones” is used in the third person (e.g. you wouldn’t refer to someone directly as “old one”) whole “Young One(s)” can be used as an epithet for someone directly or in third person.

When thinking about death/"burial" customs (needed for some scenes in the fic I'm planning), you have to consider that there probably wasn't a lot of land in a place like Skyrim where someone can be buried. Nords intern their dead in crypts or burn them to get around this, and I like to think Snow Elves participated in something akin to sky burials (at least sometimes). After preparation, the departed's body is left outside on a ledge, cliff, or the temple balcony to be scavenged by birds. This is seen as a metaphorical return to Aetherius, while their soul literally returns to it. They do this even in poor weather or deep winter. If it doesn’t thaw and rot/be scavenged until months later, so be it. The length it takes to rot is considered indicative of how long it takes for the spirit to let go and move on (not in a bad way though. It’s interpreted more in the way of the soul or body grieving). It's seen as if they may wish to wait until spring to finally rot if they want to experience one more warm, sunny day.

Food (I mostly wrote this in my notes in the context of the Forgotten Vale and Chantry of Auri-El, but I think it could work elsewhere as well to an extent): Plant-based food is grown in gardens in the spring and summer, and that that is able to be stored is carefully preserved through the fall and winter. Winter foods include some nuts, dried vegetables, and dried and preserved/fermented grains (like wheat, barely). These foods must be eaten slowly throughout the winter to last, and winter diets are more meat based. Summer foods include apples, cabbage/lettuce, leeks, tomatoes etc. Snowberries can be found in the wild out of season of most other fruits, and provide fruit in very early spring. Occasionally, fungus from caves is harvested, but this is seen as a delicacy (foreshadowing).

Ok, that's it for now. I gotta go to bed. Thanks for the ask!!!! :D

[dr-trafalgar-law]

Law X CisFem Reader - NSFW - 18+

- Prologue -

Heavy rain thrummed against the large display window of your shop. The streets had darkened sooner making it feel later in the evening than it was. Your staff cleared out just after closing leaving you behind to work on this large order alone. You preferred it that way with special orders.

This cake wasn't special because it was a high-profile client or a family friend. It was because it was his.

A massive three-tiered chiffon cake with alternating raspberry and white chocolate fillings sat before you dirty-iced and ready for sheets of fondant to be spread over.

The groom's cake, finished that morning, already sat in the refrigerator. He hadn't ordered anything specific just simply saying, "Whatever you decide will be fine, yoi."

As sort of a joke you went the unconventional route making a small layered pineapple upside-down cake. Dabs of purple, teal and yellow Italian buttercream smeared out to look like flames with an offset spatula decorated the outside. Not your best prank against the blond but his brothers would think it's funny

You slipped into the flour dusted hoodie kept in your office and approached the thermostat, turning it down to combat the humidity seeping in from outside.

After rolling out some fondant you headed to the sheeter losing yourself in thought.

__________

The screen door bounced against the door jamb as you passed through the back entrance of the Newgate house. Ace chased Luffy through the room flailing a ruined shirt and shouting curses at the younger male. There was never a dull moment in that house.

Reaching the dining room, you finally located the blond you'd been hunting for slouched over the table, head resting in his left palm while he flipped through pages in front of him. The room felt heavy making your guts twist. He knew you were standing there but couldn't bring himself to face you.

"Babe?" You called in an unattractively weak voice.

Half-lidded sapphires swayed in your direction, a cigarette pressed between his lips looking unamused as ever. You'd been together for six years and despite his nearly void expression you could tell whatever he was reading wasn't good news.

"I got my match today, yoi." He removed the smoke to speak.

Your heart dropped.

It was foolish to think he wouldn't be matched just because he was older, glitches happened all the time.

This was a new era law of the New World Order. A few generations before you the world had come together in peace forming this new world government. For the most part life carried on as usual, until people stopped marrying leaving reproduction in a rapid decline. The NWO stepped in making arranged marriages law. You were matched with someone of 85% compatibility or higher. Weddings were to be held after a six-month grace period allowing pairs to get to know each other and adjust living arrangements.

Dating prior to being matched was frowned upon but not illegal and required by law to end the moment you received your partner's information. Most non-matched relationships didn't last as long as yours. Generally, arranged couples were excited and threw huge weddings. You had friends who waited for their matches rather than dating around.

Marco was special; he could handle your sass and loved you without condition. Who needed a match? You already loved each other.

With a shaky sigh he rose left arm outstretched to catch you. Reeling you in so he wouldn't have to watch your heart break he buried his nose in your hair for probably the last time.

"W-hen?" You sobbed, makeup staining his white t-shirt.

"We meet later today, yoi."

All contact was severed the day he met her.

For a while you just went through the motions, taking on the biggest projects alone so you could work into the night and wake after only a few hours of restless sleep to start the process over. After a few months you even began to smile again, but it was just a weak facade.

You were taking a short break in your office when your head decorator, Usopp stepped into your open doorway.

"Uh - hey F/N, your tasting appointment is here, b-but I can take care of it if you'd like."

You rose brows furrowing, "Why would yo-"

Your sentence was strangled by your jumping heart when your eyes fell over Marco standing in the entry with the woman you hoped to never see.

She was terrifyingly beautiful; half-lidded seafoam green eyes complimented her perfect complexion and full lips. Teal waves lapped at her waist, a few locks draped over her shoulders framing the two heart tattoos at the base of her throat.

Usopp's fidgeting pulled you from your spiral.

"Lovely to meet you Ms. Charlotte," you stepped forward to shake her hand pausing unsure of how to address the blond.

"Hey F/N." Marco smirked saving your stumbling brain.

"H-ey." You greeted turning back to his fiancé, "The flavors you chose are all set up in our tasting room. Usopp will show you the way and I will be right behind you."

The intimidating woman's green eyes dropped down to you briefly before she nodded and followed a frantic Usopp to the back of the shop.

"Warning would be nice." You sneered at your ex.

"This way was more fun, yoi." He glanced at you sideways digging his elbow into your side.

"Are you having a good time Mr. Newgate?"

"A little," he admitted with a shrug, "I didn't think I'd get to see you again until her mother suggested your shop, yoi."

A flustered groan pushed passed your lips as you picked up your pace.

The tasting went as well as it could with the exception of your stumbling. You hated that his future wife only saw you as a fumbling idiot.

"Thank you again Amande, we're honored to create your cakes." You shook her hand again glancing over at your ex, "Nice to see you again Marco."

The blonde nodded calmly.

"Usopp will you please see them out, I've got another appointment to set up for." The decorator nodded at your request as you nearly sprinted to the safety of your office.

As you were catching your breath at your desk there was a tap on the door.

"What." You sighed face down on your keyboard.

The door opened slowly, "That's not a nice way to greet a client, yoi."

"Shouldn't you be with the ball and chain?" you sat up.

"I'm not tied down yet," he smirked holding up one of your bags, "and Pops wanted one of your tarts."

"Well if that's all." You rose to see him out, but he stepped forward meeting you in the center of the small space.

"It isn't." He bent down pressing you against the desk.

Your breaths mixed in short anticipated pants as his nose brushed against yours sliding down to nuzzle your cheek. Strong arms slithered around your waist pulling you flush with his torso. The two of you stood there for what felt like hours breathing each other in.

"You look good, yoi." he whispered, lips resting on your earlobe.

Tears welled on the edge of your lashes as you choked out a bitter laugh, "I'm a mess."

"I miss you."

Sparks lit up your spine when he shifted, lips grazing your damp cheek. Your hands shot up, fingers gently covering those lips you craved so much. Marco looked down at you honestly surprised by your reaction.

"Don't," you sniffled, "we both know what happens if someone finds out."

He very sweetly kissed your digits and palm bringing his hands up to wipe away your tears. It hurt. It hurt that he'd had no choice but to come in with her, that there was nothing you could do, that neither of you could handle it, that after the last few months your feelings hadn't changed.

Finally, he stepped back.

"Tell the boys I miss 'em." You voiced shakily rubbing your wrists under your eyes.

"I will, yoi." he opened the door, "See you around."

___________

Now you sat alone on a rainy night layering gum paste into fifty different but similar dahlias. It was quiet save for the pounding rain and the hum of the A/C.

You shouldn't be making this stupid cake and supporting his marriage to another woman, but the Charlotte family was enormous and a big client of yours so sadly business played a small factor. The least you could do was make sure it was perfect and hope you didn't have to see either of them at delivery the next day.

After giving the white flowers a pearly finish with some luster dust you began arranging them on the cake you'd covered a few hours ago. It turned into a fight to keep your hands steady as the closer you were to finishing the more real the situation became. It didn't feel like your poor heart would ever recover. You couldn't help but wonder if Marco felt the same. Probably not. He had that gorgeous distraction. You winced at your tortuous thoughts.

The tinkle of the storefront bell caught your ear. You placed the last flower on the cake and stood.

"You usually text before..." You trailed off entering the front room to see the blonde you'd been agonizing over all evening.

"Expecting someone else, yoi?" he slurred passed the cigarette clamped in the corner of his lips.

"You can't smoke in here." You scolded moving forward.

"Isn't lit." He tossed it in a nearby bin, "You should keep that locked this late, yoi. Anyone could walk in."

"Can I help you with something?" You asked trying to sound unfazed as you stepped closer to the blond.

In two quick strides he was enveloping you, fingers running up the back of your neck and pulling you in. Bourbon and tobacco filled your senses as he devoured you in an aggressively hungry kiss. You submitted immediately clinging to his drenched plum button down.

He knew if he wasn't fast enough you'd stop him like last time and that wasn't an option.

This felt normal.

This felt right.

All these months without you were horrible. If he wasn't drunk he was chain-smoking, no vice filled the void you left. After spending the evening drinking with his brothers he'd gathered the courage to drop in. He knew you'd be here late, after all he knew what cake you were working on and it was a habit when you were stressed to take the workload on by yourself.

Tugging at the collar of your hoodie his lips trailed down your jaw and neck allowing you to gasp for air. Goosebumps erupted in his wake as you tried to gather your composure.

Was this some sort of dream? If it was you have a pretty sadistic subconscious.

His name left your lips in a sigh when he aimed for the weak spot just at the base of your throat.

"This fucking hoodie needs to go, yoi." He grumbled sliding his hands under the thick cotton fabric covering your torso.

A tiny voice in your head was shouting at you to stop but was quickly stifled when his lips gently came back over yours. Continuing to tug at the hoodie until your left arm was free, you reached up to cup his cheeks and pull away.

"Not here." You breathed nodding toward the display window.

Though it was well passed midnight you didn't want to risk being seen.

An amused laugh rumbled through the male as he turned taking your wrist and dragging you toward your office. Once inside you closed and locked the door for good measure. You hardly had time to turn away from the door before you were met with those lazy blue eyes and a sexy knowing smirk.

There was a lot he wanted to say, but now wasn't the time to speak. As you wiggled the rest of the way out of your hoodie he pushed you up against the dark wooden surface bringing his left knee up between your thighs causing warmth to bloom and spread through you. This time his name took the form of a needy whimper sending a shiver down his spine. How he'd missed your voice.

Deft fingers stripped you of your shirt allowing his sleepy gaze to drink in your curves. You fumbled with the buttons on his shirt giving up midway as the tattoo that covered the expanse of his chest came into view.

Lips still crashing together desperately another shiver wracked through the blonde as you ran your hand roughly over the front of his jeans. If you were that ready he was no longer going to hold back, quickly he stepped back to make work of your leggings while you unbuckled his belt. Once your clothes had been disposed of and his jeans hung loose on his hips he moved forward running his hands down your rear to pick you up by your thighs. Not wanting to waste another second, he adjusted you slightly before sheathing himself completely in your warmth.

You gasped gripping his shoulders as he attempted to set a steady pace, quickly finding the wall didn't allow enough leverage.

Clinging to his neck, lips brushing over his ear you spoke, "The desk babe."

Your lust filled tone made him shudder and quickly lift you away from the wall. Once the back of your thighs met the metal surface you released the blond to rake whatever you could onto the floor.

"Ah, like old times, yoi." He chuckled forcing you to lie back.

Soon soft moans and the clap of your hips meeting reverberated off of every wall. What items were left on your desk shifted with every thrust, some eventually falling to the floor.

Marco cursed between ragged breaths as his pace grew sloppy. You gnawed on your lip to hold back from shouting his name. Digits dug into your hips and ass as he bent down to lap at your throat.

Long teasing thrusts turned sharp and deep sending you into a euphoric haze. He felt your legs tighten and knew you'd reached your limit.

His lips trailed teasingly up to your ear, hot uneven breath fanning over your flushed cheek, "Just let go, yoi."

One final intense kiss was all you needed, it worked every time. He reveled in every lewd sound you made as you unraveled just for him eventually pulling him into his own orgasm.

Half-dressed you sat on the floor between Marco's legs, back pressed to his chest, head resting on his shoulder. Assessing the mess you'd made his gaze dropped to a familiar pink legal sized envelope.

He nudged it with his foot, "Who is he, yoi?"

"A doctor if you can believe it," you sighed, "we don't see each other much. I suppose that's my fault."

"Is he good to you?"

You chuckled, "He can be an asshole, but that's kind of how I like 'em."

He smirked kissing your temple, "This is it huh?"

"I guess." you frowned.

You stood and finished dressing. His arms wound around you pulling you close to savor your warmth one last time. Gently he tipped your chin and tenderly kissed your lips. There was no more urgency, no more need just a sweet finality laced with understanding. For the first time you didn't feel like crying as you watched him dip through the doorway followed by the jingle of the storefront bell.

Your phone buzzed in your hoodie pocket.

Law: Shift just ended. I'm coming by the shop with bad cafeteria food.

[intheholler]

I was born in Georgia and raised in Virginia. My grandmother on my father's side was born and raised with her 12 siblings in West Virginia by my great grandmother who was born in Tazewell, VA before moving to WV at 7 or 8 years old. She spent the rest of her life there and died there in Bluefield. Her parents were Appalachian, too, being from WV. When I was growing up my father and his mother would take me to see my great grandmother in her tiny house at the foot of a mountain and I would spend my time wandering the mountain, brushing her long beautiful hair for hours, reading her Saturday Evening Posts for the Norman Rockwell art. My grandmother would read playing cards and tea leaves and when I tried talking to her about it, she'd just laugh it off and never would indulge me. My great grandfather wasn't from Appalachia when he married my great grandmother. He was from VA but from Pitsylvania. When they moved to WV, he worked as a coal miner to support their large family. I'm saying all this because I've always felt tied to Appalachia as a result and like a part of me, if not all of me, belongs there. I was wondering what you, an honest to God born and bred Appalachian thought about it. With the history I've given you, would you say I have ties there? Or am I just another outsider in the grand scheme? (Ignore that I accidentally privately messaged you this please).

hi family, this was a beautiful and nostalgic read, first off. secondly, i of course am not the sole owner of appalachian identity, so don't put too much weight on my opinions. what matters is ultimately how you reckon with the land and how you are connected with her culture and people. i have no right nor business to decide that for you, and don't let nobody, me or otherwise, try n gatekeep you in or out of your own identity <3 all of that said! my thoughts on this are what my thoughts always tend to be: you're appalachian if you've spent meaningful, extended periods of time here and consider yourself changed by the culture and entwined with the land. ii don't mean like, a single road trip through the mtns one summer, obviously. i'm talking ties to the land, meaningful and sustained interactions with appalachian culture, junk like that. which it sounds like you have. appalachia is already in your blood by birth, and in your breath by frequent involvement in our culture as you grew.

besides, all of the states you mentioned host parts of appalachia as you know, and you spent lots of time with your family getting embedded in the culture. sounds appalachian to me <3

[ouroboros-hideout]

WIP WHENEVER

@chevvy-yates tagged me for this. Thank you a lot 💚

This will be a huge wall of text aswell, since I am not really of the „visual“ side of creating atm.

Writing // Worldbuilding

I'm still writing the next two chapters for my fanfiction, but would rather briefly introduce my other OCs here (yes, Aon isn´t the only one by now). Maybe I can create all of them ingame at some point, depending on how stupid I´ll act with modding etc. when I start. Since things can change quickly in the story while I'm writing, I wouldn't say that everything is 100% set in stone, a lot of it isn't finished yet. But it's a good base. Most of them appear in my „Like Napalm“ fic. Some of them will be in my main GARMR fic aswell. So prepare for half backed character data entries and some rambling.

Gan

Gan Tomobataar, or Iron as he is usually called, is a mysterious man. Many stories surround the Mongolian giant and it always depends on who asks him whether he affirms or denies these tales. It is therefore uncertain which of them are true or fictional and he really enjoys keeping his past in the dark. He is said to have served in an elite military unit. The metal teeth that earned him his iconic nickname are said to have been lost in numerous boxing matches as he tried to turn pro to make a better life for himself and his family, and he is allegedly a descendant of Ginghis Khan (which is probably one of his favorite rumors). One can assume that his closest confidants have more clarity, but none of them would dare say a word about it. Undeniably true is that he has two brothers, of whom he is the second-born. Together with them, he leads one of the largest nomadic clans in eastern Europe and Asia. The Tomobataar nomads are divided into three large families, each led by one of the three brothers. Iron's family stays mainly in Mongolia and Russia, but he would also travel to more distant parts of the Soviet Union for profitable contracts. He doesn't have many vices, but one of them is definitely greed.

By sheer luck, at least that's what he claimed, he picked up Aon on the street when she was trying to flee Moscow on her own. He promised to protect her from the Secret Police and other bounty hunters if she proved to be a useful member of his clan. However, his methods for testing her worth would put the young woman to the test.

Yakov

Yakov always had problems finding his place in the world. He grew up in St. Petersburg, studying or an education other than working in his father's car repair shop were never an option financially, but the young man always yearned for something greater than being stuck in the alleys and streets of his childhood. He decided to join the military when he was old enough, but was discharged immediately after basic training for insubordination and general unsuitability. What remained for him was to work in his father's garage until he died after a long illness. Yakov tried to keep the store running on his own for a while, but he found it difficult to do good business without proper management and eventually had to sell the store. This was followed by a relatively dark period. He saw himself as a failure, was unable to find a new job and drank away the money he had received for the workshop in the bars in his neighborhood. One evening, a man came into his local pub. His car had broken down outside, he wouldn't get any further that night and kept him company for a few hours. The next day, Yakov repaired his car for the man called Gan and left the town with him to live with the Tomobataar nomads.

Gregori

Gregori's mother, a singer from New York, came to the Russian capital for a gig and met a military officer there. The two got together and the result was little Greg. Shortly afterwards, however, the couple fell apart and she took her son back to America, where he spent most of his childhood and youth being raised by babysitters and nannies, while the singer preferred to spend her time on tour or in the recording studio. Gregori at least inherited much of her creativity, starting to make music himself at an early age and drawing a lot. Just what small children do when they need to keep themselves busy.

When he was 16 years old, his mother died of an overdose. As she never bothered to write down a testament or anything similar, her entire fortune goes to her greedy manager, who leaves Gregori penniless.

The boy, who has spent his whole life sheltered without much contact with the outside world, is left with nothing and doesn't know exactly what to do. So he scrapes together the last of his money and buys a ticket to Moscow, where he tries to find his father, but in vain. He quickly goes off the rails, barely speaks a word of Russian, is recruited by a gang and gets exploited. An arms deal with a group of nomads goes wrong, a shootout ensues and Gegori is the only one left of the gang because he hides instead of fighting. Yakov, who was on the other side of the deal, takes pity on him and eventually takes him to his new family where he tries to find his place within the group.

Anna

Anna grew up with the Tomobataar nomads from an early age. Her parents were killed in a botched mission when she was just four years old. Iron, who in a way blamed himself for this, took on a guardianship for her and looked after the little girl like the apple of his eye. As the years passed and Anna grew older, the relationship between her and her foster father changed. He became increasingly demanding, punished misbehavior and put the still young girl under pressure. Aon, who had already earned her place in the clan by this time, could not tolerate this behavior as she herself had grown up under similar circumstances. No one else in the clan interfered with Iron's "parenting methods", which is why she ended up doing it. Anna and Aon then became inseparable and she naturally followed her later when they left the clan along with many others.

Anatoly

Anatoly, or Tolik as Aon calls him, belongs to the Russian working class in Moscow and cannot claim to own much. As a boy, he dreamed of studying mechanical engineering in order to open his own workshop or business. A dream that his father would never have been able to afford in this life. So after school, Tolik started working at his father's scrap yard on the outskirts of Moscow, not an easy job. He regularly drives into the city to pick up old components and scrap metal from SovOil and other big corporations, where he meets Alyona one day. The two strike up a conversation, exchange banter and hit it off straight away, which over time develops into a teenage love story. Aon spends a lot of time with him at the scrapyard, where she can test and improve her skills on old machines and has a place to hide from her hated stepfather. He, in return, benefits from the knowledge she brings with her from university, and his dream of building his own big thing soon becomes her dream too. Together they consider leaving the city at some point and make plans for the future

unnamed_chromed_up_terrifying_SovOil_Secret_Police_agent

Yea well, I don't know yet how to call him. After Aon has fled Moscow, the officers of the normal police force give up the search for her, as it theoretically no longer falls within their area of responsibility. However, since Kristof claims that Aon stole the data he wanted to sell to Petrochem, SovOil is naturally very interested in finding her and the data chip. So they send a Secret Police agent after her, who, together with a small unit, tries to track her down. He actually already had a kind of "Easter Egg" appearance in my other AU. He would have been the agent sitting next to Kurt if he hadn't switched the cards on the table. Funny how differently things can go. Anyway, he doesn't really have much of a backstory other than he used to work for the KGB and is a bloodthirsty hound dog who chases Aon halfway across the country (spoiler: and finds her). If I were to compare him to another character from movies etc, he would probably have the closest vibe to Hans Landa from Inglourious Basterds. The character was very well written, even though I would probably make my namesless_pig a bit younger than him. But since he'll be pumped full of cyberware anyway, it probably doesn't matter much in the end. It's just supposed to be a fucking horrible character and Aon's nightmare.

Robert Walker

Robert is one of the key-characters in my main fanfiction. I haven't thought about him in depth yet, but the general concept is there. He's a British journalist and photographer who wanted to go high by exposing wrongdoings in society. For him, there is nothing more exciting than achieving "fame and notoriety" as a whistleblower. He's not necessarily stupid or doesn't know what he's doing, he's just unlucky. He gets into trouble with the wrong people and upsets the even worse ones, which is why he has to flee the UK and ends up in NC. There he tries to start over and stay out of trouble. However, he soon develops an "unhealthy" obsession with Kurt Hansen. He is incredibly fascinated by him and spends every free minute in Dogtown so that he can perhaps take a photo (or two, or ten) of his idol. At some point, he goes so far as to seek direct contact and wants to interview him. Kurt is flattered at first, but has little desire to reveal information about himself in some strange blog or gossip magazine. But that didn't stop Robert from continuing to stalk him and even trying to become a member of Barghest. At some point, Hansen got too pissed off and gave him the choice of leaving Dogtown or catching a bullet. Robbie chose the second option. After all, he hadn't forbid him to camp outside the gates of Dogtown, had he?

Technically I could tell something about Aon´s mom and her stepfather too, but I don´t have that much yet. So will keep em for the next WIP together with the other OCs for my main fic. There will be three more. A general, a corpo guy and the last is still up for discussion with my brain. Considering somekind of warlord or a netrunner.

Art

I tried to do something different than a full rendered piece of artwork. I am not yet confinced that I like it. I like, that it was finished really fast lmao but...I dunno.

Aon and Tolik - 2055

But happy that Aon is actually recognizable in the end. During the process she looked so much like So Mi at a point that my brain went: WHO ARE YOU GIRL. But I like the long hair. Will give it back to her in her 2078+ appearance. Not exactly like this, but longer than her normal style.

Not quite sure about Anatoly tho. I mean, he looks like this in my head, but I will reconsidere if he will get some cyberarms. He is poor like a mouse, so probably can´t afford expensive tech like this, but he feels kind of „empty“ without anything.

Congrats and huge thanks if you read this far. Brainrot stronk!

Tagging some ppl aswell. Everyone else is invited too to show off some awesome stuff ofc, no pressure as always!

@blackrevell @olath124 @cyberholic77 @cybervesna @pinkyjulien @theviridianbunny @therealnightcity @wanderingaldecaldo @miss--river @barghestapologist @kdval @streetkid-named-desire @aggravateddurian @androgymess

[isshua]

Messianic Aureation

Chapter 13: Battle with the Wind-Borne Champion of the Archon War

Summary: Cara arrives at the Thousand Winds Temple, ready to put her life on the line and steal the Anemo gnosis from Venti. The wind screams as a god's true might is displayed.

Scuttles out of my cave to throw this chapter at anyone who sees it THIS TOOK ME OVER A MONTH TO WRITE AGH I am such a perfectionist when it comes to writing and I REALLY wanted this chapter to be the best version of itself because it's the finale to the Monstadt Arc of this fic. In the end there are some parts that I feel a little iffy about but I'm happy with it overall and I hope readers will be happy with it too! Enjoy! :D

Chapter 14 is here

Up the rough road with large bushes and tall trees growing among the long grass, great stone walls and pillars rose up from a time long lost in Monstadt’s history. They were old, Cara observed as she rode past them. Vines crept over their cracked surfaces and there were many portions that were broken away. When she passed between two of them, she reached out a hand and brushed her fingers against their surface. If these stones could talk, what would they tell her about those ancient times of the Archon War?

  Everything was eerily silent as Epona and her continued. There were no animals scampering about. No squirrels, no foxes, no birds…the only sounds she could hear were the horse’s steady hooves thumping along the dirt path and her own nervous heartbeat pounding in her ears. She remembered there being a large amount of hilichurls inhabiting this area in Genshin Impact, but those too seemed to have vanished without a trace along with the wildlife.

  What worried her the most wasn’t the absence of Khaenri'ah’s lost souls, however. It was the fact that there was no wind. The leaves of the trees were dead calm; not a single one rustled even slightly. In the wilds of Monstadt, the wind was always present. It reached every corner of the nation, and held so much power you could practically feel it in your bones. Even when it was nothing more than the softest of whispering breezes, you knew the spirit of Anemo was always watching over the nation of freedom…or maybe that was just for her, due to her unique connection with the seven elements. But here, now, Cara felt like she was traveling through a windless land. The air was heavy and still, unnaturally so. It was as if Teyvat were holding its breath…or maybe, it was quietly watching her with seething hatred, judging her not worthy to feel its presence swirling around her body and soul. If the second option were true…then she wasn’t dealing with Teyvat.

  Up the crumbling steps of an ancient staircase, Epona’s hooves clopped on a portion of stone road, the sound echoing out into the area. When they ascended a second staircase, Cara saw they were near the large monument of the strange celestial arrow which pointed directly at Monstadt City. The inscription etched into its base arose in her mind: “Seeds of stories, brought by the wind and cultivated by time.” How poetic, she thought. Was that what her story was in this world? She was a traveler from another reality, thought to be the highest of all gods by some and an imposter by others, an outsider and a native at the same time. Her tale began with the wind, and time could only tell how it would end. That seemed to ultimately be up to Teyvat’s people. Or maybe she could write the conclusion to her story with her own hand.

  She could not shake the chilling feeling that the point of the massive stone arrow was no longer pointing at Monstadt, but at her.

  The road became less and less pronounced as they kept going. Soon Epona was walking over less dirt and more grass. The Thousand Winds Temple had been forgotten by many of Monstadt’s modern citizens, it seemed. No one had traveled this path in quite a while. Cara honestly couldn’t blame them. This amphitheater had been used as a gladiator arena back in the Aristocratic Period, where slaves had been forced to fight and kill each other for the amusement of cruel nobles. This whole area was probably stained with blood. It made her sigh with sympathy, then shudder with paranoia. She could not help but let her eyes wander between the trees, half expecting to see the pale phantoms of the dead silently watching her go by.

  When the ruins of the temple were only a few steps away, Cara stopped Epona and hopped off of her. The mare snorted questioningly. She held the reins and stroked her nose. “You can’t come with me there,” she whispered. “I don’t want you getting hurt. Wait at the edge of the ruins and only come back when you hear me whistle. That’ll be the signal to show everything is safe.”

  Epona’s eyes were deeply intelligent, and subconsciously, Cara knew she understood. The horse pushed her head into her hands and snorted again softly, then turned and cantered back down the way they came. Cara watched her go, her smile falling as the animal disappeared from sight. Now, she was truly alone.

  Ignoring her own screaming instincts that were telling her to go back, she forced her legs to move and take those final steps up the last flight of stairs and into the temple.

  It was huge. Larger than she anticipated and definitely bigger than how it was in the game, she had to turn around in a circle to fully perceive the absolutely massive arena she was standing in. When she looked at the weathered seats and rusting metal cage doors that closed off the temple’s lower areas, she could practically hear the cheering screams of an audience and hear the clashing swords of fighters battling for their lives. What a fascinating, yet disturbing place to be in. In the back of her mind, she wondered what might have happened if she had been here during the temple’s prime. With the power she held within her, could she have helped put an end to the tyranny of the aristocrats? Could she have saved the lives that were lost on these very grounds? If she had been sucked into the Teyvat of 1,000 years ago, would she have still been deemed as an imposter by Monstadt’s people?

  The sound of music made her whirl around. Her heart dropped when she saw Venti sitting on the base of a fallen pillar, nimble fingers plucking the strings of his lyre and creating a lovely song. His eyes were closed, and he was smiling gently.

  “1,000 years ago, the Falcon of the West was a noble lion,” he said in a storytelling voice. “With a mighty roar, she fought for the freedom of Monstadt’s oppressed and helped break the chains of tyranny that constricted this nation. After that, she gained her wings, and flew onward to godhood. Her story began here, in a place filled with heartbreak and death. It’s quite the tale, isn’t it? Don’t you think it’s a wonderful example of how humanity’s worst evils can give birth to its greatest goods?”

  Cara didn’t answer. She stayed absolutely still, watching Venti’s every move.

  The bard sighed. “Humans are incredible creatures. There are so many paths they can go down, and they can create so many things within the spans of their short lives. But because they are mortal, the gods underestimate them. They think humans are easy to manipulate and control simply because they think they’re weaker. But you want to know what I think? I think this shows just how weak the gods really are. After all, when you're obsessed with controlling the lives of humans, doesn’t that prove which is greater? If all it takes is for humans to stop believing in you for you to lose your power, just how omnipotent can you, as a god, really be?”

  He opened his eyes and finally looked at her. That smile was so deceiving. “Humans and gods alike worship the Creator. It’s practically one of the only things we all see eye-to-eye about! So how do you think we feel when someone pretends to be the Creator and tries to convince others to worship them? Do you think Teyvat is any place for a false god?”

  “Is that what you see me as?” Cara asked him. “A false god? Nothing more?”

  He giggled and ignored her question. “Did you hear my song?”

  “It would’ve been impossible for me not to.”

  “I knew that. A bard’s talent lies in his ability to capture attention! What sort of performer would I be if you hadn’t heard it?” He put his lyre away, stood up, and stretched. “Where’s the holy lyre?”

  Cara took out her backpack and pulled out the Holy Lyre der Himmel. Venti observed her with the lazy air of an uninterest. “Guess you went through all that trouble of stealing it for nothing, huh? Sorry about that. I could have let you have your great moment of ‘summoning’ me, but, well, I just didn’t feel like going through all of the theatrics of pretending such a trick actually works.” He nonchalantly shrugged.

  “Wait. It…it doesn’t?”

  He grinned cheekily. “Best not to get pivotal information from little kids from now on, okay?”

   Bastard. Cara gritted her teeth. “You’ve been watching me ever since I arrived in Teyvat, haven’t you? You’ve seen all that’s happened, from the moment I was first arrested until now. You know everything.”

  His smile widened. “Just because you can’t feel the wind blowing doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

  “I swear, if you even think about hurting my friends-”

  “Oh, relax. I’m not going to hurt anyone. Well, not anyone except for you, of course.” He chuckled at that. “You would think me so low that I would harm my own people? Shame on you, little imposter! I’m no monster!”

  “I don’t have time for this.” She raised the holy lyre over her head. “Give me your gnosis, or I’ll break the lyre. Don’t think I won’t do it.”

  Venti stared at her for a moment, then burst out into laughter. Cara did not feel the least bit enlivened as she watched him nearly topple off of the pillar. “You won’t break it!” he chortled.

  “Try me,” she countered.

  He continued to laugh. He wasn’t taking this seriously. He wasn’t taking her seriously. She wasn’t a threat to him. Knowing that made this whole situation ever the more terrifying.

  “You won’t break it,” he repeated after finally composing himself. “You care far too much to ever go through with such an action.”

  The hand holding the lyre started to shake. She squeezed its frame and raised it even higher, bracing her arm to throw it down with all of her strength. She only got so far before she stopped herself. Drawing in a breath, she tried again; her hand refused to let it go.

  Venti watched on in amusement. “See? You can’t do it. Your mind is telling you to, but your heart won’t let you go through with the deed.” His voice was sweet and light, singsongy and haunting, a siren call pulling her out to sea so she could be drowned. “You won’t break it because you love me.”

  Her eyes widened and her heart broke. She staggered a little, rocked by what he had just said.

  He laughed again, though this time, he sounded so much crueler. “Poor little imposter, she loves the bard who will bring about her end! So silly, so stupid, to think the enemy could be her friend!”

  “If you know I love you,” she said quietly, “then why don’t you recognize me? Why don’t you remember?” Of course, she already knew the answer to this. It was because of the Madness. Whatever it was doing to him prevented the memories they had made together from making it through. The adventures they had went on when she possessed either him or the avatar of the Traveler…pulling for him, ascending him, fighting domains and bosses with him on her team…any recollection of her, and thus any love for her he had, was locked deep away by the threads of the Abyss.

  His laughter died and he pursed his lips. For a moment, his devious smile softened into a troubled frown.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know why you love me. For some time, I thought it was fake. Just a big manipulation to deceive me and use me against Her Grace. But now I can feel it. Your love is real.” His smile returned. “And it’s going to be your downfall. If you can’t find it within yourself to hurt me, then you’ll be making my job a whole lot easier.”

  Through the temple, the wind began to blow. Violent gusts whipped painfully at her skin and caused her to nearly lose her balance due to how powerful they were. Around the entire temple, to her utter shock and horror, a cyclone began to form, cutting the amphitheater off from the rest of the world. Roiling, screaming, wailing, the wind grew and grew, rising up from all sides in a mighty column of teal and dark gray. Cara looked back at Venti and saw he was no longer smiling. A dark expression took over his face as his eyes and braids glowed a bright blue. His cape flapped madly behind him as he glared at her with enough hatred to make her want to cry. A shadow was cast over him-and then it was over her, and the entire temple as a whole. The tornado containing them was so strong, so fervent, all light from the sun was blotted out and it was as if they were trapped in a perceptual state of developing storms.

  “Venti, please, stop!” Cara’s cry was nearly lost in the wind. “It doesn’t have to be this way!”

  “You knew it was going to come down to this from the very start.” Venti prowled towards her predatorily. Each step he took made Cara take equal steps back. “I’ll admit, it’s been fun watching you run around like a chicken without its head. But now I think it’s time for the hunt to end, and for you to end up dead.”

  Cara looked behind her. The massive tornado encircling the temple was so violently thick, she couldn’t even see past it anymore. The howling of the wind was like the shrieking of the souls of the dead. A foreshadowing to her own possible fate. There was no way out of this. She had bitten off more than she could chew. Albedo had been wrong-she wasn’t ready to take on an Archon. She had never seen Venti display this amount of power before. Terror had her in its grip, and she soon found that she couldn’t move, her legs rooted in place as her chest tightened and panic spread its infectious tendrils throughout her body and mind.

  “Aw, what’s the matter?” Venti regarded her with a tilt of his head, large eyes filled with taunting amusement as he smiled mockingly. “Gonna cry? Is your life flashing before your eyes? Are you afraid?”

  Albedo. Kaeya. Razor and Bennett. Klee and Sucrose. Noelle. Fischl and Oz. Diona. Nick and Casey. Her family. Her own world. Their faces flashed through her mind and fizzled away when she desperately tried to reach out and grab them. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

  She was not immortal. She was not the original Caratrice. She was not a god of limitless power who could take on an Archon and win.

  But she was going to have to try to be. Because there was no turning back.

  “Little imposter.” Venti’s voice boomed, loud, threatening. When she looked into his eyes, she saw flashes of dead gods with giant arrows sticking out of their mangled bodies. Battlefields doused in the blood of the Archon War’s losers while the champion hovered above them all, white wings so large they could overtake the entire sky, eyes blazing, wind rising, a primal force of total destruction. Barbatos.

  People back in her world always doubted Venti’s true potential.

  If only they could see the glimpses of the past she was perceiving right now.

  “Little imposter,” Venti rumbled. “I’ll ask again. Are you afraid?”

  “Venti,” she responded. Shakily, begging. “Please don’t make me do this.”

  He didn’t reply, only smiled. The Elegy for the End materialized in his hands. String pulled taut, bow nocked and ready. A pause wedged itself between them.

  She breathed in, and out.

   You love me. You care too much.

  “Forgive me,” she whispered to the Venti she knew was buried somewhere deep inside of the god standing against her. She took off her mask and slipped it carefully into her backpack, along with the Holy Lyre der Himmel.

  She gently pulled away the bandages covering the right side of her face. When they were all gone, she blinked her injured eye open. She could see out of it perfectly; it was fully healed, or at least healed enough for her to see now. For this battle, she was going to need her full vision.

  Venti laughed. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

  She pulled out her sword and charged.

  With lightning-quick reflexes, Venti raised his bow and released a flurry of arrows. Cara saw them coming and ducked, dropping to the ground and letting them sail over her before she was on her feet again and running. Venti’s hands moved with inhuman speed, conjuring one arrow after another. Cara dodged to the left when one came dangerously close to piercing her right arm, but unintentionally allowed another arrow to graze the skin of her cheek. A tiny streak of gold followed the arrow’s wake. She winced, but ignored the pain.

  “One score for me!” Venti cheered. “Let’s see how many more scars I can give you!”

  Cara raised her arm and without her even having to think about it, a golden shield was summoned from beneath her skin. Anemo-infused arrows bounced harmlessly against it as she ran forward. Venti laughed. “Oh, so you think your shield will be enough to stop me? Think again, little imposter! Remember that I’m the god of the wind!” He lifted his hand and made a swiping motion, and a gigantic gust of wind hit her and sent her careening backwards, leaving her right back where she started. Cara gasped as the air was knocked out of her. She barely had enough time to recollect herself and hold her shield in front of her so a fresh wave of arrows wouldn’t pierce her from every direction.

  She had to get to cover. There was no way she was going to make any sort of progress if she kept trying to simply run towards him. If she did, he would just continue to blow her away. He wanted to keep her back; on top of being mostly a ranged fighter, it was also integral for him to be as far away from her as possible so she couldn’t get the chance to fight back. Her skills lied within close combat, as did an opportunity to take his gnosis. If she was going to survive this battle, she was going to have to trick him into lowering his guard.

  She pushed herself up and ran behind a fallen column, blocking arrows with her shield as she did so. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, her back pressed against the rough stone as she listened to the howl of the wind and Venti’s maniacal laughter. “So you're choosing to hide?” he called out. “How cute! You think that’ll be enough to protect you? I can make this stone crumble into dust!” A blast of Anemo slammed into the column, rocking it violently. Cara lurched forward with a slight gasp. Little cracks splintered across its surface. A few more of those wind attacks, and it was going to completely fall apart.

  “Come out, come out!” Venti sang. Another blast of wind. “We’re not done playing yet!” And then another. “You know this fight can’t last forever! If I don’t kill you directly, then the tornado around us will! Aren’t you feeling a little lightheaded? Finding it hard to breathe, perhaps?”

   Oh god, he’s right. Cara clutched her chest. Being inside a tornado meant lower oxygen levels. She could feel it getting more and more difficult to take in a full gulp of air with each passing moment. How much longer before she passed out? If she did, she would be completely vulnerable, and then Venti would have the chance to…to…

   Stop thinking like this! She lightly hit the heel of her palm against her head. This is what he wants. He wants you to panic so you’ll act without thinking. You're giving him the advantage! She had to think this through, quickly and thoroughly. Her time was running out. All of the odds were against her, so if she wanted to change that, she was going to have to do something soon.

  “Aw, don’t be so worried!” Venti giggled. “I’ll make sure you don’t die immediately! Where’s the fun in that? I want to play around with you some more. Now, come out!” A final wind blast broke the column, sending bits of stone flying everywhere as he split it cleanly down the middle. The moment he did this, Cara took off running, sprinting parallel to where he was standing, staying close to the tornado wall. There was another fallen column nearby. She hid right behind it, waiting for him to react.

  Just as she anticipated, he released another wind slice. She ran forward just as it hit and destroyed the column. Another pillar sat in front of her, this one a little bit closer to Venti than the other had been. She hid behind it, waiting. Surely enough, another wind blast came, slicing the stone apart. With each pillar Venti destroyed, she inched closer, closer, gaining ground and using the columns as a distraction. It was obvious the bard was getting frustrated, because he was no longer laughing gleefully and was now frowning, displeased. “Will…you…stop… hiding?” he yelled, releasing yet another Anemo attack. This time, it hit a pillar that was still standing straight. It shuddered and slowly toppled forward, right for the column he was standing on. Venti swiftly dodged, easily flitting to the side and avoiding being crushed as swiftly as a bird flies through the air. This was what she wanted.

  She pushed forward and ran with all of her might, reaching out with the intention to tackle. She saw him turn towards her slightly, eyes widened in disbelief to see her so close.

  And then he smiled. And he was gone.

  It was like she was suddenly moving in slow motion. With no way to stop him, she watched him sidestep her, raise his hand, and conjure up a whirling ball of Anemo. With a crack ringing through the air, he hit her with the elemental ball and sent her propelling forward. She crashed into the pillar he had been standing on only moments before and slumped to the ground, her ears ringing as she felt nothing but pain.

  He was laughing again. “Oh, that was hilarious! You really thought you could outpace the god of the wind? Did you do any sort of research before you accepted this battle?”

  An arrow replaced the Elegy for the End in his right hand, and he sped forward with incredible speed. Cara raised the Prototype Rancour just in time. The Anemo-strengthened arrow clashed against it.

  “It’s a shame I have to kill you,” Venti sighed, feigning regret. “You're fun to play around with. You were being oh-so predictable, and then you sprung a trick like that upon me! And here I was thinking this was going to be boring!” He smiled menacingly. “You better keep impressing me, little imposter. You don’t want me to get bored too soon!” Too fast for her to react, he jabbed the arrow into her leg, right below her knee. She screamed out in agony and swung her sword wildly at him, but he jumped back and fluttered off with high laughter carrying over the cyclone’s raging winds.

  It was getting more and more difficult to breathe. Each inhale was desperate and shaky. On the precipice of her mind, she felt fuzzy numbness, the promise of unconsciousness growing closer. Gritting her teeth and letting out a strangled cry, she yanked the arrow out of her leg and threw it away. Golden ichor poured from the wound.

  “You better do something fast or I’m going to kiiiill yooou!” Venti sang. He started shooting arrows at her again. Ignoring the pain in her leg, Cara forced herself to run, this time going directly for him. Her time was limited. She had to end this now.

  This battle was unlike any fight she had ever been in before. Diluc, Jean, Rosaria, and the rest of the hunters had fought with the intention of getting up close and personal. Even Albedo, who had obviously been holding much of his true strength back during their practice fights, had done much of the same. She was used to facing opponents with swords. Venti’s attack style left her feeling clumsily unfit for any kind of fight. He released arrows so quickly, barely giving her time to knock them away with her sword. When she did get close to him, he would always unleash an Anemo attack to knock her away. It was difficult, frustrating, and anxiety-inducing. At any moment she could run out of oxygen, and then she’d be finished. This dance between her and him had to be over if she wanted to survive.

  “Your shield hasn’t appeared since we first began,” Venti idly chattered away. “Are you having a bit of trouble controlling those powers of yours? I see the way they react to your emotions. You were so determined before, and now you look like you're really down in the dumps. Are you starting to lose hope, perhaps? You have to have realized by now that there’s no way you can win this. A sword can do very little against a bow…c’mon, why don’t you just give up? There’s no shame in it, y’know. I promise I’ll give you a quick, painless death if you do.”

  Her frustration was rising. She did not reply.

  Venti released another arrow. “Or you can keep trying. I don’t mind it, really! More fun for me!”

  She was getting nowhere. This battle was entirely in his favor. Cara’s veins lit up gold as she roared and charged him. All of her exhaustion, caution, and fear was thrown to the wind, and she lifted her sword and swung it at him with the intention of knocking away his bow. Venti looked quite startled to see her gain so much ground. The Elegy for the End was recalled, and he crossed his arms in front of him while his braids and eyes began to glow. A sigil of the Anemo Archon appeared below him. An updraft of wind helped him float into the air.

  Cara let her sword dissolve away. She reached up and grabbed Venti’s ankle, then yanked him down with all of her strength. The bard was slammed into the ground, hard. She held him down and raised her fist, not even noticing how her entire hand was completely gold. All she could feel was anger, all she could sense within herself was desperation. She was done playing by his rules. Now, it was her turn to attack.

  Venti’s eyes widened. “Wait-!” he started to say, but his voice cut off into a strangled noise when she wrapped her hand around his neck. Cara’s blood was pumping. Her heart was pounding. Now is your chance, she thought she could hear her own voice whisper into her ear. Defeat him. Show him what you are capable of. This Archon is nothing compared to your power. You are above him. Take his gnosis. Win!

   She was about to. She really was. With her left hand still holding him down by his throat, she pressed her right hand against his chest, feeling his own heart beating frantically, and then along with it, an unnatural warmth. The area right above his heart began to glow.

  And then her eyes strayed to his. She saw the fear within him. She saw the pain. She blinked.

   Wait.

  I’m…I’m hurting him.

  Venti was indeed gasping in pain. As her hand sunk into the cavity of his heart and her fingers closed around the shape of his gnosis, she noticed him let out a cry. Her will faltered, and her face fell. The hand around his neck lightened. I’m hurting him. I’m hurting him. I don’t want to hurt him. I love him. I don’t want to cause him pain.

  Her own voice inside her head howled at her to continue. Her life depended on this! He wouldn’t be in pain forever! He was trying to kill her! She had to go through with this or she was going to die!

  But it was too late. Cara hesitated. That single fleeting moment was all the time Venti needed to release a powerful burst of Anemo that emanated from his entire body and send her careening back in a shockwave of wind. The gnosis was lost from her grasp. She crashed into the ground and rolled on to her side, her own breath lost within her.

  All of her anger and frustration with Venti vanished in her pain. She coughed and slowly pushed herself to her feet, clutching her side as she wheezed. Everything hurt. The leg wound Venti gave her had already healed, but now it was beginning to ache again. The light in her blood slowly ebbed away. Once again, her power was lost to her.

  The tornado’s intensity was elevated. Cara’s hair whipped around as she was battered by its winds. Bits of the Thousand Winds Temple were being cracked off and sucked into the cyclone. She heard a growl; she saw Venti slowly rise to his feet, wobbling a little as he panted. His hand was over his heart. He looked at her with hooded eyes, furious, terrifying.

  “You…just made…a very, very big mistake,” he said.

  And then a gust of wind carried him into the air. She watched, in fascinated horror, as white feathers began to sprout from his arms, out of his legs, and then his face and even his hair. The wind ripped them off and caused them to swirl around him until he was completely obscured by a whirling cocoon of feathers.

  Two gigantic white wings broke through and spread to an impressive length. The feathers were swept away with each beat. And out of them emerged a god shining with the essence of Anemo. He hovered in the air, as radiant as an angel. He was so absolutely beautiful, it physically hurt to look at him.

  When the god spoke, immense pressure slammed into her and made her nearly sink to her knees. The aura this being possessed was so incredibly raw and powerful, it made her mind go blank and her body go absolutely haywire. All she could hear was the roar of the wind. She felt like she was being pierced by a million arrows, her flesh being torn, her consciousness being ripped to shreds. She was going insane. Just being in his presence was driving her mad.

  “Imposter,” he announced, and his voice was amplified by the scream of the tornado, so that it sounded like it was coming from every direction and bombarding her. “Say my name. Say it, so that you may remember the Archon who damned your soul to the Abyss for sullying the name of Her Grace, the Almother.”

  Cara had no choice but to comply. The wind gripped her and forced the name to march out of her mouth. “Barbatos,” she breathed.

  The god smiled. “Good. Now die.”

  The Elegy for the End materialized, but this time, an absolutely massive arrow made out of pure Anemo energy was formed and released from it. Cara snapped out of whatever stupor Barbartos’ presence had inflicted on her and threw herself out of the way when the arrow slammed down into the ground and shattered the Thousand Winds Temple’s floor. More followed. She was running for her life as she dodged the elemental arrows with heads big enough to take off her entire arm if contact was made.

  “I told you what Her Grace wanted me to do to you,” Barbatos snarled from above. “And now I’m going to go through with it. Playtime is over. I’ve had my fun with you. Now I want you out of my sight.” He flapped his wings and lunged for her, swooping over the amphitheater like a bird of prey. Cara yelped and dodged. Where Barbatos flew, a trail of destruction followed in his wake. Whatever he swooped over was decimated by Anemo energy. If she hadn’t gotten out of the way in time, she would have ended up like that too.

   I can’t fight this, she realized. Not when he’s in this state. Venti she could just barely handle. But Barbatos? In no way was she equipped to beat him in battle. His power of flight gave him the ultimate advantage, and she could not reach him if he was constantly in the air. How was she going to do this?

   Use your power, the voice inside her head whispered. Take his wind and make it your own. Force him to remember you.

  Barbatos rose high into the air and held out his hand. A wind spear formed, and he hurled it at her with incredible speed and strength. Her first instinct was to run…but then something told her to do otherwise. She raised her hand and watched her palm light up gold. The spear shuddered and slowed. It started to glow gold, and then it exploded. Barbatos was hit by the force and fell back with a shriek.

  She stood there in utter disbelief. What…what had she just done?

  “Seizing control of my Anemo won’t do you any good!” Barbatos yelled at her. The Archon formed more wind spears, throwing one after another at her. Some of them she deflected with her sword. Others she used her own power to throw against him, the golden light blasting him in the face and causing him to screech in pain like a wounded eagle. It made her heart ache to hurt him like this, but she couldn’t hold back due to her feelings and empathy. She needed that gnosis. Whatever it took, she was going to get it.

  “Barbatos!” she yelled at him. “This fight is meaningless!” She dodged a giant wind arrow. “I’m not your enemy! Please, listen to me!”

  He didn’t answer. He dived to attack her again, and she had to run to avoid the destructive Anemo whirling behind him. She kept pleading to him. “I don’t know you as the god of the wind or Lord Barbatos! I know you as Venti! You're funny, you’re kind, and you are not meant to be a puppet of the Madness! You are greater than anything the Abyss can throw at you!”

  The tornado roared. Cara’s knees grew weak as she looked into the face of the god hovering before her. “You need to recognize me!” She dodged the wind strikes by a hair’s length as she ran. “I’m your warrior!” She leapt over a fallen pillar and blocked a series of wind spears. “Don’t you remember? We’ve been through so much together! We’re friends!”

  Barbatos screamed in frustration and sent forth a giant Anemo-infused arrow. It came zooming towards her, but she reacted in time and shot out her hand. Golden light shattered through her skin, and the arrow stuttered to a halt, its tip inches away from impaling her. She grimaced under the weight of the wind bearing down upon her; the will of the Anemo Archon was trying to crush her to bits. “Venti!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “You need to remember who I am!”

  Her power overtook the arrow and possessed it. Cara filled it with all of her feelings and memories, of the joy she felt when she had first gotten him during one of his banners, of the journeys they had been on together, of the events, the festivals, the songs and the love she felt for him deep within her heart. Come back to me. Listen to me. We know each other. Let me set you free. The arrow, having a new target, circled and barreled right back for Barbatos. The Archon faltered, his face falling into an expression of confused shock. He didn’t have enough time to move out of the way.

  The arrow, golden, pierced his heart. Where a wound should have formed, there was light. Barbatos’ eyes widened, and a gasp was flung from his lips. The red was chased out of his irises and was replaced with the healing elixir of aureation. He looked at Cara.

  “Windblume?” he murmured, as soft as a whispering breeze.

  And then his wings gave out and the god of the wind crumpled, his entire body going limp while he fell through the sky like an injured bird or a dying dragon. Barbatos crashed into the ruins of the Thousand Winds Temple with a rumbling boom. Dust and bits of stone sprayed everywhere. Some of the few remaining standing pillars finally fell, adding to the cacophony of noise.

  “Venti!” Cara cried. She ran to where he fell, fear and worry spurring on her actions.

  Within a crater of rubble the form of the defeated god laid, his wings curled around him as if they were attempting to shield him from the outside world. She dared not get too close, aware of just how powerful this form of his was. One wack from his wing, and she would be killed immediately. But was he alive? Was he okay? She couldn’t tell if he was breathing. What if she killed him?

  “Venti.” Her voice was desperate. She felt like she was about to burst into tears. “Venti, please, get up. Please!”

  The god did not move. Cara covered her mouth in horror and stumbled back. She dropped her sword and squeezed her eyes shut. I killed him. I killed him. Oh dear god, he’s dead. This can’t be happening. I’m a monster. I’m-

  A low groan made her eyes fly open. She watched, frozen in place, as Barbatos slowly dragged himself out of the hole. When he stood, he towered over her, much taller than he was in his mortal form. His wings flared as he struggled to keep his balance, giving him an even more intimidating appearance. However, the reality was anything but. Barbatos looked exhausted, his head bent as he wobbled. Cara held her breath, afraid to say anything. The relief she felt at seeing him alive fought bitterly with her fear of him. She wanted oh-so badly to run up to him and give him the biggest hug, but she was too afraid he would try to attack her if she did so. So she stayed put and waited.

  Barbatos looked at her. His eyes were filmed over with tears. And then he fell to his knees.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

  Cara didn’t say a word.

  Tears streamed down Venti’s cheeks as he sobbed out the same watery words over and over again. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I’m sorry!” His wings shuddered and fell to his sides, snowy feathers stained gray from dust and dirt. He descended into a blubbering mess, completely breaking down. Any menace, any fury, any hatred for her vanished in the wind.

  Cara, feeling the full effects of the injuries she had procured during their fight, now that her adrenaline was wearing away, drew in a deep, deep breath. She limped over to Venti and knelt down in front of him. He stared at her with an expression of pure regret and heartbreak, green eyes wide and guilty, little whimpers leaving his mouth as he continued to cry. He spoke no longer; he seemed to be awaiting a reaction from her, most likely a negative one.

  Cara didn’t say anything. She leaned forward and gathered him into a tight hug.

  He stiffened in shock for only a moment before he melted into the embrace and hugged her back, his soft sobs elevating to muffled wails when he buried his face into her shoulder. Warmth encompassed her when his wings wrapped around her, holding her close, soft feathers brushing against her cheeks and back. Cara squeezed him gently.

  “It’s okay,” she murmured to him. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not,” Venti hiccuped. “It’s not okay at all. I-I hurt you. I hunted you. I hated you. I wanted to kill you. I-I didn’t even realize…how could I have not realized? How couldn’t I have known? The Madness…the false Creator…oh, gods, you can’t forgive me. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

  Cara rubbed his back soothingly. “Do you remember me?”

  “I remember everything,” he replied. “My god, my warrior, my windblume, my muse. You came to me in the form of another all of those ages ago and I’ve been yours ever since. I’ve worshiped you for millennia, since before I was even an Archon. Your Grace…you’ve freed me from the corruption.”

  Cara’s cheeks blushed a slight red. She smiled a little and chuckled. “Just Cara is fine. No need to call me Your Grace. Though, even if I tell you that, I’m guessing you're just going to keep saying it regardless of what I tell you to call me.”

  “Cara.” Venti sighed, and a gentle wind blew. The cyclone was slowly dissolving away, and above them, the sun peeked through the clouds and cast its warmth upon them. “I like that name. I’ve never been a god that’s particularly fond of formal titles.”

  Cara chuckled again. There’s the Venti I know.

  “I’m sorry.” Venti sniffled. “I’m sorry. I-I’ve committed horrible acts against you. All of Monstadt has. We-we were cruel. Heartless. The Madness has fogged our minds for so long…”

  Cara gave him one last gentle squeeze before she pulled away. He unfurled his wings and stood up with her. His hand went to interlock with hers, and she accepted. “How long has this been going on?” she asked him.

  With his other hand, Venti wiped his tears away. “Years. The Creator-well, I guess I should say the false Creator now-descended to Teyvat…20 years ago? 50? I-I can’t remember. The exact number is foggy…I distinctly recall her arriving long before you chose me to be a Vessel. But when it happened, all of Teyvat rejoiced…except Teyvat itself. The wind hates the false Creator. It despises her. I should have taken it as a sign back then, I should have realized there was something wrong.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “But by then, I guess it was already too late.”

  “How does the Madness spread?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember when I was infected. I didn’t even know I was infected until you freed me. All I know is that it filled me with a deep anger, a hatred so red it tasted like blood on my tongue. It was a hatred for anyone who might speak or act against the false Creator.”

  Cara sighed. None of these answers helped solve the mystery of the Madness. “It’s so strange…all of Monstadt seems to be infected by it, even non-Vision-holders. And for the people that aren’t infected by it, their fear of the false Creator and her capabilities keeps them in line…just what sort of entity is this true imposter?”

  Venti was silent for a moment as he thought. Then he gasped and flapped his wings excitedly. “I think I’ve got it! The false Creator doesn’t just infect the Madness willy nilly! She targets specific people! National leaders like Jean, ruthless fighters like Diluc, Archons like me! The more positions of power she can indirectly control through the Madness-infected Vessels, the stronger she is!”

  “Holy shit Venti, you're right.” Now that she thought about it, such an idea certainly made a lot of sense. “But then why isn’t Kaeya infected? He’s the Cavalry captain, I’d consider that a position of power. Bennett and Razor know the land really well and would work as excellent trackers…why aren’t they infected, too?”

  “Probably because they’re three of the new Nine Choirs,” Venti answered matter-of-factly.

  Cara stared at him.

  “I’m sorry, what?” she said.

  “The Nine Choirs? You mean you haven’t heard of them? They were nine Vision-holders who were chosen to become Caratrice’s envoys and ascend to godhood. Each of them had a specific ideal they represented so that they could help protect Teyvat from Armageddon’s corruption. When Caratrice died, there was really no need for them, so they disappeared, and were eventually replaced with Celestia and the Seven. But now that you’ve returned, and there’s an obvious crisis happening in Teyvat right now, the Nine Choirs are needed again! Kaeya, Bennett, Razor…you’ve chosen them to ascend to godhood.”

  Another bout of silence from Cara. She felt slightly dizzy as she was fed this information. “H-Huh?”

  Venti looked at her with newfound concern. “Are you alright? Are you going to faint? Please, hold onto me, I won’t let you fall. I know this is, ah, quite a lot to take in after surviving a battle with an Archon.” He chuckled nervously.

  “D-Do Kaeya, Bennett, and Razor know about this?” she asked him.

  Venti scrunched his nose and hummed while he thought. “Mmm, I don’t think so. If they’ve ascended to godhood already, trust me, you’d know. A lot of…physical changes would happen. But don’t worry, it’ll happen soon enough! One of them will ascend eventually, and then the rest will follow! You just need to keep an eye out for the lucky Vessel who will be the first.”

  “I want you to be one of the new Nine,” Cara said without thinking. She blurted out the words with no hesitation. “I want you to come with us. Please. Don’t stay here. Now that you're free, the false Creator will know, and she’ll come for you. I can protect you if you're with me. Venti, please, come with us.”

  Venti’s mouth dropped. “You…want me to be one of the new Nine? After everything that just happened…after the things I’ve done to you…you’d choose me for such a high honor? Aren’t…aren’t you afraid of me? Don’t you hate me?”

  “Venti. Look at me.” She held his face in her hands. “I could never, ever hate you. I don’t hold any of this against you. You aren’t the person who has to be punished for this. I forgive you for what you’ve done. I forgive Monstadt, and everyone in it who hunted me. I couldn’t get myself to hate any of you even if I tried.”

  Tears started to well up in Venti’s eyes again. “You…you're so kind. So very, very kind. To forgive a sinner like me to the point where you even want me to stand by your side as one of your apostles…you truly are the Creator.” He hugged her again, his forehead resting against hers. “I love you.”

  Cara’s bottom lip quivered. Tears of her own slid off of her chin. “I love you too. I love you so very much, Venti.”

  Venti’s sigh was soft. Reserved. Final. “…But I can’t come with you.”

  She felt her heart sink. He seemed to sense it, because a soft noise that sounded oddly like the coo of a dove rumbled in his throat, and he held her with his wings. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I want nothing more than to accept your offer. But…I’m an Archon. And if I accept a seat with the Nine, I lose my position with the Seven. Then Monstadt will be without a god, and the false Creator will know I’ve been freed. She’ll go after the people in the city… everyone, not just the infected Vision-holders. Monstadt will be reduced to a pile of rubble. I-I can’t let that happen. I just can’t.”

  Thinking of Monstadt being completely destroyed made Cara feel sick. She quickly agreed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spring such an idea on you. I should have thought of the consequences-”

  “Don’t apologize,” he quickly reassured. “You have nothing to apologize for. As the Creator, you are allowed to invite anyone you deem as favorable to accept a seat in the Nine. If Monstadt weren’t in the circumstances of today, I would accept. I really, really would. But I can’t. I have to remain here to keep Monstadt safe. Please understand.”

  “I do. I do understand. You don’t have to worry.” Cara gave him a tearful smile. “This is why you're one of my favorites.”

  Venti squeaked and fluttered back. “I-I’m one of your favorites?”

  “What, is that so hard to believe?” Cara laughed when she saw his flustered reaction.

  “K-Kinda!” Venti replied, his hands flying to his face to hide the deep blush settling over his cheeks.

  She laughed again. “See? This is why you're one of my favorites. I don’t think I could get any of the other Archons to react this way.” She sighed and let her shoulders slump a little. “Speaking of the other Archons…”

  “You're heading to Liyue next.” Venti’s wings sagged sadly.

  She nodded. “Mhm.”

  “Going there…it won’t be easy for you. Liyue is the nation of contracts, the nation of law. Their god…is extremely faithful to the Creator. I guess that means he’s technically extremely faithful to you, but being the blundering buffoon he is, he was probably infected with the Madness long before I was, so…you can fill in the blanks from there. Your Grace…Cara…Liyue will be even more dangerous for you than Monstadt. There are beings there that don’t exist here, and if they see you, they will stop at nothing to kill you. Which is why…I’m going to give you this.”

  He held out his hand and closed his fist. From between his fingers filtered a bright light. Cara had to squint a little when she watched in wonder as he opened his palm and up floated the Anemo gnosis. It hovered in the air, Anemo energy floating around it as it shined.

  “Go on,” Venti softly encouraged. “Take it.”

  She reached out a trembling hand, not knowing what to expect. Her fingers brushed against the cool metal of the gnosis’ surface, and a short tingle shot through her hand. When nothing happened, she grasped it, cradling it in her palms like it was the most delicate thing in the world. The gnosis floated just a little bit above the surface of her hands. Both her and Venti stared down at it.

  “Huh.” Venti sounded disappointed. “I was sure something a little more dramatic might happen.”

  She opened her mouth, intending to say “Well, what am I supposed to do with it now?” when all of a sudden, the gnosis began to hum, and a blinding light exploded from it and overtook her entire vision.

  She felt her body lift off of the ground-how, she didn’t know, but it was definitely happening-and her back tipped until she was belly-up, facing what she assumed was the sky. She couldn’t see anything except pure teal-green light, and she couldn’t hear anything except for the humming of the gnosis. It was vaguely familiar to when she had traveled through the teleport waypoint subspace. However, unlike that time, she was not in any pain. She did not feel panicked. Instead, she felt oddly at peace, like this was meant to happen. The light soothed her, and the humming implored her to relax. Her eyes fluttered shut.

  Her arms moved on their own accord. They positioned over her chest, and she felt her heart jump. The gnosis, still in her hands, pulsed in tandem with the beating of her heart. She felt its base settle on her chest. An intense warmth seeped into her, winding through her body. Wind began to pick up all around her, swirling around her arms, her legs, and traveling all the way directly into her heart and soul. She accepted the power without even having to think about it. The wind was in her. It knew her.

  The light dimmed, and Cara gently floated down to the ground.

  “Cara? Your Grace?” Venti’s voice spoke frantically above her. “Are you alright? Can you hear me?”

  Her eyes opened and she breathed in and out deeply as she stared up at his familiar face. She sat up, searching for the gnosis, only to realize that it had disappeared.

  “The gnosis,” she said. “Where is it?”

  “Didn’t you feel it?” Venti answered. He pointed at her chest. “It’s right in there.”

  She looked down and saw nothing but her own body. But then the wind blew, and she was startled when she heard its voice. It was not Venti. It was not a physical, corporal voice she could hear, but rather something she could sense. It was all around her, flowing with the breeze, because it was the breeze itself.

  “The gnosis is part of you now,” Venti said. “It no longer has a physical form. You’ve gained control over Anemo. Nothing can hold you back from using it as I can.”

  As he said this, a small Anemo symbol pulsed directly over her heart once before disappearing. She was silent, comprehending everything that had just happened.

  “Are you alright?” Venti asked.

  She nodded, then shook her head, and then nodded again. How was she supposed to respond? “I…I really have Anemo powers now?”

  “Yup!” Venti puffed out his chest, obviously prideful. “The wind is at your service, Your Grace! How do you feel? You want to test your new abilities out?”

  Cara held out her hand. “What do I do? Do I just-"

  Anemo energy started to swirl between her fingertips. She shrieked when she felt the rush of the wind and snatched her hand back, shaking it a little. Venti let out a little shout of glee. “It works!”

  “Oh my god.” She started to laugh. “Oh my god. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, I have Anemo powers! Holy shit!”

  Venti looked absolutely overjoyed with her reaction. “So, I’m guessing you're excited?”

  “Excited? Excited? This is more than just excitement! This is absolutely incredible!” She held out her hand again. Dutifully, the wind bent to her will, little swirls of Anemo weaving between her fingers. It looked distinctly like the tail of a dragon with a large tuft of fur on the end. She watched it with wonder and delight, her heart racing. She felt airy and light, floating on cloud nine, absolutely floored that this was happening right now.

  “I’m glad you're happy about it!” Venti’s laughter tapered off when he seemed to realize something. His expression fell into a look of sorrow. “I wish I could teach you how to truly control it. There’s so much I want to show you. There’s so much the two of us could do…but you can’t stay here.”

  Cara’s hand dropped. The dragon’s tail dissipated, its furry end waving forlornly to her before disappearing.

  “You have what you came here for,” Venti continued. “Now that you’ve restored a fraction of your power, the false Creator will sense it. The Anemo gnosis has been lost to her. When she finds out-and she will-the first person she’ll question will be me. You need to go. If you stay in Monstadt, she’ll find you.”

  Even though she knew it was a lost cause, she begged him again. “Venti, please, come with us.”

  “You know it’s impossible.”

  “I know. I know it is. But I want to try. I can’t leave you here to face her. She’ll know you’ve been freed from her control. She’ll try to infect you again.”

  Venti sighed softly. “I know. I want it to happen.”

  She blanched, horrified. “What?”

  “The false Creator will be too focused on me to worry about you while you flee Monstadt. By the time she’s done with me, you’ll be long gone. She doesn’t have control over the wind anymore. Once you're in Liyue, she won’t be able to track you as easily as she was able to before.”

  “Venti, I’m not going to let you sacrifice yourself for me-“

  “I’m not sacrificing myself.” Venti clutched her hands in his and pulled them to his chest. “I’m not, because I know you’ll come back for me. I know you’ll come back for all of us. You’ll destroy the Madness. This isn’t permanent. You and the Nine Choirs will save us all.”

  “How do you know?” Cara asked with a hint of desperation. “How can you be so sure? I’m not like you. I don’t have the experience of an original Archon. I’m not the god you think I am.”

  “No, you aren’t. You're someone entirely new. And that’s why I have so much faith in you. Because I’ve heard your voice, and I’ve felt your presence, and despite everything, no matter how many times we beat you and battered you down, you still got back up and fought again. You don’t fight to sacrifice. You fight to save. Trust me, there’s a huge difference.” He cupped her cheek, the cheek with her eye scar, and let his thumb trail against it, wiping away her rapidly forming tears. “You know, it’s strange to hold you like this. For so long, I’ve only ever known you as the god beyond the sky.”

  Cara couldn’t help it. She laughed softly and leaned into his touch, sniffling. “Do you not like what you see?”

  “I do. Because it’s still you. You're still Her Grace. You're still Cara.” He helped her up to her feet, supporting her while she trembled slightly and cried. “Go. Find Kaeya, Bennett, and Razor. The wind will guide you. Pass through the Stone Gate into Liyue. I’ll use my power to ensure you leave Monstadt safely. But after that, I won’t be able to do anything else.”

  He was crying. Tears dripped down his freckled cheeks. A god weeping for the departure of his creator. She was moved by the sight and pulled him in for one final hug. “I love you, Venti.”

  “I love you too.” He hugged her back. “Before you leave, I have something I want to give you. I see Albedo left you with a little keepsake to remember him by.” His wingtips tapped her Solar Isotoma keychain, making its light pulse.

  Cara’s cheeks burned red, and she quickly stepped away. “W-Wait, it’s not what you think-“

  He chuckled. “Don’t worry, I didn’t mean it like that. I only want to remind you that he’s not the only one who can give you heartfelt presents. Behold, a gift from the wind itself!”

  He raised his arms and spread his wings. Wind gathered around him, and forming directly out of the Anemo energy he was calling forth, a beautiful wind glider materialized in front of her. Bright blue feathers knitted themselves to a bronze frame, creating a glider that fluttered with the wine’s breeze and gave her a distinct sense of freedom when she looked at it. She held out her hands, and the glider settled over them, surprisingly light and easy to carry.

  “Tada!” Venti declared. “Your very own wind glider! You don’t seem to have one, and it’ll be a long time before you regain your own wings, so I thought, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I gave you a temporary pair?” It’s not true flight you’ll be doing with these, but they’re the next best thing!”

  Cara ran her hand over the soft feathers. She was in awe of the craftsmanship and how something so intricately beautiful could be produced from nothing more than the wind.

  “Do you like it?” Venti asked, a little shyly.

  She beamed at him. “Venti, I love it. Thank you so much!” The glider dissolved into little bits of light that traveled to her back and disappeared directly over her shoulder blades.

  He looked delighted. “I’m so glad! If you ever need to use it, rest assured that the wind will be there to catch you. I may not be able to truly protect you outside of Monstadt, but Teyvat can, and it will.” He was saddened again, and sighed. “It’s time for you to go.”

  She nodded, protesting no longer. The two of them stood in silence for a moment. Then, she hugged him one last time. “I’m going to come back for all of you. I promise. I won’t forget.”

  “I know you won’t.” Venti clung to her for a moment longer, then reluctantly pushed her away. “Now go. I’ll buy you guys some time. Be safe. Stay cautious. Your journey is only going to get harder from here.”

  Her legs were heavy as lead when she forced herself to walk away. She waved goodbye to Venti, who was making no effort to hide his tears. She felt his gaze linger on her while she picked her way through the destroyed Thousand Winds Temple. She could not allow herself to look back. If she did, she knew she might go running back to him. Her time with the Venti she knew had been too short, but she would treasure it until she found herself back to him again.

  She did not want to leave Monstadt. Not anymore. But she had no choice. Against all odds, she accomplished her first quest. She had the Anemo gnosis and kept her life. One down. Six more to go.

  Onward to Liyue.

  A few hours later, Venti still remained at the Thousand Winds Temple. He had reverted to his mortal disguise and had once again taken a seat on a fallen pillar to softly play his lyre. The sun was beginning to set, casting the world in its darkness. He could feel the wind whispering to him, telling him of Her Grace’s whereabouts. Southwest from here, towards the Stone Gate. When they pass through, you will be cut off. But we will always be watching over her.

  He smiled. Though the Anemo gnosis was no longer with him, he felt assured that its powers were in the right hands. He was aware of the prophecy speaking of Caratrice’s reincarnation. Now that he was freed from the Madness, he could remember everything he had learned. The Abysmal powers that had previously infected him were comparable to that of a mask: it clouded his senses, obscuring his judgment and confusing his mind. When he looked back on how he had felt before Cara’s light cleansed him, all he could recall was anger and hatred. It was an unnatural feeling. The memories did not feel like his own. Even back in the Archon War days, when he had been in his prime, he had refused to act out on raw emotion. He did not consider himself a vengeful god. The Madness had turned him into a twisted version of himself that made him feel sick to his stomach.

   If the Madness did that to someone like me, he thought, then what type of person has it turned Morax into?

  The wind trembled. He felt fear.

  Then, a foreign presence he knew, and now hated, entered his mind. His eyes opened and he smiled. The time has come. Just as he anticipated.

   “Barbatos,” the false Creator hissed. Her voice no longer sounded as sweet as the Madness had made it out to be. “Where is she?”

   He continued to gently strum his lyre. “I don’t know.”

   “She isn’t in the city. She isn’t in Springvale. The Abyss cannot find her anywhere in Monstadt. You told me she was heading for your location. You assured me you had this under control. So what happened?”

  Gods, her voice was sickening to listen to. Venti felt slightly ill. It felt like poison was slowly being injected into his bloodstream. “She never showed up. The winds don’t know where she is either. You better keep searching.”

  The false Creator snarled. “You dare talk to me with that tone?”

  “My apologies. I meant no offense by it.”

  She was silent. If not for the oppressive mental force bearing down upon him, he would have thought she left. He held his breath and closed his eyes. Though he knew what would come next, he still found himself bracing.

  Gigantic claws seized his brain. Venti’s eyes flew open and his mouth dropped in a silent scream as he was rendered immobile. His lyre dropped from his hands.

   “Did you think you could fool me?” the false Creator whispered dangerously into his ear. “Barbatos…you traitor. You despicable rodent.”

   “I am no traitor.” Venti struggled to speak, and yet he found it within himself to laugh. “I am freed. What sort of god of freedom would I be if not for that?”

   “Silence!” The false Creator roared. “You are in no position to speak right now! Is she in Liyue? If she is, you know she will not survive there long. You are delivering her right into death’s claws!”

  “You underestimate her. She won’t go down so easily. A dragon never loses its fire. She will fly again.”

  The weight of the false Creator’s consciousness was growing heavier and heavier. “You will be punished for this, Barbatos. For your disobedience, you will suffer. I cannot kill you. But I can break you, and I will take you back as my pawn. Caratrice will be found. I will capture her. And when I do, you will be the one to kill her. I will take your hands and force them to carve out her heart, and I will make you watch as you kill the one you adore with as much freedom and clarity I can give you. Do you understand me? You have angered me greatly.”

  “You…won’t find her.” Venti grimaced in pain. He could feel his entire body being squeezed, like he was being crushed, and it was excruciating. Barely able to speak, he managed to sputter out his final words. “I have seen the future. I know what will happen. The wind…will always be there to protect her. The wind…will forever love her like I do.”

  The false Creator let out an infuriated bellow. The great claws clamped down on Venti, and this time, he did scream. His shriek of pain caused the wind to roil, and a great gust swept over the Thousand Winds Temple with enough force to rattle the ruins and whips wounds into the earth. Something was being pumped into his mind…and then it was in his body, and finally infecting his heart. The image of Cara’s smiling face was lost. He completely passed out.

  When he awoke, all he could feel was anger, and all he could see was red.

[nerdyvocals]

Need to know your thoughts on Cynthia putting on that jacket when they get home from the dance. Cause I have a couple theories which both might be false.

1. The jacket is their father’s jacket and Cynthia needed some type of love so put the jacket on for comfort.

2. The jacket could be what Cynthia wanted to wear to the dance…

Would love to know your thoughts on this scene.

Hooo boy I am so glad someone asked me specifically about this, because I am actually very qualified to talk about it!!!

If you don't know me; Hi, I'm Levi, I am a theatre student, I'm currently working toward a degree in costume design and technology, and I have Big Opinions on clothing. Before I actually start talking about said opinions, let me first give a quick rundown on Costumes 101. Disclaimer: my education has been largely in the realm of stage production, but in Costume Land there is a very large overlap between stage and screen, with the main differences being on the technical side, which I will get more into later. That said, given the genre and tone of this show, my stage knowledge will apply.

And a word of warning: this anon has released a beast and this is going to be a long post, therefore I am putting my analysis under the cut. Also, apologies to those I tag, just want to make sure images and gifs get their proper credit.

Now, first and foremost, the purpose of costume on both screen and stage is to give insight into each character and passively tell a story. Therefore, nothing is coincidence and everything is intentional. Color, silhouette, piece, and style are all meticulously selected to bring a character to life and tell the audience who they are.

Example: In the live yesterday, Tricia Fukuhara mentioned requesting a beret she saw in the costume shop for Nancy, and while they did end up putting Nancy in several hats, she was told berets specifically were reserved for another character, Lydia. We do actually see another thespian with a beret, Alice (who IMDb tells me is played by Emilee Nimetz), which has... interesting implications, but that's for another post.

So let's see what we're working with here.

(gif by @stbot)

The first thing I notice is fairly obvious: this coat doesn't fit. That shoulder seam should be sitting right on the ball of their shoulder (think top of the shoulder cap); it's nearly halfway down their upper arm. Think it looks long here? Even when they're standing, it hits about mid-thigh. Not to mention that the sleeves themselves are baggy and way too long. They are swimming in this coat.

What does this mean? This coat isn't Cynthia's.

One could argue that it wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility that Cynthia would own an ill-fitting coat; given the time period, I imagine it would be hard for a girl to find men's clothing in her size. Except, for the most part, Cynthia's masc clothing does fit.

(gif by @greasegifs)

(gif by @wlwshipper)

(gif by @greasegifs)

(Image by @jealous-kippen)

Cynthia clearly has no problem finding men's clothing that fits. That said, there are technical reasons behind why a garment must fit beyond story-telling. Namely: actors' safety.

Out of any single one of Cynthia's looks, I would argue that this monstrosity:

(Image credit: promo shot)

would be the most likely candidate for ill-fitting garment, character-wise. Everything we know about Cynthia suggests that they aren't the type of person to buy a dress they will likely only wear once (i.e., they are poor: single-parent home, always hungry, excitement over free food (Buddy's campaign candy), and it appears that they live in an apartment).

All this to say, it would make sense for this dress in particular to not fit, and yet, it does. Why? There's a dance scene. While the hand jive itself is not a particularly intensive dance move, Ari is standing on tables, climbing on cars, jumping, crouching, all manner of things that would be dangerous to do in a garment that was too big.

(Side note: I've seen quite a few people suggest that this is an old dress or possibly a hand-me-down from somewhere, or if anything, purchased second-hand. I have reason to believe it's not, but again, that's another post).

Of course, Ari, and by extension, Cynthia, isn't doing anything in the Coat Scene (tm) that would endanger them by wearing something too big. Even still, given their previous wardrobe, it's out of place. And like I said before, nothing is coincidence and everything is intentional. And why is it significant that the coat is too big? Because nothing else that Cynthia wears is.

Now, all this was a very long-winded way to say that this is Papa Zdunowski's coat. It's clearly not Cynthia's, and their dad is the only other person they live with. So yes, dearest Anon, your theory is most definitely correct.

Cynthia had just had probably one of the worst nights in their young life. Their friend group has fallen apart, they've messed up big time with their oldest friend, Richie has been arrested, and they're being forced to confront that they are queer. They come home to an empty house, either literally (dad's still at the shop and mom hasn't been there in a long time) or figuratively (dad's asleep, and mom hasn't been there in a long time). Either way, it's not like they can really talk to anyone about what's been going on with them. But they desperately need comfort. So what do they do?

They wear their father's coat like a hug and get drunk on the couch.

Thank you and good night.

(if anyone wants to hear the costume tangents I forced myself to avoid or just wants to hear more costume rants, feel free to hit up my ask box or dms. I chose this career for a reason and if you give me permission, I Will Not Shut Up.)

[cyjammy]

I’m Doing It, I’m Talking About Them:

No, this isn’t a comparison about delivery or the voices. I respect both of the VAs and Viv’s choice. I’m not a song analyst nor do I claim to know anything about music, I just love writing and want to share my thoughts.

First off, both songs have me in a chokehold. When Addict came out a few years ago I was there for the premiere, in a period where it was all I would listen to on repeat for weeks, watching how beautiful the animation was and just being excited for the release of Hazbin in general.

Since the sudden release of Poison, I have been listening to it on repeat. After a year of not listening to Addict, I’ve been listening to that as well and comparing them.

Both unique in their own right, they do share similar themes since they surround Angel Dust’s life as a prostitute with an over controlling boss.

Since it was a fan song (praise Silva Hound, I love all his music), Addict was primarily focused on the hotel. There wasn’t much known about the series outside of the pilot and the occasional Huni-cast or livestream Q & A on Viv’s channel.

And it was impressive that so much could be portrayed with limited knowledge about Angel.

The repetitiveness of living the same life day by day, the pressure of perfection when it came to performing, knowing that one mistake could render him obsolete and forfeit his “life.”

Angel Dust is strong despite having all these vices. He keeps moving forward even when he is bed ridden from his trauma.

How Valentino treats him is horrendous period. He’s most likely under contract and doesn’t have a choice, but he tries his best to show it doesn’t bother him and puts up a strong front.

When Vivzie put her spin on the song with those fantastic visuals and her own image of Angel Dust (props to the animators, they KILLED it), it took the song to new heights. We were given so much more context into what the tone of Hazbin would be.

And it was all through the lens of this upbeat pop song with all these effects and explosions until the slower moments with Angel Dust breaking down with only Cherri to support him. And the reprise of the chorus was even more emotional.

My mind was blown! The pilot took a much more lighthearted approach to introduce the characters and put the idea out there.

Addict is the point where Angel Dust acknowledges his flaws and hopes he can have a place to be safe from the hellish life he is living in the Hotel.

Through Poison, we’re getting an in depth look into Angel Dust’s feelings and experiences as a product of the industry. It’s focused more on his feelings as a pornstar under an oppressive thumb.

He knows he’s in a situation he can’t escape and numbs himself with drugs to keep himself afloat.

He has regrets in Poison and puts a focus on Valentino leading him to this life, but he acknowledges that he definitely played the largest part in it.

The decision to make a deal with a demon.

He wanted the attention and the party life, but he definitely didn’t sign up to be SA’ed.

And battered, manipulated, beaten and broken.

Nobody would.

There is also a focus on how he is keeping up a lie to hide from the pain, becoming what he hated most

Angel lies just as much as Valentino.

Angel knows if he keeps obeying Valentino and ignoring his pain, he’ll die again, possibly a much more painful death than in life. But it’s all he knows as of now since it has kept him alive for so long.

And it may keep him alive or that luck might run out. There are no guarantees with someone as malevolent and despicable as Valentino.

He struggles to go on, and it takes a much more different approach than Addict, which ended on a hopeful note, but in Poison…

I feel like the animation is definitely going to go farther than the few suggestive scenes in Addict.

It just makes me think Angel will not last until the end of the series.

Angel Dust is definitely going to be way more complex than most of the cast. He keeps up appearances when in large groups, but when he’s alone or thinks nobody is watching (Husk pointing out his “drinking to forget” in the trailer) he’ll definitely show his true self.

All these defenses and walls were put in place to keep him alive, so much so it’s a habit. Hopefully he may try to become better and free himself from Valentino.

Or he’ll keep working as a pornstar for eternity.

Whichever direction the story goes will definitely be entertaining.

To conclude my long ass babbling and screaming into the void, I’m excited for Hazbin Hotel and can’t wait to see what direction Vivzie takes in terms of storytelling for her wonderful show. I’m so ready for the 19th!

[catboybiologist]

I’m considering getting a Russian tortoise, I’m still early in the researching phase though. How do you like it??

I love him! He's surprisingly active and affectionate, and is extremely comfortable being handled. Overall, I would describe the ownership experience as "extensive startup, low ongoing maintenance". Most of the effort comes from ensuring you have a spacious, properly heated habitat with appropriate levels of enrichment, shelter, etc. But once you have everything set up, and maintain it well, its pretty easy day to day care. Food is all leafy greens (with small calcium supplementation) that are rotated out for nutrition and enrichment, which actively encourages me to eat healthier by sharing food with him. With the right substrate, you can spot clean poop and urates easily. I take him outside whenever I can, and he's a little charmer when scampering out on the field near my apartment. That doesn't cover everything, of course, but should give you an idea of what its like.

I can't speak from a typical ownership experience, because he's an old boy that was part of an educational program for ~20 years before I got him, and has had extensive handling and habituation, making him a very friendly lil guy. I also worked with him as an employee of that program before taking him home, so I already knew a bit of what I was getting in to- I don't know what it would be like starting with 0 knowledge.

The one thing I will say is that they're a very long term commitment. While my lil guy's exact age is unknown, he's probably somewhere around 30-40, and probably has another decade or two in him. You also have to have good plans for what you're going to do when you travel or can't maintain the cage daily- I have someone nearby that I temporarily move him in with whenever I'm out of town for extended periods of time (side note- I want to make him a very large, but easily foldable/easy disassemble enclosure from scratch, if anyone has any suggestions I'd love to hear it!) But you really gotta make sure you can commit to that for the long haul, and have people in your life who are backup plans.

[manchurian-barnes]

Not Alone (Bucky Barnes X Reader Fan Fic)

At long last a return to writing!

Hello! I like to write and will have more for you to read in time so you should totally check out My Masterlist!

Fic Below Cut, Quick Synopsis -

You know Bucky Barnes has never been a person who enjoys goodbyes, not a man who enjoys letting go. Reminded of his best friend's passing by the anniversary of his death, you find Bucky reminising, tormented by memory.

The morning light started to filter through the light curtains of your shared bedroom. Morning was your most favourite time of day, the smell coming from the coffee machine and the birds chirping outside was a gentle call to action for the day.

It was a far stretch from the small apartment you'd once shared with Bucky, back in the days after you had both returned from being ash... Many things had changed, for one you'd moved to this house, one that was left to you. Another change, another adjustment had been the loss of dear friends, of team members. Steve Rogers returning an old man from his mission to return the stones. Bucky held your hands tightly between his, the night he had been informed of Steve's plan. 

"Bucky-he...no he can't be serious!" You spoke in a voice that wobbled; your usual steely resolve shattered a little at the idea of more time being lost. "Doll...When he told me, I wanted to be mad, I wanted to tell him to stay but..." His voice was huskier, his tongue darter out to lick his bottom lip, “...if it was us, and i knew they only way I could be with you...was to go back...I don't think anyone could tell me anything that would make me stay in a time period without you.". He let out a weak sigh, and you saw the way a part of him crumbled, without Steve, without his friend, he no longer had ties to the man he once had been. He looked into your eyes, and all the pain and the fear made your heart ache.

That was around two years ago, and after a period of adjustment, and the roughest patch you'd witnessed bucky go through - the two of you started to make a life together, started to make it work, to give Bucky a future.

You reached your hand out across the bed and sighed when you found Buck's side to be empty and cold. "Bub?!" You called out, sitting up and brushing your hair away from your eyes. After stretching your arms above your head, you walked downstairs. "Buck?" Your voice was a little unsure, honestly wracking your mind trying to figure out where he was. Then you spotted him, looking through the large kitchen window, walking towards the sink, leaning over, and knocking. Bucky turned to see you, and you just knew...something was deeply wrong within him.

Pulling the door open the light breeze hit your skin, head tilting to the left, you moved towards Bucky. "Morning beautiful..." He mumbled; his lips collided to your forehead peppering gentle kisses into your skin. He just took a deep breath and wrapped his arms tightly round you. It was easy just to sink into him, breathing in hard and just letting out a soft hum. "How long have you been up?" You asked after a few minutes of this silent intense embrace. "Would ya be annoyed if I admitted I've been up since midnight?" His voice was low. It took a moment, but you sighed back at him "Honestly, I'd be more annoyed if you tried to lie about that." He chuckled a bit when you spoke. "It's been two years y/n." He stated gently, pain was evident in his tone. There was a dull thud in your chest, pain, pain for him. "Oh, baby I didn't realise-" Guilt washed over you, just for a moment. You knew rationally that days were busy, and your coping mechanism was to bury grief.

Bucky was unlike you in this way. Buck didn't want to forget the grief; he had mostly learned to live with that sort of pain. "I don't have any regrets you know?" He let out gently, brushing his left hand down the side of your cheek, his touch was cold but familiar and comforting. He noticed the micro nod that happened in response. "I just miss my friend sometimes." He stated, he wasn’t justifying his grief to you, more talking himself out of the pit he had fell into overnight. "He won’t get to come to our wedding...he won’t get to meet my kids...he won’t be there and..." His throat closed. "It fucking sucks." You finished for him, a sad smile flashing across your face, "yeah..." He let out a breathy laugh, "Fuckin' sucks." he repeated. He let you move backwards from him. His head turned, and he just watched the way the leaves on the trees surrounding the house moved with the wind.

"He isn't gone." Your voice was back, you'd found the words you needed. The boards of the porch creaked and after a minute you found yourself sitting down on the steps, Bucky took time, but he joined you. His hand came to rest on your thigh, squeezing a little. “He isn’t gone.” You repeated, your voice sounded a bit stronger to Buck, he could see it on your face – wholehearted belief in the words you were speaking. “Steve isn’t gone, you have him right here with you, bub…Steve left us this house, our future will happen here, with his memories. You’ve got memories that you will get to share…” You explained to him. His head fell to your shoulder, and he just breathed, nodding a little bit at the words. “I know Doll.” He whispered to you, “You know, I almost forgot the anniversary was comin’…I almost forgot about him.”. There it was, that’s why he could sleep, he was wracked with guilt about it all.

You turned after a moment and scooped up his cheeks between your hands. He smiled a little bit as he looked into your eyes. “James.” You whispered, “You aren’t going to forget Steve.” You spoke, “You will never forget him.” You kissed his nose and then let your forehead rest against his. “I almost did.” He told you. His eyes screwed right up. “Bucky…he wouldn’t want you to feel guilty for healing.” It took a second for Bucky to open his eyes back up. Looking right into your eyes. Leaning forwards your lips collided with his, and he clung to your hips, tugging you closer. He let you break backwards. “y/n, doll…I’ll be okay...I’ve got my best girl…I’ll be okay.” He assured you. He smiled as you lay your head on his shoulder.

“We will take him some flower’s later today, but right now, we are going upstairs.” You whispered into his ear, and he let out a little huff. “James Barnes…the whole broody man thing is incredibly sexy and all…but you have to sleep. No matter how determined you are to not”. He laughed at you as you said it. “I love you.” He whispered. “I love you so much…and I don’t know what I’d do…if I didn’t have you...” You stood, tugging him up with you, slipping your arms around his neck and tugging him down into a harder kiss. You kept your eyes shut, just breathing with him, “You…don’t have to think like that…I’m here for the long-haul Barnes.”

You reached across the bed, and wrapped an arm around Buck’s waist pulling yourself closer. Laying against his back. The grief would never go away. Neither would you, he wrapped a hand around your arm, holding you close. He’d be okay…He had you.

The end.

And we are back ya’ll for anyone new to seeing posts from this blog hello! I haven’t posted in three years and for anyone who follows me hello I am making a return to writing. Kind of starting fresh, but don’t worry you can still find my old fics!