#the plot was so jumbled. when will people learn to not have such a large cast on such limited time?

[constantvariations]

Hey, that's not fair.

Baby's CanonxOC fics have far better plot set ups than whatever the fuck the Justice League crossover did.

You're right. I'd like to apologize to all the babies writing in these dark times. Your work should never have been compared to the dumpster fire known as RWBYxJL. Listening and learning ♡

[emmiesoverthemoon]

i’ll make you lose

pairing: lee felix x reader

word count: 10.6k

summary: you wanted to tease your cute nerdy tutor. how could you not? he looked like he short circuited whenever you both made eye contact. well, as it turns out, untouched nerds do it best.

tags: flustered felix. university au. implied friends to lovers. flirting, teasing. unprotected sex, dry humping, oral (f recieving). enjoy

this is my longest work yet. safe to say i got carried away lol.

You sat at the long, rectangular desk in the lecture hall, your fingers lightly tapping against the surface as the professor’s voice floated in the background. Your mind wandered, the jumble of equations and formulas in front of you blurring into abstract shapes. The announcement that your professor had just made, however, cut through the fog in your thoughts, and it was only then that the full meaning of their words sank in.

Felix. Lee Felix.

He was going to be your tutor. You had heard the rumors. Felix was brilliant. His grades were flawless, and his understanding of the material was unparalleled. He had the kind of intellect that earned him respect from professors and peers alike. The kind of intellect that made people expect perfection from him in everything he did.

But as much as Felix was known for his academic prowess, there was another side to him that never failed to catch your attention. He had this nerdy charm that was impossible to ignore. The way his tousled hair always seemed to fall into his eyes no matter how much he tried to push it back, the way his shy smile made him look both endearing and just a little out of place in the sea of confident university students. He was smart, yes, but there was something almost adorably awkward about him that always made you want to push his buttons.

“Felix will meet you in the library after class,” the professor continued, oblivious to the mischief stirring in your mind. “He is more than capable of helping you grasp these concepts, so please do not hesitate to reach out if you need assistance.”

You had to bite back the grin threatening to spread across your face. Felix would be your tutor? Oh, you could already imagine how it would go. You would be sitting there in the quiet, academic setting of the library, surrounded by endless shelves of books, and all you would need to do was drop a few playful comments and watch him squirm. Felix was too polite, too aware of how smart he was, and you knew that his discomfort would only make him more adorable.

He would try so hard to keep the focus on the subject, to make sure you understood every little detail. But you? You would make it impossible for him to stay composed. You could already hear his voice wavering, see the flush creeping up his neck when your teasing got to him.

You were going to enjoy every second of it.

With a sly grin, you gathered your things and headed out of class. Your mind was already turning, plotting exactly how to push his buttons in all the right ways. He was going to be your tutor, but that didn’t mean you were unallowed have a little fun while you learned, right?

The library was, as usual, a quiet sanctuary, with the scent of paper and ink filling the air as students hunched over their textbooks. Your ears were filled with the distant clicking of keyboard keys as other students desperately attempted to finish their assignments on time. You found an empty table by the window, settled into a chair, and waited. Your heart beat a little faster than usual, not from nerves, but from the anticipation of what was about to unfold. You were going to have Felix all to yourself, and the idea was enough to make you smile to yourself, just a little.

Minutes later, Felix entered, his presence immediately drawing your attention. He had a large backpack slung over one shoulder, and his eyes scanned the room, moving quickly over the rows of tables. When his line of sight finally landed on you, he froze, looking just a little startled, like he hadn’t expected you to be so... ready.

“Hi,” he said, his voice soft and careful as he made his way over. “Sorry I’m late, I—uh—had to finish something for another class.”

You nodded slowly, watching him as he set his things down on the table, arranging them with a precision that made you wonder how long he had spent perfecting the art of being neat. “No problem,” you said, your voice light, casual. “I was just looking forward to some... expert tutoring.”

Felix blinked at you, a faint frown tugging at the corner of his lips. He pushed his glasses up his nose, his fingers fumbling with the straps of his bag. “I—I wouldn’t call myself an expert. I just know the material,” he said quickly, glancing down at his notes, avoiding your sharp eyes.

You leaned forward just slightly, watching him. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Felix. They say you have all the answers.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes flickering nervously as he finally looked at you, a little too long this time. “Well... I try to. But, um... math is... you know, it’s not—uh—difficult once you understand it. It’s not subjective.” He trailed off, almost as if he was trying to convince himself more than you.

You tilted your head, your smile widening just a fraction. “Hmm... so you are saying it is easy for you?”

Felix looked like he might crumble under the weight of your gaze. His fingers twitched, reaching for his pencil as if to busy himself, but his hand stopped just shy of it, his posture growing even more tense. “It’s... I mean, it’s not hard. Once you—”

“Once you focus,” you interrupted, your voice casual, but there was an undercurrent of something more. “And make sure your student focuses too, right?”

Felix cleared his throat, visibly flustered now. He nodded rapidly. “Yes, yes, exactly. If we just focus, it’s really easy to get through it.” His voice wavered slightly, but he quickly recovered, trying to mask the nervousness that was slowly creeping in. “So, um... let’s get started with this first problem. It’s all about understanding the process.”

You rested your chin in your hand, leaning slightly forward again. “Of course. But... I'm curious. What do you do in your free time, Felix? When you’re not, you know, tutoring, being cute, and getting perfect grades?”

Felix blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I... uh...” He hesitated, his face turning a deeper shade of pink. “I just... I like to study more. Or... play some video games. Just to relax.”

You grinned, sensing the opportunity for more teasing. “Video games, huh? That’s... interesting. I would have never pegged you as the type.”

Felix opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly unsure how to respond. His fingers drummed nervously on the desk, and you could see the tiny tremble in his hand. “I—uh—it’s just a hobby,” he said, the words coming out much faster than he intended. “It helps me unwind.”

“Mmm,” you murmured, eyes glinting. “I can imagine. You must get really into it. I bet you lose track of time... just focusing on the game.”

Felix was trying so hard not to react, but it was obvious he was flustered. His shoulders were tight, his cheeks flushed, and he avoided looking at you for a moment. “I mean, yeah... sometimes. But that’s not the point right now,” he mumbled, more to himself than to you.

You leaned back, still smiling. “No, of course not. You’re here to tutor me. I get it.”

But the way his voice cracked slightly when he spoke—that was definitely the point.

Felix took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. His fingers slid over his notebook as he adjusted his glasses again, the motion a bit more frantic this time. The uncertainty was still there, evident in the way his shoulders stiffened as he tried to get his thoughts together. He focused on the material, but it was clear that the presence in front of him made it harder to stay on track.

“Alright,” he began, his voice more confident than before, though there was a slight edge to it. “This problem is about differential equations. First, we isolate the variable—”

You interrupted him, your voice light and teasing. “Mm, sure, but are you sure you want to go straight into all that? I mean, you’re looking awfully cute trying to explain this.”

Felix froze mid-sentence, the words catching in his throat. His hand, still gripping his pencil, trembled slightly. He glanced up at you, flustered. “I... I’m just trying to make sure you get it.” His voice was tight, but there was an unmistakable vulnerability to it, like he was unsure whether you were joking or being serious.

You leaned back in your chair, letting your eyes trace over his flustered expression. “I know, I know. You’re just so diligent,” you said with a smirk, your inspective eyes never leaving his face. “It’s kinda adorable, to be honest.”

Felix’s cheeks turned a shade darker. He cleared his throat, awkwardly glancing at the notebook, his focus now split between the problem in front of him and the teasing grin on your face. “Okay, well,” he stammered, his voice faltering. “Let’s just get through this first part, okay? The first thing you do is... uh, you isolate the variable, and then...”

“You know,” you interrupted again, raising an eyebrow, “you’re really good at this. I don’t even need to take notes. I’ll just watch you talk about math. You’re cute when you get all serious.”

Felix’s eyes darted up to meet yours, then quickly flicked back down, his face growing hotter. “I—uh—I think it’s better if you take notes. You’ll remember it better that way.”

You grinned, enjoying how much you were making him squirm. “Oh, but it’s more fun this way. You’re cute when you’re flustered. Besides,” you leaned forward slightly, “I think I’d rather pay attention to you than whatever’s on the page.”

Felix opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He swallowed thickly, his fingers nervously tapping the pencil against the desk. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes on the equations now, not when you were looking at him like that. “I... I don’t think that’s the best idea,” he finally managed, his voice sounding almost strained. “We need to focus.”

“Focus, huh?” you mused, eyes sparkling. “Well, I’m sure I could focus... if you weren’t so intriguing.”

He was clearly struggling to maintain his composure. His gaze flickered between his notes and you, like he was unable to decide which was more important. “I—I’m trying to stay on track here,” he said, voice a little more forceful this time, though it was still laced with uncertainty. “But, uh... just, just try to take notes. Please?”

You smiled, leaning back in your chair with a teasing glint in your eye. “Alright, alright, Felix. You’re the boss. But I’ll admit, it’s hard to take notes when my tutor is so... distracting.”

Felix’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling around his pencil. “I—uh—I’m not trying to distract you. I just... I want you to understand this,” he said quickly, his tone a little more defensive now.

You nodded slowly, your expression shifting just enough to let him know you were still in control of the situation. “Sure, Felix. Go ahead,” you said, your voice almost too sweet, too calm. “I’ll listen, I promise.”

But there was no mistaking the underlying amusement in your voice, the way you were watching him with that knowing smile, making it almost impossible for him to keep his focus. Felix’s pencil shook slightly as he attempted to continue, but his words came out stilted and unsure. “Okay, so... when you—uh, when you solve for the variable, you—”

You leaned forward just a little, your voice soft but pointed. “You’re so good at this, Felix. Really. But I’ve got to wonder...” You let the words trail off, watching the way he stiffened under your gaze. “Do you get this flustered all the time? Or is it just me?”

Felix froze, his face turning even redder as he quickly tried to look away. “I’m—uh—I’m not flustered,” he muttered, but his voice was weak, lacking the usual certainty.

For the first time, you saw a flicker of something else in his eyes—an edge, maybe, or a challenge. His hand gripped his pencil more firmly as he looked down at the page, his voice quieter but still undeniably more confident. “I can focus,” he said, his tone sharper than before. “Let’s just... finish this.”

“Alright,” you said, your voice softer now, almost intrigued. “Let’s finish it, then.”

“Okay,” he began again, though his voice was steadier than before, still tinged with that edge of determination. “Let’s go over it again. After we’ve isolated the variable, you need to—”

You interrupted him again, this time leaning forward, just slightly. “Felix,” you said, your tone laced with playful mischief, “do you always look this serious when you’re teaching? I mean, you’re making me think you have a secret life as a super serious tutor.”

Felix blinked, clearly thrown off by the sudden shift in your tone. He adjusted his glasses with a nervous gesture, but this time, the flush creeping up his neck wasn’t as obvious. “I—I’m just trying to make sure you understand,” he said, though there was an almost defensive quality in his voice now. “It’s not easy to explain this stuff if you’re distracted.”

You raised an eyebrow, letting a small smirk play on your lips. “Distracted? Me?” you asked, feigning innocence. “I’m completely focused on you, Felix. But you know, your whole ‘serious tutor’ vibe is... kinda working for me. It’s almost too cute.”

Felix’s eyes flicked to you, then quickly away, a small breath escaping his lips. His hands clenched around the pencil, a slight tremor running through him. “It’s not cute,” he said quickly, his voice sounding a little more forced now. “This is important. I need you to take this seriously.”

“Of course, Felix,” you purred, leaning back in your chair as you watched the way he shifted in his seat. “I am very serious. I’m just wondering... do you always get this uptight when you talk to girls? Or is it just me that gets under your skin?”

Felix’s eyes widened, a flicker of something almost daring in his eye before he quickly looked back down at his notes. The flush deepened in his cheeks, but there was a shift in his posture—a subtle but noticeable one. “I’m not uptight,” he said firmly, though the force behind his words caught you by surprise. “I’m just focused on making sure you understand the content. That’s all.”

You smiled knowingly, pushing your luck a little further. “Hmm, is that what it is? You’re not uptight at all? Because it sure looks like I’m getting to you, Felix.”

Felix’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might snap at you. But then, he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his fingers loosening their grip on the pencil. “It’s just that... I know this stuff inside and out,” he said, his tone a little quieter but still confident. “I don’t want you to struggle with it, okay?”

You tilted your head, your smile softer now, though your eyes never left his. “I’m sure you don’t want me to struggle,” you said, your voice low, “but maybe... just maybe... you’re a little more interested in making me struggle in other ways.”

Felix’s face flushed, his expression faltering for a split second before he regained his composure. His gaze flicked to yours again, but this time, it lingered a fraction longer than before. “I... that’s not what I meant,” he stammered, his voice betraying him. “I just... want you to do well. Is that so hard to believe?”

You smirked, enjoying the way he was floundering just a bit. “No, Felix. It’s not hard to believe at all,” you said, your voice dripping with amusement. “I just find it interesting that you’re so focused on me doing well. What about you? You’re doing a great job. I’d say you're pretty good at this whole tutoring thing.”

Felix shifted, clearly flustered. His usual calm demeanor was beginning to crack, and he was no longer avoiding your line of sight. The hesitation was still there, but it was starting to feel like he wasn’t as afraid to face you anymore. “It’s... it’s not about me,” he said, voice still uncertain, but no longer as shy. “It’s about you learning, okay?”

There was a brief moment of silence, and you noticed the change in his posture—how he sat up straighter now, shoulders back, a subtle shift in his body language. His attempt at maintaining composure was no longer about simply getting through the tutoring session—it was about something else, something you couldn’t quite place.

You tilted your head slightly, watching him closely. “Alright, Felix,” you said, your voice softening just a little, “I’ll let you get back to the problem. But I’m starting to think that you’re not just tutoring me anymore. There’s a little something else going on, huh?”

Felix cleared his throat, his staring flicking to his notes for a second before he straightened up, more resolute this time. “Just focus on the material, alright?” His voice had a firmness now, an edge to it that hadn’t been there before. He now carried a commanding energy that you would be lying if you said you hated it.

For the first time, you felt a shift in the dynamic. The shift in the air was palpable—subtle yet undeniable. Felix was no longer just the shy, uncertain tutor, fumbling through every explanation with a nervousness that was, at first, endearing but now seemed out of place. No, there was something different in his demeanor now—something almost challenging. The softness he had shown earlier, the gentle hesitation, was slowly being replaced with a quiet firmness, and you could feel it in the way his eyes met yours. Steady. Calculated. Unwavering.

You couldn’t resist pushing just a little further. It's just so fun!

“So, Felix,” you said, a teasing tone slipping into your voice, “is this how you always talk? All serious, no fun? Because I think you'd be a lot more interesting if you let go a little, you know. Just a thought."

Felix didn't even flinch this time. His gaze held steady, the faintest spark of something deeper hiding behind those eyes. There was an edge to his voice, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift that you had not noticed before. “I can be fun when it matters,” he replied, his tone surprisingly assured. “But I’m not here to entertain you. I’m here to help you get it. If that means I need to stay focused, then so be it.”

You raised an eyebrow, momentarily taken aback by the calm intensity of his words. “Oh, I know,” you said with a feigned innocence, leaning back slightly in your chair. “But it’s funny, don’t you think? How you try so hard to keep it all together. Makes me wonder... if you’re trying to impress someone with all that focus.”

Felix’s posture stiffened, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. His fingers, still gripping the pencil, twitched as if he was about to speak, but instead, he cleared his throat, and a brief silence settled between you.

“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” he said, the words deliberate, slower this time. “I’m here to do my job. To help you. Nothing more.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as you studied him. “Mm. Sure. But I can’t help but wonder, Felix,” you said, leaning in just a little closer, “does all this effort to be so... perfect make you feel better? Or is it just the way you think people expect you to be?”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and you could see Felix’s jaw tighten. His eyes, previously avoiding your peering ones, now locked with them. There was something different in the way he held himself now, something new in the way he stood his ground.

“I’m not perfect,” he said, his voice low but strong, a subtle challenge laced in every syllable. “And I don’t need you to think I am. I’m just doing what I have to do.”

Your gaze softened, the teasing edge still present but now tempered with something else. Felix’s composure was beginning to shift, the walls he had built starting to crack, revealing something more—a strength, a quiet assertiveness that had previously been hidden.

“Alright, Felix,” you said, your tone slipping into something more genuine, less playful. “But I have to admit, this... side of you? Didn’t see it coming. I like it.”

Felix inhaled slowly, his eyes still fixed on you, but now there was a quiet confidence in his aura. He set his pencil down, his movements deliberate, and you watched as he leaned forward just slightly.

“I’m not the nervous guy you think I am,” he said, his voice steady, no longer stumbling over his words. “And I’m not here to let you get away with everything, either.”

The change in his tone caught you off guard. There was no hesitation now, no nervous stammering. Felix, the tutor you had been teasing so relentlessly, was looking at you with the kind of quiet authority that made your pulse race.

Your smile faltered for a second, a small surprise flickering in your chest. “Well,” you said, your voice softer now, “guess I’ve been underestimating you.”

Felix’s deep eyes never wavered, and the corner of his lips curled into the faintest of smirks. “Maybe you should stop,” he said, his tone teasing now, but there was an undeniable edge to it. His voice dropped low, firing quick heat straight to your chest, “You might just find out that I’m not so easy to read.”

You swallowed, your heart picking up its pace at the challenge in his voice. There was a new tension in the air now, a quiet storm brewing between the two of you. And for the first time, you wondered just how far this teasing game could go.

The study session had dragged on, the numbers blurring into a haze that you could no longer focus on. Felix’s voice was a calm cadence, his explanations intricate yet smooth, but your mind had long since wandered. The air between you had thickened, a subtle charge building, lingering just below the surface. You stretched your arms overhead, an exaggerated motion that only further fueled the unspoken tension between you.

“Felix,” you drawled, your voice languid as you settled back into your chair, letting your eyes settle on him. “I think I’ve earned a break, don’t you think?”

Felix glanced up, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes before he smoothed it over with a quick smile. “A break?” he repeated, his tone light but the gleam in his eyes betraying the small flicker of interest. “For what exactly?”

You leaned back, the chair creaking beneath you as you tilted your head, assessing him in that way that made him uncomfortable without him even realising it. “I’ve been listening, Felix. Really listening. And you’ve been talking non-stop about equations. It’s only fair I get a little reward for being so studious.”

Felix’s lips twitched at the corner, but he didn’t break. “Reward? I didn’t realise listening was an activity worthy of prizes.” There was a playful bite to his words now, as if he were starting to realise just how much you were enjoying this.

You let your smile linger. “Oh, but it is,” you replied, leaning forward just enough to close the space between you two. “I’m being patient. I’m being good. And that, Felix, deserves something in return.”

The words came out with just enough sweetness that it almost sounded genuine, though the challenge behind them was unmistakable. Felix blinked once, twice, his brow furrowing as he processed it, before he straightened slightly, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “And what exactly would you want as a reward? Another lecture on algebra?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, rolling your eyes. “Nah, I think I’ve had my fill of that for the evening. Maybe you could entertain me instead?” You let the word entertain hang in the air between you, casual but heavy with implication.

Felix hesitated, a momentary falter before he regained his composure. “Entertain you?” He leaned forward, now more intrigued than flustered. “I think you’re the one who’s been doing the distracting here.”

Your lips quirked at that. “Oh? You think so?” You shifted slightly, your body angling toward him in a way that felt just a touch too close. “I’m just sitting here, Felix. But it seems like you’re the one who can’t quite keep his mind on the equations.”

Felix’s gaze sharpened, though there was a faint flush creeping into his cheeks. He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “I’m focused,” he said, his voice even, though the tension in it was palpable. “And I’m not the one who’s been looking at the clock every five minutes.”

You let out a dramatic sigh. “I’m just trying to learn, Felix. I can’t help it if your genius is just... so distracting.”

His eyes flickered at the word genius, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Distracting, huh?” He paused, then leaned forward, lowering his voice just enough to make your heart race. “Maybe you’re the one who’s distracting me. You’ve been distracting me from the very beginning.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. Felix wasn’t just playing along anymore. He was starting to push back, and it felt different—more deliberate, more confident.

“Oh really?” you murmured, the words slipping from your lips with a mix of amusement and challenge. “How exactly am I distracting you, Felix?”

Felix’s lips quirked into a half-smile, the self-assurance growing in him like a steady wave. “Well, for one, you won’t stop trying to flirt with me. I’ve been trying to focus on these problems,” he gestured to the scattered equations on the table, “but all I can think about is how much you enjoy messing with me.”

The words were out before you could stop them, a laugh escaping you. “Flirting? Me? I’m just being friendly, Felix.”

“Friendly?” he repeated, eyes narrowing as he leaned closer, so close that you could feel the heat from his body. His voice lowered, edged with something darker. “You’ve been pushing me ever since we started. Don’t act like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

You swallowed, but the smile never left your lips. You weren’t expecting him to bite back this hard, but you liked it. “So, what?” you teased. “Am I a little too much for you?”

Felix didn’t flinch, not this time. He matched your gaze, leaning in just enough to close the gap, his voice a low murmur. “Maybe you are. But maybe I like it that way.”

Your breath caught, his words hanging in the air like a promise you were unsure if you wanted to acknowledge it just yet. Felix, the shy, smart tutor, was not so shy anymore. He was unafraid to meet you head-on, and that shift was more intoxicating than you would like to admit.

“Well,” you said, your voice breathy, the teasing edge still there but softer now, “I’m starting to think you might like the distraction, Felix.”

He paused, and for the first time, you saw the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. Then, with a smirk that was all confidence, he leaned back, his posture changing entirely. “Maybe I do,” he said, his voice even, his gaze still holding yours, “but I’m not sure you’re ready for it. You think you've got me all figured out, hm?”

You couldn’t help the subconcious reaction in you—your smile widened, and the challenge grew thicker in your chest. “Oh, I don’t need to figure you out. I already know what buttons to press. It’s just you're a little more... unpredictable than I thought.”

Felix’s eyes narrowed, his expression now a perfect mixture of amusement and something else—something sharper. “Unpredictable?” he repeated, his tone lowering. “I think you’re the unpredictable one here. You’ve been pushing my buttons from the start. But now...”

His voice took on a teasing, almost dangerous edge. “Now I’m starting to wonder how far you’re willing to push before you realise you might’ve gone too far.”

“You think I’ve gone too far?” you asked, your voice soft and mocking, and not doing very well at disguising how your heart skips beats when his voice drops in the way it has. “I’m just getting started, Felix.”

He leaned even closer, his voice now a near-whisper. “Then you’d better be careful,” he said, the words so close to a challenge that you couldn’t quite tell where the game ended and something else began. “Because if you keep pushing me, I might just let you go too far.”

For a moment, you both stared at each other, the air thick with a tension neither of you seemed willing to break.

“Well,” you said, leaning back, your voice back to that teasing edge, “looks like you’re the one distracting me now, huh?”

Felix smirked, leaning back in his own chair, but there was something in his posture now—something that made you realise he hadn’t been flustered at all. “You’ve been distracting me all this time,” he said, his voice steady. “But I think you’re right about one thing—you’re just getting started.”

You blinked, caught by surprise at the intensity in his voice. You were uncertain what had just shifted, but something between you had changed—Felix wasn’t just the shy, nervous tutor anymore. He was playing the game, and he was playing it well.

You barely made it through another page. Felix had resumed his explanation, something about polynomial division, but your thoughts were no longer tethered to the textbook. They wandered—to the way his fingers drummed lightly against the table, to the slight rasp in his voice when he became too focused to notice. He had not looked flustered since that last retort. In fact, it felt as though you were the one squirming now, each shift in his gaze a little too assured, each silence weighted with implication.

“You done spacing out again?” he asked, lifting his eyes just as yours trailed down the slope of his jaw.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Was not spacing out. I was contemplating the deeper meaning of poly-whatever division.”

Felix gave a slow nod, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Right. Deep. Like a spiritual experience.”

You exhaled a light laugh, chin propped in your hand. “You know, for someone who spends his nights talking to himself on Discord, you’re getting real confident.”

He blinked. “Wait—how do you know I—”

“I have ears,” you said simply. “And the guys talk. You all aren't exactly quiet.”

Felix stared at you, momentarily thrown. Then, in a move that felt strangely bold, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Okay. If you’re gonna mock the way I unwind, you’ve gotta at least try one of my games.”

“Try one?”

“Yeah. Come to my place. Pick a game. Let’s see if you’re any good.”

You raised a brow, amused by the casual offer—more amused by the confident glint in his eyes. “Is this a trap?”

“No,” he said, standing and stretching, his shirt riding up just slightly to reveal a sliver of pale skin. “But if you lose, you have to stop pretending you’re not interested.”

“And if I win?”

Felix paused at that, considering you with a gaze that lingered too long to be platonic. Then, with a crooked grin: “You won’t.”

You followed him out, the air charged in that low-simmer kind of way, the silence between you growing more alive with each step. His apartment was only a few minutes’ walk off campus, small and cozy, the kind of place that smelled faintly like cologne, old textbooks, and lavender laundry sheets.

“Shoes off,” he called as he moved toward the living room, kicking his own beside the door. “And no cheating.”

You stepped inside, eyes sweeping the space—books stacked on shelves and windowsills, a mess of cables near the desk, and, of course, a massive monitor glowing faintly in the dim light.

You turned toward him slowly, lips curling. “This is... alarmingly nerdy.”

He handed you a controller. “I know. You gonna keep talking or you gonna lose?”

"Put your money where your mouth is, Felix. Try me and find out."

You sat on the edge of his low couch, controller in hand, your knees drawn close and posture too poised for someone allegedly ready to relax. Felix, in contrast, looked perfectly at home—hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, one leg tucked under the other as he navigated the menus with muscle memory. His jaw was set, eyes flicking over the screen, the pale glow catching on his cheekbones, that singular beauty which softened every time he forgot to guard it.

“Alright,” he said, voice casual as though he had not just invited you into his domain. “Simple practice match first. No stakes. You just gotta learn the controls.”

“I know what a joystick is,” you replied, shifting beside him, your shoulder brushing against his lightly. “I’m not a caveman.”

“No,” he said, glancing sidelong at you. “Just an academic liability.”

You made a sound of mock offense, elbow nudging his arm. “Wow. The ego on you.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Oh, so I taught you arrogance?”

Felix smirked, his eyes not tearing from the screen. “You’re an excellent role model.”

You were not entirely paying attention to the tutorial. Your fingers moved, but your thoughts trailed elsewhere—the rise and fall of his breath beside you, how his hands moved on the plastic controller with such nimbleness, the way his voice dipped low when explaining something technical, the subtle rasp that crept in the longer he talked.

“Here—hold A and rotate here. Like this.” He shifted, his hand coming over yours before you could react, guiding your fingers carefully. His touch was light, but deliberate, and far too warm.

You glanced at him.

He didn't move away.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “So... this is your master plan? Lure girls into your apartment and seduce them with thumb placement?”

Felix’s ears flushed red immediately. “What? No—no. That is not—”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, feigning deep thought. “Honestly, it is kind of working. But you should pace yourself, you know? Not every girl likes it rough on the joystick.”

He sputtered. Actually sputtered. “That is not—You—God—”

You grinned, victorious.

“I knew you were a menace,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

You tilted your head toward him, gaze lingering. “Still think you can handle tutoring me twice a week?”

Felix exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable now—focused, perhaps, or maybe just attempting not to combust. He turned his attention back to the screen, but not before murmuring under his breath:

“Barely.”

The practice round ticked down to its final seconds, the countdown flashing across the screen like a warning bell. The room around you was thick with warmth and shadow, your shared laughter from earlier settling into something quieter now—something edged.

Felix sat forward with that same focus as before, fingers loose on the controller, brow furrowed, jaw taut with effort. You watched the light flicker across his features—the soft glow of the monitor catching in his lashes, gilding the curve of his cheekbone. He hadn't even noticed how close you were.

But you had.

You tilted your body just enough that your thigh brushed his. “So intense,” you murmured. “Bet your heart rate goes up when your health bar drops.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “You talk too much when you're losing.”

“You're cute when you pretend this game matters.”

He finally looked at you. Not a glance, not a flicker—looked, head turning toward you fully, slow and unreadable.

“I'm cute?” he asked, tone deceptively mild.

You leaned in, feigning casual, letting your lips hover just near his ear. “Adorably so. Like a sweet little overachiever who's never had anyone play dirty with him before.”

Felix’s breath hitched. You felt it more than heard it.

He turned back to the screen, but his voice had shifted—lower now, smoother, each word curling with quiet intent. “Let's make this interesting.”

You tilted your head, eyeing him. “Go on.”

He pressed a button—your character flailed helplessly on-screen.

“If I win…” he said slowly, “you have to tell me exactly what kind of thoughts you have when you look at me, when you listen to me.”

Your grip on the controller tightened and your heart lurched, were you that obvious?

“What do I get if I win?” you asked, trying not to sound too breathless, too flustered.

Felix’s smirk curved like something dangerous. “Then I want to hear the same thing. Just... slower.”

“Alright, fine. But one more warm-up. Need to level the playing field.”

He answered with a chuckle and a soft shake of his head. The 'rematch' button was selected.

Competitive silence hovered in the air longer than it should have.

Your character lay defeated on the screen, the soft flicker of pixelated flames the only movement in the room. Felix had not moved either—still leaned forward, still watching you, though his gaze had shifted. Less playful now. More precise. Like he had studied the moment, found the crack in your composure, and was waiting to press into it.

You shifted where you sat, suddenly aware of the heat in the room, of how close his knee was to yours, how low his voice had gone and how it still echoed in your skin. His eyes dropped—briefly—to your mouth. Then rose again.

“So,” you said, clearing your throat. “That was a warm-up, right?”

His lips curved, slow and wolfish. Not a smile. A promise.

“Practice,” he corrected. “That was just practice.”

And then—he sat back.

Not away from you. Into himself. Like something in him had settled. His posture eased, but his presence intensified, like the air between you had suddenly thickened.

He resumed the game, eyes still on the screen, voice low and smooth. “Ready to actually play?”

You blinked. “What was I doing before?”

He clicked a button. The screen glowed. “Losing. Distracted. Making it too easy.”

“You're—”

“Still winning,” he cut in, and this time the look he gave you was direct, calculated. “But now… now I want to see what you're like when you stop pretending that you 'don't care'.”

You felt your stomach drop and flutter all at once.

Felix shifted again, closer this time—close enough that you could feel the press of his thigh against yours, the heat of him radiating through the minimal space between you. And then his voice came again—just behind your ear, thick as honey and impossible to block out.

“No more practice,” he murmured, the lowness of his voice shooting heat straight to your gut. “Show me how good you really are.”

You exhaled slowly and reset your grip on the controller, forcing your shoulders to loosen, your jaw to unclench. You had teased him first. This was just payback. You could handle it. It was still just a game.

But Felix was no longer playing the same one.

He didn't fill the silence between rounds with jokes or quips anymore. He didn't glance at your screen. He didn't need to.

He stayed close. Still and aware and quiet—except for that voice.

Not even a full sentence. Just fragments, murmured in that devastating octave, as if they slipped out of him without effort. Too casual. Too effective.

“Focus,” he whispered, as your thumb slipped on the analog stick again.

You swallowed hard.

“You're holding your breath,” he said next, voice lilting downward like a slow descent into something dangerous. “Is it me?”

You turned your head toward him—your mistake.

Because his eyes were already on you. Lazy, unreadable, and far too warm. His gaze flicked to your lips for half a second before he leaned in, so close you could feel the shape of his breath against your cheek when he spoke again.

“Tell me what you hear.”

Your pulse kicked hard against your throat.

“My voice,” he murmured, lips barely moving, “or your thoughts?”

You blinked, rapidly turning to look back at the screen, face burning. He had guessed. Or no—known. Felt it in the way you tensed. The way your thighs pressed together, just slightly, when he got close enough to speak low.

He smiled, soft and dangerous. “Thought so.”

You fumbled a combo. He leaned back, hands never leaving his controller, the heat of him still very much present.

“You keep teasing like you want me to lose,” he said. “But I think you want me to win.”

“I do not,” you said too quickly, too sharply, and he laughed—quiet, deep, the sound dragging along your spine.

“Then concentrate,” he said. “You're about to lose again.”

And that would be right, you did.

He paused the screen.

This time, he did not gloat. He set the controller down and turned toward you with a steady, almost clinical curiosity��like you were a riddle he was determined to solve.

“So,” he said, voice gentled back into a hush, “what exactly is it?”

You blinked. “What?”

He leaned in again, this time letting his mouth hover near your ear, not touching, just close enough that your breath hitched.

“The pitch?” he asked. “The rasp? Or is it just knowing I'm using it on purpose?”

You could not answer. Not right away. He waited.

Still.

Quiet.

Patient.

And then, softly—“Tell me everything. You lost the bet. You owe me that much.”

You hesitated—just a moment, but it was enough. The truth sat heavy in your chest, and you could feel it like a secret you had tried to keep hidden. You knew why he made your breath catch. It wasn’t just the voice. It was how it wrapped around you, how it hit those places you tried not to think about.

But now that he had cornered you—his eyes steady, voice calm, as if he knew—you could hardly breathe without him seeing right through you.

You blinked quickly, trying to steady yourself, but it did not work.

“I think,” you started, your voice a little too tight, “I think it’s the way you speak when you’re not... trying.”

Felix’s lips quirked, like a secret he had not expected you to admit.

“You mean when I’m casual?”

“Not casual,” you forced out, your heartbeat picking up. “When you’re—” You tried to think of the word, but it was impossible. “When you’re barely trying at all. Like you're not even aware of how much you're—" You stopped yourself, eyes narrowing. “You're affecting me. You’re just… too good at it.”

Felix leaned back, lips curling in amusement, eyes locked on you like a challenge. He wasn’t going to let you off easy. You were playing this game now.

“So, you like it, then? My voice?”

You shot him a look, half-rolling your eyes. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“Mm. But I think you can say it louder.”

“You’re pushing it,” you warned, voice low, but Felix knew—he knew exactly what he was doing. You could see the way he leaned closer, just enough to make your pulse spike, his eyes twinkling like he was the cat and you were the mouse.

And then he spoke again, his voice darker this time—sweeter in its low rumble.

“You like it when I’m casual, right? When I don’t even try to make it sound like I’m saying it for you. That’s the part you’re not telling me, isn’t it?”

You swallowed, trying to look away, but you couldn’t. He had you in his grip now—his voice, his words, everything about the way he knew. And he was right. You couldn’t stop yourself from reacting to it.

But he had no plans of letting up.

“Or is it something else, hmm?” Felix’s voice lowered even further, an almost unbearable, husky murmur. “Do you like it when I speak just like this? Like I’m giving you everything you don’t want, but you can’t pull away.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to maintain some sense of control. “You really think you know that much about me?”

He grinned, that teasing flicker in his eyes returning. “I do now.”

And then—he did it again. His voice, barely above a whisper—“Focus. You’re still distracted.”

You flinched, shifting uncomfortably, and then—just to push back—you threw him a glance, daring him.

“You know,” you said, voice dropping in challenge, “I think you like knowing how much it gets to me.”

Felix froze, his gaze sharpening. The edge of something dangerous settled between you both.

“Is that so?”

You didn’t flinch this time. You met him, eye for eye. “You’re not the only one who can play this game.”

“Prove it,” he said, his voice lowering to the kind of hunger that made your breath hitch. “Let me hear it. Let me hear what really gets you worked up.”

And that—that was the final challenge.

You leaned in, close enough that your words came out soft, teasing, barely more than a whisper.

“You really want to know?” You paused just a beat. “I think it’s the way you think you have all the answers, but you’re about to lose.”

Felix laughed, dark and quiet, but there was something heavier in it now. His fingers, light and steady, brushed the edge of your knee. “Is that so? Somehow you still think you’ve got the upper hand. That's bold of you.”

You tried—you really tried—to stay focused, to force your eyes on the controller, the animations of the pause window, anything. But every second, Felix’s voice seeped into your skin, his words curling around your senses like smoke. It was intoxicating, heavy, and too much.

You could feel your pulse quicken, the rhythm of your breath growing shallow. His voice, so warm, so rich, pressed against your ear, vibrating through your bones. Each word he murmured was like a wave, pulling you deeper into his orbit.

"Felix," you whispered, barely able to contain the way your breath hitched in your throat. “Stop... teasing."

A grin tugged at his lips. He knew. God, he knew how much he was getting to you. The bastard knew exactly how his words made you tremble inside, the way his voice curled around you, making it impossible to think about anything else.

“I’m not teasing, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice a lazy drawl, thick with satisfaction. “I’m just making sure you’re paying attention.”

You couldn’t deny it. You weren’t focused on the game anymore—not even close. Every syllable that slipped from his lips was a distraction, a pull, a magnet that made your body feel like it was on fire. It was as if his words had their own gravity, pulling you under, drowning you in the sound of him.

“Focus,” he whispered again, his breath ghosting over your ear, making your skin prickle, your whole body flush. He was so close now, too close, and yet it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. You needed more.

You felt his fingers brush over your wrist, light and teasing, sending jolts of electricity shooting up your arm. He knew exactly how to touch you, knew exactly how to get you to react. His fingers were like fire against your skin—deliberate, slow, dragging out the tension.

“You’ve already lost,” Felix murmured, his voice thick with a kind of wicked amusement. The words sank into your chest, heavy and final, but there was something in his tone—something low and dangerous—that made your stomach flip. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

Your throat went dry as the heat in your body intensified. The screen was just a blur now. Your eyes could barely focus on it. Your whole world was Felix—his presence, his scent, his voice dripping with authority. His words, coated in that delicious, teasing edge, twisted in your mind and made your body react before you could even think about it.

And then—finally—you gave in.

“Okay,” you breathed out, voice barely a whisper, but it was enough. “I lost. You won.”

Felix’s breath shuddered out, a soft exhale of satisfaction. He didn’t move right away, didn’t rush to claim his rightful victory. No, he took his time—because he knew, and you knew, he didn’t need to rush. He had you exactly where he wanted you.

His fingers traced the line of your wrist, slow and deliberate, his touch sending shivers across your skin. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from him. The tension in the room was palpable, a heavy weight pressing down on you, and you could feel the heat between you building, curling in your gut.

Felix’s voice dropped even lower, a velvet murmur that practically slid under your skin. “I knew that was coming, I told you you wouldn't win, remember?” he said, his lips close enough that you could feel the breath against your ear. The words were a command, wrapped in satisfaction and something darker—something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing over your ear in the most maddening way, his voice practically dripping into your ear. “But it’s not over yet, sweetheart. You’re still here. Still with me.”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You were lost in the sound of him, the way his voice felt like a touch, like a caress. You wanted him to stop, wanted him to give you space, but the truth was—you didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want to fight it anymore. Every inch of you screamed for him to keep going, to make you lose again, because losing meant he’d take more, and you’d give him more.

He took his time, waiting. Watching you squirm. Watching the way your chest rose and fell, the flush on your face. He was savoring this—savoring the way he had you wrapped around his finger without even touching you.

Felix’s lips brushed your ear one last time. “Do you want me to stop?” he murmured, his voice laced with that same wicked teasing. “Or do you want me to make you lose all over again?”

Your body was trembling in desire, the answer so close to your lips that it nearly slipped out on its own, but you were still holding back. You still wanted to fight. But when his fingers brushed down your arm again, slow and deliberate, the touch igniting your skin, you knew.

This was no longer a game. This was something else.

And you were far too gone to turn back.

“Yes,” you breathed, unable to hold back any longer, the word slipping out in a breathless rush. “I want you to win.”

Felix let out a low, satisfied chuckle, the sound dripping with so much pleasure you could barely stand it.

“Good, then let’s see just how much you can handle," Felix chuckled darkly, and in that moment, everything changed. The teasing was gone. The games were over. He moved with purpose, his lips crashed against yours, the kiss hungry and desperate, as if he had been waiting for this moment. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you as he pulled you into his lap, not once breaking away from your lips.

His body was firm, hard, and you felt every inch of him pressed against you, his desire unmistakable. It was like electricity crackling between you, sparking the need, the hunger you’d been trying so desperately to control.

Your thighs bracketed his, your hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline as you subconciously rocked your hips down against him. The thick, hard length of him pressed up between your legs, and even with both of you still clothed, it felt obscene—too good, too much. Every movement dragged your against your aching core, the rough texture of denim making you gasp, tremble.

Felix’s hands gripped your hips tight, fingers digging in like he needed to ground himself. “Fuck,” he groaned, his voice dark and wrecked, like gravel dragged across velvet. “Do you feel what you’re doing to me?”

You nodded, breathless, hips rolling down again just to hear that sound leave him. His head dropped back against the couch for a moment, jaw clenched, lips parted. You could see how hard he was beneath you, how much effort it took to let you keep control.

But you never really had it—not with the way he looked up at you now, eyes dark, mouth curling into something hungry. “Move for me, baby,” he said, voice dropping even lower, like a secret whispered straight to your spine. “Let me feel you.”

You obeyed without thinking, grinding down against him in slow, aching circles, chasing friction, chasing heat. His breath caught, hands tightening as he guided your rhythm—deliberate, delicious. Every roll of your hips dragged a new sound from him, low and broken, and it made you feel powerful—until he growled.

“Enough teasing,” he muttered, and before you could blink, he sat up, chest flush to yours, arms locking around your waist.

Now it was him rocking up into you, grinding hard enough to make your breath stutter, your back arch. You clung to him, whimpering at the new angle, the intensity.

“You’re gonna make me lose it,” he hissed against your throat, voice cracking with restraint. “Keep grinding like that, and I’ll come just like this. With you on top of me, clothes on, moaning my name.”

He buried his face in your neck, teeth grazing your skin, and you could barely hold on. There was no air, no room, nothing but the heat of him, the way his hips met yours again and again, perfectly, mercilessly.

You were soaked. Shaking. Seconds away from shattering.

He whispered in that wrecked, perfect voice—“I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

You could feel your pulse racing, your body betraying you with each passing second. You wanted more—wanted him to take you, claim you, make you lose all over again. You needed him to show you just how far you could go with him.

“Then take me,” you breathed out, the words slipping from your lips without thought. You wanted him, wanted everything he was offering. “I’m already yours, Felix. Do what you want with me.”

His eyes darkened, a predatory gleam flashing in them as he heard your words. The smirk on his lips deepened, as if he had been waiting for you to finally admit it—to finally give him the green light to take control completely.

Without a word, Felix flipped you both, placing you beneath him with a precision that sent a rush of heat through your body. The world around you seemed to fade into nothingness, leaving only him—his touch, his voice, his body against yours.

He paused, hovering above you for just a moment, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. His eyes searched yours, a silent question in them—one you didn’t need to answer. You had already given him every word he needed in the moment. He was in control now, and you were more than willing to let him have it.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice a velvet growl that made your skin prickle. His lips crashed down on yours again, this time with an intensity that stole your breath away, the kiss hard, demanding, as if he needed you just as badly as you needed him. After he had stripped you down to your panties, his hands roamed freely, touching you with a hunger that made you ache.

His lips trailed down your neck, nipping at the soft skin there, then trailing down to your chest, where he focused his mouth on your breast, rolling his tongue around your nipple, and his left hand attending to your other breast, kneading the supple skin.

His right hand moved lower, slipping under the waistband of your panties to trace his fingertips ever so lightly through your folds.

"Look at you, so eager. This wet for me, already?" He murmured against your skin, moving away to stare at your pussy, to which he dragged his tongue across his lip. If you weren't embarassed yet, you certainly were by now. "All I've really done is talk to you. You want this that badly? Where did all that biting confidence from this afternoon go, hm?"

You barely managed to muster a reply before his hands fled their posts to lift your hips, to allow for his teeth to catch the elastic of your panties and drag them down to your ankles and tossed to who knows where. He tossed them with his mouth. That image would be engraved in your brain forever.

Wordlessly, he dove straight in.

His tongue moved with a slow, devastating precision—savoring every inch of you as though you were a delicacy he had waited lifetimes to taste. Each stroke was skillful, hungry, and maddeningly thorough, his mouth worshipping you with an unrelenting hunger that bordered on reverence. His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging into the softness as he spread you wide for him, holding you open as though he couldn't bear to lose a single moment of access.

When he moaned against you—low, rough, trembling with need—it reverberated straight through your core. The sound alone nearly broke you.

You shamelessly let out moans, huffs, and groans as needed, you were helpless beneath the weight of his mouth, and he only smiled proudly against you—tongue flicking over your clit with wicked precision, then sucking hard enough to make your vision go white. You cried out, hips jolting, thighs beginning to close around his head in a desperate, overwhelmed instinct.

You shattered with a sob, your release tearing through you fast and violent, your body trembling as the orgasm overtook you—but he did not stop.

He held you in place, relentless and devoted, licking you through it with obscene focus, tongue fucking you slowly, deeply, while your body broke apart beneath him. You were unraveling in his hands, and still—he kept going until your twitching had slowed to a stop.

When he finally pulled away, his chin was slick, his lips glistening. “You taste like a fucking dream.”

You moaned, your hands clutching at his hoodie before he leant up so he could strip it off, revealing smooth, pale skin stretched over lean muscle, his chest heaving with restraint. His eyes were molten, locked on yours as he tugged your thighs apart with strong hands, settling between them once again like he belonged there—because he did.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his fingers replaced his tongue—two of them sliding deep inside you, curling just right, hitting that perfect spot that made you cry out. He worked you open with smooth, steady strokes, watching you unravel under his touch, his thumb drawing slow, tight circles around your clit while his free hand pushed your shirt up to bare your chest.

"You’ve been so good for me," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "But I want to hear you say it again. I want you to beg me."

Your heart raced, your mind spinning with the control he had over you. You could feel the fire building inside you, your breath shallow and fast as you fought to keep yourself from completely losing it.

“Felix, please,” you gasped, eyes glassy with need. “I want your cock inside me. I need it.”

"That's it, who am I to deny such a pretty plea like that?"

He pulled back, his fingers slipping from you, wet and glistening as he reached down to undo his belt. His cock sprang free, flushed and thick, veins prominent along the shaft. You reached for him, but he caught your wrist, pinning it beside your head.

He lined himself up, nudging at your entrance, dragging the head through your slick folds until you were trembling with anticipation. Then, with one slow, merciless thrust, he filled you.

You gasped, nails digging into his back as your walls stretched to accommodate him, the pressure overwhelming in the best way. He paused only a moment, letting you adjust to the size of him, before drawing his hips back and slamming into you again.

“Relax, breathe,” he murmured, pulling back slightly, only to thrust deeper, his breath ragged against your skin. “I’ve got you.”

He groaned as he buried his face in your neck and set a punishing rhythm, each thrust deeper, harder, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust, the angle perfect, the drag of his cock inside you enough to make your vision blur. His hand snaked up to your throat, fingers curling there—not tight, just enough to remind you who was in control.

“You’re mine,” he growled into your ear, biting the lobe. “All of you. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “God, Felix, I’m—”

And when the words finally slipped from your lips, breathless and raw, Felix’s eyes darkened with triumph. “Good girl,” he muttered. “I knew you were mine.”

He shifted, hips grinding against yours as he fucked into you, stroking that sweet, devastating spot again and again until you were sobbing with the need to come. His thumb found your clit again, circling fast and merciless now, pushing you to the brink.

And then you were falling—your body clenching around him, stars exploding behind your eyes as your second orgasm ran through you like fire. Felix didn't stop, chasing his own high, thrusting into you through your climax until his rhythm broke and he spilled inside you with a shudder and a curse.

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting, slick with sweat and trembling from the aftershocks. The tension had finally broken, but you could feel it lingering, the heat between you not quite fading. Felix didn’t seem in a rush to pull away. His gaze lingered on you, and you could see the soft smile tugging at his lips, the same man who had been bold, teasing, and oh so confident moments ago, now softened by the shared intimacy.

“You lost, by the way,” Felix murmured with a playful smile, his fingers tracing over your lips. “And I’m going to make sure you remember that. You were so embarrassed under me.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the one flustering you,” you said softly, voice not quite steady, betraying the remnants of your earlier surrender.

He tilted his head, curls falling over his brow. “You do. Constantly.”

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, but you like it now.”

“I liked it before,” he murmured. Then, quieter, as though it startled even him, “I liked you before.”

The air shifted.

You blinked up at him, smile faltering—not in discomfort, but in the way something deep in your chest tugged, slow and aching. “You… mean that?”

Felix looked at you like he had studied you for days, like you were an answer to something he never wanted to say aloud. “I'm not very good at pretending,” he confessed. “Not with you.”

There was no teasing in that. Just truthful, soft, and raw tenderness.

Your hands found his cheeks, thumbs brushing the warmth of his flushed skin. “You really have the worst timing,” you whispered, trying to smile. “Saying stupid sweet things when I'm still technically trying to beat you.”

Felix smiled back—crooked, lopsided, unfairly boyish. “Then lose. Again. On purpose this time.”

You leaned upward, just close enough to feel his breath catch against your lips. “And if I do?”

His eyes dropped to your mouth. “Then let me make it worth your while.”

You kissed him slowly, like the match had burned down, like the game had ended, and only the wanting remained.

guys pls lmk if the long stuff is too much,,,,, i keep getting carried away LOL thx for reading allat

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[hiddenobject-fanblog]

YO! It's the anon from before! Sorry it's been almost a month lol but you asked me last time what my thoughts were on the lonely hearts murders and I hadn't actually played it at the time, but now I have!

I loved it, it's really cool all the differences from dorian gray. like obviously the significantly larger cast, all the animations and cutscenes, the map being wayy bigger and the different chapters taking place in different places around town. I also think it had just enough tie ins to oscars story that it felt worth it to play? If that makes sense, I was figuring it would be largely disconnected from oscar despite technically being in the same series but there was a lot of stuff!

I'm making a youtube video about the brink of consciousness series and I keep thinking of plot related questions that I have nobody to ask, so I hope you dont mind if I come to you every once in a while! (and even regardless of the video there's lots to ponder)

so ill send a few questions but feel free to only answer ones you care about if some of them are uninteresting to you <3

Do you think the story about Matilda's late husbands boat (the gentle villain) has anything to do with the plot? I can't really think of anything but it seems like there has to be a reason that they put that whole explanation in there??

how are archie and oscar actually related, cus in the game itself matilda mentions that oscar is her grand-nephew (?) which would make him archies nephew, but in the dev interview included in the collectors edition they describe matilda as oscars great grandma? im assuming one of these is a translation error or something but im not sure, kinda figure we just pick one and go with it but im wondering which one you pick lol

in dorian gray, theres a note sam finds that explains the beginning of oscar's obsession with embalming people, and that he just saw some embalmed animals and thought they were beautiful, do you think this is really the case? given what we know after lonely hearts about matilda and even archie's behaviors. Of course 1, they didnt know the details of the lonely hearts murders yet when they made dorian gray syndrome and also 2, all those notes were allegedly fake anyways (yeah right...) so theres that. I personally kinda think oscar found the mask and matilda's memoirs (that we know she would write cus thats how logan and jayden found out she was involved) and thought she was #lit and was like lemme do this actually

ok thats all!! love ya !

Hey, thanks for getting back to me, anon! I love hearing from you! <3

So I'm going to be honest, I held back on answering this because I recently started taking my medications again and it's affecting how I think as of late. I cannot seem to recall a lot about the Lonely Hearts Murders game for the LIFE of me despite having a recent revisit to it, so I want to replay it before being able to properly answer your questions about the plot. If I'm going to be honest - I pay waaaay more attention to Dorian Gray Syndrome's plot/characters as it is my favorite of the two. <3

As for your last question, though! -- When I initially played Lonely Hearts Murders, I thought it was a kind of lame decision to make Oscar's 'killing' a family-related thing and not something he came up with on his own, as I really liked the initial following they were going with to the original story of The Picture of Dorian Gray, regarding Oscar's obsession with keeping the youth and beauty of others immortalized, it's such an interesting take to the original book that I'll make my jumbled thoughts about it its own thing.

I'm sure you've seen my post analyzing Oscar's notes in-game, about which ones might be 'legitimate' or not. I think it's up to the player to interpret just how much of what Oscar 'reveals' is true. He claims nothing Sam learned about him was true, and maybe that *had* been honest at the time before they made the next game, but Lonely Hearts Murders makes you question the legitimacy of it all when you get a peek into Oscar's past and family. It could be exactly what he claims -- a lie, and the truth is that it was something he learned from Matilda and chose to continue with -- or it's a masked truth, and he learned about the embalming that way and found his purpose for it later on. I kind of like the latter better, personally.

My mind's been racing about the mask, if there was any symbolism as to how we(Logan) found it and if it was ever taken into police custody afterwards. I recall it being used as a sort of key to open a door or something, so I doubt it would've been retrieved again by Logan, which makes me think Oscar revisited his family's past and, as you say, found Matilda's memoirs and donned the mask.

But. What is the mask's story. Who wore it first? Matilda? Where did it come from? Why DOES Oscar wear the mask?

I will reblog this post with my answers to your other questions after I've replayed the game. I'm kind of frustrated with how dead my mind has felt and wish I could reply to this better. </3

[veyette]

Dream dragon AU by milder-manners (check it out, there is good world-building, beautiful concepts and just as nice strip pannels drawn by them) theory

Okay, I'm going to try my hand here because I'm not sure how much people will think it's spoilers if I ask but I still want to get it out. This is more a jumble of thoughts than a true theory about what will happen

First, there is the (to me at least*) open secret that Dream is the white dragon since the first pannel and the prophecy implies he will tranform himself sooner or later (but can he already ?)

Dragons hybrids can shapeshift (thanks to vow this is now a fact (aka, her being a human silhouette then having a large tail in Dream's flashbacks) + the author confirming that some magical beings can shapeshift)... but it also said it's something you have to train for, even if genetical grounds matter a lot. So is that why Dream try to steal the End info, to power up his own strength ? Is it for himself, as dragons- nature can makes them want to hoard knowledge (on that note, is that the same motivation than vow ?) or is it to be able to get revenge (especially since we now know for sure he comes from Deepheart's capital)

Which brings me to a second theory : Dream's presence in Deepheart (2 things)

1. Magic : Wardens seemed very careful about who could learn the death magic. It seems logical than only a very few can learn it, aka the Ancient Council. I doubt another hybrid than warden (especially a cow hybrid since they aren't supposed to have magic) would be invited to learn it. Was Dream ever interested in this if he likes hoarding knowledge ? Could he try to study it even if his magic doesn't resonate with it ? Or maybe it's just a coincidence and he never had an interest in this kind of stuff (but ok, I'll admit the dsmp impacted my theory with c!dream and all that. Idk how much it ties into pure warden lore. But the death link is there and I don't want to close the door on this too quickly)

2. Growing up - dream's parents and heritage.

I want to be clear I may be wrong and the author may want to take us in a very different direction, but the white horns, the prophecy, the fact Dream is fireproof and that usually when you follow a guy you know is the hero and makes himself pass for a prey hybrid... all those makes me 99% sure about what Dream is supposed to be.

Where it's interesting is that dragons hybrids are rare, and that it's genetics that make an hybrid. So Dream's parents should be dragons hybrids too : what were they doing in Deepheart and why didn't they survive ? It may be that they weren't lucky genetically and weren't fireproof, or died from buildings falls, but maybe they weren't even there, Dream already alone at that age. Tried to know a bit more about dragons habits with their kids but seems like I was too sneaky with my formulation :')

Anyway. If Dream had parents keeping him safe, what were they doing in Deepheart ? Were they interested in magic too or trying to live a normal life (possible, but uncertain seeing how they are characterized so far). If his parents weren't there : why is Dream there, has he been left there voluntarily ? Why Deepheart especially if the Empire seems interested in the End, he would have been more in his place there. Unless his parents didn't know he was a dragon hybrid (which, they could both had recessive dragon genes which could explain the whiteness).

It could be an easy plot point where the author just needed a town to put Dream in that the Empire would attack but I think they wouldn't mention sculk magic that way and the importance of Deepheart if there wasn't more to find.

...I feel like an old crazy geeze trying to analyse this lmao, feel free to interract if you have more ideas to explore or points you disagree with

[tangledbea]

If Eugene's past had to be explored, and he had to be from the Dark Kingdom and connected to the Moon Stone, how would you have gone about it in the show so it didn't feel rushed/unimportant/shoehorned in?

That is what season two would have been about. Not necessarily in its entirety, but...

Okay, look. Season one was about Rapunzel learning more about society and working her way up to leaving Corona. During the course of that, the whole thing with Varian happened, which should have been enough to teach her to be more careful with her friends (as in be more gentle with them, pay closer attention to them, don't always put her wants and needs above theirs, etc).

When season two started, and Rapunzel and Eugene were the only ones with new outfits, I felt confident that S2 was going to be about him and them. You don't change a character's outfit in a show with largely static outfits unless you want to shine a spotlight on them, right? And then, the very first episode was about their relationship!

So, in this idealized season two, Rapunzel wouldn't have been careless with Cassandra, thus negating the whole problem there, which leaves time to focus on Eugene's past (he and Lance were supposed to be from Vardaros, in the content of the series, not just in the backstory as told by people who worked on the show) and letting he and Rapunzel kind of... discover themselves and each other when they were out in the world without an emergency directly on hand. Maybe Adira would blatantly suspect who Eugene was. Maybe they'd meet Hector more than once. Maybe, the closer they got to the Dark Kingdom, the more the rocks would sort of “speak” to Eugene, by which I mean he’d get a funny but familiar feeling from them, one that he knew he’d never felt before but recognized, like they were calling him forward. And since the whole thing never happened with Cassandra, maybe they'd spend more time in the Dark Kingdom, with Eugene learning about his mother (and she'd have a name, too!) and his heritage. He could have an actual, real blow-out with Edmund, making him listen to all the pent up anger and resentment he has at having been abandoned as a baby. Especially if he was being surveilled the whole time. Because what's worse? Being abandoned, or being abandoned then watched as you live a poor life, struggle, and eventually become a thief because it's the only option you've got? Edmund even collected his wanted posters. He knew who he was all along (until he went back to being Eugene and new wanted posters were no longer put up). How do you reconcile having a father who you never knew who knew who you were all along? That doesn't really fix anything.

So we move into S3, and a running subplot is Eugene's gradual reconciliation with Edmund, accepting him, and even forgiving him for the wrongs Eugene felt he'd done, so that him calling him "father" or "dad" in the freaking finale is a great big reveal that snaps Edmund out of whatever attack mode he's in. (Cause while I hate the Mind Trap, I love the idea of the Brotherhood fighting against Rapunzel and co as a unified front.)

Now, this is just me spitballing. I haven't been awake very long, and I'm just sort of putting jumbled thoughts out there. I don't actually have a singular specific plot in my head for this.

[carpsurprise]

sam stans i come.. bearing a gift.. sooo..

plot: the farmer teaches sam how to plant flowers, despite his clumsy nature

word count: 1.9k

notes: once again, gn!farmer. this is.. way more than i usually write but i felt particularly inspired... and we all know i love sam, put under a read more bc it is a little long. i’m also posting this on ao3! don’t be surprised if another sam writing comes up soon... 

A quiet sigh left the farmer’s mouth, their eyes focusing on Sam’s clumsy, gloved hands handling the delicate flowers. He tipped the young flowers from their nursery containers with care, mindful of the placement of his fingers against the dirt and the positions of the leaves. The empty nursery container was thrown haphazardly on the ground, making the farmer’s eyebrow quirk for just a moment before returning their attention back to Sam. With the young flower held in both of his hands, he shot the farmer a nervous glance.

“Heh,” he chuckled, heat starting to creep up the back of his neck, “thought you bought seeds from Pierre? I didn’t think you’d plant already blooming flowers.”

The farmer shrugged. “They’re still nice. Besides, those are more for decoration than anything— and you asked me to teach you to plant flowers, didn’t you? Teaching you to plant a seed would take a moment.”

“I guess so,” he muttered, still nervously holding the formed potting soil. “Now what do I do, stick it in the ground?”

“You could, or,” the farmer held Sam’s hands gently, allowing him to hear his own heartbeat in his head. The farmer helped support the stem of the plant, gently kneading their thumb and the inside of their pointer finger along the potting soil. The roots of the plant had finally appeared in a jumbled mess. “See, you want to spread out the roots a little so it can get water easier.”

Sam nodded with a dry swallow, watching the farmer’s eyes focus intently on the roots of the flower. They continued, “You want to be super careful, though, they’re very delicate. Just a gentle little touch will be good to separate them out.” 

A few clumps of dirt had fallen from the plant, landing on Sam’s lap and rolling off his thighs back to the earth. The farmer didn’t seem to mind the dirt that covered their legs. He directed his focus back to the flowers in front of him, and off of the farmer’s legs. Sam mirrored the farmer’s actions with his own gloved thumb, trying to smooth out the roots as gently as his clumsy hands would allow. It was funny, he thought, that he could master guitar strings flawlessly, but at a moment of tender precision he seemed to become nervous.

“Mm, that’s good!” The farmer exclaimed, slowly retracting their hands from Sam’s. “Now gently place the flower into the hole we made,” they directed, holding the sides of the parted dirt as Sam lowered the new flower into its forever home. He let go of it with slow hands, helping the farmer pat the parted dirt into the open sides with one hand. Sam let out a breath, retracting himself from the planter box.

The farmer let out a breathy chuckle, moving their trowel to their side. “This is usually relaxing for people.”

“I know.”

“You said you wanted to learn how to plant stuff because of your mom, right?”

Sam groaned, feeling himself get caught up in his own lie. “Yeah. I think it’d make her happy to know I learned, for some reason. I’m afraid she doesn’t think what I do for myself is very… useful.”

“But you’re a wonderful guitar player,” the farmer cried, turning their body to him, “and a wonderful song writer. You’ve got more talent than most in the valley, especially when it comes to music,” they smiled, making Sam’s heart skip a beat.

This is why he came to the farmer in a full sweat, red face, and nervous hands asking them to teach him how to garden. 

He grinned, instinctively moving his hand to scratch at the base of his neck. “Thanks, it means a lot—,” he interrupted himself with a startled gasp, feeling the remains of dirt on his gardening glove slip down his spine. He quickly pulled his hand from his neck, looking accusingly at the dirty, green and yellow gardening glove he had forgotten he was still wearing.

The farmer laughed at his mistake innocently, their shoulders shaking with them. It was charming for Sam, yet felt himself still chilled by the quick surprise of things running down his back. “I’ve forgotten I was wearing my gloves many, many times,” they laughed, “It sorta just feels like normal after a while.

Lifting their hands, also still gloved, they flipped them from the palm to the back of the hand. Sam admired the size of their hands, and the obvious wear and tear of the daily work they do written all over the gloves. 

“Need to get a new pair,” they muttered.

Sam had lit up, splaying his dirty gloves across his jeans without thought. “Oh! Let me buy you a new pair then, you know,” he began to fluster again. He stuttered out his response, weary of making his affections known too soon, “to thank you for teaching me how to do this.”

“Sam, you don’t have to do that. I had a lot of fun! Besides, I needed to do this anyway.”

Sam shook his head, grabbing one of their gloved hands. “No, no, please let me, and then I can get a pair that matches!”

The farmer was silent.

“... If that’s alright with you?”

The farmer snapped out of their little daze from his words, nodding and then reassuring him. Accepting his offer of new gloves, they promised to stick with the pair they have now until Sam came to the farmhouse with his gift. “Oh, Sam, before you leave can you bring home a potted plant for your mother? I’d like to thank her for the fertilizers she’s been sending me.”

He nodded. “Yeah, totally. She’d love that.”

Jumping up from their position, the farmer ran over to the side of their house, sifting through gardening tools and empty containers. They pulled out a weathered, but nice small pot. Sam watched as they dragged their hose out, rinsing the dust and dirt off of it before bringing it back over. “Here! I have no clue where this came from, but it’s nice and pretty.”

Sam agreed, immediately taking the trowel and shoveling dirt into it. “Ah, remember, Sam! Not too much dirt yet, we don’t want the roots exposed,” they instructed, causing him to quickly shovel out a little bit of dirt. He pushed the dirt to the sides of the pot, looking at the farmer expectedly. The grin on their face had made him nervous.

“You do it, Sam. I need to make sure you know how to do this, and I think Jodi will like it a lot more if you potted it. It can be a gift from the both of us.”

His fear of failure had returned to the center of his chest. Without another word he began to focus on the steadiness of his hands, removing the next flower from the container and carefully holding it with one hand. The plant  had seemed bigger when next to the others, but in his large hand it was evident it was still growing. His thumb and forefinger gently massaged the end of the dirt, staying mindful of the few roots poking out.

Feeling the farmer’s eyes upon his hands had made his heart pick up once again. He had always loved their eyes, especially when the sun hit them just right to show the beautiful color of— a slight crunch was heard. His right hand had immediately left the plant’s roots. 

The farmer laughed gently, placing a hand onto Sam’s arm. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Just try to be more gentle. It doesn’t look like you’ve pulled any roots out… completely. Just focus on the roots and your hands, don’t think about anything else.”

Easy for the farmer, he thought. Trying to keep his mind from racing back to them (who had seemed to scoot a little closer to him when he was focused on the roots, now that he was thinking about it), he continued to softly spread the delicate roots of the azaleas, looking to the farmer to see if that was sufficient. The farmer nodded silently, a kind smile on their face to encourage Sam. He placed the small flowers into the pot, still holding the stems gently with his left hand and using his right to pack in enough dirt to keep it steady.

He sat back on his heels, admiring the bright pink of the flowers and the white flower pot with baby pink swirls just around the rim. He had, once again, unknowingly placed his dirty gloves onto his jeans. He was expecting Jodi to be upset with him as soon as he enters the front door, but hopefully, with this flower pot in hand, she’ll excuse his messy day out.

“See? You did amazing!” The farmer praised, fluffing out the flowers by the stems. 

Their praise had made Sam’s fleeting worries of his mother dissipate, causing him to turn to them with a teasing look. “Yeah, except for the part where I nearly destroyed the roots of the poor thing.”

Shrugging, the farmer got back to their feet and lifted the pot with a grunt. “It’s fine, you did great anyway. Like everything else, it takes practice.” 

They grabbed another bag, along with their watering can and returned to Sam’s side. They watered the flowers immediately, then cut open the bag of mulch and placed a thin layer over the wet dirt. Sam watched without question, watching their hands work around the plant and dirt effortlessly. The farmer’s moves seemed calculated, the only way Sam could relate or keep up was by comparing it to the movement of hands on guitar strings, knowing when to use gentle touch or a moment of pressure.

They pulled back, swiping the palms of their hands together to brush off any loose dirt from their gloves. Sam should’ve been doing that the whole time. “Finishing touches are done! She’s already to head to your house, Sam,” they stood up once more, hoisting the pot up into their arms and ready to hand off to Sam. 

“Make sure it’s watered when the soil feels dry; and it can’t be in the sun all of the time, it likes some shade sometimes. The pot is sorta big so it’ll grow a little, but once it kinda grows out some of the leaves and flowers may start dying. Just pluck or cut those off and it’ll grow back.”

Sam nodded slowly, trying to repeat the farmer’s instructions back to himself in an attempt to not forget them. He knew the attempt was futile, but found that with every gray cloud there is a silver lining: he can always come back to see the farmer, just to ask for it again. He gave a nervous giggle, awkwardly trying to hold the gift for his mother.

“Please tell Jodi I said thank you, it means a lot to have help from the community.”

“Well, uh, if you ever need any help don’t hesitate to ask. I’m always here for you,” Sam said sheepishly, almost immediately regretting not omitting his last sentence.

The farmer grinned, waving goodbye to him. “I know you are, and thank you, too.”

He smiled back at them, saying his goodbye and heading back down the dirt path to town, praying that no one would see him struggling with the giant pot of azaleas, potted by him, for his mother. 

[captainkurosolaire]

Things I Like RP Partners to Know

I like to be called: Captain, Kuro, Zach, Degenerate, w/e. I'm typically not nerved by really anything, mostly chill. (Went in-depth and tagged below cut)

One thing you should know about me: I really just write for passion anymore, I don't care about this whole Post+ stuff, it won't play a factor in me. Tumblr has really everything that allows me to write and further myself. However, it ever goes away, even if becomes Myspace 2.0, I'll probably still maintain writing here off and on in spurts. --Now if they shut-down, I might convert over somewhere that's identical, cause Twitter couldn't handle my girth. I'm mildly autistic and suffer from a few other conflicting health aliments, writing is my obsessiveness and remedy. Used to be gaming, but I became less of a gamer, and replaced it more for writing cause It's a place where I can contain and throw all my thought's to usage. My mind overlaps with so much thing's at once, I get side-tracked, misplacement, my concentration shifts horribly, before I know it, I haven't slept for twenty-four hours or more. Lot of stuff is just me being redundant by fault. Or I become overwhelmed with a story ideas, that impulsively takes me, but majority of my best thing's are sudden. Not the one's that are ever planned. But I don't live to make excuses never care to be defined, by one thing, or person. I don't aim to attain much of anything in life but be a better me, until my end. And by analyzing your mind, you can do or achieve a lot I've discovered. So I repetitively no matter what jog down my WIP's and unleash, or my errors, I put them all on badges displays, then I go back and repeat until I show progress. That's how I have to learn. But passion is a candle, so when it burn's out I lose a lot of what I learned, it's natural after that to be discouraged, but instead, for me, that gets me going again. Cause mean's I can come at thing's with a whole new mental perspective and different flow, then compare, and again, adapt and improve. One thing you should know about RPing with my character(s): Everything is a factor and story with me. Losses, they matter. My character originally was highly killable almost every session, but advanced due to the actions of others, because of them, he found the value of his own life, and that's how I like to do my characters. Even the win's my character gets from stories, will most likely have a 'bad ending' occasionally or result into something new sprouting from it eventually, however that doesn't define at-all how permanently it effects them. But seasonally they go through their struggle. Life for real, is up and down's, these are the component's I factor in. Realistically, sure we fall. We never truly decline unless we allow it. Our character's philosophies, their mental judgement, dislikes, etc, all these thing's become ingrained they decide how much they want too fight and live, they step to improve or sometimes stumble under roadblocks, but not truly devolve. So the more people he interacts with or meets and encounters in RP, they are factors, they're meaningful to meet again, or live, their short teachings are insightful. No matter how small or large or incomplete stories went or passed-by. I created a character who was filled in by others initially. Even one-shot smuts, they're important experiences. Lot more to appreciate when your character learns on their own how to surpass their weaknesses and suffering organically. Still do RP with others but typically I do collaborations, or pre-established or short things, or Discord, one-shot in-game stuff, screenshot things that can convey RP. Want to build this Crew as their own functioning characters, not so much minor throwaways, but shippable, and highly in-depth. Essentially building an optional anime for my partner's, one-day. Long-term with me right now just isn't something I'd ever ask or expect from me. I'm too jumbled and a mess. But it's not a never, I do have two people who are among all my stuff and involved. I'd include anyone in my stories too if they wanted partaken. First language: Gibberish / English. Age range: under 13  |  14–17 | 18–22 | 23–25 | 26–29 | 30+ | 40+ | 70+ Am I okay with NSFW?: yes |

no | some nsfw I came solely off that, my reputation, was known as 'That ERP guy' on Balmung OG day's, I'm one of the degen's from that era. But character's evolve and adapt as do their people, they become more, but maintain their origins to degree. Those perspective's and things learned from NSFW are very paramount to a lot of SFW too. My favorite/most common thing to RP is: angst | fluff | smut | crack | action | plots | AUs are fine | Violence | Darker themes |  I dunno. * I'm pretty open-ended in all things. It's all fascinating for me to attempt at improving. Reason finally pulled the trigger and made a diverse Crew for Captain was give off different interactions and also more reason's to write beyond my usual trends. I'll tackle eventually every genre... now doesn't mean I'll excel in those fields more than my specialties, but I'll do it. Canon Character RP Friendly?: yes | no | depends * I stick with the sandbox but I'll stretch out all the space and limits of it. Building skyscrapers and UFO's with that sand, just happens that this Universe has magic, science, alchemy, holograms, all-around unlimited absurd possibilities, more than even D&D, which makes this game the best to RP within. When comes to interacting with anything Canon base, It'll always dwarf me though. Most likely I'll write my own legit WoL's, thinking of making an 'antagonist' one, but more 'protagonist too' (maybe hunk viera male?) I like making construed lines between characters, that's really complex, it's avidly up to a reader to decide who's in the right or wrong or if they're rooting for the villain or good-guy. I see most lore characters as Celebrities which my character would be rightfully cultured in, and they're untouchable, least for my characters. To me the source of what, who, or with you're writing is what determines a lot. But yeah RPing with anything Canon related, I switch to being a just minor gnat. And there's going to be a lot of consequences, that come if there's anything that does effect something that matters in the Universe. Just cause my pirate is causing havoc and having fun for now, doesn't mean law's don't catch-up or something else doesn't. Cause and effect always. RP blog: does contain ooc posts | doesn’t contain ooc posts | occasionally contains ooc* I would do more OOC if did asks, or inbox related things and was wanted, but outside occasional updates, I stick to my role. That's just write stories and screenshots and practice everything. I'm thankful for anyone who does enjoy anything I share or supports me, It's what brings me back faster and I do always think of you too when I want to get better, it's uplifting and inspiring, alongside boosting. If I do bring any motivation to anything, I do. Then that's the best payment I could get. I like seeing others thrive, or soar higher than me, and unleash their creativity. Tagged by:@spotofmummery (Thank ye my treasured friend!) Tagging anyone/everyone: @roguestly @scholarlybreadbun @under-the-blood-moonlight @lettersnorth @violet-warder @lukawarrioroflight @eligos-venator @corpse-dancer @silvernsteel @silvertail-ffxiv @roxinova @lavender-hemlock @fracturedfantasia @zhauric @fair-fae @avwalya @yuki-yukichan @crow-iv @cadrenebula @spellsandtales @casualcatte @seascrapes @mishivymendi @thorcat @aqueerfishtheyis @ljoturyalre @seabound-dragoon @scornedjustice @laylahcousland @layla-grey @moonstruck-ffxiv @snow-covered-moon (Apologies if missed anyone. If there's more who'd like to be tagged again on all these type of things, let me know.)

[spc4eva]

Star-Burned: Chapter One

Ok, honestly, I couldn’t stop myself.

So this is my first reader insert. I am hella nervous. There will be no Y/N included, but pet names (and nicknames) given out by Paz that will act as Y/N. Additionally, feel free to imagine yourself in the shoes of the character, but I am going to include a few features that she has - to include very, VERY Merida curly red hair. Honestly, I'm gonna treat her more like an OC, but since it's a reader insert - imagine yourselves how you want QUEEN.

There's gonna be smut. But plot. I promise.

Summary:  A Mandalorian crash lands on your planet with severe injuries. You're a moisture farmer who's handy. It's been a long time since you've had company other than your massiff, Jumbles. You take the Mandalorian in because you're a bleeding heart, not realizing what danger you've put yourself in. But the Mandalorian doesn't forget and he's more than willing to repay his debt and protect you.

Word Count: 5,398

Rating: M (18+) explicit sex scenes

| Chapter Two |

Cross Posted on AO3

Someone had crash landed.

Which, for this quiet hovel a planet, was the most action you'd seen in foreverrrr. Maybe ever to be honest. You were used to dealing with Jawas, the occasional drifter, and patching up your moisture farm as best as possible. Was honest work, pretty lonely since your folks had passed away, but it was all you had. Not entirely of course, there was the local wiley massiff that you'd feed scraps and talk to, as if it were a kindred soul, eying you with those beady little eyes before salivating over its disconcertingly large maw. Yeah, you should have been worried that it might've been sizing you up in case you didn't come out with a meal for it, but at least you did have a blaster. Would've been a sad day to have to put Jumbles down - yes, that's what you had named it. For no particular reason other than it had spontaneously fallen out of your mouth and the creature seemed to listen to it.

So when Jumbles trotted up with its spines quivering, baying and leaping around, you half expected it was going to lead you to another rotting womp rat corpse. What you were not expecting was to see smoke peeling from between the canyon walls, dark and sulfuric. Your years patching the farm up, making repairs to any scraps you had laying around - to include droids at times - had made you rather handy. You had to be when the nearest town was a two day ride on your speederbike. Self sufficiency was necessary, because it cost credits to get fuel and to ride out that far. Additionally, you had to plan for it... months ahead. 

Jumbles sprinted ahead, wagging a tailless rump before glancing back at you with bounce in his paws. Follow. Come quick. 

Now that you had an idea of what it was, your strides lengthened until you were chasing after the massiff. Between the terracotta walls and around a bend, until you were face to face with a crashed starship that had smoke rolling off the main engines. You winced at the carnage, a good portion of the hull smashed inward and splattered open, storage containers and supplies dashing the sand like organs splayed from a chest wound.

Jumbles woofed, approaching the wreckage. 

"Not a good idea, boy," you started to say. Even if it was a dangerous wild creature, you still worried about it and this mess was still smoking. Who knew if it was about to explode, there could be fuel leaks in tandem with hanging wires and-

Jumbles went inside the ship.

"Ah!" Your legs churned after it. Even if you had to drag the massiff out of the carnage, you would. Jawas would find it soon enough and have their way with the supplies. Could be a good amount of things to take, but even if you were friends with Jawas, you didn't really like picking the bones of others. 

Wires snapped and hissed like tiny snakes around your ear, threatening to singe your barely restricted hair as you ducked. The ship was in an abysmal condition, but the upper echelons of the craft were still intact... Warped, but intact. Your mechanic eyes began discerning the issues, locating the biggest issues first, which was-

Jumbles barked, your neck snapping fast enough that you thought you pulled a muscle. Palming your neck, you trailed forward and saw what... no, who the canine was standing over. Maybe he thought it was a droid. Hell, you thought it was a droid for a moment until you bent down to get a better look and saw that it was breathing. Jumbles yipped again and you blinked, realizing that the massive armored creature was a living person and looked hurt. 

"Hey," you started, poking into the man's shoulder where the blue steel didn't meet. "Hey, you need to get up. This ship might go-" Maker, he felt like metal underneath all those layers. Could be a droid then and you were just wasting your time. "C'mon get up!" But you couldn't leave someone here to die on their ship as it leaked fuel and ignited itself. You rarely saw people as it was and what if the last person you ever saw with this guy and you let him become a toasted human inside his armor?

Hooking your fingers into the pauldrons of the armor, you made a valiant attempt at trying to drag the figure out of the ship. He didn't budge. Face down, unconscious, and weighing an absolute ton. Your heart was pumping by now and panic made your hands shake as you desperately glanced around for a solution. Just... anything, a repulsor lift, a speeder... a speeder? Jolting to your feet, you spotted the storage area, having been thrown haphazardly around like a pinball during the crash landing, but still intact. 

Now, the issue would be getting this man onto the speeder. You couldn't even drag him, how in the Maker's name were you going to hoist him over? You brought the speeder over and chewed your lip at your plight, hopelessly glancing from bike to fallen warrior. 

"Hey," you tried again, hoping that maybe you'd get an answer this time. "Hey, c'mon are you in there?" You knocked on the helmet as if it were a door, your knuckles screaming in immediate protest. That was the least of your worries, because a hand flew out, grabbed your ankle, and ripped you off your feet. Back smacking on the steel floor, you groaned as the metal giant finally stirred. Despite the brazen display of insane speed, the figure was barely able to move more than a few centimeters... but he was alive, so he had that going for him. "Maker-" Scrambling back to your feet, you gave him another look over. "If you can hear me, I'm going to try and get you on your feet. I need your help though, can't pick you up myself."

You positioned yourself around him, finding his arm and slinging it around your shoulders before popping a squat. Now, you weren't very big or very strong. Just strong enough to lift things when you needed to, but you had lifts to do the heavier jobs back on the farm. Your knees quaked as you tested the pressure before sucking in a greedy breath. "Alright, one, two, three-" Exploding upward - or making an attempt to explode upward - you made it about a foot and a half before your calves died on you and your back buckled forward. "AH!" It didn't feel good, the absolute loss of control over your body as you expected to fly face first into the side of the speeder. Unfortunately for you, you didn't have a helmet protecting your face.

But it never came and you chanced opening an eye to look. The man was trying to stand, alleviating a brief amount of pressure as you widen your eyes. Swallowing the huge lump in your throat, you quickly thrust him forward and unceremoniously onto the bike. He grunted, but didn't manage any words before lolling, stomach first, onto the seat. 

There would be no comfortable way to ride this bike, you saw that now as you tried to shove him over the tail a little better, squeezing yourself tightly into the thrusters, almost off the seat entirely as you kicked it into gear and backed out through the massive tear in the hull. Jumbles ran along dopily as you very carefully - at almost a gruelling pace - brought the bike through the ravine and up the ride toward your moisture farm. Now came the second issue.

Getting him inside. 

"We have to walk again," you warned him, the light of day revealing the color of the man's armor - a deep ocean (or from pictures you’d seen of oceans) blue accent with marigold yellow. Didn't quite strike you when you were panicking, but you saw it now as the haze of strife cleared. A Mandalorian. You had pulled a kriffing Mandalorian from the wreckage of his ship. Fuck. That ship definitely had carbon scarring on it - indicative of a dogfight.

Too fucking late now.

"6PO can you get the lift?" You shouted for the protocol droid, an old rusted out piece of crap that you'd reprogrammed to help around the house. There was too much for you to do with just your own hands. The droid could manage the more mundane tasks, but still made a piss pour cup of caf. 

The droid stuttered out - having never learned to talk properly - gave you a blank look, and then started waddling toward the work shed where the lift would be. 

"Alright, mando, can you hear me?" you bent over, turning his helmet so that the visor was sort of looking up toward you. "Your ship crashed. Where are you hurt? I can't see that much with all that armor on." Part of you was asking this so you could tend his wounds and then send him packing. "6PO?" you raised your voice irritably, Maker that droid was always slow right when you needed it to be fast.

"W-where?" Finally he spoke, his strangled voice translated through the modulator in his helmet, breathy and in pain.

You told him the planet, pretty backwater and without much activity. There was a spaceport on the other side of the planet, but nowhere near where he was now. Finally, 6PO came over with the lift, cocking its head as you sighed. "About bloody time," you grumble, dragging the lift up and devoting your attention to your charge once again. "Gotta get up again."

This time the Mandalorian was more receptive, putting weight on his legs as you eased him onto the lift, which sagged until his weight. By the way he was cradling his abdomen you were guessing there was some sort of trauma there, but it was hard to tell. You weren't a medic, you weren't even pretending to be as you brought him into your home and slipped him onto your bed since it was the biggest one in the house. But what you did have was bacta, because if something happened to you where you crushed an arm or broke a bone, you needed to be able to fix it. Wasn't often that you had to use the concentrated shots, but it was always better to keep one on hand (even if it cost a fuckton of credits for it). Better to spend the money than die with it in your pocket.

Should you use it on the Mandalorian? That was the question, wincing as he drew rattled breaths in the bed, holding the shot in your palm as you really considered how many credits you had spent on this last year. 

"I need to take a look. Can I remove your armor?" Very carefully you approached like a womp rat before a nexu, almost afraid that one of the very many weapons on his belt might soon be tilted toward you. Of course you knew the stories about Mandalorians and having a behemoth one in your modest home didn't make you feel much better. But he was still a person.

"Not... not the helmet," he grunted eventually.

Everything but the helmet. Alright, that could work. You didn't know how armor worked, so removing the armor was a shitshow of fumbling, your fingers catching buckles, pinching flesh, and other times was fastened so tightly that you had to put some weight into getting the kriffing things off. Took the better part of an hour, but you managed to remove the armor - aside from the helmet - and leave the Mandalorian in just his flight suit and boots. Now this next part felt a bit intrusive, but you convinced yourself that this was in for the better health of the mando.

Unbuttoning the top of the flight suit, you started to peel it down, a rush of heat playing across your cheeks as you revealed the muscular and well hewn figure of the ailing man beneath the beskar. You looked a little too long, but doubted the fellow was even conscious enough to catch your ogling. Biting your lips, you pushed the undershirt up and took your medical scanner to the constellation of bruising against his ribcage. Oh, it didn't look good and the scanner came back with a result that made your legs weak, but not in a good way.

"You've got three broken ribs, lacerations to your spleen and kidneys--" ok you didn't know medical stuff, but the device was blinking indicating that he needed treatment immediately or face going sepsis. Your brain nearly exploded with panic as you tripped over your own feet and sprinted for the bacta infusion, which jumped between your nervous, sweaty hands. "Th-this isn't g-gonna feel good," you stammered, uncapping the three pronged syringe. Maker you hated looking at it, the thing looked like a torture device. 

Or go sepsis---

You shanked him with the infusion, pushing the plunger down, expecting him to recoil in pain. Actually, he didn't, which made your head turn slowly and a cascade of fiery curls follow as you just stared, in more distress than the severely wounded mando. "I-I will leave you to rest."

---

The infusion had been enough to stave off sepsis and repair the Mandalorian's organs, but he was still recovering from the broken bones. From your readings, the bacta had set them back into place, but he required more time to naturally heal the rest. What that meant was that you had suddenly become his caretaker, which consisted of feeding and helping him over to the fresher because he couldn't take his full weight on his injured side. For a Mandalorian, you didn't think he was that mean or callous. If anything, he was pretty gracious that you'd put the effort into struggling to get him back to your ranch.

But work didn't stop. In fact, you still had to run the farm while periodically checking in on the Mandalorian. Despite it, you tried not to seem bone weary when he asked for him. Wasn't his fault. If anything, it was your fault for helping him in the first place. He did answer a few questions, rumbling in a deep voice that sounded like thunder hinting at lightning on the horizon. 

"What's your name?" "You can call me Paz."

"Why did you crash land?" "I was shot down."

"Why though?" "Made some Imps upset."

"So you can't take your helmet off?" "Not in front of anything living."

"Oh so, it's fine if they're dead." "I try not to remove it unless I'm alone."

"Why is it blue?" "Why is what blue?"

"Your armor? Why choose blue?" "It's my favorite color." 

“Mine’s gold. Kind of like the yellow there on your armor.” “Your what?” “My favorite color.”

"You think those Imps are going to come looking for you?" "My ship crash landed, so I doubt it."

That ship, you had actually gone back to one afternoon to cordoned off from the Jawas. You knew them and decided that you liked the Mandalorian enough you weren't going to let his belongings get looted. Since it was close to your farm, laying claim to it - by Jawa code - was not difficult. You left them signs in their tongue, warding them off, before finding yourself taken aback that the thing hadn't exploded while you were gone. It needed a lot of work and probably a proper spaceport where it could be hoisted up and repaired from underneath. 

Your stupid bleeding heart meant that you went and fixed a few wires in your spare time, soldering them off, and cleaning up the worst of the wreckage. The engines would take more time, but they weren't too dissimilar from what you'd worked on in other vehicles, including your speeder and tractor. Peeling open a few holobooks, you would hum yourself to sleep at night in your childhood bedroom, blinking away sleep as you contemplated how else you might help this... Paz. Being generous was not forlorn to you. You'd helped drifters passing through, offered to lodge them up for the night, fill their bellies before sending them off... This planet wasn't that bad aside from the arid landscape and mischievous Jawas. 

Not like you had to worry about raiders or skugs. So your tenderheartedness hadn't come to bite you in the ass yet and aside from wanting a replacement to the bacta shot, you weren't expecting payment. It was called being a good human being and you pride yourself on the fact that you'd done something so nice. Plus, the added bonus was you didn't only have Jumbles to talk to. Now there was a living, breathing person who could hold conversation with you. Course, wasn't really to his will, but you tried not to pester him too much even though you were incredibly curious about what he did. Plus he seemed to get bored being pent up in that room. 

"Tranyc," he'd taken to calling you that in some mysterious language you didn't know, as you hummed into the bedroom after knocking, carrying fresh caf and breakfast. Weeks had passed and he was almost well enough. "I think I might be able to walk on my own. Do you mind-"

Mind keeping an eye out for him? You nod, setting the tray down on the nightstand before preparing yourself. Now, you were a master of helping the blue Mandalorian on his feet, keenly aware of where you fit and could support him from without being crumpled like tin foil. He threw his legs over the bed, testing his feet on the floor as you stood guard, poised like a goalie ready to catch the ball in front of a net before the big shot was made.  Admittedly, you were a little too silly for your own good, but being on your own for so long had done that. You would talk to yourself, make funny gestures, and do ridiculous things just to chase away the loneliness. Those mannerisms hadn’t really faded in light of your new acquaintance.

Paz pushed off the bed and stood there, towering over you at full height. You relaxed, glad to see that he was able to hold his own, but also sad about that. A pit welled in your belly, the realization that these few weeks had brought you a lot of happiness in having the company of another. And... you kind of liked him. Not in a companionable sort of way. No, you thought he was attractive --- from his voice, to his sturdy body, to the calm manner he'd talk to you. Despite all the stories you'd heard about Mandalorians, he was very warm and patient. Even if there was no face to place with all of that, attraction was more than just appearances, wasn't it? Then again, you'd been shocked by your sudden arousal on the first day of his arrival after just brushing his muscular chest.

Living alone didn't help your touch-starved addled brain.

And then he took a step forward and your spine jolted, darting forward as he winced for his side and wobbled. "Ah-hee!" a strange noise came out of your mouth as you tried to stop the tower of a man from tumbling and honestly, he tried too. But the result was still a mess of limbs, and you tried to take the brunt of the fall, cushioning him so that he didn't hurt his ribs again. Maker, that was your first mistake, thinking that you could take the weight of his body.

All air was crushed from your lungs, vision spinning as you made impact with the carpet. And it wasn't coming afterward, your throat bobbing but the pressure on your ribcage still too much that you were suffocating and unable to see at the same time. "Maker!" it wasn't your voice, but at the sound of it, the air whooshed back into your lungs and you sputtered hoarsely as someone sat you up. Not someone. There was only one other person on this farm. "Tranyc? Hey, can you hear me?"

"Y-yup!" you squeaked, the frayed edges of your vision swimming hazily back into focus as you saw that Paz was sitting on the floor with you, propping your semi-noodley form up. "A-are you ok?"

He sighed, the noise crackling out of his helmet as you trembled, sensation returning to your muscles. "I nearly crushed you. What were you thinking?"

"T-trying t-to he-help," you stammer, taking big gulps of air in between each word. Now you could feel a bit better, rolling your neck as you took account of what had happened. You had jumped to his side before he fell, taking the brunt of the fall directly on top of you. Not very smart at all. Then, he'd turned, picked you up and you were --- you were on his lap. "Wha--" Lancing like wildfire across a dry field of brush, blush erupted up your neck and face. "I-I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? I fell on you," Paz pointed out, his helmet tilting to the side as your ears began buzzing. "Are you certain you're ok? I nearly flattened you."

"C-couldn't b-b-be be-better," your tongue was betraying you, thick and clumsy as you pushed against his chest -- oh Maker, the chest without the armor and only the flight suit. You could feel the grooves of his strong pectoral muscles beneath, the color on your face heightening to as bright a red as your hair. "I should... I should leave you to eat. Breakfast is on the ta-table."

You got to your feet, the weak wobbly limbs shaking, but not because you had been used as a pillowy landing for the Mandalorian. No, a heat radiated around your tummy and laddled lower into the abyss between your legs. A very, infrequently ventured area that had been visited once or twice by drifters, but never for much longer than an evening. Anyways, the Mandalorian wouldn't be interested in anything like that. You were just being hormonal and touch-starved. A little alone time could help you with that, right? 

Pushing back your mop of hair, you trotted into the kitchen, glanced at the time and then rolled over onto the couch from behind. You flopped onto the cushions, hair flying everywhere again before you stared blankly at the ceiling, wishing you weren't so terribly horny right now after just grazing a man's chest. How pitiful was that? You were an adult, had been for a good amount of years, and all it took was a deep voice and strong body to make you lose all sense of yourself? 

A soft whimper parted your mouth, the ache so desperate and painful that you gripped the fabric of your coveralls over your crotch and pressed into the sensation. Well, he couldn't walk anyways and you were the only one who lived in the house, so there was no risk in just relaxing here, was there? Despite it, you grabbed the nearby blanket and kicked off your overalls, returning a hand to the ailing point between your thighs. 

Cheeks flushed, neck cocked against the arm rest, you spun circles on the fabric, your pads picking up the wetness through the material. Maker, you were absolutely dripping, soaking through your panties, and making your fingers tacky. Hooking underneath the textile, you run your fingers along the warmth, licking your lips and closing your eyes -- the first thing coming to mind being Paz. The mystery of the man beneath, the muscular pillars of his body, the golden blonde curls against his broad chest. 

Your fingers move up to the bundle of nerves so desperate for attention, nearly screaming at you as you finally lavish attention. His voice, the deep rumble and attentiveness as you talk from where you sit in that chair beside the bed -- your bed. He was sleeping in your bed. Would it smell like him after? Would you ever wash the damn blankets after he left? Probably not. Edging yourself closer, you imagined his thick fingers plunging into your heat, reaching up into your molten core and--

"Tracyn?"

You nearly fell off the couch, clutching onto your sex for dear life as you froze. Your whole body vibrated, muscles stiffening as you fought off the white hot surge of an orgasm. How the fuck had he gotten out of the room? 

Tufts of your long hair were sticking out from the couch. No matter how far you slumped down, tried to hide beneath the edge of the blanket, your fucking hair was a blinding curly beacon and fluffing out as an admission of betrayal. 

You couldn't hold your breath any longer, the guttural whine hitching as the orgasm pittered into a woefully unsatisfying leap -- like a bird that had flung itself over a cliff with a broken wing, somewhat flying before it plummeted to the earth below. He came around the couch, still clutching his side, and paused. Now, the blanket was in the way, but your coveralls were crumpled on the floor and your face was deliciously flushed. 

Oh, stars you looked awful. You absolutely knew how dirty you felt by assuming that he'd not walk out and find you, hand slicked with your own wetness and too embarrassed to move. 

"What are you- Did I hurt you?" he asked, reaching down to snare the blanket away.

"N-no!" you gripped it with your free hand, but half of it was pulled away to reveal the outside of your bare leg, and the arm that was still hiding down there. 

"Were you...?" his helmet tilted as you both just remained where you were for a beat. Heart racing like fathiers on a track in Canto Bight, your lower lip trembled in shame, waiting for him to throw the blanket back over and return to the room. He was walking. He could just leave and let you wallow in your own miserable chagrin -- drown in it at this point... "Did you finish?"

"W-what?" you squeaked, face managing to deepen another shade of crimson. 

"Did you finish, mesh'la?" he repeated, sitting down on the couch by your feet, a tanned palm tracing the top of the foot. His skin was calloused, rough, and sandpapery. The foreign sensation made you shudder in his grasp, but it wasn't unpleasant. In fact, you liked the way his hand slowly coasted your calf in a soothing manner. "All alone on this big farm. Not another soul aside from Jumbles."

True, not another soul. You gave a quivering nod in agreement as his hand reached to graze the back of your knee. Still so gentle, with no insistency or malice. 

"Doing everything all on your own. The farm, helping me, taking care of yourself," his hand moved higher, framing the outside of your lower thigh, which caused you to jump. "You haven't once asked me for anything. No repayment or deal despite using that bacta... Couldn't have been cheap. This is just a moisture farm, you're not raking in credits..." He paused, grazing your upper thigh now, daring to push the blanket over a bit more. "For weeks now... Helping me... Did you finish?"

You had, but it hadn't been any good. Your stupid head bobs anyways, sending a few curls tumbling into your face. 

"Maybe-" he was drawing his hand back, the warmth of his scratchy fingers receding and you actually whined because of it, his helmet tilting back up to look at you. "Maybe," he was stronger now. "I can repay you a little for all you've done."

Maker, not a word came out of your mouth, you were nearly gnawing on the blanket from how nervous you were, but also from how much your core began aching again. 

"Do you want me to, mesh'la? I won't touch you unless you want it. I don't want to overstay my welcome, I just thought that-" he trailed off and you wondered what he had thought. Had you been so obvious about liking him? You didn't think so, you thought you had been your usually, dorky but polite self.

"I want you to," you insisted, releasing the blanket so that the rest could slip off and pool on the floor. You still had your shirt on, but you were nude from the hips down, fronds of hair curling over your mound that matched the drapes. This felt oddly... exposing, even if it was only the lower half. And the fact you couldn't read him didn't help, just a blank mask of a face that was drinking you in and you had no idea if he liked or disliked what he saw. What if you were not at all what he had been hoping for? What if he didn't like what he saw?

He groaned, his palm returning to your leg, sliding up and burning a blistering wake of fire before he curved into your hip and jerked you toward him. "Oh, mesh'la," he moaned. "A desert gemstone hidden in these canyons. How did I get so lucky? Of all the planets and places-" he touched you down there, the very sensation of hands not your own making you jolt and your neck tense. Fuck --- it really had been a long time. "Wh-when the last time... have you ever... ?"

"A fe-ew ye-ears now," you admitted as his fingers scissor up between your folds. "Be-been on m-my ow-own for si-six. N-not ma-any t-t-travelers."

"So wet," he muttered, bringing the slick up and pinning two fingers on your aching bud. Back stiffening, you bucket at the sensation, grounded by his other palm pressing into the hollow of your hip. You were halfway tugged onto his lap as he watched on with fascination, the curve of your left leg hooked against his hip. "What were you thinking of? Before I found you?"

You blush deeper, if that were at all possible, turning your face away from him as he continued to draw lazy circles on your clit. "Y-you."

His groans again, a growing hardness against your leg -- a hardness for you. It's hard to decide what is more startling -- the fact that Paz is here getting you off or that he's aroused by the fact that you'd been playing with yourself while envisioning him. "I'll take care of you. You deserve it mesh'la. After everything you've done for me. I'll make you feel good," he promised, increasing his pace, dipping in his ring and pinkie finger while he continued to oscillate against your bundle of nerves. His fingers stretched you, just as thick and delicious as you'd imagined -- no, it was better than you imagined because it was real. Pumping into you gently, reaching so much deeper than your own small fingers can. "Tight. Maker, you're so tight."

Squirming on the couch, you grabbed onto the cushioned as he pleasured you, coaxing you toward the end of days, making you see stars beneath your closed eyelids. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, a warbled cry strangled completely as your legs locked out and walls tightened to vice grip his fingers. 

"Cum on me, mesh'la. Let it all out, come on," he encouraged, his fingers quickening over your clit, your soul absolutely rending as you as ecstasy drowns your senses, your muscles clench, and the scenery of the house falls away. You're floating, physical body panning away from you as you bliss out and disconnect from your breathing and deflating heart rate. You'd never had an orgasm this heart stopping, so utterly piercing that you couldn't even tell where you were anymore. 

Finally, you blinked out of your stupor, expecting to be left laying cock legged and messy, but instead you're in bed. Your actual bed, not the twin one that you had been sleeping in the past few weeks. Rolling your head to the side, you didn't see him, but you heard him in the adjoining fresher. You had underwear back on and a pair of pajama bottoms. 

What the heck was happening? Did it matter? You just hoped it wasn't ending anytime soon.

[fondnesses]

roscoe’s notebook post

A while back I said I was going to write a post about the way I use notebooks for writing projects. This is the first of several posts about Writing Process I’ve been tossing around in my drafts for a little while as a result of conversations with friends, so bear with me.

I. Love. Notebooks. I genuinely would have to deeply overhaul my whole Process of writing anything on the longer side if I were to go paperless; I find physical paper pretty invaluable when I’m outlining, brainstorming, and researching, and I still probably write ¼-⅓ of all my actual content on paper first. (That proportion used to be a lot higher, but I’ve gotten better at being productive on a computer in recent years, which is great.) I’m a very visual person, so notebooks really help me visualize my ideas, story structure, etc. It’s very helpful to be able to use arrows and diagrams and physically strike things through, and the tactility is really soothing to me. If I show people my notebooks or talk about them, I often get a response like “this is so organized”, which is sort of true, but I have to stress that it’s “organization for a disorganized mind”; I can’t misplace ideas or notes if it all goes into the same physical object, vs. electronic notes, which are much more, like “Did I say that in a voice memo? PM it to myself on Discord? Leave it in a desktop sticky note? Write it directly into the Google Doc? Who knows! It’s lost to time!”. It’s very much an ADHD management strategy.

It helps that I’m a very neophyte stationery hobbyist and appreciate any excuse I have to use my pens, but I also will go off at any opportunity about how helpful I find them for writing projects, which is why I decided to just make a post about it. Right now I mostly use them for (fan and original) fiction projects, but I used a notebook for a very similar purpose when I was working on my undergrad thesis, and I have a slightly different but equally necessary-to-me approach to notebooks I use at work.

My typical structure for a notebook that’s devoted to one project only looks like this:

I always leave the first couple pages blank so I can go back and retroactively index bujo-style. I don’t always actually do the index, because sometimes I get too lazy, but I like having those blank pages there to give me the option. I also usually put epigraphs/inspo quotes on the first page.

After that, there’s often (but not always, I’ll talk about it) a couple pages at the start where I’m frantically jotting down loose brainstorming ideas before they've coagulated into a story structure. Just, like, vomiting into the void.

Stemming out of that, I usually write out about like 5-10 pages of outline-style notes in chronological order, laying out all the main story beats and charting out the story trajectory. This will inevitably get revised and rewritten many times, but I find the process of writing these wide-angle synopses really useful for dislodging ideas, making connections re: thematic threads, etc. from my brain.

I’ll devote a couple pages after that to specific things like "sex scene brainstorming", "random scene ideas/minor details that don't have a clear place in the outline right now but I'll turn to for inspo later" [this is what I refer to as “bits” in one of the later photos], "page where I just outline the Motifs And Themes", "research notes", "to-do list", "stuff to check on a second pass", "things to put in the a/n and AO3 tags", etc.--the specifics vary with the story.

Then, I skip ahead to approx. halfway through the notebook and cordon off the rest of the pages to be “free writing” space, AKA writing of actual content rather than planning, with the expectation there will be no internal organization and I’ll transcribe to laptop as I go. Writing on paper feels less binding than typing something on a computer; it’s like a little secret kept with myself, and it doesn’t need to go anywhere or be seen by anyone if I decide I don’t like it. Setting aside pages in the back half of the notebook means that, as more things come up re: planning, I can go back and add those in the rest of the pages that were intentionally left blank. This is how I avoid (for the most part) having the whole thing be a jumbled mess where there’s no separation between the notes and the actual story writing; I learned this the hard way via the first notebook I’ll show you in a second. I’ve recently gotten really into using Muji sticky note tabs to label any pages/sections of particular import that don't want to have to refer back to in the index and would rather just flip to instantly.

I do use notebooks that aren’t specific to any one project, but those are much less organized and less worth sharing.

Before I look at more recent stuff, here are some selections from my notebook for the project that got me into writing longfic, my Golden Kamuy canon divergence AU (with apologies for the bad photos, my phone’s camera is trash). I worked on this from Sept 2018-July 2019. It was a learning experience in a lot of ways, and notebook utilization was one of those. I’ve always used notebooks for keeping track of writing projects, as I said earlier, but before this it was largely without much organization or structure; just total chaos. Having a physical notebook became really important for this project because it was a sprawling multichapter story with rotating POVs and a lot of historical research. I also learned a lot about what not to do with a notebook, personally, or at least things that don’t work so well (for me). This was a college ruled spiral-bound Decomposition Book, for the record.

By the time I bought a notebook for it I already had a (very basic) plot outline in mind, so I wasn’t doing that very initial ground-zero brainstorming in here; I was copying out of my phone’s notes app, basically, and then going from there. 

This is one of the first pages in this notebook; I wanted to visualize the relationship web between the four central characters in the story in terms of how they feel about one another. The two colours correspond to the POV characters (Sugimoto in orange, Ogata in pink), and I used this colour-coding throughout the notebook with highlighters, etc. to keep track of information that was more relevant to one character than the other. Tsurumi and Yuusaku aren’t POV characters, but they’re prominent in the story and their presence impacts the central relationship between Sugimoto and Ogata, and it was helpful to me to map out the emotional ecosystem, as it were.

(There are coffee stains all over this, because I wrote the vast majority of the story in coffee shops because I didn’t want to be around my roommates, lol. This is part of why I never do fiction writing in notebooks that are too nice, I get neurotic about needing to keep them tidy. I can’t use ones that are too shit though, either, so it’s a bit of a narrow window. I’ll talk more about brands and paper quality etc. later.)

As you can see, this is the first page of many I set aside specifically for jotting down different pieces of historical information relevant to my story. It’s about fictional characters who are members of an army division that existed in real life, and both the canon and my fic involve a high level of attention to detail with regards to which divisions were present for which battles, etc., as well as general historical details specific to the Russo-Japanese War setting--what did people eat in the trenches? What did they do to fill time? How did they get through the winter? What did third party observers have to say about the conditions? What were the specs of their weaponry (particularly important because one of the POV characters is a sniper and gun nut)? I did a lot of reading (and watching of antique gun collector Youtube videos... the things I do for love, eh), and it came in handy so many times, because it turns out it’s much easier to write trench warfare slice of life if you have factual details to pull from when you don’t know what to do with a scene! Imagine that!

This is the first of three “grid outlines” I made; this is a way I sometimes like to visualize a story outline all on one page, with the columns representing chapters and the squares within the columns representing sections/scenes within the chapters. As you can see, early on I was hoping to get this done in five or even FOUR chapters (whatmakesyouhaha.mp3), with POV switches happening internally within the chapters. This proved to be unwieldy for many reasons, so I revised the outline:

Here I’d come to terms with the fact this story was going to have a lot more chapters than I’d planned, and I rearranged things so that it would happen in ten, with each chapter belonging to only one POV character. This also needed revising later, and in the end the story looked a bit more like this (though it did in fact end up being twelve chapters, but only because Chapter Ten was like, 12k, and needed to be split in two chunks):

I must have remembered to bring my fineliners to the coffee shop this time, lol, because as you can see it’s properly colour-coded this time. This outline was made when I was already four posted chapters into the fic, which hopefully gives you a sense of the way in which I am sort of a planner and a pantser; I can’t get into a longer project without an outline, but the outline inevitably changes many times throughout writing and I often end up with a finished product that looks pretty different from what I was intending. My creative M.O. as always is Do The Maximum! Amount! Of! Work! Possible!

This is what a “free writing” page looks like, for me. In this notebook I didn’t set aside any specific spaces for free writing so it’s strewn throughout the notebook in a really disorganized way and I was constantly flipping through looking for bits I’d written and forgotten to transcribe, and I decided to be more organized in future as a result of that. If something’s crossed through, that means I transcribed it. As you can see, they’re often small sections, sometimes just a coupled decontextualized sentences. About 3/4 of what I write in a notebook makes it into the story, I’d say; some of it never goes anywhere, and that’s OK. I have less of an issue killing my darlings if they never make it off the paper page.

A very brief, top-down chapter outline, where the goal was not to get too bogged down in details and just to visualize the beats and pin down what they’re trying to accomplish. Chapters for this fic typically ran about 6k, and five or six scenes per chapter was pretty common, so the average scene length was about 1-1.25k words/scene. IDK why I called it storyboarding when I didn’t make drawings. (Margin numbers are to keep track of word count, since I was using a daily word count tracker while writing this.)

This page was, as titled, for keeping track of the various balls in the air when I was about 2/3-3/4 of the way through the story and really feeling the pressure with regards to tying up the various loose ends. This was... a struggle. I hadn’t ever written anything longish (this fic ended up just under 70k) that had an action plot before, let alone a canon divergence scenario where I had to engage with and explain away various canon plot elements so I could maintain the audience’s suspension of disbelief.

Now, I mentioned earlier that I learned various “things not to do” with my notebooks while working on that project. One of those lessons I learned is to be more realistic when assessing how big a project is likely to get, not least because I RAN OUT OF PAGES around the chapter 9-10 mark. In my defense though, that’s because I’d never written anything even half this long! But I know better now, and try not to be in denial. Finishing the notebook early was a way bigger problem than I’d anticipated, and was part of the reason the last few chapters took several grueling months to finish. The issue was that I needed to be able to use a notebook to maintain my workflow--attempting to do it only on a computer was dismal--but it seemed silly to start a notebook of a similar size to the one I’d finished (80pg, approximately B5 dimensions) when there was no way it would need that much space, especially since the reference pages, like the historical notes, didn’t need to be transcribed over. I was also pretty broke at the time and didn’t want to spend money unnecessarily, lol. I tried to get by using a Moleskine Cahier for a month or so because I had one lying around, but it was horrid; it was too small to be used comfortably, it wasn’t spiral-bound so it wouldn’t lay flat, the ghosting is terrible and I hate the way Moleskine paper feels, etc. Eventually I caved and went to Muji and bought a 30ish page A5 with closer to lay-flat binding, and I finished the story in there. I would take a comparative pic for you of the relative notebook sizes and include some of the scene staging diagrams, etc. I put in there, but I can’t find it :(

So I learned that specs really do matter, and it’s okay to be picky if the pickiness is going to make the difference between actually using a notebook or not. Things that are important to me in my notebooks:

Ruling (gotta have ruling, I can suffer through grid but blank or dot is a no-go)

Size (I can’t use anything smaller than at least a medium-large notebook, I find it claustrophobic and get miserly about page space)

Binding (twin ring is my preference because it looks and feels better than a classic spiral but has the same comfort of use with regards to bending the pages back to suit workspace size and laying flat with ease)

Paper quality and colour (I don’t like anything too slippery/smooth or with too much visible ghosting, and I strongly prefer an off-white paper to bleached paper--part of why I don’t use Decomposition Books anymore, the paper is scratchy and it’s too damn bleached!)

Pagecount relative to size of project

Portability (in non-COVID times; anything bigger than a B5 wouldn’t fit in the satchel I used to bring to work at my old job), etc.

But everyone’s taste is different in this respect, and the only way to figure out what works for you is through trial and error, I’m afraid. I also suspect I’m more neurotic and particular about the sensory experience of using a notebook than most people are, but I yam what I yam.

Now to talk about the notebooks for my current projects, where I’ve refined my approach somewhat. I’ve included less photos for these because they’re ongoing WIPs I don’t want to spoil completely, but I’ve tried to include some outline-type stuff to give you an idea.

My big bang fic is in the very ugly twin ring notebook on the right; I got it at a dollar store by my house because I needed something to work in and didn’t want to wait for an online order, but it’s been very serviceable for my needs. The paper isn’t even bad. The bigger notebook (B5) is my Sangcheng fic.

I wanted something with a lot of pages for this, because I knew it was going to be a long story, and for some reason the fact it’s smaller than my usual preference doesn’t bug me (I think it’s an A5?); it just fits this story, somehow. I’m not sure exactly how many sheets are in here but I’d guess about 150.

Because this notebook has upwards of 100 sheets, I made a lot of use of sticky-note tabs to label high-priority pages. The colour coding of these doesn’t mean anything, it was just whichever ones I had at hand at any given moment. These are those tabs from Muji I mentioned, I’m really obsessed with them--the shape makes them so much less obtrusive and more practical than conventional squares/rectangles OR flag shapes, IME.

My big bang story is nonlinear, so, similarly to what I did with colour coding for the two POVs for my GK fic, this story has two main colours corresponding to whether a given section takes place in the “before” or the “after” portions of the timeline, with blue as “after”, yellow as “before”. This is what the most current version of the outline looks like in there:

If you squint, you can see the alphanumeric notes in the top right of each section entry; I gave them each a code like “A3″ or “B5″ corresponding to their position in the story sequence (so, it goes A1, B1, A2, B2, etc., through to B9 and then the epilogue). [Unintentional that this schema overlaps with notebook size labeling and so is kind of confusing in the context of this post.] At first I was just keeping track of the sections via the highlighted titles, but it got confusing because I’d write down “Wedding” or “Yiling” in my notes and then refer to the notes later like “but there are multiple marriages?? and multiple scenes in Yiling??”. Stuff gets struck through with a straight line if it’s been written in a more-or-less complete form and crossed out with a squiggly line if it’s been cut from the outline or made redundant.

As I said earlier, I started out all the initial brainstorming for my Sangcheng fic in its notebook, instead of brainstorming it in someone’s DMs/my notes app/a voice memo/etc. and then transcribing it into the notebook in a somewhat more organized fashion, which is how my stories usually start out. Because of this, the first five-ish pages are basically just stream of consciousness rambling where I was trying to jot down every disconnected thought I had about the story concept. I don’t have photos for that because it’s too spoilerific for later developments in the fic, but I can show you some of the stages the outlines went through, once I was able to corral those initial notes into a story structure:

All the chapters in this fic have their own highlighter colour, so when I started trying to make sense of my initial brainstorm notes I just went through and highlighted stuff in the colour of the chapter it would make the most sense for, and then transcribed things more-or-less in chronological order into the relevant chapter outline. I later ended up rewriting all the chapter outlines AGAIN to refine them and divide them internally by the individual scenes, which makes them a lot more legible and less wall-of-text-y. They look like this now, with about four sheets per chapter:

Because this fic is on the longer side, I have some pages that are just for keeping track of other story elements, like this, where I refer back to whatever the fuck the “themes” are supposed to be whenever I forget what this fic is about:

It’s all about the visionboarding... Anyway, that’s most of what I have to offer, since most of these two notebooks is Forbidden Content.

With regards to brands/supplies, I really like this Kokuyo Campus Wide notebook that I’m writing Sangcheng in, it’s pretty perfect for me. I also like the B5 Muji twin rings, but those only come in 30 sheets, so I wouldn’t use it for anything above a ~20k project. The B5 Maruman Spiral Note 6.5mm ruled/80 sheet is another good one, though I wish it was twin ring instead of spiral. As you can tell, I like Japanese stationery brands because it’s easier to find decent paper quality and minimalist design without shelling out $$ than it is with American/European brands, at least IME. I like Rollbahns too. But honestly, I can usually find pretty serviceable random notebooks that aren’t brand-name from Asian dollar stores; it’s really not something where you need to shell out tons of money.

[makeste]

Bnha is a little too irregular for me right now (covid is the worst :( ), so I started reading One Piece and it's like, soooo long. Got me thinking, how long do you think Bnha will be? Personally I think we're just before time skip and it will take, like 300-400 chapters to end? So manga would be 600-700 chapters long. I could be wrong of course. Thoughts?

One Piece is fucking awesome, and the beauty of it is that is is 12 million chapters long so it will take approximately 182 years to finish reading, and you are almost guaranteed to be entertained for the vast majority of that time lol. I actually took a break from it a little ways into the Wano arc (sometime in the middle of what would later become volume 92) because it was getting harder for me to keep up with the plot week by week, especially since I was really into BnHA fandom by that time. my plan was to binge it once Wano ends. however when I was looking at the list of chapters on Wikipedia just now I saw that Oda is only 11 chapters away from breaking the 1k mark, which is pretty awesome. so I might try to catch up in the next month or two in celebration of that milestone, because damn.

with BnHA though, my own guess for how long the series will be is actually a lot shorter than most estimates I’ve seen. first of all, full disclosure that I am definitely biased regarding the timeskip part, because I personally am not the biggest fan of BnHA timeskip theories, unless they’re really short timeskips like the 3-month one we got recently. the thing is, this is explicitly a manga about their time at UA. it’s in the title and everything lol. and I like that. I like reading about them as kids, little hero eggs gradually growing into little hero chicks who will eventually become big hero birbs, but not just yet. a lot of the story’s appeal for me comes from that. there’s a certain... I don’t necessarily want to say innocence, but idealism, maybe?, that’s associated with stories about young adults, and doesn’t always carry over into the stories about those same adults once they’ve grown up. and I want the story to keep that.

there are a lot of things about the current setting that I’m very attached to and don’t want to lose. I like that they’re kids, and that they’re full of potential but don’t always know what they’re doing, and they screw up and make mistakes and get in over their heads, and are dealing with all of their messy jumbled teenage emotions. I like that they’re living with each other in the fanfic dorms and seeing each other every day in their classes. I like that romance isn’t a big part of the series (though there’s still plenty of shipping fuel to go around). I like that we get to see them interacting with their parents and siblings and get to see those relationships. and most of all, I like that -- unlike almost every other young adult series I can think of -- BnHA acknowledges that they are just kids, and the adults by and large actually treat them as such. and yes, I’m even including the child soldiers arc here, because the decision to basically draft them into a war was handed down by the HPSC (an organization that likely has a history with child abuse from what we’ve seen). U.A. was against it, and tried their best to keep them away from the front lines, chilling out in the woods and helping with evacuations instead of fighting villains. contrast this with, say, a:tla, which I love, but which is very much one of those series filled with full-grown adults who are all “it’s up to this 12-year-old and his assorted 12-to-15-year-old friends to lead the battle to save the world lulz.” and this includes possibly the most beloved full-grown adult of all time, who nonetheless peaces out with an ironclad argument of “while it is true that the final villain is my actual brother, I’m still going to let the 12-year-old handle it because something something politics slash destiny.”

but anyways lol got sidetracked there. so steering this back on course now, I genuinely, truly love that in BnHA there are all these adults in the characters’ lives who are trying to keep them safe and nurture them and shield them from that extra burden of responsibility for as long as possible while they’re still learning. and so the kids have that extra safety net of support, which to me as a reader is just... comforting, I guess. like, I understand that it’s not going to last forever, but it’s reassuring to know that it exists for them for now. and I’m not in any hurry to say goodbye to that in favor of just tossing them out into tHE REAL WORLD!! lol. like omg no my babies.

anyway but so the point is that, with respect to everyone else’s theories, I personally don’t want a timeskip lol. and tbh I don’t really see the need for one either? if anything, we’re about to enter the most chaotic period in the entire manga once this arc ends. I’m assuming Tomura will survive this and escape somehow, the better to live and fight another day. and so if that’s the case, I feel like this would be the absolute weirdest time to do a timeskip, because how far ahead can we even jump lol. too far and we’d basically be coming back to an already-destroyed world lol whoops. basically I just don’t see how we can jump ahead more than a few months at the most, assuming that the threat of Tomura is going to be looming over everyone’s heads the entire time. plus we’d miss out on what I’m betting is going to be some of the most intense worldbuilding drama in the entire series, with our beloved characters potentially being swept up in like half a dozen political controversies. I sure don’t want to miss out on any of that. we didn’t wait so long to see this war play out only to skip out on the highly entertaining aftermath of it all.

anyway so that’s my as-usual-longer-than-necessary rant about timeskips. so now let’s talk about the series length. and here, I’m basically just basing my guess off of what Horikoshi has said in interviews. off the top of my head, there are three times he’s mentioned the ending of the series in interviews. first, there’s this interview, published in July 2018:

Interviewer: Previously in SUGOI JAPAN*, you mentioned that you would like Boku No Hero Academia to be a short and concise story and not drawn out, but what percentage of the story is complete at this point?

Horikoshi: When the decision to extend the series happened, I personally thought “I guess I want to end it here” and it was around Volume 30.

Interviewer: So then are you 2/3 done with the story?

Horikoshi: That’s what I had originally planned, but when I think of all the things that must be set up before getting into the last arc, I realized, “Ending the series at Volume 30 will be impossible” (laughs). However, the current arc that is going on all has purpose that will be relevant in the last arc.

*this is referencing a remark he made back at an awards ceremony back in March 2017.

second, we have this interview from August 2018, where he again mentions wanting to keep the story concise:

Do you know what the ending of My Hero Academia is? Do you think it'll be 80+ volumes like One Piece?

No, it won't be infinite – I don't have the stamina for it to be as long as One Piece. I'd like to keep it concise.

and lastly,  this one which was published in December 2019:

What can you say about the future events of the manga?

I’m conscious of the end of the series, and writing towards that. I think the story will always be moving in big ways going forwards. My Hero Academia has a lot of characters, a lot of characters doing different things with different motivations, and the story is heading towards a conclusion where all of that comes together and heads towards the end.

my takeaways from these interviews are that (1) he originally planned for the story to be about 300 chapters long, (2) he’s had a clear idea of his overall endgame for a while now and has been steadily working towards that (as he put it in another interview, he knows all of the dots, but is still figuring out the lines to connect them all), and (3) he specifically said a couple years back that he did not want to write a long One Piece-length series, and his goal was to write a more concise story than that. Horikoshi’s pacing has always been much faster than Oda’s (or Kishimoto’s, or Kubo’s, etc.), and so I think it’s a realistic goal for him to wind up with a significantly shorter story in comparison.

my best guess is that BnHA won’t be much longer than 400 chapters, or a little over 40 volumes. he said back around chapter 180-something that he was nowhere close to being two-thirds of the way done. but it’s been two years since then, and if we haven’t reached at least the two-thirds mark by this point, I would honestly be very surprised. it would mean we’ve barely made any progress at all, and I don’t know about you, but the past few arcs have felt very purpose-driven to me. I think he has a pretty good idea of where he’s heading at this point, and that to me supports the idea of a shorter story than a lot of people have speculated. mind you, he might end up doing a sequel or something afterwards (although I kind of cringe thinking about all the ways we’ve seen that kind of thing go wrong in the past, ngl).

but as far as the series proper, yeah, I’d say 400 chapters is my best guess. ultimately I just hope he’s able to tell the story he wants to tell and gets as much time as he needs to do so, without feeling any pressure to then drag it on past that. knowing when to end your series is so underrated honestly. I have my fingers crossed that it’s a skill Horikoshi hopefully possesses.

[corolune]

Breathing Underwater / Chapter One — Zephyr

AO3 / Tumblr Alex had always known he wasn’t like other children. They didn't hear the song of the ocean in their ears, or feel the thrumming rhythm of the waves in their hearts like he did. Then he finds a silvery coat made of seal fur, glistening and calling him to slip it on — and everything he thought he knew about himself washes away like foam on the sea. Alex Rider is a selkie, and this is the story of how a seal becomes a spy. Prologue 〰 Chapter 1: Zephyr 〰 Chapter 2: Nimbus

zeph·yr — a light wind from the west.

Alex Rider was seven years old when he learned that none of the other children heard the ocean’s song in their ears. A half-formed rhythm that beat in time with his breath, the way the Thames rushed in tune with the hustle and bustle of London.

Mrs. Smith held her finger to her lips, quieting the loud chatter of the class, and beckoned Katie to continue her show and tell.

“And this one,” Katie held up a large, spiralling shell in her hands, “is called a conch shell. When you hold it up to your ear, it sounds like you’re at the beach! It has ocean sounds in it and it’s really really cool. Miss, can I pass it around, for everyone to hear?”

“Yes, you may, but we’ll have to be quiet so we can hear the ocean waves, right class?”

As the shell made its way around the circle of children, Alex leaned into Tom and whispered, “Why would you need a shell to hear the ocean? I can hear it just fine wherever I am!”

Tom shot him a curious look from under his curly, dark fringe. “Yeah, you can imagine how it sounds, but with the shell you can really hear it!”

Alex furrowed his brow, shaking his head, but decided to wait and see what exactly this ocean sound was. The others oohed and ahhed excitedly, holding the conch up to their ears, and soon enough it was his turn.

Tom bounced in place, eyes going wide as he handed the shell over to him with a grin. Cupping it gently to his ear, he listened and waited, but there was nothing other than the sound of air rushing through the twists and turns in the spirally shell. Squeezing his eyes shut and clapping his hand over his other ear, he strained his hearing, but it still sounded nothing like the ocean.

When he blinked his eyes open, it was to Tom’s concerned look, and his neighbour poking his arm.

“Come on Alex, it’s my turn!” James whined, as Alex continued to stare at the shell in his hands. He passed it over to him, leaning over to Tom.

“That didn’t sound anything like the ocean.”

“What are you talking about, mate? That totally sounded like waves on a beach!”

“Waves? But the ocean sounds like a song Tom, and there’s just air in that shell!”

Mrs. Smith cleared her throat, and Alex realized that his whisper was perhaps not much of a whisper after all. “Would you boys like to share what’s going on?”

“Sorry Miss,” Alex mumbled, as Tom continued to glare righteously at him.

“Tom? Is something the matter?” Mrs. Smith raised her eyebrow pointedly.

“Sorry Miss, it’s just that Alex said the shell doesn’t sound like the ocean at all!” At this, the rest of his classmates' voices rose into a rumble and Alex’s cheeks grew pinker by the second.

“It sounds like waves, I suppose, but not like the ocean,” he tried to explain.

“But waves are the ocean!” James exclaimed, while Crystal gasped at him. “If it sounds like waves, it sounds like the ocean,” she said.

Alex sunk deeper into his seat and vowed to never bring up this topic again. Never ever. Especially the bit about the ocean song, which Tom teased him about for weeks afterward.

〰〰

Alex spent his days doing schoolwork, playing football, and sneaking onto the tube with Tom to go to the shops downtown. He learned to avoid other topics, too, like how Ian left him alone at home, or in a hotel when they were on holiday. Or how sometimes, Ian would come home from work trips covered in bruises and scrapes. He made friends easily enough, and then Ian hired Jack to keep him company. It helped him forget that feeling of loneliness that hovered over him like a rain cloud, as if there was something he was missing, like the melody of a song he couldn’t quite remember.

Sometimes, when he was alone at night, he stared up at the stars from his little window and wondered what his parents were like. He barely remembered much of when he was little. Sometimes he thought of the light on the surface of the sea, reflecting into the water below where kelp waved in giant fronds. He remembered cold air on his face and the smell of salt. His parents must have loved the sea, to have taken him to the beach as a baby.

The months passed by, and he got a new bicycle, learned Jack was terrible at cooking, and finally watched the X-Men films Tom had been gushing about. Soon enough, his tenth birthday had come and gone, and summer was upon them.

When the high tides came, at his uncle’s lake cottage in the country, Alex’s blood thrummed hard in his ears. The dark night blanketed the small hamlet, an inky sky bleeding into the city lights that he could see far into the distance. A little lake, too big to be a pond, rippled in the balmy breeze as he lay propped up on his elbows in the grass nearby. If he closed his eyes he could hear the water’s shush-shush-shush in time with his heartbeat.

He was a city boy, but something about the vast, empty lake called to him. He supposed other ten year olds would feel a bit frightened, left alone in the wilderness for hours, where the nearest city was a half hour’s drive away. He never liked the country very much, not when he and Ian went into the woods or hiked up a mountain. But here, there was something that quelled the itchy feeling that had him feeling lost, like he was holding a puzzle piece that wouldn’t fit.

When he heard the car rumbling on the dusty path, he rolled onto his knees and peered over the cattails in the moor. Ian was back from his trip into the little town, and maybe now he would finally stop being so mysterious and tell him the real reason they were here.

“Alex! Come and help me with these,” Ian called, opening up the boot of the car.

Scrambling down the grassy knoll, Alex reached him to see old crates and crumbling piles of paper amongst the grocery bags.

“What’s all this? Where’d you get all this old stuff?”

Ian smiled crookedly. “Help me haul it inside and I’ll tell you!”

The crates were splintered and creaky, rocking with every step on the uneven cobblestone of the driveway. The papers were bundled into musty files, but between the two of them it was short work to gather everything into the foyer of the little cottage.

“So did you drive us up here to go to an estate sale or something without me? Bet I could have found something a lot cooler than some old paperwork.” Alex grinned as he put down the last box.

Ian chuckled, shaking his head. “I didn’t buy any of this. Lucky for me no one had come across it yet.”

He pried one of the crates open. Inside, there were soft cotton dresses, yellowed with age, in floral prints and geometric lines in vibrant colours.

“These things, they’re your mother’s.”

He blinked, looking up sharply.

“My mum’s? But...I thought there wasn’t...” Alex stumbled over his words, confused and hopeful all at once. “I thought there wasn’t anything left of hers,” he finished in a soft, timid voice, feeling something pull at his chest. He ran his fingers over the soft fabric, trying to remember his mum’s face. The smell of sea salt wafted up from where he shook out the folds. A large seashell, curved into a spiral, fell out as he lifted it away, clattering onto the wooden floor, and he reached after it. In his hands, the shell was smooth.

“I didn’t think so either,” Ian said. “But last time I came up here, remember I had to check on some things for our holiday?”

Alex nodded, the sound of his blood rushing in his ears like the thrum of the ocean.

“Helen—your mum—she had a safe in the little bank in town. Just by chance that the man there recognized the name Rider, good thing we weren’t playing disguises, eh?”

Alex had moved onto untying the twine from the bundles of files. The folders were dry, caked with dust, and brittle. The papers inside were less dusty but equally crisp with age. Inside they held an eclectic mix of newspaper clippings and postcards, photographs of people he didn’t recognize, and pressed flowers. Little mementos of a life lived, a life that Alex had had little chance to wonder about.

His parents had died in an accident. But in him now, seeing these objects that his—mum—had once lovingly saved, a spark flared into a hopeful warmth. He read and read his mother’s journal until his eyes slid shut, and he felt Ian lift him up and tuck him into bed. He dreamt of Venice and Prague, of coffee shops and delicate flowers blooming under gentle care. His dreams were full of strange people and stranger plots surrounding both his mum and his dad.

〰〰

The next morning when he woke, he could feel the ocean’s rhythm in his ears, louder than it had ever been before. He stumbled out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, to see Ian already awake and halfway through his toast.

“Morning sleepyhead,” Ian said around a mouthful of crunchy bread.

Plopping into a chair, Alex stole some from the pile for himself, spreading a very generous amount of jam onto his piece.

“Hmmm,” he hummed. The jam was really very good. Actually, now that he thought about it, he felt very good too, light and happy for the first time in, well, a long time. If he concentrated hard enough, he could even make out words in the usually jumbled melody in his ears.

Come...sea...little...

He chewed over this development as he finished breakfast, glancing at the crates and papers still piled up in the foyer from the night before. There was just one box he hadn’t gotten to before falling asleep — it was sealed shut so tightly that he hadn’t been able to pry it open by himself.

Ian noticed his gaze. “We can bring those with us for you to keep, when we drive back home.”

“Yes, I’d like that,” Alex nodded. “But I didn’t get a chance to look inside that one, can you help me get it open?”

Without noticing it, he found himself in front of the small box and running his fingers over the little notches in the wood, as if he’d been pulled towards it. A dull rhythm echoed in his ears like a siren song.

Armed with a sharp knife, his uncle pried open the lid. Whatever was inside was wrapped in packing paper and plastic, and an unassuming beige envelope rested on top. “For Alex R.,” it read in curly script, and the back of it was sealed shut with a sticker in the shape of a round, pink heart.

Ian leaned over his shoulder, humming with interest at this new mystery. “I’d reckon your mum left you this, Alex. Strange that I never came across any of this when you were younger.”

“You mean this is all a lucky accident? If we hadn’t come here...if you hadn’t gone to that bank, I wouldn’t have ever gotten any of this?” It wasn’t the first time Alex had had this thought since Ian first told him what he’d brought, and it seemed a little too much like coincidence.

“Perhaps, but then again, maybe she’d assumed you’d go looking for her things one day or another. Either way, it doesn’t matter — go on, open that envelope, I’m dying to see what’s inside just as much as you are!” Ian grinned, and Alex could feel the excitement rolling off of his uncle, who was always thrilled to play detective. Truth be told, he was excited too — it wasn’t everyday that he discovered an old family treasure.

The sticker peeled open easily, its stickiness long since disappeared. Inside, there was thick, creamy stationery paper, folded into thirds, and something shifted inside with a dull clinking sound. A golden chain slid out, flowing into his palm like liquid metal. Tiny shells dotted the chain and a small seashell hung from the middle.

“I remember that necklace,” Ian said thoughtfully. “I only met your mother a few times, but I can remember her wearing it — the seashell opens like a locket, I think, though I can’t recall what was inside it.”

Alex was more interested in the letter than a piece of glittering, girly jewelry, and he was happy to hand it off to Ian to inspect. Unfolding the elegant paper, he shouldn’t have been surprised to see his name on it, but he still couldn’t hold back a small gasp. The curly letters were undoubtedly his mother’s.

Dearest Alex,

In this box is something that has been yours since the day you were born. I’ve kept it safe and hidden, and hopefully you will find it one day when you need it. I wish that I was able to share this with you, face to face.

You must know by now, that you are different from other children; I am sure you never had to be taught to swim, and that the waves call to you in a way unlike anything else. You make friends easily, and others are charmed by you when you smile. You get those traits from me.

There is something else you get from me, too. Like me, you are a selkie, and your life is equally in the sea as it is on land. The sealskin in this box — this is yours. Wear the coat and you will swim as a seal, slip it off and you will walk once more.

Make sure to never lose your skin, always keep it safe and hidden, always keep it a secret. If you lose your skin, you must find it before someone else takes it and holds power over you.

My mother gave me this necklace, and now I’m giving it to you—a rare shell that will be a compass to your coat should you ever lose it. I hope that one day, you will find someone you trust with your life, someone you can share your secret with.

I love you with all my heart, my darling son.

Your Mum,

Helen R.

With slightly watery eyes, he looked up to see Ian nonchalantly trying to read the letter from where he sat next to him. Nothing in the letter made any sense to him—he’d heard of selkies of course, but the idea that his long lost mother was a seal was so weird that it passed right over his head. Distantly he noticed Ian taking the letter from him to read properly, but Alex was too much in the midst of an identity crisis to notice.

The soft, crinkling sounds of paper roused him from his circling thoughts. He turned to see Ian crumpling up the packing paper and tearing open the thin plastic that covered the contents of the box, tipping it over.

Soft, white fur with patches of grey unfurled onto the floor, somehow familiar, beckoning Alex. Something in his chest unfurled along with it, and for the first time that feeling of something missing, that yearning for something more, dissolved like foam on the sea. He ran his hands through the short, white fur, and knew that this was what he’d lost, and now found.

“This is yours,” Ian said.

That night, as Ian sat at the dock and Alex, clad in the silvery fur, dove into the cold lake water shimmering with moonlight, everything he thought he knew about himself washed away.

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[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Onyx tells Mc she’s pregnant. They hosts a party for everyone to announce of Onyx’s pregnancy. How they announce it and how everyone react are up to you!

Written by @evoedbd

WARNINGS Mentions of abuse Mentions of miscarriage Potentially offensive attempts at humor

Chanouncement

Cali was good with weird. Completely fine. The last year had seen her life absolutely flipped on its head. Perhaps rolled over by a truck, chopped up, tossed into a woodchipper, fed to gulls, shat out across the country… the picture was quite morbid.

Cali had foolishly thought her life couldn’t get any weirder. After all, she was dating the nicer of two near identical twins, who both so happened to be supernaturally selected demon slayers. The “evil” twin had turned Cali into a well of Supernatural energy and used said power to give the demons a massive level up. That wasn’t all, she’d also watched said twin, whilst possessed, gut Onyx, the love of her life and watched Onyx emerge a dragon. If that wasn’t unusual and morbid enough, Cali had literally shouted her romantic love at a literal dragon, who had once been her five-foot nothing girlfriend. Cali had been dating a literal dragon. In love with a literal dragon. That should have topped the weirdness charts. But no, Cali had then become the next Envy herself, and thus the only human bridge between a mod girl reincarnated into a brown bear, and her dead girlfriend. If that wasn’t enough, she’d been part of a ritual to bring her girlfriend back into human form, and to top it off, Cali discovered that her blood was the literal key to her girlfriend’s soul and destroying it. Nothing too serious. Just casual lesbian disaster stuff. Only, neither she nor Onyx were actually lesbians. Both of them appreciated men. In the sexy way. In the “Onyx had dated a man who abused her until her twin sister had gutted him like a pig and stolen his supernatural powers”, way. That kind of bisexual… no wonder some people were a little intimidated by the Queer community. Between U-Haul lesbians not checking for demon possession and world ending bisexuals, that was all pretty scary.

Though not as scary as what she and her lady love planned to do. As fate would have it, if fate was a wonderful arsehole conscious, Cali had been delivered a further dose of weirdness in her unusual life. Weirdness in the form of her formerly dragon, formerly dead girlfriend discovering she was pregnant under the potent influence of ritualistic magic, which had restored her human form. Given that these circumstances would have been terrifying for anybody, even without the added fact that she was now vulnerable for a demon demi-devil’s possession and the prime target of an apocalyptic plot, it made absolute sense that Onyx was anxious. Cali had been there, she understood how end of the world pressure like that could mess with a girl, which was why it was imperative to bring the team up to date on the latest development… and no, that was not a kidney, not yet. Onyx wasn’t that far along.

So far, the plan of a joyful distraction had gone off without a hitch. The common area was alive with laughter flowing from the Sin Troupe. Alcohol flowed relatively freely, along with several bowls and bags of typical party food such as potato chips and popcorn. The floor was already littered with crumbs, mostly from the boys throwing scraps at Wrath between rounds of charades. One thing Cali had learned tonight was that for a group that entertained for a living, a group also responsible for concealing the fact the world was woefully fucked from the general population, they were horrific actors. Now the money and tickets made sense, for even the most deluded of fans would surely notice the cracks if it was left to their acting skills alone.

“Shaving! Um, WHIPPED! Oh! BDSM KINK SHAMING!”

“Moron.”

“Darius… how did you even get that from dancing?”

“Oh? That’s what it is? I thought Wrath was possessed.”

“She’s Britney Spears. Cal’s her circus boy.”

“Well we aren’t all DJs here, Malakai. How was I supposed to get that from whatever she and Cal were doing?”

Cali didn’t tune into the words after that. She was back to anxious, or perhaps the woman tucked under her arm was. It was difficult to tell with the bond so active, causing the teeth marks on her shoulder to burn with the heat of a dragon’s love. Try as she might, she was caught between two violent sensations. The magic of the mark; memories of heat as playful nips had become a serious bite, a possessive one from a Dragon unlike the world had ever seen, or ever would. It wasn’t like anybody had seen Onyx as a dragon… except two sold out nights of the Sin Circus, a carnival ground and a shopping mall full of super excited fans and everyone online. Ok, that was a lot of people who’d seen Onyx as a dragon. That could be a problem. Which led to the anxiety. The type which made sweat prickle in all the uncomfortable places and her stomach do terrified flips. She wasn’t even the pregnant one. Onyx had to survive a pregnancy, targeting and contain a literal dragon’s soul.

All Cali had to do was make the statement that she had an announcement to make like a normal human being. She had to ignore the sweat trickling down her palms, tickling every crease, and how her heart skipped several beats in the past minute; rushing faster and faster until she could hear in her ears when she closed her eyes. Slower Blinks. She had to be normal.  Be normal. Be normal. Be normal.

All she had to do was make a single little announcement, that was admittedly life changing. It wasn’t like these people would judge. After all they were supernatural Demon assassins chosen by mystical powers based on the Seven Deadly Sins. If there was any group which were not judgemental it would surely be these people.

“I have channouncement to make.” she said with a rather high-pitched voice and a casual smile just a little too tight to be completely relaxed. In a room full of assassins she might as well have been waving a red flag saying terrified med school dropout alert. This was the time for the royal skill of fake it till you make it mixed with an impossibly large dose of denial. Anxious? Cali? Hah! No way. She had nailed it.

“What she means is we want to tell you something. Since we’re already playing charades, we want to try and see if you can guess.” Onyx chimed in, snuggling playfully under Cali’s arm. The mechanic grinned, letting her goofy affection conceal another wave of nerves. It was easier if she just stared at Onyx and let her face do what it would do. Give in to the muscles making her smile as she got lost in the most dazzling green eyes the world had ever seen. The dusting of blue eyeshadow really made those eyes pop, like emeralds offered to thieves on booby trapped pedestals. Hah, boobs! Cali liked those. Especially Onyx’s. No matter how Cali tried to avoid falling for the emerald trap, she found her gaze lingering, feasting on how the light shone across dark lashes and the rhinestone piercing just beneath Onyx’s right eye. It kept focus away from tender pink lips, from subtle little bites that portrayed a mix of excitement and nerves. Cali doubted the others would realise Onyx was anything other than playful. Afterall Onyx was a master of faking it until she made it, even to her closest friends. It showed in how loose her body was, how genuine her show stopping smile seemed. If Cali hadn’t felt the flickering within the bond, she may have bought Onyx’s act. That and the affection. How Onyx’s arm around her waist pulled that little bit too tight to be casual. Or how trimmed nails tried to dig into the grey fabric of Cali’s shirt; dragon talons clinging to the finest treasure. A scared girl seeking reassurance.

“Right. And to make it a team Envy experience, I’m going to tell Rip how to act.” Cali explained out loud, barely restraining her laughter as Ripley’s eagerness flooded her mind.

“Alright! I’m the best at charades! My acting is on point. Everyone thinks I’m a bear.”

Cali didn’t have the heart to tell Ripley that her “bear” act was entirely too adorable to be terrifying. Ripley may have the body of a bear, her soul, however, was still that of a tender human. Her soft eyes would strike terror into the hearts of the masses, along with her awkward attempts at snarls and finely groomed coat. Every gesture of her paws would see her painted pink claws drip sparkles, which admittedly might be horrifying to cishet folk. Ripley as always, was dressed for battle, wearing a fearsome checkered neck scarf, complete with an adorable little bow…truly, Ripley could intimidate the world into movies and cuddles. She could terrify little girls into dropping popcorn into her open maw as she scrolled an iPad and lamented the fashion she could no longer wear. She was oh so very, very terrifying. Cali had fallen for the bear terror for five seconds when they’d met, that was true. Then again, Cali had also believed Vinca a completely evil maniac who killed Onyx’s boyfriend, who was a loving and uplifting man, just to steal his powers and fuck with Onyx. She had assumed Dorran had loved and cherished Onyx until his dying breath. Cali had assumed Dorran had trained her, protected her, instead of abused her and hurled her at demons. Cali’s track record with assumptions was pretty horrific, actually. Horrifically awful.

She realised her lingering rage must have echoed through the bond when a soft touch to her forearm drew her attention. Once again, she was drawn into the trap of green, found herself beneath the crashing wave of Onyx’s gaze. This gaze, however, was different. It was sympathy and confusion, a jumbled mess of understanding which stood secondary to the fact Onyx wished to soothe. A small flick at the corner of Cali’s mouth let Onyx know the gesture was received, the storm had passed, at least for now. She didn’t need to keep her gaze on Onyx to know that the former Envy Assassin’s expression mirrored her own. Cheeky grins and eyes twinkling with mischief as Cali allowed her mind to sink into the images and emotions she needed to convey, needed Ripley to convey. Onyx was their awareness, her approval expressed in delighted cackles and birdsong laughter, by her touch on Cali’s arm shifting with her small body.

The bear started out stiff, walking in shorter, wider strides on hind legs as forelegs awkwardly extended before her in a zombie like attempt of curves. A few strides in, Ripley fell forwards, catching her weight on her forepaws, before attempting her waddling all over again. This time, poor Ripley tried to bring them to her back, only to manage to reach her hips; range of motion not allowing her any further. The awkward waddling, paws on hips appeared like something off a runway full of models who had indulged in too many illegal substances. The display had everyone howling with glee, even Ripley within the Envy Trio’s heads. Eventually, Ripley ceased the arms, instead waddling awkwardly around as crew shouted out their guesses.

“Zombies!”

“Onyx got a Runway offer!”

”Did you buy a petting zoo?”

Both Cali and Onyx laughed, shaking their heads to every shout. Ripley let forth a beastly groan as she lowered herself to the ground, then rolled onto her back. After some awkward shuffling, the bear eventually lifted her feet straight into the air, spread apart as far as her beastly hips would allow. The pose was awkward enough for a human, let alone a bear, with her little tail all fluffed up and her long arms gesturing in awkwardly small arcs across her rather fuzzy stomach.

“Onyx is getting a feature in a music video!”

“She’s designing for a dance studio!”

“Onyx has put on weight!”

“We’re meant to guess an announcement, moron, not state an obvious.”

“Cal, manners.”

“It’s true, she is a bit bulkier since she became human again.”

“You know, it’d be easier if you just told me what I was acting, instead of having me rolling around like a pregnant whale.” Ripley sighed through the bond, rising halfway before freezing. She seemed shocked beyond comprehension. Had she been human, Cali was sure Ripley’s face would have lost its hue. The Envy trio stared at each other. Onyx’s face had gone ashen with fright, concern filtering through her tight smile. Her apprehension flooded the bond, all her concerns jumbled together in a tide which threatened to wash both Ripley and Cali away. Fear that she might lose the approval of her sister figure. That she might garner disapproval or be judged for something beyond her control. That everyone would hate her. That she’d be alone again.

“Onyx is…?” Ripley’s question never came through completely.

The moment Cali realised what was happening, her mind was there. She stormed Onyx’s consciousness, shield raised to deflect every horrific thought and fear before she lashed out. Snapshots of fantasy, impossibilities given life for a few seconds. A scent more appealing and delicate than anything else the world could offer. Soft baby blonde hairs that appeared almost white against more tanned skin. Emerald green eyes glistening with nothing but utter adoration. The rush of family, how the feeling of their support could provide wings. Onyx, belly rounded, cheeks flushed and eyes twinkling with delight, toes kicking through a gentle stream. A loving smile from Vinca, the sharpness abandoned as she cooed over an innocent child. How tiny a child would be in Wrath’s large arms, yet how tender the brawler would be. Malakai’s warm smile as the baby traced his tattoos. Darius, dangling his chain just out of their reach as the babe giggled. Cal, strumming his guitar as the three men sung to the babe, who slumbered in an older Avi’s arms.

“Oh my god! Onyx is-” Again, Ripley never finished the though. Her eyes rolled backwards, almost as if she were being possessed in a hammer horror film. Her legs gave out, her body crumpled to the ground. Cali found herself swaying, her vision filled with black dots as the intensity of their emotions washed over the trio, sweeping them away in the tsunami. She clung to Onyx, fighting to keep the smallest Envy assassin on her feet. Onyx seemed to feel the same way, given how she clung tighter to Cali, preventing the Chinese woman from falling. A loud crash let Cali know that Ripley had indeed gone through the bowls of supplied snacks, along with the table they rested on. Chips flew everywhere, spraying across the penthouse along with shards of broken bowls. The laughter stopped, everyone half rising, half looking towards Cali.

“… That wasn’t part of the announcement.” Was the only thing Cali could offer to the expectant assassins. The room went eerily silent, enough that one might hear crickets chirping, or the din from the streets of Vegas echoing to the top floor of the hotel.

“She’s having a baby!” An entirely too cheerful voice broke the deafening silence, drawing everyone’s attention to Cal’s little boy. Avi stood in the doorway to the common area, his little yellow hood pulled up over sleep tussled black locks. His deep brown eyes shone like melted chocolate, filled with a tired child’s innocent delight and excitement. Cali couldn’t help but smile at the boy, giving him the smallest nod of approval, which only made him smile so delightedly that his white teeth stood starkly against his dark skin.

“How does that tie into O- oh…” Malakai started out confused, only for realisation to flood his rich eyes. His mouth fell open, brows arching towards his hairline as his gaze travelled between Avi, Cali then to Onyx. Cali couldn’t read him, couldn’t tell what that meant. Oh? That was ALL he had to say? Just oh? Oh, that was, OH, so very helpful.

“Oh?” Wrath began, her own eyes following the same path Malakai’s had.

“Ohhhhh…” She drew out, seeming to have reached the same conclusion he had. Cali felt herself bunch up, muscles rippling beneath her skin as if they were infected vines. Did they not realise what they were doing? Could they not see how Onyx shrunk away from them? Could they not tell how close to tears she was? It flooded Cali’s body, overwhelming her with its chill. As if winter had fallen for a thousand years across all her nerves until only an aching numbness lingered. The subtle tensions through her screamed her protective intentions as she angled herself defensively between the troupe and Onyx, shielding the anxious woman from such evident attention. If the troupe were going to hurt her, then they had better be prepared to face the wrath of Two Envy Assassins… or at least a sassy bike mechanic.

“Oh.” Wrath concluded. It was simple but telling, accompanied by the pinch of her brows. Confusion and consideration warred within her eyes, yet her face remained remarkably blank. It was enough to have Onyx’s breath escape shakily as she clung to Cali’s arm, squeezing until she was sure her nails would be biting through the colourful cloth of her hoodie. If Cali felt pain, it didn’t show, she simply stood silent. A guardian. A woman ready to fight tooth and nail to protect what she loved. The magic within her mark burned immensely hot, scorching Cali’s skin as its darkness flared, much like a panther swishing its tail in agitation. Despite everything, Onyx couldn’t help but lean closer, pressing her forehead into the mark she had left so long ago.

“Yeah. Big Oh.” Cal agreed, his own eyes shifting between everyone, calculating in his sharp, judgemental manner.

“A bad oh?” Cali challenged, unable to endure the strain of not knowing for a second longer. The calculating glances, the wide-eyed silence, everything screaming silent judgements. Cali couldn’t stand it, and if she couldn’t then she knew Onyx would be drowning. The blonde seemed to cower, tucking her head into Cali’s collar as the Asian woman unleashed her inner dragon upon every Assassin with a pointed glare. Cali’s arms encased Onyx, a fortress of flesh and bone protecting the scared princess. Despite her height, Cali found herself playing prince and dragon, both warring to keep the princess safe in their ways. It would be so easy to protect with nothing but love, to embody the princely hero and do no evil. Let the Princess make her own mistakes and swoop in to clean up the mess. However, Cali had always been more of a dragon. Someone to shield those she loved from harm with all her might, to try to prevent them ever leaving to make the mistake in the first place.

A universal flinch rolled through the Assassins, ricocheted like a bullet from Cal’s gun once they realised just how they had come across to the smallest yet brightest of their number.

“Girl, you’re gonna be a baby momma? I get to be an uncle?” It was Darius who brought the excitement. His seductive eyes shone with barely restrained glee; glee which bubbled through to his most dashing smile. His whole body appeared to vibrate, as if he was giving everything in order restrain himself. His glee was infectious, seeping into Cali’s muscles with a gentle warmth until they thawed. She allowed herself to relax a little, giving Onyx an opening to lift her head and give a shy nod. At that nod, sparks flew, igniting the warmth within every assassin. Darius practically flew forwards, wrapping his arms around Onyx and Cali in his excitement. Malakai was right behind him, scooping the three huggers into his humongous arms and giving a gentle squeeze. Finally, Onyx laughed with relief so potent it was as if the air itself heaved a sigh.

“I’m so happy for you.” Malakai whispered, lowering his head into the pack so that he could press an adoring kiss to Onyx’s cheek. Darius seemed determined to copy the gesture, planting his own lips to Onyx’s forehead in a few lazy pecks. Onyx giggled, squeezing whomever she could grasp. Cali didn’t kiss, not this time, she simply rested her forehead to Onyx’s temple, offering her own silent support.

“Congratulations, Onyx.” Wrath’s gentle voice was flooded with warmth, with unconditional love as she wrapped her own arms around the group, holding her team as if they may shatter under the intensity of her love. That thought was enough to make Cali smile. Wrath loved as she lived, hard and intense. When one had Wrath’s affection, they had the weight of her heart on their sleeve, the promise of an Arch Angel named for a sin. The warmth of Wrath’s hug was potent beyond the physical, it seeped into the soul. Wrath warmed from the inside out with her embrace, turning everyone mushy and relaxed. None relaxed further than Onyx, who trusted her weight to the men and women wrapped around her. Cali was perhaps the only one who denied herself the safety, instead raising her challenging glare to Caleb North. The only Assassin yet to give a reaction.

“Avi, cover your ears.” He finally began, letting forth a soft hiss of breath between his teeth. Long, callused fingers brushed through his supermodel locks, pushing them away from his glistening forehead as he waited for his ward to obey. Avi, innocently as ever, clamped his little hands over his twee ears. Only when Cal was sure that Avi was blocking his ears did the Sloth Assassin begin.

“I don’t understand how you’re all taking this so well. Especially you, Cali. Even a med dropout should -”

“I didn’t cheat!” Onyx’s outraged cry was enough to have everyone flinching. Onyx was a pool of wrath, sickly tar bubbling to a boil in a cauldron precariously positioned above the archway of a door. Or above the gates soldiers of shame might siege. Cali turned her focus back to Onyx, watching how her nostrils flared, reminiscent of her dragon form. Cali fancied she saw a haunted gleam in Onyx’s blazing green eyes, which had narrowed in utter fury, causing her piercing to gleam like a blade in the light. Gone was the whimpering, terrified maiden within that accusation. Onyx had already been that for two people. Now, Onyx stood confident, challenging the world instead of shying from an abuser. As terrified as she had been of her family’s reaction, Onyx was done running.

“I didn’t even think that!” Cal fired back, as if offended on Onyx’s behalf that such a thing were even considered. It was then Cali could see it. The concern waging war with cautious joy in his deep blue eyes. It was noticing that which kept Cali from lunging into the fray, instead giving Cal a chance to redeem himself in their eyes. Or dig his own grave.

“But pregnancy is stressful enough without adding demons, and the fact that you turned into a dragon! Ask yourself, with everything going on, is this really the time to start playing happy family? Is it safe? You see what I go through with Avi. What if you die, or die again in Onyx’s case? I’m worried about you. A child is a serious responsibility, not something to dabble with in the honeymoon phase of your re-“

“Honeymoon phase? That’s what you’re calling -” Cali fired up, her own dark eyes igniting with rage. Cal had dug his grave with construction grade machinery. She could feel the mark burning, instinctively knew it was the angriest it had ever been, as if rebelling along with the rest of her body. Her vision blurred, weakened legs causing her to half stumble. She could barely hold herself up, yet she wanted nothing more than to lunge at the Sloth assassin. Honeymoon phase? Is that what he thought? There was nothing honeymoon about dying! Nothing honeymoon about offering your soul to a lineage of power just to let the one you love have a single coherent thought!

“Enough.” Wrath didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. The note of finality in her tone was more than enough to bring Cali’s instinctive outrage grinding to a halt long enough for her to take a soothing breath and blink away the haze from her vision. She felt Onyx do the same, even as Malakai, Darius and Wrath untangled from the cuddle huddle and respectfully gave the Envy assassins their breathing room.

“I think Cal is just as confused as we are as to how this happened.”

“The gay club doesn’t know?” Darius’ gasped interruption drew the eyes of the entire room, much like metal shavings to a magnet. Despite his crude wording, his shock that nobody else knew was evident, painted across his dashing face as if it were a canvas hanging in the Louvre.

“Darius. I’m not gay.” Onyx’s correction was gentle, delivered with an amused tilt to her lips.

“Errrmmmm, I’m bi.” Cali lifted a hand timidly, akin to how a child might raise it when unsure of the answer in class.

“I wasn’t invited to any club.” Malakai’s comment was delivered quietly, his brows arched in a mocking display of confusion. Wrath, dutiful as ever, simply crossed her large arms, muscles flexing deliciously with every subtle movement. Her head fell forwards, face meeting her awaiting palm as she bluntly informed everyone.

“There is no club.”

“Code then? So the Bi-bies are having a baby and broke the queer code? Like, aren’t don’t you queers have some form of secret club? How did the Lesbian not know? Aren’t you all meant to be experts on lady parts? Malakai might get a pass as a pan man. Queer people always seem to know everyone’s-”

“Darius.” Malakai began, stepping forwards. The sound of chips crunching beneath his boots was enough to draw a tiny snicker from Cali, though her amusement was quickly smothered by the exhausted frown on Wrath’s face. Her usually blazing eyes held poignant gleam. Something so deeply cut, as if her heart had once more been shattered. The mechanic didn’t even realise where Wrath’s mind had gone, not until she felt Onyx also tense beside her. Oh… that was too telling. The last time Wrath’s sexuality had come into the group, half the group had died. Her family had been torn apart as she helplessly cradled a broken heart heavy in a hollowed out chest. Darius had just toed a landmine; one he didn’t even realise he was prone to step on. Even Cal held his tongue, watching his leader with a softened expression that was all the more lancing. A joust of agony straight to Cali’s chest, or perhaps it was Onyx’s chest. At this point, it didn’t matter, both hearts beat to the same music, each complimentary and connected by the existence of music.

“Stop digging yourself into that hole, man, its deep enough.” Malakai concluded. Darius looked puzzled for a moment as he looked around the room before sudden realisation dawned in his eyes. Never had Cali seen him shuffle as awkwardly as he did then, steadfastly avoiding Wrath’s gaze.

“Right… but yeah, wow, congratulations baby girl, or baby momma now.”

“Thanks.” Onyx muttered, offering a small yet undoubtedly genuine flick of a smile.

“Cali, I gotta say, I did not peg you for… you know?” Darius powered on, earning several confused looks from the group. Genuine awe shone in his eyes, mixed with an overly heaped spoonful of respect. The concoction of emotions was potent, yet it only left Cali blinking in confusion.

“I do?” She drew the sounds out, shuffling awkwardly until she untangled herself from Onyx. With a flick of her chin, she attempted to clear a sweat slicked bang from her face, only to have it catch across her lashes. Her eyes watered, stinging with the saltiness of sweat, punishing her perhaps for not seeing what was going on. Where was Darius going with this?

“Like, wow. I guess we should have known you were packing from all the noise you two make, but I did not even notice.”

“Darius!” Onyx gasped, her tone scolding and scandalised even as the most awkward giggle imaginable bubbled in her throat. The beautiful slopes of her cheeks flushed brilliantly, showing through the layers of makeup in splotchy pinks. Only Cali knew that underneath, Onyx would be brighter than a tomato; her blush the embodiment of coals when left bare to the world.

“Noise? Packing?” Cali inquired, continuing to wipe at her offended eye as she tried to puzzle what Darius was saying.

“Like, your tuck job is insane! And it hardly looks like you’re wearing makeup at all! And your boobs, like, they look real, man.” He powered on like a trooper, gesturing to her chest area.

“Um… they are?” Cali’s questioning tone became even more befuddled. Why was he commenting on her chest? How did that tie into Onyx’s pregnancy? It was not like Cali was going to be providing breastmilk, so what else was she missing?

“Oh! I didn’t realise you were on treatments. That totally makes sense-”

“Hold on… do you think I’m-” Cali tried to interrupt. Treatments. Packing. Tuck job. Breast surgery. All of this pointed towards one thing.

“I’ve seen some bad tuck jobs in my day, I mean like, slipping from under the dress levels. Your tuck-”

“I DON’T HAVE A DICK DARIUS!” Cali shouted, sending the entire room into silence. Instantly, her hands flew to her mouth, covering it in utter shock at her own outburst. Embarrassed didn’t begin to cover it, she was utterly mortified. Both for her outburst and that her sex was even in question. Then, guilt washed over her. Guilt that she was embarrassed over an assumption, that she was even edging on potentially phobic behaviour. She had been born female; born the way she was meant to be as a person. That she was embarrassed as being mistaken for trans felt as if she was insulting the trans community somehow. That thought alone made her feel sick.

“…Oh.”

“We really needed to hear that. I don’t think downstairs heard you.” Cal’s particular brand of snark earned a soft snort from several people, which only made Cali’s cheeks burn hotter. Despite this, she uncovered her face, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“I’m not trans. Also, that is so rude! If someone is trans you don’t just casually tell them you’ve made them! That’s so hurtful! Come on, man.”

“Not cool, Darius. Not cool.” Malakai added. The other assassins nodded, murmuring their agreement.

“Then how are you two so loud? We’ve had to invest in earplugs, and your noise has chased off four girls this week!” Darius’ lament was met by a loud scoff from Cali.

“Seriously? That’s what you meant by noise, Darius? You’re Lust, literally, and can’t think how to get loud without a …?” She trailed off, making several awkward gestures with her hand. Her fingers curled, forming a loose cupping shape as flicked her wrist back and forth, hand around the height of her stomach. Her gesture didn’t last long before Onyx’s shoulder playfully bumped into hers, earning a playful tap in return as the women swayed into one another.

“There have been noise complaints… and a cleaning bill for the elevator. Also, a note to visit lost and found. Something about clothing?” Wrath dutifully informed, fighting off the dusting of pink across her cheeks as valiantly as she could. Several pairs of eyes fixed upon Onyx, who suddenly seemed to shrink into Cali’s side. The Chinese woman felt Onyx’s body heat up, enough that she was convinced steam should have been hissing from Onyx’s ears like smoke from a coal train. In the heat of the moment, neither Cali nor Onyx had stopped to think about anything save each other. Clothes had been abandoned across Vegas, and the elevator… the memory of trees flooded the bond. Onyx climbing Cali like one. The dirt filled roots of the tree Onyx had gifted Cali when she was a dragon. Innocence and seductive depravity bubbled within the bond, only increasing the heat in both their faces.

“Can I be dead again?” Onyx squeaked, covering her face with Cali’s hoodie. The idea of Onyx dying again was agonising, enough that a sharp retort bubbled on the tip of Cali’s tongue. She swallowed it, pushing her tongue down into the cavity of her jaw to resist crying out. If she was in the position of being told to retrieve her clothing from lost and found, Cali probably would have felt the same way.

“Hold on. I thought we were discussing how Onyx got knocked up.” Darius cut in. Instantly, Cali was conflicted. His bluntness was a smack on the snout, though it did save them from a far more awkward conversation.

“Darius…” Cal’s hissed warning was enough to send a chill through the room.

“Which we are all crazy happy for, baby girl, but it is a big change.” The Lust assassin continued, earning a loud snort from Onyx.

“Yeah. Tell me about it.”

“She didn’t cheat, and we didn’t exactly plan for it. Nahara told us there could be a cost for restoring Onyx to her human form. The possibilities included a physical manifestation of the bond between the barer of the mark and Envy.” Cali explained. She stepped up a little, moving to wrap her arm securely around Onyx’s shoulders. Such lithe shoulders, despite their muscle, that bore the weight of the world. Such smooth skin beneath her fingertips as she massaged the curve of Onyx’s far shoulder, trying to ease even a fraction of her burden. Cali’s fingers traced odd patterns, even tickling down the divots of Onyx’s muscled biceps.

“Which arguably could be you. You’re both now, Cali.” Malakai commented, tone thoughtful. His dark eyes narrowed, as if he could read the answer from the bare air if only he focused hard enough. A large hand came to his strong chin, scratching at it thoughtfully.

“That’s what I thought too, but…” Cali trailed off, turning her gaze to Onyx. This was too close to Onyx’s demons, to the secrets she still kept. Cali desperately wanted to speak, yet she found herself tongue tied. Lost in the pain she saw in bright green eyes. Lost in her own loyalty. Could she even physically make herself betray Onyx in this way? Was it a betrayal to reveal the rest of what had been said? Internally, she pleaded, letting her emotions touch the bond between the Assassins. She needed Ripley to validate her, needed Onyx’s consent and understanding. She was falling, plummeting off a cliff with no wings to fly and no claws to cling to the stone she might be able to reach.

“She also mentioned something from the past could return to my future… well, our future.”

The moment the words left Onyx’s mouth, a soft grunt from the table drew Onyx’s attention. Ripley had managed to work herself into a sitting position, something which Cali found rather comical. The bears legs were spread apart, much like an awkward toddler, whilst her back was ramrod straight, akin to a woman forced into an impossibly tight corset. Ripley didn’t flood the bond with her words, she simply watched and listened, apparently trying to understand the responses from Wrath and Cal.

“From the past? When wer-“

“Dorran. Those weeks he increased your training.”

“WEEKS?” Cali exploded, viciously demanding an answer. Everything was red, hazy and hot, as if she’d been looking into the sun too long. Even behind her closed eyes, circles and swirls of color danced across her vision, hammering in time with her racing heart. This was worse than when she’d ridden her bikes to exhaustion or suffered sunstroke. Worse than the migraines that had occasionally followed. This was all of them at once, assaulting her body until only Onyx’s deceptively strong arm around her waist kept her standing. There was no question of whether or not she’d collapse, Onyx wouldn’t allow that, but the intensity burning through her was enough to make her remaining words slurred, gasped out between clenched teeth.

“He did that for weeks until h-” She never finished. Images assaulted her, striking her like books falling from a shelf above her head. An exhausted Onyx offering her best effort of a reassuring smile. She could take it. The deep barking voice. She’ll never learn if you don’t push her. How could she? Onyx wasn’t an assassin! She was barely on her feet. Its ok, Ripley, I can take it. Obedience… denied. She couldn’t. Not anymore. That harsh voice. Then I’ll do it myself. Go be useful. Hospital. Sirens. All my fault. All… Ripley. These were Ripley’s memories. It was sickening to realise this. Ripley had been part of it, she’d been right there and had trusted her leader. Trusted Dorran to protect Onyx. That sick man had used her connection to Onyx as a tool, had weakened Onyx with someone she loved unconditionally first… Cali’s tongue was bathed in bile, hot and thin, save for the chunks of chip swimming in the liquid. Dorran hadn’t even been man enough to do all the work himself. He’d manipulated Ripley too. With a soft snarl, Cali swallowed, refusing to let herself become any weaker than she felt in her directionless rage.

“Your abusive ex physically beat you into hospital? And caused a miscarriage? And nobody knew you were pregnant or that he was abusive? What the hell? Cal? Wrath? I though you two were assassins! How could you not realise what that piece of shit had done?” Gone was Darius’ amusement. His voice was raspy in his rage, scratching his usually chocolaty vocal cords. His eyes, which were usually dark, appeared almost black. Made of shadows and rage. He was half Wrath’s size, but the intensity of his demanding glare cowed even the brave leader, who was working her jaw in effort to find even a syllable of an answer. Tears dripped from the corners of her eyes, trailing openly down her cheeks as she allowed her gaze to fall to the toes of her bright red boots. Wrath, who was so strong, could barely stand under the weight of her guilt. Her shoulders shook, slouched in defeat. She may have been their leader. She may have been able to punch the devil out of every man, woman or child she met, but she couldn’t fight off the most horrific truth yet. She had nothing. No answer to give. No justification, even to herself.

“That’s why Vinca killed him, isn’t it? She knew about the pregnancy when that accident put you in hospital. Remind me to send her a gift basket.” Cal didn’t have an answer either, but he pushed on. His own eyes bore an unnatural sheen, one Cali quickly realised were tears. He was close to crying in his outrage. An assassin he may have been, but he was just as helpless now as when he had been possessed. Forced to watch the past rolled out in painful memories. For all the people he had saved, he was clearly struck by the potential he had failed. The possibility he had never even known about. Someone he would have loved with his whole heart, even if it was a lump of coal, and yet was powerless to protect.

“Does she know about the baby?” Wrath barely got the question out before Darius was there, snarling once again.

“Like hell.”

“With Nitsa inhabiting her? After she got my blood? We barely got Rip back, we can’t risk it. I’m not even sure if we should let Yvette know. I’m sorry, Onyx, but until Vinca is safe, I don’t want to risk either of you. I don’t want to control you, or keep you caged, but-” Cali’s imploring was cut off by Onyx’s finger across her lips, silencing her with the gentlest of touches.

“I know, you’re looking out for me. You’re not him.”

“Needless to say, Rip and I will be protecting Onyx, so we won’t be out with you. I also really don’t want Onyx combat training, or up on the highwire.”

“Cali…” Onyx playfully whined, fixing Cali with her best attempt at Puppy Dog eyes. Internally, Cali swore up a storm, using words she was sure even Darius would blush at. The bike mechanic forced herself to gaze into them, willed herself not to crumble at the adorable attempt. If Onyx was bad, how was her child going to be? The idea of baby Onyx alone had Cali cooing, turning into a pile of Oriental mush. If she hadn’t developed an immunity by the time they learned this trick… suddenly, she found herself incredibly hopeful that Onyx could be the strict parent, because Cali could already foresee ice cream for dinner. But to get there, she had to get over this current hurdle. The hurdle of Onyx’s adorableness amped up to a million and directed at her.

“Yeah, no. Sorry. Drop out Doctor’s orders. No being ten foot in the air while pregnant.”

“But the show-”

“Will be there when you’ve had your baby and are ready to return. Your health, and the baby’s health, come first, Onyx.” Wrath reminded; her tone gentle but leaving no room for negotiation. She offered a gentle smile, tears still glistening in her eyelashes. Her warmth was back, encompassing the room with a calming presence. It was enough for Cali to relax, to finally let go of everything and trust her team. These assassins were family. Onyx’s family. Her family. No matter what, she knew they would do their best to protect one another. That they’d die before allowing anybody to harm the baby. That they’d go to the depths of hell, following after Wrath’s angelic aura, to save each other. That’s just what this family did.

[ghostmartyr]

SnK 128 Thoughts

Pacing, I think, is the single most difficult thing to do correctly when telling a story. Out loud or in text, you have to juggle every cue you’re giving off, keep it all relevant, and make it so when things fall into place, they’re falling to the gravity that the story’s been given.

That’s why we’ve got something of a problem in this arc.

I complain a lot, because it’s easy, and this is hardly a flawless work. Organization has also been one of the regular things this series just has trouble with.

Still, while I really feel that the last few chapters aren’t the best way to tell this story, the story chosen is a monster to keep in line.

[insert amusing pre-cut joke of your choice here]

Conflict is the root of every story. Character vs self. Character vs character. Character vs nature. Pick one, then plant the seed and watch the clash reform the setting. Knowing your protagonist often involves knowing your villain.

Eren has always been the best protagonist for this series. He embodies the fury of humanity in an environment that embraces complacency. He is the voice that shouts for people to do something.

Back in Trost, everyone on his starting squad plans on picking the Survey Corps. Because of his constant, unfettering influence. He’s the one who is always reminding them that there’s a world outside that they’re abandoning. He never lets Jean forget it. He interrupts parties with the vocal equivalent of hammering 99 problems to every door.

Eren is one of the top ten soldiers in the 104th, and he makes sure everyone knows what he’s using his skills for. And before they themselves are confronted with what’s being asked of them to join him, everyone in his social circle is ready to make the same choice.

Moving forward is what Eren does in a world that’s been trapped in stagnation. He is a force of change. He is a force of impotent rage in the face of disaster.

He is every reaction the humans inside the walls don’t have, because as a people, they can’t imagine what there is to be done about their problems. Staying within the safety of the walls and limiting their potential in return for not dying a bloody death seems fair, to them.

They are imprisoned, so Eren, our protagonist, seeks freedom.

Being born free is the linchpin of his first successful transformation.

His first rather disturbing act of violence comes from him murdering slavers.

The wings of freedom are the iconic brand of his chosen military branch.

Subtlety.

That’s all very straightforward and simple to work with.

Then we open up the setting, and things are still rather simple, just in a turn that kicks off one hell of a problem.

The world itself is a cage. Physically, in the form of internment camps, or culturally, in the form of how people think about each other and act. There is no freedom for the citizens of Paradis now that they have broken out of their shell. There is just another prison, and a ticking time bomb.

Naturally, in its most basic form, this would make the world Eren’s enemy, because Eren is the champion of freedom.

Only then, if you stick to the most basic form of the concept, the simple answer is that when everyone else dies, then you will have your freedom.

Eren might be the story’s protagonist, but that’s because he stands at the fulcrum of all the story’s core ideas. He makes the rest of the plot move. He is the focus point. He is why there’s a story, and not a jumble of confused, dying people throwing themselves at the problem of titans.

He’s not everything that’s going on.

The world’s cruelty is not what this story is about.

Eren starts thinking about the outside world because a boy shares his dreams of the ocean.

Mikasa takes the time to salute a little girl on a battlefield.

Sasha fights a titan off with a bow and arrow to save one child’s life. She dies because she won’t kill a little girl.

Levi chooses not to revive Erwin so that Erwin can die without being brutally abused as the rest of mankind’s sacrifice.

Niccolo’s entire concept of what he’s fighting for is disrupted because people like his cooking.

Gabi is protected and treated like a child by the 104th even after they know she pulled the trigger on their friend.

Colt dies because of his insistence on giving his little brother comfort.

Reiner’s still breathing because there’s a few little kids he can do some good for.

Annie just wants to see her dad again.

Humanity, as a general concept, begins in an easily condemnable place in the manga. One of the first things Paradis does is send out a large percentage of its citizens to die so that the rest can live. Meanwhile, the only people who do try to go outside and learn more about the world are smeared even as they’re bringing back corpses.

By the end of Uprising, there’s a crowd of cheering people waiting for the Scouts to succeed.

People are awful.

They can do better.

A lot of Eren’s objection to Jean is highlighted through that. He never gives Connie a hard time for wanting to join the MPs. It’s Jean, who’s vocally joining up just so he can take it easy, that Eren objects to. Jean doesn’t have to be a jackass. It’s a decision he’s making.

Jean decides to do better.

In the beginning, people are willing to settle for ‘good enough.' Slowly, as the arcs go by, we approach a near universal take of people seeing problems and taking preventative action.

Here, with the Yeagerists, we come back to the original sin of Paradis.

As long as this one little island is okay, and no one on it has to worry about death, what does the outside world matter? Especially when that outside world has repeatedly promised to kill them? Killing them all first isn’t a problem, it’s a solution.

Samuel’s there at the start of Trost.

Sasha saves his life.

Connie kills him.

They don’t hate each other. Neither one wants to pull the trigger. But Samuel is willing to see the rest of the world die if it means keeping Paradis safe. Connie isn’t.

Over and over, the cycle plays out the exact same way. People kill each other to free themselves. As long as there’s always an Us vs Them dynamic, the bloodshed continues indefinitely. The Eldian Empire enslaved the world through titans. Marley won its freedom and decided it was okay to do the same thing as long as they only enslaved Eldians.

The methodology is what’s going to fuck everyone over in the end.

During Uprising, it is routinely discussed that it’s possible the royal family and the upper brass do know something that makes a coup a bad idea. It’s possible that overthrowing them will bring Paradis into an even darker landscape.

What it comes down to is that whatever they know, they’re willing to let everyone else die if it saves their own skin.

Since that particular Everyone Else is united, the coup continues, and the island’s given its chance at actual peace.

Now, the Yeagerists are making that same argument.

Meanwhile, before we were dealing with this, we had Zeke. His argument was that seeing as the world would never change, Ymir’s people were all cursed and damned, it is for the best of all of us if we all die.

He’s the ultimate counter to Eren. Eren is fighting for life, while Zeke is only searching for the best death.

Only by all appearances, Eren’s fight has landed him in the exact same place. It’s only the question of which people are dying.

Getting back to Connie and Samuel, if you squint, Connie is betraying his allegiance to his comrades. ...If you squint. I know he feels that way, and I know what the chapter title is, but the Yeagerists are a genocidal cult who bully their way into power and try to kill off their actual Commander, who Connie is still following.

Samuel might not be aware of that, but that’s what we’ve got.

The closest Connie came to betrayal was throwing a Warrior Candidate into his mom’s mouth, and we wrapped up that subplot.

Without squinting, Samuel is betraying the ideals that Connie chose the Survey Corps for. Connie wants to save people. He doesn’t want all this death, regardless of how it benefits him.

So this whole conflict, throughout this entire chapter, is really all about who wants which people dead.

The Warriors are still fighting for Marley. Despite everything, that’s their home, and their base of operations if they ever want a chance at fixing things. Paradis has more friends on it than they like thinking about, but Paradis is not their problem.

Kiyomi and the Hizuru flock are pretty much... she is just so done, and it’s very easy to see why. This is not their war. They were looking for a beneficial partnership. For power and resources, sure, but they were willing to play ball. Now they get to watch as the nation they helped kills off the world and their only allies are rushing them to a basement. Hopefully to do something significant before their country burns.

What’s left of the Scouts who are actually following the legitimate chain of command is, surprisingly, focused on stopping Eren’s genocide.

Then I guess the rest of the world probably has opinions, but they don’t get any pages. But it’s pretty safe to assume Eren’s high on their ‘want dead’ list. If not all of Paradis.

We’ve got one group of people who are actually, actively, doing the anti-genocide thing.

The rest is just fighting over the biggest piece of the pie.

The conflict is that some people think genocide is bad, and some people think genocide is okay, actually.

And, you know, fine.

Only then we have Eren.

Protagonist boy.

We don’t know his conflict, and he has more power than anyone else in the entire cast. Unless we count the primordial ooze as a cast member. He is a giant stegosaurus monster who has threatened the entire world, and as far as anyone with eyes can see, he’s actually going through with it.

Nothing presented anywhere suggests that there is a way to stop him.

At best, if people succeed in killing him, they will have unleashed a bunch of mindless Colossals into the world. If we revisit our volume 1 knowledge, we know this to be a problem.

Making all of this really, really pointless.

Obviously, this is what all these characters would do in this situation.

Obviously, we have some feelings about them being forced to kill their allies while the world falls apart.

Obviously, the author probably being willing to fast-forward through all of this is not necessarily an indication that that is what creates the optimal story.

Obviously, these are important details.

The plot still might as well be a glacier.

There is one person moving pieces around. Everyone else is just scrambling on the board he’s created and rehashing whether or not genocide is a good thing every time they’re considering shooting someone they kind of don’t want to.

All of the tension is literally an ocean away.

As great as the character moments are, there’s nothing to ground them in. There’s just a baseless hope that somehow, there’s a way out of this, and the story doesn’t end with yet another genocide kicking off a rebellion.

Magath flips on his worst hot take immediately. He does that because his country is dying and it’s reorganizing his priorities and beliefs to line up with what he’s actually feeling instead of parroting the world that created him.

Yelena goes from being catatonic to being a nuisance because -- reasons?

Connie almost kills Falco then doesn’t, because he really, honestly, was never going to kill the kid and we all knew that.

The driving force of all these potential conflicts is just too distant. As much work as everyone’s doing, they’re only making progress towards getting to Eren.

When you have a character who can end the world choosing to end the world, it creates problems. When that character is your protagonist, it’s even worse.

In the past, Eren’s absence has spurred characters to action and revealed more of the world’s secrets. Presently, unlike in his various kidnappings, Eren is the one with the secrets. His absence is making people do stuff, but not stuff that has any tangible meaning outside of putting actions to the belief that genocide is bad.

Secrets, and people seeking answers, has been a major player in moving the plot from the beginning.

Here though, we have the issue of no one having the luxury of investigating why this is happening. Mikasa and Armin might be desperate to know, but they have no tools available to them except the airship. Which, again, just puts them in the same place as Eren. It does not give them much more than they had the last time they were in a room with him.

Whatever secrets are in place, they are insignificant next to the fact that the world is ending as they watch.

Only, you know, slowly.

Because the decision has been made that Eren’s perspective is going to be a Reveal. It has to stay private until the moment it’s relevant to the other members of the cast, or otherwise, what was the point of holding off so long?

The result is this. Too much going on in too little time, and all of it technically mattering, but not enough that spending 40 pages on it really changes how the story is progressing.

I’m not sure this is a problem that would be easy to see coming. In the design phase, I mean. I’ve kind of been cautiously whining about these concerns for several months.

But the stage is set like this: Eren pulls the doomsday trigger. Enough time must pass for Paradis to cultivate a new normal and for Eren to reach land with his squad of titans. The goal is gathering our cast and stopping Eren.

There’s a disconnect between what needs to be done and how much time it takes to portray those things.

Connie’s breakdown over feeding Falco to his mom is a character moment that helps to inform his emotions this chapter. That’s probably why it survived. It still drags four named characters off to a village in the middle of nowhere while Floch’s reign is establishing itself.

Magath’s turnabout this chapter is the culmination of a lot of the emotional connections he’s made with Eldians, and the attachment he has to his home, but it comes after driving in the point of why Marley is so fucking awful. He’s spouting rhetoric last chapter, then he’s immediately confronted with the birthplace of that rhetoric being destroyed thanks to events he’s had a part in forging.

Yelena goes from being willing to let Floch shoot her to having an interest in watching things play out. Courtesy of one background dump.

The emotional beats these characters are all due do not match up with what they have to do, and it’s making things come across as really disjointed. It’s a frustrating combination of this needing more pages, but the idea of yet more pages being spent off where the main plot actually is going on is exhausting.

The world is ending, but the world has been ending for months.

We’ve clearly got a checklist of things to get done before we meet up with Eren, but he’s hoarding the plot. Sticking around to watch the list be physically checked is...

To paraphrase some tumblr post from the past few months, it feels like laundry, mostly.

The story wouldn’t survive just jumping to Eren. The more time we’re away from him, the greater the impact when we finally know what’s up. The more time we have with our squad of unlikely, plucky heroes, the more we’re going to want to punch Eren in the face for not listening to them. Again.

It’s not that there’s no value in devoting chapters to all of this planning and reeling. It’s that no matter what happens here, it is not fixing the larger problem of Eren’s genocide campaign.

The plot is across the ocean, and we are months into watching our cast try to reconnect with it.

For me, that makes it a bit dull to read, but it is hard to hold it against the story. Writing the end of the world when you intend to make the audience care about the world -- even though the protagonist is ending it -- that is a lot of plot. Knitting it all together is not a simple task. You can see the seams popping.

Oh well.

One of the things I will stand by is that this manga is a great story told gracelessly. If you read it all linearly, problems are going to be noticed. Stuff be weird. Plus timed terribly.

But there’s a lot of emotion packed into it all. It’s a story that, when you look back in retrospect, free of any time line and observing only through the lens of your knowledge, it holds up and has power.

So I’m glad all of this stuff is being drawn, because one day, when the story’s over, having a fragmented, disjointed thread of progression isn’t going to matter so much.

Some stories survive on how they’re told.

Arguably, that includes this one, because the anime got people through the first few volumes.

This story, primarily, survives on the quality of what it is attempting to lump together.

...Not that I don’t wish it wouldn’t try a little harder to pace itself, but I suppose all that energy is being spent on Eren. You know. Since he’s the only one who has any of the parts of the plot that matter.

Uh.

As far as what actually happened this chapter, yay for Mikasa showing attachment to Kiyomi and crew. Intrigue for the question of where Eren is being such a topic (he’s a fucking giant stegosaurus last I saw figure it out). Sadness for Samuel being on the wrong side after surviving so long (Connie probably remembers Sasha saving his life). Sadness for Reiner trying to spare his friends the pain of what he went through for his cause. Pat on the head for Annie still being impossibly Annie. Pat on the head for Onyankopon just because (sorry about your life yikes).

The absolute funniest part of all of this, to me, is that Daz is now dead.

Beats freezing to death in a blizzard while two teenagers shout about philosophy over your unconscious body?

Anyway, another month goes by.

Much the way waves do in Wind Waker.

[mdhwrites]

Jumbled Thoughts: The Passive Character/The Passive Paradox

Oh no, I didn’t have anything to say last week! Oh, but it should be fine. I’m confident enough to not care. But maybe I’m just being nice and not saying anything. Which why should I do that!? It’s not like I can’t speak up for myself! Now might not be the best time though. Maybe next time? Oh, if only I had any consistency! Evil grin. Let’s talk, shall we?

So, for now, we won’t talk about the Paradox aspect of this. We need to first clarify what the archtype is, which in and of itself is paradoxical. After all, when you think about a passive character, people like Hinata or Fluttershy. Shy characters who are willing to listen and stay quiet and allow others to do things around them without input. They act, theoretically, passively. That’s the crux of the problem. Being shy is an archtype with being passive being a trait within that that is directly tied to their character because being shy often means being quiet.

A passive character is only this singular trait but in a macro sense. A passive character is not, in fact, a character, but a writing tool. The most common version I see is one that is CLOSE to a shy character. One who is kind and gentle enough that when they give into other’s demands it seems like it’s just part of that social awkwardness and fear. But then, they’ll be more than happy, even happy, to go to social events and large crowds because they think it’ll be fun, but only if other main characters want to join in. They’ll say things don’t bother them and that they’d rather avoid conflict but are ALWAYS ready for it and seem to be able to have their fight switch flipped at any second unless that day they’re feeling extra serene. They are happy, kind, caring, and completely likable.

But fuck you if you want to pin down an actual character in that mess. After all, what mask do you use? Do you use their happy, cheerful mask? Their shy, quiet mask? Their angry mask? And I call these masks because they’re face value. They aren’t character depth, like a shy girl’s anger (though that is a topic for another day because I am getting fucking tired of that trope), but instead just roles they slip into for when it’s convenient. They’re a plot device that can talk to. Without a properly defined character, the audience has a lot harder of a time ever saying they’re ‘out of character’ while they do anything that helps move the plot along or develops other characters.

But they do do things which is part of the paradox. How much their actions define their character rather than feeding off of, or benefiting, others is a lot of how to figure out what they’re like. These characters’ actions more often define either the situation or other characters. Need to have a character revelation? Include another main character while making it about one of those basic traits the audience knows about and you don’t need to do anything with the passive character to expand on this but instead a door opens for this other character. Need someone to make a heroic action that means nothing? Sure looks good for the passive character to do it if you can’t justify anyone else doing it. But the second that it would be better for them to stay quiet or step back, they do it without a second thought. They meld into the background, waiting for the next time they’re needed outside of maybe a token representative of their one interest so they aren’t literally just a part of the wallpaper.

And... you’ll like them for these things. That’s the bigger part of the Paradox. Passive characters are LIKABLE. Everything they do is meant to be inoffensive but also interesting enough that as a kickoff for other things, you at bare minimum don’t mind it. You don’t question it. That’s part of why these characters emulate shy characters so much. They can borrow all that relatable awkwardness with not having that infuriating problem of not acting when it is genuinely important because that would make them less likable and make them less useful. The fact that they’ll easily fit as a catalyst for other character’s growth that can’t be done through friends shouting at each other or tragedy will make you see them as a crucial element of the party and the good feelings you have towards that other main character rubs off on them for being so useful in helping define their character.

It’s also why this is a MACRO talk. In a micro sense, if done well, you wouldn’t notice this. If done poorly, they’ll slide into something less likable like a walking exposition dump or someone who exists purely to be kidnapped without a personality attached to them. However, what happens if you want to do a character piece on them? Do something that is focused on them? Where you actually have to define their character in order to have a story happen? Well... you can’t. Not without losing the tool.

This is also the best litmus test as a writer to double check if one of your characters is slipping into this. Of course, it’s actually better to have people outside of yourself do this because you may be able to figure out something because you have novels, seasons, etc. of development for them in your mind and just haven’t gotten that on the page. Well, what can someone who doesn’t have that do with them. And another caveat is that having them as just the main character isn’t enough. These stories should include other main characters as little as possible. Any interaction with other characters should purely reflect on the character in question’s personality and how they deal with things. If it’s a buddy episode where the angry person takes out the passive character and, oh, this time they simply pushed their friend too hard and so they learn that they should respect other people’s boundaries isn’t about the passive character, it’s about the angry one.

Which, for most people, won’t be hard. Archtypes exist and so long as they can identify some real part of them to one of those, you should be able to make a short story for them without contradiction. Your smart guy? Nuerotic breakdown as they overthink a problem and have comedic failures as their desperation grows larger and larger until at the end another character shows up and points out they forgot the most basic part of it and the smart character finishes their project. This other character doesn’t even need to be another main character but anyone who will let the smart character be reminded to start with the simple instead of assuming that their intelligence would never fail them in such a dumb way.

Angry character? An episode all about them going through the aggravations of normal life where we get to see them deal with situations they can’t just punch or scream at which ends with them showing why they’re so explosive with their friends because that’s there one real chance to let out all of those things that bother them and how much they trust the other characters to be understanding that that’s just who they are.

Shy character? A PROPERLY shy character? Send them to market. Flea market, farmer’s market, etc. and WITHOUT prompting from someone else. Have them notice that they need or want something and thus have to go out. Then we get a chance to see how this character who is normally so afraid and seems like they’d have a panic attack the second they left their house alone functions from day to day. But don’t have them just talk to people. What tricks do they have to get transactions over with as fast as possible? How do they avoid the really big crowds? What calming techniques do they have for when they are stranded and in over their heads? How as a person do they function?

Meanwhile, the passive character goes to market, goes to the stall they want, pays for the item they want, and then leaves. They roll their eyes at everyday nuisances like some normal person and gets to where they’re going without a problem because it’s not important enough to act upon, either to themselves or the plot. They also don’t obsess enough to miss little things, or get truly upset at failure. You can theoretically try to get a passive character into any of those three situations, as they’re usually knowledgeable enough to be able to help the smart character in the group but not so smart as to not be explained at too, but because they aren’t defined enough in any of these things being so crucial to them that they won’t fit without someone else pushing them hard enough to make them act. Without that outside catalyst, you will actually manage to make them feel either out of character or redundant because you could have done the concept better with someone who is actually that sort of character.

And as a quick note: These examples I gave would of course be commonly overblown and exaggerated but they have a basis in real world issues and questions that actual people with these traits have to face. How do you handle errands when being around others gives you anxiety? When you have anger issues, how do you deal with it and how do you release it? When you think you know everything, how could you forget to make sure your computer was plugged in? These are relatable issues that will ring especially hard with people like them, even if taken to an extreme.

So, the end takeaway? Don’t fear using archtypes and make sure you give characters definition. Don’t make characters who serve only other characters. I know these are basic things that feel like they shouldn’t need to be mentioned but, well, did you make sure your computer is turned on?

-

Anyways, what do you think of the concept? Think I’m blowing up to something that isn’t a real problem? And what passive characters can you think of? I didn’t use an example this time because it felt like too much like simply a character dissection but the one who brought this to my attention was Willow Park of The Owl House, who has an episode literally titled “Understanding Willow” where we learn nothing truly new about them and it only really serves to help another character’s development and redemption arc. I am not even kidding. But, until next time, I hope you all have a wonderful day and farewell.

[somepinkthing]

and at last, we grieve

Xichen’s body shook as he stood and towered over Huaisang’s frail form. It didn’t make him feel any stronger. Perhaps it was due to how Huaisang didn’t shrink away for once or the steadiness with which he lifted his head to look at Xichen but, despite Huaisang being just as dainty as ever, Xichen felt as if he couldn’t possibly take down the man seated in front of him even if he mustered all the strength he had left.

Huaisang smiled a sad sort of smile. “Zewu-jun you are still rather shaky on your feet. Please stay seated.”

Xichen couldn’t think of any reply to this but his own pride made it impossible to sit down despite his apparently obvious shakiness.

“Why did you do it like that?” Xichen asked instead, not even bothering to clarify the change of topic. The other would understand. “Why choose that method? Why choose a method your brother would have hated?! Why lie to me?!”

With every word he increased in volume. By the end, Lan Xichen was practically roaring. And yet, all Huaisang did was give a dainty jolt when Xichen started yelling and gave nothing else away after. His face remained impassive as he waited for Xichen to catch his breath.

“Zewu-jun, do you think me stronger than my brother in any way?”

The question seemed to come out of nowhere and caught Xichen off guard.

“What?”

Huaisang shook his head and waved off Xichen’s confusion. “It was rhetorical anyways. I know you don’t because I know I’m not. My brother was my protector, he was always the strong one. He could be a mess sometimes but at the end of the day he’d always stand in front of me and show me the right path. He’d always do the most upfront and honest thing. That was who he’d always been and it was who he still was when he faced down Jin Guangyao.”

Huaisang turned to stare down Lan Xichen before continuing.

“He went to you then, didn’t he? He did everything that there was to do within his moral code. And what happened to him anyways?”

He’s dead. It was a fact that lay heavy between the two of them.

“And me?” Huaisang continued with a feather-light laugh, sounding almost giddy, “I’m weaker than him by a long shot. I couldn’t have taken anyone down physically nor do I have the reputation needed to sling those accusations around. But then, neither did I have such a strict and binding code of conduct. I had to take advantage of my weaknesses if I wanted to have my revenge.”

“And I wanted to have my revenge, as you can well see,” Huaisang finished, his voice dropping low and soft at his last sentence.

Xichen laughed a dry, enraged sort of laugh. “So you’re saying you had no choice?”

Huaisang wryly smiled back. “If I wanted to win, then I had very few routes I could choose from. But that’s not to say I had no choice at all. I was raised better than to believe that. I had many choices. I could have chosen to stubbornly do things my brother’s way–even though victory wasn’t guaranteed, neither was failure. I could have chosen to simply ignore it and go on with my life–killing my brother’s killer was never going to make losing him any easier and I knew that. I could have shown more patience, used less people, trusted more people, been sharper. I know I can’t prove it but even I didn’t imagine that he’d try to wipe everyone out. I mean, talk about an overreaction. As is always the case, things could have gone better.”

Hearing him say it was like a knife to the heart for Xichen. Could it be that all his suffering was simply due to some oversight Huaisang made? Could he have lived on peacefully if he hadn’t been forced to realize? Did he want that? Did he wish Huaisang had put more consideration into his plot and had simply left him out of it?

“Then why chose this?” He had to know.

“Why do we make any of the choices we do?,” Huaisang replied, “Probably because at the time it seemed like the best way to do things. Or because it was the first thought that occured to me. Or because I was so angry that everything else failed to matter. And it’s as simple as that. I won’t claim to have no regrets or guilt nor will I claim that I would undo it all if I could. I did what I did and regretted my mistakes afterwards like any normal person.”

The entire time he spoke, Huaisang’s voice remained almost forcefully steady, never straying too far in tone or volume.

“Zewu-jun, does knowing that make you feel better or worse?”

The question pierced Xichen through the soul and he collapsed. He fell to his knees and sobbed without any care for his audience.

“Are you telling the truth? Or just another composed lie?” Xichen demanded between heaves.

Huaisang sighed. “I am being more honest right now than I have been for over a decade. And I’d hardly say I’m acting composed. Truthfully it’s all making me feel a little lightheaded. I feel like all I can do is talk and keep myself upright.”

Xichen wanted to make him leave. He wanted to push him out. But he also wanted to push for answers. It’d been a whole year already and he still felt as if he was stuck in that temple. He wanted freedom from the one person who was still alive to give it to him. He didn’t want to ask, didn’t know what to ask next. His mind was still in a jumble. It had been for over a year now.

“Why me then?” he demanded, settling on a question at long last.

“It didn’t exactly have to be you,” Huaisang answered, "After the poison failed, I just needed someone to deal the blow."

“But you wanted it to be,” Xichen accused, “You wanted it to be me who killed him.”

“Yes.”

There had been no hesitation in Huaisang’s response, just cold acceptance. To Xichen, it felt incredibly cruel to have all of his pain and regret surrounding that one moment wrapped up neatly into an easy admission of guilt.

“Why? Why would you do that to me?”

Huaisang paused then. It was the first time since he’d gotten here that he’s been so obviously hestitant to answer any of Xichen’s questions. For some reason that only made Xichen want to push for it more.

“Why?” he demanded, “Tell me why!”

Huaisang’s eyes widened at the anger suddenly pouring out of the man kneeling on the floor. Xichen could tell he was shocked and hurt. Instinctively, Xichen almost reached out to provide comfort before Huaisang started to cry.

But he didn’t cry at all. Xichen watched as something almost unbelievable happened: Nie Huaisang answered rage with rage. Xichen watched his placcid persona collapse and twist into anger.

He looked so much more like Nie Mingjue this way that it hurt.

“Why did you make my brother swear with that man? Why did you not believe him when he went to you? Why did you tell everything to Jin Guangyao?” Huaisang asked back, venom rapidly working its way into his previously blank tone of voice, “Why did you protect him even after learning of the details of my brother’s death? Why did you think that I wouldn’t want him dead? Huh?! You answer me first, Zewu-jun! What did my brother do but love and cherish you? How did he ever hurt or disrespect you? Why did loyalty mean so much more coming from Jin Guangyao than it did from him?!”

“It mattered!” Xichen couldn’t help but counter. He’d loved his sworn brothers, both of them!

But Huaisang seemed to disagree.

“There are many people who get to judge my actions, Zewu-jun. Your brother, for one. Jiang Wanyin has killed thousands of cultivators in war and hundreds of innocents in cold blood at this point and he still gets to judge me. And I don’t even have to mention all the people Wei Wuxian has hurt, directly or as collateral, and yet he gets to judge me too. I dragged them into a problem that wasn’t theirs. I placed them in danger to fullfill my needs. I placed their children in danger! And two innocents, Qin Su and Mo Xuanyu, died inadvertantly due to my own actions. I imagine I’m due in for a bad time in my next life if these people have anything to say about it. But you? You have nothing over me. You and I owe each other no apologies anymore. Any apologies we might want to give each other can go to my brother now.”

And what could Xichen say to that? How could he retort when Huaisang said out loud the same thoughts that had been swimming through Xichen’s head since he first learned of A-Yao’s betrayal?

Huaisang’s last admission took the wind out of both of them. The last remaining vestiges of pride escaped and Xichen bent over onto the cold floor, openly sobbing and sounding like some wounded animal. He didn’t try to speak or ask any more questions, he wouldn’t have been able to manage any words even if he could piece together his thoughts. Huaisang didn’t seem to fare any better. His face was now hidden behind a large fan but his delicate little hiccups and the occasional shuddering of his shoulders gave him away.

They cried together for what must have been for hours. Neither of them spoke, neither of them had any ability to speak. They cried until they were dried out and then, instead of stopping, proceeded to sob tearlessly after that. For anger. For regrets. For all the people they’d hurt. For all the people who had hurt them. For Nie Mingjue. For Jin Guangyao. For each other. For themselves. A lifetime of grief poured out of each of them, two oceans colliding against one another in this tiny room, and neither had any reason to hide it anymore. No one would care if they crumbled anymore.

Finally, when they were both a tiny bit more composed, a thin voice rang out between them.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

[where-s-all-blue]

Self Insert AU for your chaotic crack fic needs

When you get transported into the One Piece Universe, you can't choose where you end up in nor in which time. Even your age might be jumbled up.

Depending on where you end up, your memories of your old life will disappear until the crew or group you are in is featured in canon.

If you make a joke about something, it's very likely that the universe will make it happen just to fuck you up. For reference, see C and R making up a lost island that sunk into the sea only for it to re-emergence randomly in the New World right in front of their eyes.

No matter what you do, you can't change the canon plot.

You don't have a plot armour.

Mod specific headcanons under the cut.

Onto the specific headcanons of C and R:

C

C ends up in the same town where Luffy meets Zoro, only days before it happens, hence her memories aren't that jumbled up, but she can't remember her real life friends. She pretty much joins them there and then.

C has the habit of saying cryptic things and accidentally revealing things beforehand, like when someone important is about to join the Strawhats whom she has joined. The crew thinks that she can see into the future.

She also tends to start crying when she meets people who are good but have tragic pasts. Luffy starts to use this as an indicator for people being nice.

During the timeskip, C ended up eating a devilfruit, her devilfruit was Neko Neko Mi, Model: Toyger ver Dwarf. This means that she is essentially a Toyger breed of a regular housecat, who happens to have dwarfism and thus will never grow up bigger than a kitten.

C uses her devilfruit to sneak around, get out of trouble and to get a free lift from her crew members. R uses his fruit power to intimidate people and to fight, he also uses it to go unnoticed while he naps in the dark corners.

The majority of people assume that she is max 14 years old due to her petite form and mischievous nature. However, when reaching Wano, she’s actually 18.

C’s outfit is modeled after a cow; she adores them as she finds them cute. She wears tiny horns on her head and a dotted over dress on top of her blue dress. Her cat form also keeps the horns on it.

Her fighting style includes using these horns to inflict damage. She also has learned how to use armament haki during her training.

She spent three months stuck in her cat form due to not knowing how to control it. She has managed to awaken her fruit powers, which doesn’t really help her much aside from giving her extra speed and durability.

During one of the early calls between C and R, they joked about her having the will of D. Later on she learned that she infact DOES have that secret name and she actually carries the will of Portgas D. Rouge. She also resembles Rouge by her looks and sometimes says things that especially got the attention of Garp as he’d last heard the woman herself say them.

C made up an island just to avoid suspicion, claiming that it sunk to the bottom of the ocean only to find out that the island did infact exist.

She also claimed that R and her are childhood friends before her family moved to the East Blue from the North Blue.

In Wano, she learns about the backstory of herself and is left speechless.

She’s actively trying to set Law and R up for her own amusement, even going as far as claiming that he suffers from chronic anxiety which can be cured by slow socialisation (to earn his trust) and cuddles, but the latter must be done by someone the red head respects. Law accepted this as a fact until his mind caught onto it about a week later.

Her favourite colours are purple and green, she often wears brown and blue.

The fake Strawhats had two sets of her; a feral kitten and a giant hulking man with cat ears. Upon seeing this, C immediately called out how they got her motif wrong.

C often takes selfies in the most inconvenient places like right in front of Katakuri, Oven and Daifuku, which she then sends over to R. She also likes to avoid fighting in favour of watching the plot unfold itself.

R

R ends up 10 years into the past, into the office of the Revolutionary Army where he was found by Ivankov and Dragon. He is also now a child. Until he turns 19, he doesn't have any memory problems.

Ivan looks for a cure for R's memory loss, but she doesn't have much time as she's supposed to infiltrate a prison. She quite literally drops him into the hands of Trafalgar Law, explains the situation and leaves without allowing him to protest.

Due to R's shyness, he spends the next half a year silent, making the crew think that he might be actually mute only to later on burst into a song in an attempt to soothe someone. The crew never realises this though as they're used to hearing weird sounds in the submarine.

R uses in total three names in this universe: Ren (Revolutionary Army), Eli (Heart Pirates) and Nao (C, later on the Strawhats). They joke that he has just very long name and those are parts of it.The joke later on turns into reality making R's name be Reneli Nao much to his embarrassment.

During Ivan’s search for a doctor who could cure him, R ended up accidentally eating a devil fruit. The fruit was Zoan type, Neko Neko Mi, Model: Black Jaguar. However for convenience, he refers to it as panther fruit as that way nobody can tell for sure if it was leopard, snow leopard, tiger, lion or a jaguar (Panther is the class name of each of these large cats).

R has two bounties, one as Ren and other as Eli, the latter being his "pet" bounty. Whenever the marines see him in his human form, they refer to him as revolutionary army member rather than as a pirate. Somehow they never put together the fact that Eli and Ren are the same entity.

His bounty as Eli is only around 100 beries due to the marines assuming that the black jaguar form is his real form, and thus believing that he’s a pet.

Before the timeskip, R uses black sunglasses to block out the light as he is very light sensitive, post timeskip he's seen using a cap.

During a call, C joked about him being the illegitimate son of Shanks, in Wano this is confirmed to be the case and the duo swear to never joke again.

He too claimed to be from an island which sunk, only for it to turn up on old maps.

R is an awakened Zoan user, which grands him higher speed and durability.

He also has the habit of switching into another language unconsciously when he curses or insults people. He most often calls them fools in Hebrew, which the rest of the crew assumes having been the native language of the island he’s from.

Law is the only one who knows what he is saying, which makes situations where someone assumes that they’ve earned his trust because he’s “giving them a nickname” even funnier.

He knows how to use both rapier and a katana, his old sword was a rapier which he called Shoshannah after his mother (this means lily or a rose), his current sword is named after his real life brother’s cat, Mito, which in Japanese means serene water while in Italian it can mean myth.

During Zou, the only reason why he got hurt was because of his fruit powers suddenly activated making him loose his balance.

He calls Ivankov “mom” on multiple occasions.

His denden mushi was a gift from Ivankov, however, he just can’t bring himself to decorate it claiming that he’s waiting for the moment he’ll be able to pinpoint just what would reflect him and his personality accessory wise.

His trademark colours are orange, blue and purple, which you can find from his hat and the scarf he wears around his waist to help him carry his katana.

R is a terrible liar which he tries to make up for by turning conversations overly philosophical. Most often he ends up accidentally blurting warnings to his captain and crew.

He often challenges his captain without even realising it by asking questions like “Are you sure about that?” or calling something the stupidest thing he’s ever heard right to his face.

He seems to be immune to feeling intimidated by people to the point where it’s thought that he simply doesn’t have any self preservation instinct. Despite of this, R is very careful and plans his moves to ridiculous detail, trying to take in any possible threats and any potential change in the environment.

Law has a theory that R is the reincarnation of Corazon because he seems to know things that only Corazon would know. This theory was debunked once he learned that R is only 3 years younger than he is.

Other

C and R meet one another in Sabaody, where they both start to regain their lost memories. While they're running from the marines, they quickly catch up and exchange numbers so they can keep in touch.

C and R call regularly, but have trouble when someone else picks up, they both are very shy after all. This leads to moments where C asks Usopp to ask whoever had picked up if Nao was available and vice versa.

Penguin and Shachi have a stash of photos from the time R was stuck as a jaguar cub (when they thought that he was a lot younger and that the devil fruit was just a black cat). They tend to show them to C out of spite towards R, who still doesn’t talk that much.

There’s a third person (let’s call them K), who’s sailing with Boa Hancock, C and K haven’t met one another in the OPverse, but R has made sure that the two also manage to talk by giving them each other’s denden numbers.

K likes to mess with R and Law by referring to them as brothers or “cat men”.

R reunited with K when his captain was taking care of Luffy. The latter found R’s situation hilarious.

The denden mushi of C has purple and green stripes and tiny horns, K’s radiates  G A Y  because of glitter. K’s denden also holds a tiny pride flag.