#their goodness come from dedication and is not innate

[intermundia]

(Star Wars: Crimson Reign #3 - The Archivist)

the concept of jedi as celebrities is so interesting to me, mostly because they're monks of an order whose philosophy is grounded on egoless service and humility. one jedi should be roughly the same as any other when sent on a mission, because the jedi serve the force. there may be slight differences in methodologies, yes, but fundamentally, they're not there to make a name for themselves as anything other than as representatives of the jedi order.

but of COURSE it makes sense that the galaxy would be obsessed with them. a mysterious group of wizards who use flashy swords and make peace through persuasive words and heroic deeds? of course people wrote books about them, watched shows about them, adults gossiped about them, and kids pretended to be them when playing. so the question of how all that knowledge was wiped away within a generation is a good one, and the comic presents a good answer:

(Star Wars: Crimson Reign #3 - The Archivist)

the earnest goodness of the jedi comes across to many as sanctimonious. they're too responsible with their power, too cool and restrained. they don't lash out with anger on behalf of those they love, you know? they don't smile enough, too serious. they're seen as the embodiment of "we have food at home" energy. the reality of the canonical order as gentle and joyful, surprisingly playful and open, isn't sexy enough to redeem their moral authority.

based on my inbox and the way people respond to some of my posts about the jedi, the resentment that this engenders in the population of the GFFA feels very real. there is actual HATRED directed toward this fictional group, irrational and out of all proportion. the comic suggests that people jump to hate those who make them feel guilty and self-conscious, because lashing out absolves yourself of confronting the reason you secretly know you'd be judged and found wanting, and that seems accurate.

i would insert a thousand examples here of the jedi not deserving this reputation, but the canon behavior of the jedi doesn't matter, the galaxy cheered as they died anyway and lots of fans love to hate on them. the mere concept of them and their philosophy is enough to alienate people, and i think that's a shame, but understandable. i'll love them enough to make up for it haha

[daportalpractitioner]

taurus degrees in the natal chart (2°, 14°, 26°)

2° = really connected to your physical senses, strong + stubborn preferences, naturally gifted + can easily attract money, gets money but doesn't necessarily know how to sustain it, self worth is connected to what the planet represents, hoarder, consumes without much discernment, creativity comes easy, attractive, gluttonous, strong innate connection to the earth, strong values instilled from childhood, usually traditional, stubborn attitude it comes to your missions on earth, don't let the world rush your process, naive, here for a good time + a long time, strong libido, sexually immature, make sure your taste grows as you continue to grow, naturally clairaudient

14° = strong attachments, hard to move on, here to develop your self-worth, changes in values that are more authentic to you, loyal to a fault, need to learn how to manage utilize sexual energy to your advantage, blocked throat chakra, stand on your values, hedonist, struggles with poor diet, people usually see your worth + potential before you do, tendency to overwork self, earth witch, struggles with stagnancy, strong sacral energy, values strong foundation, establish strong boundaries, too practical + too little faith, being gaslit for strong boundaries, craves peace, young mom vibes, lack of patience, enjoy the journey, great taste but pockets need to match that, promiscuous, stubborn + picky eater, affirm yourself: i deserve this!

26° = overcome poverty mindset, self-sustenance is a big theme in life, money savvy, empress energy, strong values, the marriage type, strong fertility, oshun archetype, meant to be wealthy, generational wealth, disciplined + dedicated, the stronger the self-worth/values the more money you accumulate, alchemize with the elements, knowing what's best for you + standing on that, very bougie, can manifest with ease using womb/sacral energy, emotionally grounded, use sex to create your dream life, sugar daddy/mommy vibes, family looks at you for financial support (set boundaries), findom, your creativity supports your lifestyle

[amaryllis-3]

Word count: 2.1k

Pairing: John Price × Reader

Infos: Pregnancy, afab reader, mild possessive behavior near the end, mature and slightly dark themes

Based on this idea

As a member of Task Force 141, you'd dedicated your whole life to your team, to the Crown, and to the protection of international security. Going from home to work and from work to home had become the normality you'd learnt to accept.

It was nothing too tragic, truly.

When you were on duty, you didn't have time to worry about your decadent social circle, and when you were off deployment, you could always hit a pub with one of the lads. None of them would ever turn down an opportunity for a little distraction. Hell, you'd even started spending more time in the barracks than in your flat, to the point where the landlord questioned whether you'd died in action and he merely hadn't been informed about it.

Everything had been fine until, well, it no longer was.

Shrouded in the silence of your one-room apartment on a grey autumn day, you'd wondered what would be left of you after you inevitably ceased to be useful to the military. You'd probably be discharged with a respectful handshake, a few medals, and a good amount of money to spend the rest of your life doing... what exactly? Rot in loneliness?

No, you couldn't stand it, not anymore at least.

Those same circumstances you had considered acceptable and fulfilling suddenly seemed not to be enough. Perhaps you could have borne it in your early years of service, when your sole concern was coming home in one piece and making sure your comrades did the same.

But at the moment you had other needs. You were aware of it.

You'd wandered for a while in the dark searching for something that could help you feel complete — a sort of homemade spiritual journey with more failures than successes and the revelation you were seeking at the end.

You wanted a baby, desperately.

You'd never thought about motherhood before, and yet it had only taken the slightest nudge to turn it into the entire centre of your attention. It was as if a switch had been flipped in your head, triggering that innate and basic instinct to bring another creature into this world.

Shit, you had nothing ready to welcome your little angel.

The house you lived in was too small and in a part of town not ideal for easy access to schools.

Not to mention your job.

You clearly had to take a leave of absence. No matter how accustomed you were to injury, you wouldn't have tolerated the slightest chance of jeopardising your pregnancy.

You absolutely had to notify the higher-ups, or things were bound to get ugly. Money wasn't an issue with all you had saved, but it was possibly worth looking for a part-time job to support yourself in the meantime. All in all, it was better to be safe than sorry

Maybe, just maybe, you were moving things a smidge too fast. No, starting to buy baby clothes and toys was not a good idea because in your euphoric frenzy you'd forgotten a rather important detail.

You weren't in a relationship.

Now, that could have been a problem.

Your lifestyle wasn't helpful in keeping anything steady in the romance department. You could go on a mission and disappear for the next few weeks, if not months. You'd tried in the past (albeit, you must admit, with not too much effort), but balancing your various obligations had proved so stressful that you'd proudly declared yourself out of the market. Your new-found desire to start a family, though, would have forced you to return.

As resourceful as you may have been, it was going to be difficult to conceive a baby without a man to, you know, knock you up.

At that point, instead of getting on some dating app or throwing yourself into a classic blind date like a normal person, what had you done? Obviously, you'd gone to your captain, the man who had saved your life more times than you could have counted, dropping the bombshell he wouldn't have expected.

⎯⎯⎯ 「 𖤓 」⎯⎯⎯

"I want a baby," you announced the minute you entered his office, barely giving the door time to close behind you before you placed yourself in front of his desk. John's hand, which had been working on paperwork, froze in its movement, and his sterling blue eyes lifted to give you his full attention.

"Pardon?" His voice came out gruff and deep, words slipping out in a rush, as if his mind was not quite ready to digest what you had told him.

"I want a baby, Cap," you repeated unperturbed, shoulders squared, legs slightly apart, and back straight as a board. You were almost as confident in your stance as you were in your conviction.

Price's eyebrows furrowed, lips curled into a grimace that bordered on mockery. "Yeah... I heard that."

He hesitated, absentmindedly drumming his fingers on the wooden surface of the desk. "I was just wonderin' why you felt the need to share the ... news with me."

The man struggled to follow on which train of thought your brain had derailed.

What was this nonsense?

As far as he knew, you weren't in a relationship and didn't seem interested in one. At least, that was the reply you had given Soap when the Scot had pointed out your dry romantic situation.

Going from 0 to 100 wasn't anything foreign for you; he had learnt to deal with it, but this... was excessive even by your standards.

Had you met some bloke who had made you fall at his feet with honeyed words and pretty promises? No, you wouldn't have been fooled by it. Not his soldier. You were too mature for that shit, but John couldn't help the feeling of jealousy growing in the pit of his stomach.

"I'm telling you this because..." Your statement was enough to snap him out of the tunnel vision his stubborn self had coerced itself into; "...I need your help, to get one I mean."

The silence that spread through the office following your declaration was suffocating. You had mentally prepared for every possible reaction from him, yet seeing it actually happen was in no way comparable.

It wasn't the first time you had stood under Price's intense glare, not with how your relationship was set up. As much as he was your superior, you hadn't failed to make your opinion heard if something didn't sit well with you. You had never come close to insubordination, never really questioned his authority, but you certainly hadn't simply responded with a mere "aye, Cap'n" and carried on with your day.

It was an odd partnership, but it worked for both of you.

If John had to be honest, he viewed it as refreshing and somewhat fascinating. He was aware of how deep your loyalty ran — you'd have followed him down to hell if it had been necessary — so he could overlook your more colourful comments. Still, that didn't mean that he would spare you any of his warning stares.

He wasn't sure if you were playing a nasty prank on him. It wasn't like you, not about such personal matters anyway.

You probably weren't, if the determination and sheer earnestness flashing in your eyes could serve as an indication. That, though, led him to another, bigger problem: seriously consider what you were asking of him.

To state that, after all the years you had spent working shoulder to shoulder, Price had never thought of moving things to another level with you would have been a lie. He clearly found you attractive, and the chemistry between you two was undeniable. But hell, you worked so well in his team that he didn't feel like fucking it up simply for some of his urges.

Blurring the lines between work and love life could prove to be a minefield, a dangerous territory where it was difficult to venture.

You, however? Seemed more than willing to dive in like a suicidal maniac.

"You sure are somethin'." He exhaled, with a hint of exasperation. He was way past the age to keep up with you; that much was clear.

John hadn't even entertained the idea that you might see him as more than a trusted friend (he refused to believe that your relationship was purely professional), and now you were begging him to impregnate you? A whiplash wouldn't hold a candle to what this whole affair had become.

He would have wanted to plant his hands on your shoulders and shake some sense into you, to bombard you with questions about how you came up with such a plan, to remind you, in a perhaps overly patronising way, that this was not a decision you could take lightly: it was one that would change your future in the long run, one that you appeared to be handling far too casually.

His tired and burdened body rose from the chair in all its might, strong legs leading him directly in front of you. You owed a lot of explanations to your Captain, who had no intention of letting the matter go without first securing the info he was seeking.

"Why are you proposin' this to me?"

There was no malice or accusation in that, only a curiosity that bordered nearly on morbid. John felt shameful in that moment. Of all the vastly more important issues he could have raised, that was the only one his mind had focused on.

In a twisted manner, you had chosen him.

The knowledge that you'd handpicked him of all people to 'help' you was enough to rub his ego in all the right places, but he needed to know why.

Did you realise who you were offering this to? The consequences that would have followed?

His gaze never left your face, refusing to miss any possible change in your mannerisms. He made you feel like a rare species under a microscope, as if you couldn't hide anything from him, not when he had already scoured the innermost depths of your being in search of answers.

"You're the first one I thought of," you mentioned, finding it almost difficult to get the words out. Your limbs had suddenly become tense, making your posture stiffer than it should be. "Besides, I couldn't trust anyone but you with this."

John regarded himself as a stable person, capable of maintaining a cool and detached mind even in the most absurd and stressful scenarios. Yet in that moment, you had really managed to catch him off guard.

For fuck's sake, he had enough.

Did you want his cock to bully your pussy so badly, to fill it with cum again and again until there was no doubt left about the life he had planted in your womb?

He wasn't going to stop you.

Noticing his impassive expression, you hastened to assure him that, should he accept, you would ask nothing in return: no support for the baby, no parental responsibility, and no emotional attachment.

At that he merely snorted, shaking his head as if trying to chase away an annoying bug.

If you thought he would leave both of you, you and YOUR child, you obviously had still not fully understood the kind of man he was.

John could already imagine it.

A small cottage surrounded by nature, his beautiful wife waiting for him at the door, open arms and sweet smile, the laughter of children in the distance, and a warmth to finally caress his tough skin.

He wouldn't have let you resume your military career after; it would have been too dangerous and pointless.

Not that you had to know.

You would have so much to think about that you wouldn't even notice it. Your little angels would need the steady presence of a mother, and you certainly wouldn't be the one to deprive them of that, would you?

Don't worry; he would take care of it, putting his life on the line for the safety of your little family.

Family.

He had struggled to believe he could ever have one of his own, and now you were offering it to him on a silver platter. How lucky.

"Alright." His calloused hand rose to meet your cheek, thick thumb being passed over the soft pad of your lower lip. His face lowered enough to be exactly before yours. "I'll help you, just... don't come cryin' later for bitin' off more than you could chew."

Tag list: @nova-willow-541

✎There will definitely be a part two in the future.

[vexwerewolf]

How would you add depth and complexity to the culture of the Purview?

Right now, the KTB gets way more attention both because of the two supplements dedicated to it and because the competing noble houses each with its different gimmick and political alignment make it so easy to come up with drama and intrigue.

Meanwhile the Purview seems, both in and out of fiction, flat and uniform. I'm sure its leadership would want to see it and have it seen that way, but given how much it keeps expanding, and therefore adding new cultures to itself, it would have to have a lot of diversity under the hood, even if it would like to pretend otherwise.

I definitely think the Purview has a harder time of it than the KTB, but that's largely because we have a Field Guide to the KTB, whereas the Field Guide to Harrison Armory never got published because of Miguel's non-compete.

There's also the problem that the KTB has this... glamour to it, in both the modern and traditional senses of the word. I've noticed this in a lot of sci-fi properties - that applying the veneer of nobility and monarchy to something can make people forget or forgive its transgressions more easily.

When Harrison Armory, the nationalist corprostate, does imperialist expansion, we can point at it and immediately say "that's a fascism" (even when it's actually... not? Imperialist expansion is always bad but it's not always necessarily fascistic). But somehow, when the KTB do the same or sometimes worse things, like using nanite terror weapons on Free Sanjak, I've noticed people are quicker to make excuses? Like, oh, yeah that's obviously bad but their society works different the KTB are a big place and like of course they're shitty traditionalists and that's really only the Hagiographs and at least the Karrakin have Republican elements who want change and reform and yeah it's bad but aren't Knightly Chivalrous Mechs Just So Gosh Darned Cool?!

I think the nuance of the KTB is also helped by the fact that they're explicitly depicted as non-monolithic. There are ten named Major Houses with their own distinct cultures, politics and homeworlds, and great pains are taken to ensure us that there's multifarious cultures and religions even on an individual world. HA suffers because to some extent it would be more monolithic - it's a nationalist corprostate with only 400 years of history, compared to the KTB's hybrid elective-monarchy neofeudal federation with 10,000.

HA is distinctly American in the way that the nation has become a brand, and a good citizen has to remain on-brand, so things would be more homogenized. To add to that, omninet and blinkgate technology has existed for the whole of HA's lifespan. The unique and distinct cultures of the KTB worlds came about largely because they spent millennia separated from one another by light years. HA has never had this issue, and likely never will. They have the option - and, more importantly, are motivated - to keep a homogenous culture across all of the Purview.

Lancer is fundamentally a game about examining and fighting against unjust structures of power that oppress people but also being larger-than-life heroes that have fun doing it, and the KTB has an innate leg up by virtue of the fact that it has what I'd call a really strong "initial sell:" YOU'RE A SPACE KNIGHT! SPACE KNIGHTS ARE COOL! (PLEASE DON'T EXAMINE SPACEE FEUDALISM!)

To make Harrison Armory compelling, you'd need a similarly strong initial sell for them. And I think I know just the thing.

FOR HUMANITY! FOR LIBERTY! FOR HARRISON! (Please don't examine space nationalism!)

If I were to write the Harrison Armory Field Guide (Tom and Miguel HMU - just kidding. Unless...?), I'd make it BIG and LOUD and OVER THE TOP and OBVIOUS PROPAGANDA with insertions of the actual truth from a HORUS hacker on the side. I'd put Harrison Armory's positioning as "liberators of the galaxy" front and center - "we dive feet-first into hell to save people from tyrants and slavers. We do the work even the UDoJ/HR won't do. Please do not examine our imperialism or social credit system."

[iniquitousyearning]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Four- Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Thèos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Blackmail, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Jealousy, TomRiddle, weaponizing!Tom (slightly?), Possessive Behaviours, Manipulation

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

"Outstanding, naturally," you said, your voice laced with confidence and your grin so wide it seemed to stretch beyond the boundaries of your face. "Must you even ask?"

The morning sunlight filtered through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, casting a warm glow over the room as you and your friends gathered for breakfast. Emily, your blonde-haired friend that you've known since your very first day here, couldn't help but to snicker at your bluntness, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she shoved a forkful of eggs into her mouth.

It’d been almost two weeks since you’d last met with Mattheo, since there was no tutor session last week due to your exam in Advanced Magical Studies. Admittedly, you were thankful for the break.

"Is there any subject where you don't get perfect  grades?" Your other friend Michael said, widened eyes glancing at your marked exam in your hands. "You're a natural born Ravenclaw prodigy...I don't know how you do it, I simply can't wrap my head around it."

Emily, in between bites, nodded vigorously, her admiration evident. "It's true, you seem to effortlessly ace every bloody class. Meanwhile, I'm literally up to my neck in notes, struggling away in hopes of achieving a Meets Expectations."

"Come on, Emily," you said, sitting up a bit taller in your seat. "You earned an Outstanding on the exam too. Your intelligence and dedication are remarkable. You give yourself far too little credit."

She shrugged, taking a moment to chew her food thoughtfully. "Maybe," she conceded, her eyes briefly meeting yours. "But your brilliance seems innate, effortless. It's both inspiring and, I must admit, a tad infuriating."

The corners of her lips twitched into a half-smile, acknowledging the mix of admiration and friendly jealousy in her words. You couldn't help but to blush at her compliments, feeling proud of just how much your intense studies over the years have paid off. Your friends know just how much of your life you've dedicated to your education, and that by this point--after grinding away for years and years, the knowledge was just seamless to you. It just came naturally.

"Good morning, my dear students," came a gentle yet resonant voice from directly behind you, shattering the comfortable silence. "And how might you find yourselves on this delightful, sun-filled morning?"

As you turned, you were met with the twinkling eyes of Professor Dumbledore, his warm presence enveloping the room with ease.

You rose from your seat, your hands clasped together in front of you. "Good morning, Professor; it's always a pleasure to see you. I'm wonderful, how about yourself?"

Your friends gave similar responses, each earning an attentive nod.

"Very good, very good," Dumbledore's voice resonated warmly, his eyes crinkling with a kind smile. "Thank you all."

His gaze shifted to you, a mix of gentleness and concern in his eyes. "I would be grateful for a moment of your time in my office, if you could spare it. It concerns your peer tutoring sessions. Would you be able to join me before the day's lessons commence?”

A sickening twist gripped your stomach, causing your once radiant smile to shatter into fragments. You battled to shield your fear, but it threatened to consume you--every horrifying possibility flooding your mind in a torrent.

Your eyes were drawn involuntarily across the room, zeroing in on the Slytherin table, only to find the devil himself, Mattheo Riddle, the harbinger of your academic ruin--was already fucking staring, smug arrogance practically radiating off of him as he relished your clear discomfort. His calculating gaze felt like a vulture circling its prey, keenly observing every nuance of your nervous demeanour--and you were certain you were about to collapse to the floor. 

Snapping yourself from your trance, you returned your eyes to your Professor, mustering up the best fake smile you possibly could. "Absolutely, Professor--it's no trouble at all."

"Wonderful," he smiled, nodding. "Shall we?"

With a subtle nod, he gracefully guided you out of the Great Hall, your fingers tightly clutching the strap of your bag after bidding your friends goodbye. Your heart raced in your chest, the anticipation of the impending conversation tightening its grip on your every nerve. You trailed closely behind Dumbledore, the echo of your footsteps blending with the murmur of distant conversations.

As you approached the Hall's exit, Dumbledore's movements came to an abrupt halt. He spun around with a swift grace, his piercing eyes sweeping across the tables like a lighthouse beam cutting through the fog, searching for someone specific amidst the bustling sea of students.

And when his searching gaze finally landed on the person he sought, he outstretched his arm, a subtle wave beckoning them to follow. Your eyes widened in complete horror as Riddle stood up, tossing his bag over his shoulder with an air of arrogant nonchalance. Slowly, he began making his way toward you, his every step seemingly echoing off the walls of your mind.

The lot of you moved briskly, following Dumbledore to his office, Mattheo not deigning to acknowledge your existence except for the few brief, unsettling glances he kept throwing your way, a knowing smirk plastered across his face, practically casting a shadow of impending doom over your academic future.

As you entered Dumbledore's office, your heart continued to race with fear, the heavy weight of impending disaster hanging over you like a storm cloud. Dumbledore gestured for you and Riddle to sit down, the creaking of the chairs adding to the palpable tension in the room. You could hardly bear to look at Riddle, certain that his presence here meant he had failed the exam. Your post-graduate career seemed destined to crumble before it even began.

Your mind spun with catastrophic thoughts, the urge to throw up from nerves clawing at your throat. Just as you prepared yourself for the devastating news, Dumbledore's voice cut through the suffocating silence like a lifeline.

"Well, I must be frank, and I hope you won't take offense, Mister Riddle," his tone was incisive, his words carrying a weight of honesty. "I didn't harbor high hopes for substantial improvement in your academic pursuits when you commenced this new tutoring arrangement. Considering your history and the difficulty you faced in finding a suitable mentor, my expectations were rather restrained."

Your breath caught in your throat, your head spinning, nerves screaming in fear as Dumbledore spoke. His gaze was penetrating, his words hanging heavily in the air. He straightened in his chair, clasping his hands together in front of him.

"However, it is entirely safe to say that I was beyond pleased when I found out that you had achieved an 'Exceeds Expectations,' on your recent exam--which, if I may point out, is your highest grade thus far."

Your mind reeled, struggling to grasp the reality of the situation. Dumbledore's words echoed in your ears, and your jaw dropped in utter shock.

"Exceeds expectations," you repeated, your eyes wider than the sun and just as blaring. "Exceeds expectations! Mattheo, that's amazing!"

When you glanced at Mattheo, his eyes practically glimmered with a peculiar mix of pride and smug arrogance. His confident smirk persisted, etched on his features as he reclined casually in the chair beside you, choosing to remain silent; but you both knew exactly what the other was thinking.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with approval as he continued. "Your efforts in guiding Mister Riddle have not only benefited him but also showcased your exceptional skills as a tutor. It's a rare talent to break through someone's barriers, especially someone as formidable as he...I encourage both of you to continue this fruitful collaboration, nurturing each other's potential to the fullest."

You were gleaming. Screaming. On the verge of tears. This felt like a miracle, like music to your ears. The surge of emotions threatened to overwhelm you; you wanted to run until your legs gave out, to kiss Mattheo's stupidly infuriating face until it was raw. This was all you had ever wanted, more than anything else in the world.

"Thank you so much Professor," you beamed, your voice filled with excitement. "Your encouragement means more to me than you could ever begin to imagine."

"No, thank you, dear," Dumbledore said, a benevolent smile gracing his features. "Oh, and since I have you here, I was actually wondering if you'd be interested in joining the Hogwarts Mentorship Guild. Currently, it's coincidentally being overseen by Mister Riddle's brother, Tom...I do believe it would be an immensely beneficial experience for you. It's quite selective, but with my personal recommendation, your entry would be assured. You'd have weekly meetings with Tom and the other members-"

Every word that fell from Dumbledore's lips ignited an exhilarating flutter in your chest, a surge of excitement threatening to crack your ribcage open and pierce through your heart. The prospect of joining the prestigious club had been a cherished dream for years, and now, the reality of it was overwhelming. You basked in the euphoria, savoring the moment, until Mattheo's voice abruptly shattered the joy that had filled your soul.

"Professor, if I may," Mattheo spoke up, his tone surprisingly earnest as he straightened in his chair; his jaw tensed and his eyes dark. "I was actually wondering if she could tutor me in Potions as well...I could definitely use the help...it's been rough, to say the least."

His request hung in the air, creating a pause charged with unexpected tension. The elation that had filled you moments ago now mingled with apprehension as Dumbledores gaze darted between the two of you, his demeanour shifting as he leaned back in his chair.

"That would be up to her, Mister Riddle...I would imagine you'd struggle with doing all three, my dear witch...how about you think on it, and get back to me in a weeks time with what you'd prefer to do, yes?"

With anger simmering beneath your skin, you nodded and mustered a fake smile as you stood up. You extended your hand, shaking Dumbledore's firmly, concealing the turmoil within you. After exchanging polite goodbyes, assuring him of your prompt response, you spun on your heels with a sense of urgency that left Mattheo in your dust. Ignoring his calls that faded into the distance, you marched toward your dorm room, determined to shut out the world and the infuriating presence of Mattheo Riddle.

Right now, you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him--nothing at all. But of course, he wasn't having that.

The heavy, urgent pounding on your door reverberated through the room, rattling your bones and intensifying your annoyance. Mattheo's relentless assault on the door seemed never-ending, refusing to halt for even a moment. Fearing the spectacle he might create in the hallway and the questions it would spark among your peers, you reluctantly decided to put an end to the commotion.

With a surge of anger-fueled determination, you swung the door open, gripping a fistful of his tie between your infuriated fingers as you pulled him inside. The door slammed shut behind him, the noise echoing your frustration, and you kept your grasp on his tie, shoving his back up against the wood of your door.

"Potions?" you hissed, your voice laced with seething anger as you pressed against him. "In the name of the four fucking founders, Riddle, potions?"

He blinked, clearly startled by the intensity of your rage. "What-"

"You're about to shatter one of my lifelong dreams just because you can't handle a cauldron and some bloody ingredients?" you spat through gritted teeth, eyes burning with fury. "Are you genuinely that hopelessly inept?"

Your response was met with a suffocating silence, his lips parting as if searching for words that never materialized. His jaw clenched, his eyes darting away briefly, a clear sign of his inner turmoil. The weight of his silence only fueled the blaze of your anger.

"Haven't you taken enough from me?" you hissed, the emotion in your tone nearly tangible. "Haven't you wreaked sufficient havoc on my life?"

Mattheo's eyes darkened, his irises smoldering with unspoken fury as he silently wrestled with his words. His fists clenched at his sides, the intensity of his emotions evident, yet the silence persisted. You could practically feel the weight of his suppressed anger hanging heavily in the air.

"You really have nothing to fucking say, do you?" you spat, your voice sharp with disappointment. "The arrogant Slytherin prince, always ready with a cutting remark, suddenly struck dumb when he's called out...how utterly predictable."

You scoffed, your frustration mounting as his inability to respond only fueled the fire of your own indignation.

"You're unbelievable." You said, finally releasing his tie and spinning away from him, moving across the room with deliberate pace before you spun back around, meeting his dark eyes from against the opposite wall. "I'm happy that your grades are improving under my guidance but I think you'll have to find someone else to tutor you in potions...I'm sorry, Mattheo."

Riddle blinked, stepping forward. "I don't need help in potions."

You paused. You weren't sure if you'd even heard him correctly. "What?"

"I don't need help in potions." He repeated, taking another step.

"You don't-" your brows pinched, your words falling short as Mattheo veered closer. "But you-"

"My grades are bad, yeah," he said, voice low and hoarse. "But I'm not failing. And I certainly don't need a tutor."

Your chest constricted. You weren't following him. "Then why? Why'd you say that to Dumbledore?"

He inhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw locking with tension. Swallowing hard, his throat worked as he landed himself roughly an arms length away from you, his eyes darker than the midnight sky and twice as intense.

"Because," he said, taking a singular step closer. "I don't want you anywhere near him."

His words slammed your chest so hard you almost fell over. "Excuse me?"

"My brother," he said, his tone flat and unwavering. "I don't want you anywhere fucking near my brother."

Your jaw dropped, the air catching in your lungs. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions engulfed you, each one sparking a fire in your core that you desperately wished to ignore. Your head spun, torn between the lingering anger and the new surge of shock and disbelief at his words.

"You're not serious..." you spat, peering up at him as he loomed over you, hastily taking a step back to create some distance between you. "Riddle, please tell me you're fucking joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" he replied, his expression carved from stone, taking another step closer and erasing the space you had just tried to create. "Huh, Raven? Do I?"

Anger swelled inside you, clouding your vision. "You've lost your fucking mind," you said, your voice dropping so low you weren't even sure if he'd heard you. "You're being controlling, Mattheo. That's...you can't just..."

Mattheo tilted his head, backing you up against the wall, a predatory glint in his eyes that made your stomach flip. "I can't, what?"

Your throat went dry, his hands pressing against the wood on either side of your head. "You can't just-"

Your words were cut short as Mattheo leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. "Can't what, Raven?" he murmured, his voice a dangerous whisper. "Go on, spit it out."

Gods, curse him. Curse him to bloody hell.

"You can't just control my life like you own it, Mattheo," you whispered against his lips, ignoring the fiery desire that flared within you, something you fought fiercely to suppress. "Outside of that classroom, you don't hold any power over me."

Mattheo's lips curled into a sly, taunting smile, his eyes glinting with challenge. "Oh, Raven," he murmured, his voice a dangerous whisper, "you have no idea how wrong you are...inside that classroom or out, you're mine to control...I believe I've proven that today--you'd have never gotten the offer to join that fucking club if it wasn't for my improved grades."

You scowled, your back pressing firmly against the wall as his lips trailed down to your jawline. Frustration mingled with desire, a dangerous combination that sent your senses reeling.

You cursed yourself inwardly, loathing the way your resolve seemed to crumble under his touch. Why did a boy this bad have to look so fucking sweet? Why did a boy this bad for you have to taste so fucking good?

"No...you're wrong, Mattheo..." you whispered, your voice trembling, trying to inject conviction into your words despite the turmoil inside you. "You're so fucking wrong."

"Am I, Raven?" He teased, his voice smug, one hand shifting to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. "So you're saying, that if I told you to get on your knees for me, right now in the middle of your dorm room like my good little whore, you wouldn't do it?" His lips grazed your ear, your lids fluttering involuntarily. "Or...if I told you to take off your shirt so I could cum all over those beautiful fucking tits of yours, you'd say no...hm?"

Your breath caught in your throat, his touch and words igniting a fierce battle within you. As much as you knew the next words form your lips were an entire fucking lie, you simply couldn't help yourself. Merlin knows your body and mind were betraying you, all you had left was your mouth--which was never known to go down without a fight.

"That's right, Riddle..." you whispered, your voice barely audible, betraying the tremor in your resolve. "I'd say no...one million times over I'd say no..."

Mattheo groaned, the noise reverberating down your spine as he breathed it directly into your eardrum. Your thighs screamed in need at the sound--your stomach flipping as his hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your neck.

"And if I asked you to kiss me?" He murmured, his intense gaze locking onto yours. "Would you still say no then?"

Your heart was beating so hard you were certain he could hear it. "I...I would..."

"Yeah?" He said, his voice a sultry whisper, wetting his lips as he glimpsed yours. "You sure about that, Raven?"

Your lungs sputtered, trying your best to keep your composure as you nodded, glimpsing his lips now. "I'm sure, Mattheo..."

His nails dug into your neck, every inch of your body ablaze as your gaze darted between his dark, intoxicated eyes and his plush, inviting lips. You cursed yourself, the internal struggle fierce and unrelenting. You cursed yourself so intensely, you could almost taste the bitterness of your own self-reproach.

"Mm." He hummed, grazing his lips over yours with feather like precision, before he pulled back. "And what would I have to do to change your mind, huh? Do you want me to fucking beg, princess?"

A low, desperate sound escaped your lips, a primal mewl reverberating in your chest. "That might help..." you breathed. "Maybe if you got on your knees while you did, it'd be far more effective..."

"Fuck...I've created a monster, haven't I..." he huffed, smirk teasing his perfect fucking lips, both hands falling to your hips as he slowly dropped to his knees in front of you. "A beautiful, slutty little monster..."

You were speechless, body blazed with desire, torn between the intense pull in his eyes and the irresistible temptation of his lips. Holy fucking hell you wanted to kiss him so unbelievably bad, you weren't sure how much longer you could continue playing this little game; the desire only strengthening as he ran his hands along your curves, rough palms smoothing down your thighs as he peered up at you--chocolate curls sitting messy over his forehead, his dark eyes burning wounds into your flesh.

"Kiss me, Raven..." he whispered, holding your sight, voice strained weigh desire so intense it was palpable. "Please, fucking kiss me."

That did it. That absolutely did it.

Without a second thought, you bent at the waist, seizing his tie and directing his mouth to yours, your lips crashing onto his in a feverish, desperate kiss. At the passionate connection, a low moan slid past your teeth, your fingers entwining in his hair, deepening the kiss. His tongue sought entrance, and you willingly granted it, eliciting a low, primal growl from him. His hands tightened around the backs of your thighs, anchoring you in place, not daring to move an inch higher.

Mattheo nipped your bottom lip, smirking as he tugged on it gently before releasing it, blinking as he met your eyes. "I love the way you moan for me, Raven..." he purred, hands slowly moving up, slipping under your skirt. "You have no idea what I could fucking do to you."

You whimpered as his hands slid higher, gripping your ass under your skirt, his face dangerously close to your sex. Your fingers curled tightly into his hair, gripping the strands within your palms as your entire body quivered. His lips left a trail of hot, fervent kisses along your outer thigh, igniting a path of tingling sensations in their wake.

"Gods..." you moaned, unable to form any other coherent word as his hands explored and caressed places on your body that no one else had ever touched before. "Mattheo..."

"Fucking hell..." he groaned, his grip tightening. "If you do that again I might not be able to stop myself Raven...I might have to rip this fucking skirt off and make you moan my name over and over until it's the only word you remember..."

Your breath caught in your throat, your head spinning in a whirlpool of desire at his words. Every fiber of your being trembled, quivering under his touch. Mattheo pulled himself up to his feet, his hands still firmly gripping your ass as he pressed himself against you, the strength of his grip pulling your crotch against his. Even through the fabric of his trousers, you could feel his aggressive erection pressing against you.

Involuntarily, you moaned again.

"Mhm, that’s right...” Mattheo hummed, wet lips grazing your ear. "…and you say I don't have control over you..." he purred, licking a slow line up the side of your throat. "You're fucking melting for me and I've barely touched you, Raven..."

His mention of control snapped you back to your senses, not wanting your earlier anger to be neutered so easily, despite the lake pooling between your thighs for this cunning enigma of a man.

"I'm still mad at you, Mattheo..." you managed to croak out, head falling back as he pressed his lips to your neck. "You can't keep doing this...you can't keep sweet-talking me out of my anger for you.”

"Is that what you think I'm doing here?" He huffed, one hand leaving your ass and gripping your hip with enough force to shatter your bones. "Maybe I just can't keep my fucking hands off of you...maybe I like knowing I'm the only one who's ever touched you like this, the only one who's ever fucked your throat and seen those perfect tits of yours...maybe I don't like sharing...maybe I don't like the thought of my brother getting you alone and trying to take what's mine..."

You whimpered, chest constricting. "And you told me not to get attached?" You said, ignoring the burning, screaming flames that ignited at his admission. "You're utterly delusional...I'm not your fucking toy-"

“Yes you are.” He huffed, a deviant grin crawling over his lips. "And believe me, I'm not attached, princess..." he said. "I'm possessive, and there's a fucking difference. I know my brother...I know exactly how he operates."

"If it's anything like how you do, then I can understand your concern." You scoffed, not even attempting to hide your smirk. "But I'm not a child, I don't need protection. And believe me when I tell you, one irritating Riddle man in my life is more than enough."

His jaw tensed at your words, and he loosened his grip, almost fully releasing you, but not quite. "You can do all three."

You paused, lips parting, but he cut you off, sensing your incoming confusion. "Tutoring me in advanced magical studies and potions…plus the stupid club. You can do all three."

"What?" You were dumbfounded, nearly speechless. "I-I can't, Riddle...Dumbledore said-"

"He's only saying that because he thinks you'd actually have to tutor me in potions...we can just make him think you are...imagine how impressed he'll be when you tell him-"

"Oh, Mattheo! That's brilliant!" You beamed, excitement filling your eyes, all of your earlier anger and concern and disappointment seemingly flowing from your flesh, dissipating into the charged air. You gripped his face, giving him a kiss on the cheek, smirking as you pulled back. "You really changed your mind rather quickly."

"I see how much it upset you." He shrugged, stepping back and shoving his hands into his pockets. "I don't want to interfere with your goals, Raven. I just want you to know that even though he's my brother, I won't refrain from kicking his fucking ass if he tries anything."

Your jaw fell open like you wanted to reply, but words would fail you, and he smirked. “Tell Dumbledore you’ll do it. And I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Without giving you the chance to respond, he spun around, briskly making his way out of your dorm without another bloody word--leaving you entirely at a loss, unable to comprehend what the hell just happened.

————

CHAPTER FIVE->

[happypopcornprincess]

Chapter 5 || Family Line

Pairings - Joaquin Torres X fem!Reader

Premise - what is real, and what is a memory? you fight through the glimpses of past and present mixed together, will you make it out?

Word Count - 4.9K

Warnings: TW child neglect, abuse, strong language, mentions of blood and gore, mentions of death, angst, emotional abuse

a/n - I am extremely sorry for the delay, but, Story time I sprained my hand and then i caught heat rash because temp in my country has reached fuckin 40 degrees IN MARCH so can’t wait to be boiled alive in june :) which is why i couldn't type any faster :( this chapter is more like a prequel and a sequel squeezed into one, dedicated to y/n’s backstory and also we get to know her and Connor more. Contains Inaccurate family court laws, inaccurate therapy session conversations because why not? I based a character on my ex so enjoy the diss ig :)

<< Chapter 4 || Series Masterlist || Chapter 6 >>

You felt a heavy weight was being lifted off of your chest. You were no longer in the dark, but surrounded in light. Sleep clouded your senses, an entity gently wrapping you in a warm blanket.

Is this what peace felt like?

The earliest memory you had of your parents was when you were four; you were playing with Connor with your dad passed out on the porch, drunk, and your mother walked back from the fields after working the entire day. You had run up to her, unknowing of her mood, and she had swatted you away and walked back to the house, all while you cried for her to come back.

The screaming and beatings had only increased as you grew older.

It stopped after your trip to the hospital, the incident of you passing out in the fields. CPS got involved, your parents maintained the facade of being responsible and loving caregivers to both their kids, but only applied it to Connor in private.

The emotional turmoil by them loomed over you all throughout your 18 years of life under their roof. 

Despite being treated like their star child, Connor knew his parent’s true nature. Connor saw. He saw the bruises, the silent tears, the hollow look in your eyes. He was their golden child, their pride, yet he never made you feel less. He loved you with a fierce, protective devotion, a father's love in a brother's heart.

No presents on your birthday? Connor saved up his pocket money to bring you books on programming. Beaten by mother about working on the farm in harvest season? He would wake up earlier than everyone to do it with you. Left alone at home with your father and his creepy friends? He would play cards locked with you in his room because his football practice got ‘cancelled’.

Your wallet would never run out of money. Connor would throw at you his new clothes he didn’t like, that would fit you perfectly. He never told you how, but got you a second hand laptop for coding.

The nights when you were sent to your room with no dinner, Connor would sneak in with a bowl of steaming hot ramen in his hands and fruit cakes in his pockets,"We'll leave," Connor would promise, a fierce vow, "We'll never come back."

—/—/—

Summer, 2018

“Mom, I told you I cannot take another elective, I have Taekwondo training.” You whined running through your living room, searching for your headphones.

“One extra class won't kill you, Y/N. Connor managed three as a senior.” She said in a calm but innate voice that irritates you.

“I’m busy. Okay. I can’t.” you fished out your headphones under the coffee table, “and tell dad to please return my headphones after he used them, not throw them around the house.”

“It’s his choice. He bought them for you anyways.” She grumbled.

You didn’t have the time or patience to tell her good for nothing, unemployed husband passed out drunk in her bedroom, didn't do anything, and you bought them with your money working at the store, so you sling on your backpack to leave.

You cycled off to your school, the warm Texan wind on your skin and your family field buzzing by you, you pedalled full speed to your school.

Your phone rings, and Connor’s name flashes on screen, you smile, connecting it with your headphones.

“How’s my bug?” His cheerful voice made you roll your eyes. How could someone be so happy at 7 am?

“Mad.” You grumble.

He sighs, “Mom?”

"Yep. Raving about her perfect son. Again."

“It’s just a few months, then we’ll be at Georgetown and leave the lovebirds to scream at each other all by themselves.”

“They do that already.” You scoff.

“Hey,” his tone turns serious, “You take care of yourself. Okay?”

You smiled, looking at the fields rushing by, “I miss you bro.”

“I miss you too.” He lets out a breath. “Take care, Bug.”

“You too. Bye.” you say before cutting the call and closing your eyes to focus on Linkin Park for now.

-----

The late afternoon sun slashed through the windows of your school as you hurried through the hallway from your counselor’s room to your classroom.

You had no idea how to react to the news he just broke to you.

Your applications looked solid. Top scores, non academic activities of martial arts, and internship at a local office. With how skilled you were with programming from a young age, your application to both georgetown and MIT looked solid, and while georgetown was ready to accept you as a student, MIT was giving you a huge scholarship.

You halted in the halls for a moment, thinking about what could happen next. 

You could choose MIT, study at your dream university with a scholarship, that would certainly lead to a great career, or you could go to Georgetown paying full tuition, study with your brother and never come back. You would struggle with finances, but you can live a peaceful life… you can make it work.

A month to decide, but the weight of Connor’s old wristwatch on your wrist felt like a silent answer.

And then, piercing through the silence of the school halls, the screamings started.

—/—/—

“Please… pick up!” you groaned, tears blinding your vision as you pedalled at full speed to your house.

You called Connor again, and found the same response; straight to voicemail.

You saw the abomination with your own eyes, classmates turning to dust right in front of your eyes, the news on the internet calling it a global event. People running around the town, calling out for loved ones. On your way, cars crashed with no one in the driver’s seat, it was like the apocalypse had started.

Crashing in your front yard, you ran inside, phone still on your ear.

“Mom!” you screamed, “mom… mama… dad!” a sob racked out of your chest, “mama!” you screamed out. Crying you searched the entire house, no signs of your parents.

Hey it’s Connor I’m a little busy at the moment, leave a message.

You cried out loud, cursing into the wind, calling him again.

“Connor I swear to god if you don’t pick up, if you don’t call me back. Please…” you fell to the ground, clutching your phone to your chest.

You called again, a desperate attempt.

But this time, there was no voicemail. The call disconnected.

Your phone slipped from your hands as you sank to your knees, numb. Your breath hitched, a silent sob trapped in your throat.

Connor, your brother, your entire world… he was gone.

—/—/—

Autumn 2018

“Well this is short,” the Judge let out a nervous laugh before beginning, “I, Leonard y/l/n, being of sound mind and body, my assets both liquid and otherwise, I leave in their entirety to Cooper y/l/n. My entire ownership of the Farmlands and contents within I leave in its entirety to Cooper y/l/n. The ownership of the house on the lands, likewise I leave in its entirety to Cooper y/l/n.”

The family court Judge rearranged her spectacles, “your name on the family register is only mentioned twice miss y/l/n, once on the birth registrations and the other on the number of family members.”

You gulped, realising what that implied. 

The government was occupying houses and empty lands of those who were vanished to relocate people around the country, and given the fact your wonderful parents left everything on your brother, who also has vanished, you were seconds away from being homeless.

“But..” the judge began, “you’re the only surviving family member, so…”

—/—/—

The pickup truck with your life tied at the back waited for you in the driveway, as you stared at the two headstones on your farm, one for your parents and the other one…

In loving memory of Connor Y/l/n [1998-2018]Beloved brother.His memory forever a guiding star.

“Hey Connor.” you sniffled, clutching your acceptance letter to MIT in your fist, and a bundle of primrose in another, his favourite flowers.

“I got into MIT.” you huffed out, looking around at the farmland you grew up on.

Don’t cry, don’t cry don’t cry

“I’ve leased the farm to the neighbours, so I won't have to work part time. I thought of never coming back… huh… I’ll visit on your birthday. I hoped to go to Georgetown but… ”

Uncontrollable tears fell down from your face as you recalled him teaching you to drive a truck just last summer, your laughs mixed together like the warm setting sun, “I was born with you in this world. I was your sister my whole life. And now with you gone… I don’t know how to exist anymore.”

You broke down into sobs, touching the stone knowing there was nobody underneath it. And you still searched for a fragment of your brother’s presence, hoping in your heart that any minute now he would be right in front of you to ruffle your hair and tell you you got this bug.

“Who will call me bug now Connor!” you screamed.

The flowers in your hand felt heavy, and you got on your knees to shake his gravestone angrilly, “you weren’t supposed to go away! You…” sobs retched inside your chest, and let out a scream, demanding answers.

Receiving only the comfort of the whistling wind in response.

—/—/—

Autumn 2020

“Afternoon, y/n.” sitting in front of you was Christina Raynor, your therapist, smiling up from her notebook. A fine middle aged woman, she was an ex military therapist working on the campus.

“Ma’am.” you smiled, smoothing out your skirt.

“How are you feeling?” she tilted her head, looking you in the eyes, knowing damn well she will catch you if you lied. Her posture remained straight, almost regal, intimidating anyone in front of her.

You had seeked emotional therapy when you went to classes and realized how the weight of all these years of abuse and neglect by your caregivers affected your life. Your therapist, Christina, was a godsend. You had worked with her for a year to figure out how to improve your mental health. And how to move forward.

“Quite good, actually.” you nod, smiling, “I’m doing an internship along with classes, it’s online, cybersecurity.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” she nods, “I wanted to ask you about your personal life. How are you holding up?”

“I’m taking my meds regularly if that’s what you’re referring to.” you hint at the antidepressants and anxiety medications prescribed by her.

“Okay, um, martial arts?” she asks.

“Black belt in taekwondo, brown in Muay Thai.” you point to yourself.

“Congratulations,” she claps, a genuine, appreciative gesture, “That’s great, y/n. What about your surroundings? Any friends, or relationships?”

“Oh.” you pause, thinking about how you should put it out, “well, I have some friends on campus, and from Muay Thai classes. We work together, and hangout after classes.”

“Okay, that’s nice.” she writes in her notebook, “what about relationships, you mentioned a boy in our last session.”

“I did?” you gulped.

“Yeah.” Christina leaned forward, her eyes that could read your body language in seconds perked up to bore into yours, “did something happen?”

Jeremy, blue-eyed, curly-haired, two years your senior, buttoned his shirt in front of the mirror. He met your eyes through the reflection. 

"So, when am I going to see you again?" you sat up on his bed, looking at him with hooded eyes, still drowsy from the encounter.

Your first time, actually.

"What do you mean?" he laughed.

Your heart jumped, sensing what he was implying. "I mean, when are we hanging out again?"

"We're not?" He turned to face you, laughing, and picked up your dress from the floor, tossing it at you.

Noticing your stunned expression, he sighed. "I don't want to hurt you… but… this was just for fun.” he breathed out, running his fingers through his hair, “Y/N, look, I'm sorry if I led you on or something, but this was a one-time thing, okay? I don't do relationships."

You gripped your sundress, the bright yellow he'd said he liked so much, in your hands.

"Get dressed. I'll drop you off at your dorm." He said, walking into the bathroom.

“How did that make you feel?” Cristina breathes out.

“Betrayed. Sad.” your tone dropped, “He was the first boy I liked. I thought he would be my boyfriend.”

“Did you meet Jeremy again?”

“No. he made it clear he didn’t wanna meet.”

“You haven’t felt like this since your family disappeared.”

“Yep.”

“Hmm…” Cristina writes down something in her notebook, “Did you tell him about your feelings for him?”

“It wouldn't matter. He wanted to hookup with a virgin, he got that out of me so now I'm of no use to him.” you breathe out, “my friend heard him bragging about it in a bar downtown.”

Cristina took a deep breath, her stance dropping a bit, “y/n, are you sure you’re alright?”

“Please don’t mind my language but, honestly, fuck him. I’ll get better. Promise.” you smiled a sad smile.

“Are you sure?” she asks again.

“Yep. all good.” you say, genuinely, just not mentioning the part where you kicked him in the balls when he came back to beg you to sleep with him again.

“Have you visited your farm recently?”

It feels gloomy all of a sudden, and you let out a sad smile, “I visit every year on Connor’s birthday, apart from that, never.”

She suggested you try to forgive your parents, and you did try, but anytime you saw your roommate’s parents calling her everyday to check on her, or a family buying their little kid presents for christmas, your resentment for them only grew.

“What about your parents?” 

“I couldn’t care less.” you scoff.

After everything they had put you through, it was just really hard for you to sympathize with them in any shape and form.

“So,” she slams her notebook shut, looking at you, “let’s do an exercise, I want you to close your eyes, and imagine your family sitting in front of you-”

“- doc, seriously?”

“- just listen, close your eyes.” you do, sitting straighter.

“Now, I want you to tell them everything that you never got to say. Good and bad.”

"I... I don't even know where to start." you say, eyes still closed.

"Start with the first thing that comes to mind."

You took a deep breath, imagining them sitting in front of you instead of Christina, and the words flew out of your mouth, "I hated you. I hated you both. For everything. Every slap, every punch, every kick. For every time you made me feel like I was nothing… like I was not even human."

"Go on." Christina tensed.

"You could love. I know that. You loved Connor like breathing. You forgave his every mistake, you hugged him when he left for school, you gave him your inheritance... God, Connor.” you sniffled, feeling your eyes burn, “He was the kindest, purest soul on earth. You didn’t deserve him. Fuck, i didn’t deserve him either. Y’all could live a hundred lifetimes, and you could still not deserve a kid like him.”

You took a long pause, breathing hard, remembering him and you mother laughing in the kitchen making dinner on Sundays, and how your dad beamed with pride when he won matches in high school, "Sometimes... I wished you would have seen me. I wished you would have hugged me. I wished you would have said you loved me. Even once. I wished... I wish only you had blipped instead of him!"

You let out a ragged breath, and "It's the truth. And it makes me sick. And I hate you, and I miss him, and I hate myself. All at the same time."

“It’s a very hard thing to admit y/n.” Christina spoke softly.

You opened your eyes to only find her in front of you, sitting calmly like a regal queen.

“I’m sorry I lashed out.” you squirmed in your seat

She only smiled in return.” it’s alright.”

—/—/—

Summer 2023

You graduated, with so many achievements under your belt that could have landed you any place that you wanted to be.

Confidence drips out of every node of your body with your Head held high, you can walk into any room and they would know you: Y/n Y/l/n, the insane coding freak who can hack into any system in seconds.

You felt good in your own self for the first time, life felt like one of those coming of age movies; where the character goes through hell and back but in the end everything works out.

Or so you thought.

It was as if you were reliving your worst nightmare.

People had started to reappear at the same places they had vanished from before. It was chaos, but of a different, more insane level than before.

Your phone was blowing up, and you didn’t dare check it, you couldn’t, because if every person who vanished five years ago was truly back… then you knew damn well who was calling you.

—/—/—

You walked into the community center in your small town cautiously, wearing an office suit, with your hair tied up and light makeup. There were people around you, reuniting with their lost family members. Tearful reunions, some solemn, some happy, but still bittersweet. But nothing could have prepared you for what unfolded next.

“Bug!”

Connor ran in your direction, slamming into you, the force sending you stumbling. You clung to him, a desperate, broken hold.

He retreated to give you the full faced smile he had since he was a kid, his canine teeth a bit crooked, his face overjoyed.

Connor looked exactly like the day he had left. 

Frozen in time.

"You look," he said, his hands on your shoulders, a gentle pat on your head, tears brimming in his eyes, "you look like a grown-up!" He laughed, a sound that ripped through the years.

Tears streamed down your face as you held his hands in yours, he hadn’t changed at all, he was still 20.

“Well, I'm older than you now, so,” you choked out, a sob tearing through you as you hugged him, fierce and desperate. 

He was back. 

A miracle, a cruel, impossible miracle.

Just when you thought a calm had washed over you, your head jerked back with force, your hair being pulled.

“You scheming bitch!” it was your mother’s chilling scream, which made you freeze in your place. The two seconds of peace that had washed over you was snatched away in an instant.

"You stole my goddamn house while I was gone!" Your father's roar echoed, a thunderclap in the room. All eyes were on you. A spectacle.

Five years of quiet. Five years of building a life. Gone. In an instant.

—/—/—

The living room air crackled with a rage you knew too well.

People intervened to stop what had unfolded at the community center, and you were rushed out to your place.

You didn’t have much, but you packed away whatever things you had left back home, while your mother and father were locked in a screaming match downstairs with your brother.

“She didn’t steal anything ma! She saved the farm! It would have been gone in the last five years!” Connor shouts as you throw your things in cardboard boxes, sealing them shut with trembling hands.

“Well I don’t give a damn! Why is it under her name then?” your father’s voice only grew with every sentence.

“I came back to see the neighbours havin a roast in my kitchen! Do you have any idea how terrifying that was! And then I found out that little missy sold it to them when I was gone!” your mother was next to scream.

This was too familiar, your parents degrading you any chance they get and Connor defending you like his life depended on it.

“Are you hearing yourself ma!” Connor only screamed louder, “I came back to my senses in the middle of a road! I called y’all and it went straight to voicemail! I fucking hitchhiked on a bus to get here ‘cause I had no idea what the fuck was going on!”

“Oh sweet heavens!” a loud crash, and you knew your father had kicked a chair somewhere.

“What about y/n? Y’all have any idea how hard it must have been for her! She thought we all were dead for five years dad! She had our graves in the goddamn fields!”

Your mother’s shrill laughter was next, “Well, I don't know, she seems just fine to me! She strutted in the halls in that expensive ass suit looking like some high end lawyer or something’! She’s grown fat around her face, did you see that?” 

You froze in your face, and saw hot white anger blinding your vision, but you kept quiet, you didn’t need to be associated with them again.

“Well you weren’t starving her for ridiculous reasons ma, so yeah i’m glad she looks healthy. And she can be whatever she wants, you shouldn’t have a say in it!”

You drowned out the shouts as you hauled the boxes from your room to the old pickup truck outside, thanking the forces you didn’t sell that.

“I’m leaving.” you spoke as you felt all three of their gazes on you.

"The hell you mean you won't come back?" your father bellowed, his southern drawl sharpening with each word, a familiar sign of his disappointment. He watched you, a rigid figure, as you hauled your luggage towards the door.

"Is there anything to come back to?" you asked, your voice flat, the question hanging in the charged atmosphere. And finally, since you have been here, your gaze, heavy with weariness, met his.

The sting of your mother’s slap registered before the sound, a sharp, brutal end to the argument. 

"Ma! Don't!" Connor’s voice, raw with alarm, pierced the silence. 

You turned, your eyes locking with your mother's, the same eyes reflected back at you in the mirror every morning, now twisted with a venomous anger. "You ain't no daughter of mine," she hissed, her voice a low, guttural threat. "Get out of my house!"

A coldness settled over you, "You should check the registry before you say that, Ma," you retorted, the words laced with a bitter edge. You turned on your heel, heading for the rented pickup, refusing to witness their reactions.

Under the afternoon sun, Connor ran after you, “Y/n, I know you’re angry right now, but, just listen to me.” He gently held your arm but you jerked back, looking at him.

He was tense, his brows furrowed. Confused, and frustrated, he looked at you, begged you to stay. To listen to him.

For the first time ever, you saw him not as your older brother, but as a kid. And you saw how young he was. How much weight he had been carrying on his shoulders since he was a child. 

A child who had also suffered like you.

“I’m so sorry, Connor,” you held his shoulders, squeezing them with pity, in your heels, you were almost the same height now, “but I can’t do this right now. Go to georgetown, I’ll help however I can. Don’t stay here. Leave.” you hugged him, your chest tightening, and he held you back, grabbing onto your clothes, refusing to let go.

“Bug…”

The engine roared to life against the silence of the driveway. You slammed the accelerator.

"Bug! Wait!" your brother's desperate cry echoed against the hum of the engine, but you didn't slow down. The road blurred through the tears streaming down your face, the pain a burning ache in your chest, your family farm a blur around you.

You cried harder as you saw him, a small, desperate figure running after the truck, calling you by the name only he used, a name that now felt like a cruel mockery of a bond you could never go back to.

—/—/—

Present day

He ran through the cold empty hallways of the medical bay at Avengers Compound, barely registering the fact that he was standing in a place he would have given anything to even look at when he was younger. The receptionist lady just pointed him towards a vague direction where every hall and room looked the same, he was confused as to where to go, or look.

Until, he saw a figure standing at the end of one of the halls, and he ran towards it. At first, he couldn’t recognise the tall, broad shouldered asian man who stared at him in confusion, but when he got closer, he recognised him.

“You’re the guy from the LA bus incident, right?” he panted, huffing out from all the running.

“...yeah?” he raised an eyebrow, looking at him from head to toe, his expression set somewhere between bewilderment and disbelief.

He looked at himself then; he was wearing loose sweatpants and a casual shirt. He had no time to think rationally when he got the call, he grabbed whatever he could and begged his friend for his car to get to the avengers compound.

“I’m sorry I'm in a hurry, could you please direct me to…”

The man cut him off before he could finish his request, “You’re y/n’s brother… Connor, right?” he extended a hand, “I’m Shang Chi, y/n’s friend.”

Connor froze, his heart racing, his mind a haze from listening to his sister’s name from him, “Hi. hello, uh… yeah, yes. I’m her brother. Do you know where she is?” he shook his hand.

Shang Chi let out a breath, “She’s out of surgery, but…” he looked behind him, and Connor turned to follow his gaze, finding a hospital room door ajar, voices coming from inside.

“But what? Shang Chi…” he held his hand in desperation, “please tell me she’s alright?”

“Connor...” Shang Chi held his arm, leading him inside the same door he had been looking at before, “why don’t you sit down?”

Connor entered the room to see a man on the hospital bed, his neck covered in bandages, and two people; a girl and a boy sitting on the bed with him.

“Guys, Y/n’s brother.”

The girl immediately got up and rushed to him, “hi, I’m Kate. We talked on the phone.” She guided him to a chair.

He sat down, “Yes. Kate. nice to meet you.” he looked at all the faces of strange people looking at him with a gaze he thought was sadness, but later deciphered as pity.

“Y’all are scaring me folks,” he breathed hard, his emotions that he had managed to keep at bay threatened to burst, “what’s going on?”

The boy next to Kate spoke up, “she’s stable for now but she’s not waking up, Connor.”

“What?” his vision became hazy with tears brimming in his eyes.

“They’re saying, there’s a chance…” Shang Chi stopped before taking a deep breath, “there is a chance she might not wake up again.”

Those last words were the final nail in the coffin. Connor breathed out, his chest burning with pain and exhaustion, the last memory of his sister dancing infront of his eyes; how defeated she looked when she drove away from the house while he screamed for her to stay.

He let the tears fall, holding his head in his hands when he felt a hand on his shoulder, but it did nothing to soothe his pain. Fate had made him lose his sister once, and now she was being taken again.

—/—/—

The doctors had told him before he set foot inside the ICU, wearing a sterile gown and a mask, “she was stabbed multiple times, her body will take time to heal, which is why she’s in a coma. It might be a bit overwhelming for you to see her, she’s been hooked to a ventilator, oxygen pipe and wires to monitor her condition.” 

Which did nothing to prepare him for the condition he found his sister in.

Her mouth was covered in tape keeping the food pipe intact, while a dozen wires ran from her arms and chest to different machines around her.

Connor couldn’t tear his eyes away from her as his mind played a cruel trick on his subconscious; instead of her grown self, all he saw was the little kid in the hospital room, sunburnt and dying from dehydration fifteen years ago.

He collapsed on the chair near her bed, his hand reaching out for her but hesitating as he saw the IV running from her pale arms.

Peter and Shang Chi’s words rang in his ears, how she could still hear her surroundings, and hearing a familiar voice could help bring her back.

“...Bug?” his voice muffled, he whispered, too scared of accidentally startling her, “hey, it’s Connor. I’m here.”

He waited for her to open her eyes and laugh, telling him this was all a cruel joke, and rant on about computers and movies which he had no ideas about, but would gladly listen with no complaints.

No such thing happened. His chest felt heavy watching how still she lied there, motivating him to talk further.

So he did.

He talked about his day, and how she scared the daylights out of him by ending up at the hospital. How he will give her a piece of his mind when she wakes up, even bribing her with her favourite fruit cake he would make for her birthdays.

He recalled a memory of when she was a toddler, and he had seen her walk for the first time. Their parents weren't around, and he was jumping with joy while you giggled and ran to him, looking up at him while hugging his legs.

“That’s my oldest memory, ever. I don’t remember anything before that, my first memory is being your brother and picking you up when you were about to fall down.” he choked on his words, “god, y/n, I have no idea how much you had suffered. I wanted to give you space… but… it took everything inside me past year not to stand in front of you and fight you for not talking to me.” he looked down, sobbing, tears falling on his gown, “just… come back. Please, Bug, you have to. I don’t know how I'll live without you annoying the shit out of me, so just, wake up.”

Connor hesitated before gently patting her head, sniffling, he walked out without looking back.

—/—/—

“Goddammit…” Joaquin cursed under his breath as he saw the chips packet stuck in the medic bay vending machine, Already frustrated and disturbed watching Connor’s reaction to the news broken by Shang Chi.

It was nearing midnight, and Joaquin had refused to eat his soup dinner which looked like it was made in the 1800s. Which proved to be a punishment as his stomach turned in hunger. So before Peter sitting next to him could have said I told you so, he tiptoed out of his hospital bed and went to wander the hallways, finding himself standing in front of a vending machine.

He contemplated getting a soft drink that was stacked right above the stuck chips, and found his pocket empty of quarters.

“Here.” a hand extended to him with some loose change, and when he saw who was the person, it was Connor

Joaquin took a good look at his face, his eyes red and hair askew, heavy dark circles loomed under his eyes indicating he hadn’t had any sleep.

It felt eerie looking at Connor. His features matched y/n a little too much… the nose, that little tilted smile to hide the anxiety, it was the same. He had earlier avoided any conversation with him, wanting no intrusion in him processing the news, but now it had been a bit too late and he hadn’t had a chance to talk to him.

“Thanks…” he muttered, taking the change and selecting the soft drink, which then made its way down to the chute with the chips.

“You sure you should be having that?” he asks in a questioning manner, which makes Joaquin turn to him to defend himself, but he notices the way Connor looks at him, worried, his eyes trained at his neck.

“I don’t like soup.” is all Joaquin says before tearing into the packet, earning him an amused laughter from Connor.

He slumps down on the bench near the machine, breathing out, and tapping a seat next to him. Joaquin wordlessly takes a seat next to him, trying to focus on his food rather than the guy sitting next to him. Minutes went by, and he had halfway finished through his packet when Connor spoke again.

“Kate told me you two are close.”

Joaquin stopped, his mind reeling about how to answer.

He was y/n’s… what? Colleague? Friend? Ex? The guy she had been sleeping with for the last few months?

He responded with a very vague, and serious, “yeah.” and went back to eating chips.

“Cool.” Connor takes a deep breath.

Silence falls, as Joaquin eats his chips and Connor sits silently next to him.

Joaquin turns to him to see a faint smile on his lips, “I found out she was an avenger after she came to New York. I wanted to tell her to stay safe, but it came out a bit accusingly, she stopped calling after that.” he breathed in, “There was a time when she would tell me everything, small or big. I was the first to know. Now… it’s been what? a year since we had a proper talk. At Least for me. She’s been living with my ghost for the last five years.”

“You were blipped?” Joaquin exclaims.

“Yeah,” he smiles sadly, “One day I'm waiting for her to come to Georgetown, and the next day she’s in front of me all grown up, like she doesn't need me anymore.”

“That’s not true.” Joaquin spoke immediately, “she pretends like she doesn't need anyone but… she does. Everyone does.”

“She doesn’t say it out loud. thinking she might…”

“Hurt you.” Joaquin completes Connor’s sentence.

Connor turns to look at him, and Joaquin, for the first time, doesn’t see him as your brother.

He was looking at a kid, who had to grow up too soon to raise another kid; you. And like a light being flicked inside his head, everything started to make sense. Why you were close one second and distant the next, how you would act fine and still fall into panic episodes alone. Why you never talked about your family, or anyone of your friends, why he could never cross your walls, no matter how hard he tried.

“I’m Joaquin.” He extended his hand to Connor.

“Connor,” he shook his hand, and suddenly, a mischievous smirk played on his face, “you wanna grab some real food? Other than chips?”

Joaquin looked a bit wary, letting out a nervous laugh, “well I am hungry, so,”

Connor stands up, “let’s go to the cafeteria. Grab your jacket.” he walked out without looking back, leaving a bewildered Joaquin trying to contemplate what just happened.

—/—/—

It took exactly an hour for Joaquin and Connor to turn into friends.

Over the stale cafeteria food, their conversations deepened. Connor, surprisingly, opened up about his protective nature towards Y/N, his admiration for her resilience. They discovered a shared love for old films, quoting lines and debating plot twists, their voices hushed in the quiet of the late hours. 

They were two people, brought together by the unspoken shared love and a shared fear, forging a bond in the little space between hope and despair.

As Connor tried to leave saying he would sleep on the benches until morning, Joaquin simply laughed, leading him to his room on the compound and basically threatening him to take the bed as he was going back to the medic dorm and he would let him know of any progress.

—/—/—

Connor walked into the room the next day, ready to face another day of sterile beeps and silent hopes, a forced strength in his chest reminding him not to cry, but the sight before him stole his breath. 

Inside her room, the table next to her bed had flowers, balloons, and greetings from her friends from college. He read the cards - One addressed with Nelson, Murdock and Page, and another one was a bunch of white lilies from a simple card signed, “stay strong - Frank.” he smiled involuntarily, his heart clenched watching the testimony of so many people rooting for y/n.

Days blurred into a strange, unsettling routine: he would find her hair already combed, moisturiser on her skin, and a change of her hospital clothes, which Kate and Kamala swore they had nothing to do with, only exchanging soft smiles anytime they saw him.

Snacks materialized in his backpack, clothes in Joaquin's room, Peter handing him a box saying his aunt 'accidentally' made too many empanadas, Kamala's mom’s parathas that he could never get over, and even the grumpy and brooding Bucky Barnes, shoving a bag of chocolate cookies into his hands before retreating into silence. 

At first, it was a bewildering puzzle, a strange, almost surreal kindness. Then, a slow, dawning realization: Y/N had built a family, a fierce, protective circle of love she'd craved her entire life. And in their silent support, they had taken him in too. 

For the first time, Connor knew he wasn't alone. He had people, a safety net woven from shared pain and unwavering loyalty, a promise that if he fell, they would be there to catch him.

In the midst of all this chaos, he couldn’t help but notice Joaquin; how he would linger around her longer, how his eyes would always be trained on the monitors, his smile a bit wider, relief in his eyes when he would notice her pale skin was returning back to normal.

—/—/—

“She’s awake!” Joaquin was jolted out of his afternoon nap by Kamala’s scream in the living room.

Connor immediately made a run for it, while the others followed.

Joaquin almost had an out of body experience; his physical form walking through the corridors of the medical bay towards her room, but his mind was back to the first time he saw her... the night they met.

to be continued...

<< Chapter 4 || Series Masterlist || Chapter 6 >>

---/---/---

A/N - Thank you everyone for sticking with me till the end of this fic! if you liked it please let me know through the asks and the comments. Next Chapter will be up soon... Love y'all, Take Care!

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[redclovertea]

memories dictate a large part of who people are but there are still aspects of each person which transcend what we do and don’t know. the innies carry a pain from their outies, even if it’s buried deep within them, because the thing we experience resonate with us in more than just our minds

mark s. doesn’t know who gemma is, he doesn’t recognise ms casey and anyone other than ms casey, but i think his love for his job comes from his outies desire to use those eight hours of work as a means of escape. if he tells himself enough that it is good for him, then it will be good for his innie

helly r. doesn’t know anything about helena, but even before she receives the video from her, she has an innate sort of violent hatred for her. no other innies seem to hold this disdain for their outies. but if helena hates herself then that hatred can seep through into helly, who by default will hate helena

dylan g. has grand ideas of who his outies might be on the surface, and sure, maybe they’re largely just his own way of making sense of things, of carving out some kind of identity - but seeing how outie dylan is fighting to get by, i think some of those ideas are his own desire being carried through, desires to be in a better situation. this is also true in dylan g’s dedication to his work, since his outie’s need for this job transcends beyond what dylan g. knows

irving b’s dreams connect him to his outie, but also, irving b’s outie was a military man. he would have been regimented and conditioned to give his life to serve a higher cause. that’s something that goes beyond what you can physically remember, and i think it manifests in irving b. in his intense devotion to kier

memories make us who we are but memorises alone don’t have that power and that is such a terrifying, beautiful thing

[iravaid]

remade this old post of my DQIX OCs, this time taking more inspiration from Toriyama's art style

more about these thangs below :}

Crux

the Guardian of Angel Falls, generally mistaken as a minstrel before becoming an armamentalist.

Soft spoken, reserved, and uses very formal, if not at times archaic, language.

Forgets that people can see her, now, and doesn't always realise questions are being directed her way (and that people can see her staring at them).

Holds a deep love and faith in humanity: if there was no goodness in the hearts of man, then she would not exist. Hope is deeply integral to her, and Crux is often admired for her steadfastness in the face of dark times.

Due to the strict, and innate, hegemony within Celestrian 'society' (i would argue they don't functionally have one: no history, no arts, no free will outside of shepherding their flock. There is a tragedy in that they will leave no true mark when they return to the skies), Crux sees the monarchies and caste systems throughout the Protectorate as something to be deeply respected and adhered to, which causes friction with some of the mortal party members.

When attempting to escape the Goretress during the revolt, her Celestrian identity is revealed. Crux is apprehended by Barbarus and Hootingham-gore before she can get away, and she's locked down in the Oubliette. It takes months before her friends are able to reunite and save her, as well as liberating the prisoners of the Goretress.

Her Celestrian identity is revealed in Wormwood, much to the confusion of her party members. Acceptance comes eventually, although there is no small amount of crises of faith when they enter the realm of the Almighty and learn their god tried to destroy their entire species.

Of all the party members, Crux is the one to recruit and consistently see past Tomas' hostile exterior. She witnessed him tending to a dying child in Coffinwell, praying and holding her hand as her strength slowly dwindled, and was touched by the priest's quiet dedication.

Thrae

A Stornish blacksmith's daughter who feels dissatisfied with living a mundane life, seeking out adventure after helping to resolve the Wight Knight issue.

Rash, powerful, and no-nonsense. She's generally the one to end any arguments, even ones she's not a part of. Sees no point in lingering on grudges, often to the detriment of real progress.

Completely incapable of magic (a blacksmith's daughter: iron in her bloodline), which becomes a source of deeper insecurity as she travels the world and watches her friends become more powerful in ways she can never achieve. Overcompensates by being increasingly reckless in her melee.

Injured attempting to find Crux after she's captured by the Gittish Empire, ending up stranded on the Pluvi Isle chain with Unscrupulous Maximus, who is in self-imposed exile. This leaves Thrae with chronic pain, reduced mobility, and fatigue issues for the rest of her life, something she must learn to live with, however difficult. Finding her place as a protector and also someone who needs protecting in turn helps her to learn the ways of a gladiator.

Her rashness and impulsiveness eventually becomes tempered, Thrae becoming a more tactical and independent thinker. Where once she'd been content to follow Crux's orders and not worry too much about it, Thrae now sees the importance of measured actions and being critical of people in positions of power.

As the oldest of three siblings, is very good with kids. After travelling with the party, Thrae finds herself teaching others about the gladiator vocation, as well as filling in as a part-time axe instructor at Swinedimples.

Zanni

Only child of two wealthy Gleeban merchants, and magic prodigy grown bored of his studies in Swinedimples: Zanni set out into the Protectorate to find adventure and challenge.

Incredibly intelligent, prideful, arrogant, and a deeply creative young man. Zanni is the youngest member of the party but experiences the most inner change through the events of the story.

When trying to find Crux after the events in Upover, Zanni finds himself apprehended by Hootingham-gore, who has had an interest in Gleeban magi for a very long time. Zanni manages to slip away but remains trapped in the rotting palace due to the barriers put in place. Here, he uncovers hidden histories about Gleeba and the Gittish Empire.

Upon discovering the Supreme Sage, a high-ranking Gleeban Sage who had been apprehended by the Gittish Empire during an invasion on the Khalaag Coast. The two monarchies used to be allies, Gleeba providing sages as advisors and diplomats to the Gittish. But, in an unnamed tragedy on the Khalaag coast, many sages of Gleeba were captured and used in experiments that would eventually result in the Gittish's mastery of necromancy and the machines used to harvest Celestrian energy.

With no one but the sage in the pages for company in a horrific, hostile place, Zanni asks to learn how to become one himself. The Sage, who had grown fond of the witty young man, mentions that while 'dark' magic is not inherently evil, simply a natural opposite to healing, it has a cost associated to it that seems scary to those outside the circles. Zanni trades his left eye to gain the knowledge of 'dark' magic, and Sage gives up his remaining strength to create a rune staff, as a final gift. Zanni, with new abilities, is alone. But now he knows how to sever the barriers keeping him trapped in the palace.

Learning of the tragedy in Gleeba, as well as his own personal struggles, Zanni matures into someone wiser, more mature. He still has his sense of humour, but his boyish charm has been replaced with a sense of quiet sadness. He is the only sage, now, and Zanni now recognises the importance of that. For the first time in his life, he feels intimidated by the thought of failure.

Tomas

The beleagured team healer, once a thief from Dourbridge, Tomas found a new calling at Alltrades Abbey as a priest.

Pessimistic, sardonic, and incredibly fed up with everything and everyone, Tomas is often at odds with the other party members. He finds Zanni to be an annoying, arrogant rich boy with too much power on his hands, Thrae a thoughtless brute who would rather someone else think for her, and holds a deep suspicion of Crux, whose kindness he struggles to believe has no ulterior motive. But Tomas gradually warms up to these people, seeing their strengths and accepting (while sometimes challenging) some their faults. His loyalty and trust are hard won, but when gained is as unwavering as he is in battle.

Is the descendant of a brutal Gittish commander who was cursed by a dying sage. As a result, Tomas sees the ghosts of people killed by the Gittish Empire's conquest (he isn't aware of the last part, simply believing he can see any ghost at all).

Met the party in Coffinwell, where he and a small detachment of priests were sent to try and help combat the plague, to very little success. Tomas had been exhausted and grieving the people he 'failed' when the party rucked up and swept him away on a strange adventure into the old Quarantomb.

Once connected to the thieves' guild in Dourbridge, which causes important developments as the shanty town comes into conflict with industrial behemoth that is Bloomingdale, due to Marion's kidnapping leading to people seeking retribution by targeting the former.

Stays in Upover to fend off the encroaching Gittish invasion, after Greygnarl's death. This causes conflict with Thrae and Zanni, who wish to seek out Crux and save her. Tomas, feeling partly responsible for Upover's beseigement, refuses to leave the people, leading Thrae to call him a coward. The battles to fend off the necrotic monsters are long and brutal, and Tomas does not have his friends to help.

Initially a caustic individual, Tomas' temper cools and he finds a sense of peace and worth in becoming a paladin. He learns how to find faith in the common man, after a crisis of faith in the Realm of the Almighty. Tomas has always had the capacity for kindness, but finds it easier to express as the journey continues.

He encounters the ghost of Brunhilde, a Herman paladin who fell in battle in Upover, during the first Gittish invasions many decades ago. She and Bombax teach him the ways of the paladin, Tomas and the residents of Upover willing to try and fight managing to push back the Gittish until they retreat. He then sets out to find his party, resulting in the three of them uniting at the Goretress and accidentally holding separate, simultaneous break-ins.

[madaqueue]

eternally, yours

chapter 7 | servitude

synopsis: 'forever' is a peculiar concept - how can something persist, unchanged, throughout time? when our bodies halt their aging, do our minds continue to evolve? do our hearts? choso was comfortable with his version of forever, one of solitary loneliness; that is, until he meets you. forced to confront the harsh realities of being human, the fragility of life, his definition of 'forever' changes as he stares down the barrel of eternity.

pairing: vampire!choso kamo x f!reader

themes/content: non-curse modern au. fluff, angst, smut. language, mentions of death/loss, mentions of blood, oral (f receiving). 18+, MDNI

word count: 6.3k

a/n: sorry this took me AGES lmao been in a real gojo brainrot moment the past few weeks but i hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me xoxo

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

Choso is a patient man. Part of it is innate, sure, but more than that, his patience was carefully crafted, curated through experience. He was made into the man he is today, a good man. But even good men get pushed to their limits.

Which is why he has moments where it takes everything in him not to scream; he wants to grab anyone who dares to walk past him by the shoulders, nails digging into their skin, and force them to listen. He wants to create a captive audience, any outlet for the unfamiliar feelings constantly bubbling over inside of him, a volcano threatening to erupt. It’s too hot, too violent.

Sometimes, he thinks there must be something other than blood coursing through your veins - something mysterious, something addicting. That’s why he can’t stop thinking about you, that’s why his heart pounds and hands shake when he’s with you.

Since the day he met you, you have slowly overtaken his soul, his thoughts, his very being, watering the garden of his life until it’s overgrown. He would profess his love to every person who could hear it, a proclamation of his undying dedication. Every moment without you he feels empty, as though a piece of his soul is missing, only completed when your warmth bleeds into his.

And you, you don’t seem to notice; or, at least you don’t mind if you do. It’s peaceful, to blend into another person like this, to let him see you and be seen by you. Of course there are hurdles, but he easily lifts you over them without a second thought, letting you run forward into the future together.

One recurring challenge you’ve come to note is his diet. As winter settles, the two of you become increasingly creative to work around the less tasteful components of vampirism, the primary one haunting the back of your thoughts: blood. He’s always careful to avoid letting you see him feed, rinsing any remaining crimson from his teeth before rejoining your company. Outings to restaurants become increasingly exhausting, growing tired of explaining to strangers that he just “isn’t hungry.” Instead, you opt to stay inside under the comfort of your home, simply content in each other’s company. It’s easier here, there are fewer risks, it’s safer, both for you and him.

Which is why it comes as a surprise when Choso arrives at your apartment one morning after his overnight hospital shift, letting himself in with the key you had given him a few weeks ago out of ease due to his disruptive work schedule, grinning ear to ear. “I have an idea,” he whispers as he climbs under the covers of your bed, careful to not jostle you as you rouse yourself from sleep.

“Oh?” you murmur, tiredness still clouding your vision as you rub your eyes.

“It’s a surprise,” he smiles, “but whenever you’re awake enough, get yourself ready, and wear something cute.” Nuzzling into you, he wraps his arms around your waist, heat radiating off your body. “Oh, and warm,” he remembers before pulling himself away. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he hums, pressing a gentle kiss to your head, “love you.”

“Love you,” you hum as your eyes flutter closed, the depths of sleep pulling you back. The bed shifts as Choso removes himself from it, rustling echoing through your apartment before you hear your front door close again as he leaves.

You’re awoken again a few hours later to the sweet scent of coffee hitting your nose, Choso’s deep voice humming some song you don’t quite recognize from the kitchen. As the sheets rustle beneath your movements, he suddenly appears at your side, a sweet grin plastered across his face. “G’morning,” he whispers, gently kissing your forehead. Your skin is warm under his lips, his cool fingers resting against your cheeks still flushed from sleep. Setting down a mug atop your bedside table, he continues, “I got your favorite from that coffee shop down the street.”

You tiredly smile up at him, his small acts of devotion a consistent light in your life. Every chance he gets to show you how much he thinks of you he takes, your presence a constant hum in the back of his mind, every thought punctuated with you.

Slowly rising, he never leaves your side as you get ready, his arms wrapped around you while you brush your teeth, his fingers lazily combing through your hair as you style it, his lips trailing every bare inch of your skin as you get dressed.

When you finally pull on a sweater and skirt, fuzzy socks lining your calves, he feels his heart flutter in his chest. Absolute, utter perfection. There’s a softness to you, a tenderness that resides within your body. It contrasts his sharpness, the harsh edges he’s been forced to develop; every moment with you he feels them wearing away, dulling into a gentleness he’s never known. Yet, one he has grown to crave.

Walking hand-in-hand through the snow-covered city, his grand surprise is revealed as he leads you to a small lake hidden behind brick facades of unfamiliar buildings. The snow crunches beneath your feet as you continue down the thin gravel path until you’re met with a freshly-shoveled bench along the outskirts of the pond. Setting the gym bag that had been slung over his shoulder onto the ground, he gestures for you to sit. Complying, he unzips one of the side compartments, revealing a crisp, white pair of ice skates.

“May I?” he asks with a hesitant smile, placing the skates onto the ground. A grin tugs at your lips as you nod, a blush forming across your cheeks. He planned this? When did he have the time to find this place, to prepare all of this? Removing your boots he replaces them with the ice skates, meticulously tying them snugly up to your ankles.

Kneeling on the ground he pulls out another pair, black and much less pristine, as he settles next to you on the bench. Lacing up his own skates, he rises, holding his hand out to you. As your fingers intertwine with his, the coolness of his skin sends a shiver through your spine.

“Oh,” he hums as his gaze covers your body, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he rummages through them. When he pulls them out, they hold something unfamiliar: small black and orange packets rest in each palm. Closing his hands into fists he shakes them before rejoining his fingers with yours. Heat pricks at your skin where your palms rest against his, your fingers interlaced between the mysterious objects as understanding suddenly clicks.

“Hand-warmers?” you ask, tightening your grip around them as warmth courses through your body.

Choso nods. “I saw them at the store and figured I’d pick some up.” Joy exudes from him as a lopsided grin plays across his face. “And now we can hold hands without me getting you cold.”

He seems almost giddy as you rise from the bench, guiding you to the frozen lake. You’re too lost in the simple happiness of the moment to recall your utter lack of experience with ice skating, until the ground suddenly falls from under you as your skates slide against the ice, landing you flat on your ass.

As the shock settles, both you and Choso erupt into a fit of laughter. The frozen ground is cold under your skirt, forcing you to attempt to stand before slipping and falling forward onto your knees.

“Okay, okay, I got you,” Choso chuckles, extending his arms for you to grab. Pulling yourself up, you manage to stabilize yourself enough to temporarily balance. Wrapping his arms tightly around you, he holds you in place.

“Don’t laugh,” you dramatically pout, “I’ve never done this before!”

“That’s why I’m gonna teach you,” he smiles, pulling you closer into him. “Just trust me, okay? I’ve got you.”

The next few hours are spent with your hands tightly gripped around his arms as he coaxes you across the ice. Eventually you learn how to stand on your own without slipping and can even manage a few glides forward. The sun begins to hang low in the sky as evening settles, casting a warm glow over the small lake.

“Okay, you ready?” Choso prompts, skating backwards slightly and holding his arms out.

You nod, determined, as you lock your gaze ahead. Pushing off on one foot, the blade carves through the ice - your ankle wavers, but just in time you place your other skate down, catching yourself. Another push, and you land in Choso’s waiting embrace through an excited cheer.

“I did it, I did it!” you exclaim through giggles, throwing your arms into the air. He effortlessly lifts you up, twirling you around on the ice.

“I’m so proud of you,” he exhales through a grin, still holding you above him.

Gingerly setting you down, his heart feels full as the setting sun reflects golden hues off your face. Pulling you into him, his lips crash into yours, a familiar hunger behind his motions as lust overtakes him. Before you realize it, the cool brick of one of the surrounding buildings hits your back as his hands roam your body.

“I’m so proud of you, you’re so talented, so strong,” he murmurs praises against your skin as his lips trail down your neck. Searing kisses light his path as he moves, covering every exposed inch of you in his love.

Warmth begins to spread inside you as his fingertips slowly make their way up your thighs, his palms groping at the soft flesh of your ass. He easily hoists you into the air, your legs wrapping around him as he pushes you further up the wall behind you. Struggling to balance yourself, your hands land on his shoulders as he adjusts lower and lower until he’s settled in between your legs, calves dangling in the air as you carefully position the blades away from his back.

Wet kisses tingle up your inner thighs as he draws closer and closer to where you need him, but hesitation overtakes you as you struggle to keep your skates from piercing him. Sensing your apprehension, the hand against your calf pushes you against him as he murmurs into you, “It’s okay, you won’t hurt me.”

Recollection floods your thoughts: oh, right - the inhumane strength, impenetrable flesh. Tentatively, you lower your legs as they rest against his shoulders, allowing yourself to pull him closer.

There’s an awe behind his gaze, a gratitude to whatever gods of fate blessed him with you. Sometimes, he still can’t believe it, that you’re his, that he’s yours. As he slowly makes his way closer to your aching cunt, his eyes land on the wet patch forming against your panties: he still can’t believe you get this wet, all for him. Finally, his head ducks under your skirt, placing gentle kisses against your clothed core.

“Cho, please,” you whine, lowering your hands into his hair to tug him into you.

And that’s all he needs to hear. Hot breath hits your cunt as he exhales contentedly, willingly acquiescing to your shared desires. With one hand he pulls your soaked panties aside, easily supporting you with one arm. You mewl as he licks a slow stripe up your slick folds, the cool air biting against the heat of your skin.

“So perfect,” he breathes into you, “s’soft, s’pretty.” Everything about you seems crafted by the heavens, perfectly melded, all for him. He’s lost in you, in your thoughts, in your body. It intoxicates him as he allows himself to fade into the quiet hum of your soul.

A soft giggle escapes your throat at his lust-drunk praises, the sound transforming into a moan as his lips attach to your clit. Reflexively, your heels dig into his back, serrated skates piercing his clothes. Choso groans at the slight pain lighting a fire beneath his skin.

Two opposing senses, the hot and cold, soft and sharp, overwhelm his body in a blissful haze. As your grip in his dark hair tightens, the stinging air burning his lungs, he finds respite in the oxygen-deprived space between your thighs.

Nothing had ever, and could ever, truly harm him. Blades can’t scratch the surface of his skin, but as they dig through the denim of his jacket, they attack like cold pinpricks of rain. And it feels so, so fucking good - refreshing, almost. A part of his desire claws its way out, begging you to hurt him, begging you to try.

Shared moans fill the air as your back arches off the brick wall behind you, grinding your hips against his tongue as he flicks over your sensitive folds. Gliding his tongue into your aching entrance you gasp, cold air filling your senses against the burning fire of lust within you.

He babbles incoherently into you, muffled proclamations of his love etching into your core. Heat begins to fill your body, your cheeks flushing, chest warming as tension builds in your abdomen.

“C’mon, pretty,” Choso murmurs into you, a quiet plea. “Let go, lemme feel ya.”

Picking up his pace, his tongue relentlessly circles your clit, alternating between needy suction and patient motions of the wet muscle against you. Despite the flurries of snow beginning to fall and swirl around you, all you can feel is hot.

Grabbing into his hair, your skates dig into his shoulders as you come undone. Through whines of pleasure, he greedily laps at every ounce of your essence, his hot breath fanning across your skin. So fucking good.

After a moment, both of his hands return to your hips, adjusting your weight to gently lower you to the ground. Legs shaking beneath you, your arms instinctively reach over his shoulders as he holds you up, a smug grin on his face overcompensating for his blown-out pupils and flushed cheeks. As he leans in to kiss you, the taste of you still lingering on his lips, warm air fills the space between you.

“I’m so proud of you,” he hums into you through a grin.

As the haze of your ecstasy finally begins to clear, you muster your strength to respond. “For the ice skating?”

“Amongst other things,” he smirks, pressing his lips against yours once again.

Admiration swells in his heart as you walk home, fingers intertwined over the heat of his newly-purchased hand warmers. Everyday you surprise him with your dedication, your talent; yet, you remain unendingly humble. He’s never seen you brag, never boasted about your immeasurable smarts, kindness, or strength. So of course, he takes it upon himself to do it for you, singing your praises at every opportunity.

Just as you’ve changed him - allowing him to soften, to find comfort and love in his life - he’s begun to change you. Hearing his compliments, receiving his veneration, you almost start to believe him, believe that maybe there is something special about you. To date, your life has been filled with service to others, prioritizing caring for your family, but maybe you hold your own unique worth, too. Until you truly feel it, understand your place in the world - in his world - Choso will tell you, every single day, until the end of time. If only you could see yourself how he sees you.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

Choso was never bothered by the cold. He felt a certain peace in the stillness of snowfall, allowing his thoughts to wander, as though the world was truly quiet for a moment. Maybe now, in its silence, the universe would have to listen to him, a captive audience to his prayers.

Watching the blanket of white cover the landscape from your apartment balcony, he suddenly feels the heaviness of an avalanche, nearly suffocating. The bright warmth of the sun is buried under it, the flowers of summer long gone, the trees having shed their final leaves, a now barren wasteland. Yet, they don’t seem to mind; instead, they allow the cold air to become a part of them, to change them. It’s not the sun’s fault it couldn’t protect them indefinitely, nor was it a responsibility. But does the sun not wonder if it should have done more to keep life safe?

Warm puffs of steam leave his parted lips as he exhales, a fleeting glimmer of proof that he is here, that he is alive. Yet, as snowflakes land on his open palm, they pause before melting, a hesitation in the forces of nature. Blood courses through his veins, his cells grow and die, but is that enough? Where does the burden of proof lie when deciding what is human?

Where is the boundary between human and humanity?

It’s in devotion.

Dedication.

Servitude.

He is human because he serves, he protects. Since he was born he swore himself to save those who could not save themselves, to shield them from harm.

In the silence of the night, the gusts of wind howling against his ears, he nearly mistakes the sound for screams. Kechizu. Eso. Flames burn under his skin, surrounding him, his lungs closing, filling with smoke.

No.

Tightening his grip on the railing, the cold metal scalds his palms, veins pulsing against his arms.

He failed to save them.

He wasn’t strong enough.

But now, he will do anything, everything, to ensure that it doesn’t happen again. He will never, ever, fail to save those he loves.

“Choso?”

Your voice cuts through the air, it’s softness cradling him. The momentary tensing of his muscles is immediately soothed as he registers your presence, turning to face you. Under the gentle illumination of the moonlight as it reflects off the freshly fallen snow, you look picturesque. Sleep hides behind your eyes, the slight mess of your hair haloed around your face, as your hands grip onto the blanket shrouding your shoulders. Slowly padding across the balcony, a gentle crunch punctuating the steps beneath your slippers, you find your place next to him, resting your head against his body. His arms instinctively wrap around you, pulling you into his warmth.

The pale skin of his bare arms seems to glow softly against the darkness of the night sky. “Aren’t you cold?” you murmur into him, instinctively wrapping the blanket around his torso. As soon as your hands make contact with his cool skin, you hear him lightly chuckle above you.

“I don’t exactly get cold,” he smiles, “but I appreciate the gesture.” Placing a gentle kiss to your head, he allows a silence to fall between you, praying you don’t ask him what he’s doing. He wants to protect you - needs to protect you - and if he tells you the truth, it would only do more damage. He can’t hurt you; you don’t deserve to be held under the weight of his fears.

“Why are you out here so late?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates for a moment as he formulates an answer, navigating his thoughts to avoid unnecessarily worrying you. “Sometimes I like to come out here and think,” he responds truthfully.

“Think about what?”

Concern laces your tone, interwoven with your love for him. Was he okay? Was something wrong? You’ve caught him out here before, shrouded in the comfort of the night. Sometimes you’d be awoken to the porch door latching, despite Choso’s best efforts to close it softly, or sometimes you’d catch his shadow moving across the curtains lining the window. You never pressed him on it, waiting for him to feel comfortable enough to tell you, but you couldn’t help but worry when he’s been coming out here more and more, seeming more and more detached.

You noticed it the first time when you were out with Yuji and Megumi, the two boys running through nearby snowbanks while you and Choso rested on a covered bench. Choso sat next to you, hands folded in his lap, as he watched them. Yet, when your eyes caught his, something seemed off. He was far away, somewhere deep in the tortuous maze of his thoughts. Gently reaching out your palm, you rested it on his thigh, slowly rubbing circles into his skin. It took a moment, maybe two, before he seemed to register your movements, his attention flickering as he returned to reality with a soft smile.

You wanted to ask, but you knew better than to push him. After the tears he shed, the pain he felt, the last time he talked about his past, you were hesitant to force him to relive it anymore than he already does. Yet, in the back of your mind, you wonder: where do you go, Choso?

A weak sigh escapes his lips, warm breath circling in the freezing air pulling you back to the present. “I think about my family,” he finally murmurs. He pauses, gaze far away as he looks into the darkness ahead. “I think about how I failed them.”

Your chest feels like it’s cracked open, your heart bleeding at his words. Your soul aches for him; you wish you could take his pain away, carry his grief for even just a moment. You’ve heard the words of his history, seen the outlines of his past, but it suddenly hits you that he truly lived it.

A familiar sadness forms between your ribs, the dull ache of regret. Before you can think, you speak. “Sometimes, I look at Megumi and I get this pang, right in my stomach. It feels like I just got punched, like I can’t breathe. For a long time I don’t think I really knew what it was, but now I think I know. It’s guilt.” You don’t know where the words come from, pulled from the depths of your mind, but as you say them, there’s a weight behind them, a truth.

Taking in a steadying breath, you continue. “I feel like I’m not doing enough for him, like all I do is let him down over and over and over again. The worst part is that he doesn’t seem to notice, because he loves me anyways, he’ll love me no matter what.” A dark chuckle bubbles from your lips. “I’m pretty sure I could literally punch him in the face and he’d still be smiling, still hug me afterwards and apologize for making me hurt him.”

Tilting up, your gaze meets Choso’s, his eyes glassy beneath the tears that have begun silently covering them. Your voice threatens to shake as you speak, suddenly overcome with the shared connection, your emotions melding with his. “His love has cursed him. It blinds him to the cruelty in the world, to the people who would hurt him. But then I get stuck thinking ‘who would I be if I wanted him to see that?’ I don’t know, it’s like, I want him to be able to protect himself, but does that mean I failed at doing so in the first place?”

Choso smiles weakly, a tired understanding behind it. “I get that sometimes with Yuji. I know it’s not the same, but I can’t help but feel like he’ll never have a normal life just because of the circumstances he was dealt. It’s not his fault, he didn’t ask for this, to be raised by Sukuna and me. And sure, he seems okay with it now, but what about when he’s older, when he learns his place in the world? If he was given the chance, would he choose the same life again?”

A soft grin graces your lips as you breathe in, cold air burning your lungs. “I can’t say for certain, but it sounds like he has a life with two people who love him, almost too much. If I were him, I’d choose that every single time.”

Finally, the warmth returns to his eyes, his body relaxing into you as his lips meet yours. Your eyelashes flutter closed, stray snowflakes landing on them as you softly kiss him. It’s slow, a patience to his motions as his tongue swipes against yours, hot breath filling the space between you.

When you finally pull away, you’re both glowing under the fading moonlight.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you too,” he smiles, one that finally reaches his eyes.

“But can we go back inside now? I’m freezing,” you giggle as shivers begin to rack your body, the cold reaching its fingers into your bones.

Without another word, he wraps his arms tightly around your torso, picking you up as you mold yourself around him. Resting your head on his shoulder, he carries you inside. Settling under the blankets covering your bed, you finally begin to warm up as Choso intertwines himself with you, his fingertips rubbing small circles into your lower back.

Yuji is so lucky to have him, you think. It feels impossible that Choso would think, for even a moment, that he was letting Yuji down - every moment they spend together you see the pure adoration Choso feels for him, the sense that he would give anything to see his brother happy.

A sudden thought pops into your mind as it begins to cloud with sleep.

“Can I meet him?” you murmur, eyes remaining closed as you speak into the darkness. “Sukuna?”

Choso is grateful you couldn’t see him react, a momentary fear flashing across his face. He hopes his hesitation wasn’t noticeable as he blurts out an answer. “Of course,” he states, silently pleading you don’t hear the way his voice wavers.

In response you simply release a pleased hum, nuzzling your head into his chest. His grip tightens around you, as if it could keep you here with him forever, frozen in this moment.

He knows you’re strong; all he can do now is hope it’s enough.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

“Come in,” a gruff voice calls from behind the door before Choso swings it open.

The warm smell of cinnamon and spices fills your senses as you step inside, eyes scanning the surroundings. Sukuna’s home is clean, grey and white tiles lining the open kitchen, simple yet sophisticated art hanging around the walls. High-pitched screams echo through the halls as Megumi and Yuji careen towards you. Your brother’s arms wrap around you in a tight hug as the boys babble about the movie they had watched earlier in the day, something about worms? Their chatter blurs into the background as a man steps out from the same hallway, leaning against the off-white walls.

He’s tall, probably around Choso’s height, but something about him, the way he carries himself, feels almost ancient, especially in contrast to the grey t-shirt and black sweatpants currently adorning his body. Striking tattoos line the contours of his face, their path continuing across his arms and presumably down his chest from what you can see beneath the collar of his shirt. Pink hair, an uncanny match to Yuji’s, seems to glow against the warm light of the living room. When his gaze meets yours, a chill runs down your spine as red irises bore into you.

“Hey,” he mutters, his voice rougher than Choso’s, the absence of any softness in it. “I’m Sukuna. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” you wave, clinging to the shreds of your strength that seemed to disintegrate the moment his crimson eyes met yours.

Choso’s arms instinctively wrap around your shoulders, pulling you close to him, his presence steadying. “Did they eat already?” he asks, gesturing to the boys who had run off and currently bounce on the couch cushions, pillows being tossed back and forth over giddy squeals.

“No, I was just about to feed ‘em,” Sukuna trails off, marching into the kitchen. Pulling open the fridge, he tilts his head back, turning his attention to your still-frozen frame in the doorway. “You can eat, too. Hope you like sushi.”

“I-I do,” you stammer, finally taking a full step inside, cheeks flushing in embarrassment at your inability to muster a full sentence. “Thanks.”

Sukuna just hums in acknowledgement, pulling out a tray of delicately hand-crafted rolls from the refrigerator.

As he moves across his home, the silence weighs on you, amplifying your nervousness. “So, um, Sukuna, what do you do?”

Without turning to you, he huffs a curt response. “History professor.” Before you can say anything else, his loud voice crackles through the space. “Food!” he calls into his home, summoning the boys to the dining room table. Placing three plates down, the white ceramic contrasting against the dark wood, he allows you and the boys to feast.

Hesitantly grabbing the nearest roll, you pop a piece into your mouth. “Oh my god,” you mutter through a full bite of food, “this is incredible.”

Sukuna simply grunts before Choso fills in the conversation. “Sukuna is an amazing cook, he’s actually the one who taught me,” he muses.

Your eyes widen slightly in surprise: the idea of the man in front of you, his gruff demeanor, his stoic strength, standing in the kitchen patiently chopping vegetables almost makes you giggle. “I wouldn’t have guessed that,” you manage to get out through a stifled smile before shoving another bite into your mouth.

“What, you don’t think I’m talented enough?” Sukuna asks, his tone serious.

You nearly choke on your food as the implication of your words processes in your mind. “N-no, not that, I just-”

Suddenly his boisterous laugh fills the space, something in it deeply haunting. “Oh, you humans are so fun to tease,” he practically giggles. Choso reaches out to smack his arm, his gaze darting to the two boys sitting across from you, as if to silently say shut up. “It’s fine, the brats aren’t even listening,” Sukuna continues, gasping in air through his nose to quiet his laughter. 

As if on cue, Megumi and Yuji shove the last remaining pieces of sushi into their mouths before pushing their chairs away from the table. “All done!” they proclaim, cheeks puffed out and full of rice before they run back to the living room.

Sukuna quirks an eyebrow at Choso, as if to taunt him. “See?” he smirks.

Choso just rolls his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “Whatever,” he mutters under his breath.

Leaning onto his elbows, Sukuna’s maroon-tinted eyes land on your face, making your blood run cold. A fire seems to rage behind his gaze, an aura of control exuding off his body. As his mouth curls into a smile, sharpened canines poke into his lower lip. “So,” he begins, “how did a little human like you manage to get tangled up with him?”

“Um, well,” you stutter, struggling to form coherent thoughts under the pressure of his watchful eyes, his presence overwhelming you, “he helped Megumi when I had to bring him to the hospital.”

“Oh, I see,” Sukuna muses through a devilish grin. “You fell for the saviour complex then, right, sweetheart?”

“Don’t call her that,” Choso grumbles, shooting daggers at the man across from you.

“Fine, fine, no need for the theatrics, Kamo,” he giggles in response, an unseriousness underlying his very essence. Before he can continue, childlike screams echo through the room as Yuji and Megumi burst in, chasing each other in some complex game of tag. “Will you brats shut up already?” Sukuna growls, grabbing a nearby pillow from the couch before hurling it at the boys.

“Ha, you missed, old man!” Yuji taunts before running out of the room, Megumi following closely behind.

Sukuna rolls his eyes, but you can’t help but notice the genuine smile flash across his features before they darken again, returning his attention to you. “Anyways, I have to ask - what will you do when it comes time to die?”

“Sukuna,” Choso chokes out a stifled yell, agitation brewing under his skin.

“What?” he feigns. “I can’t be the first to ask - after all, I’m sure you understand the implications of our lifestyle, the immortality it entails.”

Heat fills your body as your hands begin to shake, nervousness drowning out your thoughts. “I, um, I hadn’t really thought about it,” is all you can get out before your eyes start to sting. You truthfully hadn’t given it much thought beyond the nagging questions lingering in your mind, ones you worked hard to shove down. You tried to reason them as irrational, yet here you were, being confronted with them head on.

“That’s enough,” Choso growls, the sound of his chair sliding against the wood floor filling the silence as he stands. Reaching out an arm, he takes your hand in his as he pulls you to your feet. “Thanks for dinner, let me know when you need me to watch Yuji again.”

“Aw, leaving so soon?” Sukuna taunts, yet he makes no motion to stop him as Choso drags you to the front door. “It really was nice to meet you, little human!” he calls after you. As the door slams shut behind you, you swear you hear his giggle echoing through the empty halls.

The drive home is…uncomfortable, to say the least. Choso’s hand never leaves yours as he drives in silence, eyes fixed on the road ahead. Rage bubbles inside him, threatening to overflow at any moment. When a car suddenly cuts him off, he lays on the horn, profanities muttered under his breath.

You had never, ever, seen him this angry - annoyed at work, sure, even a little grumpy when you beat him at whatever video game you picked out - but never like this. He was absolutely seething, his entire body practically vibrating with wrath.

“Choso?” you whisper into the silence - you had been sitting outside your apartment for a few minutes, yet he had not made any move to get out of the car, his eyes screwed shut as he rests his head against the steering wheel.

Exhaling a shaky breath, his eyes flutter open; any remaining shreds of resentment seem to fade away as he looks at you, replaced with something closer to despair.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, his shoulders collapsing inwards. “I just…fucking hate him sometimes.” Squeezing his hand, you wait for him to continue. “He’s just so purposely cruel to people, it’s not fair. He shouldn’t have said that shit to you.”

Reaching your free hand over to him, you slowly rub your palm up his back, a small comfort against the raging storm inside him.

“I’m sorry for bringing you there. I know how he gets, and I shouldn’t have let you anywhere near him.”

Your motions falter for a moment as you trail your hand over to his jaw, forcing him to face you. “I asked to meet him, remember? If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

Sadness flashes across his features at your words. “No, no, it’s not your fault at all.” He sighs, struggling to hold your gaze.

“Choso?” Somber eyes meet yours as you take in an uneven breath, the questions from earlier in the night swirling through your thoughts. “What is going to happen when I die?”

His stomach drops, eyebrows knitting together as dread overtakes him. “I don’t know.”

Body trembling, you find the strength to verbalize the words you’ve been mulling over for months, their shape engraved in the back of your mind. “Would you…would you ever turn me? Make me a vampire, like you?”

He inhales sharply. “No.”

Pain ripples through your chest, an open wound from his verbal knife. Mouth curling downward, your eyes begin to sting. “Oh.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “I just…I can’t.”

“Cho, I know you want to protect me, but-”

“No.” The intensity of his voice takes you aback at first, the finality of it. There’s a silent detestation behind it, an unspoken resentment. Resting in his lap, his palms ball into fists.

“But…why?”

Before the question can land, he’s already speaking. “I have a grave.”

The wind is sucked out of the car, suddenly too quiet, too tense, a vacuum of your thoughts. “What?”

“I don’t visit it, I barely did even before we moved here. But I have a grave, a tombstone, the whole deal.” Silence once again falls, this time painfully so. Any bite left in his words is now gone, replaced with something akin to agony. “They didn’t find my body after the fire, obviously, so they buried an empty casket next to my family.”

“Oh.” It’s the only sound you can get out, barely a word, more of a sigh.

“I just…I always know it’s there, an empty tomb of the life I used to have. I can’t dig it up, I sure as hell can’t go back to it, I can’t reclaim it. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

Your voice is stolen from you, shaking your head as his glassy eyes meet yours.

“It’s like the universe’s cruel joke, like it’s waiting for me to die, begging me to rot in that hole, but I can’t. I physically can’t.”

A wave of sorrow hits you, knocking the wind from your lungs. To you, immortality always felt like a blessing, a way to ensure your survival long enough to protect the safety of those you love. It was never feared, always sought after, but now his suffering digs at your soul, tearing cracks through your ideals. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “You deserve to rest.”

Finally breaking his gaze from yours, it turns to his hands, consciously unclenching his fists. Silently, he vows to protect you, but never to change you. When he finally inhales to speak, his voice comes out low, taught against the strings of his pain. He wants - no, he needs - you to understand: you can never be like this, like him; death would be a more merciful end. Lifting his eyes, they meet yours as crystal-clear tears pool along his lash line. “Eternity isn’t always a gift.”

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[atopvisenyashill]

i was thinking more about characters Performing Gender, but not necessarily Transgressing Gender. I wound up focusing on Ned and Sansa bc I feel like I understand them the most but-

Sansa as a hostage is imo the most obvious (bc it’s so well done) moment of someone clearly Performing Gender but not being transgressive in that performance. Which isn’t to say it’s not a complicated performance; it’s a fine line Sansa walks between weaponizing her gender to protect herself without seeming too fake. She’s trying to placate the Lannisters by playing the perfect, dedicated, air headed betrothed because it’s the only defense she has - if she outwardly rebels, she will be punished in a likely violent and/or sexual way (which isn’t even conjecture - when she says “or maybe he’ll give me yours” Joffrey has her struck with an armored hand). She’s not quite successful in being convincing but that’s because it’s a rather extreme situation; despite no one believing her, she does make herself seem meek and stupid enough that no one suspects she’s plotting to escape with Dontos until she’s well away from KL. The fact that she even has Dontos to confide in is because of Sansa’s relationship with gender! When she saves him, she covers her rebellious slip by playing up Joffrey’s intelligence & his role as King; she reaches for “tools” of her gender AND of ~proper manhood~ to save a life and herself from another beating. Her retreats into the godswood and silence are very much Sansa attempting to recharge from these draining interactions, the same way a knight would need to stop and eat and rest after a fight. She is fighting, constantly, by forcing herself to stay within the narrow confines of a specific type of gender performance as a way of shielding herself from harm.

Ned yelling at Cat is another big one, and I’ve seen the scene referred to as Ned using his patriarchal power to scare Cat, which is a great description. It feels like a Performance because Ned is putting on this terrifying Lord Stark mask in an attempt to get Catelyn to stop asking about Jon (and Lyanna). This is not how he usually acts with those he loves! When Ned is with His People, he is welcoming of questions, curiosity, emotion, even transgressive thought (to a point! the idea that Ned is a feminist because he lets Arya learn to fight is Not accurate but you can’t deny he allows significantly more flexibility wrt gender expression than most of the fathers we meet in this series. the bar is in hell tho). Yet when Cat asks him about Jon’s mother, Ned scares her so well she stops asking & still remembers the moment bitterly over a decade later. And if that snippet we see through Bran’s eyes of Ned praying that Cat will forgive him does come after she asks (like it’s suspected), it’s clear not only that this is a performance he’s putting on & weaponizing against Cat, it’s one he does not like using as a weapon against someone he is close to. After using the power his gender gives him to cause harm, he retreats to the godswood and silence to pray and rest, much like Sansa. A spiritual cleanse, the way a soldier may pray after battle, to reset and reconnect Being A Proper Man to Being A Kind Man.

I think there’s something interesting in that two of the characters most widely defined by how well they adhere to Westerosi gender norms both dislike feeling like they had to weaponize their gender. They are exhausted by the performance, because it’s a performance. This isn’t Sansa getting excited over tourneys, or Ned teaching his sons to fight; it’s toxic masculinity, it’s structural misogyny. It’s something they’re good at, excel at, and connected to something they enjoy but when it’s paired with violence, whether done by Ned or done to Sansa, it crosses over in their minds from an innate part of themselves (The Gender) to a performance necessary due to survival (The Gender Role). And that after these performances, both retreat to nature & god as a way of resting and cleansing from the experience.

[cinnamonest]

Yandere Profile - Baizhu

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

ft. Changsheng the enabler and Qiqi the liability

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—and it won't, until it's too late.

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

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

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

And then he tells you about it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, he smiles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For the short term, at least.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

AH! Oh, I, um...

What is the matter?

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

You are at unease due to my presence?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is that? Oh, I see...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Drugging

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

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

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

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

Orgasm control

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

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

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

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

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

Instruction/Obedience

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

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

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

Exposure

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mm...? Okay...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I like having you here.

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

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

Ah, why don't you go run along—

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

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

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

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

I am so happy you're back and seem to be doing even a little bit better! We missed you!

I wanted to send a little message, so you can ignore it if it sours your mood or you don't feel like dealing with it, feel no pressure at all! It's just this blog has been a safe space and the community has been so welcoming that I figured I could vent really quick

You know when sometimes the brain just has a really shitty day, like when you draw something and it screams at you that it's trash even though there's nothing wrong with it? I've been having a rough time with it deciding to scream that comfort characters would cheat, probably as an 'You are so unlovable not even fictional characters would be loyal' bullshit. Now, logically, I know this makes -67 sense. But, I was wondering if you could just reassure that like, Sanji, Mihawk, Buggy, Shanks, Crocodile, Blablablablabla long list of One Piece characters you write for, would not cheat? I'm sorry, this sounds lame to even write out but I'm trying to get my brain to stop thinking that asking for help is 'pathetic' because it is not and it only applies that logic to me, never to anyone else.

I dunno man. Brains and bring human ate both though af.

I missed all of you as well. Really and sincerely. I have a tendency to go radio silent when I'm going through a difficult time and I hate it immensely, but hearing that I was missed to makes me all

And yes, oh gods, I know. My brain is frequently my worst enemy. Especially when I'm not writing. My anxiety starts working overtime and my creative drive becomes dedicated to coming up with problems that could potentially happen for me to worry about even more and it's an absolute bitch; or even when I am actively creating and a little voice insists that everything I make is stupid garbage.

This is still very much and always will be a safe space. It definitely is awful to feel that unworthy of love. Full disclosure, I've mentioned in passing before that I've been diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder depressive type. My main issue is auditory hallucinations that like to insist that everyone I love and care about only tolerate me out of pity and secretly would rather I not be around, which leads to me isolating myself from people. Huge part of the reason I go silent when life decides to be a bitch. I know it's just as bad feeling that way about comfort characters, if not even worse, when we're supposed to have them to help us get through that kind of bullshit.

So let me provide a little drabble for the one comfort character I’m certain wouldn’t ever allow us to continue being so silly about our worthiness of love and affection, because we’re all worthy of such a basic human need. I may do more later, but one in particular jumped at the opportunity to provide this comfort, and I fear he may counter me with his dreaded puppy-dog-eyes should I even dare attempt to wait.

Good Enough

OPLA!Sanji x AFAB!Reader

Lil drabble thingy

SFW, Hurt/Comfort

Possible TRIGGER WARNINGS for depression, insecurity, self-worth

♫♬ Moonshine ♬♫ — The Fratellis (yes I’m STILL on my Fratellis BS leave me be)

"Never knowing is the most evil feeling, when every answer here is none too appealing"

Sanji had always been a flirt. You knew that from the moment you started working on the wait staff at Baratie. Your trust issues had made it a little difficult for you to open up around the young sous chef (and occasional waiter on the frequent occasion that Zeff kicked him out of the kitchen for insubordination), but it was his outgoing nature and perseverance that had ultimately won you over. He had a way of making you feel like you were the only girl in the world when you were together, doting upon you, all but worshipping the ground you walked on.

But when he was sent out to work the dining area, it always made you nervous. His innate charm, his handsome features—he was nearly always a hit with female customers. No matter how much you told yourself that he was only doing his job, there was always a nagging feeling that maybe there was more to it than that. Watching him interact with a table of pretty young women, who by their clothing and demeanor were obviously far more affluent and sophisticated than you, left you distracted in your own work.

Seeing how they giggled at everything he said, how they fluttered their eyelashes when he brought them their drinks.

How the pretty blonde at the table leaned so close to him while he pointed to something on the menu, close enough to brush her hand across his.

You managed to spill a tray of drinks all over yourself while you were watching, leading to a scolding from the front of house manager. You saw the table of girls from the corner of your eye, giggling at your clumsiness before you were sent off to clean yourself up and change your uniform.

No matter how much you told yourself you were being silly, there was nothing you could do to shake it. The doubts, the thoughts of how easily he could find someone better than you. You had your jaw clenched the entire time you were changing your shirt in the staff restroom, tossing the soiled one aside as you leaned against the sink in front of the mirror and forced yourself to take slow, level breaths.

You were still on the clock. You couldn’t break down. You had to get changed, had to get back to work, had to pretend everything was fine, if he found out you were being so stupid about this then he would definitely drop you like a bad habit, you had to compose yourself or—

Knock knock.

Your eyes darted to the bathroom door, your breath catching in your throat at the sound of the light knock.

“J—just a minute,” you forced out, flinching at the sound of your own voice breaking a little.

Stupid, you’re being stupid, stop it stop it stop it—

A brief silence followed your answer, a silence that seemed to stretch on for miles despite lasting only a few seconds. The familiar, gentle voice that answered after a moment made your hands clench around the porcelain of the sink.

“You alright, love?” You drew in a sharp breath, swallowing, clenching your eyes shut. Of course it was Sanji. You had almost hoped that the manager had come scold you for taking too long. That would have been easier to deal with right now. Your eyes darted to the locked doorknob as it rattled a little. “I heard—”

“I’m fine,” you said immediately, the strained quality of your own words as they met your ears making your hands tighten a little more on the edge of the sink. “I—I just tripped and spilled a few drinks, I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” You gritted your teeth, laying your head back to stare up at the ceiling. Of course he wouldn’t let it go that easily. The doorknob rattled a little again, and you glanced at it as if it were a viper poised to strike out at you at any second.

Stupid, you’re being stupid, don’t—

“You sound—”

You reached out and turned the lock on the doorknob, and turned away from the door, crossing your arms over your half-buttoned shirt and stared down at your feet. After a long moment, you heard the door open behind you.

Evidently you didn’t look any less distressed than you felt. His quiet sigh met your ear as the door shut lightly and the lock turned. “Oh, love, it’s fine,” he said gently, his footfalls echoing quietly in the small bathroom, closing the short distance across the tile floor between the two of you. Your whole body tensed as he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his forehead over the crown of your hair with a quiet chuckle. “It’s only a few drinks, it could happen to anyone.”

You shook your head, your shoulders shaking a little. Stupid, it was so stupid, but the words were already leaving your mouth before you could stop them. “Oh, yeah, anyone.” You couldn’t stop. You couldn’t. He had a way of pulling all your insecurities to the surface that no one else did. You pulled your crossed arms tighter, staring down at the white floor tiles for a moment before shutting your eyes tightly, your voice shaking a little. “Especially a dumb screw-up like me—”

“Don’t do that.” His tone came out a little sharper with this, and your breath hitched audibly in your throat this time, your shoulders hunching as you clenched your eyes shut tighter, swallowing back the lump in your throat. As if to counter your stiff posture, he pulled his arms tighter around your waist, pulling you closer, his thumb rubbing lightly against your waist in a comforting manner. “Don’t, sweetheart. Please.”

The warmth of his embrace already had you relaxing a little. Your shoulders slumped, your body leaning back against him, but your eyes were still burning when you opened them to stare down at the toes of your shoes.

“Was it the manager?” he asked gently, shifting behind you to rest his chin on your shoulder. “If he was being an ass I’ll gladly kick his ass off the docks.” Your breath left your lungs in a slow, trembling sigh as you shook your head no, your gaze drifting down to his hand at your hip, still rubbing lightly against you, your lips curling into a fleeting smile at his offer. You knew you were being stupid, but… “Then what’s wrong, love?” he asked, his voice a soft, comforting murmur in your ear.

“I…” You drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes as he tilted his head so his cheek lay against your shoulder. “Y—you—“

You swallowed against the lump forming in your throat, drawing in a deep breath, trying and failing to steady the whirlwind of thoughts swirling through your mind, thoughts of how maybe this was all a lie, of how you weren’t anything more than a silly little fling to him, how you weren’t good enough, how easily you could be replaced.

You bit your lip, glancing down as his hand found yours, watching his fingers lace between your own…and the breath left you in a slow, resigned sigh.

“It’s stupid,” you said quietly.

“If it’s got you this upset, then it’s anything but stupid,” he countered, and you had to purse your lips tightly to keep them from curving into a small smile as you felt his press briefly against your cheek in a soft kiss. “And if it’s something I’ve done—”

“N—no, you haven’t—” But how quickly you shook your head, how your shoulders tensed, betrayed your worries. “I…I just…” You slowly relaxed once more as he squeezed you against him, his cheek nuzzling against your shoulder, his soft blonde hair tickling against your neck. Still unable to turn your head to meet his eyes, you bit the bullet and forced yourself to voice your worries. “You have beautiful women making goo-goo eyes at you all day,” you said, keeping your voice low in an attempt to keep it steady. “I—I don’t—I’m not—” You bit your lip, your heart racing as you clenched your eyes shut, cursing yourself internally as you felt the tickle of a tear leaving your eye to trail down one of your cheeks. “Y-you could have any girl you wanted. L—like that blonde that was hanging all over you while you were showing her the menu, or—or—”

“Oh, sweetheart…” You weren’t quite able to mask the small sob that hitched in your chest as Sanji loosened his embrace—only to gently place a hand on your hip, guiding you to turn around and face him, to pull you against his chest as you tried and failed to fight back tears. He gently shushed your quiet sobs and stammered apologies as he wrapped his arms around you fully, combing his fingers through your hair as he laid his head over yours. Your eyes remained clenched shut as you fought to control your breathing , as he pressed a tender, lingering kiss to your forehead.

Sanji lowered his head and nuzzled into your hair, holding you flush against him.

“I already have the girl I want. The perfect girl.” He pressed another tender kiss to your temple, murmuring against your skin, “I have her right here in my arms. And I hope,” he said, his tone turning a little playful as he shifted to rest his forehead against yours, “that I’ll still have her tonight after dinner shift is over.” He brushed your hair behind your ear, smiling as he tilted his head to meet your gaze, puling a small smile to your lips as your cheeks grew a little warmer. “So we can cuddle up together on the balcony…watch the stars…laugh at all the drunk idiots stumbling back to their boats…”

You could practically hear him smiling as a few soft giggles escaped you, as you finally leaned fully against him and returned his embrace, your arms wrapping around his torso as you buried your face against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, relaxing against him. “I…I’m just…”

“I know, love.” The way he called you ‘love’ all but melted your heart now that you were calmed down, pulling a faint smile to your lips. “I know. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. And if it’s any consolation, I was in the middle of telling that self-righteous blonde bimbo how my sweet, adorable, beautiful girlfriend would wring her neck if she kept putting her hands on me—“ He chuckled as you whined in protest of his praise, tugging you closer and grinning, meeting your eyes without hesitation.

He lifted his hand to your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek, the warmth of his gaze holding yours.

“I—“

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

You both jolted in alarm, your heads turning in unison toward the sound of the pounding on the bathroom door. Before you could so much as glance at each other, a gruff voice spoke up from behind the door.

“We’re in the weeds, Eggplant!” Zeff called . “Get your scrawny ass to the kitchen! And bring your damned girlfriend, we need all the help we can get.”

A long moment of silence stretched between the two of you as you both stared at the closed bathroom door, before your gazes drifted slowly toward each other.

Before you were both giggling under your breath, as you buried your forehead against his chest, a broad smile spreading across your lips as you clung to him.

“I suppose we’ve been summoned,” said Sanji, pulling back from you only enough to gaze down at you, still smiling. “Shall we, then?”

[mint-8]

Yandere Sculptor x GN! Reader

Content/Trigger warning: Mentions of stalking.

- Yandere Sculptor who has dedicated their entire life to the creation of their art. The ability to mold rock, clay, resin, plastic, and even cardboard, into beautiful figures, whether they are useful items such as intricate plates and cups, or to detailed and almost life-like copies of animals and people, or to the most abstract and confusing pieces, they can’t deny that they love their innate talent. Thanks to the support and encouragement from their parents from an early age, they have made a name for themselves in many art circles as an up-and-coming prodigy. With hundreds requesting their time and skill for commissions, from weddings, to museums and to private collections, their future was solidified in stone as one of the greatest sculptors of the decade… so why did you have to exist?

- Yandere Sculptor met you in one of their many art shows. Simple, you were intently watching one of their sculptures with a small glass full of champagne while they were talking with one of their fellow artist.

“I’m telling you, marble is way too overrated. Bronze and brass can be just as good of material as any other!”

“…”

“You’re not listening to me, are you?”

“Correct. I’ll leave for now, bye”

“At least try to be more polite about it!”

- Yandere Sculptor gets beside you and as you continue to stare at their piece. They want to talk to you so badly, but over a million possible introduction questions start fighting in their head over which one would be the most optimal until they realize that you have already left the venue and it's are about to close.

"Not so lucky today, eh?"

"..."

"Don't worry, you'll get them next time, champ. I'm sure they wouldn't mind an asshole who leaves their friend to go and try and fail miserably to flirt"

"... You're angry. I'll let you be so you calm down"

"Can't you even pretend to care?!"

- Yandere Sculptor meets you once again in another exhibition, this time with you seemingly talking with someone else. Perfect timing.

- Yandere Sculptor is determined to talk to you this time. They have prepared over 862 possible scenarios for the perfect conversation, which will definitely end with you completely enamored with them, their number in your phone and yours on theirs, and possibly preparing for marriage. Only for them to forget it all after you greet them back.

"..."

"Uhm... are you alright?"

"You're beautiful"

"Oh! Thank you, but-"

"Let's go out"

"Eh?"

- Yandere Sculptor has clearly won you over with their impeccable charisma, and you definitely didn't agree to hang out because you considered them adorably pathetic or felt bad for them. Yandere Sculptor then prepares for the date of their life with help from their friend. They meet you in the park the two of you agreed to go, on a full tuxedo, a bouquet of flowers and expensive jewelry in a cute little box.

"I think you over dressed for this"

"I didn't"

"Oh really? We are in 30-degree weather, and we were supposed to just get some ice cream and walk around the park"

"You are worthy this and everything else in the galaxy"

"... Unconventional but appreciated. Let's go to a cafe first, ok?"

- Yandere Sculptor really loves you with all their heart, but have a very bad time expressing it appropriately, or even with enough care so as to not embarass you in public.

"What's this?"

"A car"

"Yes, obviously. And why is it here?"

"You said you wanted one, so I bought it"

"... Are you an idiot?"

"Funny, my friend said the same"

- Yandere Sculptor will let you be the one with the pants in the relationship and wouldn't even dare to get in your way in whatever you wish to do. They might not get it completely, or at all really, but are very eager to spend time with you, so they will give it their all to make you smile.

- Yandere Sculptor sometimes uses their wealth and connections to protect you and make you happy fro the shadows, like getting a reservation to that show or restaurant you always wanted to go to, hire some bodyguards and detectives to make sure you are safe, bribe some cops to make sure that stalker of yours gets the death penalty, buy land so they can build the house of your dreams when you eventually get married. You know, small stuff.

- Yandere Sculptor does have a nasty side to them, of course. They might be blunt, somewhat stupid, and clueless, and they are completely head over heels for you, but they sometimes wish you would never leave their side. They wish they could keep you in their house forever, praising you and making art in your honor. They already have many sculptures of you (some with a more angelic or godly design than others), plus some portraits and photos from the many commissions they have paid to portray your beauty in new artistic angles.

- Yandere Sculptor has so many artistic representations of you that are sure to last for decades or even generations thanks to their high-quality materials. But it's not enough for them. Just like any other human, you one day will die and leave this terrenal plain of existence to transcend to a more spiritual form, but they don't want your corpse to rot and destroy the beauty that they believe is the same as that of a goddes.

- Yandere Sculptor has a lot of experience with working with resin, so it wouldn't be too difficult to make you into a perfect statue that will never age and never get hurt. It's an interesting thought, an appealing thought, but then you call them to ask if they wish to go to an art exhibition, and they immediately forget it all to get ready for the event. Who knows, perhaps they will be happy to simply be buried with you in the cemetery, but to immortalize you and them into a sculpture...

"It would be beautiful :)"

[depressnt]

If I ever wrote a Wicked dnd au (tw massive rant!)

There'd be 8 grimmeries that encompass the 8 schools of magic, written by the wise ones and enchanted with sentience, they all choose one powerful magic user who encompasses their school to be able to read it, but people only know of the Transmutative Grimmerie- the bronze one- because there's a spell that keeps it in the emerald palace and the wizard tries to brute force it to work for him, and none of the others have come out of hiding and are instead waiting for a magic user to discover them

I say magic users because they won't always necessarily pick a wizard just because Wizards are those most likely to use spellbooks. The grimmeries choose someone who will use their spells to the betterment of Oz, and sometimes they won't even pick someone who specializes in the school of magic they represent

Also, Galinda is a wizard. People pretend she's a bard, but she is 100% a wizard. I'm sorry but I don't see her being selfless or dedicated enough to be able to practice as a support class, and while that one wicked dnd au where she's a cleric is wonderful, I'm a wizard Galinda truther. She WANTS to study magic, she's BEEN studying magic her wholeeee life, she wishes it were innate but it isn't so she's gonna grab magic BY THE BALLS and bend it to her will. Whether she specializes in enchantments (charms) or illusion is something I'm still debating, probably enchantment, but I hc Conjuration comes easily to her because she knows how to make something out of nothing (through lying), and doesn't want to lie but she kind of has to do it all the time and it sucks, she wants her lies to not be fake anymore, she's an honest gall! Just sometimes honesty gets you killed real damn dead. I think the Evocation grimmerie might like her, she's selfish enough to call on the aggressive nature of its spells for her own gain, and it just so happens that "her own gain" is "making Oz the kind of place Elphaba can live safely again" (I read a two chapter 34k word gelphie hurt/comfort reunion fic, and her characterization just KILLED me, I'm never gonna stop thinking of her, I love her)

(Found the link!)

Elphaba wants to be a wizard soooo bad, but she's a wild magic sorceress <33 Unsleeping City homebrew style, where her wild magic surges build up over time like Pete's, she can't STAND it and she nearly hurt so many people whenever she surged, the transmutation grimmerie picks her both as a way to get out of the palace, and because she wants to enact Good and Solid change in Oz, and it likes that

Fiyero is a swashbuckler rogue who switches his sword out for a gun in act 2, and maybe switches subclasses to mastermind to try and help Elphaba as best he can (reference to mastermind's ability to use Help action from 30 feet away, alsp it was HIS idea to fake her death) (a revived or phantom rogue would also make perfect plot sense, but I don't see it for his character)

Nessa is a commoner until she gets the ruby slippers, which is when she realizes she needs to step up her game if she's to stay with the Charmed Circle, so she becomes a ranger, maybe a monster slayer- seeking out Elphaba to kill her with a gun (hc her father taught her to shoot when guns became a thing, because it was novel and interesting and she liked the power it gave her despite the chair) before having a change of heart

Boq is either a Barbarian or a fighter in my mind, maybe a champion fighter tbh? He'd have been Nessa's (unwilling) right hand during the dictatorship, and I'd believe she'd force him to essentially head whatever military she might have amassed, I think she'd gladly try and seceed from Oz. And also the Tin Woodman was wild with an axe in the books! (Allegedly) (still gotta read those), I think he'd find some release in physical prowess, maybe holding out hope he'd be able to fight his way out, since he was clearly too smitten to smart his way out of... pretty much any situation in his life

[canisbrutus]

you knew it was coming

Parker Ogilvie HCs 🍀

(dear god this got long)

The Basics:

he's lonely. painfully lonely.

even among his clique he always felt a bit stinted; only there because of the status they shared.

awkward in conversation and floundering 'meaningful' relations, it always seemed like people knew some innate rules of discussion he could not make sense of.

so he dulls himself, follows the herd, looks to derby.

to be authentic would either out him as a 'class traitor' or just plain crazy.

it's not worth the risk of being alone again.

Expanded Lores:

born from a somewhat lesser house in the vale, parker's parents were musicians first and foremost.

the pair had met at a concert, of sorts. his father played the violin, and his mother, the piano.

(sidenote: he can play both)

with one being scottish and the other being korean, neither were related, so cheers to parker for not being inbred.

and honestly? as far as rich parents go, they were kind of decent people, aside from being stuck up and insensitive at times.

good thing too; parker required a fair deal of patience as a child.

he wasn't sickly mind you, aside from some pet allergies; a trait he shared with his mother (they kept massive saltwater fishtanks for companionship rather than hounds like most preps) (this was not made awkward at all by parker taking up a pescatarian diet)

he was just autistic, and all the joys that came with.

context: the general mental health support in bullworth is pretty damn shit.

to get around the dubious state of special education in this town, parker was both homeschooled And privately tutored in his elementary years.

this didn't help his grasp on people skills much, but thankfully his parents didn't skimp on taking him to Social Engagements.

general dinner parties with other rich snobs with their equally snobby kids.

uncomfortable as hell for him. but there was one boy, almost equally awkward, he got along with more than most.

that kid was tad.

tad is however incredibly fucked up on his own, so he was perhaps not the best friend to rely on.

even if he did make an effort to include parker in the rest of the clique's games. suggesting he join the boxing team and whatnot.

parker had a healthy amount of fear of derby and certain others of the clique, but he had an image to uphold.

circling back to the engagements, they were overstimulating and awful, and people always wanted something different than what they were asking for.

many a time did he simply need to mask and suck it up, but whenever the parties were at Home, he'd retreat to the garden.

Dedicated Gnome Section:

his family took great pride in their landscaping, you see. their perfectly cultivated zen palace; in fact it was often encouraged for him to go out and meditate among the flowers and ferns.

well, wouldn't you know a novelty potter set up shop in the vale, and his sculptures became the latest trend?

on the night of his 14th birthday, in the devolving afterparty where all the adults were getting drunk, he'd slipped out and found the latest additions in garden decor.

twas early in august; he was about to start his freshman year of highschool proper, both pressure and anxiety mounting, coupled with that ever present feeling of being on the fringe of his peers.

admittedly he'd also been rewarded with a glass or two of prosecco as he had graduated from being a Child, and was feeling the effects of alcohol.

it's of very little surprise his mask slipped and he ended up confiding in the never-judgemental clay figure.

as silly as it seemed, it felt more freeing than any conversation he'd taken part in before, any connection he'd had before.

of course, tad told him many a horror story about his older brother, so he had to act smart.

the gnome, now named Geoffry, fell into his routine with ease; he was always Alone when he had to 'meditate' in the garden anyhow.

it's difficult to explain to anyone not in the loop, so to speak, but geoff did communicate back in his own ways, in parker's mind.

the glint of the sun off his glaze, the clouds reflection fogging up his eyes, a soft breeze washing over him and kissing his hair; small shows of nature magic. gnomes are earth spirits, after all.

parker had done his research on the folklores for the sake of understanding him better, at the cost of getting chased out of the nerd's turf at the library.

you're not crazy if it all makes sense to you.

hell, he even started looking into environmentalism for geoff's sake; greener causes, better values, slowly but surely.

he's still a relatively entitled prick of course; his peers and parents have that instilled into him. but gnomes are sort of hippies, and it was rubbing off on him.

how lucky he was, to have such a companion holding his hand on a spiritual journey.

regardless, it goes without saying their unique relationship turned from platonic to something else as parker further opened up to the gnome.

geoff was never to leave his property, though. to bring him onto academy grounds would mean his near immediate destruction.

but that didn't make him safe from 'pranks.'

gord is a royal pain in the ass for a number of reasons, one of which being disrespecting other's 'belongings.'

despite being banned from parker's house after him and his friend chad brought Chester into the garden, making one hell of a mess and fucking with both parker and his mother's allergies.

i think the way that ended is best left unsaid. but it wasnt geoff's fault. how could it be, when he couldnt move on his own?

the gnome wasnt the only broken one in the yard that afternoon.

but as always, life goes on.

category 5 autism event over, we will return to our inbox requests shortly.

random bonus definitions os/or: objectsexual & objectromantic posic: acronym for perception of object sentience, individuality, and consciousness. there are more of us than you think

[hc masterpost]

[miueo]

repost ︐ squeaky clean — pub. 100723

warnings : shower sex , unprotected sex , petnames ( angel + baby ) , slight size kink , crying , oral ( m. receiving ) , etc .

pairings : softdom!hyunjin ♡ sub!reader

notes : i deleted my previous acct due to the fact i was posting my writings underneath a secondary blog ! i am not stealing anyone’s work, this is my writing.

the soothing and enjoyable sensation arises as the gentle, cascading water from the showerhead makes contact with your skin.

its as if a tender embrace of moisture graces your body, caressing you in a manner that brings forth a sense of relaxation and rejuvenation.

this gentle pressure of the water serves as a gentle massage, breathing life into your senses and washing away the cares of the day, leaving you feeling refreshed and revitalized.

your eyes closed, lathering your foamy body wash all over your body.

soft inhales and exhales leave your body.

you felt like you were in heaven, what could possibly go wrong?

who could possibly interrupt your alone time?

-

“mind if I join you..” a naked broad silhouette was shown behind the foggy-steamed covered glass door.

your eyes shut open, gasping loudly, “you scared me! I thought you were some axe murderer..” you whined, sliding this shower door open for your beloved, hyunjin to join you.

hyunjin giggled mischievously before soaking his hair and body under the showerhead, “sorry about that~! I just wanted to spend time with my angel.”

you couldn't help but giggle back, he was so cute. not only that, but you couldn't help but look at his god-sculpted body.

hyunjin is the most perfect man to roam on this earth.

his shoulders, broad and powerful, bear the promise of capability and determination. each line and curve of his muscles tells a story of dedication and hard work. his arms, sculpted with precision, are both formidable and inviting, capable of both protecting and embracing with tenderness.

bur it’s not just his physicality that makes hyunjin’s body perfect; it’s the way he carries himself. his posture is impeccable, exuding confidence and charisma. every step he takes seems deliberate and purposeful as if he’s navigating the world with an innate sense of elegance.

his eyes, framed by strong brows, hold a spark of curiosity and intelligence that draws you in. his smile is warm and infectious, radiating a genuine kindness that makes you feel at ease in his presence.

just thinking about it makes you want to drool and salivate over him.

-

“earth to [y/n]… hello?” your lucid daydreaming was cut short by the soft voice of your boyfriend!

you were staring a little too much. clearly.

you shook your head in denial, rotating your body the opposite direction, resuming your exfoliating.

“u-um yeah? I was just thinking about what to do after this shower!!! totally~! (ノ▽〃)” you blushed, you couldn’t think of a proper excuse to cover up your staring problem.

hyunjin smirked cheekily before lathering his body with soap, “totally.” he responded with sarcasm.

great! now he thinks you’re a nasty little pervert!

little did you know, he was doing the exact same thing as you. he was genuinely eye-fucking you.

too bad you’re horrible at taking social cues. </3

“come here angel..” he demands, and of course you don't hesitate to do as he says, you slowly make your way to him, looking up at him with doe eyes. you were heavily intoxicated by his presence.

“it’s been too long since we’ve been together like this.. i missed you.” you whine and bury your face into his soft chest, he smelt so good, too good.

“i missed you even more, i wanna stay like this with you forever.” he sighed, brushing his hands against your waist down to the back of your thighs.

“me too.. i missed you more.” you whimpered, slowly going down to your knees, leaving soft pecks and kisses on your boyfriend’s pelvic bone to the tip of his hard and pink cock.

hyunjin looks down at you with his eyes hooded, the sweet and wholesome aura of the room transitions into an intimate and sensual atmosphere.

“the things you do to me, angel.” he moans softly whilst you leave soft generous kisses on his length.

a peck on one side, a lick on his veins, and your lips around his cock right after.

you couldn’t help but grind your little cunt againt the shower floor while inneed of friction as you bob your head back and forth at a slow pace, constantly gripping onto your boyfriend’s legs for support.

hyunjin adored you, his hand makes his way to your head, guiding you to pick up the pace.

his other hand was placed on your hair, moving stray bits of hair away from your precious little face. you’re the prettiest doll, he loved seeing you like this.

“so fucking good to me.. don’t stop till i say so..” he grunts, thrusting hiself into your tight little mouth gently, not wanting to asphyxiate you.

were you dreaming? is this even real? what did i do to be in this position?, was all you had thought about in your little head. you literally cannot believe how far you’ve come.

“okay baby enough, i need cum in you, not in your mouth.” hyunjin pulls away as a you nodded softly, picking yourself up from the floor.

you bury yourself back into his body, sitting him down on the shower stool before climbing onto his lap.

you cried out and pouting your plumped lips, “i want you in me..!! i want your fingers and cock..please please please!!”

“all you had to do was ask, angel. whatever you want, i’ll do it for you.” he giggles, carressing your wet body before smoothing stroking and rubbing your soaked clit and labia, soon plunging his long fingers into your warm hole.

you gripped onto his shoulders, closing your eyes shut from the sudden sensation of his long skinny fingers touching the spots you couldn’t reach on your own.

preparing your hole for something bigger and better, just by thinking about makes you want to release your sweet yummy juices all over his digits.

“look at you, so adorable and vulnerable under my touch. tell me how bad you want me. beg for me more and i’ll think about giving you what you really want, hm?”

you wanted to sucker punch him for being so hot.

“b-baby..~! please give me more.. i-i need you.. i need you in m-me..” your voice alters to a higher pitch, already feeling overstimulated by the pleasure.

hyunjin was satisfied, he knew you were ready for the great finale.

he removes his fingers from your hole, replacing them with his hard monsterous cock. you didn’t even to worry about adjusting yourself. your insides were made for him, he slipped into you with ease from how absurdly wet you were.

he was strong enough to use you like a little toy, his hands gripping onto your waist, lifting you up and down on his cock with little to no effort.

mantras of cries leave your throat as tears of pleasure and glee run down your cheeks.

soft skin-clapping, moans, and whines from you and hyunjin filled the entire bathroom.

“i’m about to let it out.. please.” hyunjin huffed out, bitting his lips before pulling you into a deep kiss.

you were so paralyzed by pleasure that all you could do was sob and whimper. it all ends with his painting your gummy walls white, and you leaving a mess all over his cock.

you and him sat there in silence, your bodies pressed onto each other, soft panting, and the sound of the water hitting the floor accompanying this very moment.

“hungry..?” hyunjin whispered exhaustedly.

“mmh.. yeah.” you replied.

“how about we clean ourselves up again and then order some food..” he giggles softly, stroking your back.

“sounds like a great plan!” you stretched out your body.

fin.