#which would be fine!!! like maybe he changed his mind or the war changed him

[ttomuras]

the last five chapters were extremely rushed and the ending feels generic and boring to me. like i literally joked about how there is going to be a timeskip, deku is gonna be a teacher and they’ll have a pull-out-your-ass solution about how deku can still be a hero. joked in a “this is too goofy” way just like ppl joked about “this is our hero academia”. this feels v?? goofy?? but in a not fun way for me

[thesilmarillionblog]

𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐒

Summary: You play Soldier Boy's wife in the new movie. He's a method actor, and so are you. 

Pairing: Soldier Boy / F! Reader

Warnings: +18! (Minors DNI), SMUT, Soldier Boy is cheating CC, rough sex, oral sex (m! receiving), kinda role playing, kinky, unprotected sex, dirty talk, porn without plot lol, set in late 1970's

Word Count: 3283

A/N: English is not my first language.

"Cut!"

Soldier Boy winked at you, pulled his lips back, and loosened his firm arms over your back as the director ordered. His hand continued to touch you daringly during the romantic scenes, so it must have been fun for him to witness your heart race. After licking your lips, you faced the director, who had been discussing the specifics with the rest of his staff.

With an anxious expression on his face, the director wanted to tell Soldier Boy something, but he was too scared to say anything since Soldier Boy wasn't the most sensible person when it came to providing guidance. Whatever was said to him didn't matter. Never.

The director then collected all of his stuff and gestured for you to join him. After taking the iced coffee, Soldier Boy turned to face the anxiously breathing and sweating director in front of him. 

“Now what?” Sitting in the chair, Soldier Boy stretched out his muscles and asked in a harsh voice.

Soldier Boy became irate every time he was given instructions to act with greater enthusiasm and better, suggesting that the director, Mr. Nathan, must be dying of dread and worry. 

“It's a romantic film,” Mr. Nathan remarked, appearing to become agitated as he brought up his hands on his hips. “And the subject at hand is war. It's meant to be intimate and heartfelt.”

“And?”

“You shouldn't behave as though you're going to have sex like you're in an adult film. I hope you don't take offense, sir. You're an excellent actor. However, would you mind being a bit more romantic? It would be quite beneficial.”

Snorting, Soldier Boy said, “Fuck that. A sentimental war film, huh? Jesus... I have no doubt that young soldiers would find greater use for pornographic films if we produced some. Believe me, If I fuck her and then leave her to join war, that would make women and men all cry their eyes out. Are we really making this trash movie for housewives only? Who approved this fucking script anyway?”

“Sure and no, sir—no, definitely not. I'm among those who approved, of course, and I can tell you that the script is excellent. Act a little more genuine. This is a movie that everyone should see. If you'd prefer, we could change the actress. If it would help you to be partners with Crimson Countess, maybe we can arrange that.”

The director looked at you, and you crossed your arms over your chest. Stupid coward. That would be the beginning of your best work, but his terrified ass was prepared to destroy your career before it had ever begun. 

“Oh fuck no!” Soldier Boy gulped down his cold coffee. “Not her dry pussy coming over here. My co-star is talented and fine enough.”

You were going to defend yourself in front of the director, but luckily Soldier Boy was kind enough to stand up for you, which made things much better. You were giving him every indication that, in the end, you would do anything to get this job. You would never have taken part in a greater movie before, and Soldier Boy would be the ideal match for it. That was the top of your career already. He was attractive and interesting, but it was difficult to resist and melt into him at the moments when he was meant to give you a gentle kiss. Clearly, that wasn't his thing—being gentle and loving.

It wasn't your thing either.

Mr. Nathan sighed and answered, “Sure,” becoming tired of Soldier Boy not caring at all about what he was trying to say. “We're all going to have some break, and then we can go on filming, is that alright?”

“All right. Whatever,” Soldier Boy said. His specialty was not romantic war films, obviously. He sounded so corny in situations that you could be positive he detested every single love phrase he ever delivered. But none of you had the guts to tell him that out loud. 

If he wasn't concerned about his acting in the first place, that didn't matter to you. There were times when you found it amusing that he was exaggerating in order to enrage the director. It was difficult for you to not break your character in these situations. The kissing scenes, however, were exceptional. You would have let him fuck you if he had made the move right then. He was only getting you wet with his tongue. 

As soon as Mr. Nathan left, Soldier Boy stood up and stepped toward you, looking intently at you. Your entire body tingled with anticipation. Desire was already causing your legs to tremble. 

With a low tone, he said, “Follow me,” and handed his empty cup to someone. 

With joy, you followed instructions. You had already been thinking filthy stuff since the morning. Your pussy was swollen, and your underwear was already wet since he had been teasing you so much. 

He locked the door when you followed him to his trailer.

He approached your body and looked at your long skirt before saying, “So,” and licked his lips. “What are you thinking about that guy who said that? About acting and anything else?”

As his thumb lingered on your breast, stroking it to make you go wild, you put your hands over his chest, excited about what was about to happen. Your thighs tensed with yearning. 

Whispering, "He might be right," you ran a hand down his chest and felt his hardness through his trousers. 

He smiled a bit at you when he realized you were ready for a quick fuck. You continued to softly touch him there, and his cock hardened. 

With a sigh, “About?” he began to undo your dress so he could see your tits. 

“About your acting,” you muttered as his harsh hand continued to torment you. “You should act more romantically and intimately.” 

“Hmm,” was all he said. 

He palmed both of your tits after he had finished unbuttoning your dress. 

“I consider myself to be a method actor,” he said, grinning arrogantly at you. 

You smirked and said, “What a coincidence; me too,” as you unzipped his pants. You lowered his pants and waited for him to give you guidance. “But what would your girlfriend, Crimson Countess, think about that?”

“I don't see an issue if you seal your pretty mouth. I also don't want to fuck her dry cunt forever. Now, get on your knees,” he said rudely, then, putting his hand behind your head, he pushed you on your knees.

Your pulse was pounding as you followed instructions. It wasn't that you were inexperienced, but it also wasn't that you were doing it for the first time. It had only lasted a minute or two until you had completed it in the past. It hadn't pleased you. You had immediately stopped. 

You were ecstatic to see Soldier Boy's massive, pulsating cock, though. You wrapped your hands around his thick shaft, and you licked your dry lips, sensing its weight in your palm. It was exciting and tantalizing to consider sucking the strongest superhero on the planet. 

You murmured, looking at his face and lightly brushing the tip with your lips, “What do you want me to do?” It was apparent that he was beginning to take pleasure in and enjoy what he was seeing. “Sir.”

He grinned at you and tightened his grasp behind your hair when he heard the final word, letting you know how weak you are in comparison to him. After all, you were both method actors, and the game you were playing was harmless. He was definitely thrilled.

He continued, taking his big cock in his hand and pressing it against your lips. “You're a naughty one, aren't you? About to be railed and excited to suck your co-star's cock. Not because you want to get the job, but simply to be fucked.”

“Maybe,” you said, licking the tip with your tongue. It didn't taste horrible, but it was salty. “Maybe I just want to get fucked by a supe; maybe it's because I want to keep my job.”

He finally lost patience with you and shoved his cock inside your mouth when you continued to tease him. You obeyed and took his cock in your mouth. You could��take the head since his shaft was far too big for you, yet it was clear that he wanted more.

“Or perhaps I agree with the director's wish for my co-star to act more intimate in his part.” You teased him and palmed his heavy balls, adding, “Would you act more romantic just like you are expected if I was there, standing while your cum inside me?” You were certain that he would come early enough.

“You shouldn't worry about it. My cum will be flowing between your legs as you wander around,” he groaned. “But you'll suck that cock nice firstly.”

He pushed his cock into your mouth again before you could respond. You started to lick it by slowly getting used to the size of it before figuring out the right rhythm.

“Take it more,” he moaned, pressing your head on his cock. You were too aroused to resist, yet it was difficult to withstand his strength.

You attempted to take more of his throbbing cock by opening your mouth wider and placing your hands on his knees for assistance, but it was too huge.

“Fucking take it,” he snapped, annoyed by your poor attempt. Taking complete control, he then reached behind your hair with his other hand and stilled your head.

He made you choke around him by forcing half of his cock into your mouth with such power that you gagged uncontrollably. But you were determined to push yourself to the very limit. Under the mercy of the most powerful supe made you feel things. You had no idea that you needed such treatment in order to suck a cock properly. You became more and more wet as he applied more pressure, made you choke, and filled your mouth with his cock. 

When you finally had enough of him, he withdrew so he could grab your mouth and start to fuck your face.

"You like that, don't you?" He moved your head to his cock because he enjoyed it. "You like being used like this? You like being controlled, huh? Yes, fuck. Take it!"

His cock, which was covered in your saliva, began to pulse in your mouth as he continued to fuck it. You clenched up, knowing what was about to happen. Your fingers gripped his legs more tightly as you tried to keep up with his power. 

He asked, “You want it in your mouth?” However, it was obvious that it wasn't a question. Both of you and him were lost in pleasure. 

Soldier Boy pulled back his cock and rubbed it on your reddening lips and waited for your response. 

“Yes, please,” you moaned. “I need you finish in my mouth.”

He groaned, “Anything for my co-star,” and pushed his shaft back into your mouth as hard as he could. It was hot inside your throat. 

You shivered in delight and disbelief as he started to flow in your throat, releasing his hot sperm. You moved a bit to relax, but he gave a loud grunt and stilled your head. 

He moaned, “Fucking swallow,” as he continued to thrust his cock farther. You were so out of breath that tears were streaming down your face. He was cursing as he filled your mouth with his thick cum.

When he makes you taste him, you close your eyes and let him release his hot semen into your mouth fully. Though you weren't sure whether you liked the taste at all due to how strong and salty it was, you really enjoyed the whole process. You felt slick there; the way he was controlling your body was beyond perfect. 

He withdrew his cock back once he had finished fucking your mouth. 

Grasping your chin firmly, he said, “Let me see it.” 

Your mouth opened. Excited, you could feel your legs quivering and hoping he wasn't done with you just yet. Even though you weren't sure whether you had enough time to go all the way, you needed to be touched so desperately. 

He said, “Good girl,” seeing that you swallowed all. “Get up now.” 

Without allowing you to react, he made you stand once more. It was absurd how he was still hard destipe spilling inside your mouth seconds ago. You wondered how frequently he would need to come in order to soften. It may have been because he was a supe. The cause didn't matter to you. Thank goodness he had the energy to continue. After all, you had your own needs. 

“I hope we are not finished yet,” you stated, indicating your intentions with another stroke of his now firm cock. 

“You want to be fucked badly, don't you?” Your long skirt was pulled up by the tough hands of Soldier Boy, who gave you a sly smile. “You enjoy getting fucked by engaged men?”

When his erect cock brushed your thighs and you felt out of breath, you taunted him, “Only the supes.”

He chuckled and had a brief look at your underwear. You were relieved he hadn't ripped them off. He removed your tits from your white bra and pushed your unbuttoned shirt down. You arched back properly when he gave your nipples a little play.

“Let's check to see whether you're wet enough to handle it all now. Tell me you're not a virgin.” He gave a warning but added, “I'm going to fuck you raw anyway.”

“I'm not,” you moaned, impatient for him to get inside. This time, you were unable to stop pleading. “Could you please fuck me already?”

The way you begged him made Soldier Boy smirk. “Since you're begging so nicely...”

He grabbed your hair into his palm, then gave his cock five or six firm strokes to make himself completely erect. He then bent your body into the trailer's wall and positioned himself behind your entrance. 

When you actually noticed how much bigger he was than your hole, you gasped. Not that you didn't get fucked, but it had really been a while. 

“Relax a little for fucks sake. Take it properly, or it's going to hurt. I won't give a fuck,” he warned, pressing himself farther inside of you.

You tensed up. He was pulling your hair a little and knowing that if he utilized his strength a little more, he could break your neck. That should have alarmed you, but instead it enhanced your excitement. Being at a supe's mercy as he fucked you was more exciting than any other sex you had ever had because you never knew if he might lose control while trying to get his pleasure. 

He made you scream with pleasure and pain as he pushed his entire cock inside of you, pushing back with one strong motion. You began to moan and tried to fix your balance, but he instantly stilled your body by pulling your hair.

He moaned in rage, “Don't fucking move,” and proceeded to fuck you senselessly. Your eyes watered with every move he made, and your insides ached a bit. Both the pleasure and the pain that you experienced were immense.

“That's how you should get fucked. Like a slut you are. You are a slut, aren't you? You wanted me to fuck you there?” He groaned while continuing to penetrate you from the back. Your hair was tugged again by his hand. He needed a response. 

“Yeah,” you moaned, placing a hand against his severe grip on your hip. “I needed you to fuck me right there.”

He was obviously pleased with your response since you could almost hear him smirking. 

“Oh, yeah. Are you not embarrassed to want to have sex with an engaged man? Allow him to use your body any way he chooses. Show him that you are better than his future wife. You like the idea of a supe cheating on his girlfriend with you?” His filthy words caused your walls to contract as he gave you a strong and quick fuck. You were embarrassingly wet. 

You teased him, “So what?” in between moans. “In the film we're in, we're husband and wife, right? We need to get into the role properly.”

“Do you think you can wear my sperm right there and yet perform your role properly? What would they say if they knew? Will you tell them you wanted me to fuck you so that you could do your role more effectively? Do you want everyone to know your cunt is full of my cum? Is that it?” 

You knew that the game you were playing was making him more thrilled, so when he bent your body harder, you let out an excited gasp. He widened your legs and placed both of his hands on each side of your hips. Without his support, you would have already fallen. 

You screamed out, “Yes, please, please,” as your walls continued to clench around his thick cock. “Husband.” 

“Oh fuck,” he groaned as he got closer. He firmly gripped your bouncing tits and gave them a firm squeeze. “I'm going to fill you so good. Going to satisfy my wife's small greedy cunt nicely. Do you really want that, baby?         Where do you want me to cum?”

Moaning, “Yeah, oh fuck, fuck. Please come inside, husband.” Your orgasm hit so hard you had to scream his name this time. You were sure some of the staff heard your screaming. Your walls clenched badly. You got his dick wet with your slick as your legs were trembling frantically. You felt like you were about to pass out from the intense fucking you were getting from him during your peak.

He moaned, “Whatever my wife wishes,” as he continued to penetrate you despite your oversensitivity. He then began to come inside of you with a loud grunt. Before he came, he held your hips so forcefully that you felt he was going to break your body till he was satisfied. 

He cautiously removed his cock after giving you a bit more pleasure and making sure he had emptied his balls within your pussy. He gave you a hard spank on the ass and complimented you on your well-done move, seeing how his sperm was flowing between your legs. 

You grinned to yourself and pulled up your underwear when you knew you were fucked well for real. You could let him fuck you again since his hot sperm in you felt so nice. 

As he was complimenting you, you could hear him stuffing his dick back into his pants. “Now that was a good fuck.”

You looked at him and fixed your shirt, skirt, and hair. “I'm glad you enjoyed,” you said, biting your lips. You could still taste him.

“I'm sure I'm not the only one who enjoyed it,” he said, immediately lighting a cigarette and giving you a sly smirk. 

You were told to expect on the set in five minutes when someone knocked on the door right then. You smiled to yourself, undisturbed by the stares from the staff, and spent the remainder of the day with Soldier Boy. You both believed that the method of acting had had the intended impact on you and him. The director was pleased with the two of you. After the break, Soldier Boy was acting better, at least. If only they knew the reason.

It's true that method acting helped you get into your roles better. Particularly behind the scenes.

⋆⋅☆⋆☆⋅⋆───⛥───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───⛥───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Comments and reblogs are very appreciated. Let me know what you think please. For more, here's my MASTERLIST. ♥︎

[jellykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Jinwoo x Fem! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 045 ✦ ┆・

╰┈➤ ❝ [ Only If You Say Yes ] ¡! ❞

Jinwoo was the type of boyfriend who never forced himself on you. He was too much of a gentleman you can't help but think maybe you're the toxic one in this relationship.

But he wouldn't give you the opportunity to let it sink in on how good he treats you because he would just bombard you with lovely kisses and gifts.

In the past, he always lacked the funds and time to spoil his precious beloved. Now that he has the means to shower you with luxury, how could he not?

Your lovely and brilliant smile would always be the first memory that plays in his head whenever he feels like burnout and exhaustion is about to swallow him whole. Those precious eyes of yours that never failed to glimmer like twinkling stars are in his mind as he pushes through a hard labor day.

His beloved's face that is like a tender flower blooming at the peak of springtime, his lover's blinding unparalleled beauty will never cease to make his heart stop.

So how could he, a man who is nothing more than a fool in love, not treat you tenderly as if he is handling the more fragile piece of gem?

Every single thing about you is so loveable.

The elders say that the honeymoon phase of a relationship comes and goes quite fast, but Jinwoo begs to differ.

He never really got out of it.

Nor is the fool willing to change his ways.

After all, would you really call it love if you can restrain yourself?

"Sarang, careful there" Jinwoo cooes gently, holding your hand as you curiously took one step in front of the other while playing atop a fallen log. "We wouldn't want you to be hurt."

"I'll be fine, my boyfriend is the scariest hunter after all!" You say proudly, like a proud puppy showing off its toy plush.

"I'm not that scary," Jinwoo hums, the corners of his eyes curling.

"You beat up Thomas Andre like a thug, are you not scary?" He immediately laughs nervously, embarrassed to hear his troublesome history with the fellow hunter.

"...It was justified, sarang, he pissed me off"

"Mhm," You skip, landing playfully on the ground with a soft thud, "So like a thug."

"Sarang...." Jinwoo sighs, relenting in this small banter knowing you will probably not shut up unless he gives in.

And that was the thing about you, you made Jinwoo instantly obedient. Sure, he always considered being polite with other people before but on particularly bad days, he secretly spat and cursed at those people while maintaining an insincere half smile while doing the facade. With you? You can bully him all you like and he would still love you.

Arguements? Rarely ever happens because he is always wrong unless we're talking about safety.

Why is there a need for a fight? Just tell him and he'll correct himself immediately.

Jinwoo just wants to devote himself to you.

That's all he wants.

To see you happy.

"Jagiya?" He calls out, gently tucking a strand behind your ear. "Can I hug you?"

"What's with that question?" You raise an eyebrow but still stretch your arms out for a hug.

Jinwoo's strong arms would immediately.

"Nothing just..." Jinwoo sighs, burying his nose on your hair to inhale the lovely scent he can never grow tired of. "Feeling a bit clingy."

"You know you can always hold me whenever" You say, rubbing his back which prompted the hunter to hold you even closer to himself.

"I don't want to make uncomfortable" He chuckles dryly, "What if I hold you while you're not feeling it?"

"You holding me will always make me happy"

"I still want to ask," Jinwoo smiles, kissing your cheek affectionately. "Just because"

"Jinwoo, you're being sappy, you can't even get drunk yet you're acting like you're drunk" You say, pinching the man's cheek which earned you a soft bite at your digit.

"Well... I cant blame you for saying that" He simply says.

He just wanted to cherish you, really. He really does. The trauma of war can never really be taken out of his system. It's only through you and his family that he can feel sane. If it weren't for that, he would as well be a hollow shell of a human being forced to be a vessel of war by his predecessor.

So don't blame him for being a bit weird sometimes.

He's just a little fucked up in the head after the war.

He'll come around.

But Jinwoo will always, always, cherish you.

꒰ 🪼 A/N: I am still in the process of having writer's block so please excuse this very bland story qwq. I'm mind blocked with Jinwoo and I feel so overstimulated. I might do different characters for now until I get my woowoo juices back. For now, please forgive me guys qwq꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)�� .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ — All stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[hadersversion]

i had a long day but obviously there’s only one thing on my mind….if you guessed logan howlett, you’re correct! but if you guessed old man! logan, i owe ya a scratchy on friday ;)

but….

imagine old man! logan and a librarian! reader.

logan, laura, and charles moved out into the countryside in oregon. settling down in a nice cabin in the woods, town being a few miles away.

you lived nearby, all by your lonesome. you worked in town at the local library. charles brought laura in the one day, searching for some old book that you’re pretty sure they stopped printing in the 70s…but you didn’t want to let the old geezer down so you did some digging. you watched as laura walked around the building, eyes open in awe. it’s almost like she’s never seen a library before. she stopped in front of a child’s chapter book collection, eyeing it up.

“that one’s my favorite, you could borrow it if you want to. i’m sure your grandfather would let ya get a library card.” you winked at her.

she looked at you then the books, a small smile appearing. she grabbed the book and walked up to the counter with you, charles eagerly waiting to see what laura picked. you start to get laura’s library card ready, turning your back on the two.

“there you two are, got me thinking i lost ya out there.” a gruff voice said from behind.

you turned around, library card and book in hand.

“what the hells that?” he asks.

the man is tall, older looking. but nonetheless handsome. his broad shoulders being hugged by a flannel.

“a library card. for laura.” you smile, handing it over to her. “remember in two weeks you have to return it. or whenever your finished.” you said.

logan looked down at you, studying your kind demeanor. you’re cute, he thought, really cute. the large cardigan covering your body as glasses sit atop your head. but logan being logan, pushes down any feeling and huffs. “cars running, let’s go.”

charles and laura wave bye before leaving, you watch as the man pushes him out. his shoulders are tensed. his grey hair sticking up every which way and his matching beard needing a trim. but something about him intrigued you.

laura and charles become regulars at the library, constantly visiting and perusing the shelves. often spending hours just reading and enjoying the silence. and there’s logan, waiting around like he has something better to do.

“ya know, readings actually good for you? right?” you joke.

he rolls his eyes. “got more important things to do than sit around in this stuffy place all day.”

“grumpy.” you mutter, causing him to look over at you. “why don’t you go look for something? there’s gotta be something you like!”

he shakes his head. “doubt it.”

you grab his hand and pull him towards the shelves. “come on, give it a try.” you pour your lip.

his breathe hitches and his eyes burn into you. he’s never been this close to you. been able to smell your scent of a flowery perfume and bubblegum. his demeanor changes a bit, staring at your lips. if he was already thinking about you a lot, this was definitely not helping. “fine.”

you spend the afternoon looking for anything that will please this man.

“war books?”

“been there, done that.”

“art history?”

“do i look like an art professor?”

“maybe in a past time.” you wink. “hmm, cooking?”

he shakes his head.

“god, you’re so hard to please.” you go through each section. “the history of harley davidson?”

this piqued his interest. “let me see that.” he grabs it, pushing his glasses off his head and onto his face.

you could do a celebration dance. “told ya!”

“yeah, yeah. let me go find the kid and the old man to check this book out.”

logan starts joining the two on the library trips. he says it’s to find more books on automotives. but charles often teases him that it’s to see his favorite librarian.

he denies but even laura knows the truth.

the old man has a crush.

[whispereons]

Oracle!Reader Part 14

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 13, Part 15

Warning as usual. There is blood and gore in this chapter!

Staring up at the Archon parading around in human form, you lick your lips and note how even those minor injuries were healed. Your body aches with phantom pain, some wounds healed too rapidly. 

"I don't mind answering some questions, can I get your name first?"

A small smile plays at his lips as his hand is held out in front of you. "My name is Zhongli, I'm the Funeral Parlors consultant. It would be a pleasure to hear yours, outlander."

So he is aware of your origin, well at least partly aware. If he's not going to pull any punches then why should you? Besides if it all goes wrong, you can blame it on the bloodloss that you're still recovering from.

"I'm Y/N, and you're correct that I do not originate from this world. You must not be a normal person either, in fact you look identical to this statue. This one portrays Morax the Geo Archon, but I'm sure you know that, Rex Lapis."

Getting a good look at the statue from your proximity, it was obvious that Zhongli was Morax. You could make the excuse of it being game logic on why no one makes the connection, but that wouldn't work anymore. Maybe the statues are imbued with power that prevents anyone from this world to recognize the similarities?

"So it seems you are more knowledgeable than the traveler was when they arrived here. I should have known considering how the Electro and Geo particles surround you with zeal. Perhaps Teyvat is charmed by the features you share with the Holy One."

His step forward and angled head to look you in the eyes have you staring at glowing amber hues. The red eyeliner and outlined iris make it uncomfortably clear how intensely he's examining you.

"The curve of your lips, a stature so familiar, you resemble the creator so much. Teyvat must be bewitched and awed by an individual so alike as you. If only I could see your face in it's full visage, only then would I know for sure..."

Anyone would feel flattered or embarrassed with how seriously Zhongli studies you, but dread is the only thing you feel. You know that behind those honey-coated words is a trap just waiting for you to spring.

Too bad for him; the last thing you plan to be is predictable.

"My, my what a compliment! A devout and faithful follower like yourself is comparing me to the creator? You should pray for forgiveness to the merciful creator. I'm a servant for them, just in a different league than you. My connection with them is strong enough that Teyvat graces me with qualities alike yet inferior to the Everlasting One."

Zhongli returned to his perfect posture at your words, the flash of envy couldn't hide. "Oh?" Narrowed eyes and a lofty tone that encourages you to smile wider. "And what position could an outsider like you hold?"

"Well, as an Oracle of course! Really, just how dumb are you? An outlander that is incredibly knowledgeable of the Creator? It's painfully obvious." There's no reaction to your test insults, which is fine that wasn't the last you had in store.

"I'm from the world that the Creator is recuperating in. It's due to that, that I can speak to them much more freely than everyone here. Even Teyvat pales in comparison. That's why Teyvat is so attached to me, my aura is overwhelmed by the creators."

Honestly, you had Chongyun to thank for that one. You weren't sure how you were supposed to explain the whole Teyvat clinging to you without sounding repetitive. But if Zhongli was that easily fooled, he wouldn't be one of the victors of the Archon war.

"Then enlighten me on why the glorious creator would need an Oracle of your caliber to spread their word. Surely that's the least you can do." He's fully dropped that faux-polite tone in contrast to the technically proper speech. 

"Gladly! It's become common knowledge that the elemental monsters and animals have started to act strangely. Add in the leylines that change from out of control to perfectly calm in a matter of minutes or weeks. These are all signs of the Creator's upcoming appearance! They need to be sure of who in this vast land they can properly trust."

"That still doesn't explain why you in particular were chosen. A wily and fresh child like you wouldn't do the best job." Hard like stone, Zhongli refused to even blink at your words. A god like himself would never falter after thousands of years spent perfecting his worship. 

But did he really have to insult you at the same time?

"So you refuse to believe it because of my supposed inability to properly carry out any duties assigned to me? You don't even know all that I had done to arrive here! Surely you should know just how rough the waters were..."

The hand that covers your mouth does a poor job of covering the sly smile. Zhongli stares at you in silence, the wind swaying around the floating chunk of rock that you both stand on.

"Just what are you trying to imply?" His voice is as soft as a whisper but cutting like the sharpest steel.

"Why explain it when I can show it?" Silently rejoicing at such a convenient set up, you peer into your bag and grab the item you've been saving.

Shimmering brightly in the harsh glares of the sun is Beisht's scale, still in pristine condition despite your perilous journey since that day you got it from the sea-leviathan.

It feels like ages ago. Just how much time has passed since you arrived on Teyvat? How much more time will you spend in situations like this? Weeks? Months? YEARS?

The existential dread is quickly pushed away by your beaming smile at Zhongli's reaction to the singular item. The rocky exterior finally breaks at the proof of your 'abilities'. His lips part at the bright teal color and he blinks incredulously at it.

Really, how could you pass up the chance to rub it in?

"Surely a human of my caliber would be capable of this much. I mean, a perfectly intact scale from a leviathan that managed to avoid the whole Qixing that isn't dyed in blood? Child's play for a servant specifically chosen by the Creator. I never doubted the creators' choices!" 

Holding the scale in front of you, you smirk at the man with as much snark as you hold in your heart. "The same can't be said for you, Mr. 'That still doesn't explain why you in particular were chosen.' Because the Creator is capable of choosing anyone they want, for whatever reason they desire."

Silence envelopes the area as you stare at him, a beat passes with no movement until a gruff chuckle leaves him.

"The more you speak, the closer I come to a conclusion." Recovering quickly, Zhongli's gloved hand rises to tap his mouth contemplatively. "You're either something far worse than I've seen in a long time, or a hope for the Creator's return."

That white outline around his iris seems to spin with the malicious joy that he refuses to show. It's like his body screams that he'll either enjoy your presence or your destruction. Nerves and anxiety grip your heart but ignoring it has always worked better for you.

"Maybe I can say the same thing about you considering your past, but I see you still aren't convinced. And how could I ever let you, one of the longest standing worshippers, have doubts about me? So tell me, were Beisht and her husband devout or sacrilegious beings?"

The answer he'll say is obvious, not only because you hold such a confident stance showing that you know the answer but because of Zhongli himself. A noble dragon that willingly bows to someone would feel ashamed at the thought of resorting to lying to boost his own pride.

Quite ironic how you hold so much trust in his answer due to the acolytes' faith in the creator. The same faith that led you to this position, and the same thing that'll keep you from ever exposing the truth of your identity. A constant force preventing them from meeting their 'beloved' creator.

"You met Beisht in the flesh, there's no doubt that she is solemn and serious in her worship. The same can be said for Osial, it was one of the few things I could agree with the leviathan. Even still, I'm the superior believer. After all, I'm the one who is left after all this time." 

"Yet I met Beisht before you."

The scoff and know-it-all tone he used pricked at your nerves long enough to cause an annoyed response to slip out. Unfortunately, that seems to be what Zhongli was baiting for as he laughs, the low sound making the rock platform tremble.

"That's if you're even an Oracle. You may be from that world and even heard about Teyvat from the Creator, but for all I know, you could have been banished here for us acolytes to execute. Whether it be for avenging the Creator or entertaining them."

Damn, it was almost scary how fast he turned the situation around. But how could you falter now? Getting tongue-tied at such a crucial moment would be a pathetic way to lose your life.

"And what will you do if I truly am an Oracle? When the creator's return is delayed months, years or even decades due to your rash actions, what will you tell the creator when confronted with the consequences of your own actions?"

"Then you should work hard enough to prove to skeptics like myself. To put blind faith in whatever is dubbed the creator's is a fool's belief. Temptation and sin ravage Teyvat from the long drought of the Creator's presence."

For a split second, sorrow clouded his eyes. He's hiding something. It’s important and you can feel it in your soul. The only thing that really stains his and Venti's reputation is their war with Khaenri'ah. It must be connected to that. 

But it's too early to try digging in for information on that. He doesn't even believe you to be the Oracle, how could you possibly get that out of him? What if he's under a contract and must stay silent on the matter?

Lost in his memories, Zhongli doesn't realize how your face pinches in frustration. You'll have to get his approval as the Oracle before you can even- 

Oh.

Oh, why didn't you realize this before?

A grin spreads across your face as you circle in on the heart of the problem and the perfect way to fix it.

It's not that Zhongli doesn't believe you to be the creator's Oracle, he just doesn't want to believe it! He's envious: envious of why a random outlander like you got such a nice position in comparison to him who probably spent most of his life molding himself to the creators standards.

All that's left is to reel him in and you know the perfect way how.

"Prove myself? I've done plenty to prove myself, but what about you?" Mockingly, you tilt your head as your empty gaze peers into Zhongli's eyes, digging deep into him. He focuses back on the conversation at your shift in tone.

"If anyone should have to prove themselves, it should be you." This time it's you who takes the bold step forward. "Let's start at the beginning, shall we? And try to keep in that temper too so that I can finish my words. A dragon your age should know such simple things."

"As Morax you were quite powerful, though a brute to be completely honest. Still, you knew your limits well and paired up with the Lord of Dust before the Archon War, who served as the 'brain'. Tell me, just how did it feel when you found her as nothing more than a statue that day?"

Your words have a strong effect on the imposing man, his fist trembling at the mention of such a beloved god, one whose death still pains him. Paying no mind to his pain you ask the monumental question.

"Just how much resentment do you hold against the Creator for her death?"

A hand slams you against the Statue hard enough to bruise your skin. It doesn't squeeze around your throat but there's no need to as the Geo begins to petrify your legs, locking you in place. The Statue is in a constant state of healing in defense to the bruises on your neck.

"Just what are you trying to imply by saying that?" Cold and apathetic is the voice that flows from the stoic man. It's what you would imagine Morax would sound like before Guizhong taught him how to care for humans.

"C'mon, that's the second time you've asked me that. Don't make me speak the obvious-" A shuddering gasp leaves you as he tightens his grip. But it's gone just as fast; a flock of birds tackle Zhongli.

You can only watch in shock as what was only 4 to 5 birds grow to become at least 15 birds of all kinds attacking him. The throbbing of your neck being healed as the Geo instantly releases you is overshadowed by Zhongli swatting at the birds as he takes continuous steps back.

But that's all it took for Zhongli to fall off the edge as the birds flew away cawing happily. Standing and staring at the spot where Zhongli fell off in shock, you begin to chuckle. It grows to a giggle before you're laughing hysterically as you buckle to the ground. Loud peels of laughter ring around the area as you hold your stomach from the ache of laughing so much.

To think Teyvat took the initiative to help you out for once. Why couldn't it do it sooner? Was it only after gaining some power from activating a new nations statue of the seven that it could? You couldn't focus on the question anymore as the look on Zhongli's face when he fell came to mind again.

The sight of his eyes blown wide and a split second of pure panic sent you straight back into a fit of laughter. The ground far below you shakes as a Geo pillar constructs a bridge high enough to reach the stone you sat on. 

The sound of footsteps make you open your eyes and giggle at the sight of a disheveled and annoyed Zhongli. Annoyed is still an improvement compared to his enraged state earlier. With giggles slipping out, you stand back up and laugh louder at his appearance in full view.

His hair was pulled out of his rattail with his earrings nowhere to be seen. Bits and pieces of the weaker cloth of his suit were missing, giving him a poor look that didn't match his flawless posture. The red marks and light cuts only added to the joy you feel at his expense.

"Are you finished laughing, Y/N?"

"For now at least. I would suggest buying a new set of clothes but I don't think you have the mora for it!" Zhongli only lets out a long-suffering sigh as you crack up again.

You would be scolding yourself for not taking the chance to escape while he was away but it was better this way. You didn't need the information about Khaenri'ah, it was nice to know but the information wouldn't help you live.

The main reason you stayed was because running away would prove Zhongli right to be suspicious about you. It would let him know that you're scared and have something to hide. Plus, that would mean having to escape Liyue the same way you did Ei, just in a worse situation.

That's not something you want to repeat.

"Alright I'm done laughing." You say while wiping off the budding tears from the corner of your eyes. Zhongli sends you a look that screams that he doesn't believe you but you shrug it off.

"Really, that question was more of a test if you will. My main job is simply to see who the Creator can trust. Your relationship with the Creator beyond that is between you and them." 

The calm and peaceful tone you use is such a contrast to the one you used earlier that Zhongli is clearly apprehensive. Paying it no mind you continue to speak. 

"If you truly want a reason to at least try and believe me to be the oracle even if you don't fully believe me, then I'll give you one. I'm sure you still have the stone dumbbell from Guizhong that you've never been able to open. I know how to open it."

Those last words have Zhongli staring at you intensely as you gaze off into the distance. The Dragon-Queller tree is visible through the fog with its glowing blue branches and yellow leaves.

"How?" He breathes out, scared to trust but scared to lose this opportunity too.

"It requires a naturally grown glaze lily cultivated by the Creator. That's because it requires a 'pure' glaze lily and the only one who can grow such a thing at this day and age is the Creator. All the natural glaze lilies have died after all."

Zhongli's shoulders slump at your words. It seems he started to let his guard down after he fell off. He must no longer view you as a threat or, at most, an annoyance. That's okay with you, underestimation is the most useful viewpoint they could have for you.

"Should I even make an attempt to ask you why it can only be unlocked with that? You're only telling me this as a last resort to keep you alive, correct? Even if I told you that I would keep you alive without that information, you wouldn't believe me. As childish as you may be, foolishness does not seem to be a quality you hold."

"That may be true, but if you really want an answer to that first question then I'll tell you." You look over to lock eyes with him and smile. It conceals every sneaky and vicious thought you hold. "I have no clue. The Creator instructed me to use it as a last resort, if you want that answer then try praying. Perhaps you'll get an answer."

You would like to know the answer to the stone dumbbell too. After all, you only made up the solution! Seeing as Zhongli spent all these years after Guizhong's death, failing to unlock it, it's a good bet that it'll never open. 

It's silent as you both get lost in your own thoughts. Unlike before it wasn't tense, it was more comparable to the silence you would spend alone in your apartment. The nights you would only be accompanied by the thoughts of the 'what-if' situations. Thoughts that would only stay thoughts just as the past would be just that, the past.

Wanderer learned that the hard way too. You wouldn't let yourself hold so many regrets before your inevitable death. Even in Liyue you weren't truly safe, so wouldn't it be best to speak to Zhongli while you still could?

"I have questions about Khaenri'ah… Well, the better way to put it is that the Creator has questions about them. It's one of the few things that they mourn the most. A whole nation devoted to worshiping solely the creator, destroyed by the Archons that swore their life and loyalty to the creator. So will you explain it to me?"

His eyes fill with the same sorrow you saw in him earlier. It seems you were right in guessing that his line on blindly trusting things labeled with the creator was connected to Khaenri'ah.

"I have spent all my years after that day asking for forgiveness, for some way to atone. It was one of the few contracts that I did not properly balance in equivalent exchange. I regret signing it, not for myself but for my beloved God."

"So it's a no."

"It's an agreement not to speak of it."

"Then don't speak about it." Zhongli seeds you a questioning glance as you mischievously smile at him. "Just listen to my words and don't look away. I'm quite sure nodding and shaking your head doesn't count as breaking your silence."

A huff of amusement leaves him at your solution. His eyes close with his lips curling into a small smile. He nods his head in acceptance, not having the drive to poke holes into your stubbornness.

You were quite confident in the conclusions you've drawn so far. Genshin Impact was nearly the sole reason you were living back on Earth. Family and friends were nonexistent, you had given up hope on making any new connections as well. The only thing you did when you weren't home was work and your work made you be everything but yourself. So combining everything you know from the game with everything of the cult that you've learned thus far shouldn't be too hard.

"When the Archon War broke out, I'm sure most of you were merely looking to keep your people and nation alive. The original design of having the gods powered solely on their people's worship paled in comparison to Celestia's offer of power by obtaining a spot in a group of seven. At the end, you all had a choice. Accept your spot by accepting a Gnosis, or go against them similar to how the Dragon King once did."

Zhongli perks up at the mention of the Dragon King. Not many people know about the original Dragon King. Most people assume it's Azhdaha when in reality, the original was a far greater dragon.

"You all must have been quite against it. The only God you would all bow under would be the Creator who had left before those events to sleep in my world, yet Celestia probably whispered to you all that it was allowed on Teyvat because it was approved by the Creator. That the Gnosis was a reward for all your hard work and as Celestia was the first descender, all of you accepted it.”

The way he begins to stare at you is invasive, like he's just dying to jump you to get every bit of knowledge you hold on the topic. He's starting to suspect you.

"Yet when Khaenri'ah was revealed to exist years afterwards, everything was thrown into confusion. I'm sure you and the other Archons were fine with their presence as Khaenri'ah worshiped the Creator, but was Celestia?" 

A sly smile creeps upon your face at the memory of when it was revealed that Khaenri'ah  wasn't the first civilization to be turned into hilichurls. No one liked Celestia so you had no problem pinning almost all the blame onto it.

"I'm sure they were enraged, especially as Khaenri'ah grew more and more bold with their inventions. Gold in particular was quite dangerous seeing as she not only created life but also Durin and the Golden Wolflord. And even that was unintentional!"

You laugh cheerfully as Zhongli chuckles in surprise at your words. Had you successfully deterred him? Probably not, but he hasn't stopped you so you'll keep going till the end.

"Celestia ordered you all to aid them in destroying Khaenri'ah but you all refused. How could any of you harm a nation so devoted to the creator even if they refused to worship Celestia or the Seven? But that Gnosis you all accepted comes with a price. A price that serves as leverage and a control device."

The thoughts of what Beisht told you on how Celestia had caused them to forget the original way of worship resurfaced. Celestia was just too suspicious for that to be the only thing they had done. It would take a lot more than that to force the Archons to listen to them.

"That Gnosis was like a drug. It gave you all so much power, tasting and making you feel like you're on top of the world! Just for it to come crashing down when the unpleasant side effects hit you. It corrupted you all like poison forcing you to wage war against Khaenri'ah. My best bet is that it was like mind control. What do you say?"

He looks at you with a blank expression, as if trying to see the secrets you hid in your soul through your eyes. But there's no response from him, not even the occasional nods that he was giving before.

"Well if it was mind control, perhaps it made you believe that Khaenri'ah had plans to overrule the Creator and create their own human god. Or maybe it made them out to be traitors to the creator. Perhaps both? That doesn't really matter, what does matter is that only after the war was in full throttle were you all brought back to your senses."

You didn't have any proof of that last part, it just seemed like something Celestia would do. Not only to prove their superiority but also force the Archons to put their best effort in defeating the people of Khaenri'ah to save their nations.

"After the war ended, you all wanted to get rid of it but Celestia wouldn't allow such a thing. Even if you most likely tried to find some loophole, Celestia doesn't play nice. It would make sense if they threatened to give a punishment similar to what they had done to Khaenri'ah. So long as none of you destroy or throw it away, they'll leave you all be,”

Venti was a god, no matter what fans said, there was no way he would lose to Signora. It made more sense if that was his way of 'handing' it over to the Tsaritsa. There was also Nahida who threatened to break her Gnosis to one-up Dottore. That was always funny, you would kill to have witnessed that in person. 

"Of course none of you would actually use it or even desire it in your vicinity. Everyone wins when the Tsaritsa uses her various methods to acquire the gnosis'. And thanks to the traveler appearing during that time, Celestia was probably too busy freaking out over that to pay too much attention. For a while at least."

Finally looking back to Zhongli, you smiled proudly. "I must be pretty close right? At no point did you laugh at me like you did with Alice so I'll take that as a good sign. And even if I'm wrong, everything will be solved when the Creator descends."

Stretching to loosen the tension in your back, you applaud yourself for the brilliant thinking. It's not like anyone can actually fake gold blood for long when even hair dye didn't exist yet. You're basically leaving all these loose ends to the you that would be believed to be the Creator. Which is never going to happen!

"Would the Creator scorn me for asking you once again if you're truly an oracle?"

"I'm sure the glorious creator would be fully justified in doing so, but I'll scorn you in their stead.. And don't get it twisted, it's not because of your feelings concerning Guizhong's death. It's how you, by your own negligence, offended the Creator!"

An utterly baffled expression paints his face at your accusation. Unrelenting, you point your finger at him with a serious face that you haven't shown him till now.

"Did you really believe that the creator wouldn't realize? Just how little you changed from that brute of a dragon that saw humans as plentiful yet insignificant as dust? To think that you believed yourself to be comparable to the primordial dragons."

Zhongli stiffens at the mention of the primordial dragons. After all he is the prime of the Adepti who's exuvia is a dragon, not a primordial dragon. Wouldn't it be fun if he held some sense of inferiority when compared to the primordial ones?

Zhongli sits on the ledge of the rock with his elbows on his legs and his hands covering his face. It was time. He would question just what you were talking about and you'll explain the elemental sacrificing that he forgot. That'll be the end and he'll have no choice but to support you! 

Smiling knowingly you approach him and lean down to see behind the shadow casting over his eyes. Your eyes twinkle victoriously as his breath leaves a cloud from the crisp air.

"I should have known that the creator would not forgive me for failing to arrive on time."

What? 

"How could I have been beaten to that shooting star by that astrologist? No matter who may have been her master, I failed to arrive on time."

Zhongli sulks there as he continues rambling to himself on 'missing' the shooting star due to his old age. Was he seriously talking about how you lost him the first time to Mona?!

Memories come back of you using the last of your wishes on his banner and being greeted with Mona instead. The first 50/50 you lost and was forced to use nearly all your primogems to get him. A fact that you never let Zhongli forget through your adventures.

Just what would he do if he knew how you always switched to a different character whenever his idle starts to play? Would he sew his lips together in repentance? That must be the difference between a true believer and a fake believer...

Holding back a sigh you begin brainstorming on how you were supposed to bring the conversation back to the sacrificing. Zhongli is too lost in his own head as he begins to continuously blame himself for any mistake he could have made.

"Being unable to answer the travelers' questions must have worsened their view on me too."

"That and how you were willing to let Liyue flood if they couldn't defeat Osial."

"Human life may be precious but they're as numerous as the dust that make up stone. I would rebuild Liyue for the rest of this long life until I cultivate a nation that I could humbly present the creator with."

"Then shouldn't the creator just grind you down and raise a different Adepti to their exact liking? You should work hard to be exactly what they desire to be truly loved."

"Are you saying that the Creator loathes me?" He finally looks away from the sea of clouds to stare at you. Sparing him a glance, you listen to him grow more panicked by your silence.

"Do they wish to see me crumble and be reabsorbed into the earth for my mistakes, for my sins? Was it the way I mechanically went through the motions of worship for the few years after Guizhong's death? Or does my benevolent god crave me and my nation to fall for aiding in the destruction of Kh-?"

Abruptly Zhongli grasps at his chest where his heart lays as he coughs. More out of politeness than concern you rub his back as fluid flies from his lips to his closed fist.

The thick inky plum colored fluid stained his fist with droplets of crimson swirling within it. His coughing fit slows to a halt as his hand slowly releases the clothing over his heart. Harsh breathing and a shallow pained groan is all that can be heard as he cleans himself up.

“Pardon me-” 

“Was that a warning from Celestia or a side effect if you get too close to speaking?"

"The implication is the same no matter what it may be from." He whispers as you begin to move back to return his personal space. Yet his now ungloved hand is what wraps around your grass stained sleeve.

"Now answer my question." Determination and a barely concealed unruly emotion simmer beneath his composed surface as he asks. "As an oracle, tell me what I have to do to earn their forgiveness. What must I reap to begin repenting for the sins I sowed?" 

Eyes widening at the sight of the disheveled man, you stare at him quietly. The messy hair, cut up clothing and grip tight enough to keep you still all while being careful not to bruise.

Hook, line and sinker.

"Is that a question for me to answer? Am I the god that you wronged? If you wish to communicate with the creator yourself, then there is a way. A method to begin regaining the pebbles that make up the mountain of trust you once shared with them."

You grab the arm that connects to his hand wrapped around your own and pull him up. He obeys the silent command and stands up, his gaze never faltering from your form. Silent and towering like the mountains he's created, he simply listens.

"Celestia has hidden more from you than you originally thought. But I'm sure you already know that. Offer yourself to the merciful creator and they'll surely hear your pleas of forgiveness. Whether they forgive you or not is up to them."

Releasing your hold on him, you turn to survey the area. Now where could you have him perform the sacrifice? His free hand comes to rest on your shoulder for your attention.

"What must I offer of myself? My blood? My body? If need be, I'll even be willing to offer my life. My life is worthless without them. I'm nothing more than a grain of mineral if not for them."

"There's so many things you can offer, but if you want to make the most impact, then you'll offer up your body parts. Your life may be precious but just how much longer do you have left?"

"Then will the private temple I have built for them work? We can head there immediately." He points south to the sole unnamed mountain in Minlin. You vividly remember unlocking the teleport waypoint there.

"The only way I'll know is when I see the interior. I'll meet you there Zhongli!"

Pulling yourself away from his grasp, you close your eyes and calmly imagine what the scenery around the waypoint looks like. The rocky feel of the floating stone changes to a lush green beneath your feet. Opening your eyes you're greeted with a valley of viridescent brustles with degraded stone ruins at the edges. 

"To think that the Creator even allowed you access to the waypoints. They must treasure you greatly." He appears at your side in a matter of minutes. His tone has a hint of longing and bitterness.

It's sweet like the flavor of a childhood candy that you would sneak behind your parents backs. Almost sweet enough to make up for the starvation you would face later on as punishment.

"Instead of focusing on that, why don't you show me that private temple you created? As the Geo Archon, I hold high expectations for you."

"This temple is the one I created for me. If you want the glamorous shrine built for the mass and appearance then you're better off viewing the public one that the Qixing now control."

He walks down the hill until the grass is tall enough to cover his calves. You follow behind him and stare blankly at the plain that is covered with a healthy amount of tall marigolds. Just as you're about to repeat the question, the earth begins to rumble.

It starts with just one stone rising from the ground, until it multiplies into a roof like structure. You watch in awe as a temple surges out of the mountain with the slightest bits of dirt falling off it.

Stone of high quality and clearly careful upkeep shines with small cracks from the passage of time. Gold, silver, and bronze layer the nooks and crannies of the pillars that keep a roof over the doorway.

Marveling at it, you follow Zhongli into the temple... He couldn't kill you in it, right? Surely you could still teleport even if he locked you in it… Teleporting without using the map might not work due to the focus and effort it required, but doing it with the map has never failed you yet.

The inside was even more impressive; statues of all kinds surrounded the hallway. It was you, always you, just in different poses, clothing and materials. From thin robes crafted entirely from Cor Lapis, to suits made of Noctilucous Jade.

Arriving at what seemed to be the main room, you're greeted with a huge statue comparable to the public one in Inazuma's plaza. Sunlight bathed your statue from the skylight above it.

Your body was made of Cor Lapis decorated in an Archon-like robe made from Noctilucous Jade. A fresh Glaze Lily sat in your palm as Silk Flowers adorned your head in a crown like structure. You sat on a blue stone throne that seemed to grow brighter as you approached it. The sleek yet dense mineral looked like the magical crystal chunks you would give to the blacksmiths. 

"Be careful to not venture too close to that one, the elemental energy may leave it to join you." Zhongli warns as he steps into the middle of the room. Smiling casually to hide your amazement, you head back to him.

"What an impressive statue, the Creator is feeling quite pleased with the display but still wishes to see your true remorse." Digging into your bag, you brought out the ceremonial knife and the handbook you took notes on.

"Go get the softest cloth and lay it on the ground. This ritual is simple, you'll cut off whatever part of your body you wish to offer, pray, and wait for a response. If 10 to 20 minutes pass with no response, then you can leave it at that or offer more in hopes of a response."

Closing the book and shoving it back into your bag you offer the knife to Zhongli. He looks up from where he laid the gilded gold fabric to stare at the knife before letting out a drawl laugh.

"That knife will do little to my scales, Y/N. A ceremonial item is to be bathed in liquid gold to be used so I have more than enough weapons that can actually cut my skin."

Scoffing, you stuff the knife back in as he leaves and returns with a variety of weapons. The largest was an ax that smelled faintly of blood. Was it used to sacrifice someone not too long ago? The thought makes you uncomfortable, yet you're no longer alarmed at the thought.

My, have you changed.

You move to stand away from the center closer to the exit. Zhongli's bare hand turns to a pattern of black and amber hues. Shedding his thick coat, his flexed muscles in draconic form are left in full view.

If you were back on Earth, you would have killed to view this. An Archon’s skin was something the majority of the players wished for, for quite a while. Even now, you would love to see his true Archon form, but the thought of actually living was far more tantalizing.

Rolling up his sleeves, he chooses a sword and examines it carefully. Without fear he raises it high and slices downwards cutting his hand off cleanly. The ruby liquid sprays onto the floor as the droplets drip off his sword and dismembered limb simultaneously.

It doesn't matter how many times you witness or smell blood, it still disgusts you. The only blood you truly cherished in shedding was the one that left that man's body when you stabbed him in that cold alleyway.

His hand lands onto the expensive textile with a wet thud as the ivory bone sticks out. Zhongli lays the sword down gently resisting the urge to groan in pain. Gritting his teeth he returned his attention and gaze back to you. You, who stayed in perfect position ahead of him, clad in gems and minerals carved by his own hand.

Closing his eyes, his lips followed the adored pass time of praying with intensity. Too lost in his regret, joy, and infatuation his words slipped out clear like the perfectly carved jewels he’s crafted for you.

"My god, my god. For I have sinned against you so. The mistakes I cannot fix or change, I pray for your forgiveness." Your unmoving, unchangeable eyes stared at him with an expression so familiar to him, one who worshiped you in this temple for centuries.

"From allowing myself to be tricked, to the lack of devotion I felt to you in Guizhong's death and finally with how I treated a servant of yours with disdain. Envious, I am envious to an extent that I shouldn't hold to my righteous god like you. Even now I still haven't broken the habit of referring to you as 'my' god."

Once again, just like the first time, Teyvat seems to overwhelm you with his feelings. You stare at his back as his lips murmur the words of devotion without an end in sight. Silently, you accept his offering, this first one was only to put the last nail in the coffin of you being an oracle. 

The sky darkens as Zhongli's hand crumbles into a pile of primogems that dissolve into the air. Blue and purple stars dance across the sky as a lone gold star makes its way closer. 

You didn't plan to always accept his offerings. After all you did lose a 50/50 to him and was forced to put up with his paranoid possessiveness in regards to your creator self. Shouldn't you make him lose a few times to even the score?

The gold star shines brighter and bigger as Zhongli gazes at it with a smile purer than anything he's ever felt since his creation at your hands. It flies through the window enveloping him and the whole room with a beaming light.

--------------

When his eyes open, the skylight shows the sunny sky but he can already feel his connection to you stronger. The brilliance you bore shines beautifully in him like a star he wished to keep hidden for only him to see.

It worked, it worked! There is no need for him to be wary or envious of you for claiming to be so close to the creator anymore. In fact, you were a sign specifically designed for someone like him. A sign that the creator had not grown complacent in simply watching Teyvat, you were now showing interest in coming back soon. And through you, he can find out details about the creator that were kept secret all these millennia.

A wide and joyful grin is bared with obsession tangling within it. He turns his head to where you stood and his smile drops abruptly when all he's greeted with is an empty spot. 

He built this temple for him and the creator to enjoy in privacy due to his possessive nature born from his dragon lineage, yet the sight of Y/N who up and vanished after fulfilling their duty struck his core like the abyssal gunk that used to constantly corrupt his body.

You may have left, you may think that he wouldn't treat you, a fellow devoted servant well due to his earlier behavior. And he understands that, he truly does but that simply means he has to rectify his mistake before it's too late. You were a mere human while him, a god. 

Finding you before any terrible consequences from his mistakes won't take too long.

-------------------

Unaware of the dragon's changing tune, you eye the Dragon-Queller tree from outside the temple with interest. After all the work you've done thus far, indulging yourself with a nice close up of the magnificent landmark would be a good treat for yourself.

This one took a while and it was edited by the same jerk. I really hope all the work was worth it and that the next part can be done faster. But as my college is starting this early Sep, it might be even longer. Genshin's lore is a hot mess so I tried my best to keep it simple while touching on the important parts. All the lore I put in is almost completely accurate. If you don't include the sagau parts. If your name is italic then that means I couldn't tag you. I manually put everyone so hopefully this fixes the notifications problems. Taglist: @vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @sielt, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @conspicuous-mayonnaise, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @zhonglisfruityass, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @millienolife, @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet, @yandematic, @atrcclovsxoxo, @0lshadyl0

[coffeegnomee]

There's something about how Mapicc will go full out on the attack over an assumption or something that fits with your reputation.

But then when confronted that that is not the truth, he will back off and say, maybe i was wrong.

But then he keeps you on the watch list and his trust is forever wavered.

There's two instances and both came up in the past month, though one was season 6 and the other season 4.

When Zam confronted Mapicc about Mawn on the first day, Mapicc confronted him back saying he only ever calls on him to fight and nothing else: tldr Zam uses him.

Zam of course is shocked and horrified that Mapicc would think that, and after going back and forth and a lot of insisting from Zam, Mapicc goes,

MAPICC: "I don't think you did. I don't think you were intending to like, use me for personal gain, but i think lowkey even if you don't agree you did- i think you did”

And then after more confrontations he goes,

MAPICC: “[pause] i think.. That maybe just a lot of people subconsciously do that and now I see it in people when it’s not happening. It's possible”

(12/15/24 "RECOLLECT" zam, conversation starts at 2:45:00)

And that interaction bothered me a lot. When it happened I thought it was a sign that Mapicc actually did start changing his mind about mawn, but by the time I wrote the post there were more mawn streams and Mapicc had clearly not been changed by that convo. So what was going on?

The rest of mawn continued, Mapicc kept denying it was all about Zam while making it all about Zam.

And on the last day, Mapicc brings back up the feeling used by Zam.

MAPICC: “i don't feel abandoned. I feel used. [..] i'm perfectly fine bro. I- I can make it back to 20 hearts, i can live on my own. Like [..] like i do some crazy ass action out of nowhere and like i die in the middle of it and the first thing you message me it to come bail you out of a bunch of wardens pit?"

Mapicc does an entire takeover of spawn and Zam doesn't enter into the play. He doesn't reciprocate. He doesn't embrace mapicc's idea. He doesn't care about him and what he cares about.

Zam just wants Mapicc when he needs help.

Stab the knife and twist it.

And all this after Mapicc put aside his "oath" (killing people whenever he thinks they deserve it) for Zam and Zam's plot. Mapicc changed himself to do stuff with Zam, but Zam wouldn't change himself to do stuff with Mapicc.

They go back and forth debating on whether or now mawn was good. Mapicc is less and less confident, while zam says he thinks it did do good but he couldn't be involved.

MAPICC: ‘what is it you would like from me” ZAM: “i don't know. Thats what im trying to figure out. Cause like, i don't even know” [..] MAPICC: “i think im in the wrong.” ZAM: "really?” MAPICC: "im sorry”  [..] Zam asks if he wants to join his team with derap and poafa. Mapicc just looks at zam. Zam says he can think about it MAPICC: "i just don't want to team with derap and poafa” ZAM: “fair enough” MAPICC: ”lets just- why can’t you just be in two teams? [..] why can't we be in the mapicc-zam team and then you have your teammates” ZAM: “[jumping on it so fast] im okay with that as well”

(12/23/24 "to ashes and blood" zam. convo starts 2:49:00)

All of mawn has been about getting Zam back to spawn, Mapicc shouting once, "just- COME OUT OF EXILE! Just come back to spawn” (1:31:40 zam "dynasties and dystopia")

There's this war within Mapicc over knowing he will continue to feel used by Zam, but still just wanting to be by Zam. All of it centers back to wanting to be teammates - doing plots together.

Bc "teammate" means something for Mapicc. It's a "do everything together" type relationship. "Support each other in all things" type relationship. Look at how he was in dualities. (before the finale. which is actually really interesting to think about)

Which brings me to the second moment Mapicc reacted aggressively only to take it back and say it was all based on assumptions: the Dupe War.

Spoke dropping the unreleased footage within the same month as the above really created a parallel within the Mapicc characterization.

57:00 MAPICC: "honestly no, honestly, here's the thing, i think, i really do, okay? I really do think it might've just been the reputation [..] you were saying some ominous things. and me and zam thought about it [..] and you kept saying things that were making your case worse and worse."

After feeling like Spoke was playing them, Mapicc went and killed Spoke. Spoke, enraged and upset, confronted Mapicc and eventually Mapicc said he acted out of turn, it might've just been the reputation.

It's so similar to the s6 belief, now I see it in people when it's not happening.

And so similar to s4, he'll admit defeat in the battle, give the benefit of the doubt. But the nagging suspicion continues and he's never quite able to shake it.

MAPICC: "I wish this guy wasn't such a snake, i would like 5 minutes hanging out with Spoke" ZAM: "[finishing sentence] without thinking he has some kind of ulterior motive"

("Night of the End", zam vod 1:54:40)

Mapicc's mind runs at a million miles an hour, making connections, providing assumptions, giving gut checks.

And he's right a lot of the time.

But he doubts himself all of the time. Going back on his observation when someone presses him in the opposite direction. Caving and placating so as to not loose a friendship.

but that self-doubt seems to be louder in the conversation that it really is within his own mind. And once he notes something it's very hard for his mind to be changed.

And it's interesting how his assumptions that Zam would oppose mawn and would be responsible for these things that kept happening, were wrong. He said during the final mawn convo that he felt like zam kept 180-ing after every convo, though he admits he was wrong about who did the suspicious things.

But the assumption that started this whole thing was that Mapicc felt used, not that Zam would oppose him.

And that assumption has still not been proven incorrect.

Though Mapicc will go along with it for now, being more cautious than before. Just like he was with Spoke after that dupe war confrontation.

It's a haunting ending, and it's not helped at all by how Mapicc ended his video. My general belief is that Mapicc went 180 on what actually happened bc the video is public and all the lifestealers will watch it, and he did say he would keep mawn going and just let it exist in people's minds. You can't do that if you end your video saying it's all over.

And yet.

MAPICC: "Me and Zam had made up, but it didn't mean we could team. If i could go back in time i would have never done mawn, but now that i have full control over spawn, i can't just stop"

it is a complete 180 from what was decided in the conversation.

and that was mapicc speaking days later, after reflection. What went on in his head, alone while editing?? Where will this go? why did he have to go skiing??

[themultifandomgal]

Oh, oh, I have a request! ~~

I have had this one in my mind for a long time. What about Tommy Shelby X sister!reader where before the war he knew her as his sweet naive sister that chokes on cigarette smoke, doesn’t like whisky and looks exactly like their mother. After he returns she is a complete different person, while the men were at war she had to take on the family business with Polly, so she has become a kind of criminal genius? Cold, calculated, unhinged at times and highly intelligent. Tommy is so shock that at first he can’t even recognize her, the look in her eyes is completely different. Maybe that shock turns into fascination, and that fascination into concern as soon as he sees what she has become.

I hope I’m not in difficulty to you with this request, I just need to get it out of my mind. Feel free to ignore it. Thanks. 🫀

Shelby Sister- A Different Girl

Before the war YN was an innocent sweet girl who never smoked or drank. She was the Shelby's pride and joy having being the only one who would rather sit and read a book instead of going out getting pissed. Tommy remembered the first time John gave YN a drink and she almost threw up from it. He also remembered when she tried one of his cigarettes and couldn't stop coughing. YN was your typical sweet doe eyed girl. So when Tommy and his brothers returned from the war they almost didn't recognise the sweet girl. Before the war she would wear dresses, have her long hair braided with a bow now she was in trousers, her hair cut short and the smile she once wore on her face was now gone.

While the boys were away YN took on the family business with her aunt Polly, dealing with many men she had to learn to grow up and how to keep herself safe.

YN walks through the door of the betting shop with her head held high. She walks over to John who's writing the bets on the bored. Rolling her eyes YN snatches the chalk from her brothers hand leaving him shocked

"Your doing it wrong" YN says rubbing off his work "oh and since it's a Friday, Mr Johnson will be in. If you don't deal with him straight away he will cause issues"

"Issues" John scoffs

"Don't say I didn't warn you"

"YN go home. Your not needed" YN turns around to see Tommy walking in with Arthur. YN raises her eyebrows

"You need me"

"No we don't. We dealt with the shop fine before we went away"

"Polly and turned the shop into what it is today. So no. I'm not going home" YN and Tommy end up having a stare off which Tommy becomes fascinated with how much his sister has changed.

YN stays at the betting shop dealing with difficult men with ease which surprises all of her siblings. One man in particular enters the betting shop, a man YN has dealt with many times. The shop had not long closed

"I told you last time to piss off" YN says barley looking at the man while she carries on doing the books

"And I told you last time I'd be back"

"Look" YN sighs now looking up at the man "Mr Harris. I'm a bit tired of removing you from the the shop. So since my brothers are back I'll let you keep that last shred of dignity you have and let you walk out of here on your own" Mr Harris starts laughing as YN stands up from her seat. Tommy watches from his office ready to intervene and any second. But what took him back was seeing his once sweet and innocent sister take out a gun and give the man a warning shot. But when the man started laughing Tommy whiteness his sister shout the man in the head. Fascination turns to concern as he watches YN place her gun back in her holster then wipe the blood off her face

"I actually liked this top" she sighs

"YN?" Tommy slowly walks out of his office slowly "why did you shoot him?"

"He's been a pain for months. Good riddance if you ask me. Now I best get rid of this body" YN says placing her hands on her hips. Long gone has Tommys sister, and she's been replaced with almost a new person. Someone Tommy knows doesn't need protecting, someone he knows he can rely on.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Playing for Keeps | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Chapter 11

 ← Previous Chapter Next Chapter →

Words: ~8,000

Tags: Modern AU, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Sebastian :)

It had been a week since your first Quidditch match, and life at Hogwarts had mostly returned to normal—or as normal as it could be for you. After missing a couple of days of classes to recover from your injuries, you were finally back on your feet and, for the most part, good as new. Madam Blainey’s healing potions were as effective as ever, and the soreness in your ribs was now only a faint memory.

Physically, you felt fine. Mentally, however, was a different story.

The memory of that day kept looping in your mind: the sharp crack of the Bludger hitting your side, the sickening thud as you collided with the goalpost, and then the blur of panic and pain as you were carried off the pitch. Most of all, you couldn’t stop thinking about Sebastian.

His expression, the sheer panic on his face as he held you, haunted you in the quiet moments. Even more confusing was the time you’d spent together in the hospital wing afterward. He’d stayed with you, fussed over you, his sharp tongue and teasing remarks replaced with something gentler. Something that felt… real.

And then, he was gone.

Sure, Sebastian was still there in class, sitting in his usual spot and answering questions with his characteristic charm. His quips were sharp as ever, drawing scattered chuckles from the room and the occasional exasperated sigh from the professor. On the surface, nothing about him had changed. His confidence was intact, his voice steady, his smirk as infuriating as it was endearing. He still seemed untouchable, like nothing could ever truly get under his skin.

But when it came to you, he remained conspicuously absent.

You’d thought, maybe naively, that things would return to normal after what happened in the hospital wing. After the closeness you’d shared—the way he’d held you steady when the world felt like it was tilting on its axis—you’d assumed he’d slide back into the old rhythm. Back to the teasing remarks, the pointed jabs, the way he filled the silences with his ridiculous antics. Back to you.

But he hadn’t.

He didn’t look at you the same way he had before—or rather, he didn’t look at you at all. His gaze, which used to find you in a room without fail, continued to avoid yours. Like he was keeping a careful distance, even when you were sitting only a few feet away.

And maybe... maybe he was right to tread carefully. You’d been the one to ask for space, after all. And you’d convinced yourself it was the right decision at the time. But now...

Now, the distance felt like a punishment. His absence wasn’t the relief you’d hoped it would be; it was an ache, a quiet, gnawing pain that never seemed to leave. You missed him.

And you didn’t know how to fix it.

It was in the midst of this internal tug-of-war that you found yourself seated at the Slytherin table, absently stirring your porridge as Headmaster Black rose from his seat at the staff table, raising his hand for silence, his perpetually annoyed expression dominating the room.

“Let us get this tiresome affair over with,” he began, his tone dripping with disdain. “Certain individuals—” he shot a pointed glance at Madam Kogawa and Professor Weasley, who both stared back at him with expressions of iron resolve—“have deemed it necessary for these players to grovel before us all. So, Gryffindors, if you must, proceed.”

The Great Hall grew deathly silent as Hugh Macmillan stepped forward. He looked every bit as uncomfortable as you imagined he would, his freckled face pale beneath the Gryffindor red scarf draped around his neck. He cleared his throat, darting a nervous glance at Rory Fitzwilliam and Teddy Bellamy, who each gave him a small nod.

“We…” Hugh started, then paused, as if hoping the floor would open up and swallow him whole. “We’d like to apologize.”

The words hung in the air, and you found yourself shifting slightly in your seat.

Bellamy continued. “What we did during the match was wrong. It wasn’t just unsportsmanlike—it was dangerous. We’re sorry. We didn’t just let the team down; we let the school down. And we let you down,” he said, looking directly at you. “We’re really sorry for what we did. It wasn’t fair to you.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, all you could do was blink at him.

Finally, Rory stepped forward. “We take full responsibility for our actions and the consequences,” he said clearly, his voice steady and firm. “We hope you can forgive us, but regardless, we wanted to own up to what we did.”

A faint ripple of murmurs spread across the hall, starting at the Ravenclaw table. The apology was met with hesitant applause, first from the Gryffindors, naturally, then from a scattering of other tables. Even some of the Slytherins clapped, though many looked less than thrilled about it.

You kept your expression carefully neutral. When Rory’s eyes met yours, you gave a small nod—just enough to acknowledge the apology. It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was something. Rory seemed to take it as a good sign, and he stepped back in line with the other two players.

Headmaster Black sighed dramatically, his hand sweeping dismissively toward the Gryffindor table. “Are we quite finished? Excellent. Back to your seats, then, before this drags on any longer.”

Hugh, Teddy, and Rory quickly shuffled back to their table, their faces a mixture of relief and embarrassment. Black resumed his seat at the staff table with a disgruntled huff, muttering something under his breath.

Madam Kogawa and Professor Weasley exchanged a glance—Kogawa’s satisfaction was clear in the slight tilt of her head, while Weasley gave a small, approving nod.

As the Great Hall gradually returned to its usual breakfast chatter, you became aware of a familiar gaze. Sebastian’s eyes were on you, steady and searching from his spot at the down the table.

His raised brow and the subtle tilt of his head almost seemed to ask a question: You believe them?

You held his gaze for a moment too long, shrugging faintly before averting your eyes to your hands resting on the table.

Still, your mind raced—and your heart, inexplicably, along with it.

Your heart had been doing that more and more whenever it came to Sebastian. A simple glance, an offhanded remark in class, even the memory of the way he had looked at you in the hospital wing—his eyes full of worry, his voice uncharacteristically soft—was enough to set it off, fluttering against your ribs like a caged bird.

As you finished the last bites of your breakfast, you tried to brush off the sensation, chalking it up to something reasonable. Maybe it was some lingering aftereffect of your injury, or perhaps a symptom of something more serious. Accelerated heart rate could mean anemia, couldn’t it? Or a lack of sleep? You’d missed a couple of meals while recovering—could that have done it?

Yes, that had to be it. Something simple, explainable.

You rose from the table, collecting your belongings before slinging your bag over your shoulder.

As you stepped into the crisp morning air of the Transfiguration Courtyard, your breath curled in soft mist before you. Tugging your scarf tighter around your neck, you welcomed the bite of the cold—its sharpness a brief reprieve from the unfamiliar weight pressing against your chest.

“Hey—Chouette! Wait up!”

You turned abruptly, blinking as Leander jogged up to you, his face flushed, whether from the cold or the effort, you couldn’t tell.

“...What is it, Prewett?”

“I just… I need to talk to you,” he said, slowing to a stop in front of you. His usual bravado seemed absent, replaced by something awkward and hesitant.

You crossed your arms, raising a brow. “About what?”

“You know,” he said, his voice faltering. "About... about the wager I made with Sallow."

Your brow furrowed, the sharp chill in the air doing little to temper the flare of irritation warming your chest. “What about it?” you asked coolly, your words clipped.

Leander shifted awkwardly, faltering under your gaze. “Look, after seeing those blokes apologize back there I... I realized I should do the same. I know I’ve been a right git,” he said, his voice uneven. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. “You’re sorry,” you repeated.

“Yes,” he insisted, his tone growing almost defensive. “I was awful to you, and you didn’t deserve it.” He hesitated, then added, “...It wasn’t easy to come here and say this, you know.”

For a moment, you simply stared at him. It had been weeks since Garreth’s party. Weeks since the bet had spiraled out of control, leaving you humiliated and exposed to the whispered speculations of the entire school. And now, here Leander stood, his face flushed and his expression teetering between guilt and something far less noble. He had the audacity to act like it was remorse that made him shift on his feet and avoid your eyes, when you knew better.

It wasn’t guilt—it was self-preservation.

“I know it's been awhile since it happened,” Leander continued, the words sounding rehearsed. “But I let things get out of hand,” He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. “And look, I'm apologizing now, right? All water under the bridge, eh?”

“She doesn’t owe you forgiveness. So why don’t you take your ‘apology’ and shove off?”

The sound of Sebastian’s voice sent a jolt of surprise through you. He strode into the courtyard with the easy confidence that always seemed to cloak him, his hands tucked casually into the pocket of his hoodie. His expression, however, was anything but casual. His dark eyes burned with cold intensity as they locked onto the redhead.

Leander bristled, his cheeks darkening. “I wasn’t talking to you, Sallow.”

Sebastian stopped a few paces away, tilting his head slightly as if considering the words. Then he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’m talking to you.” His tone was calm, but there was a sharp edge to it, a quiet threat simmering beneath the surface. “What do you think you’re going to accomplish here? Hoping she’ll tell you everything's fine so you can feel better about yourself?"

Leander’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “You're just as guilty as I am."

Sebastian's smirk flickered into something sharper, more dangerous. His posture remained deceptively casual, but you caught the subtle shift in his stance—the way his shoulders squared just slightly, the faint clench of his jaw.

“Maybe,” he said coolly. “But I’m not the one hounding her for absolution in public, am I?”

Leander’s face flushed deeper, his frustration bubbling over as he took a step forward. “You think you’re better than me? You—”

Sebastian cut him off with a low chuckle, shaking his head. "I owned up to what I did weeks ago." He took a small step forward, closing the distance between them.

“You’ve been more of a thorn in her side than I have," Leander snapped, his voice rising slightly. "You’re not some knight in shining armor.”

Sebastian tilted his head, his expression hardening. "Fuck off, Prewett. She doesn’t owe you anything. Not her forgiveness, not her time, not a second more of her day. So do us all a favor and walk away before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.”

The words hung heavy in the chilly morning air, and for a moment, neither of man moved. Leander’s hands flexed at his sides, his gaze flickering toward you briefly, as though looking for some kind of support. When he found none, his shoulders sagged, his bluster faltering.

With a frustrated huff, he muttered, “Fine,” and turned on his heel, stalking off toward the castle.

The tension in the courtyard seemed to dissipate with every step Leander took, leaving behind only the faint rustle of the wind and the chatter of students who'd watched the encounter unfold. You let out a breath, your arms dropping to your sides.

Sebastian turned to you then, the hard edges of his expression softening. “You alright?”

You nodded slowly, still processing what had just happened. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I’m fine.”

Sebastian studied you for a moment longer, his gaze lingering as though he was trying to read your thoughts.

“Good,” he said simply.

You cleared your throat. “You, um. You didn’t have to step in."

“Maybe not,” Sebastian admitted, shrugging one shoulder. “But I wanted to.”

There was something about the way he said it—so calm, so matter-of-fact—that sent warmth flooding through you again, unbidden and maddeningly persistent. You hesitated, your thoughts swirling, before finally managing a quiet, “Thanks.”

“Anytime."

With that, he turned and walked off, sticking his earbuds in as he disappeared around the corner.

The rest of the morning passed in a haze, each class a blur as your mind stubbornly refused to focus. Charms brought top marks on your essay, and Potions earned you a rare nod of approval from Professor Sharp, yet neither accomplishment could hold your attention. Instead, your thoughts kept circling back to Sebastian, as if your mind were intent on sabotaging any attempt to take notes or absorb useful information.

In Transfiguration, you caught yourself watching him (again). He was in his usual spot near the window, the sunlight casting a soft glow over his dark hair. He wasn’t doing anything remarkable—just sitting there, his head tilted slightly as he listened to Professor Weasley explain a complex spell theory. And yet, for some reason, you couldn’t look away.

Your gaze drifted to the curls of his hair at the nape of his neck, where it just brushed the collar of his robes. It looked impossibly soft, the kind of tousled imperfection that seemed to call for your fingertips. The light caught on his skin, and you unwittingly traced the freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. You’d noticed them before, of course, but now you found yourself wondering just how many there were, how long it would take to count them all—freckle by freckle. The thought made your stomach flip, heat creeping up your neck as you quickly turned your attention back to your notes.

But the distraction was short-lived. Your gaze flickered back to him almost involuntarily, your mind filling with questions you had no business asking. Did the freckles continue down his neck, hidden beneath the crisp collar of his shirt? How far down did they go? The thought sent your pulse racing, and you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to look at your parchment again.

This is ridiculous, you told yourself. He's just… Sebastian. Sitting there, exactly like he always has, nothing out of the ordinary. But the more you tried to brush it off, the more you noticed. Like the breadth of his shoulders, broad and steady beneath the dark fabric of his robes. Or the way his hands moved as he wrote, the quick, precise strokes of his quill against parchment. His fingers were long, thick, and somehow graceful despite their callouses—no doubt from years of dueling and gripping a broomstick.

You let out a quiet huff of frustration, earning a glance from Imelda, who sat beside you. She arched a brow, her expression a mix of curiosity and suspicion, but thankfully said nothing.

When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of class, you scrambled to gather your things, determined to escape before your thoughts spiraled any further. But as you hurried out of the classroom, the sound of Sebastian's laugh—low and rich, in response to something Garreth had said—followed you, lingering in your mind long after you’d left.

By the time dinner rolled around, you’d resigned yourself to the distraction. Seated at the Slytherin table, you barely touched your food, your fork idly pushing a slice of roast potato around your plate as your mind wandered. You barely noticed when Imelda slid into the seat across from you until she waved a hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your daze.

“Oi, earth to Chouette. You alright, or did someone hit you with a Confundus?”

Startled, you blinked at her, trying to mask your flustered expression. “What? No, I’m fine.”

Imelda raised an unimpressed brow, her sharp eyes narrowing. “You don’t look fine. You’ve been spaced out all day. Even during quidditch practice, and you never zone out during practice.”

You forced a weak smile, brushing off her concern with a shrug. “Didn’t sleep well last night,” you lied, hoping she wouldn’t press further.

Her skeptical snort told you she wasn’t buying it. “You’re a terrible liar, you know. But fine, don’t tell me. Just don’t fall off your broom again, yeah? You’ve already filled your quota for near-death experiences this month.”

Her teasing tone struck a chord, the memory of the match, the memory of Sebastian's face so close to yours, flashing through your mind again. You gave her a tight smile, muttering something about needing to grab a book from the library before hastily excusing yourself.

The last thing you needed was Imelda poking further into your thoughts.

The library was a welcome reprieve, the familiar scent of old books and ink soothing your frayed nerves. You found a secluded corner near the Restricted Section, sinking into a chair and pulling out your textbook with a quiet sigh. The faint rustle of pages and the scratch of quills filled the air, providing a steady backdrop to your spiraling thoughts.

You slipped your headphones in, grateful for the muffling cocoon of sound as your playlist began, drowning out the faint whispers of the library and, mercifully, the relentless thoughts of Sebastian that had plagued you all day.

Finally, your mind began to settle, and you turned your attention fully to the Arithmancy equations before you, the numbers and symbols pulling you into their intricate logic.

Time passed in a blur, marked only by the occasional shift of light through the high windows and the quiet rustle of nearby students. You felt productive, a small sense of triumph settling over you as your quill moved steadily across the parchment.

But the fragile peace shattered when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You tensed, pulling your headphones out and turning to see none other than Amelia Rosier flanked by two of her equally polished friends. She stood with her arms crossed, her lips curved in a smile that dripped with insincerity.

“Well, well,” she began, her voice lilting with exaggerated sweetness, “look who we have here—Hogwarts’ most unexpected addition.”

Before you could respond, one of her friends, a blonde with perfectly braided hair, leaned against the edge of the table and chimed in, “It’s so brave of you to sit back here all alone. Most people would be too worried about looking… I don’t know… forgotten?”

The other friend, a petite brunette with sharp features, laughed softly, covering her mouth with a manicured hand. “But I suppose blending in would be difficult, wouldn’t it?”

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression neutral, your fingers tightening around the quill in your hand. “Can I help you with something?”

Amelia let out a soft laugh, clearly reveling in your discomfort. “Oh, no need to be so defensive. We just thought we’d stop by and say hello. After all, you’ve been the talk of the school lately.”

Her blonde friend, still leaning on the table, tilted her head and added, “You're all anyone can talk about—You know, Sebastian swooping in to defend you like some kind of damsel in distress this morning? It’s almost romantic, don’t you think?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to stay calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t play coy,” Amelia said, stepping closer and sliding gracefully into the chair across from you. Her friends followed suit, settling in like uninvited shadows. “Everyone knows he stood up to Leander for you. It’s practically heroic. But don’t let it go to your head, darling. He’s just being nice, that’s all.”

Your grip on the quill tightened until your knuckles ached. It took every ounce of restraint not to snap back, to remind yourself that giving them the reaction they clearly wanted would only add fuel to their fire.

Amelia leaned back in her chair, her icy blue eyes studying you with a smirk that made your skin crawl. "Oh, don’t look so serious," she said, her tone dripping with false sweetness. "We’re just having a bit of fun. No need to get upset."

Her blonde friend tilted her head, her expression feigning concern. “Do you think we’re upsetting her? I hope not. I mean, she has been through so much lately. The whole bet situation, falling off her broom…” Her lips curled into a sly smile. “It must be so exhausting.”

Amelia leaned forward, her icy gaze fixed on you as if she were a predator toying with her prey. “It was sweet, really, how Sebastian caught you after you fell."

The brunette chimed in, tilting her head as if she were genuinely curious. “Do you think he did it out of pity? Like, maybe he felt obligated because of the wager. It would explain a lot, don’t you think?”

Your chest tightened, the sting of their words sharp and unrelenting. You fought to keep your expression neutral, to keep the tremor out of your voice as you replied, “I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, but—”

“Oh, come now,” Amelia interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t be so sensitive. We’re just trying to help you manage your expectations. It’s a good thing, really. Wouldn’t want you getting your hopes up for someone like Sebastian.”

The blonde, still perched on the edge of the table, leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Sebastian has a type, you know? And let’s just say… it’s not you.”

Amelia shot her a look of mock disapproval, though the glee in her eyes was unmistakable. “Now, now, let’s not be mean. It’s not her fault she’s…” She trailed off, her gaze sweeping over you in a way that made you want to shrink into your seat. “Well, you know.”

Your chest tightened, the words slicing through you like shards of ice. You opened your mouth to retort, but Amelia cut you off with a saccharine smile.

“Speaking of which, I should probably let you in on something.” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was loud enough for the entire library to hear. “Sebastian will actually be joining me in the prefects’ bathroom tonight. You know, the one with the enchanted tub? Oh, that’s right—you’re a transfer. You probably don’t even know what the prefects’ bathroom is.”

Your stomach twisted violently, a bitter taste rising in your throat. Amelia’s tone was condescending, like she was explaining something to a child. “It’s this absolutely luxurious space, reserved for prefects and people like me, of course.”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“Is that so?"

The words drew all eyes to the end of the aisle, where Sebastian stood, leaning casually against the edge of a nearby bookshelf. His dark eyes were sharp, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Oh, Seb!” Amelia’s voice pitched up, dripping with false sweetness as she quickly recovered from her surprise. She slid gracefully from her seat, smoothing the front of her robes as she approached him with an exaggerated sway of her hips. “We were just talking about you!"

Sebastian didn’t move from his spot at the end of the aisle, his arms crossed over his chest and his weight shifted lazily against the bookshelf. “Yeah, I caught that part,” he tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “It's just strange... because I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered making plans with you.”

The other girls exchanged uneasy glances, clearly caught off guard by the cool detachment in his voice. Amelia, however, was undeterred. She stepped closer, her smile widening as she reached out to lightly touch his arm. “Don’t be silly, Seb. You know how forgetful you can be.”

Sebastian didn’t flinch, but his gaze dropped to where her fingers rested against his sleeve. With a deliberate slowness, he raised a single brow, and the corner of his mouth twitched with something close to disdain.

“Amelia,” he said, his voice calm but with an unmistakable edge, “you’ve got a better chance of seeing a Hungarian Horntail in the prefects’ bathroom than seeing me there with you.”

Amelia’s hand froze mid-motion, her confident smirk faltering for the briefest moment before she quickly recovered. “Oh, you’re such a tease,” she said with a strained laugh, withdrawing her hand and smoothing her hair. “Always so funny, aren’t you?”

“Funny?” he echoed, his voice quiet but cutting through the tension like a knife. “No, what’s funny is watching you embarrass yourself in front of half the library with these ridiculous lies.”

Amelia blinked, the saccharine confidence in her smile beginning to crack. “I—I don’t know what you mean. We were just—”

“You were just,” he interrupted smoothly, his tone as sharp as broken glass, “making a fool of yourself."

Her friends exchanged uneasy glances, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, but Sebastian didn’t give them a chance to intervene. He took another step forward, his gaze locked on Amelia, unflinching.

“Let me be perfectly clear,” he said, his voice steady and unwavering. "There is no us. Not friends, not acquaintances, and certainly not whatever ridiculous fantasy you’ve concocted in your head.”

Amelia’s face flushed crimson, her lips parting as if to argue, but Sebastian didn’t give her the chance.

“And if you think spreading lies about me—about her—makes you look clever or desirable, it doesn’t,” he continued, his tone sharpening with every word. “It makes you look petty. Desperate. And frankly, pathetic.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Amelia’s lips parted, as though she wanted to respond, but no words came. Her blue eyes darted around the aisle, searching for support from her friends, but they both seemed intent on avoiding her gaze.

Sebastian’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it grew harder, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he added, “Oh, and for the record? My type is someone with enough self-respect not to pull this sort of pathetic stunt. So... evidently, not you."

Amelia's cheeks burned, and her mouth opened as though she wanted to retort, but no sound came out. For a moment, the tension between them hung thick in the air, like a volcano about to erupt.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding as you risked a glance around the library. As expected, the commotion had drawn attention—plenty of it. Students at tables and tucked into study carrels craned their necks to see what was happening, some even holding up their phones, the faint glow of screens unmistakable in the dim light.

A small, vindictive spark flared in your chest. Karma.

Amelia's eyes darted toward the other students, the weight of their gazes clearly dawning on her. Her composed façade cracked further, the sweetness in her expression warping into something more brittle and strained. “You really think this is a good look for you, Sebastian?” she said, her voice trembling slightly but still clinging to a thread of defiance.

Sebastian didn’t flinch, his broad frame seeming to loom even larger as he took one deliberate step closer. The movement wasn’t threatening, but it left no room for doubt about who held control of the situation.

“I think,” he said evenly, his tone cool and measured, “that the only person who looks bad here is you and your stupid little friends."

Amelia let out a frustrated huff, her composure cracking entirely. “Let’s go,” she barked at the other girls, who scrambled to follow her, their faces pale with embarrassment.

As the trio retreated down the aisle, the tension in the library began to dissipate. Whispers erupted among the students, punctuated by the occasional stifled laugh or the faint click of a phone camera.

Sebastian let out a breath as he turned to you. His expression softened, the sharp edges melting away to reveal something closer to concern.

“You alright?”

You stared at him, your lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. Shock, disbelief, and an undercurrent of gratitude coursed through you, leaving you rooted to your seat.

“Chouette?”

When you still didn’t respond, he let out a soft sigh and glanced around the room.

“Alright,” he said sharply, addressing the gawking crowd. “Put your damn phones away. Now.” His voice cut through the low hum of whispers, and his dark eyes swept the room like a storm. “She’s not a spectacle for your entertainment.”

Most of the students scrambled to comply, their guilty expressions betraying them as they shoved their phones back into their robes. A few lingered, clearly hoping for more drama, but Sebastian didn’t give them the satisfaction. He turned his attention back to you, crouching slightly so he was eye level.

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, already gathering your quill, parchment, and books.

You blinked, finally finding your voice, though it was faint. “Sebastian, you didn’t have to…”

“Yes, I did." He extended his free hand toward you, his expression softening as he added, “Come on.”

You hesitated for just a moment before slipping your hand into his, your fingers fitting into his as if they’d always belonged there.

With quiet confidence, Sebastian led you through the sea of onlookers, his broad frame effortlessly parting the crowd. You followed without question.

The walk through the castle was silent, save for the soft shuffle of your shoes against the stone floors. You didn’t ask where he was taking you—something about the way he moved, purposeful and unhurried, made it clear he had a destination in mind.

Finally, he stopped in what seemed like an unremarkable corridor—a dead-end tucked away in the Dark Arts Tower. Sebastian paused in front of an ornate clock, its hands frozen in place. Without a word, he drew his wand, tracing a pattern in the air.

Before you could ask what he was doing, the clock shifted with a low, mechanical groan, its face sliding open to reveal a hidden staircase disappearing into the shadows below.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable, though there was a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze. “This is… a bit of a secret,” he admitted quietly, stepping aside to let you enter first. "Ominis might kill me if he finds out I showed you."

You hesitated for a moment, your gaze flicking between him and the hidden staircase that now yawned open before you.

“A secret?” you echoed.

Sebastian offered a faint, lopsided smile. “Yeah. Ominis is… particular about who knows, so let’s keep this between us, alright?”

The flicker of vulnerability in his eyes made your chest tighten. You nodded wordlessly, stepping past him and onto the hidden staircase.

When you reached the bottom, the room before you opened up into a sprawling, dimly lit chamber. Mismatched furniture was scattered around—a worn sofa here, a rickety table there—giving the space an oddly comfortable, lived-in feel.

“This,” Sebastian said, stepping past you and gesturing with a casual sweep of his arm, “is the Undercroft.”

You turned slowly, taking in the details of the space. There was a strange kind of intimacy here, a sense of history that felt almost tangible. Your gaze drifted to Sebastian, who stood watching you, your belongings still tucked under his arm.

“It’s… I had no idea something like this even existed... how long have you known about this place?" You stammered.

His lips quirked into a faint, wistful smile. “It’s been our sanctuary for years—mine, Ominis’, and… well, my sister too, back when she was still here."

You blinked. "...You have a sister?"

Sebastian’s smile faltered slightly, the edges softening into something quieter, more introspective. He lowered your belongings onto a nearby table, his fingers lingering for a moment on the spine of your notebook before he straightened.

“I do,” he said softly, the word carrying a weight that hung heavy in the air. “Anne. She’s... she had to leave Hogwarts a few years ago.”

The way he said it made your chest tighten, a faint ache blooming there. You opened your mouth to ask more, then paused, uncertain whether your should ask more.

Sebastian seemed to catch the hesitation in your expression because he let out a quiet sigh. “She was cursed,” he said finally, his voice low but steady. "Lives full time at St. Mungo's now."

Your stomach twisted at the rawness in his voice, the faint crack around the edges. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly, the words feeling inadequate even as you said them.

He shrugged, though it wasn’t dismissive. “It’s not your fault. And I’ve made my peace with it. Mostly.” His lips twitched into a faint, self-deprecating smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Anyway, this is... where I come to think.”

He paused, his dark eyes flicking back to you, and for a moment, his gaze was so open it left you breathless. “That’s why I brought you here,” he added softly. “I figured you might need that too.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

The vulnerability in his tone, the way he was letting you in—it was so at odds with the cocky, sharp-tongued boy who used to tease you endlessly.

“I don’t… I mean, thank you,” you stammered, feeling unsteady under the weight of the moment. “This is—this is really nice of you.”

Sebastian let out a faint, self-deprecating laugh, the sound soft and low as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t give me too much credit,” he said, his tone laced with a wry edge. “It’s not as noble or selfless as it probably seems.”

You blinked. “...What do you mean?”

He shrugged, crossing the room with an easy, almost languid stride, and sank onto one of the worn couches. The way he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees and fingers loosely clasped, made it seem like he was trying to find the right words.

“I just…” He paused, exhaling slowly, his dark eyes focused on some distant point in the room. “I wanted to talk to you. That’s why I was in the library earlier... looking for you.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. His tone was quieter than usual, lacking the sharp confidence you’d come to expect from him. It made you uneasy—and curious.

After a moment of hesitation, you moved toward a nearby chair, lowering yourself into it cautiously.

Sebastian glanced at you briefly, his gaze flicking to your face before darting away. He shifted slightly, leaning back against the couch, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed his calm façade.

“I’ve been trying to give you space,” he admitted, his voice low, almost hesitant. “After… everything. I know it's what you wanted—”

“—I did,” you interrupted softly. “But…”

“...But?”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. The flicker of vulnerability in his expression—so unguarded, so real—made your chest ache. “But it’s been… strange,” you admitted quietly, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess them. “Not having you around as much, I mean.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he quickly masked it, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “...Strange, huh?”

“Don’t make me regret saying that,” you muttered, feeling your cheeks heat.

Sebastian’s faint smile turned into a quiet laugh, warm and low. “I won't,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll behave.”

A small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips, your gaze lingering on him, drawn to every detail of his face.

Had his eyelashes always been that long? It wasn’t fair, really, the way they framed his eyes, making the rich, dark brown even warmer, softer. And the longer you looked, the more you noticed—the slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the way his mouth parted slightly as he exhaled, the faint scar by his eyebrow. And his mouth—Merlin help you, why were you staring at his mouth? The faint sheen of moisture on his lips made you wonder, for a fleeting, dangerous moment, what they might taste like. Would they be warm, firm, soft? Would he—

Your chest tightened, and you forced yourself to look away, only to find your gaze helplessly drawn back to him. His dark eyes were still locked on yours, deep and searching, like he was trying to unravel the thoughts tangled in your head.

The moment stretched thinner and thinner, a wire ready to snap as he leaned forward, just a fraction, the movement so subtle it was almost imperceptible.

Then, just as the tension became unbearable—

“Sebastian?” A voice drawled from the staircase, breaking the fragile quiet like shattering glass.

You jolted back instinctively, your heart slamming against your ribs as Ominis descended the stairs, his phone in hand.

“You’ve gone viral again.” Ominis huffed a laugh, moving through the room and holding his phone out.

Sebastian groaned, the sound low and frustrated, as he slumped back against the couch. The spell between you was broken, the moment slipping away like sand through your fingers.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. “How'd you know I was here?!”

Ominis raised an unimpressed brow. “Where else would you be? You publicly humiliated Amelia Rosier in the middle of the library not 20 minutes ago."

Sebastian let out a derisive snort. “The video got out already, then?

“Videos. Plural." Ominis said dryly, holding out the phone again. “Apparently there’s a particularly flattering angle of you towering over her like some vengeful storm cloud. Very cinematic.”

Sebastian smirked faintly, his usual cocky demeanor slipping back into place like a well-worn cloak. “Well,” he drawled, leaning back with a casual air that was entirely too practiced. “Can’t help it if I’m naturally dramatic. Someone had to put her in her place. Might as well make it entertaining.”

Ominis sighed heavily, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “insufferable,” before holding out the phone toward Sebastian. “Here. You might want to see just how entertaining you looked.”

Sebastian reached for the phone, but as Ominis shifted slightly to hand it over, he stiffened. His brows furrowed, his head tilting as though he were trying to listen for something.

“You’re not alone,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, a hint of suspicion creeping into his tone.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, shifting slightly in your chair. “Uh… hi, Ominis.”

His head snapped in your direction, his expression quickly shifting from suspicion to something closer to alarm. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Chouette?”

Sebastian groaned, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Relax, Ominis. She’s not going to tell anyone.”

“That’s not the point!” Ominis snapped. “You can’t just bring anyone here—”

“She’s not anyone,” Sebastian interjected firmly.

Ominis’ jaw tightened, his lips parting as though to argue, but he stopped himself. Instead, he inhaled deeply, his shoulders stiffening as he turned toward you, his expression unreadable. “This place is… important,” he said carefully, his tone measured. “It’s not just somewhere we hang out, it’s—”

“I know,” you interrupted softly, your voice steady but quiet. “Sebastian explained. I understand.”

Ominis’ frown deepened, but he didn’t say anything for a long moment. The silence was heavy, thick with unspoken tension, until finally, he let out a long, resigned sigh. “Alright,” he muttered. “Fine. But if you breathe a word about this to anyone—”

“She won’t,” Sebastian interrupted again, his tone cutting and impatient now. “Merlin’s sake, Ominis, can you stop for once and just… trust me? Or her?”

Ominis stiffened at that, his expression flickering for a moment before he sighed again. “Fine,” he muttered, clearly begrudging but unwilling to argue further. He turned, muttering something under his breath as he moved to one of the armchairs.

Sebastian watched him for a moment, his jaw tight, before turning back to you. His dark eyes softened slightly as they met yours, a quiet apology flickering in their depths.

“So…” you began, clearing your throat. “What’s… the general sentiment about the videos?”

Ominis snorted, the sound cutting through the tension like a razor. “It's astonishing,” he drawled, his tone dripping with dry amusement, “how little it takes for Sebastian to sway people. One dramatic confrontation, a few cutting remarks, and suddenly, you're everyone’s favorite underdog, Chouette."

Sebastian smirked faintly, leaning back against the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. “What can I say? I have a certain… charm,” he said, the self-satisfaction practically oozing from his voice.

Ominis rolled his eyes, though his lips twitched as if suppressing a smirk. “Yes, well, your charm has also turned Amelia Rosier into the school’s latest social pariah. She’s lost hundreds of followers already. The poor girl might actually have to face the consequences of her actions. Imagine that.”

Your eyebrows shot up, surprised. “Hundreds?” you echoed, glancing between the two boys. “That’s… kind of a lot.”

Ominis shrugged, his expression indifferent. “People are fickle,” he said simply. “They’ll rally behind whatever makes for the best story—and right now, that happens to be you and Sebastian.”

Sebastian’s grin widened, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Finally, some proper recognition.”

Ominis let out a groan of amused annoyance and you glanced between them, a faint smile tugging at your lips as they continued their familiar bickering. But something still lingered in your mind, nagging at you.

After a beat, you cleared your throat softly. “So… about the Prefects’ Bathroom…” you began hesitantly.

Both boys turned to look at you—Sebastian with raised eyebrows, and Ominis with a subtle crease of curiosity forming between his brows.

“What about it?” Sebastian asked.

You swallowed, feeling a faint heat creeping up your neck. “Is it, um… is it a real place?”

Sebastian blinked, clearly taken off guard, before a wide grin spread across his face. “Oh, Chouette,” he drawled, his tone laced with playful mockery. “Don’t tell me you thought she made that up.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you crossed your arms defensively. “Well, excuse me for not knowing the intricacies of Hogwarts plumbing,” you shot back, glaring at him.

Ominis let out a soft chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he addressed you. “It’s real,” he confirmed. “Though it’s not quite as… glamorous as certain rumors might make it out to be.”

“Not glamorous?” Sebastian interjected, outraged. “Speak for yourself, Ominis! The Prefects’ Bathroom is practically the height of luxury. Enchanted taps, a massive pool of a tub… Honestly, it’s wasted on the likes of those bloody prefects.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “Wait, really?"

“Absolutely,” Sebastian said, his grin widening. “Fluffy towels, loads of bubbles, stained glass... Very fancy. And let me tell you, Chouette—Amelia Rosier wouldn’t last five minutes trying to sneak in.”

Ominis scoffed. “Neither would you, Sebastian. If memory serves, the last time you got anywhere near the door, you were caught by Mr. Moon.”

Sebastian winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, that was one time, and I was fifteen. It doesn’t count.”

“It absolutely counts,” Ominis deadpanned.

You bit back a laugh, shaking your head. “I should’ve known you’d have a story about it.”

Sebastian shrugged, his grin unwavering. “I’m full of stories. Stick around, and I’ll tell you all of them.”

Ominis groaned again, though there was no real malice in it. “Merlin help us,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “One of these days, we’re all going to regret enabling you.”

Sebastian smirked. “But today’s not that day,” he said smoothly.

You let their banter wash over you, but your mind wandered further, a spark of mischief flickering to life. The more you thought about it, the more the idea began to take shape, and you had to suppress the smirk threatening to tug at your lips.

"But hypothetically... if someone wanted to get in, is it really that hard?"

Ominis turned his head sharply in your direction, and Sebastian's eyebrows shot up.

"You want to get in?" The brunette asked, grin widening.

"Hypothetically," You repeated.

Ominis sighed heavily, his hand gripping the arm of his chair as though bracing himself for the chaos that was surely about to unfold. "This is a bad idea," he muttered. "A catastrophically bad idea."

"You say that about everything," Sebastian quipped, waving a hand dismissively. "And yet, here you are, still alive and not expelled."

Ominis’ frown deepened, but he said nothing.

Sebastian leaned toward you conspiratorially as he rested an elbow on his knee. "Well, hypothetically," he began, his voice dropping to a mock whisper, "it’s not impossible. The bathroom is on the fifth floor, behind the fourth door to the left of a statue of Boris the Bewildered. You need the current password to get in, and it's only known to prefects, Head Boys and Girls, and Quidditch captains."

"And if you had the password?" you asked, tilting your head innocently.

Sebastian’s grin grew wider. "Then you’d just need a good alibi and a decent bit of stealth."

Ominis sighed heavily, his head tilting back in defeat. "This is madness."

"Madness?" Sebastian echoed. "No, Ominis. This is fun."

You bit your lip, fighting back a grin. "What if," you said slowly, your voice measured, "we got in and took a picture? Just for… posterity."

Sebastian tilted his head. "A picture?"

You nodded, a sly smile creeping onto your face. "You know... to make a point."

Ominis frowned, his brows knitting together as though he could sense your intent even without seeing your face. "What kind of point?"

"I dunno. I mean, Amelia seemed really keen on getting in there with Sebastian..." You trailed off, shrugging a shoulder. "How'd you think she'd feel if she saw a picture of us in there instead?"

Sebastian's eyebrows shot up, and then he burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the stone walls of the Undercroft. "Oh, Chouette," he said between laughs, leaning back in his chair and raking a hand through his hair. "You’re absolutely wicked."

Ominis groaned audibly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is the worst idea I’ve ever heard."

"Oh, come on," Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Don’t you see the poetic justice here?"

You crossed your arms. "She started it, after all," you added, your tone almost innocent. "I’m just finishing it."

Ominis tilted his head in your direction, his pale eyes narrowing slightly as though he could somehow see the mischief radiating off you. "And how, exactly, do you plan on pulling this off? Even if we were insane enough to go along with this—which, for the record, I’m not—you’d still need the password."

"Simple," you said, a sly grin tugging at your lips. "You seem to forget that Imelda and I are thick as thieves—and she just so happens to be our Quidditch captain."

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[wisteria-lodge]

That's a good point about the DADA position. In one of the books (4?) Hagrid says people are starting to say the position is cursed. They wouldn't be only starting to say that if it's been cursed since before the first war.

In Book 1, Hagrid describes Quirrell like this:

“Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin’ outta books but then he took a year off ter get some first-hand experience. . . . They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o’ trouble with a hag — never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject — now, where’s me umbrella?”

This tells me that Quirrell did teach at at Hogwarts. Hagrid, who doesn't seem to really leave Hogwarts, knows him him well enough to say "he was fine." He took a year long sabbatical (met Voldemort) and came back all jumpy, okay.

Then in a 2007 Q &A, JKR says (unprompted) that "He was teaching at Hogwarts for more than a year, but NOT in the post of D.A.D.A. teacher. He was previously Muggle Studies professor."

And like... no. That's a retcon. "Scared of his own subject" means scared of the subject Hagrid knows he teaches, and was "studying out of books" before he went to get some practical experience with dark creatures. Like he was teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. That's why he took a defense-themed sabbatical, and didn't like. Idk. Hang out in some muggle museums for a year.

What makes this doubly funny is that Voldemort, who cursed the position in the first place, is living on the back of Quirrell's head.... while he is in the cursed position. Like, Voldemort, guy, you're already dealing with the unicorn curse, let's not willingly stack them like that, okay? If Quirrell really did teach Muggle Studies, just let him him keep teaching that. It's safer, and a better cover anyway.

(I suppose you could say he wasn't planning on staying longer than a year, like Barty, but still. Voldemort's health is kind of delicate in Book 1, you'd think he'd take all the advantage he could get.)

Like you can absolutely watch the idea of a cursed position take form over the course of the books. In Book 2 "People [are] startin’ ter think it’s jinxed. No one’s lasted long fer a while now." Which is pretty different from 'one year or less' deadline we eventually land on.

(If the position has been cursed since slightly before Voldemort's first rise to power, that's been at been at least 25 different DADA professors, all lasting a year. gee Snape, it's a little dark that you want that position so bad.)

In Book 3 there are "rumors that the job was jinxed," and in Book 5 Fred and George talk about "what’s happened to the last four [DADA professors]" when they should have seen six come and go. In Book 6, Harry very confidently says, “That job’s jinxed. No one’s lasted more than a year. " Which is confirmed later on by Dumbledore, who says "You see, we have never been able to keep a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for longer than a year since I refused the post to Lord Voldemort.”

What gets me about this is that - this is a dumb thing, right? It's a small thing. It's not even an important plot point. If JKR had said "Yes, I decided to develop that idea after the first book was already published. Maybe I'll go back and tweak earlier editions, like JRR Tolkien did with the Hobbit to make it match the Lord of the Rings better." Literally no one would have cared. That would have been fine.

But I don't know. She somehow wants to say that the entire thing was entirely planned out from the world go, and she has never even changed her mind. And the way her instinct is always to add a ton of extra stuff, to (hopefully) retcon away the original problems... it's almost like she's trying to convince herself that she's infallible, and has never been wrong ever.

[starimusprime]

im curious, considering the way you write oplita (which is beautiful btw if i could, id give ur fics a kissie on the forehead) how would you portray their relationship in a sequel to tf:1?? (hopefully we’ll get a sequel 😞😞)

OOOOOO THIS QUESTIONNNN

First of all thank you so much for your compliment! I love writing them so so much, they are utter perfection in my eyes and I will never find enough content focused on them.

Ok ok. REALISTICALLY, this is ONE idea of how I would personally write the progression of their friendship into a romance, keeping in mind that I've only got roughly 2 hours to do so alongside a bunch of other character arcs and the main plot.

TF ONE SPOILERS BELOW

I would spend some time in the beginning and sprinkled throughout the rest of the film exploring the aftermath of D-16's betrayal and Orion's rapid switch from dying by his best friend's hand to being revived as Optimus Prime. I imagine that such an abrupt change - and in the middle of dying a HORRIFIC DEATH - would leave Optimus with some (maybe temporary) mental and emotional issues to work through, with the reformatting of his frame on top of that.

In the beginning, Elita is a steadfast friend (as opposed to a fair weather friend) and helps him lead the Autobots in order to ease his mental load. Secretly (maybe she reveals this to Jazz) she keeps thinking about the fact that she would have jumped into the Well of AllSparks after Orion if B-127 hadn't stopped her. It bothers her until later on when some smaller event triggers her to realize that she loves Optimus as more than just a friend. She fears that if she tells him this too soon, she could overwhelm him or scare him off (since he's still dealing with the extreme trauma he recently endured), and this results in her subconsciously distancing herself from him.

Up to this point, Optimus might have been trying to assure Elita that he's fine and genuinely believing that he is. But now when he feels the effect of Elita being less present with him (maybe he has an emotional breakdown or smth and she isn't there like she usually is) he has the realization that not only is he not fine, but he cannot work through everything alone, and most importantly there is no one he would rather do this with than Elita.

Cue mutual pining, Elita doesn't want to overwhelm him with her feelings, Optimus doesn't want to make Elita feel pressured to reciprocate his feelings because he's the Prime, then insert climactic battle with the Decepticons or sabotage mission against the Quintessons or whatever here. Big things happen, and there it is. Optimus needs to make a decision. It could be emotionally taxing, or bring his trauma back to the surface, or what have you. But Elita is there, and she is his reason to push himself aside and fight, or make the decision he needs to make for the good of Cybertron.

After the climax, they both understand that life is too short and fate too unpredictable to postpone something as important confessing one's love for another. It wouldn't be the primary element of the end of the film, but they would have a moment, tense at first (maybe Elita disobeyed an order that got her injured in the battle and Optimus was mad at her for almost dying, but now he's just grateful that she's okay). Tension would give way to awkwardness or shyness as they talk quietly about something war-related, until finally one of them opens up, incapable of holding in their true feelings any longer. The other would be startled by the abrupt confession, but then it all makes sense.

Maybe they wouldn't kiss in that moment...but they definitely would in a post-credits scene!

[johnwickb1tsch]

andar conmigo ~ epilogue

A Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline/fic- Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle ~ You grow up at Las Nubes vineyard, and have to go home to your dying father. You take your fake new husband, Sgt Paul Sutton, with you...Your old flame don John does not like this at all. Warnings: FLUFF chapter map

Author's Note: I just want to say a quick THANK YOU to everyone who followed along and supported this story! Girl Genius @scarlettspectra who helped me with the original idea, my utterly beloved @treedaddymcpuffpuff , the SWEETEST @sweetwolfcupcake (who fried my brain with that gif of Paul, thank u! 😘 , the always RAZOR sharp @discoscoob, the hilarious @lilithlinen , the insightful @reallongwire , emoji queen @thesecretlifeofmo , 🖤 @lonelyspadez and SO many others, I wouldn't have finished this without you, it wouldn't have been as much fun, and it CERTAINLY wouldn't be the fic it is without your amazing input!

-You’re going to have to rewrite the train station scene in your story, because you take him with you at the platform, and you are smart enough not to let go. 

At first, you stay together in your tiny apartment with its fetching view of a brick wall. The arrangement was fine, if not a little cramped. You spend most of your time in bed, anyway, but you find you don’t mind sharing your space with Paul, or your cooking, or your time. Goddammit if Anjelica wasn’t right about that. 

But maybe he knows you better than you know yourself. 

Without you needing to ask, [and you’re not sure you even would have, truth be told], he eventually gets his own place. Yet, you are still inseparable, barring the hours you go to work, and he goes to school. 

You find that you are equally happy to have your own space back, yet unbearably restless for the next time you will get to see him. It is a strange medley to balance in your life, and a part of you hopes that someday maybe you really will score that apartment with enough room for the two of you, and a typewriter overlooking the Bay. 

On the odd days you do not see each other, he writes you a letter, and you always write him back. 

As it turns out, Paul Sutton likes things that go, and he enrolls to study engines at a technical college in San Francisco. 

The day he roars up to your apartment in a leather jacket on a Norton motorcycle with a big grin, you cannot help but laugh. It seems like a ridiculous machine, and yet after the first time he takes you for a ride–it becomes one of your favorite things to do with him. You tear up and down the coast in your free time, picnicking at the beach or beneath towering sequoia trees. 

You have both healed from your misadventure, withstanding the occasional cough, or the odd nightmare...on a whole, your life together is so sweet, and the irony does not escape you that on more than one occasion you have to restrain yourself from asking him to marry you. But Paul is starting to find himself, given time in which he’s not running between raindrops, enemy fire, or immediately jumping into the responsibility of supporting a wife and children. 

He does not always take you on his motorcycle trips, often going on long rides to clear his head. He says it helps ease his mind, when his memories from the war become too loud in his head.

Most of the time though, he seems content, and you are so happy for that. 

-The first time after he dropped into your office at the publishing house to bring you flowers, just because, bless that man, your boss asks, “So that’s Peter?” 

“No, that’s Paul,” you tease him, aware that your beau’s good looks have a certain effect upon both sexes, no matter their preferences. 

You’d let your superior read your manuscript of your book, after catching you working on it at your desk during a break. You decided to title it, “A Walk in the Clouds.”  You’re not getting your hopes up, as he hems and haws over it. He keeps proposing changes to the story that would be untenable to you, as well as writing under a man’s pen name, or a less Spanish-sounding surname, in the interest of appealing to a broader audience. Maybe someday, you’ll find an agent who will champion your vision, and a publisher who won’t hold it against you that you are an intelligent self-taught Hispanic woman with opinions that challenge the conformity of post-War America.  

Maybe someday, things will be better…

Until then, you’ll just have to keep writing. 

-A year later, the two of you are out to lunch at a North Beach café, when a slick-looking man in a dapper suit passes by your table, then does a double-take at Paul, who was engaged mid-bite with his open mouth over a fork full of pasta. 

“Hey kid,” he says. “Ever thought of being in movies?” 

Taken aback, Paul wipes his lips with his napkin, regarding the man quizzically. “Ah…no, never occurred to me,” he admits to the stranger with a quizzical lift of eyebrows. 

“You got the look. Call me.” The Hollywood man flips a card onto the table, then strolls off like he has somewhere important to be. 

Paul looks at you, then laughs, shaking his head as he looks at the card. He is so humble about his dashing good looks, finding it embarrassing when women slow down to ogle him on the street, (or in one amusing case–to you at least– trip over the sidewalk). 

“How silly,” he says with a little smile, tearing off a piece of bread. He’s playing it down, but you think you see a glitter of intrigue in those polished ebony eyes.

You shrug. “Who knows?” you say playfully. “You’re certainly the best-looking man I know.” 

After all this time, his cheeks still pink for you, his ears turning red at the tips. 

“Well, that’s all that matters to me,” he tells you, reaching across the table for your hand. You slide your fingers into his, so happy you could die. 

Afterwards you go for a stroll, hand in hand, looking in the windows of the shops and laughing together, your head on his shoulder.

It’s hard to imagine that life could get much sweeter than this. Deep down, a tiny, selfish part of you hopes he doesn’t call that Hollywood headhunter. How drastically would your life with him change, if he became a star on the silver screen?

That’s when you know you absolutely believe he’s got what it takes–and you beat back your ugly little fears, resolving that you won’t stand in his way, if he wants to try for it.

You realize you’re squeezing his hand too hard when he looks down at you with a question in his eyes. “Sorry,” you apologize, tilting your head for a kiss. 

He grants your request, and his soft lips on yours still curl your toes. He rests his forehead against yours with that little smile, just for you…and your fears go quiet, replaced by the soft glow this man always inspires in you. 

“Just in case you didn’t know…I would marry you in a heartbeat, if you ever change your mind about all that.” 

You blink, your heart a sparkling firework trapped in your chest. 

You have to try twice before you can find your voice. 

“I think…I would like that, Paul Sutton.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He laughs out loud, that beautiful sound that fuels you as surely as food or drink or air. He picks you up right in the middle of the sidewalk, spinning you around in a circle before his lips find yours again. 

Suddenly, you’re not worried about anything.

-Paul drops you off at your apartment after a lingering kiss before rumbling off on the Norton. He has to study up for a test on Monday, and you’ve found when you try to help him with his studies more often than not you just end up in bed together. 

There are worse things, but this is an important exam. You’re sure he’ll pass with flying colors, then you can reward him properly. 

You practically skip up the stairs, still giddy from earlier. Are you and Paul actually engaged? Promised to be engaged? Merely in talks? You’re not really sure, but it doesn’t matter. You’re together, and you feel like you have all the time in the world to figure it out. The whole country is in such a hurry now that the war has ended, but the two of you have learned you don’t mind taking your time.  

You almost step on a little lump of something left before your door. Puzzled, you pick it up. It reminds you of the handmade little ragdolls you and your sisters used to play with, made of cloth and thread and horse hair.  

But this toy is burned, half her hair singed away, her blackened face pulled in a terrible grimace. 

With a frown you lay it back to rest on the floor beside your door. 

Maybe the neighbor’s girl down the hall dropped her toy. She might want it back. If it’s still there tomorrow…you’ll throw it out. 

Your earlier elation dampered by a weird feeling weighing in your gut, you let yourself into your apartment, and go about the rest of your day. 

Yet as you sit down with your notebook and a cup of tea to warm the chill inside you, you cannot stop thinking about it. 

There’s no way in Hell that terrible man survived that fire… 

Is there? 

The End…

Or is it?👀

[bunnypeew]

Burlesque show - Lucifer x GN!Reader

cw: slightly suggestive

okay, so I just saw one of Smash's videos (the musical) and saw the burlesque show they put on, idk their names I've started the series legit right now as I write,, I hope you enjoy it!!

"doll, I promise you are gonna help me so much if you come and do it with us,,

Angel said holding you by your shoulders, even so slightly shaking you about the show that he was gonna put on that night, he needed one more person and that person was you.

"Angel, I don't know, I mean you know I'm not that good of a singer, or dancer for that matter,,

You said looking away for a second and then looking back at Angel, he wasn't gonna budge until you said yes, so you sighed and just nodded. He was ecstatic and took you to his room right away

When you got there you were greeted by a bunch of sex toys and other various things, but you decided not to pay it any mind, he led you to sit on his bed while he fetched something from his closet.

''Okay so this is the dress you will be wearing to the show, I think it'll fit you just fine!,,

he showed you a pink dress, which was really pretty, it was all sparkly and had a slit left and right, you smiled nodding at him. It wasn't until he showed you what was underneath the dress that your smile dropped.

It was a skimpy still pink mini dress with feathers around the waist it was mostly just a corset, with a tiny fringe skirt that would have shown your underwear

"Wow Angel,, that is... great?,,

he smirked and laughed at your reaction then handed you the full dress

"It's a burlesque show toots, ya supposed to get undressed,,

You gulped a little but looked at the dress nonetheless, well let's put on a show!

[after a few hours of practising]

It was now night and the hotel was getting ready to see the show Angel had put on, you were nervous it wasn't a secret, but you thought you could do it.

Charlie had finished presenting the show so it was almost your queue but you remembered something that stopped you from moving for a second, you hadn't told Lucifer about what was gonna happen tonight, hell he was probably looking for you right now, you felt bad but you got pushed by Angel into the stage to start the performance.

You finish the show You rinse out your tights You dive into a dive and raise a toast to better nights You get a little drunk And maybe start a few fights But you grin and bare it

As you sang you saw Lucifer he was mesmerized by you dancing and singing on a stage like that, you haven't even gotten to the point where you took your dress off

You run for the train The one you just missed You're out of cigarettes You've got a headache and you're pissed You lie awake counting all the bald heads you kissed But you grin and bare it

Wake up, quick, smell the coffee It's a brand-new day If you wake up lonely that's the price you pay Anyway

You run from the train It's a quarter to two You slap a pound of war paint on and barely make your cue You hit the stage and smile 'Cause, shit, what else can you do? Or say Grin and bare four shows a day

At this point, your upper dress was fully off and you made your way off the stage and towards Lucifer, it was improved but you had so much adrenaline in you that you could do something like that. You got in front of Lucifer and grabbed his chin

''Well hello darling, do you like my song? It's just something I had to get off my chest!,,

You said as you shook your chest at him letting go of his chin, he was almost full golden in his face, making you grin. You hopped back onto the stage to finish the performance

Oh, wake up, quick, change your costume Second act is on Life ain't just a rat race, it's a marathon And then you're gone

So pity yourself But know in your gut That no one ever died because their life was in a rut And learn a little lesson from a gal who says "What the hey?" Grin and bare it, grin and bare it, grin and bare it Grin and bare it, four shows a day!

As you finished, all the people from the crowd cheered and clapped their hands in unison, you were catching your breath and then started going back to the changing room when you got pulled by someone into a portal.

Of course, it was Lucifer, he was completely golden on his face and breathing heavily, he was holding you by your shoulders and looking down catching his breath so you couldn't see his expression.

"Luci...?,,

He lets out a sound that is quite frankly almost a whimper then looks up and attacks your lips in a second. His kiss was aggressive and possessive, he wanted you that's for sure, you reciprocated the kiss, putting one of your hands on his hot cheek and one in his hair pulling ever so slightly. He put his hands on the side of your hips, gripping pretty hard but not hard enough to hurt you. After a few seconds the kiss ended leaving both of you breathless. Lucifer then looked at you and gulped

"I think I have a boner,,

You laughed out loud.

SO YEAHHHHH I USED THE SONG FROM THE CLIP AS WELL!! CUZ IT's PRETTY GOOD,, anyway, I really hope you enjoyed the writing and I might write a second part but NSFW I will ponder on it hehe me rn ↓

[le-panda-chocovore]

I think the reason for all that discourse in the JJK fandom is that we had some expectations about what this story would be about, and we were wrong. I'd say it was our fault for having them, because Gege had his own story in mind and it isn't our role to tell him what to write/draw. But I'd also say that we were misled into having those expectations and then being deceived, because shock value is fun.

(I'm not in the AOT fandom so maybe I'm 100% wrong, in which case don't pay attention to me. I'm just rambling I'm not trying to make a point)

See there's not such a thing in Attack On Titans. I mean I know people are arguing whether a decision was good or bad or a character development was positive or negative, but no one is rioting the way JJK readers are even when someone dies, kills, or does worse (they do start a genocide lol). Because in AOT you know since the beginning what this story is about : surviving, war, and liberty. With time you learn that it's also about racism, destiny and injustice. But the story starts with death and blood and it never calms down, characters keep dying or getting hurt and no one's safe all along the story. So you just know it'd end the same way, you know what to expect, that power of friendship won't save anyone here.

But Jujutsu Kaisen is different, because it has all the codes of a basic Shonen. Everyone was comparing it to Naruto during the 1st season so you would believe it'd follow the same path. Of course there's fights and fails and suffering and death, because it's necessary for the growth of the protagonist. He'd learn he's not strong enough and he'd try harder and mature more and be better. Jujutsu Kaisen makes you think it's your One Piece-type manga where 1 person dies every 4 arcs and the main team survives everything, even when it looks impossible.

And then Shibuya happens and you're shocked because it's way to early to kill so many valuable characters in a row. Usually that kind of massacre happens during Big War arcs like in MHA. At first you think it's an interesting writing choice because it changes from other mangas, and you wonder how the main character will evolve from that. But then the training arc never happens, because shit keeps falling on them and there's a pile of deads and you start to wonder when it'd stop. Spoilers : it doesn't.

So at some point you realize it. This isn't a classical shonen. This isn't an happy-ending after a hard fight kind of story. There's no power of friendship to save them, there's no important moral path to keep following no matter what (like "I won't do to you what you did to me because it'd mean that I'm the same" no it doesn't work here), and there's not even a chance to run away from that cursed role no one wants to bear. There's no one protecting the kids anymore. The MC isn't strong enough and the mentors are dead and close friends are off-fight and the one person able to end this has to make the horrendous choice to give up his humanity.

In AOT, you were shocked, but it felt logical in the sense of where the story was leading you from the beginning. In JJK, you feel betrayed and manipulated because everything made you think about those other mangas where people ended up fine, but it was just a cover.

Honestly you COULD have guessed it'd end that way. Many people did. You just ignored it.

You thought Junpei's death was an exception, the Major Point for Yuuji's development, the Shock Value Kill to put some depth nuance in the story. But in reality it was a warning, a taste of the future. There WERE signs after all, and Gege never pretended to write another Naruto. You were so used to the classical shonen that you read the signs and fell for the trick.

JJK has never been a nice story from the beginning, Sukuna was at the center of every event since the beginning. You can dislike what is happening but you cannot say it's bad, as in a scenaristic choice. Gege is a writing genius and unfortunately he's also pure evil.

You shouldn't have trusted a one-eyed cat after all.

[stealingpotatoes]

Invitation to talk about Sayuri and Nymie?

:D CAN OF WORMS: OPENED!! i'll tell u abt how they got found as Jedi

ok so Sayuri is one of the students that doesn't rlly go home bc there isn't much to go back to. Basically her parents were Rebellion pilots (or one was a pilot the other a mechanic. kinda unsure) but were both killed in action against the Empire abt 3-4ABY ish. obvs the Rebellion couldn't look after a 7-8yo while fighting the Empire

so the remainder of the squad manage to get her back to her parents' home village/ where she was born. so having like Everything change all at once leaves her pretty ?? and gives her some serious trusting-her-environment issues. her coolgirl "i dont care" persona is very much a result of this bc she's worried abt getting too comfy in smthn. (which is at odds w the OTHER issue she got from this event which is "deathly afraid of flying" an issue not helped if Master "traffic laws are just guidelines" Skywalker is piloting. but she tries 2 act like shes fine)

this is gonna get kinda long so im gonna smack some unposted art here and then go into a readmore

anyway fast forwarding to when Sayuri's abt 13 (roughly 9aby) she's visiting her parent's old squadron on a New Republic bc they'd all come visit whenever she could and after the Empire's fall they did a lot more pick her up and fly her to a base to ALL see her. and they're like omg Sayuri you came at the PERFECT time bc this rlly amazing pilot war hero who's also some like. mystical whatever is here!! he's on his way to some magic place we heard. maybe u can meet him!! which sayuri meets w her usual whatever bc she's not that gassed abt war heroes.

very worth noting that the squad's probably all seen her move shit with her mind, but theyre like oh you know how it is with teenage girls. the "nobody knows what a jedi is" + "the empire existed for a decent bit of her childhood" thing has kept anyone from being like yeahh sayuri should like. talk to someone abt this.

anyway she goes along when the squad are like c'mon let's see if we can see him. ok the only way i can describe this is you know the spiderverse like... spidey-sense recognition thing? that's basically what happens LOL Luke and Sayuri both have a FORCE USER RECOGNISED?? moment and Luke then makes a beeline for her then realises oh shit tiny teenager not jedi. would you LIKE to be a jedi?? and sayuri who hates her village and is feeling the strongest emotional connection she's felt in forever w this stranger she met 2 seconds ago is like okay fuckin sure yeah. and woo jedi!!

i posted my unposted nymie art yesterday but likkeeee pretend theres some here <3

So Sayuri falls into the "one of the Jedi found them thru the force or by chance" category of students who get found. However Nymie very much falls into the second category, which is "CAN SOMEONE DEAL WITH THIS WEIRD SUPERPOWERED CHILD FOR US????"

So 2 things about Nymie: 1. like i've said before, she's from a very rich high class pantoran family. super stuck up, mostly raised by nannies & tutors, but somehow Nymie just didn't get the stuck-up genes like all her (4!!) siblings who are just obsessed w their social standing etc and is instead just :D all the time. 2. her proficiency ig is the living force esp in the 'good at connecting to animals' way (which I think means I legally need to draw her w Ezra).

so the former often led her to escaping her family's stuffy parties and galas or whatever (usually to whoever's house it is' garden or somewhere she wasnt meant to be) to find something interesting. usually a pet <3 one particular time when she was 9 she was following her Pet Sense but couldnt find anything in the house. so she kinda just reached out more and long story short thats how Nymie managed to call this hugemassive beast (i'd tell u what it was if i knew pantoran animals LOL) out of the nearby countryside to her. massively distressing for everyone, all these rich ppl were like "OH MY GOD I NEARLY DIED" (it didnt attack anyone). very funny exciting time for Nymie who was enjoying this new beastie friend til animal control showed up. saddening. everyone is confused bc HOW did that happen

a dude old (and cool) enough to have seen more than one jedi in their heyday (+ idk uni researcher knows his shit) noticed what happened w it going straight to Nymie and overheard her account and realised what happened and was like hi nymie's parents. i think u need to get into contact w the new republic bc thats a jedi right there (which they take and go oo social climbing. we have a jedi child people will think we're cooler. bc theyre assholes)

and yeah im losing steam now but luke shows up and she joins the academyyay!

[floralbuckleyswrites]

you’re jealous, you shouldn’t be | buck

♡ Pairing: Buck/Gender Neutral!Reader ♡ Genre: A lil angsty I guess?? But idiots to lovers ♡ Word Count: 1.7k ♡ Warnings: Alcohol Mention, Drunken Mention ♡ Beta Read: By the lovely and amazing @thatnerdemryn thank u so much bb!! ♡ Summary: Emotions boil over with you and Buck’s jealously after a night at the bar.

A frustrated sigh left your mouth as you downed your third shot of the night. You supposed this was you drinking away your sorrows. It wasn’t like you, but you could handle your liquor well. Besides, the night just wasn’t going as planned.

In most ways, it was like any other late night out after a shift. You and the crew were out at Tony's, one of the bars most frequented by police and firefighters alike. It was a chill place to swap war stories and relax with everyone before going home for the night.

Usually, you thoroughly enjoyed it, but tonight? Tonight was utter shit.

The reason for that sat across the bar, in the form of a sly dark brunette trying to have her way with Buck. She had set her sights the moment she walked into the bar. Initially, you were sitting next to him, but after listening to her over-the-top flirting, you found another seat.

It wasn’t the first time you had been forced to listen to someone try to put the moves on him – probably wouldn’t be the last – but why did it have to happen on the night you were going to?

It didn’t help that Buck looked so damn alluring tonight. After shift, he had changed into a maroon short sleeve button up that perfectly complimented his bulking frame. His blonde hair was perfectly brushed back, cobalt eyes sparking and mesmerizing.

God, you were a sucker for him.

Which was why you had finally decided to make an official move on him. You say official because well, technically you already had. The two of you had slept together a few months ago at a party another crew was throwing. It was a brief drunken moment of passion and fun, but one that hadn’t left your mind.

Neither of you had spoken about it since, but you couldn’t stop thinking about it. You wanted to feel his hands on your body again, kiss those plush lips, and more. But, you also wanted more of him - for him to be yours.

You weren’t sure if the feeling was mutual, but why not try? It was hard to work up the courage, but after a talk with Eddie last week, you were ready. Or so you thought.

It wasn’t like you lacked confidence but compared to that beautiful woman pushing up on Buck… You weren’t so sure you stood a chance. It didn’t help that Buck appeared to be enjoying her attention if the laughs and smiles between the two of them were any indications. Hell, maybe he would even be taking her home tonight and you couldn't blame either of them in the slightest.

Maybe the night the two of you spent together had been completely forgetful. Maybe he had never thought twice about you.

The mere thought had you needing more alcohol to pour down your throat. You were about to call the bartender over for another, when someone placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Whoa there. You’ve been knocking them back, think you should slow down?” Eddie asked worriedly as he sat down next to you.

“Nope, I’m just swell,” you replied defensively.

You pretended to not notice the bitterness in your voice.

The brown-eyed firefighter sighed, “We talked about what you were going to do tonight. So, I know how you must be feeling.”

“Fine, I’m bothered, but maybe this is a sign that it wasn’t meant to be… that it’s for the best.”

“I don’t think that’s the case. Sometimes shit just happens, doesn't mean you should give up.”

You smiled at the earnest in Eddie’s voice, knowing he was genuinely concerned and wanted to cheer you up. Eddie and you had grown quite close since you transferred. You thought of him like the older brother you never had. In fact, you had spent most of the night with him after moving away from Buck. He was the only reason you were still here.

“Thanks, Eddie, I appreciate that. I think I should just head home. I’m gonna call an Uber and put this night behind me.”

Eddie seemed to mull it over for a moment before getting up and saying, “Nah, I can’t let you head out of here alone. Let me take you. I’ll just go and say goodnight to everyone.”

“Sure,” you said with a shrug, getting up too. “But I’ll go ahead and wait outside for you. Tell everyone I said bye.”

Eddie nodded without protest as you quickly paid your tab and made an exit before anyone else noticed. It wasn’t like you, but you had seen more than enough tonight.

Love was a battlefield for Evan Buckley and you were its loser tonight.

You accepted the defeat as you stepped out of the bar and breathed in the fresh California air. It was beautiful tonight with stars out and glimmering. You couldn’t even hear any sirens, which always put you at ease.

As soon as Eddie dropped you off, you planned to get into a nice hot shower and let the stress soak out of you. Maybe stay up all night and watch some sappy romantic comedies. You didn’t work again for a few days, you could afford to ruin your sleep schedule.

A few minutes passed and you began to wonder if Eddie had forgotten about you. You were about to peek inside when the bar door opened and to your surprise, Buck stepped out.

“Hey,” he said, stepping towards you with a grin that nearly took your breath away.

“Buck?” You squeaked out, “what are you doing out here?”

The blonde-haired firefighter frowned in confusion. “I’m taking you home. Eddie said you asked me too.”

Your eyes narrowed at that, knowing exactly what Eddie was up to. That no good trouble maker…

“Um no, I’m good actually. Eddie was mistaken, you should head back inside.”

“Nonsense, I’m ready to go anyways,” Buck said quickly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him. “Let’s get out of here.”

Heat flaring in your cheeks, you could only nod, your protests dying on your lips at the feeling of his body against yours. It was completely innocent, but just a mere touch from Buck always sent your heart racing. There was no way you were going to be able to say no and maybe a part of you didn’t want to.

So, here you sat in Buck’s nice shiny car. Your hands wrung together anxiously in your lap as you stared out of the window. The bar was a half hour from both your places, which was only minutes from Buck’s. It made sense to drive home together, but that didn’t mean you were exactly happy about it.

Your buzz was starting to wear off now and so your emotions were coming to you tenfold. After all, you were pissed that Eddie had done this to you. Why had he lied to Buck about taking you home?  Surely, Buck must have not wanted to, considering he had been busy talking to that girl.

Thoughts of them were still buzzing in your mind and you couldn’t help but unconsciously clench your jaw. The mental image of her draping her hands all over him sent a pang through your heart.

“You okay over there?” Buck asked, taking you out of your head. “You seem tense.”

“Just tired, I guess,” you replied curtly.

“You didn’t seem too tired at the bar.”

“Pfft, I’m surprised you noticed, considering how preoccupied you were,” you muttered defensively.

Buck glanced at you in confusion.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, you seemed busy with that woman sitting at the bar. The two of you were pretty friendly,” you huffed, knowing how silly and jealous you sounded, but unwilling to give in.

However, you were surprised to notice Buck grip the steering wheel a bit tightly, his eyes suddenly serious.

It took him a second to reply, but when he did, jealousy coated his voice. “Well, you and Eddie were getting cozy too.”

“Yeah, we were talking, so what? Why would you have a problem with that? Eddie and I are friends, you know that,” you asked, squinting.

Buck let out a heavy sigh and didn’t respond. Instead, he got off the highway and pulled the car into an empty parking lot.

You could tell he wanted to say something important, so you waited patiently until he turned to you and spoke.

“I have a problem with that because I like you. I really fucking like you. I have since before we slept together a while back.”

Your heart skipped a beat at Buck’s words. How many sleepless nights had you spent imagining this exact moment? Wondering what it would be like for him to spill his heart out like this to you, but still, you needed clarity.

“But, if you feel this way, why were you talking to that girl? She was all over you.”

“I didn’t even want to talk to her, she started talking to me and I was being polite. Next thing I know you’re gone and all alone with Eddie. So, maybe I let her flirt with me because I was jealous.”

You blinked at his words. Was Buck seriously telling you he was jealous of Eddie? That he thought you liked Eddie?

Taking a deep breath, you prepared to tell him everything.

“Buck - I don’t even know where to begin. I don’t like Eddie, he’s like a brother to me. I’ve liked you for so long too. I’ve been wanting to tell you and I was going to do it tonight, but I let myself chicken because I was jealous too.”

Buck simply stared at you for a moment in astonishment.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So - you’re saying we’ve both been jealous of the other all night when we could have been together the whole time?”

“Looks like it. We’re idiots.”

The two of you let out chuckles at that and you couldn’t help smiling. Relief and warmth filled your heart as you processed the fact that Buck liked you too. You didn’t have to keep imagining a repeat of that sweet night the two of you shared - more would come soon.

Buck leaned in toward you, intertwining your hand with his and squeezing gently. You could tell he was just as happy as you.

“Maybe I could take you on a proper date tomorrow. We can talk things out, figure out where we wanna go from here..”

You nodded, “I’d love that Buck. I gotta say though, I’m not sure I’m feeling up to being alone tonight. Maybe you could stay over?”

Buck clearly caught the implication of your words, because in seconds he was letting you go of your hand and pulling back onto the road.

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[vosh-rakh]

madstone, chapter 5

“I suppose that is my name,” the former god said with a tilt of his head. “I considered changing it, but the priests advised I didn’t. Would confuse the people more than necessary, they said. I suppose they’re right.”

He put a delicate hand on Kassur’s shoulder, who suddenly felt very small and embarrassed for his outburst. “You say my name with a curious accent. Are you Velothi, by chance?”

Kassur nodded. He didn’t think his accent was that strong. Maybe Vivec was just good at picking up on it.

Without removing his hand, Vivec looked up at Ku-vastei. “What brings you to my city, Hortator?”

“Trouble with the Ahemmusa,” Ku-vastei said. She raised and jingled the Madstone in the air. “We’re helping this lad get it sorted.”

Vivec leaned his face in to examine the amulet. “Interesting design. Dwemeri, I take it.”

Ku-vastei took a closer look at the Madstone. “Is it?”

“May I?” Vivec asked, hand outstretched. Ku-vastei tentatively handed the Madstone to him. “Yes, but of very ancient make. Likely fashioned prior to a law that standardized their more utilitarian style. A law passed long before even our war with the Nords.” He smiles sadly, his eyes seeming to look beyond the amulet and into the distant past. “This really brings me back.”

Kassur managed to catch a glimpse of the amulet in the god’s hand, his first real look at it since they retrieved it. It had a round blue stone engraved with a radiant eye, cradled in an inverted crimson crescent that looked like horns. 

Vivec then casually flicked the Madstone with his finger; a loud, clear tone rang out from the stone. Kassur instinctively covered his ears, even though the sound wasn’t necessarily painful. 

“Before they became atheists,” Vivec began when the sound diminished, “the Dwemer feared the Daedra. They lacked their later, more complete understanding of metaphysical tonality, but still vaguely knew the importance of fundamental tones. They crafted devices such as this to ‘scare away’ the influence of the Daedra.”

“Seems the Ahemmusa somehow obtained one and used it to keep Sheogorath away for generations,” Ku-vastei filled in. 

“Interesting,” Vivec mumbled, scratching his chin. “I wonder how it came into their hands. No matter, I suppose.” He looked again at Kassur. “I suspect whatever issue your tribe faces, this device is instrumental to its salvation.”

“We think so, Lord Vivec,” offered Aryon when Kassur didn’t reply. 

“Oh, please,” said Vivec with a dainty wave of his golden hand. “I’m barely a ‘Lord’ anymore. Call me a saint still, if you want. But I’m more part of the common rabble these days.”

Kassur somehow doubted this. How could a god become a mortal so easily? This was, of course, assuming he was ever truly a god in the first place, something Kassur’s people readily questioned. Regardless, there seemed something insincere, or at least unbefitting, in his stated humility. 

Moving right along, Vivec said, “Well, I suppose I’ll be coming with you.”

Ku-vastei barely suppressed a hiss. “That won’t be necessary, Vivec.”

“Oh, please,” Vivec said again, clasping his hands and stretching his arms in front of him. “I’m bored out of my mind here. Endless bureaucracy. And there’s only so many ways you can say, ‘Get rid of that rock in the sky.’” 

He cast a glance upwards at Baar Dau, which Kassur only just now noticed. It was indeed a giant rock in the sky, crawling with miners like kwama, bits of excavated stone falling into the water by the Temple canton. 

“Won’t leaving the city put its stasis in jeopardy?” Ku-vastei asked. 

“No, I can handle it from afar well enough, especially seeing as it’s quite a bit lighter these days.”

Ku-vastei swished her tail and scratched her chin. Finally, she acquiesced. “Fine. You can come. But not like that.” She made a gesture with her metal hand, dividing her face into two halves.

“Of course,” Vivec replied. “I can be discrete.” In an instant the gold faded from his right side, leaving him fully grey, like any other Dunmer. “Completely inconspicuous.”

“Fine,” Ku-vastei grunted. “Just don’t make any kind of scene. This doesn’t have to be a big ordeal.”

“As you wish, Hortator,” Vivec answered. Kassur was amazed by how easily Ku-vastei commanded the (former) god, and how readily he submitted to her whims.

“Let’s be on our way then, shall we?” asked Aryon. “We’ve got the better part of the island to cross.”

Ku-vastei shrugged. “We’ll just teleport to Sadrith Mora, take the boat to Vos, then walk the rest of the way to Ald Daedroth. Not too complicated.”

- - -

And it wasn’t too complicated. The teleport to Sadrith Mora (which Kassur handled even better than the last three, getting quite used to it), the walk across town, and boat ride to Vos, were mostly uneventful. But it was far from boring, as you might imagine, being a trip with a powerful wizard, the leader of a nation, and a god. To Kassur it went by in a blur; either Aryon and Vivec were in heated debate about the Dwarves, which Ku-vastei moderated, or the three discussed political matters so far over Kassur’s head in their import that he simply tuned it out and focused on not getting seasick. Gals Arethi kept a baleful eye on Kassur, but apparently the esteemed company Kassur traveled with kept him safe from the shipmaster’s wrath.

When they arrived, Sedyni the Vos shipmaster was not there. The four travelers stepped off the boat and glanced around. The nearby tradehouse seemed unusually quiet. Gals shrugged and sailed off back to Sadrith Mora.

“Where is everyone?” Kassur asked. At this time of early evening, the village was usually buzzing with activity.

Vivec closed his eyes. “The chapel is empty.”

“How could you possibly know that?” asked Ku-vastei, planting a metal hand on her hip. Kassur wondered about that brass gauntlet she wore – it was incredibly ornate, and had an air of being impossibly ancient and powerful. But he had no idea how to ask politely.

“I can still feel it,” Vivec said, opening his eyes again. “Most people still revere me as a god, especially this far removed from the official temple in my city. So the Tribunal holy places are still attuned to me.” Kassur had no idea what he was talking about.

Aryon was oddly quiet. In the short time Kassur had known him, he’d never acted like this; he was the type of consequential mer to always have something to contribute to a conversation. It was barely perceptible, but Kassur could swear he saw a slight tremor in Aryon’s hands. But Kassur couldn’t tell if it was fear…or rage.

“Aryon?” asked Ku-vastei. “Are you alright?” She seemed to notice the same thing Kassur had.

“Check on the village,” Aryon said, his voice dry. “I go to the tower.” And so he did, flying off fast through the air, much faster than they had in Vivec. As Kassur watched him disappear into the sky, he saw a dark cloud in front of the setting sun. Or…was it a pillar of smoke?

“This bodes ill,” Vivec said, frowning. “Kassur, stay close. It’s quiet, but I suspect danger.”

Kassur felt a sudden pang of guilt. He realized he was more like a liability to these powerful beings, someone they had to keep close and protected because he was so weak and helpless. He could barely conjure a flame, and didn’t know how to use a weapon. In a fight, he was worthless. He began to wonder why they’d brought him along at all. A sneaking suspicion told him they thought he would be useful only as a bargaining chip, of sorts. A sort of intermediary to help them accomplish…whatever grim task they meant to do.

The thought escaped his lips just as he thought it. “Don’t kill them,” he blurted. “If it is the Ahemmusa. Please.”

“Kassur…” Ku-vastei began, turning to face him. “That might not be –”

“You have our word,” Vivec interrupted, placing a delicate hand on Kassur’s shoulder. “No excessive harm shall come to your people.”

Ku-vastei scoffed, snapping her head towards Vivec to glare at him, but after a moment sighed and shrugged. Kassur wasn't sure if he could trust the word of the false god – or if the Nerevarine had any interest in going along with him. 

They proceeded towards the town walls, which were actually the backs of the tightly-crowded huts of the village, no space left between their rounded stucco corners. There were no guards posted at the gate, the town’s single entrance, and beyond them was still silent. Down the single street they could see that many of the doors were half-to-wide open, but there were no obvious signs of a struggle.

“Vivec,” said Ku-vastei, “take Kassur to check the chapel. I’ll check on the houses.” Vivec nodded and gently directed Kassur towards the chapel as Ku-vastei began picking her way from hut to hut.

Vivec and Kassur passed under the chapel gate into the meager courtyard. The small alchemical garden the two priests maintained there was not overgrown or choked with weeds. “They haven’t been gone long,” Kassur observed out loud. 

Vivec noticed Kassur examining the garden and nodded. “Good,” he said, smiling at Kassur. “Let’s check inside.”

The door was closed, and unlocked. But the chapel never locked its doors, not even when the priests were both asleep. Vivec cautiously pushed through the threshold, Kassur following close behind. “Hello?” called out Vivec. “It’s alright. We’re here to help.” 

There was no answer. The chamber within was nearly pitch-dark, only faint light coming through the stained glass domed ceiling. Vivec cast a Light spell for them to see by as they entered.

It was a mess. The Tribunal tapestries on the walls were torn to shreds, and the murals defaced with what Kassur hoped was paint; candles and torches were snuffed out; the prayer-stools were upturned and thrown about; loose ripped-out pages of books were fluttering in the breeze visiting from outside; ash and bones from the circular Waiting Door on the floor were spread across the room haphazardly. Kassur held no great faith in these things, but it still pained him to see such desecration of a holy place. 

“Be on your guard,” said Vivec stiffly. “In this state I fear I could not trust my divinity to tell if we’re alone. There is little holiness left here.”

Kassur’s muscles tightened. He still didn’t understand how Vivec could know such things. But if he truly was anything close to what he claimed – an ancient mortal-made-god, a living deity – then it was difficult to doubt him.

They slowly circled the Waiting Door, more carefully inspecting the scene, but there was no more evidence of exactly what had happened. At least there’s no blood, Kassur thought. He remembered his teacher, Yakin Bael, and said, “There’s a bedroom downstairs. We should probably check there, too.”

Vivec nodded in agreement, and led the way down the steps, his orb of magical light guiding the way. The priests’ bedroom was not saved from the sacking: pots and urns of various alchemical and cooking ingredients were overturned and cracked open; broken glass from shattered bottles littered the rug underfoot (Kassur was for once glad for his shoes, and Vivec hovered an inch above the ground); the desk had its drawers yanked out, scattering torn papers and writing implements, and its stool and tall candlestick were toppled; the privacy screen was ripped open; and the beds were torn apart, sheets and blankets strewn and split.

Vivec stopped to inspect some of the loose pages of sermons and notes on the floor. Kassur went up the short ramp to the beds to look more closely. He knew the bed on the left was Yakin’s – they had a few lessons down here, when the upstairs chapel was too busy and loud. He picked up a pillow from the floor, gashed open and spitting up dried wickwheat stuffing, and gently laid it back on the head of the bed. He knelt down, and quickly realized that under the pillow was Yakin’s spectacles, broken and bent at the nose and lenses shattered. He gently took them in his hands, careful of the jagged edges of glass, and stared at them.

Just as he was getting used to his new life in Vos, now it seemed to be ripped from him again. Even the only real friend he had among the housemer, his teacher Yakin Bael, seemed to be in some unknown peril. And, useless as always, Kassur could do nothing but follow along with the real heroes, who actually had power to do anything about it.

“Here,” said Vivec, startling Kassur from his misery. A second orb of light appeared, floating near Kassur by the beds. 

“Thanks,” said Kassur. Vivec smiled and kept reading a document in his hand.

Kassur looked back down, and something immediately caught his eye. Just under the edge of the bed was a bright gleam, reflecting the magical light above. Kassur slowly reached for the shining object and pulled it out. 

It was a short sword, still in its sheath; its metallic hilt had been catching the light. He removed the sheath noiselessly and beheld the glistening steel blade, sharp as the day it was forged. “Vivec,” he called, “he had a sword. Yakin, that is. And he didn’t use it.”

Vivec dropped what he was reading and floated up the ramp to Kassur, looking down at him and the sword. “Hm,” he pondered, tucking his legs up under him as he floated and placing his hands on his crossed knees. “Doesn’t mean there wasn’t a struggle. Those spectacles are broken. No blood?”

Kassur looked around again. On a whim he grabbed the pillow he had adjusted earlier and turned it over; sure enough, a small bloodstain seeped through the cloth case.

“Punched in the face,” Kassur suggested. “Nose bled, maybe broken. No other signs of a struggle, that I can tell.”

“Fair analysis,” Vivec said. “I don’t think there’s any other clues here. Let’s go meet up with Ku-vastei.”

Ku-vastei had just come back from the end of the street to the chapel by the time Kassur and Vivec came out. She was alone.

“I see you didn’t find any survivors,” Vivec said, frowning. “Any dead?”

“No,” Ku-vastei said. “No sign of any struggle. Everyone is just gone. What of the chapel?”

“We found no one, but the chapel was desecrated. The homes were untouched?”

“That I could tell, yes. Some doors were left open, and the breeze disturbed some belongings, but that was it.”

“Hm,” Vivec said, stroking his solid grey chin. “Perhaps they’re sheltering at the tower?”

All three turned west towards Tel Vos. The pillar of smoke was rising higher, and blacker. Without a word they began at a quick pace towards it.

- - -

Aryon had put out most of the flames by the time they arrived, but the damage had been done. There was nothing left of the Telvanni fungal roots of the tower but ash, even Aryon’s personal pod at its peak. The tendrils which had so integrated themselves into the stonework of the Imperial fort no longer held it up, causing several portions to collapse into charred bricks.

Ku-vastei and Vivec readied their spears (Kassur hadn’t noticed the god had been carrying one until now) while Kassur cowered behind the two. But it made him feel like a coward, so he tried his best to straighten his back, puff out his chest bravely, and at least put his hand on the sheathed sword of Yakin Bael, even if he didn't have the nerve to actually draw it.

Aryon knelt in front of a smoldering pile of bodies. It was hard for Kassur to make out in the carnage, but it seemed like a mix of guards, tower servants, and Ahemmusa raiders. He might have recognized some of the latter, if they weren’t all so horrifically burned.

“Master Aryon?” asked Vivec. “Are you harmed?”

Aryon turned his head slowly. There was no evidence of weeping on his face, but he looked like a man completely exhausted. Kassur understood the feeling immediately. “No,” Aryon said. “They likely went north before I arrived.” He stood and wiped his hands on his robes. “To the old camp. What of Vos?”

He’s held together by a thread right now, thought Kassur. There was a haunted look in his eyes. He’d just lost everything. Kassur could relate – although he’d ran from his old life, instead of having it torn from him.

“There was no one there,” Ku-vastei said. “No sign of a struggle, except that the chapel was ransacked.” She took a cautious step forward towards Aryon. “Are you sure you’re –”

The wind changed suddenly, and Kassur caught a big whiff of the corpse-smoke. He gagged loudly, covered his mouth with the collar of his robes, and fled towards a nearby wall. He planted his free hand against the stone as he tried to calm his retching before it grew into something worse. He could feel three pairs of eyes on his back, and he resented it. He let go of the wall and looked at his hand; it was completely covered in soot. The wall now had a relatively clean handprint on it where he’d stolen the blackness. “I’m fine,” he shouted, although the act nearly made him gag again. “I’m –”

There was a loud crack somewhere above him. He only had time to look up at the top half of a tower rushing towards him, but not enough to move out of the way. He closed his eyes.

Something hit him hard, but not at the angle he was expecting. The collapse was deafening, its roar of crumbling stone erasing all other sounds. When the sound had settled, Kassur opened his eyes. Ku-vastei had him in her arms; he could feel the cold metal of her right hand pressing into his spine through his robes. 

Vivec and Aryon appeared in the air above them, their feet glowing with pink light. “Are you two alright?” Aryon asked.

Kassur felt a soothing energy enter his body from the gauntlet, and he felt less sore from the tackle. “Yes,” Ku-vastei said as she stood up, lifting Kassur with her. “I’m fine, and he will be.”

Kassur caught a glimpse of Aryon’s face, wrinkled with worry, before it relaxed into relief. Then he put on a new mask, a mask of cold wrath. A cascade of facades to make Mephala proud.

“Good,” Aryon asked. “We need to go to the old camp and see if they’ve taken the citizens there.”

Aryon turned, and with a mystical wave of his hand, buoyed up the rubble in mauve smoke and flung it aside. “Come,” he said once the crashing din faded. “We have work to do.”

Suddenly, Kassur was terrified of Aryon – and for the safety of his own people.