#with art of some of the characters and everything

[syluses]

HEART WANTS WHAT IT WANTS

𓍯𓂃 PART ONE (1) of the stepdad! sylus x reader series

(1) PILOT

𓍯𓂃 CONTENT: stepdad! sylus therefore step/pseudocest, eventual smut, nsfw, dubcon, slowburn, yandere undertones, all characters are 18+ (mc is presently 23; sylus is in early forties), possessive & yandere behaviors, age difference, daddy kink, unreliable narrator, drinking, non-evol au, modern au, lowkey enemies to lovers, lots of (sexual) tension, loss of virginity, emotional breakdowns, some angst, some fluff, a lil bit of everything; tags will be added as story progresses— but know the story is relatively triggering. [art credit: @/chimmyming on twitter/X]

𓍯𓂃 SIDENOTE: the first part of the series :] ima also post this on ao3 as well so if u wanna read it there, u absolutely can <3 reblogs, likes, & comments are all very appreciated u know the deal ✨ hope you’ll enjoy this lil series my friends 🫰 also to my raf & caleb girlies fear not i will still occasionally post oneshots in between chapters for yall :] this series will start off a lil slow ofc but i promise im so excited to show yall the rest 😫 also i think i got everyone on the taglist!! & if u wanna be added just ask C:

taglist: @leftpoetrymoon @valhalla-soulstealer @gingybimby @crowsandapples @novthirty @mcdepressed290 @jadeloverxd @satansdaughter123 @blitziwitch @luminaaaz @eialovescats @noliniodeaes @dramaticalsachan @loudhologramturtle @softiepeachess

In the night, the lights by the tarmac glitter like firelies.

Or stars: he closes his eyes and still sees the constellations there as lustering blurs, strewn along one another.

It’s beautiful.

The heel of his shoe scrapes the pavement like there’s something to be anticipated. The leather upper of it crinkles.

The evening is cold, crisp. He blows out a soft breath that shakes as it goes. Turns into vapor. Early December brings a chill not entirely comfortable, but Sylus doesn’t mind the thicker, cloudy skies one bit, or the gentle haze it drapes across the sun during daytime.

One thing’s on his mind. One thing only.

Propped against his car, hands stuffed in his pockets idly, Sylus tips his chin back. Overhead, your plane dips— a flashing set of red beams in the vast swath of darkness— the only one in the sky. Sylus watches it as it lands.

He lifts off from the car, then, and fully aware that the disembark will take some time, the sorting of the luggage and then the weaving between people and aisles to get to the front- where he’ll be waiting for you- minutes early, he goes to head in anyway.

You’ve come home.

✦

When you first spot him in the entrance, in a flurry of people bundled in coats- each from a different place but the same awed look as they watch the escalators- you’re almost stunned to see that same wide-eyed look on him, too. It… doesn’t quite suit him.

You note the absence of the twins with nothing beyond a small frown, albeit you’re internally glad for the reprieve- God knows you’re not capable of humoring three men in the state you’re in- but wonder why they chose not to come with their father to pick you up.

You wonder if it was their choice to begin with.

…But then again, you can appreciate the silence the lack of them brings. Between the boys and their father, you always got along a whit better with them despite their antics. Although… that makes it sound like you got along with Sylus to begin with. The truth suggests otherwise.

It’s also true that the truth has blurred somewhat while you’ve been gone.

Now that you’ve come back (temporarily; this isn’t a permanent arrangement- what it was before) you’re not so sure how these two weeks with your stepfamily will carry. Luke and Kieran were marginally easier to warm up to- though that was a chore in itself- but it’s always been a bit different with Sylus.

You’ve, always been a bit different with Sylus.

Estranged, but not... Cold as ice- but like a berg you’ve always got the implicit feeling that he could see everything below your waters.

It… unnerved you. Did all sorts of things to you, really, but that’s besides the point. For this small, temporary visit, it has to be.

For this trip, for the circumstances under which you’ve been summoned to Linkon, you’ll put all of your personal feelings (discomfort, bitterness- betrayal, even) aside.

You’re no longer a teenager balling her fists when things don’t go her way, stomping off to her room as a retreat- praying no one will follow but also praying they’ll care enough to come knocking later. And you’re no longer the woman you were almost six months ago, the last time you visited. No, since then, you’re just a touch lonelier, although you’ll be hard-pressed to admit it aloud, and it softens some of your edge.

But for the sake of your coming here, you’ll put a lid on it all. The instability. The hurt. The…

“Sweetie, hey- Are… Are you able to talk? It’s…” A sigh on his end. “Important. I wouldn’t have pestered you otherwise.” You picture him with furrowed brows and minimize your distant persona as a streak of concern dashes through.

“Uh, yeah… I’m able. What is it?” To the point. No time wasted, no feelings worn. You want to be as bad-mannered as he’ll ever remember you. Unfriendly and unforthcoming— not that he’s ever been one to pale at the challenge that is loving you.

“I… have some news. Not the good kind. Find somewhere to sit down and breathe.”

Breathe.

He did say that: you remember, now. But at the time it all smeared together, all the seconds and minutes that you’d sat there hyperventilating.

The air outside is crisp. You inwardly curse yourself for packing your jacket; otherwise, you’d be putting it on now.

Stepping off the flight, you were shaky. A little strung out- as restless as you were fatigued. The bag you carry is heavy and requires you to constantly readjust it, but although Sylus is upright at your side and eager to take it off your hands, you wave him off.

“I-It’s fine.”

It’s not. None of this is, not really.

…But you came.

You wouldn’t miss it. Couldn’t forgive yourself if you did.

Overhead, the Ursa Major and Minor sit apart and form ladles. They fade in and out of view behind drifting clouds, hiding with other scattered, coruscating stars. You’re sure they have names, but you don’t know them.

He leads you to the car, but doesn’t leave your side to walk ahead. As he does, you can’t find it in you to stop yourself from slowly relaxing in his presence. Oh, you’ve never liked it, per se, but this truth is as obvious as it is embarrassing on your end: You feel safe in it.

He’d never hurt you. You know that.

…Yeah fine, he has the role of ‘paternal’ nailed to a fucking T, sure, but you’ll always believe it was meant solely for the twins— not for you. That will never change.

Because you already had someone who covered for you, in that regard.

Maybe your mother was easy to give him up, but you were different. And perhaps she’d gushed at the wedding ceremony and doted all over the big glittering rock on her finger and the opportunity to call another man her husband—

But you’d never call another man your father.

…You suppose even interlopers have a seat at the family dining table, though.

And you know Sylus, you do.

He’s familiar: from his rich, bergamot scent that’s meant to disarm with its sweeter vanilla undertones, to his resounding voice that always dips a suspicious octave when he addresses you (uncommon as that is when he’s feeling masochistic)- gentler compared to when he speaks to the twins— hell, even the way he moves. It all screams comfort, if only because you’re so used to it by now.

When you cross the street, you’re so tired you don’t even look both ways. You let him do it for you- and with pleasure he does, broad shoulder brushing you as he hovers a weightless hand at the small of your back, herding you carefully alongside him.

Coming off the plane, you’re positively exhausted. For so many reasons, you’re aching to throw yourself into bed and sleep away your last handful of hours spent traveling. In particular, the reason behind them.

…But you don’t want to think about that now, especially with him here. Even if that’s the elephant in the room you choose to ignore as you drag across the busy but quiet parking lot and struggle to keep ahold of your luggage.

When the heavy clasp starts to slip off your shoulder for the umpteenth time, and you’re sore and your jelly arms can’t hope to adjust it, Sylus swiftly reaching out to take it from you— you actually let him.

Everything is silent. The night carries but without a word.

The late night, wintry air and the massive parking lot stretching around you holds a certain peace in it. The thud of shoes over cement is hushed and the small clusters of people dotted under the overhang gather mutely, like they, too (just like the silver-haired man at your side, stealing glances you try not to notice) don’t want to get on your nerves.

You’ll make this work, somehow. Fourteen days, give or take— and then you’re free to go and cope with this in your own way, however ugly that may look.

Your own breaths are slow and uneven, but gentle all the same; for all your fatigue, you’re a little surprised that you take a moment to look up at the stars and admire the view, hands tucked under your armpits as Sylus rounds the car to the trunk.

Should’ve brought your jacket, you think for the second time, and look forward to the warmth his passenger seat has to offer.

You’re so drowsy and lost in the smoky, faintly spangling sky overhead that you don’t really notice the thunk of the back of the car or the figure that pulls to your side, lingering with you for a few seconds with mist for breath.

It recycles itself fast. Too fast, maybe... But you ignore that, too. Sometimes that’s your best course of action, you think- pretending that what’s there isn’t.

He hesitates before following your gaze, looking up to the hazy sky.

You vaguely wonder where he came from before picking you up; what fancy outing called for a sleek leather jacket and tailored, black jeans, the expensive, yet fine chain around his neck— his attire casually oozing refinement. What or who he’s dressed for. Too low-key to be a business meeting,… but too put-together to be loungewear.

Classy. But not trying too hard.

For a second, eyes flitting down to his chest thoughtfully, you wonder if he’s met with an old friend- before dashing the humorous idea to bits. He’s always been something of a lone wolf.

His voice is cashmere-soft when he speaks. “Are you ready?”

There’s so much he wants to say- to do- but he’s barring himself off from being too doting, too greedy. Each time you’ve come back to visit in the past five years since your moving out, sparse as those occasions are growing to be (not a fact he smiles upon), Sylus thinks you’ve mellowed out a bit, that you’ve lowered a wall to him— even if by a few inches. But he still wants to play it safe.

He thinks of game nights with the twins and your mother, uno cards and monopoly and a Jenga tower stacked meticulously upon the table— how one wrong move, the slightest brush of the finger, can send the blocks in a fray— and restrains himself.

For as good as he is at upsetting you, that’s never once been his aim.

…Yet you’re more at ease, tonight. If he had a few drinks in him, he might even venture to say docile.

It warms his chest as much as it squeezes it, a rankling wound with a persistent, cloying ache.

“Sweetie?”

You don’t look over to him, but you give a nod and let him carefully close the passenger door behind you.

The airport, with all its late night, hushed bustle and its strange, fairy light-like serenity, disappears into a speck.

In two weeks or so, you remind yourself, you’ll be back.

✦

The light from the streetlamps cuts up her face in subsequent flashes. It limns her with slate.

Sylus, unable to keep from glancing off the road every so often to give a cursory glance- the knowing that he needs to pay attention made a smaller thing with her right beside him- doesn’t see the harsh fluorescence, though, but silver.

She’s home. And it’s all he can think. Whether it was by her own volition or otherwise, under pleasant circumstances or not— she’s come back.

That means everything to him.

I mean— not that it’d be easy to— but there’s about a million things he wants to say.

That he’s missed her, for one. That it’s been a long time but all of it spent apart has done her better than it has him: she looks surprisingly well, all things considered. He hopes the darkness succeeds in masking some of the things he wears on his own face- the restless nights and the ‘why’ factor behind them, mostly.

But perhaps above all, Sylus wants to tell her that he loves her. That after everything that’s happened- the recent events and then the downright depressing phone call he had to make to her revolving them- he’s there for her. Whether she holds even half the bitterness she had for him years ago or still has her foot sticking out in the metaphorical doorframe of his life— it doesn’t change his availability when it comes to her.

He’s always had tough skin, but after living under the same roof as her for those couple years (a learning experience, to put it nicely), close to nothing can pierce through.

Except… Well.

Except her.

He swallows and looks out to the road.

Shadows eat at his periphery, blocks of yellow paint blurring in tandem. Outside the beam of the headlights, a vignette pours in.

On the drive in, he had some song playing on the radio- a poppy one, much too erratic for his liking, but to be fair, it did a good enough job at distracting him as his thoughts raced- but on the way back, he’s turned it off. Tells himself it’s to give the poor girl some peace and quiet— and that much is true, but it’s not the whole reason.

Sylus just has a little more trouble admitting he likes to hear the sound of her breaths, soft and even, as they occasionally cut back at the silence- and on paper it does sound bad.

He’s not like this with Luke, or Kieran. Helicopter parent taken to the max. Hanging on each word they say, every little move they make, internally grappling to piece together the why behind every seemingly trivial thing they do. Squinting at them through a crosshair but with his trigger on safety.

It’s just— his nerves are alight, okay? With her it’s all different.

Sylus can’t put a name to every emotion that flickers in him. Sometimes they pass like comets through his being, fast enough to blur by, but still hot enough to leave an impression— but for as compulsive as his thoughts around her are- as bad as it may seem- they’re not… nefarious. He cares for her an impossible amount, and yeah maybe he dwells on the idea of his stubborn, wayward stepdaughter a smidge often but it’s warranted. And it’s morally green in nature— she knows that, too.

So he can’t figure out for the life of him why some little bug in the back of his subconscious wants to flame him for it.

In any case. Sylus lets out a sigh, too soft to be heard, and spares a short glance her way, the corner of his lip quirking ever so slightly.

She’s come home.

And he’s thrilled- a little too fucking thrilled- but he knows she doesn’t do well with the doting so he tries his damnedest to keep it simple. She doesn’t like platitudes or small talk, oh, he learned that the hard way, but he also knows that she’d prefer it over the love bombing so that’s exactly what he settles on for the sake of lifting the somewhat dreary mood of the car.

…Hesitantly. “How was the flight?”

He wants to call her kitten but barely keeps off it. He wants to make his affection known but doesn’t want to upset her; he’s not exactly a man used to walking on eggshells, but he is the kind to make a sacrifice where the situation- the stakes- call for it.

To be clear, she- everything about her- calls for it.

Her response, placid from the standard wear and tear of traveling (but not entirely mean, not like she so often is) evens him out. Or maybe it excites him more, he doesn’t know.

“It… was okay,” she murmurs. “Good. The fanciest plane I’ve ever been on.”

Because up until now, she’s always made the long drive, refused the plane tickets he threw her way free of charge.

For whatever reason, he laughs at that, deep and hearty, like she’s told a good joke. She rarely ever sees him exhibit that sort of behavior even with his sons (albeit, most of the time, the twins are comedians only to each other), so she doesn’t really know what to take him for when he lilts in a pleasant tone, “Yeah? Good. I’m curious,” he adds with a slight dip of his chin her way, “Did they serve you anything?”

They did, actually. One of her favorite dishes. Which… was very convenient, but she didn’t really have the appetite.

“T-They offered,” she murmurs back, just a bit flustered.

I mean, look: she doesn’t particularly fancy the guy, okay? Nothing between them’s really changed since some years ago when she finally scraped up enough money to move out. At least, she tells herself so.

They go together about as well as oil and water. It’s just how it is.

…Perhaps it’s not entirely fair to Sylus to put so much blame on him, she’ll concede that much, but she can’t overturn the wedding, the uprooting of her and her mother from their small, beloved home in favor of a mammoth, modern estate- the way she was all but forced to leave her true father behind in the dust.

After enduring all that as a sixteen year old kid? sometimes it feels like a big ask for her to even act polite.

She will be… tame, though, in these two weeks.

“But I wasn’t really hungry.” Right then- embarrassingly loud- her belly gives a growl.

She shuts her eyes and prays the low purr of the tires over cement are enough to convince the silver-haired man beside her of her innocence- but to her slight horror, he just gives another soft chuckle.

Not deprecating by any means. Maybe she’d have preferred it that way, though, over the fond undertone in his voice- as subtle as it is uncomfortable for her to hear.

“No? I wouldn’t have guessed. Once we… get home,” he decides carefully, “I’ll have the chef make something for you. Would you like that?”

“It’s- It’s fine, thanks. I’m… I’m tired.”

“Ah,” he says as if ashamed, looking back on ahead at the road. “Why don’t you close your eyes and rest? I’m sure that the late night… ambiance will help you fall asleep.”

But she doesn’t want to, not in front of him.

It’s less out of not trusting him and more out of the fact that she doesn’t want him to take it as a sign that she so clearly does.

She’s always been stubborn.

And Sylus has always been patient with her, a trying man.

She doesn’t want to fall asleep here, to ‘turn her back to him’ in the more primeval sense, yet his voice is gentle,.. and the night is too, with its occasional groans of the engine and the silence that drones on in between.

She holds her eyelids open for as long as she can, but they want to droop.

On the plane, shot nerves and all, she was able to fight it off because that’s just what she does— she’s good at that- resisting. (And damn it all if the people directly involved in her life aren’t well acquainted with that simple fact by now.)

But now, she’s hanging on by a string. Her fiery spirit tires herself out.

She doesn’t like that his voice, all rich and throaty, every bit calming (albeit most of everyone else couldn’t say the same about it), is just like a lullaby. Like lyrics; simply set to the hum of tires as they roll over shadowy Linkon roads. The cadence they make is a languishing one.

And they slowly drift shut, her eyes. She inwardly tells herself that she’ll open them back up in a second; that she’s just resting them for a moment, but she’ll keep her ears open, her senses alert, her guard up—

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, “Rest.”

And oh, isn’t he good at that…?

Isn’t he convincing?

“I’ll wake you once we’re home.”

✦

He doesn’t.

No- contrary to his word, what you wake to instead is sunlight through sheer lace curtains and the foggy realization that you are not in the plane- or more recently, Sylus’s car. But what you slowly comprehend to be your bedroom.

Your surroundings prove to be… familiar: you catalogue them all as your mind lags a few seconds behind your eyes.

From a memory foam bed, you take in the cute frilly lampshade at your side (a little garish, yes, but it’s always lasted you), the floral quilt you’re comfortably tucked in and the posters strewn along your walls- cheap pops of color to enliven a lavish grey canvas.

When you moved into this room, sixteen years old and bitter- sixteen years old and hurting- you remember finding some joy in decorating your new, yet very much unwanted room with hot guys from vampire shows and wooden figurines your late father carved for you.

Right now, though, you don’t dwell so much on the wave of nostalgia that hits you as the confusion.

The door’s closed- which brings a small peace to your otherwise frazzled heart as you gradually come to. You take note of that and relax a little. You’re alone, and the home (a funny word when taking the sheer size of it into consideration; the too many rooms for the number of people it holds, the general lack of warmth) is quiet.

Tranquil, even, despite the lazy sort of bewilderment that notches your brow.

Did… Did he carry you in? But when…?

No, you let your eyes flutter shut and groggily plop your head back down. You pull an old stuffie closer and hold onto it, sighing out all your memory of the night prior as you bundle up again, ignoring the red lines of your digital alarm clock that tell you morning has long encroached on noon.

No, whether or not he carried you in- or maybe the twins, excitedly piling out the door as soon as Sylus appeared with your luggage in tow— doesn’t matter. All the events of yesterday, the stressful morning of packing and boarding, then the night which he stole after months of not seeing him- that fucking fond, almost breathless look he gave you as you stepped off the escalator—

None of it matters.

You don’t want it to.

✦

It’s almost 2 o’clock when you’re unpacking your bag and laying its contents out on the bed- still having not extricated yourself from the comfort of your room- when you hear commotion outside your door.

Ever so subtle but oh, you’ve grown the ear for it.

Your shoulders give a start at it.

“….think she’s still asleep?”

Then, they slump over and you sigh, hardly sparing a glance behind you.

“…I don’t know, bro, but the food dad left out for her is way too cold so I think we should just…”

The twins, no doubt, gumshoeing in the hallway, believing they’re sneakier than they really are as they press their ears to your wall, prying for information or- considering you’ve yet to visit the lower level or even the hallway- a sign of life.

Evidently, they’re not half the part of the secret agents they’d probably like to think.

…And you should be annoyed, you know. The bothersome pair of stepbrothers is lingering outside your bedroom under the illusion of secrecy and awaiting your next- your first- move since arrival: and it’s irksome. It’s not a hard invasion of your privacy, but it’s a nigh thing, and they’re well aware you don’t like all the breathing over your shoulder. That’s a fact that hasn’t changed since your teen years.

So the streak of endearment that comes, carving the smallest of smiles into your lips, is confusing to say the least, but you give in to it anyway.

Bed-head, dried drool at the corner of your mouth and all, you tiptoe over and open the door in a gust.

Luke and Kieran fall over and through like dominos.

Cursing, they climb to their feet and attempt to play it off. “Oh, hey sis—” (that’s Luke) “Oh, sis- good morning”— (and then Kieran) but you know better than to fall for their antics as they straighten out and cough up their excuses.

You also know better than to take any real offense to them; you suppose the seven or so years spent having to humor them will toughen up a person. It did you, anyway.

You cross your arms and let out a huff. “Boys,” you say in lieu of a real greeting.

And the whole scenario is distinctly familiar, like a memory reopened: their tumbling into you, your waking up in a too-big home and just praying the day will pass with as little contact with the big man as possible. You’re almost kind of stunned for a moment because it feels as if you never left this place to begin with.

As they rub the back of their necks and look sheepish, it’s hard to miss the interest in their eyes as they take you in- or the twinkle of excitement.

You wonder what they see as you stand there. If it’s the extra inches of your hair (mussed from sleep, a surprisingly pleasant one might you add) and the small physical differences here and there that are almost too subtle to spot- or if their eyes are raking over all that’s familiar. The parts of you they’re used to. The pretty, yet sort of mellowed eyes, the tension in your posture that never quite rounds out- the lips you purse into a thin line the longer they stare unabashed.

Luke is the one to break the silence when you dip your chin out of self-consciousness, snapping out of his daze with a grin.

“Sis- so good to see you again!” You can tell he means it. Oh, between the beaming look on his face and his hands that just barely hold off on yanking you into a hug, it’s pretty clear that he’s positively alight at your impromptu visit. But as your chest warms through, the best response you settle on is another huff and a dart of your eyes you can only hope appears nonchalant. Because it’s hard sometimes, okay-? to acknowledge you care for the twins a concerning amount.

The day you first met them— and their grandiose, debonair father, ever the expert at rubbing you the wrong way: he’s not to be forgotten— you made a vow to yourself to never accept them. Your mother’s second marriage ceremony you grudgingly attended with a new dazzling dress be damned— you were not a Qin, and all the legal documents she signed off on could burn in hell for all you cared.

The twins might always be troublemakers first to most of everyone else, you think, but to you, they’re… they’re your boys. As weirdly charming as they are cunning.

“It’s… good to see you, too, I guess,” you mumble.

They catch the tail end of your smile though as you try and fail to hide it with your hand, and it’s Kieran who ends up most emboldened by it.

Taking that first step forward, he wraps his arms around you in a brusque but warm hug before you can protest against it.

“Oh, c’mon, you know you missed us!”

In the next heartbeat, his brother joins, laughing at your ear as he slings an arm around you, pulling you from a clingy Kieran- albeit with some difficulty.

“How have you been? You know, we were waiting all morning to see you- we were so excited- but you’ve been a sleepyhead… You can’t blame us for coming up to check on you, right?”

You heave a laugh. “Oh, is that what the locals here call spying now? Just ‘checking in’?”

A chuckle at your left- Kieran, with his hand now perched at your hip as the two quietly settle on anchoring you between them. “Oh, please. By twelve o’clock, we started thinking you had actually died in your sleep.”

You shove at his chest- a fruitless action- but can’t bite back your laugh in time.

“Being the good brothers we are,” Luke picks up the sentence, seamlessly finishing where he left off, “We came to make sure you were still breathing.”

Maybe it’s bad taste, morbidly bantering back and forth about their assuming you’ve succumbed to this or that in your slumber- considering recent events, the ones that summoned you here, it certainly doesn’t look good. But the grim undertone flies over their heads.

It flies over yours, too, for a few moments as Luke tries to gives you a noogie and Kieran murmurs something about you missing breakfast, tugging absently at the fabric of your shirt (the one you’ve still yet to change out of) while he talks. But then one of them mentions something about how the last time they saw you was Mother’s Day and you just—

The world hiccups. You blink and push at their chests, respectively elbowing them away and this time they listen.

Backing up a touch, the boys watch your face as it falls and it’s not too hard to put the unseen pieces together- the three braincells they share irrelevant.

For lack of distraction, you fiddle with the hem of your shirt- already wrinkled from where it was toyed with- and back up to sit on your bed. Your half-unpacked things surround you and remind you of your initial task, which supplies you with a convenient excuse for them to leave.

“I- I’m not done settling in yet.” You blurt as if that’s a good explanation for your mini outburst, not looking their way. Partly because you’re too busy trying to swallow down the rising lump in your throat; partly because you’re only so immune to the kicked-puppy look they both wear on their faces.

You don’t cry anymore. Especially not in front of your stepfamily. However, the pang of grief that swoops down and seizes you is strong enough to take your words for a moment.

Breathe.

You curl your five fingers into your palm, and as every unique ribbon of hurt comes to you, you let it all go in a breath.

(Breathe: ah, that’s right, you remember it now. It was Sylus’s words; it was the phone call half your brain- the side absolutely bent on protecting you- wanted you so badly to forget.)

The boys observe you warily as you slowly puff out.

After a few seconds pass, you’re decent enough to flash them a smile (a too-tight one, but you hope they catch the hint and leave while you’re still polite about the how you give it aspect) and look to the door behind them. “And, uh… I still need to shower and get changed and stuff. Maybe I’ll see you both later.”

“In an hour,” Luke suggests in a light tone. “Y-You should come down then, okay…?”

It shouldn’t surprise you that he’s purposefully being more gentle with you after realizing they’ve unwittingly hit a sore spot- for all their pranks, they’re not some unfeeling jerks after all, and you’ve always been an exception to their nonchalance- but it kind of does.

You look him over thoughtfully, wringing your hands in your lap.

It’s always felt like a chore to get them to behave. Whether it be sitting still in their seats during class and keeping their limbs away from your own workspace, or quite literally pulling the rug out from the asshole who ‘accidentally’ spilled wine on the front of your dress at a business get-together your mother hauled you into- for as long as time, the twins have held a reputation for two things:

Being troublemakers; and their father.

…You wonder if he’s the one who gave them a talking-to before your coming. If they’re a little more mindful of their manners because they’re nearing 23 and finally maturing or because Sylus sat them down beforehand with a stern look and said behave.

An hour, like Luke proposed, is plenty of time for you to wash up and get dressed. Your shampoo bottle is with the few toiletries you managed to stuff inside your bag- and clean clothes are already strewn along your fluffy comforters; you need forty minutes at tops to make yourself presentable.

…But that’s not really the issue. The reason why you’ve been stalling on going downstairs and revisiting the airy living room, the kitchen (with, apparently, your cold breakfast), the sunroom that you loved to escape to with books and a handmade sandwich— now too cold to sit out in, you’re sure.

An uneasy swallow. Eyes trailing down a lanky set of legs, they eventually land on the floor as you open your mouth.

“I mean- even after I wash up, I still want to unpack my stuff, and…” To the boys’ credit, they’re patient- but you try to find your words quickly. “I just-“

When Kieran makes an unimpressed noise, his sibling jabbing his side, you close your eyes and drop the charade entirely.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to see him right now, okay? I just… I’m not prepared to deal with him right now. That’s all.”

Your act was poor to begin with. Everybody and their mom (well.) knows you’re not on the best terms with your stepfather. That’s putting it lightly.

But you’re trying. Oh, for the sake of this depressing, loathsome trip, you’re trying to put aside your own reservations about him.

One crosses his arms and taps his foot. The other sighs softly.

It’s Kieran who comments, “you know, you’re the only one who can get away with talking about our old man like that… Like he’s an overgrown toddler.”

Funny, the both of your step-siblings. Right now, though, you don’t laugh.

“He won’t punish her for it, bro, you know that so just let her get it off her chest-“

He pointedly ignores him, pulling away from the hand that goes to nudge him, continuing, “But he’s not gonna bomboard you with questions as soon as you go down the stairs or something… I mean, what’s the big deal anyway, Y/n? You saw him last night, didn’t you?” He asks. “Surely you squashed at least some of the beef with him-“

“It’s not just ‘beef’,” you snip back before resigning, “But… yeah, I mean- I did see him, obviously. But it was already late and I was tired. So… we didn’t really talk that much.”

Kieran blinks. Mulls over your words for all of three seconds before saying—

(And oh, damn it all if his brother doesn’t try to stop him, revving up an elbow to thrust straight into the pit of Kieran’s belly before his lips can get too loose.

…But Luke thinks that their own shortcomings, sometimes so preventable it’s painful- all their foolish slip-ups and fails- are just as unable to be helped as the sun rising every morning.)

“What? But dad said it actually went really well-“

“Bro! Shut up! Dad said not to tell her that stuff because it might make her slink back into her shell or whatever-!”

As the wave of confusion crests over you, and then something… else that puts a distinct awkwardness in the air as you digest their words, Kieran has the gull to look flustered as he unfolds his arms and stammers.

“Ah- W- shit, man,” he curses before glancing to you- slumped on your bed as if to disappear inside yourself, a whit embarrassed despite your indifferent facade- frowning. “Don’t tell dad I said that, okay?”

Luke, fairly innocent in it all, joins his cause and begins pleading, too. “Please, sis. He’ll get mad at us both... Just don’t tell him we told you any of this, okay?”

You heave a sigh, weighing your head in your hand. “Just- can you two leave? Please?”

“Pinky promise you won’t tell him first. Oh- and-,” he steps closer, bold but innocuous, and extends his finger with a hopeful twinkle in his eye. “Pinky promise you’ll be down soon, too. The three of us can have a late lunch, yeah? We really missed you, seriously.”

You’re afraid of that proposed three becoming an unwanted four, but you’re growingly reaching your limit with them both- your daily dose of the twins being literally fed through a needle into your veins- and you just want them to scurry out and go.

To that end, you twine your pinky with his- and then his just as eager brother’s- and nod. “Yeah, okay... Bye, now.”

“An hour,” they chirp in unison, heads peeking out from the door as it swings shut behind them.

“An hour, sis~! Don’t forget!”

Two weeks, you close your eyes and tell yourself, shoehorning each pesky feeling that squeezes in your chest before it finds the chance to erupt to the surface and bleed.

With a long, shallow breath out, you return to the pile of clothes, some folded, others strung out from your carelessness, and begin stuffing them in your otherwise empty drawers.

Two weeks until you attend your mother’s funeral, and then you’re free to go.

[corvusalbus93]

I like to join in.

There are things I agree with in both posts, but mostly with izumiphoenix. Now OP, glitteryinknores, seems to rely a lot on what was part of Astarion’s concept and in Early Access and the things is – there are probably reasons those things were cut out or changed.

I’m a writer myself, not just fanfic, I work on original stories in the background and it happens so often that I get ideas, got a character plan out, but later as the story develops, as everything gets more fleshed out, suddenly those original ideas don’t quite fit anymore or I feel I need to change things up. And Early Access is a way to see what works, what needs changing (not saying they always get it right, but that's a different discussion).

Now, I believe it was in the concept art book that it was mentioned that Astarion wasn’t just a noble magistrate, but used his position to provide Cazador with victims before ever becoming his spawn. That was clearly changed. Things like Astarion begging Cazador to make him a vampire so he can take revenge also don’t appear in the finished game, so I don’t think we can consider these things canon anymore. They were ideas and concepts they played around with, but didn’t make the cut.

BG3 is the finished product; only what is in there can be reliably deemed canon and from how Astarion tells it there, it sounds very much like he only met Cazador, when he was already at death’s door. No prior connections. He also doesn’t seem to have been driven by a need for revenge, but pure fear of dying, when accepting Cazador’s offer (though him wanting to get back on his assailants wouldn’t be out of character).

As to who Astarion the magistrate was... honestly, we can’t tell, and neither can Astarion. He doesn’t seem to remember much. One of the few things he does recall is the attack, the Gur beating him up because of a ruling he handed down. And at the end of the day that is all we can reliably say. And so, it doesn’t really matter in the great scheme of things; as izumiphoenix said, Astarion’s story is more about either continuing the cycle or breaking out and choosing who he’s going to be.

Now, I don’t like how OP intentionally or unintentionally indicated Astarion kind of deserved what happened to him or that the two centuries of torture taught him a lesson. In part because that is a bit messed up, and would depict Astarion as a very one-note bad person, only able to see the light thanks to getting a taste of injustice and Tav – they are important, but that’s a bit much.

This just does Astarion a great disservice and I don’t think the finished game supports that reading. We know Astarion tried to save at least one person in his early years as a spawn and got severely punished for it – this means he was quite capable to do the right thing before he’d undergone the worst of Cazador’s torture. And the many conversations you have with him indicate that he developed much of his cynical worldview, dog-eat-dog, people with power can do whatever they want in this unjust world in the past 200 years. Now, I wouldn’t be surprised if being part of Baldur’s Gate elite and justice system already had him down that line of thinking, but it seems under Cazador, this worldview was truly internalized.

Speaking of being part of the elite.

As far as I’m concerned, I think Astarion pre-Cazador was just a normal person – not evil, but no saint. He was still very young for an elf (according to the D&D lore I know, he’d only be considered a full adult with 110), so a not fully matured magistrate in a city full of corrupt politicians and various noble families vying for power. I think it is fair to assume that Astarion, as part of the system, wasn’t unaffected by them. I could also image a situation similar to students getting hired by corporations/companies straight from law school – just with some wealthy patrician instead in this case. And as long as the system worked for him, he probably saw no reason to shake things up; as a magistrate he was enforcing laws/handing down rulings and sentences, not making them. If those laws were unjust or cruel, especially by our modern standards, he might not have really cared.

I suppose that would make him more lawful neutral or true neutral, which could make him look selfish, perhaps even evil or at least a bit apathetic to the hardships of others, depending on the law code of that day. We don't know. Again, I still think he had a moral compass, he tried to help at least one person long before Tav and our favourite band of weirdos ever arrived on the scene, but again - he was part of the system. I think this could combine the idea of him as a corrupt magistrate and yet being the undeserving victim.

Now let’s look at the Gur. I think we are all more or less aware of how most nations treat nomadic living cultures with itinerant lifestyles in the real world. We also see Astarion being rather prejudiced and Gandrel at least seems very much used to that kind of talk, even jokes about it. So, I wouldn’t be surprised if even 200 years ago Baldur’s Gate had some laws targeting the Gur, because the rich and powerful didn’t want them around. Maybe Vellioth and later Cazador lobbied against them, since they too were part of the elite, with their own interest in keeping monster hunters out of the city. Astarion was just the magistrate unlucky enough to enforce the law, who didn’t care, sharing the prejudice of fellow Baldurians – and was now the face of Baldur’s Gate elite to the Gur. And some took matters into their own hands.

So, yeah - in short I don’t think Astarion was an evil person, nor a fully good one, before becoming a spawn. Just a very flawed young man, possibly still immature/impressionable, who was part of a corrupt system. But as izumiphoenix said, despite what the suffered through in 200 years under Cazador, there is still a part of him that is good. Otherwise being around good people (even the goodest of good Tavs) wouldn’t have allowed him to grow into the person we see in Spawn-endings. What do you expect to grow, when there aren’t seeds to nurture? Tav and the others just created the conditions for them to sprout after a long, looong, winter.

There is a level of deep, bitterly poetic and cruel irony in Astarion's death and his eventual fate as a vampire spawn. Laughable, even. Lamentable.

Where do I even begin. I once posted here my thoughts on who Astarion was before Cazador took him; and all my thoughts were based on what we can assume to be canon from scraps on information in - game and interviews with Neil. That Astarion Ancunin who was laid into the ground at Baldur's Gate cementary was a corrupt magistrate, a shining example of power abuse, indulgence, hedony, existence in privilege without any service to the world around.

We also know for a fact that Astarion is not a good person in a moral sense. Again, Neil Newbon himself talked about it. He has capability to grow, mature, open himself up, soak in the positive influence and feel for others, but he never will be the default upstanding type. That is simply not at his core.

This is why (I am aware we're talking a fictional character, headcanon is free to all in whichever way they think it suits and pleases them) I cannot for the world believe in all the fanfiction based on the notion of the tragic, tortured soul unjustly attacked and turned into a vampire, because to me - it misses the entire depth and essence of Astarion's personality and arc. He was not a "worthy" persona before Cazador; in fact, the beating he got from the Gur was well - deserved and the near - death experience... Probably so as well. Maybe if anything, this would open his eyes and force him to reflect at least a bit on his choices in the position he was occupying. (But given that he mentions begging Cazador to turn him to be able to take revenge, I highly doubt that.) So yeah... The man got what was coming to him. He deserved it.

But what he got in the end once Cazador allowed him to drink his blood and had him in his hold? Two hundred years of misery and abuse beyond description, being completely stripped of any identity and personhood? No one deserves that. Such fate should not be thrust upon anyone. Ever.

It is the cruellest, most wicked twist of fate that it took that kind of ordeal to change a corrupt little elf's view of the world and force him to even acknowledge the existence of evil deeds and abuse of power - something I am quite sure he never gave any thought to before. It took being transformed into an utterly helpless victim to make him truly see that there is good and bad and perpetuating the bad leads to pain and misery for the innocents (and you can never be sure if not for you as well), and only then, at his most pathetic, most vulnerable, after centuries of torment, it took meeting, trusting, admiring, being grateful to, befriending / loving and being influenced by a genuinely good and kind person (probably the exact opposite of who he was before) to shake and cause some shift in his inner moral compass, or rather the way he was choosing to use it. The full circle, a poignant, unwilling journey from the one abusing power, to the enslaved puppet of someone with considerably more power abusing it in the most inhuman ways possible, and this time to his own woe, to the one person able to break the abusive cycle given the right influence.

Isn't that simply poetic in the most sickly sense? A tragicomedy, if you will.

Forget about Astarion Ancunin. The grave was good for lovemaking and sharing an important moment, but whoever was laid there was not anyone worthy of your time (just like "Ascended Astarion" )The one who stands by your side now is. Your Astarion. The new Astarion, the same "lovable rogue" with a taste for theatrics, drama, debauchery, beauty, murder mayhem and loose morality, but - a better person all the same.

[follow up post here

https://www.tumblr.com/glitteryinknotes/733162725841289216/a-little-follow-up-to-my-previous-post?source=share]

[ravenstargames]

✦ LOST IN LIMBO DEVLOG #19 | 06.02.2025

Happy Pride month besties! 💜 Yes, this year too we'll have a Pride month piece, but it's in the making!

This month has been packed with concept art and getting the new update ready, so there's not that much to write about. Showing all the concept art would spoil the artbook, so apologies if this devlog looks shorter than it should. Don't worry, we are still going full-speed ahead! Let's jump into it!

World, meet your trustworthy sidekick, she who has had your back since the beginning—Evie!

You already know a bit of her; she likes everything related to the occult world, is a prime member of the Faybourne Waterpolo Club, and her favorite color is blue!

Evie's base sprite is finished, so now we gotta jump to her expressions. Those are fairly easy and quick (Raquel's words, not mine), so I expect to start coding kind of soon! ✨

Also, concept art on the MC's dear mom is done! So we've moved on to the sprite phase, and also started working on the concept art of MC's troublemaking grandmother. Kickstarter folks will have ✨juicy✨ previews on that content, so y'all will have to wait for a bit as per usual!

May has been Amon's month. I've been writing the first chapter of his route, as well as editing the prologue following our editor's guidelines. I think this month will be packed of corrections, and I'm excited to tackle them!

As y'all know, demo update 1.1.0 (now 1.1.1, as some characters were very insistent in partaking in some floating activities) went live! This month I've been working on patching stuff as well as refining the android build. I originally used two different projects for the PC version and the mobile one, but after lady and savior Feniks graced me with knowledge once more, I dipped my toes into Ren'py variants; and it's been going great! After publishing these devlogs, I'll start uploading the new android build everywhere 💜✨

Kayden has been working on more mini-CGs to enhance the ✨experience✨of the new prologue! Amongst those CGs, we have the Sovereign's hospitality in the shape of breakfast. I wonder who delivers it...?

So now that we've seen how the concept art / sprite part of it all works with Airyn's addition to the team, we're confident things will be up to speed in the upcoming months! Airyn works like a beast, has amazing ideas, and executes them flawlessly, with the addition of being a great friend of ours!

What else...I'm still working on my investigation plan (my PhD, hahaa...), Raquel is now taking driving lessons, and she's also been working on the Pride Month piece. We got a sketch yesterday but agreed to modify it a bit after some thought. Initially, Gael was going to be the one getting an illustration for Pride Month this year, but things didn't go as planned (Raquel was frustrated with not being able to come up with a good idea for him) and Amon has taken his place. Happens to the best of us!

Work this month has been good! A lot of concept and planning that we can't show (well, Kickstarter folks will see more of it) but that is vital for the development of the game. I'm not going to ramble a lot in this one—sometimes you've to go straight to the point!

Thank you everyone who played our 1.1.1 update; thank you for the comments, well-wishes, feedback, and everything else. Also, thanks for keeping our ask box lively and overflowing! 💜

Let's see each other around!

[clairewritesfanfics]

What would you think about a Reader that has precognition powers, like Garnet from Steven Universe or Bruno from Encanto? With the Mark variants finding and rescuing them from a highly secret and highly guarded GDA facility, because that kind of power Cecil would definitely want under his control.

Author's Note: I'm so sorry this took so long, I had to rewrite numerous times. I kept hating what I wrote. At first this was supposed to be several headcanons, then actual imagines, then it became a one-shot. Anyway, anon, you didn't give specific pronouns, but I hope you don't mind that Reader is AFAB here. It just naturally unfurled that way. Also, I'm unfamiliar with the Steven Universe lore so I just went with Bruno's and just foresight powers in general.

Working title: The Idea of You

Reader Character Settings: AFAB, she/her

Characters: Flaxan, Mohawk, Omni-Mark, Shiesty, Genderbent Mark, Full Mask, Target/Striped, Head Cap, Sinister, Prisoner, Viltrumite

Trigger Warnings: Swearing.

You were in the middle of painting. It was not a prophecy or vision, just a regular painting of some beach you’ve only seen from an encyclopedia. 

As you brushed the finishing touches, the wall behind you exploded. 

Strong, alien arms wrapped around your waist before you could turn. 

Your panic was somewhat dulled when the person holding you spoke, “You’re safe...” The voice was masculine. 

“Um,” you began, “I’m sorry but can you let go of me first?”

A low, amused chuckle was his reply. He didn’t let go but he did loosen his hold, allowing you to twist in his embrace and look at the man who just broke through your prison.

Locks of raven hair lazily fell over giant bug-like goggles. He wore a white and blue-green suit that reminded you of Buzz Lightyear, and of those insectoid wannabe invaders that showed up in your nightmares and on your various works of art.

A lot of things were different, but you have seen this man in many visions. You recognized that jawline anywhere.

Your fingers traced over the strong lines of his face. “You’re Markus Grayson.”

He stared at your hand and you pulled back. “I’m sorry, I’ve never–”

“–never talked to a real person before? I figured as much, you told me that.”

You understood immediately. “So that’s why your costume is different. You’re not from here, are you?”

He shook his head. “I’ll explain everything on the way out.”

“Out?” You bounced forward until your nose almost bumped into his mouth. “You’re really going to take me outside? Can you take me to Burger Mart? I always see it but I’ve never been.”

His face softened. “I’ll take you anywhere you want, sugar.”

Your stomach did flips at the pet name. “Okay.” You beamed.

He hooked his arm under your knees and secured you to his chest. “Cover your eyes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to see.”

You had a feeling that’s all he was going to say, and you would rather not irritate your liberator, so you obediently covered your face.

You moved in the darkness, the odor of blood stung your nose. The halls were hot but Lightyear never let you go and soon, you could feel the cold air nip at your skin.

“You can look now,” he informed you.

Your pupils strained at the sudden brightness. 

When your eyes finally adjusted, you wrung your arms around Markus’ neck. You must’ve been hundreds of feet off the ground.

He chuckled. “It’s all right, I won’t ever let you go.”

Once your pulse calmed down, you took another peek at the world below. Everything seemed so inconsequential, like the dollhouse someone left in your bedroom while you slept several birthdays ago.

“I’m finally free,” you muttered. You turned to the burning Pentagon. “That’s where they kept me, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did you do that? Is that why you asked me not to look?”

He didn’t answer.

You watched the growing flames lick the sky. 

He opened his mouth and closed it again. 

“It’s okay. It was bound to happen, if not you, something else. The only difference is that if it weren’t you, I probably would have burned alive with the rest of them.”

“You’re not sad?”

“A little. It was my home, after all. But it’s funny, I’ve seen so many things thanks to my power, but I’ve never seen a future where I got out.” You gave him a teary smile. “So thank you, Markus Grayson.”

His face was unreadable until he smiled back. “You can just call me Mark.”

“Okay–”

“Well, what do we have here?”

Mark tensed as a third person arrived. It was Mark, again, but this version didn’t wear a mask or a cowl and his hair was shaved into a rowdy mohawk.

“You were supposed to destroy the GDA fuckers’ HQ, no one said anything about stealing.”

Mark Lightyear’s voice was taut and cold as he spoke, “Is that truly all you have to say? Because it seems to me like you’re angry that you didn’t get to play white knight.”

Mohawk’s arrogant smirk twisted into a scowl. “Hand her over.”

You flinched.

“You’re scaring her.”

“Fine, let’s set her down somewhere and talk things out, Mark to Mark, then we can decide who takes her home with them.”

“You’re way in over your head, kid.”

Mohawk snarled and charged forward but Mark dodged at the last minute. “Hold on,” he ordered before blasting through the clouds.

You couldn’t hear your own screams with the angry whipping of air around you. 

He didn’t slow down until you two reached the middle of the Pacific.

“I’m sorry, I had to be fast.”

You waved his apology off, unable to reply with your breakfast threatening to leave the way it came. 

“Don’t worry, we should be safe for now. They shouldn’t be here.”

You breathed steadily. “I’m all right but… you really shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Like what?”

“Things that tempt fate.”

He smiled. “You always said that.” 

He reached to touch your cheek but you gently stopped him.

“I don’t know what you expect from me,” you said slowly, “but I can’t replace what you lost.”

“...I know.”

“You’re not angry?”

“I can never be angry with you.”

“So why did you help me?”

His smile turned sad. “Because it’s you.”

Your heart fluttered with envy and warmth. If you met the Mark Grayson of this timeline, then would someone love you like this too? 

“I know you mentioned wanting to go to Burger Mart, but it’s too risky to bring you to places full of people.”

“Yeah, I guessed as much.”

“I can take you somewhere else though.”

***

“Hey, if it gets thick enough, can we try eating the snow?”

You were as giddy as a Siberian Husky at the sight of powdery snow pouring on Mount Fuji. Mark refused to land though, and you were still in pajamas, so you can only admire from afar. 

“Do you have any idea how polluted the air is on this planet? You’re not eating the snow.”

You laughed. “I’m kidding, you grump. But you gotta admit it’s tempting, it’s so pure and white, like vanilla ice cream. Donald used to give me the same vanilla ice cream cake every birthday.”

“I thought you never talked to anyone before.”

“I haven’t. I didn’t even know it was Donald who sent me cake, when I woke up, it would always just be on the table. But I saw him once in my vision, he was carrying the box from the bakery to his car. I’m going to miss him.”

“...I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s not like we had an actual relationship.” This was the problem with precognition. You saw things others didn’t want you to see, and it deluded you into thinking you had a connection with them. 

“We should go,” Mark said after a while.

“Can’t we stay for a little longer? Just a little?”

“You can admire the snow and more mountains when we get home, I promise.”

“So it’s true.”

Your skin prickled as you felt a hot, intense gaze behind you. 

You reluctantly lifted your head and saw Mark with spikier hair and draped in red and white. Even you could tell that he was more dangerous than the mohawk guy.

“Why would you bring her here wearing just that? She could freeze to death.”

“I’m afraid that’s none of your concern, and don’t worry, we were about to leave.”

“You’re not going anywhere with my wife.”

The air buzzed.

Mark looked at you and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“For–AAAAHHHHH!” He threw you into the air.

Lightyear intercepted Omni-Mark before he could even react.

You were still screaming and flying when someone else caught you.

“Holy crap, you’re real.” A blue veil flapped in the wind. “Fuck, I thought that lensless freak was shitting with me about what he saw but you’re real. And that bug fucker tried to steal you away.”

“Uuh…”

“Hey, don’t be scared. It’s cute but you got nuthin’ to be afraid of.” He grabbed the hem of his shiesty and pulled it back, revealing the face of, who else, Mark Grayson. “It’s me, babe.”

“I-I don’t–”

“You’re as luminous as ever. Am I using that right? You said I was luminous once, it was during our first dance together under the moon.”

“I’m not who you think I am.”

He shook his head. “I know you’re a different version, but it’s still you, and that’s all that matters to me.”

That… is disturbing. Did the other versions of you have magic vaginas or something? How are these men so obsessed with the idea of you?

“Come on, let’s go–”

“I don’t think so,” it was a feminine voice this time.

Shiesty clicked his tongue as someone hovered closer. 

This Mark was a girl. She was, naturally, gorgeous; she could pass for an idol, though her physique was more Amazonian than delicate. Her thick black hair was tied into a long braid and she didn’t wear any goggles or mask. 

“Enough. We all need to talk about this properly.”

You squeaked when Shiesty nearly crushed you against his chest.

Girl Mark glowered at him. “You’re hurting her.”

He stopped and you could finally inhale.

“I agree.” Another one appeared, his head, face and neck were covered with a mask that seamlessly blended with the rest of his sleek onyx costume. You assumed he was also a Mark. “We’ll kill her if we keep passing her around like a football.”

“She’s no good to anyone splattered on the ground,” taunted one Mark dressed like a bee. When he saw you looking at him he smirked. “Don’t worry, honey. You know I would never let anyone hurt you, not even myself.”

Another Mark with stripes on the sides of his arms tried to float closer towards you but Shiesty pulled you away. Stripes sighed. “Fine, let’s call a truce. For now.”

“That sounds like a plan,” agreed a bald Mark. When he caught your lingering stare, he averted his own and rubbed the back of his neck.

Mohawk was here as well. You could see specks of blood on the philtrum of his nose. “Only if none of you fucktards try to steal her away while we ‘talk.’” 

Beside him was a Mark whose head was covered by a blue cap.

Head Cap Mark waved at you, then he blew a kiss.

Mohawk elbowed him.

A Mark Grayson draped in metallic gray and pearl white floated towards the growing circle. “I am willing to cooperate, so long as she–” brown eyes, dark enough to be black, fell over you “–is not put in danger.”

Omni-Mark and Lightyear finally joined. They were both bleeding and panting, but punching each other’s brains out has calmed them down.

Without thinking, you reached inside your pocket and offered a handkerchief to Lightyear. 

If looks could kill, he would have been reduced to meatballs with the number of jealous glares directed at him.

“Hey, no fair!” The cheeriest sounding Mark yet shot between you and Lightyear. This Mark’s mask had no goggles. He had cuts all over his pretty face. “What about me? I have way more injuries than him!” He pouted.

“Same here!”

“Me too!”

“Me three!”

Omni-Mark scoffed. “Children.”

Lightyear glared at him. “You’re one to talk.”

“You wanna go–”

“Achoo!”

Brown eyes and unreadable goggles turned to you.

You rubbed your nose and sniffed.

As though a switch had been flipped, the ragtag bunch fell into an organized rhythm. 

They systematically split up in small groups, leaving you in the hands of Shiesty, who carried you away from the mountain. Omni-Mark and Lightyear followed you like guard dogs.

You four stopped at a nearby beach with a tolerable temperature.

“Whoa.” Your eyes sparkled at the sight of the sea. 

“You smell that, doll?”

You nodded.

“There’s nothing quite like the smell of the beach.” Shiesty let you down, the soft sand tickled your toes. 

Once he let you go, you started running towards the waves.

Lightyear and Omni-Mark tried to call you back, to be careful, but Shiesty raised his hand. “Let her be. She needs this.”

You slowed down before your feet could touch the water. You pulled at the legs of your pajama bottoms, took a big gulp of fresh air, and stepped into the sea. The sand beneath your feet was pulled back by the tides and it felt like the ocean itself was trying to grab you, too.

You giggled. If you died right now, it wouldn’t be good, but… 

You looked at the horizon, where the sky kissed the sea. Endless. Beautiful. “It wouldn’t be too bad if this is the last thing I see.”

A heavy fur coat was draped over your shoulders. “As if I’d let that happen.” Girl Mark had found her way next to you. Slowly, she dropped her legs into the water. “You seem calm, all things considered.”

“Well, once I got over the multiple versions of you coming here to destroy Earth and take me away, I realized that this situation isn't that bad.”

Her laugh was sweet and light, nothing like the loud coarseness or restrained rumbling of her male counterparts. “What counts as ‘bad’ in your book?”

“Dying before I got to see the outside world would have sucked." You glanced at the azure sky. "I've seen countless futures, but in not one of them was I ever free.”

Her coffee eyes regarded you with a solemn longing and a hint of pity. She looked at the horizon. “You know what you called me? In my universe I mean.”

You shook your head.

“You called me Marcy.”

“Marcy as in–”

“–as in the Vampire Queen.”

You both laughed.

“So your name is Marceline?”

“Nah, but I used to be super pale, like paper-white pale. The other girls in our school called me all sorts of names, like White Lady or Sadako or Samara. But you said I was more like a badass vampire and that I shouldn’t listen to them, because they were jealous of me and how I ‘glow like the moon.’”

“You really do glow like the moon.”

She snickered. “Thanks.”

“In your world, I really went to school?”

“Yeah. All girls.”

“Was I smart?”

“Smarter than me.”

Your stomach boomed and you covered it shyly.

She giggled and offered her hand. “C’mon, we should go before those idiots start throwing a tantrum.”

You grabbed her hand but didn’t move. “What do you think’s going to happen to me?”

“You’re the one who can see the future here, bubblegum.”

“But…”

“It’s going to be okay,” she said, squeezing your hand. 

“How can you be sure?”

“I’m not, but that’s the great thing about the future, right? Unlike the past, it’s not set in stone.”

You gawked.

She understood you.

There is no such thing as the future, only a future, and if a person is living life the right way then they have multiple futures.

You tried to explain that to the mirrors in your room that you knew were cameras.

Trying to find which one of those futures will likely happen is like fishing for a very specific type of fish in the middle of the ocean without knowing if it's even a saltwater species. 

Now, your power wasn't totally useless, it has helped prepare for earthquakes and stop terrorist attacks in the past. Hell, you've helped prevent murders. But those were all luck-based more than they were actual prophecies; if a floor is wet, there is a chance of slipping, so to protect oneself they will tread carefully, hold onto something for support, or avoid that route entirely. 

You gazed into Marcy’s eyes. “Right.”

Behind her, several Marks had started yelling at each other. 

She sighed. “Let’s go and stop them before they destroy the beach.”

“You, I can understand, but how am I supposed to stop those guys?”

A perfectly shaped eyebrow arched at you. “Please. If there is one person on this entire planet that they’re going to listen to, it’s you.”

“If you say so.”

She smiled and tugged you forward–

You gasped, nearly dropping your palette and messing up the canvas in front of you.

You stared at the hand holding the paintbrush. You could still feel Marcy’s comforting touch.

You smiled and applied the finishing touches to your painting. 

This author has several things to say:

I have a love/hate relationship with action scenes. When I know what I want, everything flows like water, but jksdfhhsdfl I just really do not like writing action scenes, they tend to feel repetitive.

I tried my best to give the Marks individual personalities, but I'm still unsure with what to do sometimes. (also, as I write this, I realize that I forgot to include Sinister and Target so after I write this note, I'm going to have to brainstorm again cheesus.)

I have never seen snow fall from the sky either.

I am very gay for Marcy.

Disclaimer: The image used in this post does not belong to writerclaire. It was lifted from: https://gamerant.com/invincible-all-alternate-dimension-invincibles-fates/

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Any questions for the author? Ask here.

[salemrph]

The taste of apple and pomegranate

Ch. 4 Inspiration and jealousy

Nav: Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 (coming soon) // AO3

Summary: You just wanted to survive university, not fall for either of them—let alone both. Two handsome idiots who somehow made your apartment their second home. You, Sylus, and Caleb were supposed to be just friends. So why does everything feel like their is more going on?

Character: Sylus x f!reader x Caleb // Tara, Rafayel // AU - College, Student

Genre: romantic, fluff, intimacy, sexual content, humor, friends to lovers, poliamore, slow burn

Word count: 3k | Reading Time: 12 min | AO3

Tag list: @thechaoticarchivist @peacedreamer14 @blessdunrest @strwberriiblnde @plzdonutpercieveme @sylusqt @sakuraneko-sakupanda-chan @peacedreamer14 @escapeis @plzdonutpercieveme @blorbohunter @yuurisfavblog

Ch. 4 Inspiration and jealousy

The night was fun. Rafayel had ended up laughing at your rather direct way of getting rid of those girls, his soft chuckles echoing even over the thrum of the club. As you were about to leave, he handed you a minimalist business card, with the name of his studio on it. Which was quite confusing; was he doing a move, or was it a genuinely clever invitation for a platonic studio visit? You brushed it off. You didn't need to overthink it. 

The next day, with a nice head pulsing hangover, you were recounting the highlights of night with Tara, who was absolutely over the moon that you'd met Rafayel. There was nothing better than after a good party, ordering pizza, having some ice cream and watching easy-going romantic movies. And if the tiredness of the last few hours was too overwhelming, going back to sleep until nightfall sounded like a great Friday plan.

“Y/N,” she shrieked, practically vibrating with excitement. The high-pitched sound of her voice made you groan in pain. “He's the new hot student-slash-mentor! You know, the one who has the whole art department going crazy?” Tara takes out her phone, and goes through her instagram. Pointing out all the comments under a cover picture of a modern art magazine. 

“OMG, he is art!’ 

“Marry me, Rafayel!”

“Is he even real?!’ I can’t believe it!”

Tara quickly gets up when she finishes the last chocolate chip cookie. She wipes her hands on the loose T-shirt she's wearing. You don't have the energy for this. What on earth did she drink last night that left her without even a hint of a hangover?

She started dramatically rifling through your closet, pulling out everything she thought was cute. “You have to go see him. Like this weekend.”

“Why are you so excited about him?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe, amused about the slightly wild behavior of your friend and her sudden obsession.

Tara spun around, putting her hands on your shoulders, her gaze intensely serious. "Rafayel is famous, super famous in the art scene! He's the newcomer of the year!"

You gently shrugged her hands off. “Tara, I'm not into the pink press. I don't care if he's famous or not. He just seems like a good guy. We could be friends.”

“Friends?” She scoffed, turning back to your wardrobe with renewed vigor. “You were practically crying the other about not getting enough sexy time, and now…” she stopped mid sentence. She stopped mid-sentence, her head snapping up, eyes narrowed into a very deep, suspicious expression. “Don't tell me you did it with…?”

“What? When? We left together, don’t you remember?” you protested, already shaking your head. 

“I wasn't talking about Rafayel… or did you do it with him also?” 

You massage your eyes, trying to block out the vivid memory of your vibrator, the audio and how satisfied you'd been after coming while thinking about…  well, you knew who. A fresh wave of heat rushed to your cheeks. 

“Tara” you whine. 

“Okay, okay. Then not. A shame, really.” She went back to sorting through your clothes, humming.

──────────

With that chaotic send-off from Tara, you found yourself standing in front of the door of Rafayel's studio on sunday. A knot of nervousness tightened in your stomach; this was an unannounced visit, and you suddenly felt a little silly for showing up. You couldn’t even text him to check since only the address was written on the business card. You weren't entirely sure if he would even be here. It was a bit of a trek from your place, situated in a more industrial zone where galleries and big-name artists had found their home. The studio was nestled on one side of the river, offering a truly beautiful sight, especially now that the sun was low, making the water sparkle with a thousand tiny diamonds.

The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling out onto the pavement. Strange, you thought, pushing it open a little further.

Big white curtains fluttered gently in the open windows, catching the last golden rays of the setting sun. The smell of paint was intense, a rich, earthy scent that filled the air. “Hello?” you called out, stepping further inside.

The studio was vast, even more so than you'd imagined from the street. Canvases of all sizes leaned against walls, some finished, others clearly mid-creation, splattered with vibrant colors. Sculptures draped in white sheets stood as silent sentinels. 

You found him in front of a massive canvas, utterly lost in his work. He was barefoot, his light fabric blue pants and simple, fluttery white shirt splattered with vibrant streaks of paint, a living embodiment of his art. His brow was furrowed in deep concentration, a brush held delicately in his hand, his gaze fixed on the evolving masterpiece. He was so deeply immersed, he didn't even seem to notice you.

You stood there for a moment, unsure what to do, before clearing your throat to make your presence known again. He lifted a hand, a single finger raised.

“No talking,” he mumbled. “You're scaring my inspiration away.”

You press your lips together. The silence stretched for another minute before he sighed, a sound of deep, artistic exasperation. “Nevermind, it's gone.” He kept his back to you, moving to a utility sink to clean the remaining paint off his brush. “The studio is closed. If you’re a reporter, then talk to Thomas. I don't have time.”

You blinked, a bit confused. 

“I'm sorry for coming without calling,” you said, your voice a little quieter than before. “I just wanted to say hi, but if you’re busy, it’s fine. I can leave.”

Rafayel finally turned, his eyes still distant with artistic focus, meeting yours. The surprise that flickered there was brief, quickly replaced by recognition and that familiar, soft smile. “Oh, it's you. Even better. Now have someone to blame... If Thomas asks, it's your fault.”

You blinked, utterly baffled. Thomas? Who the hell is Thomas?

“My fault? What did I do?”

Rafayel finally put down his brush, running a hand through his paint-splattered hair. He looked genuinely weary, his artistic focus clearly broken. “You broke the spell. The flow, the inspiration. It's gone.” He gestured vaguely at the canvas, as if something invisible had just vanished from it. “And you, Miss Bodyguard, are to blame.”

“Why me? And I just said that because those girls were borderline assaulting you!” you protested, gesturing to your rather average build.

He waved a dismissive hand, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “You did a great job. I could need someone to keep... disturbances off my canvas.” He leaned against an easel, suddenly looking less like an ethereal artist and more like a tired, still impossibly handsome man. “Anyway, since you're my new bodyguard…”

“I haven’t agree to that.” you cut in, crossing your arms.

“Puh-lease. That's only the details. And since I'm a good employer, I will help you with your struggles.”

“And what exactly makes you think I have problems?” A slow, easy smile spread across his face.

"Oh, didn't you mention something about a cursed dating life? That sounds like a struggle to me... Or at least, a good conversation and some advice from a new friend.” He grinned, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. You should stop drinking.

“Why would you help me? You don't know me.” 

“Mostly because I’m bored,” Rafayel declared, twirling a paintbrush between his fingers “but also… I adore drama.”

You rolled your eyes completely, a small huff escaping your lips. This guy... He was already making you feel exposed and seen in a way that was both unnerving and, surprisingly, a little freeing. Maybe, just maybe, it would be a good idea to bring this incredibly charming stranger into the chaotic mess that was your love life. You barely knew him, but they always said it was easier to talk to strangers about your problems than to someone you knew. You didn't want to feel judged, and while you knew Tara supported you in everything, a more neutral opinion, detached from your established history, might actually help you untangle some of your current mental blocks. And hey, maybe you two would actually become good friends? He seemed easygoing, and you certainly needed more of that in your life.

You squinted at him, amused despite yourself. “Okay, fine,” you said, a reluctant smile breaking through. “So, what’s the catch? What do I have to do in return for this… noble employment?” 

“You will be the model for a new series for my art classes. You have a… particular kind of energy.” You raised an eyebrow, but he steamrolled ahead. “It’s a project about emotion. A raw exploration of humanity, angst, and unpolished chaos. Vulnerability, expression, a brush with your inner tempest.” 

You narrowed your eyes. “Is that an insult or a compliment?”

“Is a compliment” he brushes his forehead straight casually, “I can pay you, if that’s the hang-up.”

“It’s not about the money…” you said quickly, shaking your head. That wasn’t it at all. “It was just… a bizarre request.” And unexpectedly flattering. 

“Perfect. Then we try it next week. If it’s not for you, we’ll pretend it never happened. I’ll even pretend we never met unless I need help lifting canvases or buying art supplies.”

What mess have you gotten yourself into now? You glanced down at his palm, then back at his waiting face.

“Deal,” you said, shaking his hand.

You ended up chilling with Rafayel for a bit longer, just chatting as the late afternoon light streamed into his studio. It was surprisingly easy to be around him. His quirky metaphors, dramatic hand gestures, and paint-splattered clothes just made everything feel lighter. You guys talked about your classes, weird dreams you'd had, and even your favorite cartoons from when you were kids. He'd listen with his chin propped on his hand, eyes wide like every random thing you said was totally fascinating. It was… honestly, pretty chill. Like, surprisingly chill.

──────────

The café was the kind of warm that made you want to stay longer than you should—light music curling from the overhead speakers, the smell of espresso and cinnamon rolls hanging in the air. Your iced caramel latte rested between your palms, condensation dripping down the plastic like nervous sweat.

Caleb sat beside you, hunched slightly over his tablet. He looked half-focused, half-bored, on the long PDF he needed to read until tomorrow. Across the table, Sylus stirred his black coffee, barely glancing up from his screen. 

Being with these two in a café was always a spectacle. From customers to employees, they subtly corrected their posture, smoothed their clothes, and generally tried to appear flawless before passing by your table. You'd gotten so used to the stares that you'd simply started making an Excel sheet, tracking the number of girls asking for their number, laughs, and glances directed at your table (all of which you noticed). It was mostly out of boredom, and to have a graphic to rub in their faces at some point, hoping it would finally get them to find a girlfriend; or a hookup, or a one-night stand; and leave you alone.

Girlfriend...? Again, that annoying chest pain.

You were mid-sip, straw caught between your teeth, chowing on it, when a voice practically danced into the space. You blinked up, startled, just in time to see him stride through the front door—dark coat flaring slightly behind him, two mismatched earrings catching the light, that same lazy grin curling his lips. And before you could even get a word out, he was already pulling you into a hug.

“Miss Bodyguard, my sweet darling.”

It was effortless, as you were some long-lost friend instead of someone he'd just met. His scent, something fresh and citric that somehow reminded you of the ocean, wrapped around you as his arms did the same.

You barely had time to glance at Caleb and Sylus across the table. Caleb had a half-eaten croissant paused in mid-air, his brows lifted in slow, dawning disbelief. Sylus’s fingers tensed slightly around the handle of his cup, gaze sharpening under his lashes. Rafayel didn’t spare either of them a glance.

“Perfect timing,” he said, stepping back just enough to meet your eyes. “I’m heading to the studio. Thought I’d start my little muse-hunting trial.”

“Oh… now? I’m still—” You stammered, gesturing vaguely at your half-finished drink, a rush of confusion and slight panic bubbling up.

“Uh-ah, cutie.” He gently pressed a finger to your lips, a playful smirk touching his mouth. “Inspiration is fleeting. You have to catch it when it shows up. So now is the moment. Come on.” His hand drifted from your lips to your arm, a light, insistent pressure.

“But—” Your glance flicked back to the table, to your half-finished drink, to your friends' perfectly still, unreadable faces watching the entire exchange. Caleb had finally lowered his croissant. Sylus just removed his glasses and shoved his hand in his pocket. Uhh… he was pissed. 

Caleb and Sylus, somehow managing to look both imposing and utterly out of place, had invited themselves along. You’d tried, really tried to dissuade them. Told them it was just a quiet session, no need to crash it. You even gave Rafayel a few not-so-subtle signals behind their backs, wide eyes and small shakes of your head. He only smiled as he tilted his head with a simple “Why not?” and welcomed them in. 

You knew exactly why. You’d grumbled just last week about your "two guard dogs" always hovering, always interfering. Maybe he just wanted to see what would happen when you placed three unpredictable elements in the same confined space. Whatever his reasons were, the air in the studio, already filled with the scent of paint, was practically vibrating with your nervousness on edge. 

And that’s how you ended up here.

Caleb was already tugging off his hoodie and eyeing the studio like it might bite him; and Sylus, who looked like he’d rather die than touch anything not polished mahogany or silk, but was already unbuttoning his jacket. They're staying.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the nervous flutter in your chest.

Rafayel explained the plan with the casual flair of someone describing a whimsical dream.

“It’s a five-day set,” he said, fingers dancing in the air like brushstrokes. “Two hours each session. Same pose, same lighting. The goal is to capture evolution through stillness.” He gestured dramatically to the center of the studio, where an elevated platform stood, draped in warm, neutral fabrics. The background was painted in muted tones, half-finished canvases propped against walls, the scent of turpentine and linseed oil hanging in the air.

You stepped closer, eyeing the stage. It looked like something between a therapist's couch and a sacrificial altar. At least you wouldn't have to die for this.

“I want you to choose a pose,” Rafayel said, stepping beside you. “Something familiar. Something your body does when you feel overwhelmed or when you’re lost in high emotion. Maybe the way you sit when you cry. Or when you’re angry. Or just… when the world feels too heavy.”

You blinked, caught off-guard by the intimacy of the request. “So… not something aesthetic.”

“God, no.” He grinned. “I don’t do commercial. The posture should be something your body returns to when no one’s looking.”

You nodded slowly, your gaze drifting to the platform again. Yeah. This was going to get… personal.

Rafayel clapped his hands once, like he was wrapping up a lecture. “Oh! And one last thing—” He turned back toward you with that maddeningly serene smile. “Take off your clothes.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry—what?” Caleb choked on his water.

He tilted his head, utterly unbothered. “Clothes. Off. Not all the way, just…enough to see some skin.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly open, trying to process. In the corner, Sylus made a soft tsk sound.

Rafayel, entirely unfazed, waved a hand toward a screen at the back of the room. “There’s a curtain over there. Change into whatever makes you feel exposed enough to be interesting—but safe enough to stay over the 5 days.”

“Can’t we do…?

“This is the trail, cutie. If you can’t strip in front of me or your two friends, then probably you won’t do it with 10 strangers in the room. Your choice.” 

You paused halfway to the curtain, fingers curled nervously around the edge.

Caleb glanced between you and the platform. “Pips… do you really want to do this?” You froze for a beat, your heart hammering somewhere near your throat. Your eyes met his, steady despite the quickened beat of your heart. 

“I’m not judging. I just…” His brows pinched together like the words were caught somewhere deep. “I don’t want you to do something just because you feel like you have to prove anything.” You saw the worry behind the smile he was trying to wear.

“You should leave if you’re feeling uncomfortable,” you said gently.

His jaw tensed, like he wanted to protest but couldn’t find the right words. Then Sylus let out a breath through his nose, stepping closer with that ever-calm composure.

“If she wants to do this, we can’t stop her,” he said pragmatically. “And I’ll stay. For support. Kitten…” You turned to look at Sylus. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a flicker of something softer passing behind his eyes. “You need to be aware that this room’s going to be full. Students. Strangers. Eyes. Having another set of eyes you trust? Might help you stay grounded.”

You swallowed. You gave them both a nod. “I can handle it.”

Sylus’ lips curved, almost proud. Caleb muttered, “Then I’m staying too,” and crossed his arms, grumbling something about needing to supervise the supervision.

Rafayel, meanwhile, had already begun adjusting the lighting. “Adorable,” he sang under his breath. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

Release every 1-2 week

Nav: Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 (coming soon)

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[superbtragedyfun]

do you draw with your elbows in a gymnasium full of flickering fluorescent lights and the smell of expired protein powder? because that’s the only explanation for whatever that art was. it looks like someone barfed up a high school pep rally and then tried to reassemble it blindfolded with a glue stick. every limb you draw is a cryptid. i’ve seen folding chairs with better anatomy. are those hands or is the character just mid-mutation? i swear your color palette has the emotional range of a locker room floor. wet, beige, and vaguely sticky. i can hear the squeak of bad sneakers and regret in every brushstroke. honestly it feels like your art crawled out of the lost and found box under the bleachers and immediately got a concussion. it's gym class at 7am all over again.

maybe just… sit down for a second. breathe some fresh air that doesn’t smell like axe body spray and melted gatorade. rethink everything. or don’t. i’m not your art teacher. just someone who had to witness that.

some misadventures doodles featuring dennis

happy (slightly late) birthday to martyn

[northopalshore]

What are placements that could indicate an inferiority complex?

Inferiority complex

in the natal chart

The feeling of being inferior towards something, someone or just as it relates to your sense of personal worth and talents. They can manifest in a multitude of ways, but here are some of the ones I can name off the top of my head, based on what I've seen people go through in my personal life.

middle art from frgetmenot on pinterest & IG

Northopalshores' Masterlists | Personal observations, do not repost on other platforms without consent ʕ⁠ ⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔฅ

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

🪽 Virgo moons

You are very hard on yourself. It can be quiet easy to get on your nerves or strike a cord, especially if you feel inadequate. Can be quiet bitter towards other people who they deem to have what these individuals want. Feels like a salt to their wounds.

🪽 Virgo Stellium

The people with Virgo Stelliums in my life are always second guessing themselves to some degree. They are such harder on themselves than other people that I know.

🪽 Scorpio Moons/Moon in the 8th

From my experience with them, these individuals tend to go one of both routes; either make everyone else the enemy and blame other's disapproval of them "jealousy" or beat themselves up. Seeing themselves as this monster that doesn't fit with the rest.

🪽 North Node hard aspect Sun, Moon or Mars

It can feel like the world is just against you with this placement. Everything you dofeels challenged, but it does make for a stronger character in the end.

🪽 Sun square Ascendant

Your identity, worth, and self image not in alignment with how you want to be seen or are perceived by others.

🪽 Sun square Midheaven

Your career, your reputation and authority figures demanding more from you. Sometimes your efforts just don't feel enough or go unnoticed.

🪽 Moon square Saturn

Feeling inadequate, being hard or strict on yourself. Feeling like you're stuck or stunted.

🪽 Chiron placement (same w Saturn)

Chiron often indicates fear, trauma, insecure but also healing. So by that logic, the Chiron placement in your chart tells you where and how you may feel or have been treated as inferior. I have an old post about it here. As for Saturn, hard aspects to your personal planets tell tend to indicate that person being especially hard on themselves.

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

🪽 Sun, Moon or Mars in the 12th house

Sometimes makes you feel invisible.

🪽 Chiron aspecting Sun

Literally feeling inadequate. Feeling like you aren't enough, being "lesser" or smaller than other people around you. You have a hard time proving yourself to others & yourself as well.

🪽 Neptune in the 1st house square saturn, sun or venus

A little more specific. Not really seeing yourself as who you are, wanting to perfect this image of yourself in your head (your can set impossible standards for yourself).

🪽 Singleton Sun, Moon, Chiron or Pluto

A "Singleton" planet refer to a singular planet in a hemisphere of your chart that is separated from the rest of your planets (usually also barely making aspects to other planets). This one is rather progression based though, it's something you don't notice early on but build up once it's triggered. You might be just fine throughout your early adulthood but that insecurity or need for something more, just develops at a later date. Sometimes it's like being thrown under the bus lol.

🪽 Ascendant square or opposite Venus

As you might've guessed, the way you look doesn't resonate with what you find to be beautiful or attractive. This comes from a sense of self perception. Feeling like you don't look beautiful or attractive enough (not to your satisfaction).

˚₊‧꒰ა paid readings available ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

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@northopalshore

@northopalshore astrology observations 2025.

Hope this helps ‧꒰ა ♰ ໒꒱ ‧

[thethronezone]

Oooooh can I ask for the primarchs and how they will play with my child!?

Mortarion - So damn awkward. Like, he gives his kid a ball and is like "Go play" and then when they try throwing it to him he's like "???" because do they not want the toy? It takes him a while to realize that they want him to play with them and while he does oblige, he's so befuddled the entire time. Played fetch with his kid for the longest time before someone pointed out that that's something you do with a dog and he got very embarrassed and ashamed (and quite furious because that's what his adoptive father did with him sometimes).

Fulgrim - Arts and crafts with dad! Music-time with papa! Fencing lessons with father! Whatever activity Fulgrim performs with his child, he tries to impart some kind of lesson unto them. For him, play-time is not just for fun, it's also a very important development tool so he's very meticulous about what they do.

Angron - Mostly just supervise but sometimes he does join his kid if they ask him or he's feeling particularly stable at the moment. Let's his kid decide what to do and just follows along with whatever they want. Playing pretend? Sure. Racing? He'll jog so they'll have a chance at keeping up. Just happy with whatever and really treasures these moments and tries to make them last as long as possible.

Magnus - Puzzles, puzzles, puzzles. These games require a mixture of intelligence and psychic skills to solve. Magnus tries so hard to let his kid solve them on their own and not railroad them into the solution. Also likes playing catch with his kid but with a psychic twist on it, as they can only catch the ball with their powers and are allowed to use them to add momentum to the throw.

Perturabo - Acts like he doesn't care, sitting at his desk working while his kid play in the corner, but he will be lowkey watching the entire time and making notes of everything. He's also the kinda guy to tell his kid that they are playing wrong, those aren't the rules, but only because he deep down wants them to have fun and thinks his way is better than theirs.

Alpharius - Let's go to work with dad! Takes the child with them on safer missions or includes them in the prep for minor missions. They pose this as playtime but really it is also a way for them to indoctrinate and teach their kid about the work they one day expect them to fully join them with.

Lorgar - Loves loves LOVES reading his kid books or telling them stories. Has the best narrator voice and will often include his kid in the storytelling, changing the story and injecting their own characters into the story. Also likes playing pretend with them.

Horus - The type of dad who loves to play catch with his kid. It allows them to do something together while also letting them talk. Also takes his kid out hunting from an early age (with the prey getting bigger as they get older). Just loves hanging out with his kid, doing stuff together and talking about whatever.

Konrad - Hide-and-seek, which sounds cute until you realize that this is the Night Haunter we're talking about and they are playing in almost complete darkness and oh god, he's in the walls. Still, his kid is having fun and that's what counts, right? The serfs find this terrifying though. Also plays pretend with them but his little stories and scenarios always have a macabre twist or something. Again, his kid is having fun but any serfs that happen to overhear the story find themselves deeply disturbed.

Sanguinius - Loves playing pretend with his kid and finds it super endearing when they are the brave astartes sent to rescue the captured princess from some evil xenos (yes, Sanguinius is the princess in this scenario). Also loves to take his kid out flying and teaching them various aerial maneuvers and playing catch or tag in the air.

Corvus - Hide-and-seek version 2.0 and this time it's... slightly less terrifying for the onlookers. Mostly because this version of the game is all about hiding from the serfs/space marines and while looking for the other person. Also the master of quiet parallel play. He'll be doing paperwork or whatever and his kid is right next to him, doing their own thing. They both see this as playing together and it works perfectly well for them.

Ferrus - Really enjoys doing puzzles with is kid. He does take a backseat and mostly just observes (or else the puzzle would be solved in ten seconds flat) but he makes sure that he stays involved by talking to his kid, subtly guiding them and asking them just how they solved that part. Makes his own puzzles for them so that he knows it's the right blend of challenging and entertaining.

Rogal - Building with blocks except he's 1000% serious. "That building block should be five millimeters to the left for optimal stability." God forbid his kid ever wants to build a tree house because Rogal is going to railroad the whole thing and in the end that thing is going to be able to withstand orbital bombardment.

Vulkan - Picture this; Vulkan, lying on his stomach so he can play with his baby at their own height. Smiling goofily as he plays with them, talking and narrating with his softest voice. When they are very young and small, he is so very careful with them and it's only as they get a bit older and more durable that he does things like play catch.

Lion - The type of dad to let his kids crawl and climb all over him while he works and he's completely stone-faced the entire time. Child is tugging his beard? No reaction. Showing paper in their mouth? Gently pries it from their hands. But whenever no-one is looking, he will make a slight face at his kid so they will laugh. Also takes them out hunting when they get older.

Leman - Lots of playing in the snow (snowball fights are RUTHLESS) and roughhousing aka wrestling is the all-time favorite. Wresting in the snow? Now THAT'S how they do it on Fenris! WILL pick his kid up by the ankles and toss them in the snow to start shit THE instigator. Will play tug-of-war, catch and fetch too.

Jaghatai - Tag, archery, riding horses, ball-sports. These are all activites that Jaghatai likes doing with his kid. When he plays with his kid he makes it a whole-day thing because this is also a very important bonding opportunity. Instills in his kid a healthy sense of competition but also teamwork.

Roboute - Lots of physical activities like playing catch or various sports. Guilliman draws a lot of inspiration of how to play with his kid from his own childhood and as such, most games are from Macragge. He also feels like, since he spends a lot of his time doing stuff like paperwork, it would be a shame and a waste to spend the time he has together with his child sitting down.

[idolomantises]

i just want to send you some positivity.

most of the time when your posts come across my dash you're fighting people, defending yourself. i think your art is phenomenal and your characters are beautiful. i've studied your art to improve my own, it's just so beautiful.

thank you so much for everything you do. your characters make me feel better about myself, and i love them all.

I appreciate it, thank you 🥲

I do want to avoid addressing/engaging with these types of people. I guess it’s just kind of baffling how viscerally angry my artworks make people. I’m still getting harassed online over Aurora’s design.

But ya know, I’m very proud of my own works and I wouldn’t change them for the world

[berkianscallop]

"Freezing is a common response to feelings of shame and trauma: shame often involves feelings of inadequacy, worthlessness, and being exposed, which can lead to a freeze response as a way to protect oneself from these feelings. Also, shame can be deeply rooted in trauma, and the freeze response is a common survival mechanism in response to traumatic experiences."

Think about this:

Jack has had to live alone, invisible to people for over 300 years. This means that, for the most part, he has always been on the sidelines, always a spectator and almost never the protagonist. He existed watching other people live their lives.

"Freezing can be a survival mechanism, like animals hiding from predators, making the person less visible. It can also be triggered by past trauma, anxiety, or feeling overwhelmed in a situation."

How many times in the movie did we see Jack feeling ashamed? Too many.

Every time something negative happens, his first thought is always one and only: it's my fault

"Shame and low self-esteem are intimately linked, often with a cause-and-effect relationship. When shame takes root, it can erode self-confidence, leading to a negative and inadequate self-perception. Low self-esteem, in turn, can make a person more vulnerable to shame, making it easier to feel judged and therefore experience shame."

Jack is not used to being seen and, when faced with danger, his thoughts are mainly two: "I'm invisible" and "I deserve it".

We see this many times:

▪︎When Jack tries to explain that it wasn't his fault when Easter was ruined (he can't explain himself because he's convinced that it was his fault)

▪︎ When, during Sandy's funeral, he stays apart, as if he was grounded. As if he wanted to punish himself. His words are "I could have done something". Hence the sense of inadequacy and low self-esteem.

▪︎When Bunnymund tells him that he is invisible, as if he didn't exist, Jack can't speak. That's because he believes so too. How many times has he thought: "do I really exist?" when people passed through him like a ghost?

There are toooo many examples that lead us to guess that Jack thinks that he's not enough and that it's always, everything, his fault.

Although, especially at the beginning of the film, he tries not to show it, Jack is a highly sensitive character. Highly sensitive persons are known for their deep emotional awareness, empathy, and strong connection to their surroundings. This sensitivity can lead to both unique strengths and potential challenges, like the examples above.

On a brighter note, highly sensitive people often have a vivid imagination and a deep appreciation for art, music, and nature, leading to a rich internal world. And I'm so glad that we can see some glimpses of this too in the film.

I swear, this movie has been thought through to the smallest detail. It's so REAL. The characters are so real.

you wanna know the fun thing that I noticed about Jack when I was rewatching rotg?

On both instances that Pitch was about to attack him, he froze up.

[asktheritochampion]

FOR THE PERSON BEHIND THIS ACCOUNT:

how'd you get started doing this account? also do you have any advice for someone who's thinking of doing a similar account? /genq

As someone who has run many an ask blog in different fandoms over the years, people asking me for advice in starting their own is something that happens pretty frequently.

Making an ask blog for your favourite character is a great way to explore that character in more depth without needing the narrative of writing a fanfiction, not to mention a super fun way to interact with the fandom community!

Ther's no right or wrong way to run an ask blog; but I'm happy to share some of the things I've learned over the years from trial and error for those just dipping their talon into this creative format for the first time.

There's two different ways you can start your ask blog; by creating a side-blog off of your main blog, or by creating a whole new blog. Either works fine, but I personally favour having a full blog - you can make a gmail in two minutes then bash out a full blog just like that. The drawback is that sometimes I forget to log back onto my main blog; but a side blog cannot send asks to other blogs and you have to remember to set everything you post to the correct blog, which can get confusing at times.

While decorating your new blog; make a rules page and write out a list of things you're not okay with people asking. Maybe you're uncomfortable with rude or violent asks - with topics of sexual harassment or racism or homophobia. Maybe you don't want to roleplay, or you only want to interact with people that follow your specific ship. You can put whatever you want on your rules page - but pin that post so that newcomers can read it and know what is and isn't okay to send in.

When you first start your blog, it can be a little tricky to get the ball rolling. I recomend following other ask blogs and active blogs in the fandom and interacting with their posts to connect with other people. Even then however, you might need to either get a friend to send you a couple of asks or send a few anonymous asks to yourself to get started.

Don't be discouraged if it takes a few days or weeks for people to starts sending in asks. It takes a long time to foster people's interest and engagement no matter how popular or interesting the character is.

A big question people often have is; should I post art with my asks?

From my experience, you could be the greatest writer in the world - but posts you make which have a visual aspect will always grab more attention on a social media platform designed for scrolling than just normal text posts. People have short attention spans. Keep text responses short, and add something sparkly to grab peoples attention.

Not everyone is an artist or has time to draw, but that doesn't mean you can't still make your posts visually interesting. You could use gifs or screenshots of your character, you could handwrite your replies to make them look like letters or diary entries (although if you ever do illustrated text, make sure to include it as a caption below for screenreaders to still be able to access), or even just make your reply fonts colourful or large or play around with different fonts to make them stand out from other posts.

If you do want to draw replies I encourage it because it's a great way to improve your drawing skills fast. If you're worried about your skill level, you can always make it part of the theme and say it's the character drawing their own responses.

I'd recomend if you're planning on sketching replies to draw out several different pictures of your character with different expressions and poses and to re-use them. However if you want to be a crazy person like me and try to draw unique responses most of the time; I'd highly recomend choosing a very simplified style of drawing.

Response pieces should take you less than fifteen minutes or you'll burn yourself out pretty fast. I sketch Revali in a simplified way and just do a flood-fill wash of tone so that my drawings are as fast and simple as possible to do - no colour or shading. If I was spending an hour on every response piece, I'd run out of spoons for this by the end of the week.

If you want to run a popular or highly interacted with blog, the most important thing is posting frequently. If you post a few times a day - or even just a few times a week, people will seek out your blog because it will keep appearing at the top of the tags. The key is churning out a lot of asks all the time.

Get into a habit of doin' your posts fast and rough, and don't worry too much about perfecting things. Nobody will notice if your art or writing is a little unfinished or sketchy. On social media, especially in this style of creating, people only look at your posts for a few seconds - so especially when you're first starting out and trying to get noticed, it's okay to choose quantity over quality.

Something I know a lot of people worry about when they first start out is lore and storytelling in their ask responses.

My best advice is to not take anything too seriously. On this blog, sometimes Revali is around before the Calamity, sometimes he's around in Totk times. Sometimes I draw him wearing modern clothes and using an ipad and other times he has no idea what a microwave is. Sometimes I answer an ask one way, then forget about it and answer something else with conflicting information a few months later.

Nobody really pays enough attention to everything you post to notice continuousy errors. These blogs are just a bit of fun and a way for you to play around with your character like a barbie doll. You can do whatever you want with them, and change it day by day. You don't have to stick to one timeline or ensure that every single thing you post is lore accurate.

Saying that; let's talk about something I like to call 'arcs'.

Every once in a while when things are feeling a little dry or someone sends in something interesting, I'll throw in an 'arc' for Revali. Maybe he gets turned into a chick or a Hylian or joins the Yiga Clan - and for a few days all of my ask posts will revolve around this.

While it's a lot of fun to play with arcs, I'd recomend keeping them short and sweet - lasting no more than a week at longest before returning back to a comfortable norm. Newcomers are always drifting into fandom, as are more casual fans, and if newbies or people who aren't as deep into this character's life as you stumble upon your posts while you're doing a crazy arc, they're likely not really going to understand what's going on. Returning to a more 'canon typical' version of your character between arcs is important for coaxing in newer fans and keeping people from getting too lost.

Another thing people often wonder about is roleplay.

I don't really make my ask blogs with roleplay in mind, but the format itself is kind of built for it if the concept interests you. Playing as your favourite character and enacting little scenes with other blogs can be super fun - great escapism and an interesting way to tell a narrative.

There are however some unspoken rules to roleplay; things you pick up over time that aren't always obvious.

First off - not every ask blog wants to roleplay. Some people just aren't comfortable with it - and that's okay. Check out someone's rules page or just pop them a DM to ask, and respect their decision if they don't want to.

When you do roleplay with somebody; it's common courtasy to keep your roleplay to under ten posts. While this isn't as big of a deal as it used to be (truely Hylia bless Tumblr's newly enforced read-more feature when a post reaches a certain length), it's still polite not to clog up people's dashes with tons of long replies. If the roleplay starts to get too long, try to wrap it up and start a new one.

Another important unspoken rule is something I like to call the 'ask blog universe'.

Every ask blog is their own little universe bubble, where you come up with your own ideas and headcanons for your character and others. Sometimes you'll roleplay with another ask blog - and those ideas will clash.

You cannnot force your headcanons onto another blogs universe, so try to keep your headcanons out of roleplay and leave them just for asks and posts. If I'm roleplaying as Revali with another blog, I'm not going to mention within that roleplay that he's transgender or that he's infatuated with Link - because that might not be the canon for that other blog's universe, and it would be rude to make them have to bend their established canon to accomodate me.

You should always have fun acting out your favourite ships and headcanons - but just try to be considerate when roleplaying with other blogs that not everyone will share your opinions, and maybe just avoid topics of debate within the play.

Another thing people often ask; Can I start an ask blog for a character if someone else is already running an ask blog for them.

The answer is yes, of course you can. That person does not own the character - if you want to start a Revali blog like me, go for it! You can bring something new to the table that I cannot - we will inevitably play very different versions of this character and explore things the other has not even thought of. The more fun writing and art for our favourite character in the world - the better.

Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Which brings me onto my most important piece of advice.

No matter how you run your blog, inevitably at some point, some sad person with nothing better to do is going to come into your ask box and send something unplesent. Maybe it will be something gross and sexual - maybe it will be a rant about how they disagree with a headcanon you've made and why it's all wrong - maybe they'll just send you vauge death threats because they don't like the character (Revali gets a LOT of those...). This is unfortunatly an inescapable part of being online and creating.

The BEST thing you can do - and I cannot express enough how important this is - block them and delete the asks. Turn off anonymous asks if it starts to really bother you - even if it's just for a little bit.

Do not post them. Do not respond to them. Do not post ABOUT them.

These people are purely here for your attention, they want a reaction from you; and the second you give them that even if it's the most levelheaded response in the world, they will keep harassing you nonstop.

Whereas if you never acknowledge them; they will vanish so fast it will make your head spin.

Now, it's HARD not to post the scary, mean, or ranty asks that people send you for the validation of your kind followers telling you how wrong their harassment is. I get that. What I would recomend is befriending other ask blogs and sharing the woes with them instead. We even have a Legend of Zelda ask blogs discord group that anyone making an ask blog can join - go in there and screenshot post the garbage people send so we can all rant about it and validate you together.

Just never post it publically - it only feeds the wee beasts.

Ask blogs can be really fun to run!

They can also be hard work sometimes - whether it's because you're stuck on difficult asks, overwhelmed or underwhelmed with the amount of people interacting with you, getting mean anons, or burning out from trying to draw every response.

If you ever need a listening ear or a little advice or support, ol' Rahlin is always happy to share what I know. Don't be nervous to shoot over any questions or worries you have and we can talk them out.

I'm no expert in this genre by any means, but I have had a lot of experience with a lot of different issues over the years, and I'm always here to help anyone who is new to the scene and wants to join in the fun!

[syluses]

HEART WANTS WHAT IT WANTS

𓍯𓂃 stepdad! sylus x reader: the series masterlist

SUMMARY: under unfortunate circumstances, you’re called back to linkon to temporarily stay at your stepfather’s home- the one you’d jilted as soon as you were able- and the only way to comfort yourself is by saying it’s just for a little while. like the best of plans tend to, though, they fall apart. [art credit: @/chimmyming on twitter/X]

𓍯𓂃 CONTENT: stepdad! sylus therefore step/pseudocest, eventual smut, nsfw, dubcon, slowburn, yandere undertones, all characters are 18+ (mc is presently 23; sylus is in early forties), possessive & yandere behaviors, age difference, daddy kink, unreliable narrator, drinking, non-evol au, modern au, lowkey enemies to lovers, lots of (sexual) tension, loss of virginity, emotional breakdowns, some angst, some fluff, a lil bit of everything; tags will be added as story progresses— but know the story is relatively triggering

𓍯𓂃 SIDENOTE: dilf sylus is always on my mind. ive had this series baking in my noggin for a lil while now. since i cant exactly maximize it in oneshots, i really wanted to focus on the slowburn in this series!! as well as just introduce the concept of multipart fics onto this blog since yall always want part 2’s from me lol. but anyway. im obvi not gonna spoil anything but expect lots of tension, yearning, & slowburn in this fic… maybe even a lil mystery. i hope my writing can convey all the images my mind conjured up. i need yall to see the vision. dilf sylus til the day we die DILF LOVERS RISE. THIS ONES FOR YALL 🥂 but heed the tags!! if this isnt for u- thats perfectly fine- but i wont tolerate disrespect to myself & my readers. anyways i really hope yall enjoy this one. ya girl was verrrry meticulous with it. do lemme know if u fw this style of content and series!! 💞💞 PS, i dunno how often updates will be but i will try :] nice comments/interactions fuel me tho lol so do with that what u will. the first part will be posted very soon

THE PLAYLIST

✦ part one: pilot

[localvillagecryptid]

AU where at some point in canon, it's revealed that the System is, in fact, a person. Not just any person: a Green JJ fangirl. And not just in a "has or had a physical body" way, but like someone who died and BECAME the system or part of it. Like a weird post-death recruitment into the cosmic illuminati. Shen yuan and Shang qinghua have in fact been arguing with a sapient former human who does, in fact, have the option to be less of a dick but is actively choosing to be this way for Plot Reasons (aka shipping content + she gets a raise for each successful story made).

This is revealed when she slips up in some of her messages to them and breaks character a few times. When she tells shen yuan to "just fuck him already, dammit," accompanied by a handful of other swears, shen yuan is horrified to realize he recognizes her writing style. The system used to be another PIDW regular that cucumber did NOT get along with, because unlike his "totally legit and fair" criticism, miss danmei fan complained primarily that the story would be better if binghe (and basically the entire cast) were gay (amongst other things). Shen yuan simply HAD to take up arms against such a RIDICULOUS notion, not knowing that miss green jj had clocked him AND airplane from miles away and had sniffed out the fact that aside from PIDW being meant as a cash grab, airplane was also just a total coward who wasn't brave enough to make it a danmei the way that he'd initially intended. He was originally going to post it on the danmei site, but chickened out and made it straight instead. Hence, we got PIDW. Anyway, she and cucumber had historic arguments in the comments section, though she wasn't as prolific as shen yuan, because unlike him, she was actually employed. Also, because she knew how to work smarter, not harder, and instead was busy making gay fan art and fics of PIDW instead of just whining in the comments all day. In fact, she only ever came back now and then to get updates on the characters to supplement her fan content.

Shen yuan then realizes that the entirety of svsss is Her Fault (it isn't; half of it was a prison of shen yuan's own making), which then brings him to, "wait. Did you CHOOSE to put me here, you demon???" Because yes, he died, but he didn't ask to get isekai'd! As it turns out, she volunteered for the position of svsss system (her god complex simply couldn't resist), but shen yuan dying was just a lucky boon. When she realized he was cucumber, she thought, "well since you love binghe so much, here! GO AHEAD AND MARRY HIM" and here we are.

This leads to several fights in which sy and airplane BOTH look like they're going crazy bc they're talking to air. The "air" is, meanwhile, docking points for public image loss + "being mean to her", and dropping them in situations as punishment. There's an entire week in which shen yuan is getting hit with back-to-back wife plots because he said her old HuaMing Twitter fan art was trash, and that there was no way Hualing or Liu Mingyan were lesbians. Perhaps when they call a truce, she admits that there's a lot more that can be seen behind the scenes, such as affection meters, stats, etc etc that are invisible to sy and sqh.

However, she refuses to be helpful and divulge the information, because "it would compromise integrity/authenticity of players' actions" etc. She laughs every time shen yuan frets that luo binghe hates him, knowing damn well the affection meter has broken past the full bar. She's completely lying every time she tells them that x action will cause them to lose so many points that they'd die (because the point system is up to her, but the stakes being so high helps her own performance rating). The only actions that could do so are A) averting the abyss event, and B) telling people about the system/transmigration. Everything else is up for grabs. In fact, there could even be loopholes to those; but I like to think that since she held such a grudge against shen yuan from their internet beef, she threw all her plans out the window for a fix-it story once she saw his soul on the market.

When binghe is stuck wandering mega hell, system is playing Mario Kart and looking up which universe she wants to work on next.

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Bucky Barnes

Summary: You get a much needed win.

Warnings: Caretaker stress, Mentions of assault and violence, Work stress. Please let me know if I missed any.

Previous

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

"Exquisitely done," Jefferson praises at your latte art. You smile at the compliment, grateful your nerves aren't making your hands shake too much. "The college students absolutely love the cutesy latte art. Really anything they can take a photo of and share online. You'll get much better tips for that kind of thing so I encourage all employees to practice new techniques and designs during the slower hours. The only catch is that you have to drink every cup you practice with."

"I'm happy to hear that. My...my last job didn't call for a lot of latte art so my skills are rusty."

"We're just getting out of midterms week so there should be more downtime for practicing," he reassures.

"You talk like I've already got the job," you chuckle halfheartedly.

"Because you do," he smiles. "And no, it's not just because my cousin recommended you. It's because you've got the experience, the knowledge, the skill. Plus, I need a manager who can help me handle all of these student employees."

"Manager?"

"Did Bucky not tell you? The turnover rate is high here because I hire so many students. I need another adult in the place who will stick around."

"I...I just wasn't expecting..." You take a breath to get your brain functioning. "What all does being manager entail?"

Jefferson chuckles, "so you accept the job?"

"I just need some more details before I fully agree, but I'm very inclined to accept."

"Excellent!"

Bucky remained in the cab of his truck for your interview. You'd asked him to out of concern Jefferson would be more influenced to hire you if he was reminded of the familial connection. He knows better, Jefferson never lets that sort of thing cloud his judgment, but he still acquiesced. You needed to prove to yourself you could do it. That's something he understands.

He sends another "thank you" text to Steve and Newbie. Honestly, if it weren't for them, he'd have likely ended up going to prison for assaulting August. It'd be well deserved, but it wouldn't have been good for you or Robby.

Bucky's gotta admit, he's been having fun introducing Robby to Dungeons & Dragons. He missed his chance to play with Jake's group so he could help you out. But he's thinking he might be able to start up his own little group with you, Robby, Steve and Newbie. Maybe. Something for the back burner. In the meantime, coming up with stories and characters with Robby is a lot of fun.

He's startled out of his thoughts by the passenger door opening. You climb in, all smiles, and cup his face with your hands.

"Thank you, Bucky," you say as tears start forming in your eyes. "I got the job. Thank you, so much, for getting me the interview."

"It's no--" he's cut off by a deep, passionate kiss that has him hungry for more. He grips the back of your head as he returns the kiss, moaning as you let his tongue push past your lips.

The kisses and touches become more intense and you want to lose yourself in them but you can't. You don't want to disappoint Bucky, but you can't keep going. You gently try to pull away and he immediately stops and lets you go.

"I'm sor--"

"No need for apologies, Sweetie," he says breathily, gently caressing your cheek. "You don't ever need to apologize for not wanting to go further. Especially after everything you've been through today."

"Thanks for understanding," you smile back.

"It's what a good boyfriend does," he chuckles. "Let's get you home so you can tell Robby and celebrate."

When you enter the apartment, Robby is fully engrossed in his Pokémon Eevee game and doesn't even look up from the screen. Knowing he's been just as stressed as you lately, even if it's in his own way, you gently sit next to him on the couch.

"Got you some McDonald's nuggets," you tell him as you place the bag on the coffee table in front of him.

"Thanks," he says in his monotone voice.

"I also want you to know I got a new job." Robby winces at your words; another change in his life. "But it's a good thing because my new boss isn't going to mess with my schedule. I'll be able to work the same hours every week. We're going to get back into a routine."

"That's good," he replies, tone lighter, relief in his voice.

"Do you mind if Bucky stays to celebrate the new job with us?"

"No, he's cool," Robby nods his head once.

"Thanks, Robby!" Bucky smiles.

Robby's smile widens, still never looking away from the screen. Bucky sits next to you on the couch, bringing the rest of the food you'd gotten to celebrate.

"Do you mind if we watch something?" you ask Robby.

"No," he shakes his head as he puts down the Switch. "Just so long as we don't watch some gross romance stuff," he chuckles.

"No worries there," you smile.

The rest of the night is spent with you cuddling up with Bucky, all three of you laughing, happy, and able to relax for the first time in a long, long while.

Next

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick ; @peaches1958; @ronearoundblindly; @stellar-solar-flare

[ranchstoryblog]

Ranch Story's Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma Review

Setting out to be a new take on the series, including new mechanics, setting, theming, and even a new director, Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma has a lot of questions to answer and, as the first entry for a new console generation, expectations to surpass. After my time with the game, I feel that while there are some rough edges, Guardians of Azuma is a thoroughly enjoyable breath of fresh air for the series.

This review was primarily played on Nintendo Switch, though some comparisons are made to other platforms.

A New World to See

From the outset, Guardians of Azuma sets itself apart from its predecessors in scope and theming. The Japanese-inspired fantasy setting feels fresh, and shortly after the start of the game you'll find that you're not just being confined to a single village and its immediate surroundings again. While not exactly an "open world," there's easily more places to explore than in any previous game in the series, literally and figuratively soaring above its predecessors. By the end of the game, it was easy to feel like Azuma as a setting was an interesting and well-realized setting, with plenty of its own lore and quirks to explore.

Azuma is undeniably a pretty place, with lots of nicely designed environments, set-pieces, and inhabitants in vibrant colors. With the characters being one of the strongest selling points of the game, it's nice that they not only look great, but many of them have their own distinct animations while idling and expressing themselves during cutscenes in a way that the static portraits of previous games in the series never managed to achieve.

Unfortunately, while the strong art style and use of colors helps bridge the gap, it's hard not to find the Nintendo Switch version specifically a little lacking compared to other platforms. There is frequent detail pop-in, with shadows and textures nearly constantly in flux somewhere on-screen while you're running around. This is an issue even during cutscenes at times, where it seems the level of detail can't keep up with the camera's movements; a great disservice to otherwise enjoyable event scenes.

Zoomed-in examples of detail shifting in the background of a cutscene.

Fortunately for those who don't have access to a PC or Nintendo Switch 2, the game still runs well overall. Loading times are relatively speedy, and the framerate doesn't have too many issues keeping up even when there are plenty of enemies, effects, or items on-screen. A very welcome and noticeable improvement when compared to Rune Factory 5.

Life in Azuma

One of the most drastic changes for players that are used to the typical farming sim fare will probably be that traditional farming isn't really a focus at all in Guardians of Azuma. Instead, as Village Chief, you'll largely be benefiting from your villagers managing farmland for you while you place buildings, decorations, and other resources. Designing your town is simple and intuitive, and each distinct addition, whether it's a new business or a cute little Lucky Cat statue, will provide an immediate benefit by increasing your stats and working towards the town's overall growth, unlocking new development zones along the way. It's a very different feeling system, but still a fun and rewarding one as you balance the needs of your villagers, maximizing your stat boosts, and just making something that you like looking at.

Villagers aren't always perfect though. Often, some negative traits get in the way, so you'll still need to go over their homework to keep the fields running if you're too soft-hearted to evict them. If everything's going smoothly, you'll be making more money than it costs to feed everyone while hardly ever lifting a finger. So long as everyone's happy, I'm sure they won't mind when you use the money they generate on crafting a shiny new bow instead of building more housing.

Speaking of a bow, it's one of the tools you'll always have on hand while exploring the more dangerous parts of Azuma, along with whatever you use as your main weapon and the Sacred Treasures you earn while progressing through the story. There's not as much weapon variety as in previous games, but none feel exceptionally stronger than the others, so it's nice to just use whatever feels best at the moment. Sacred Treasures also help provide some variety, allowing the use of other non-standard fighting styles such as punches and elemental magic attacks that can generally cut through any standard enemy so long as you have the RP to use them.

If you need any help, you can also recruit up to six monsters or characters you've bonded with to journey with you. Each one has their own specialty and some bring along skills the player doesn't have access to, like Hina's lasso-like Spell Seal for binding enemies in place. While exploring, characters will also sometimes talk among themselves, with some amusing interactions that might even hint at things you haven't really learned about them yet.

Forging those bonds can also be much more engaging than the standard farmsim fare of just giving everyone their favorite item every day, though that option is still available as well. While speaking with both potential love interests and the supporting cast, you can choose to hang out, which uses time as a resource to do various activities. Just like with giving gifts, each character has different things they like to do, with more options unlocking as you get closer and learn more about them. It's a much more natural way of getting to know someone, and several interactions don't just include cute little animations, but also some short dialog scenes, such as having a discussion over dinner or cuddling up while sharing an umbrella that's maybe a little too small for two people. It’s left me wanting this socialization dynamic for future Rune Factory games and wishing for it in past games - we’ll have to wait and see if it makes a reappearance.

One of the best qualities for how the characters are handled is probably just that almost everyone gets to participate in the overarching story to some degree. This review is aiming to generally be spoiler-free, but suffice to say that it's probably the most memorable and well executed story in the series and hovers around a minimum of 40 hours to complete if you still do a bit of farming and socializing between objectives.

Closing Thoughts

Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma is a wonderful, unique entry in the series, and very possibly the best so far. While it does do a lot of things differently, the new ways to play are fun and show a lot of promise if they continue to take the series in this direction. Whether this is your first Rune Factory or you're a long-time fan, this is a must-play for fans of the genre.

Additional coverage and a second review that includes more focus on PC and Steamdeck performance will be shared soon.

Review codes provided to Ranch Story staff by Marvelous USA and Marvelous Europe.

[crunchybeards]

In lieu of your most recent art post, do you perhaps have some Nestor and Rafta thoughts to share with the class...? :0c

Oh man do I got thoughts to share with the class. Mainly sad but something fluffy too :)

Long rambling about my fave load bearing straights with slight spoilers and a TL:DR at the end:

With regards to Nestor and Rafta, I always consider it a greater tragedy than I do an all out romance. I know I've already gotten quite a bit of infamy (kinda lol) about how much I just talk about character dynamics and themes of the game and everything else in between. But why these two especially compel me is how, at least to me, I saw them as this narrative bridge between the cursed and non-cursed if that makes sense.

But to expand a bit about what I mean by a narrative bridge is that, as I've said many times before, cursed individuals are still very much people, it's just that their physiology and psychology have been altered drastically. The game hammers it so many times that some cursed individuals are still people and it is a gamble but ultimately a good thing to treat them as such. And meeting somebody who is very much capable of having a crush and shooting her shot whilst still being cursed was just very sappy and heartwarming to me. We've seen cursed individuals be capable of the full (not full but like surface level full) range of human emotions and expression. We see sarcasm, apathy, friendship. Mutt's Fish and Chips and the campfire boiler room are filled with interactions, dialogue and dynamics that proove this point. We've seen cursed individuals in standard human relationships but we've never seen an actual romance up to that point from cursed individuals post witnessing/ contact. (I'd count Lyle but that crush predates the Visitor by who knows how many years) This shows that cursed individuals are very much capable of being people in every sense of how we perceive our fellow man. It cements their status as people, sentient beings worthy of giving a damn about.

I choose to believe that Rafta did not intend to seize control of Nestor like that. From all of Rafta's dialogue she seemed too lucid to want to do any harm. To me, it seemed like it was genuinely unintentional, like she might not have even been fairly aware that she was cursed to begin with, that's what her dialogue implies at least. It seemed she might have just gotten too close to Nestor when he looked into her pipe and direct contact might've triggered something worse in her. So for her to take control of Nestor's body was most likely another instance of a cursed individual loosing control of their body and attacking/ harming other people. Jeanne is a very good example of this exact thing happening.

It makes me genuinely sad to think about because the Visitor's effects on society were far deeper than what is initially presented. Not only does this set the precedent that cursed individuals will be discriminated against but there will be pervasive paranoia amongst the non-cursed. Being sociable has far greater consequence than before. Sure if you hung out with a stranger before there's a chance they'd harm you in very human ways. But now as a non-cursed individual death isn't even the worst thing that can happen to you. This is slightly unrelated but it's an aspect that I can't ignore when thinking about Rafta and Nestor.

But as I've said before in a previous post, I do believe they could've made it work if it weren't for the ultimate reality (at least as of posting this, I'm still holding out hope there's a proper quest for these two and Eugene in a patch/ update) that Rafta takes control of Nestor's body. They could've been friends, they could've been romantic partners or they simply could've been acquainted with each other's presence. But we don't get that. We see Rafta seize control of his body and puppet him around. It's another cursed individual hurting an innocent non-cursed person. It's a budding relationship (romantic, platonic, acquainted etc.) being destroyed before it even starts. And seeing something be unwound both because it's my own/ the player's fault for telling Nestor to go and because Rafta couldn't control herself is tragic. It was preventable and yet to deny somebody of their feelings feels just as painful. By intentionally not giving Nestor that letter you send a message about how you feel about Rafta. It's as though you're telling she's not worthy of romance because of what she's become and you have the authority to decide that because you're normal. Even if that's not your thought process or intention by not giving Nestor the letter, you're still disregarding Rafta's feelings, there will always be some level of disrespect by not giving Nestor the letter. This disrespect ranging from unintentionally invalidating Rafta's feelings to completely dehumanising her, by seeing her as lesser than. You go through a whole quest, you search various levels of the apartment for this oddly specific stationery. You go through quite a bit of effort, which is an indication that you care about this quest and by extension Rafta to be doing all this. And as soon as this letter is drafted you say you're not gonna do that? You're just not gonna complete the quest after stringing this woman along, giving her a bit of hope with each piece of stationery you give her. That's fucked on so many levels.

Don't take my words as gospel, these are just thoughts that I have about these two. To me it's always been about how every interaction in this game is a microcosm of the greater reality of the game's world. It's not just a romantic tragedy between two people but it's another reflection of how relationships (applicable to all relationship types not just romantic) have been destroyed and eroded. That you can't even so much as date somebody without having some form of defense if you're not cursed. There's an erosion of trust of not only those close to you but to those you don't know. You have to have some level of trust in order to even try a first date and this breaks that trust completely. Yes there are examples of how people hangout despite it all, but that's all been cursed individuals hanging out together, you never see non-cursed people doing that other than Sam. The separation is understandable but it's clear.

I'd go deeper into that whole tangent about the erosion of relationships but then that goes into a connected but still separated from this post's territory that I already received an ask about and am genuinely excited to talk about. So that's a yap for another day.

But I do have more positive thoughts about the two :)

Here's a compressed list of some personal headcanons and ideas of mine:

Nestor was initially very hesitant to put his head next to the pipe so they instead compromised by having him sit next to the pipe and just talking. They'd just talk about whatever comes to their mind, they just wanted somebody to talk to in all the isolation of the world.

Nestor was camping out in the bathroom because he was understandably terrified of all the cursed individuals roaming the apartment. The dude was probably very relieved to get that letter because he just wanted some form of normalcy in all the chaos. "Like sure, talking to a girl through a pipe is weird but at least she's not a monster so that's normal enough for me." is what I imagine Nestor's thinking to be. And going off of that, Rafta absolutely would've hidden the fact that she is in fact, one of those monsters that Nestor about. Like some part of her eventually figured out that she was cursed, even if she doesn't want to fully accept that. She eventually confesses to him that she is cursed. He'd definitely feel betrayed, the one person he felt safe talking to about all this turns out to be another monster, probably trying to manipulate him into being it's food or something worse. But then he'd come around to it and realise there was definitely a bit of prejudice in how he talked about cursed individuals that he wasn't even aware of and Rafta helped him realise this. Definitely could work that into a fic.

(Already said this in a different ask) Them going on scheduled picnics. Like maybe between 12pm and 3pm they have a scheduled hangout time during The 15 Days. But they always go over whatever planned time they set up, they like each other's company that much :3

TL:DR: Rafta and Nestor's relationship is very sad to me because it shows how the relationship between cursed and non-cursed people are going to be difficult to form post Visitor.