#he fought with all himself to keep Astral with him

[astralhope]

- No, this is one duel I refuse to lose! -

[baeshijima]

— within uncertainty

sunday reflects on his limited time thus far on the express, only to find himself distracted by a face he has unknowingly become fond of.

CONTAINS : 1.2k wc, gn!reader, astral express member!sunday, fluff

A/N : chat have we seen the lc and gameplay leaks…? throwing up.

When Sunday first arrived on the Astral Express, a miniature gold and crimson ticket attached to his apparel, he wasn’t sure what to expect.

A new start; that much he was sure of. But with these people who instilled a newfound hope and courage to face the future, there was no shadow of a doubt within his heart and soul that he would encounter the unexpected more times than he can keep track of.

Sure enough, the unexpected came in many ways.

For one, March 7th’s uncanny ability to look at the bright side of things appeared so natural to her, so easy and simple. In recent times, he has found himself thinking about situations in a more positive light, no doubt a side effect of having spent time with her bubbly self.

He discovered Dan Heng’s aloof demeanour barely concealed his great care and affection for the crew— the Astral Express family. Even with what seems to be passive quips and dead-eyed stares, Sunday has begun to note the differentiations in his tone and body language, and all the subtleties he only shows with them.

He discovered the Trailblazer was every bit of a jokester as they are courageous, often finding himself staring blankly at some of their… seamlessly timed quips, to put it lightly. Even so, he’s oftentimes caught himself mid-admiration when they take charge in what they believe is right, wondering if he, too, could be like them in that aspect.

He found that Welt, while still retaining the righteous and strong spirit he displayed while in penacony, had a rather unprecedented charm. Sitting down for hours on end listening to the elder ramble passionately about animating, the arts, and endless theories about this universe wasn’t something he had ever planned for, but his heart warmed all the same at the burst of energy.

He came to realise the Express’ Navigator, Himeko, was certainly a… character. Brave, wise and humble were what he would use to describe her, even more so after her warmly welcoming him into the family. However, Sunday realised he could do without that… concoction she dubs a coffee.

He also never realised such a creature existed until he met Pom-Pom, much less one being a sentient conductor. Their nags are backed with overflowing affection for the members of the Express, often displayed through the meticulous care taken in the tailored meals and rooms and experience. There is so much love of the Astral Express, and Sunday wouldn’t be surprised if he were told most of it came from the Conductor.

(Though he does recall being warned by Dan Heng in particular to not anger the Conductor, an experience he is both curious about but also content in not knowing what exactly would transpire.)

And then there is you.

Sunday only caught a glimpse of you during the final moments of the conflict, much like with Himeko, so he didn’t have too much to go off of other than the fact you, just as it seemed to come with being a part of the Astral Express, were brave and fought for what you believed in.

(With you in particular, he found himself unable to forget your gaze — how it held a sparkling resolution and commanded his full attention, completely and utterly drawn in.)

Of course, that’s not to say you don’t embody those aspects now that he’s gotten to know you. Rather, you are so much more than what he could have ever imagined.

“Wow… they’re way softer than they look!”

…In more ways than one.

Sunday doesn’t really know how this situation came to be. He was merely idling around the Express in search of something to pass the time until you took note of his predicament, swooping in like the graceful saviour you are (self-proclaimed by you).

Somehow, in some way, that brought you both to his room.

It’s times like these where Sunday wholeheartedly believes the most forward member of the Astral Express isn’t that racoon-like Trailblazer, but rather you instead.

Seriously. How are you not embarrassed by this… this compromising position you’re both in?! He can practically feel the radius in which the heat from his face permeates!

“Do you, like, have a care routine for them or something?” you ask while gently thumbing individual feathers, because obviously this is only affecting him and him alone. “I refuse to believe your wings are like this naturally.”

He knows he gave you permission to touch them, but it doesn’t change the fact his wings are still sensitive. Aeon knows what you would do with that information; well, assuming you haven’t already picked up on his reactions towards your… ministrations.

“I do have a routine. I go to great lengths pruning and trimming my feathers. More than that…” he trails off, opting to ignore your mumbled comment of “Wow… you’re just like a bird then…”. He coughs, averting his eyes from your intensely gentle gaze, raising a fist to cover his lips. “Are you this forward with everyone?”

You blink. Once, twice, thrice. Somehow, the action makes Sunday fluster even further.

A hum leaves you as your lips purse and your head tilts in thought. “Well, I wouldn’t say everyone, exactly. Just those I consider to be very close to me. Oh,” you begin, as though realising something, “does it bother you? I’m so sorry!”

No— wait— why are you apologising?

“I didn’t realise I was making you uncomfortable! Oh gosh, I did it again…!”

You make a move to scramble away from him. Is it your frantic and unfocused eyes, or perhaps this uncharacteristic side of your usual confident and unabashed self which makes his heart lurch?

“I’m so, so sorry! I’ll keep my distance from now on and—!”

He acts before he can think.

“No!”

There’s a surge of panic which shoots into him. It makes itself known in the raw strain of his voice, in the shaky wide-eyed stare at the thought of you leaving, in the trembling grip he has your arm in.

Really, Sunday doesn’t know what he’s panicking about. He just knows a part of himself would never forgive him for unintentionally pushing you away like this.

A gasp escapes him after a few tense seconds which felt much more like an eternity. With haste, Sunday tears his hand away from your arm. Despite that, he remains in close proximity to you, mustering the courage to look at you once more.

“I… I mean, no, you’re not making me uncomfortable.” Sunday prays you didn’t hear the stammer in his words. And, if you did, then he hopes you don’t bring it up. “If I were feeling as such, I would have told you outright.”

The silence is absolutely suffocating. Even so, Sunday doesn’t dare look away from your stunned expression, not even when he’s almost positive his face is about to melt off from the sheer heat radiating from him.

“Oh.” You blink, expression falling into that of neutrality. A nod of understanding is your next action; understanding of what? Sunday has no clue — he’s not sure he even wants to know. “So you’re that type, huh. I see now.”

Nevermind. Maybe he does.

“…What does that mean? Wait— [Name], come back here! Explain what ‘that type’ means! Are you listening?!”

Suffice to say, Sunday never received a verbal response from you. Only your cheeky grin before you left and a plethora of butterflies fluttering amok within his stomach are all that remains.

Yeah. Sunday didn’t know what to expect when joining the Astral Express; in fact, he still doesn’t know what to expect. Despite being thrown into the unknown, he finds himself thinking this situation to not be so bad after all.

if you enjoyed this, reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated <33

[conelluwrites]

I think about reader fucking up so bad, it makes Nam-gyu pause and re-evaluate his entire plan before deciding "I was going to leave with just a billion, but now? Now you're not leaving until we're the only two players left. You're going to split the prize money with me, and then I'm going to marry you."

Do whatever you want with this idea, I'm going to go pour one out for Nam-gyu's dead boyfriend and wonder how tf someone could threaten to marry you

You Shot Your Arrow Through Me

AO3 Link

Words: 3.5k

Requests open!

Warnings: Dark content (canon-typical Nam-gyu misogyny, violence, etc), manipulation, drug use, dry humping (dub con, public), forced kissing, special game doesn't happen, Nam-gyu has a VERY low opinion of reader, Thangyu isn't an explicit ship here but Nam-gyu does hallucinate his voice durign the fic so take that as you will, reader is pathetic (sorry for my strong girls, I projected a lil too close to the sun.)

Other: Longest fic i've done lessgooo. Mind was blank on how she could fuck up since she wouldn't be in the bathrooms for Thanos's death which was my first idea, so I just made it to where she voted to go home lol. Canon Nam-gyu I love you, you absolute bastard. I love the chance to write for more serious topics like this even if I usually just do cutesy type shit, so thank you for the opportunity, I hope it's kinda what you had in mind When I re-read it I feel like I didn't hit all the marks ( • ᴖ • ｡) My apologies if it's not exactly what you wanted.

When it comes to bad days, Nam-gyu has had his share of them.  Between drug deals gone wrong, fights in the club, bad trips and wrong drugs at the wrong time, he could never get a break.  It was always one thing after another, no slowing down- slowing down meant death and he wasn’t ready for that yet.  When he got invited to these shitty games, he knew he had to take it.  He needed the money; he needed a way out, or at least an illusion of a way out of his shitty life.  Who could blame him?  Certainly not any of the other players who seem to look down on him.  They’re all the same pathetic type of garbage that he is. The bathroom was a murder scene, he wasn’t even in control of his own actions as he fought and stabbed and mocked.  It was like he was just watching himself do it all, some astral projection shit.  He could barely register the blood as it decorates his face, his clothing, his hands.  When he’s done with the dumbshit on the ground, he stumbles over to Thanos.  He doesn’t know how to feel when he sees him convulsing on the floor and gurgling on his own blood.  Does it hurt? He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, not when he needs that cross around his bloodied, oozing neck.  He grimaces when blood pulses out of his neck as he tugs on it to pull it off.  Fucking sick, dude.  Keep it to yourself.  It’s slimy and wet when he puts it on, sticks to his skin in an uncomfortable manner.  Makes his skin crawl. It feels like a hazy nightmare as Nam-gyu stumbles to his bunk.  His breathing is hard and uneven, his movements stiff and uncomfortable.  He practically hears the whispers of Thanos in his ear, taunting and goading him, calling him that stupid fucking name Nam-su.  It eats him alive, makes him want to vomit, makes him want to peel his own skin off and replace it with steel.  When she comes into his line of sight, he feels himself lurch forward on his bed and click his tongue like he’s calling a dog.  The sudden movement and calling sound isn’t lost on her and she looks at him before looking down.  That dumb cunt is really there fidgeting as she walks forward, it aggravates him.  Can’t she think for herself, utterly pathetic. “Sit.”  He orders, his voice rough.  It cuts through the noise, at least in his own mind.  The way her head jerks back up and she nods slightly before walking over to him makes him smirk.  It’s a cruel, disgusting smirk that only exists for the sleaziest men to do.  Perfect lil thing, too bad she’s as dumb as a fucking box of rocks.She sits obediently on the bunk, though she’s all hunched up like a damn shrimp. Makes him stick to his fucking stomach.  What’s she got to be scared about huh?  He doesn’t take into the account the blood all over him or the way he looks like a tweaker.  Why should he take that into account?  She’s obeying like a good lil pup despite it all anyway.  Hell, this way she looks even weaker than that Min-su loser.  When he’s satisfied with her, he gives her a sharp hit on the back and leans back against the wall behind the bed. She voted to go home, of course that cunt did.  He couldn’t blame her, a poor thing like her expected to stay and mess up her pretty lil body for more money?  It’s laughable, truly.  Still ate him alive, made him wanna rip her limb from limb.  She agreed to vote O, so why did she think she could get away with that dumb shit?!  Must have thought that there were more pussies left over from the last game.  Too bad, so sad, she didn’t get to go home.  Now she’s stuck here with him.  It’s not like she has other options, nah… She wouldn’t rely on that pussy Min-su and by now the players all had their own little groups.

Hey, Nam-su

He grunts, there’s his annoying ass voice again.  Smug bastard disturbing him even in the afterlife.  Fuck, is he even dead yet or still twitching in the bathroom like some bug. I know you can hear me. He feels himself sweat even more.  He wants to tell him to shut up, that his name isn’t fucking Nam-su, but he doesn’t.  It barely did any good to say shit when he was alive.  Talking to a ghost in front of a bitch, well that’s not a good look at all.  He runs his hand over his face, shaking his head.  Disgusting.

It’s hard for her to even look at Nam-gyu, he looks like shit.  Smells like it too- sweat and blood cling to him like a tight fitting glove.  Not to mention the red X on her jacket sticks out like a sore thumb against her green tracksuit, it makes her feel self conscious as he sits staring off into space and murmurs to himself.  The room, much emptier than when the games begin, feels like it’s closing in on her.  She’s barely even able to process the way Nam-gyu acts, her hands tremble as she busies herself with the bottom of her tracksuit jacket.  It’s bloodied, but the blood has long since dried to where it doesn’t rub off of her hands. “Face me.”  His voice comes out trembling, making her look up.  Her heart is pounding so damn hard that it aches.  She obeys, of course she does, moving to where he can see her better.  She looks terrified, it’s so damn cute.  The way she looks like some lost, scared child.  It’s almost enough to calm down the incessant Nam-su, can you hear me, Nam-su ringing in his ears. “Nam-gyu,” she whispers, her voice cracking.  She knows she needs to ask for forgiveness, to come up with some excuse, some- some reason he could possibly give.  She hit the wrong button?  It was just an accident?  It was- it was- it was-

“Keep those eyes on me.  Stop looking around like you're so damn nervous, it’s annoying.”

“Sorry.”  It sounds so weak and small.

“Worthless apology.  Keep it to yourself.”

She has to bite back another apology.

His hands tremble as he pops open the cross in his hands.  He’s getting real sick of this shit, the way she looks, the way she sounds, the way Thanos’ voice still rings out in that annoyingly happy cadence.  He needs something, anything to numb the pain and he isn’t about to pump his limp dick in some whore like her for temporary relief.  He takes one pill in his mouth.  It’s disgustingly sweet, overwhelming sweet as it explodes over his tongue.  His eyes flutter shut for a moment and then open again, wide and wild as he looks at her.  The way her eyes glance down to his lips as he licks them before darting back up.  It’s enough to make his chest clench in a twisted way.  Another pill, he needs another one. He can’t afford to be feeling like a pussy over such a dumb cunt.  It’s even sweeter this time, it makes him close his eyes tight for a second and then they’re wide open again.  They don’t take a long time to work, thank fucking Chirst for that.  He can’t imagine it taking a normal time to kick in. “You don’t need to do that.”  She warns, it comes out without her even thinking.  She doesn’t want to feel responsible for him if he overdoses and starts seizing next to her.  He grumbles something under his breath, definitely something derogatory- definitely something that doesn’t need to be said.

The world ignites in more vivid colors, though within the confines of the walls it really only makes the green of the jumpsuits stand out even more starkly against the gray walls.  The red of her velcro badge sticks out even more though, drawing his attention like a moth to a flame.  Her tugs on it, then his thumb brushes over the patch.  Fuck, it feels good agaisnt his digit.  All soft and shit.  He licks his dry lips again, patting her shoulder. Hah, shit, guess he really is becoming a pussy over this whore.  The way she looks at them with those concerned eyes, her fingers curling up tight in her sleeves, and of course her lips…  He wonders what it’d feel like to push his against her, he wouldn’t care if she kissed back or not but he imagines she would feel like velvet even if he smashed his against her so hard that it hurt her.  Fuck, he imagines what kinda pretty noises she’d make, if she’s grab onto him tightly or struggle to push him away.  He’s so far in his simple thoughts that it makes her concerned.

“Hey, you okay?”  She stammers out, leaning in to press a wrist over his forehead.  Fuck he’s so sweaty, but at least his eyes follow her movements so he’s okay enough, he’s not so out of it that he’s impossible.

“Yeah, I’m good.  Real good.”  He gives her a smile he thinks is charming. She gives him a nod, she remembers when he and Thanos were discussing what kind of shit he’s done so surely a couple pills won’t kill him.  She’s just on edge, as much as she wants to go home she knows that she can’t lose the last strong person on her team.  Sure, she can go to Min-su, he wouldn’t turn her away at least, but if the next game was a team game relying on strength then they’d be a bit screwed.

She’s jerked from her thoughts as he suddenly cups her face.  She grimaces at the feeling, his sticky, bloodied hand leaving a mark on her delicate skin.  She flinches away, but he just holds her cheeks harder.  His short nails dig slightly into her soft cheeks.  “You’re not going anywhere, right now you’re mine.  Let me see your pretty face.”  Let me remind myself what it’s like to feel alive.  

I want to spend the rest of my life with this piece of work.  Make her my bitch forever, make her permanently tied to me.  I don’t love this whore, I could never.  Just want her to remember every day of her life that she’s stuck with me- a constant reminder of this hell.  I bet she’d love the hell out of that, waking up every day with a reminder of the blood on her hands from voting correctly up to this point.  What a way to get married, huh?  What a perfect goddamn reason to wife someone up.

Make sure she wakes up every day to see my face, maybe even get some of that dumb fake blood to decorate my face just like this.  Fuck, imagine the look on her face- it’d be so damn perfect.  She’d never be able to escape the reality we’ve faced.  The reality we’ve faced together, the reality we’ve forged with simple votes.  Remind her dumbass every day of the people we knew, maybe even dye my hair goddamn purple.  Wouldn’t that be sweet?  I bet I could even paint a pretty, vivid picture of his damn corpse, tell her all about the gurgles and sputtering coughs.  Maybe instead of a ring I could just have her wear his damn necklace.

I wonder if she’d even put up a fight or just accept it right out, no questions asked like some good little bitch.  She’d probably look at me with those dumb confused eyes and wonder what the hell’s gotten into me, thinking it’s just the drug talking when this is far better than some singular trip or a thought I’d only have while I’m high.

He doesn’t say anything audibly, he just stares at her like a freak as if he thinks she can read his mind.  His pupils are blown so wide, his lips parted slightly and his breath coming out in pants.  His mind is racing so fast he can hardly finish one thought before another takes its place.  He knows he’s scaring her, the way she bites her bottom lip and looks frantically over his face while taking in every microexpression he makes.

“Stop looking at me like that, it makes you look ridiculous.”  He says, rolling his eyes but his words don’t sound venomous in the slightest.  He’s too high for that shit, it’s a wonder how he could even get the words out without slurring them so bad it was incomprehensible. “Right, sorry.”

“Again with the pointless apologies.  Don’t you ever get tired with that bullshit?” “No.”  A simple response, but it’s the honest one.  Apologies spill from her lips like a robot at this point whenever someone expresses even the slightest displeasure with her.

He can’t formulate a response that makes sense even to him, what is he supposed to say- No, no, you’re supposed to say ‘yes’ so I can keep seeing those pretty little lips of yours moving.

Her lips, her lips, her lips.  They’re so damn kissable, part of him wants to slip one of those lil pills that make him feel so damn good but he’s already taken two…  He’s gotta be smart about rationing the rest of the pills if he’s gonna make it through the games without losing his damn mind.  He doesn’t even notice he’s leaning in until she pushes against his shoulders slightly.  Goddamn his vision is hazy, she must be an angel of some kind surely to not slap him across the face.  C’mon, some druggie trying to kiss on someone who’s visibly uncomfortable- get a damn hold of yourself. “Don’t push me away.”  He commands, his voice sharper than intended.  It makes her curl her fingers into his tracksuit jacket, her swallowing audible.  Good girl, real good.  How cute of her.  He could get real used to this.  “Just let me kiss you, just once.” He grunts, leaning in again.  He watches as her cute lil eyes clench up tightly like she can will herself to be anywhere else, it’d be cute if it weren’t so fucking pathetic.  “Just like that…” he whispers, then his lips touch hers. He imagines it’d be powerful even without the drugs running wildly through his system like electricity rapidly zapping around.  But with the drugs?  Oh shit- with the drugs- it’s so intense it makes him gasp like some loser pussy.  Sure, she’s far from the first person he’s kissed while on some dumb shit, but he doesn’t think he’s ever felt a kiss like this.  Her lips aren’t pliable, far from it, but it still feels good enough that it makes his heart race.  He presses his lips harder to hers as if it’ll make her kiss him back or relax her lips.  He growls from the back of his throat, his hands moving to cup the back of her head.  His lips move demandingly against hers until she loosens up more. Man, when she loosens up?  It opens a whole new world for him to explore.  His tongue feels disconnected from his mouth as it moves into her mouth.  She’s delicious, he figures that’s gotta be an objective fact.  Her resistance, her fear, her everything- it’s perfect.  He tries to goad her tongue into moving with his, but he doesn’t care at the end of the day if he’s the only one actively kissing.  He wants more- needs more, needs to feel that body of hers moving against his more.  He wants to feel her on his lap, wants to feel those fingers curling up into his greasy, sweaty hair. He can’t calm himself down, not after those thoughts start.  When they start, they don’t stop.  Her riding him, the way her whiny little moans would fill the room full of these damn cockroaches.  Showing everyone that she’s his in the best way possible, a way that she would be unable to take back.  He knows she’d never agree to something like that and he’d never be able to get away with it, not here.  She’s also stupid, but not stupid enough to come with him to the bathroom.  Sure, he could threaten her, but he wants her to want him too.  The second best thing makes his skin crawl, he’s not some fucking teenager anymore, but it would be better than nothing. “Not so bad, huh?”  He pulls away after a moment, his lips turned up in some sort of a bastardized grin.  He could eat her up, really.  Mark up that pretty skin of hers.

“...”  She wipes her lips with the back of her hand.  She looks disgusted, angry even, but doesn’t say shit. “Tell you what, girl, why do you sit your pretty lil self down on my lap, hm?”  He pats his lap invitingly, nodding down to his legs. “C’mon. Let’s talk.”  He purrs, though it’s not nearly as charming as he believes it is.  She knows he won’t give up and if she tries to stand up and go anywhere else he’ll just tug her back down on the bed.  She relents after he nods his head again, rolling her eyes and climbing onto his lap.  He lets out a low groan, adjusting her so she’s straddling him rather than sitting sideways.  “Good, good, just like that.” His erection is obnoxiously apparent, he knows she has to be able to feel it against her ass as he stares up at her.  She’s the prettiest damn thing he’s seen he decides in that moment.  The way she looks into his eyes, her hands twitching and hesitating in the way before her hands settle on his shoulders.  One of his hands rests on her hip while the other cups her cheek. It’s some cruel mockery of affection, one that makes her blood run cold. “Gonna move you ‘round now, ‘kay?  Don’t draw attention to us.”  With that, he begins to slowly rock his hips up.  It’s not enough to be visible to anyone unless they’re watching the pair closely, but it’s enough for Nam-gyu’s sensitive cock to jerk and twitch.  He won’t last long, the drugs making his sensitive cock even more sensitive.  Each movement makes him leak in his underwear.  It’s damn embarrassing but he doesn’t have time to care, not when she makes a cute lil gasp.

“Nam-gyu…”  She doesn’t explicitly tell him to stop, which is enough for him to wrap his arms around her, nuzzling into her neck, and inhale deeply.  Her scent is marred by the sweat that is on everyone’s skin, but it’s still so… so her. “Shh.  Don’t talk, just let me do this.” Slow, slow, slow, he can’t move too fast and risk her getting so uncomfortable that she starts to fight back or make more noise.  He just needs to rut enough to come, he can go to the bathroom afterwards and clean himself up- surely the corpses that litter than damned floor have been cleaned out by now. He grunts, biting into her shirt.  All he can think about is how good her panty clad ass would feel against his bare cock, he doesn’t even care about fucking into her at this point, he just wants to feel her skin against his.  He knows it's not possible, not yet, but fuck when they’re the final two and they vote to leave and make it out with all that fucking money?  He’s gonna celebrate by feeling all of her. He ruts against her harder, he’s close… so, so, so fucking close.  “Say my name.” “Wha-?”

“Say.  My.  Name.”  It’s almost hard to understand him with the way he’s biting her shirt and growling silently.

“Nam-gyu?”

There it is, he nods.  He wants to hear it again and again and again for the rest of his damn life.

“Nam-gyu.”

Ah- she repeats it, this time without that stupid fucking confused intonation.  He buries his face harder against her shoulder and grips her harder.  “Again.”

“Nam-gyu.   Nam-gyu…  Do it for me.”

Fuck, her voice is so breathless and needy.  He loves it.  He can’t hold back, not when she sounds like that.  A low, gurgled groan leaves him as his cock pulses and pumps out spurts of cum.  He can feel it spreading through his boxers and to the front of those stupid tracksuit pants. “Yes, for you, for my fuckin’ girl.”

His legs tremble slightly as he comes down from his high, hips languidly rolling up to get him through his high until he’s fully spent.  It feels beautiful.  It’s perfection, really, heavenly even.  It’s a spiritual experience.  A few moments pass, “Gonna make you marry me, baby doll.  Gonna be just us at the end of this shitshow.  Split the money, start a new life, it’ll be perfect.”

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ how they react to your bad cooking

ᨳ♡₊➳ feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, higuruma, shiu

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: request from this ask!

₊⊹. Satoru Gojo

It started the day you proudly handed Gojo your newest culinary creation. A dish you confidently described as 'innovative'. Gojo, sitting at your kitchen table like he’s about to be on Hot Ones, stares down at the plate you just served like it’s an unexploded landmine.

You made spaghetti. Or, rather, a version of spaghetti that would legally have to be called 'Tomato-Inspired Pasta Chaos' in 36 different countries. The noodles are sticking together. The sauce? Questionable. Chunky in places it shouldn’t be chunky. Is that… is that cinnamon?

Gojo pokes it with his fork like it’s going to fight back. “So, like, was this cooked under normal human conditions? Like, with fire? Or a curse technique?”

“I followed a recipe!”

"Is it supposed to be smoking?"

"That's steam," you assured him. It definitely wasn't steam.

He takes a deep breath and dramatically scoops up a forkful with the bravery of a man about to bungee jump into an active volcano.

The second the food hit his tongue, he paused. Like, really paused. Statue-still. Then, ever-so-slowly, he chewed. And chewed. And continued to chew.

"Is it good?" you asked hesitantly.

He swallowed with a visible struggle. That bite physically transported him to the astral plane. He saw God. God told him to DoorDash. "Define 'good'."

₊⊹. From that day forward, Gojo developed an impressive array of tactics to cope with your cooking. He masters the art of distraction, pointing dramatically out the window, yelling, "OH MY GOD, IS THAT A CURSE?!" When you inevitably look away, your carefully cooked food mysteriously teleports from his plate into a potted plant or the bin. After a while, you begin to wonder why all your houseplants suddenly keep dying.

₊⊹. When Yuji enthusiastically comes over for dinner once, Gojo immediately redirects your culinary efforts onto the unsuspecting student. And Yuji, gullible and perpetually hungry, bites in, only to instantly make eye contact with you, looking betrayed, scandalized, and utterly tragic. Gojo laughs, completely unfazed, and offers a sympathetic pat. "It's a growth experience!"

₊⊹. At one point, your cooking gets so atrociously bad that Gojo begins miming Oscar-worthy death scenes every single time he takes a bite. He staggers across the kitchen floor, clutching his throat, gasping, "Tell... Megumi... I’m proud of him... and Yuta... he was always my favorite!"

You just sigh, rolling your eyes while he fake-collapses on the floor, legs sticking straight up like a cartoon character. After about ten minutes of complete silence, he peeks one eye open and whispers, "Are you grieving yet?"

₊⊹. Eventually, after another disastrous culinary experiment leaves Gojo dramatically collapsed against your kitchen chair, you cross your arms with an exasperated sigh. "Satoru, seriously, it can't be that awful every single time."

Peering at you over the rims of his sunglasses, Gojo groans theatrically, as if the very idea pains him. "You’re right. Sometimes it’s worse."

You glare at him, mock offended. "It's not THAT bad."

He scoffs, draping himself across your lap like a giant, overly dramatic cat. "The curses I’ve fought pale in comparison. But don't worry," he smirks, eyes twinkling behind his sunglasses, "I'll always heroically sacrifice myself to your cooking disasters. It’s what the strongest sorcerer does."

"You’re an idiot," you mutter, gently running fingers through his messy hair.

He smiles smugly, tipping his head back to meet your eyes. "Yeah, but I'm your idiot."

₊⊹. Suguru Geto

When you first present Geto with your cooking, he observes the plate with his typical calm, pleasant smile. The one that hides a thousand judgmental thoughts. His eyes flicker subtly to you, then back to the suspiciously grey lump on the plate.

"Interesting," he starts slowly, cautiously prodding the meal with his chopsticks as though testing a highly volatile chemical. "Did the recipe specifically mention this color?"

"Well... it said golden brown," you mumble sheepishly. "I improvised."

He nods gently, like a supportive parent acknowledging a child’s drawing that looks suspiciously like nightmare fuel. "Ah, creative liberty. Bold choice."

Then, without hesitation, he pops a chunk into his mouth.

You hold your breath, watching anxiously as he chews. But Geto’s face doesn’t change. Not a single twitch, not the slightest grimace. He swallows smoothly and nods at you approvingly. "Interesting texture. Reminds me of... something familiar."

₊⊹. From then on, it becomes painfully clear that your cooking doesn't faze Geto at all. No matter how horrendously bad your dishes are, Geto remains unfazed. One day, after tasting a stew with the exact consistency of glue, he remarks calmly, "You know, this might actually pair well with zaru soba."

When you doubtfully ask, "Really?", he smiles peacefully, eyes closed. "No, not at all. But it's the thought that counts."

₊⊹. At one point, he decides to teach you basic recipes. Simple stuff like miso soup or rice balls. Unfortunately, his instructions become increasingly cryptic and philosophical, like, "Cooking is much like life. Just throw it all together and hope no one notices the mistakes."

You stare at him blankly, ladle in hand. He smiles reassuringly. "Just kidding. Please follow the recipe exactly. I'm begging you."

₊⊹. You start finding mysteriously placed cookbooks everywhere. On your pillow, in the bathroom, even tucked inside your bag. When confronted, Geto merely shrugs, sipping tea elegantly. "It must be fate gently nudging you toward culinary salvation."

₊⊹. One night, Nanako and Mimiko visit. Your attempt at cookies turns into charcoal disks. The girls stare, wide-eyed and silently horrified. Geto, completely unfazed, picks one up and crunches loudly, maintaining full eye contact with you. "Crispy. Like edible charcoal. Good for digestion."

Nanako whispers softly to Mimiko, "He’s built different," as if witnessing a supernatural feat.

₊⊹. Finally, you corner Geto one day, genuinely confused and slightly insulted by his immunity to your horrible cooking. "Suguru, seriously, how are you never grossed out? Are your taste buds, like, broken?"

He looks at you fondly, calmly setting down his tea. "Nothing you could ever make would come close to the culinary horrors I have willingly endured. Trust me, this is child's play."

You gape at him. "What kind of culinary horrors have you experienced?"

He pauses, serene smile unwavering. "I have eaten things," he says carefully, "that make your cooking seem Michelin-star worthy."

You don't fully understand, but he seems so genuinely sincere that you grudgingly accept the compliment.

Geto pats your head affectionately, amusement glinting softly in his eyes. "But if it makes you happy, keep experimenting. I will endure it all. For science. And love, of course."

₊⊹. Kento Nanami

Nanami always imagined a peaceful life: coming home from work, cooking dinner, sipping whiskey, and peacefully reading a book. Until he met you. Now, coming home meant playing culinary Russian roulette and hoping tonight’s dinner wouldn’t send him directly to the ER.

The first time you cook for Nanami, he walks in looking uncharacteristically hopeful. He neatly folds his blazer, rolls up his sleeves, and sits at your tiny kitchen table like a polite guest at a hostage negotiation.

You place the food in front of him. “Tada!” you announce proudly.

Nanami’s eyebrow lifts slightly as he observes your creation with the intensity of a forensic scientist. He quietly adjusts his sunglasses, then softly mutters under his breath, “Well… it certainly has personality.”

You beam at him. He sighs internally, offering a solemn prayer to whatever god looks after tired salarymen-turned-sorcerers.

He takes a bite, chewing carefully. His expression barely shifts, except his jaw tenses slightly. Finally swallowing, he sets down his chopsticks, clears his throat, and nods solemnly. "It's edible."

“That’s it? Edible?” you pout.

He stares at you very seriously. “Edible is good.”

₊⊹. Your dishes become a battlefield. Each night, Nanami quietly eats, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, face unreadable. It becomes almost impressive how calmly he approaches your meals, treating them like yet another inevitable overtime shift. When Gojo asks how he survives, Nanami calmly responds, "My previous job prepared me for this level of suffering."

₊⊹. You ask for feedback once. Big mistake.

After thoughtful chewing, Nanami calmly delivers his verdict. "Your meal tastes like how overtime feels. Painful, unnecessary, and slightly disrespectful."

You stare, offended but strangely impressed. He pats your hand reassuringly. "I appreciate your effort. But next time, let's stick to recipes."

₊⊹. One night, after tasting yet another questionable casserole, Nanami hands you a fancy cookbook wrapped neatly with a bow. "What's this?" you ask, smiling sweetly.

"A gentle suggestion," he says plainly. "For the safety of our digestive systems. And relationship."

You stare blankly, and he nods solemnly, "It's a romantic gesture. Trust me."

₊⊹. You overhear Nanami murmuring quietly to himself as he suffers through another of your meals.

"Malaysia," he sighs wistfully, eyes distant and dreamy. "White beaches. Street food stalls. No kitchen appliances. Peace."

₊⊹. One night, after yet another tragic dinner, you sigh dramatically, slumping across from him. "Kento, I appreciate that you put up with this every night. Why haven't you left me yet?"

He pauses, carefully setting down his utensils, face impossibly serious. "If I survived being a salaryman and daily exposure to Gojo Satoru, surely your cooking won't break me."

You frown. "That's sweet but… rude?"

His lips twitch into a tiny, almost invisible smile. "Take it as a compliment. My continued survival speaks volumes about my dedication to you."

You can't help but laugh. He reaches across the table, squeezing your hand gently. "Besides," he murmurs, his voice surprisingly warm, "a life without minor inconveniences wouldn't be realistic."

You smile softly. "Are you calling me inconvenient?"

"Only your cooking," he clarifies immediately. "You, on the other hand, are extremely worth it."

You're stunned into silence. Nanami clears his throat awkwardly, avoiding your eyes, the tips of his ears slightly pink.

"Aw, Kento!" you tease, "That was almost romantic!"

He sighs deeply, pretending to be irritated. "Don't get used to it."

You lean forward, grinning smugly. "Too late."

He groans quietly, but the tiny smile that quirks his lips betrays him entirely.

₊⊹. Choso Kamo

Choso is… different. Sweet, earnest, adorably intense, but still fundamentally… different. Because even though he theoretically knows how being a human works, thanks to the vessel he took over, he still hasn’t quite mastered the whole actually existing as a human thing. And it really shows when it comes to your cooking.

The first time Choso experiences your culinary 'skills,' he sits stiffly at your dining table, staring blankly at the plate in front of him with a carefully neutral expression. You smile proudly at your concoction: it's grey-ish, ominous, and vaguely smoking, but hey, you tried.

He frowns slightly. "From my vessel’s memories, I remember food typically being... less aggressive?"

"Choso, it's not aggressive. It's innovative," you insist, holding a fork up to his mouth encouragingly. "Go on, try it!"

He stares suspiciously at the fork like it personally insulted his brothers, before dutifully opening his mouth. His eyes widen slightly, eyebrows furrowing as he chews slowly, cautiously. Then he swallows and takes a deep, slow breath.

"I see. My vessel's memories must be incomplete," he murmurs very seriously, meeting your expectant gaze. "I don't recall humans regularly eating food that tastes like cleaning agent?"

Your horrified look makes him pause. "Ah. Social tact. I apologize, I’m still adjusting."

₊⊹. Yuji stops by unexpectedly and reaches to try a bite from your suspicious casserole. Choso instantly intercepts his hand, expression gravely serious. "Little brother, you mustn't. Your human body can’t withstand this."

Yuji looks bewildered. You look betrayed. Choso calmly explains, "It's my duty as eldest to protect you."

₊⊹. Choso, genuinely concerned, secretly browses the internet for solutions. You catch him on your laptop at 3 a.m, gravely searching 'is cooking supposed to make people sad'.

You sigh dramatically and close the laptop gently. "Choso, please stop."

He nods solemnly. "I understand. Truth hurts."

₊⊹. Gojo casually jokes, "So, did their cooking try to assassinate you again?"

Choso instantly goes rigid, glaring intensely at Gojo. "Do not speak negatively about their efforts."

Gojo raises an eyebrow, amused. "Oh? So you enjoyed it?"

"Absolutely not," Choso deadpans. "But only I can acknowledge their food’s threats to my existence."

₊⊹. After an especially questionable meal, you jokingly sigh, "Maybe cooking just isn’t for me. I'm a failure."

Choso looks genuinely distressed, immediately reaching across to grip your hand. "Please don't be upset. Failure is natural. Humans fail constantly."

You blink slowly. "Thanks?"

He squeezes your hand encouragingly. "Yes. Failing is part of human charm."

₊⊹. Eventually, feeling guilty for repeatedly poisoning your sweet (if socially inept) partner, you timidly ask, "Choso, do you actually enjoy anything I cook?"

He takes a long pause, genuinely thinking, before responding solemnly, "Humans appreciate effort more than results."

You sigh. "Choso, that's not answering my question."

He tilts his head thoughtfully, dark eyes softening slightly as he looks at you. "I enjoy that you try. I believe that's very important. I will eat anything you create."

"That's sweet," you mumble shyly.

He shrugs earnestly. "It’s simple logic. If Yuji can withstand Sukuna, surely I can survive your cooking."

You burst into laughter, feeling strangely comforted that no matter how badly you fail in the kitchen, Choso will be there. Awkwardly and confused, but unwaveringly supportive.

₊⊹. Toji Fushiguro

Toji is many things. Cold assassin, ruthless gambler, the bane of the Zenin clan's existence. But above all, he's a man who appreciates good food. Meat, offal, a juicy steak grilled just right. Your cooking, however, is none of those things. Your cooking is the culinary equivalent of stepping on a Lego. Painful, distressing, and definitely not something you signed up for willingly.

The first time Toji sits down to dinner with you, he eyes the questionable lump of 'food' you've proudly placed before him, dark brows furrowing skeptically.

"You made this?" he asks, voice devoid of emotion, poking the dish suspiciously as if it might leap up and attack him.

You nod excitedly. "It's my special recipe!"

He leans back, crossing muscular arms over his chest. "Huh. Special. You sure that's the word you wanna use?"

You glare. He shrugs casually, picking up his chopsticks and bravely placing a bite into his mouth without hesitation. The moment he tastes it, you see a rare expression flash across his usually unbothered face.

Genuine shock.

"How is it?" you ask nervously.

Toji slowly swallows, locking eyes with you seriously. "Y'know, people've paid me good money to assassinate others. Next time someone hires me, I'm just gonna send you with this instead."

"Toji!"

He smirks lazily, raising an eyebrow. "What? It's more efficient than knives."

₊⊹. One afternoon, you discover Toji suspiciously packaging leftovers into small containers. When confronted, he smirks calmly, completely deadpan. "Selling 'em on the black market as poison. Client said it's more effective than cyanide."

You glare at him flatly. He chuckles dryly. "Relax, I'm kidding. Not about the poison part, though."

₊⊹. Even the worm-like inventory curse that literally lives inside Toji’s body refuses to consume your cooking. The first (and only) time Toji tries feeding it leftovers, the creature spits it back out immediately, squirming dramatically on the floor.

Toji just stares at it blankly. "Traitor," he growls.

₊⊹. After another catastrophic meal, Toji sighs, rubbing his temples like he just lost yet another bet. "Eating your cooking is like gambling. Low odds of survival, but damn, what a rush."

You roll your eyes. "Thanks."

He smirks. "Welcome. I'm starting to see why I keep losing all those horse races. I'm using up all my luck surviving dinner."

₊⊹. One night, after forcing down yet another questionable casserole, Toji leans back in his chair with a heavy sigh.

"You know," he begins dryly, "the Zenin clan threw me in a pit full of curses when I was a kid. Thought it was the worst thing they'd ever done to me."

You pause, staring at him. "And?"

He smirks lazily, dark eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. "Then I tasted your food."

You toss a spoon at him in outrage. He dodges smoothly, chuckling softly. "Relax. I’d still pick you over them any day. At least your cooking doesn't monologue about cursed energy."

You pout, reluctantly softening. He notices and reaches across the table, tapping your chin gently with his finger, voice low and teasing. "Besides, I thrive in dangerous environments. Keeps things interesting."

"You mean dangerous because of the food or dangerous because I'm gonna kill you if you don't shut up?"

He grins slyly. "Bit of both."

₊⊹. Hiromi Higuruma

Higuruma has always had a knack for calmly handling high-pressure situations. Defending impossible court cases, facing certain doom within cursed games. Piece of cake. But facing your cooking? That might actually kill him.

The first time you cooked for him, Higuruma’s weary eyes regarded the food with gentle apprehension. He politely inspected it from all angles, as though carefully examining an obscure piece of evidence.

You nervously watched him. “Is it alright?”

He paused thoughtfully, tilting his head, brows knitted slightly. "Interesting."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Interesting… good?"

"Interesting," he repeated carefully, "in that this dish defies several established laws of physics."

"It's supposed to be pasta," you admit, deflating slightly.

His eyes widen just a fraction, a hint of panic briefly flickering across his tired face before he schools his expression into a supportive, blandly reassuring mask. "Of course," he murmurs smoothly, gently patting your shoulder. "Let's... try it together."

You both eat silently. After an incredibly tense pause, Higuruma slowly swallows, sets down his fork, and politely coughs. "Creative," he states seriously. "Certainly breaks conventional culinary laws."

"Is that good or bad?" you ask anxiously.

He smiles tiredly, but fondly. "We'll call it a mistrial."

₊⊹. Higuruma starts keeping a small notebook near the kitchen, diligently taking notes after each new dish.

You sneakily peek one night, horrified at what he’s written: "Experiment #26: Soup (?). Temperature: Lukewarm. Flavor profile: Deeply unsettling. Observations: Possibly sentient."

You gasp loudly, "Hey!"

He looks up calmly, “It’s purely objective documentation. I’m sure the food appreciates my honesty.”

₊⊹. When asked how your meal tastes, he often sidesteps elegantly, offering cryptic answers instead.

"This stew," he begins thoughtfully, holding a spoon dramatically, "makes me question if objective reality even exists."

You blink suspiciously. "Hiromi. Did you just say my stew makes you dissociate?"

He nods gravely. "Precisely. Quite impressive, actually."

₊⊹. “Sometimes,” he murmured after a particularly unhinged omelet, “I think your cooking represents the postmodern condition.”

You stared. “What?”

He motioned vaguely with his chopsticks. “Chaotic. Absurd. Unapologetically hostile to meaning. I respect that.”

₊⊹. One evening, genuinely frustrated, you slump across from him. "Hiromi, just admit it. My cooking sucks."

He carefully sets down his utensils, eyes softening slightly. "Perhaps. But everyone has their strengths. Yours simply… manifest in areas other than cooking."

"Like what?" You challenge, skeptical.

He pauses, then gently answers, "Like persistence. It takes remarkable tenacity to continue creating edible tragedies night after night without losing hope."

You groan, laughing despite yourself. "That was the weirdest compliment ever."

He smiles faintly, one of his rare, genuine smiles, and quietly admits, "Truthfully, your enthusiasm makes even the most terrifying meals bearable. At this point, I’d miss it if you stopped."

You smile softly, genuinely touched. "Really?"

He nods solemnly. "Yes. My life would feel disappointingly stable without your daily culinary chaos."

"Aww," you tease. "You’d miss the food poisoning?"

He tilts his head, eyes glinting with quiet humor. "I’d miss the thrill of surviving it."

Laughing, you throw a napkin at him, which he catches effortlessly, setting it down carefully, lips twitching upward gently.

₊⊹. Shiu Kong

Shiu Kong is a man of questionable morals, minimal expectations, and plenty of street-smarts. In his line of work, he’s seen some serious stuff: curses, assassins, shady deals, Toji Fushiguro’s unpaid ramen tabs. But none of that could’ve prepared him for your cooking.

Your cooking is… controversial. Shiu knows it, you know it, the smoke alarm in your apartment (which screams in agony every night) knows it. Yet somehow, against his better judgment and entirely by accident, Shiu has become your unofficial food critic.

Shiu sits at your tiny table, suit jacket carefully hung on the chair behind him, cigarette extinguished (mostly out of concern that your food might spontaneously combust if exposed to open flame). He stares at the plate you present him, face unreadable.

“Wow,” he finally says dryly, raising an eyebrow at your oddly gelatinous creation. “Did your fridge explode, or was this deliberate?”

You pout indignantly, arms crossed. “It’s an authentic recipe from the internet.”

He hums skeptically. “Was the internet angry at you personally?”

You glare at him, and he sighs deeply, picking up the fork cautiously, as though it might detonate upon contact.

“I better get hazard pay for this,” he mutters, bravely stabbing a fork into the dish. He hesitates, briefly staring at the forkful as though making peace with his life choices, before finally taking a bite.

Chewing slowly, he nods thoughtfully. "Honestly? Tastes like crime."

You glare. "Excuse me?"

"Crime," he repeats casually, shrugging. "Illegal. Punishable. Possibly violates human rights."

"You're exaggerating," you mumble, arms crossed.

He gives you a genuinely amused half-smirk. "Sweetheart, I've worked with criminals for twenty years. Believe me, this is criminal."

₊⊹. From then on, Shiu’s sarcastic yet charmingly detached responses become a routine part of your questionable cooking.

He watches you cook once, genuinely puzzled.

"Strange," he muses out loud, "I always thought curse users were my most dangerous clients."

You look up, offended. "I'm not dangerous!"

He gives you a deeply skeptical look. "That's exactly what someone dangerous would say."

₊⊹. One evening, Shiu walks in, cigarette dangling from his lips. He pauses at your kitchen doorway, staring blankly at the mess. Pots, pans, unidentified stains everywhere. He whistles softly. "Wow, I’ve seen actual murder scenes cleaner than this."

You turn, unamused. "Very funny."

He shrugs easily. "I'm serious. You want me to call a cleanup crew, or is the carnage still ongoing?"

₊⊹. Shiu, ever the career criminal, genuinely ponders using your dishes to extort information from his underworld associates. After tasting another tragic attempt, he eyes you seriously. "You ever considered a side job in interrogation?"

You roll your eyes. He insists gravely, "I know guys who’d spill their guts after one spoonful."

₊⊹. Eventually, your bad cooking becomes weirdly endearing to him. Somehow, choking down your meals each night becomes his strangest, most irrational sign of affection.

"You don't actually have to eat this, you know," you say softly one evening, watching him calmly choke down burnt stir-fry.

He glances up, eyes surprisingly soft. "I've willingly babysat Toji’s kid. This isn't even top ten worst decisions I've made."

You laugh despite yourself. He sets down his fork and reaches out, awkwardly patting your hand with surprising tenderness. "Listen, I handle curse users. Compared to that, your cooking is... charmingly manageable."

You snort loudly, shaking your head. "Shiu, that's literally the worst compliment ever."

He smirks gently, voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Fine. Your cooking sucks, but you're kinda cute. Better?"

You grin, nudging him playfully. "Better."

He sighs dramatically, lighting another cigarette. "Just promise me you'll never cook professionally. I don’t have enough shady connections to bail you out from mass poisoning charges."

[aventurineswife]

hi !! first of all, i love your writing so much… its so edible /pos 💗

could you write blade, jing yuan, dan heng, and sunday with a vampire reader? basically just how they’d deal with a vampire lover? ^_^

Immortal Bonds

Tags: Blade x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Established Relationship, Vampire!Reader, Slow Burn, Emotional Depth, Romance, Angst, Comfort, Protective Behavior, Tender Moments, Fluff, Sadness/Reflection.

Warnings: Mature Themes (due to the themes of immortality, death, and emotional baggage), Trauma/Emotional Conflict (exploration of past struggles, guilt, and past trauma for both the characters and the reader), Vampirism, Violence, Self-Harm/Destructive Tendencies (For Blade's part), Mild Gore (with Blade’s immortality and healing factor, there could be some mention of injuries), Existential Themes.

A/N: AHHHH TYYY!! 🥹💖 I'm glad to hear it's edible hehe 🤭

Blade had never been one to show his vulnerability—yet, with you, he couldn’t help but soften, just a little. The way your cool touch brushed against his skin sent a shiver down his spine, the slight sensation of your fangs grazing his neck a reminder of how intimately connected you both were.

He’d always preferred solitude, and the chaos of the Stellaron Hunters never truly felt like home. But with you beside him, the weight of eternity seemed a little more bearable. Your immortality matched his, and while it could be a curse, it also forged a bond between you that nothing could tear apart.

Despite his tendency to keep his emotions locked away, Blade found himself indulging in moments of closeness with you—quiet moments, where he would sit next to you in the stillness of night, his sword resting beside him, as you traced the lines of his hand with your cold fingers.

“You know, your immortality’s starting to get to me,” Blade would say, the smallest smirk curling on his lips, but there was a hint of something deeper in his voice. He was teasing, yes, but the affection in his words was genuine. “It’s almost like you understand how much of a nightmare this life can be.”

With you, he didn’t need to run from the pain anymore. It was a dangerous thing, but Blade had always thrived in chaos—what better chaos than with you, a creature of the night who shared his broken soul?

Jing Yuan was the Arbiter General for a reason—his strategic mind was as sharp as ever, but when it came to you, he allowed himself to lean into the calm. His long hair would sometimes cascade over your shoulder as you sat beside him, sipping on a drink while he casually held court with his officers. The quiet presence of a vampire beside him was something he grew to cherish.

As the General, Jing Yuan was used to pressure. Yet, your existence brought a gentle stillness to the often chaotic world around him. He found peace in your silence, the occasional glimmer of your eyes meeting his from across the room. His smile, though usually laid-back, would carry a deeper warmth when your gaze met his.

"I've fought battles that tested the very limits of my mind," he would say lazily, his eyes studying you with an air of amusement. "But, in the end, I’m certain that a vampire like you will always win the war for my heart.”

Your fangs were a gentle reminder of the timelessness you both shared, and Jing Yuan reveled in the thought. His life, ruled by war and peace, had rarely had room for much else—but in you, he found a soft refuge. Despite his outward demeanor, he wasn’t immune to your allure. His touch would linger just a little longer when he held your hand, a small, unspoken promise that you could share in the quiet serenity he had built around himself.

Dan Heng was not a man who easily allowed others into his world. His past haunted him enough without letting someone else become another burden. But, you—your presence was something he had never expected.

When you first met, it was in the quiet stillness of the Astral Express. He had barely noticed you at first, your pale skin and sharp, glowing eyes blending into the shadows. But over time, as you shared quiet moments, a connection blossomed between you both that Dan Heng never expected—and it terrified him. You were a vampire, a creature of the night, but you were also gentle, understanding, in a way that no one else had ever been to him. You didn’t ask questions about his past, and for once, Dan Heng found someone who didn’t expect him to reveal everything.

One evening, he found you staring at the stars through the window of the Express. The light from the passing worlds painted your face in a soft glow. He could see the coolness of your skin, the faintest outline of your fangs as you smiled at him.

“You know,” he started, a rare smile tugging at his lips, “I’ve always been alone. But it’s... different with you.”

You gave him a knowing look, your eyes reflecting the same isolation, but your presence was a comfort. You didn’t force him to talk about the things he wished to forget. Instead, you simply held him close in the quiet, content in the understanding that sometimes silence was all that was needed.

Sunday’s existence had always been a study in contradictions—ideals and guilt, love and detachment. But when you entered his life, a vampire with a heart of gold, it changed him in ways that even he couldn’t fully understand.

Your immortality fascinated him—how could someone with such a long, complex life continue to walk the line between compassion and detachment, just as he did? He often found himself watching you, lost in thought as you moved gracefully through the world, a being of both elegance and danger. Your eyes, full of ancient knowledge, would often meet his, and in those moments, Sunday felt the familiar weight of his own burdens lifting, if only a little.

“Vampires are born from the night, yet you shine with such light,” Sunday would say softly, his voice tinged with both awe and melancholy. “It is strange—how the darkness and the light dance together, even in you.”

The contrast between your eternal youth and his weary soul was something that haunted him at times, but you were a balm to his troubled heart. He found himself more open, more vulnerable with you than with anyone else, despite his usual guarded nature.

He would often stand next to you, his eyes scanning the stars, yet his thoughts were elsewhere. “Perhaps I could take solace in your dream of immortality,” Sunday would muse, “but I fear it is the dream of another person—a dream that is too distant for me to reach.”

Your cool fingers would gently clasp his, a silent understanding passing between you both. Even if Sunday’s doubts about his ideals remained, you gave him something he hadn’t known he needed—a moment of peace, a fleeting dream that reminded him of the possibility of light amidst the shadows.

[drenched-in-sunlight]

very opionated talk underneath the cut

this is what I get for keeping checking out the fandom tag, but oh well 😭

seeing the reasoning behind the “Marika and Godfrey would have been proud of Godrick for the grafting” take is so wild to me like… are we just going to ignore the fact that Nepheli - who is implied to be Godfrey’s descendants, said Godrick’s deeds “taint the very wind” and helped us beat his ass and it’s her who later becomes the rightful Lord of Stormveil ?

+ Roderika, who is thematically a reflection of the girl Marika was pre-Godhood, losing all her companions and being left alone scared shitless and heartbroken in a shack, blaming herself for not being strong enough, brave enough to go die with her friends, all because Godrick is making a mockery of Godfrey’s name and enacting the same tragedy that befell Marika’s people ?

Like, I can sorta see why people refuse to see the Living Jars in the Lands Between as Marika reclaiming a practice that was tainted by the Hornsent deeds, returning it into something done to honor the dead and let them be returned to the Erdtree to continue the cycle of life - death - rebirth (is scattering ashes of the deceased to the sea not a thing in many irl cultures anymore or am I going crazy), cuz if one has certain���views on her, it can be hard to see anything she does in a positive light (actually even if you don’t see it that way, equating jar innards made of dead warriors in a ritual to honour them with living ppl being cut up and forced to meld together as a form of torture is… a choice), but to completely ignore Nepheli and Roderika’s stories and their role in the narrative? 💀

Plus, where in the game is it even stated or implied that Godfrey being a battlefield maniac means he is ok with *read writing on hands* some guy sending his lackeys out to hunt Tarnished (Godfrey’s own warriors) and making them into unwilling extra limbs?

The guy that gives his all to fight the player by himself and compliments us on a battle well fought… will see honour in gaining strength via kidnapping ppl and stealing their strength, instead of fighting your own battles, honing your own skills and getting stronger on your own? Huh?

And even ignoring all that, Kenneth - a mere nobleman, not even demigod or anything, fr called Godrick a “jumped up country bumpkin” who fleed from Leyndell, holed up in Stormveil to hide from Radahn (why are we forgetting this…bro can’t even pass the Godfrey’s no.1 Stan vibe check) and then got beaten up by Malenia?

To add insult to injury, Godwyn’s body lying beneath Stormveil will literally stab anyone coming close to him (which is sth I have an interesting conversation with ppl on twitter about. there’s one person bringing up an interesting interpretation that Godrick probably took off with a relic of Godwyn’s body hoping to graft a piece of the Golden Prince onto himself, but Godwyn body was like “no” and infested the castle ground like a disapproving ghost 😭 but Godwyn is cool with us because he knows we have Marika’s sanction 😊).

Godrick… has no support whatsoever from Marika and Godfrey’s direct descendants, other than maybeeee Morgot who probably was only there to keep an eye on Stormveil - a place of importance to his dad and maybeeee a bit family pity for Godrick, definitely not because he’s proud of the stuffs Godrick is doing (he astral project there to scare us a bit then leave. We gonna kill Godrick? None of his business.).

And there’s also Godefroy who literally got locked up in a gaol… by a Leyndell Knight who later got the highest honour of Erdtree Burial after he passed away - specifically because of his feat in capturing Godefroy. Why are we forgetting Kristoff???

No one in Leyndell likes the Grafted guys, no one in Limgrave likes the Grafted guys, there are numerous items in-game expressing disappointment and sadness at the decline of the Golden Linage…. it’s a real damn no one likes you situation 😭

Then later on, Godrick got replaced by Nepheli.

So who are the ones being proud here ????

I’m not even a Godrick hater, I think he’s a fucked up, but compelling!, conclusion to the linage that Marika has with Godfrey - who is probably one of few people who actually knows what she used to go through.

I could even see the kind of pressure and struggle he must have gone through, humiliation after humiliation, hiding from and losing to Radagon’s children of all guys, carrying a legacy that is too big for him to handle. But to say that Marika and Godfrey would have been proud of him? Or that grafting is somehow a reclamation of the trauma Marika’s people went through and turning it into strength ????? He doesn’t even know that Marika was once not a God, let alone anything about her people’s suffering to reclaim anything ? That’s not his pain to reclaim ???

Someone else already did that. Marika herself. Rakshasa herself. You really do not have to give a man all the flowers for something women (who actually suffered and went through that trauma) already did.

[feroluce]

NO OK BUT I'M STILL NOT OVER BOOTHILL AND DAN HENG AND THE JADE ABACUS IN ENA'S DREAM!!!!!

For some extra context, I have a whole henghill manifesto I wrote over here, but the tl;dr is that Dan Heng decides to use the Jade Abacus of Allying Oath to save the Express Crew the first time. Boothill urges him to think it over carefully, but he doesn't stop him. And then, the second time Dan Heng decides to use it, we get this instead:

And just! That's so!! so!!!

Because like. We see in the first battle against Sunday that that Jade Abacus is effective, like we really do just get an entire army lead by a whole-ass Emanator of The Hunt right to our location and ready to fuck shit up. It's important. It's incredibly valuable. That is a huge amount of power to hold in the palm of one's hand.

But Tiernan's relic works the same way.

Galaxy Rangers are terribly dangerous. Boothill comments on this when discussing Acheron's motives, because he can't believe anyone would be stupid enough to get The Hunt on their asses. They're considered to be on a level even above The Annihilation Gang.

And now, with the burial relic, he has a way to get thousands of them, almost immediately, and all in one place.

And you can't tell me that wouldn't be something extremely useful to Boothill, like literally life-saving. He's wanted by the IPC. He makes his living as a bounty hunter. His whole driving motivation in life right now is to do whatever he can, up to and including throwing away his own human body, to ruthlessly hunt down one man and kill him in revenge. Like that has to be dangerous, the IPC is a massive entity with far-reaching influence and money and power and weaponry. He surely must have already had some close calls.

Like can you imagine it? Galaxy Rangers are solitary creatures. If Boothill were to find himself near death, he would probably be all alone. Do you think he had regrets? Did he wonder if anyone would find his own burial relic? Did it feel the same way it did when they melted his flesh, replaced it with metal? Did he lay there with his vision slowly blacking out until he thought of home, and family, and the little daughter who he never even got to hear her first word, until he was so full of fury that he could prop himself up on his rage like a crutch and find help?

Tiernan's relic would have been like a get-out-of-jail-free card. Just for one time, no matter where Boothill was, someone would find him. The Galaxy Rangers aren't sociable or organized between themselves, but they help their own. Someone would save him.

He chooses to give all of that up to help Dan Heng.

And I just cannot get over it, especially the wording of it, the pause before he speaks, the gentle way he tells him to hold onto his once-in-a-lifetime treasure...!! He wants Dan Heng to leave this to him! He wants him to keep this precious item that will help him save his companions again in the future! And maybe it's just...wishful thinking, me reading too much into it? But I mean. Just the way he says it...

I really do think it comes from a place of deep kinship and respect. That there's a lot of thought and feeling behind that statement. Something from one Pathstrider of The Hunt to another. Boothill fought for his home and his family, he fought really really hard! But. Sometimes that just doesn't matter. And now he's watching Dan Heng fight for his, too.

When he made that decision the first time, Dan Heng was in the parlor car of the Astral Express. He was completely removed from any danger. He could have chosen to get the hell out of Dodge and not look back. Obviously we know he would never even consider such a thing, but it was technically an option, and Boothill watched him decide to go back into the proverbial lion's den for his friends anyway. And I'm sure that was part of what sealed his decision, to later use Tiernan's relic instead of the Jade Abacus to summon enough people to disrupt Ena's Dream. Because he greatly values ideas like righteousness and justice and saving people, and Dan Heng so beautifully embodies all of that and then some.

Boothill doesn't have people to protect anymore, only ghosts to avenge.

And there is just something so endlessly endearing about him wanting to help Dan Heng, to make sure his friend doesn't go through that the way he did.

[luminecent-sky]

Ooo i just got called out by that (hook still at Lv.1 at e3)

Well, in the case of Hook, she thinks (and this is reinforced by all the adults) that the Aeon of Fate wants to keep her safe! Because the Aeon knows best, and obviously, this is one of those moments.

While some of the older followers are more saddened by this, Asta and other followers that have responsibilities are thankful that they were given the strength and use it to do their duties more easily.

Teens like Clara, Yanqing, and HuoHuo, however....

Silence falls upon the teens as they take a break from training on the Astral express, seeing the adults come back from another successful adventure with their grace, the faint feeling of divinity that enveloped the train leaving it soon after they settled in. 

Yanqing looks over at the other teens in envy as they talk about the small adventures they sometimes joined their Aeon on.... Lynx looked particularly pleased as she recounted a valiant fight against a silvermane commander that she participated in.

It had only been a few hours since she became a vessel of Fate, quickly gaining power, and only a few of them could imagine of, unless you were Qingque or Pela, though the latter had confessed that her growth had been stopped as soon as a certain member of the Nameless reawakened his Vidyadhara powers.

Still, surrounded by other vessels that were younger than him, though being a teenager himself by the Xianzhou standards still stung. Was he not strong enough? Not capable enough? He knew that Sushang felt the same, but she still had something that he envied, she was at least a vessel with multiple glowing eidolons. He wasn't even chosen. 

.

.

.

 The Aeon was there when he fought the Stellaron hunters, when he fought Jingliu and he still lost, despite how their grace had done their damndest to help him triumph, guiding Pollux as she fought him under the control of that wicked woman, Kafka... were those battles, tests? 

Did the others have to face such things before they became vessels? Has he failed in the eyes of Fate? Was it the will of Fate that he could never be chosen? He sat there polishing his swords as doubt continued to swirl in his mind, he has to get better, for himself, and to prove that he was worthy enough for the Aeon to look upon him as a vessel worth relying on. The deep-seeded fear of abandonment rearing its ugly head the longer he dwelled on it. 

He needed to train, get his mind off of it.

—

Silver Wolf was getting bored, her games had gotten boring, and having no part in Elio's current script aside, she had to start from scratch, thanks to Herta and Screwllum* removing her accounts... along with the fact that she wasn't chosen as a vessel, 

It shouldn't bother her. This was fine, even Kafka wasn't chosen, the gacha didn't roll in her favour and all that. But it did sting, especially when Blade became a vessel, one of the main vessels, always returning back to base healed and with an expression of peace, unnerving to those who hadn't spent any length of time around him. 

Sending a hologram to the Astral express, she had the chance to talk to Pollux, to connect to their Aeon before the faint divinity she could feel faded away. 

She could never get used to it, the feeling of something watching you from every angle, seeing you, and through you. As the 'hacker', being unable to hide behind a screen, a hologram never sat right with her... she would only show herself when she wanted to cause chaos, or something really peaked her interest.

But lately, it seemed like the world was shifting again. The way that the other vessels moved seemed to be more.... lethargic, like their god had gotten tired and bored of them, it was unnerving to see the usually chipper and smiling members of the Astral express like this.

Until she found out the reason for this development, their god had encountered a lull in interest, much of the content had become tedious, boring, and much like a chore. But it would be alright, surely this game world would expand and bring their gaze back to her.

Just need to wait for the next update.

-

Clara always strived to be a good kid, caring for everyone in the vagrants' camp, making sure all the machines were in working condition and such.

It was always her dream to have everyone get along, no fighting or resentment, so she was overjoyed when the Aeon set their sights on her home, maybe they could really help unite everyone, sure they fought with Mr. Svarog, but it was a misunderstanding!

And after they came to help life had been slowly improving for everyone in Belebog.

They no longer had to fight with the other miners, and they could finally see the sunlight, feeling the breeze from the overworld. As a whole new world of opportunities opened up for her and the people of the Underworld.

But as she saw the others become blessed, blessed to help, blessed to make a difference in their slowly recovering planet, she felt empty.

Why was she not allowed the same? Was she not good enough? Had her efforts to help those she cared about lacking in the eyes of their Aeon?

Even if the other vagrants and robots assured her of the contrary, that seed of doubt would stay in her heart, taking root and slowly growing.

Nourished by the passing of time, as their Aeon moved to help other worlds, akin to a wound left to fester.

She hoped that one day she would be good enough to be seen by their god.

All she could do was wait.

A/n: no u didn't see this posted last year, tnx

lmaoo it rotted for so long, i will make a part 2 to this i think

[carulenes]

I have so many scattered thoughts re: Blade, Jingliu, and Dan Heng and the entirety of the HCQ after Clouds Leave No Trace

This is gonna probably be long as hell since I haven’t stopped thinking abt it for two days straight and will contain spoilers for the new HCQ quest in 1.4 as well as references to other leaks, this is mostly just a jumble of a bunch of theories and ramblings to get my thoughts out, some of which I already had and others that started to jump out during the quest. obv other ppl may have come up with similar conclusions and i obv might not be right myself but based on the narrative presented to us up until now, these are what I feel make the most sense. TLDR at the end.

Dan Heng vs “running away”

I find it fascinating, and frankly disingenuous, that that both Jingliu and Blade consistently frame DH’s explanations of no longer being Dan Feng and only containing fragments of his memories as "trying to run from his past". I’ve also seen some in the fandom claim that DH’s position on the matter shouldn’t be trusted as he’s an “unreliable narrator”, which could be true, but it’s a stance I disagree with as it goes against the structure of DH’s narrative as it’s been set up since the beginning of the game.

From day one until the present, Dan Heng is shown to be fully willing to atone for the sins of his past:

The moment he was allowed to move freely aboard the Luofu after having quietly accepted exile for crimes he shouldn’t have had to pay for, he decided of his own volition to seek out the current high elder and make amends with both the Xianzhou and his past in general, even when doing so made him a target for even more suffering:

Narratively speaking, he never once backs away from the punishment considered owed to Dan Feng's actions.

Dan Heng, the result of a forced rebirth process that was then manipulated to leave him with combat prowess and broken memories he neither wanted or should have possessed to begin with, was escorted away from the only homeland he knew, after being held in prison for crimes he legally should not have been judged by from the moment of his birth, with only the few possessions his previous incarnation had possessed, forced to jump from spaceship to spaceship without even recognizing the destination. The only reason he ever ran at all is due to the ages spent fighting for his life against an enemy he didn't recognize and never truly recognized him, one that refused to die no matter how many times they fought. One who caused unmatched destruction in his hunt for Dan Heng, fully willing to destroy anyone and anything in the way of his goal— a shadow of his past:

This is why personally (emphasis on personally) I believe that the longing in question from the leak regarding Dan Heng polishing his spear is in reference to the Luofu, as to me, it makes sense that he would long for and think of the homeland he never got to witness thoroughly with his own eyes and could only experience in books while caring for the weapon he uses to keep himself and others safe from the force of destruction that trails him:

In fact, it isn't until after Dan Heng joins the Astral Express that he begins to fight back against the assertion that he must eternally suffer for the past; this is because this is when he finally has something other than himself to protect. We are directly shown this in his animated short, when the memory of the other members of the Express crew serve as the motivation to spur Dan Heng out of the internal conflict he was drowning in, and also as his prime reason for going to meet with the others in the HCQ aboard the Luofu:

This is likely possible largely due both to the fact that Vidyadhara cannot succumb to mara, as well as the fact that he doesn't have the same specific memories as the others, and so he is not shackled to the same chains that now bind Blade and Jingliu.

———

Blade and Jingliu

In Blade’s youth, Jingliu describes him as someone who was “defiant” in a way she claimed not to like. I find this fascinating given that the two are so incredibly similar at present, which I feel is due in part to Blade’s unwavering respect for her even after the pain she caused him, both because of who she is as the former Sword Champion and the amount of Abundance abominations she alone had been able to slay, as well as the pain she inflicted giving him new purpose, a choice to give him a “second chance” despite at one point having wished to leave him to his misery as a fate worse than death, as described in her character story.

Both Blade and Jingliu experienced great suffering in their childhoods

Blade's swordsmanship ability comes directly from Jingliu’s tutelage

His personal oath comes directly from Jingliu, as she forced it into his psyche over and over through death and rebirth in order to force him to remember:

They both took on deals through which they are able to have access to suppression for their mara:

And both are fighting towards goals that are implied to, at least currently, be impossible (following who I believe to be extremely suspicious individuals):

Also, both are equally stubborn, seen both through their refusal to take no as an answer to Dan Heng's wishes to no longer associate with them and through their refusal to listen to anything that may trigger or directly refute their perceptions of reality:

But most importantly:

Blade and Jingliu both became mara-struck very quickly after Baiheng’s death.

It's repeatedly mentioned that mara is linked to to the artificially stretched lifespans of Xianzhou natives, but also that a fundamental aspect of the affliction is tied to the accumulation of painful memories. Given that vast scope of the destruction that occurred during this bane, and the extreme closeness both Jingliu and Blade had to the deceased and beloved Baiheng (in addition to the trauma of being transmuted into another species entirely, in Blade's case), it's no surprise that both of them are affected so deeply. Additionally, a common treatment for mara is avoiding accessing painful memories or suppressing/removing them entirely.

As Blade himself states that the effects of mara affliction are unique to the individual, I can't make a sweeping judgement of the symptoms all the mara-struck; the specific manifestations of Jingliu and Blade's afflictions, however, can be related to the concept of complicated grief:

We see these symptoms heavily within Jingliu, who literally wears a blindfold to avoid seeing anything that can trigger painful memories, has a voiceline describing how she can't remember many details of the time she and Baiheng spent together, speaks how she's plagued with nightmares about Baiheng, and she refuses to not only prohibit herself from forgetting the pain of what happened to her that day, but also the remaining members of the HCQ.

Similar observations can be made for Blade; he notably speaks very little and withdraws from most social situations, not wanting to take part in “annoying conversations.” His particular form of mara affliction is, by his own admission, unusual and devoid of any real emotion. The few moments of reprieve are spent either thinking too much or not thinking of anything at all. When his mara strikes, though, he shuts down, going completely numb and lashing out at whatever's in his way- not unlike certain displays of trauma responses in real life. He asks directly, “Why does someone like her have to be buried, burned to ash, and eventually forgotten...? Why!?” And given Yingxing being quoted saying directly during this quest that he doesn't wish for an overly long life, and Blade's intense suicidal ideations in the present, it's not a far reach to suggest that he also wishes that he died with her or in her stead.

And both are unable to find purpose in a life without her:

Blade and Jingliu both accuse Dan Heng of being unwilling to accept the past, but both of them are quite literally and physically unable to do so themselves— Dan Heng was even the only one to have spent extended time in the Shackling Prison, even though he should not have had to due to his rebirth, while both Blade and Jingliu were both wanted criminals who managed to escape. They both walk carrying the pain of the past through the present because they feel empty without it. And, unlike Dan Heng, neither one of them have a future that they feel can look forward to.

On that note, Jing Yuan, the only member of the HCQ who is capable of succumbing to mara and yet hasn't, is also the only member to directly acknowledge Dan Heng's autonomy and existence. This extends to Dan Feng as well, as both Blade and Jingliu most often refer to both Dan Heng and Dan Feng interchangeably with the title of Imbibitor Lunae, rather than their names.

The only ones to continue to deny Dan Heng's existence and rebirth are those who are unable to leave the past behind, such as the mirage echoes forever tied to Scalegorge Waterscape, as well as Blade and Jingliu, forever tied to their own suffering.

[Side note: This is exactly why I believe HYV decided to have 1.3 end with an entire questline based around the showing the process of accepting death and healthy grieving: to act as a direct juxtaposition to Blade and Jingliu, who both are unable to engage in the process themselves.] ————

Yingxing and Dan Feng/Blade and Dan Heng

Yingxing the Furnace Master and High Elder Dan Feng were very close. They were good friends, yes, but they were also bad for each other, according to Kafka:

Which would be easy enough on its to write off as her own interpretation of a story she’s heard but doesn’t know enough to understand. But Jingliu, the living member of the HCQ most affected by their actions, shows agreement with her assessment, pointing out that she’d found it strange “to see someone so arrogant get along with someone so proud.”

These specific traits are mentioned and attributed to them multiple times— the arrogant craftsman and the proud high elder. The reason for this is also stated by Kafka: “Together, they did something bad— something terrible. It led to horrific consequences.”

The emphasis that they did it together, almost directly after stating that the pair were bad for one another (which was a conscious choice to have her say, as her statements of their shared mistake and Blade's memory loss would have sufficed on their own), is important not simply because they both made and adhered to the plan; it’s important because it implies that it was directly because it took the two of them specifically to create the chaos and unrest that took place and not anyone else. This isn’t a condemnation of either of them as individuals, but Jingliu herself points out that even the smartest people can make extremely ill-advised decisions in the heat of the moment.

If Yingxing hadn’t arrogantly believed himself alone capable of handling and utilizing the remains of the very Emanator it took a plethora of combatants including the entire HCQ to take down (likely leading to the loss in the usability of his hands as a result):

If Dan Feng hadn’t proudly believed his “salvation” more righteous than the autonomy of those mortals he sought to save, "letting" them continue living as though the right to withhold the honor of dying for a cause they believed in was his alone, while also seeming to blindly believe himself incapable of being deceived or misunderstanding something:

None of the resulting fallout would have happened.

Only one with powers like those of the High Elder of the Vidyadhara could have attempted what Dan Feng did, and only an outworlder who has experienced the allure of immortality and experienced the fear of not having enough time would be willing to assist, given the Xianzhou’s stance on acts regarding immortality.

Furnace Master and High Elder, filled with blind confidence in themselves, blind confidence in each other, enabling each other (Yingxing calling out to Dan Feng and implying that they had to be the ones to make a choice, Dan Feng being moved by his human heart’s words and his own exhaustion with watching the deaths of those around him) to make a dangerous choice at a critical moment when their close companion is in mortal peril (more accurately already dead but they couldn’t accept that), and make the decision to ignore the autonomy of everyone involved. They had no contingency plan because they were sure that, with each other, that it would work. Because of this, they both share the blame, their noble intentions not enough to outweigh their unforgivable sin.

Jing Yuan is noted to have “always understood the price better than any of [the HCQ], yet he never spoke up, never did anything”, but anyone who has had the experience of trying to tell an arrogant or prideful person that they’re wrong or making a mistake knows that that’s an uphill battle on its own. Add in that it would be two against one (one of whom he already canonically bickered with constantly throughout their companionship), asking two of the most stubborn people he knew to give up on their desire to save the beloved (for Yingxing, Baiheng; for Dan Feng, his people), the two that were closer to each other than he was with either of them (not to imply that the HCQ weren’t all very close to each other because they definitely were but in obv differing ways) right in the middle of a high stress situation where there’s no time for arguing, and what remains is Jing Yuan with no options but to watch as disaster unfolded before him and everyone else, knowing that their minds were already made up.

Yingxing never wanted to be immortal or to see Baiheng suffering, but his own hubris helped lead to both.

Dan Feng never wanted to endure the sight of meaningless death, and yet directly caused it due to his pride, believing he had the right to play god and interfere with the natural process of death, or to consider that he may be wrong.

They were good friends who were bad for each other, and good people who made an exceedingly bad decision.

In the present, it’s been over 700 years since the last meeting of the High-Cloud Quintet, meaning Yingxing and Dan Feng have been essentially dead for roughly 7x the length of the HCQ’s entire existence. Their new identities, Blade and Dan Heng are clearly meant to parallel each other, but as opposing forces going in different directions, given Blade’s unwavering desire to die, and Dan Heng’s unwavering desire to live and to protect those he cares for. Both were put through immense suffering that, in the same vein, provided the means of “freedom” for them— Blade, through the sword; Dan Heng, through banishment. And both have found new colleagues to consider allies, though even the two groups are opposed to one another.

At this point in time, they’re enemies in all respects, and the chances of any reconciliation between them in my opinion is VERY slim for multiple reasons not limited to how much time has already passed at this point:

1) Dan Heng does not trust Blade at all and actively considers him one of the biggest threats to both his own and his companions’ safety, with good reason. The only way this could feasibly change is if Blade were to stop hunting him, which likely would not happen because

2) Blade is wholly devoted to Elio’s predictions for him, which Dan Heng’s existence would be paradoxical to. One of Blade’s wishes is to kill Imbibitor Lunae specifically in revenge, and he doesn’t (or can't) accept Dan Heng’s existence; if what Dan Heng claims about his identity is true, then that could only mean the future Elio promised must be false, which would strip him of the only purpose he has left in this world, leaving him as an empty, undying husk. This matter is also complicated by the fact that

3) There is still no cure for the mara that afflicts Blade, which would be the only avenue through which Blade could even begin to consider accepting Dan Heng and potentially reconciling. Both he and Jingliu were able to discover methods of having it suppressed, but both were temporary fixes: Jingliu notes that her time is beginning to run out, and Kafka had to use alternate means to reduce the potency of the mara within Blade after it violently flared up after merely being on the Xianzhou, which is likely the only reason the meeting between the HCQ could even take place with his attendance. On top of this, there’s also the fact that

4) Blade’s feelings for Dan Feng are likely very complex as well. Deep down, there’s clearly still some fondness there in the way Blade looks back on the time spent with Dan Feng, but he’s also one of the people he deeply resents and wants to see dead, which I believe could be due to his belief that it’s Dan Feng’s fault that Baiheng died. There is a choice-dependent voiceline from Baiheng deep within Dan Heng's memories that calls out to him to save them from the starskiff, but we know that it crashed. He tried to invoke the Transmutation Arcaneum, but it failed, instead turning Baiheng into a half-dragon monstrosity whose wails of pain echoed all around them. And then, though he wasn’t the one to deal the final blow, he might as well have by giving the location of the dragon’s weak spot to Jingliu. To top everything off, everything ended with Blade within an immortal body, one that leaves him in constant pain, particularly during the healing process after “death”.

From his perspective, it’s easy to see just why Blade could place the blame of Baiheng’s burial and the near destruction of the Luofu solely on Dan Feng, accusing Dan Feng alone of being the one to stubbornly adhere to the plan; it’s also easy to point out Blade’s hypocrisy given his role as Dan Feng’s accomplice. There are multiple potential reasons for this in my opinion: his brain, afflicted by both mara and prior memory loss (though he never forgets Dan Feng’s eyes or “how cruelty burst out from beneath the mirror-like emerald calmness”); his arrogance, leading him to absolve himself of any guilt or wrongdoing because he believes himself incapable of failing; the current youth-like quality of his mind, reduced to immaturely (by which I purely mean the dictionary definition of having/showing emotional development of someone younger) craving nothing but revenge while simultaneously absolving responsibility by saying “He did it! Not me!”. Also, considering Jingliu’s dialogue to Dan Feng where she says to him “If your death can return everything to how it was, I would do it,” and the many ways Blade already emulates Jingliu, it isn’t too difficult to consider that he may have taken that duty on himself out of grief and longing.

Along with these reasons, the narrative emphasizes that even almost a millennium after Yingxing and Dan Feng’s deaths, destruction follows in their wake whenever their new lives cross paths. Dan Heng learned this quickly, hence his fervent desire to keep distance and his relative uncertainty of anywhere that could possibly be safe for him, though he also learned rather quickly that this was futile. Blade was always able to find him, entire spaceships destroyed in his unshakable desire to kill him. On the Xianzhou, not only was Dan Heng dragged into a fight with Blade, but so too was Yanqing. This cycle of destruction is implied to have been so constant for Dan Heng that it’s likely the entire reason he never feels safe or feels unable to confide in anyone so as to not risk putting them in danger.

----

The Destruction Trio

Imbibitor Lunae, Blade, and Jingliu all being on the path of destruction is no coincidence given their histories. The three “sinners” all shared a key trait: being able to cope with death and painful losses. Both Yingxing and Dan Feng viewed her as arrogant and proud, respectfully, which was another commonality between them. This leads all three of them to not only become the orchestrators of their own self-destruction, but the destruction of those around them as well: Dan Feng witnessing countless deaths and being forced to be reborn as another; Yingxing’s loss of his gift and creative abilities as well as the transformation into the immortal Blade who only sees himself as a weapon; Jingliu’s abandonment of her sacred oath and everyone she killed during her time under the influence of the mara poisoning her mind. Only Dan Heng walks a different path, as he is the only one to have directly stated that he accepts the past that happened but refuses to let it stain his bright future.

The three of them are also intrinsically linked in their pain. Dan Feng and Yingxing's mistake led directly to Jingliu's suffering; Jingliu's treatment of Blade led to his becoming a living weapon and catching the eye of the Stellaron Hunters, and also to him being able to inflict similar suffering to Dan Heng by hunting him constantly. Blade and Jingliu both are of the mind that this is inevitable and inescapable, but only Dan Heng is in a position to be able and willing to question whether he really does have to continue feeling that pain.

While it's still very early on in HSR's lifespan making it difficult to make any real concrete theories, for now I predict that Jingliu will die in her attempt to kill the Abundance, and I also believe her to be aware of this deep down, as she likely sees this as a way for her to atone and find her peace. It also makes most sense for Blade to die at some point as well, considering his parallels to Jingliu, his current character and the fact that while Yingxing used to fear not having enough time in life when he was young, he came to accept his mortality in his elder years after the full life he lived with the HCQ; it could even possibly be in defense of Dan Heng, which could provide a full-circle end to their cycle and their story, a form of closure that no other broken pair has seemed to get so far. Their respective character stories, while directly representing their current struggles, can also be viewed as allusions to their fates as well, with Blade's referring to his death and Dan Heng's highlighting him seeing the dawn of a new day. I also think it could be feasible for the discovery of a method to remove Blade's mara and for him to grow content with the Blade of today, even with powers he doesn't want, similar to Dan Heng accepting that Imbibitor Lunae's powers will always be a part of him; a "miraculous cure" sort of ending could be very clunky if not handled well in my opinion, though.

----

The Reunion

Though it's phrased in a metaphorical way, I feel pretty sure that not only did we just see the reunion alluded to by the PoWC bracer, but also that this is another remnant of Jingliu’s influence that some part of Blade’s subconscious must have clung to:

Note the usage of “should”, a term with many meanings but the most applicable being “expressing a conjecture or hope,” rather than something like “will”, which would indicate future tense or an inevitable event.

Jingliu’s splash art alone shows her pouring out a cup of alcohol

In Jingliu’s character story, Baiheng is said to have brought Jingliu “divine nectar from the other side of the universe”

At the beginning of the companion quest, in the Seat of Divine Foresight, she mentions wanting to have a glass of wine and reminisce with old friends

She is the one to bring the jade flask that Blade handcrafted himself for her when she releases the starskiff in her memory

When the remaining quartet reach Scalegorge Waterscape, she directly mentions that she never believed the 4 of them, with their many grudges and all friendship lost, would gather again and specifically quantifies the hundreds of years that have passed

She does this twice more, mentioning the seven centuries and how they all did this 700 hundred years ago

She is the one to point out that, in the past, they all promised to meet together again for a drink no matter what happened

She says that she believed “those joyful days would flow indefinitely before us” which also fits within the imagery of drinking

There are multiple visual nods to drinking in her flashbacks as well: there’s the quintet having a toast, as well as Jingliu pouring out the alcohol once again while Yingxing sips off to the side, which symbolically is a good representation of the way she poured so much of herself into Blade (whether intentionally or unintentionally) that so much of him resembles her now, down to the bow on the back of his clothes (and even their similar splash arts). There’s also a glimpse of Yingxing and Jing Yuan drinking together. Because both of them were children when they each met Jingliu for the first time, it makes sense that Jingliu and the others were likely the ones to teach the pair to drink once they each came of age.

Jingliu mentions that they will likely never all meet again, and bids farewell to the HCQ.

Finally, at the very end of the quest, she directly says:

Blade mentions alcohol only once, when he says, "The miraculous thing is that in my brief moment of death... all the pain went away... like when we drank to drown our sorrows." In Jingliu's case, we know that she was affected in much the same way as Blade, becoming more confident and boastful under the effects of drinking, mentioning that the nightmares and pain from her childhood memories were no longer so terrifying. For both of them, alcohol is another form of suppression of pain, not unlike substance abuse seen in real life, which grieving individuals are at higher risk of falling victim to.

While it’s possible this wasn’t the reunion that alluded to and they could technically all reunite once more in the future, the sheer number of references to the contents of the backstory mentioned in the bracer lead me to believe that this isn’t the case, as well as Jingliu stating herself that this would likely be their final meeting before she pays her own ultimate price. Not to mention the fact that very specific circumstances had to be in play for Jingliu/Luocha, the Stellaron Hunters, and the Astral Express to all end up on Jing Yuan’s doorstep at the same time. Specificity like that is rarely duplicated, particularly in HSR’s canon, which features many characters with formerly close bonds being separated for whatever reason with no closure to their relationship. The four of them even getting one reunion was a blessing in itself, even though none of them felt particularly happy about it afterwards.

TLDR: Dan Heng is accused of running from his past, but he is the only one of the three "sinners" capable and willing to do so; Jingliu and Blade are heavy parallels of each other and share the same pains of complicated grief; Yingxing and Dan Feng together (and Blade and Dan Heng by association) bring out the worst in each other and represent a cycle of destruction that neither of them are currently able to escape from; the reunion mentioned by the bracer was likely Jingliu's idea that Blade also began to internalize and we likely just watched it occur; Dan Feng, Blade, and Jingliu were all incapable of handling death and loss and this inability is what lead to the three of them causing so much pain and destruction for themselves, each other, and everyone around them.

[thenovelartist]

A Heart that Beats for You - Honkai: Star Rail fanfiction

Honkai did not let us have a DanStelle CPR kiss. I remedied that.

Dan Heng had been on many trailblazing missions in his time with the Astral Express. Even Stelle, who five months later was still the newest member, had racked up an impressive number.

Neither had faced a mission that had gone from bad to worse to terrible as rapidly as this one.

It was a fact Dan Heng was sharply reminded of when the rushing river sweeping him away from his companion slammed him into a rock, then a second before the current plunged him underwater. Even as a vidyadhara, he was struggling to escape this mess. Just how was he supposed to find Stelle when he could barely help himself?

Somehow, he was able to catch a break from the abuse, grabbing onto a rock and holding himself there. Even as he choked out water from his lungs, he frantically searched for Stelle. But all he got to show for it was losing his grip and falling back into the mercy of the current.

Rock after rock he was thrown against, knocking out the air he fought so hard to keep into his lungs. And when he avoided those, he was plunged underwater time and time again, hitting the bottom of the river or more rocks

Or a soft body.

Dan Heng only registered what he’d hit after he’d resurfaced, and automatically began searching for Stelle again, even as water blurred his vision.

There. A yellow flash. The ribbons on the back of her jacket.

He struggled towards it. Reached for it.

Caught it.

Even as he was once again plunged underwater, he didn’t let his grip on the ribbon go, yanking her towards him before managing to catch Stelle in his arms.

As he broke the surface, he gulpped down air as he began struggling for shore. He didn’t care which one, but he had to get to one of them. Between the rushing of the water, his own labored breathing, and the ringing in his ears, he didn’t register the sound of a waterfall until it was too late.

Until they were over the edge.

Until they were falling, falling, falling.

Splash.

His body hit the water hard, skin burning in the cold. But when he made it to the surface with Stelle still hanging over his arm, he found the water was quieter. They were still being pulled down the river, but it was much wider and deeper, allowing for a respite. Panting heavily and still choking on the shocking amount of water that ran down his face into his mouth, he searched for shore. Using every free appendage and ounce of energy that he could, he swam for the closest bank.

It was only once his feet managed to touch the bottom did it register in his mind that Stelle wasn’t moving. As if his heartrate wasn’t already racing, it somehow picked up speed. That ringing in his ears only grew worse, and his stomach dropped a rock.

Pressing himself to go faster, trudging out of the water and pulling the limp body with him, he collapsed onto shore, doing his best to cling to Stelle’s unconscious body. Hands shaking, he tried checking her vitals, pressing his fingers on her wrists and neck but finding nothing.

He didn’t hesitate before starting chest compressions, counting off each one in his head and still almost losing track. Then, even though he could barely get air into his own lungs, he tilted her head back, slamming his mouth against hers as he forced air into her.

“Come on, Stelle,” he called out in a panic, starting up a second round of fifteen compressions. Once again, he tilted her head back, breathing into her twice more.

By now, water was dripping from her mouth as Dan Heng pressed against her chest once, twice, three times

And she choked.

“Come on,” he muttered again, continuing his compressions a forth, fifth time before she convulsed under him, water already pouring from her mouth.

He flipped her over right as she violently vomited out the water in her lungs before gasping for air.

“Just breathe,” he encouraged, sweet relief flooding his body as he rubbed her back, hoping it would help coax that river water from her lungs. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

For a while, he stayed put, half hovering over her as she continued to cough and sputter. She was shaking as she braced herself on her elbows and knees, all her hacking slowly subsiding as she continued to gasp for air. Dan Heng was on his knees right beside her, his hand never leaving her back as he kept murmuring words of encouragement to her. Or maybe those were meant to reassure him that she was alive, that she was breathing, that she’d be okay. He didn’t know.

Slowly, she lowered herself all the way to the ground, her breathing finally steady with only the occasional cough.

Dan Heng was now grasping her shoulder, clinging to her as he hung his head in relief. Finally, the knot in his stomach eased, and the ringing in his ears had subsided.

Allowing him to hear the rustling of the bushes.

Instantly, he was on high alert, every muscle in his body tensing as he braced himself protectively over Stelle, eyes scanning over the area trying to find the threat.

He was so on edge that the mere touch of Stelle’s fingertips on his arm sent a jolt of lightning through him. “D-dan Heng—”

“Stay put,” he commanded.

She sighed, not arguing.

That’s when someone broke through the bushes. “There you are!”

Dan Heng felt himself relax only slightly as their guide on this planet came running down the bank towards them.

“Stay back,” he warned, voice taking on a growly edge as his lips curled into a snarl. “Give her space.”

The guide seemed to pale as he came to a stop. “She okay?”

“Yeah,” came the weak, almost inaudible reply from under Dan Heng, and he noticed Stelle throw a weak thumbs up at the newcomer. It would have been a lot more convincing if she’d been able to hold her fist off the ground for even a second.

“She will be,” Dan Heng said. “We need a place for her to recover properly. She almost drowned in the river.”

The guide nodded. “I know a place around here, but it’s a little ways away, so I’ll have to get a gurney.”

“I’ll carry her.”

“I can walk,” Stelle weakly protested.

“I’ll. Carry. You,” he growled at her. “And I won’t argue with you.”

He heard her sigh. “Fine, I… don’t have it in me.”

Those words were far less reassuring than he’d like them to be.

~~~

Her lungs were on fire. Her throat felt scorched. Every breath she took physically hurt.

And yet, she was so cold.

Dan Heng had made good on his word to carry her who-knows-how-far until they arrived at some little inn on the edge of town. She and Dan Heng had been given changes of clothes but only a single room. It’s all they had to offer, but it was fine since Dan Heng didn’t seem like he would be leaving her side any time soon.

And to prove that, he stood in the corner facing the wall as she changed.

She should likely be far more uncomfortable with the idea than she was, but she knew he wouldn’t turn around. He wouldn’t dare unless she collapsed and he had no choice. They hadn’t known each other long, but the amount of trust she had in him was staggering.

While wanting to be quick about it, she also wanted to take her time drying off before getting into the loaned clothes. The river had been cold, and she was shivering uncontrollably now. Maybe it was her body’s reaction to almost dying.

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, she supposed.

Roughly, she toweled her hair dry before tossing the towel aside. She slipped into the shirt first, then the pants. They were loose, borderline falling off of her, but she didn’t have a choice. Frankly, she was just thankful they were dry.

“Okay.” Newly exhausted, she collapsed onto the bed right as he turned to face her. “Your turn. I won’t look.”

“Are you dry enough?”

“Dry as I can be,” she returned, playing with her damp hair. Her towel was too wet to remove any more water from it. Thankfully, it wasn’t too bad. She’d manage.

“I can see if they have another towel.”

“I’m fine,” she assured. “And if you’re going to ignore me, then at least change first.”

He hummed. “Fine.”

With that, she laid down on the pillow, facing the opposite direction. She would have closed her eyes anyway, but now she did so because they were growing heavier by the moment. She was tired. And cold.

Very cold.

A shiver wracked her body as she pulled the covers up around her, curling into a ball underneath it.

She heard Dan Heng pause, then sigh before continuing to get dressed. After a moment longer, she felt the weight of a hand on her shoulder. “Are you certain you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” she answered, looking up at him, only to be overwhelmed by the concern etched into his features. “I’m breathing, at least.”

“Yes.” His grip on her shoulder tightened. “Thankfully.”

She couldn’t stand that tense look on his face. “I’m glad that March was right and you are good at CPR.”

He didn’t crack a smile. On the contrary, his eyes narrowed. “Not funny.”

Unsure what to say, she turned away, a guilty warmth rising to her cheeks. Fisting her hands in the covers, she pulled them up to her chin.

She could hear him sigh. “You had me scared,” he muttered, sliding his hands under the covers so as to lay his hand over hers. “You coughed up so much water. I just want to make sure there’s no lingering effects.”

His fingers wrapped around her hand, his thumb pressing against her wrist. It took too long for her to realize he was checking her pulse.

“I’m okay,” she said, turning onto her back so she could look up at him comfortably. She made sure to keep hold of his hand, twisting her own hand around to lace their fingers together. “Really. Maybe a little tired and cold.”

“Do you want me to see if they have another blanket for you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “This should be enough for now.”

He squeezed her hand, nodding. “Okay. Tell me if you need anything.”

“I promise,” she assured, if only to calm her companion down.

It seemed to do the trick, as his death grip on her hand relaxed.

“Thanks, by the way, for saving me.” She definitely said those words too late, but better than never. “And carrying me here.”

Finally, his tense expression calmed. He squeezed her hand, conveying what he couldn’t put into words.

She squeezed back, shooting him a thankful smile. “Are you okay?” she asked. Words that, once again, were spoken too late.

“I’m not the one who almost drowned,” he countered.

“Sorry for wanting to care for my savior,” she retorted, trying once again to lighten the atmosphere between them.

This time, she was successful. “Sorry,” he murmured, ducking his head slightly. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“You always say that,” she said, reaching up with her free hand to cradle his cheek. “But I always do.”

His jade eyes widened at the contact, but his gaze soon softened as he leaned into her touch. With his other hand, he reached over to hold her wrist, keeping her hand in place.

“So I’ll ask again,” she repeated. “Are you okay?”

He sighed, his eyes drifting shut as he savored her touch for a few seconds. “I am now,” he finally answered, his eyes slowly opening again. “Maybe a little tired.”

Finally, you admit it, she thought, small smile crossing her lips as she did. After pulling her hands away, much to both of their dismay, she scooted over on the bed so as to make room for him. Once the spot she had been laying was free, she patted the mattress. “Then rest.”

He looked hesitant, and Stelle wondered if he’d decline for one reason or another. However, when he gave a nod, she felt relieved as she watched him slip into the spot she had inhabited.

“I’ll make an exception this once,” he said. “Because I… would feel more comfortable watching over you for a little longer.”

Stelle felt her heart warm at his admission. For as cold and stand-offish as Dan Heng appeared to be, many months traveling together had allowed her to see just how deeply he cared about those on the Express, her included. “Thanks. Although, I doubt you’ll have to resuscitate me again.”

“I’d prefer not to,” he commented, reaching out to lay a hand over her shoulder. “Ever.”

“I’ll do my best to make sure of that,” she sheepishly said, her cheeks growing warm at his touch.

He gave her a relaxed smile, and she felt the knot in her stomach release. “Get some sleep,” he coaxed. “And tell me if you need anything. Don’t be afraid to wake me. I’d rather know right away if you start feeling worse.”

Oh, she was feeling worse by the moment, but that had nothing to do with almost drowning in water. “Like if I feel a little queasy and find it hard to breathe?”

His eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he said, already propping himself up on his elbow to look over her. Honestly, he looked ready to move on a moment’s notice. “Especially that.”

The way he was leaning over her, his gaze sharp as he examined her, was doing things to her heart. But her mind was also a mess. What was she saying? What was she doing?

Well, considering she had him on alert, she had to follow it through; Dan Heng wouldn’t take “just joking” for an answer. At least, he wouldn’t take it well.

Reaching up, she wrapped her hands around the back of his head, trying to coax him closer—

“Stelle?”

—and closer until his face as right in front of her.

“This isn’t a time for games,” he warned. “If you’re not feeling well—”

She didn’t let him finish. Instead, she silenced him by pressing her lips to his.

He stiffened, pulling away before she could truly be satisfied. “Stelle.”

His voice held a sharp edge of concern that had her backtracking. “Mouth to mouth is supposed to help with that, right?”

He choked, then grunted out of frustration. “Don’t play with me like that,” he growled, a worried anger seeping into his increasingly loud tone. “I watched you drown. I could have lost you. Don’t you understand how terrified I was?”

“Exactly: I almost died,” she countered, loud enough to cut into his rant. “For the second time in my life. I don’t know how else to cope but to keep rolling like it was nothing.”

“You…”  Rendered speechless, he looked away, heaving a sigh.

Her stomach sank. He was mad. No, he was furious. And she wasn’t helping.

Slowly, guiltily, she pulled her hands away. “Sor—"

Instantly, his lips were smashed against hers. She failed to swallow her squeak of surprise, but by the time he was running his fingers through her hair to cradle the back of her head, she became putty under his touch. She met his kiss with enthusiasm, taking taking taking whatever he’d give her.

It was a shame he pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” Dan Heng said. “I… didn’t realize how it would have affected you.”

Great, now he was apologizing. Like that made her feel any better. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

His lips pursed as he fought for words, his fingers gently scratching the back of her skull all the while. “I… er.” He swallowed, trying to gather his composure. “We should talk… before this continues.”

He was right; they really should. But she was also tired and dizzy and a mess of emotions she wasn’t sure she could control. “Can I convince you to sleep first?” she asked.

“All right,” he easily relented. “I… I think that would be wise. We’re both too on edge and emotional for it to be productive.”

Logical as ever, she thought. But then her heart reminded her it wasn’t a dismissal of her feelings.

As if she wasn’t a mess before…

Dan Heng pushed himself away, rolling back onto his side of the bed. Suddenly, that felt too far away from her.

So she pressed closer, which only caused him to freeze. “Stelle?”

“I’m still cold.” It was an excuse, and a flimsy one at that.

And yet, he relented, wrapping her up in his arms and holding her close. “We will talk about all this.”

“I know.” She draped her hand over his shoulder, snuggling in closer to this man she’d spent too much time falling for. “But I don’t see us talking ourselves out of this.”

She was so close she could feel his quiet sigh more than she could hear it. And she definitely felt the way he ran his hand up her back, curling around her protectively. “I don’t, either.”

With a happy little hum, she let her eyes drift closed, trying to fall asleep while her heart beat wildly in her chest.

A heart that he’d sparked to life in more ways than one.

[catiecat1320]

Sonadowtober Prompt 31: All-Nighter

While doing work after curfew, Shadow is visited by an annoyance

For my space pirates AU, Event Horizon

(And with this, the Sonadowtober series is complete!! To anyone who read any of it, thank you so much. Love you all!!)

Read Below🔽

“You’re supposed to be asleep.” Shadow growled, hands flicking on the astral map projection in front of him even as his eyes wander. The blue hedgehog hiding in the doorway poked his head into view and flashed a cheeky smile.

“But how come you’re up still, hm?” 

“I have work to do.”

Sonic bounced over, peering curiously at the hologram a second before it’s shut off. “Hmph. Who says I don’t?”

“I’m the captain,” Shadow snaps, not in the mood to deal with his newest crewmate’s bullshit. “I know everything that you have to do. Which is nothing. Now get out of my sight.”

“Killjoy. You’re not getting rid of me that easily, cap.” Sonic folds his fingers together and stretches, returning Shadow’s glare with a determined look. It’s complemented by an oh-so-annoying smirk that just serves to infuriate the latter.

“I said, go to sleep.”

Sonic is unfazed by the seething hedgehog in front of him, or at least he acts the part. “Look man, I literally can’t. Handy-dandy thing called insomnia that gives me an excuse to stay up and what not.”

“I. Don’t. Care. Get out of my sight before I smite you where you stand.” Shadow curls his fist discreetly, chaos energy flickering in arcs across his glove. Sonic narrows his eyes at the golden-orange glow.

“And here I thought you cared for your crewmates, captain.”

Shadow sucked in a deep breath through gritted teeth. Oh, he was just asking to be punched. “You don’t count. You’re only here because Rouge made me take you in. My crew may be friendly with you, but don’t think for a moment that it applies to me.”

The blue hedgehog had the audacity to look wounded. “Ouch. You’re a tough one to crack, y’know? I’ll get through you one day.” He leaned ever so closer to the many buttons on the projection table…

Shadow swung his fist.

And missed. By a lot.

Sonic blinked at him from two feet away. “You—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence before Shadow lunged at him, red eyes trained on his figure. Sonic dodges, leaving the former falling through his afterimage.

Not teleportation, just speed, Shadow notes. His annoyance gives way to intrigue. He’s never met somebody who could keep up with himself before.

“Woah, woah.” Sonic holds his hands up, surprise written on his face. “Look, dude.”

“It’s captain.” Shadow charges at him again, less with animosity, more with the desire to test the other’s limits. Either way, Sonic shuts up and takes the bait, weaving skillfully out of the way of chaos-charged attacks as if he’s fought Shadow his whole life. 

They fall into what was almost a rhythm, an uncertain but powerful dance around the expensive tech that existed in the same space as them. In hindsight, sparring in the main room was not a good idea. Neither hedgehog cared, however.

Neither hedgehog would admit that they found sparks of enjoyment in their impromptu fight either. Especially not Shadow.

Neon blue energy arcs in bursts around Sonic, lighting up his emerald eyes with a glint that promised danger. Shadow throws a fist where his annoying smirk was, only to be met with air, again. 

This time though, Sonic sweeps a leg under him and both topple to the ground. From there things get a lot less scripted, veering right into a full-on wrestling contest. Sonic’s previous defense rapidly crumbles to show his true competitive side, a wild offense that is as chaotic as the blue energy that grows ever stronger.

Shadow doesn’t let him off easy. He’s the captain after all, and someone’s got to put Sonic in his place. The silent exchange turns not-so-silent as the former flips on top and drives a knee into the latter’s gut, wiping the stars-damned smirk off that annoying face and eliciting a satisfying yelp. While Sonic’s recovering, Shadow grabs both his wrists and pins him to the floor—

“Captain?” 

Both hedgehogs’ attention immediately snaps on the newcomer. Tails. His namesakes flick nervously as he takes in the scene in front of him. “What are you two…?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” Shadow gets up and brushes himself off. He can feel emerald eyes staring into the back of his head as he walks over to the fox, demeanor flipped 180 from the vicious fighter he was a moment ago. “Sonic and I were just working some things out. Speaking of which, I need a test done on him: a chaos energy reading. Later. You can go back to sleep right now; I can tell you’re still tired.”

“An energy reading,” Tails echoes, letting out a little yawn. “Alright! Cool. See y’all.” He shuffles off to bed, satisfied.

Shadow turns back to Sonic, who’s still sitting on the floor, bewildered. “What test? What’re you gonna do? What did I do?”

“Relax, Hedgehog. If we were going to hurt you, you’d be dead by now.”

“You just tried to kill me.”

Shadow paused. Touché. “That… was also a test. Besides, Miles will be administering this one. You trust him, yes?”

Sonic nods, puffing his cheeks up in thought. “That’ll be okay. What’s it even for anyway?”

“If your results are as I predict, you’re powerful to a scope I haven’t considered. Have you never heard of chaos energy?” Shadow opens his palm, allowing golden-orange arcs to light the room. Sonic looks at a loss, staring down at his own hands like it’d magically summon something without his prompting.

Shadow sighs and turns around, waving him off. “You have a lot to learn. Clearly, the IA needs a lesson on the fundamentals of the universe.”

“Wait, wait. Can you teach me?” Sonic grabs his arm and swings around to face ruby eyes, putting on a horrible puppy-eyes display. Shadow swats him away.

“Wipe that look off your face.”

On the contrary, his pout deepens. “Please, captain?”

“You’re an idiot.” Shadow gestures for him to sit. Despite the insult, Sonic brightens as he complies, and Shadow realizes that there might be more than one motive to the other’s action. “You are allowed to stay up just this once, you hear?”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Now talk. Please.”

[cosmicarcanist]

hii, asking here because i’m shy lol

i saw on twitter that you (and chër) have been working on psychonauts aus. i think the concept looks really cool so i was wondering if you could tell us a little about what you’ve been cooking !! love your work btw <33

oh thank you so much! yeah me and cher talk a lot abt intricate aus (and canon) so i can share some of my viktor stuff for the psychonauts au (under the cut its long)

viktor was originally an intern for the psychonauts! He mentored under sasha, and he has the special ability of like tech psychic powers (he can remotely control any tech w his mind, hes also adept in most other abilities except he cant read minds at ALL)

He met chuck (pre mundo) who was working security there and decided to help him try to awaken and stengthen his powers while also testing his own devices! Sasha (and otto) rly believe in him so his machines begin to be used by the psychonauts and hes being tracked to join them!

The other psychonauts tho are p worried abt some of the stuff he talks abt, some of his aspirations and ideas, theyre... concerning (unless ur otto). Sasha still vouches for and defends his pupil cause hes just misguided his hearts in the right place hes just very intense and passionate and ambitious but he can be put on the right path! Some stuff happens, a kid dies, viktor thinks its the perfect opportunity for him to test his robot he built that requires a brain (it was originally built for an adult brain but viktor saw a kid in need whose life was cut short and he decided to take the chance now). The psychonauts see this as an affront to humanity, that viktors trapped a child in a construct and turned them into a monster, that this is unethical and dangerous; viktor sees the psychonauts as wishy washy centrists that twiddle their thumbs rather than help a child by any means necessary.

he gets kicked out.

hes stripped of any accolades, any prospects, even his own inventions (they choose to keep and USE THEM). Sasha fought to keep him, otto genuinely thinks what he did is right and Cool, but hes deemed a danger so they kick him out. Sashas concerned what this will do to his pupils psyche and that this is a surefire way to create an enemy for the psychonauts and he was CORRECT

viktor goes and becomes a weird hermit in the woods, sets up a lab out there. He got separated from chuck and he cant go back to talk to him, but after a short while he founds out chuck left and thinks he just left of his own volition without saying anything. He has drones survey the woods as a means of security but also kind of to see if he ever finds chuck (his drones act as a sort of hive mind of which he controls and can see through). Blitz comes with him as his now adopted robot son (gender nonspecific). Theres quite a few things viktor can never forgive the psychonauts for but one of them is treating blitz as if theyre a monster and not a CHILD

fast forward quite a few years and chucks come back from the asylum, now as mundo, and escapes hq into the woods where viktors drones find him. Viktor being psychic and also chucks ex?? boyfriend recognizes him immediately and is horrified to find him transformed and not himself, so he takes him back to the lab and hooks him up to a machine that he can astral project his own cosciousness into mundos head

where he promptly gets trapped

YOU as the player have up till this point heard nothing but horrified whispers and terrible rumours about viktor. Hed been stripped of the records as the man that had invented much of their tech, but you hear enough to get the impression hes a deranged, dangerous monster that killed a child and put their brain into an unfeeling unthinking automaton to do his bidding, and that he lurks the woods looking for more victims. You start to hear other stories tho that may pique your curiosity, so you go looking for his lab and have to brace yourself for whatever dangerous psychic youll have to face

instead you find viktor and mundo hooked up to this machine unresponsive, and for god knows how long. To advance youd have to enter mundos mind to rescue a trapped viktor, who is very hostile to you as a stranger that has suddenly entered this space, and a trespasser, but because hes been lost in the labrynth of mundos mind for god knows how long, he will reluctantly work with you to get out.

(im sure youve seen chers description for mundos mind/level but the tldr is viktor just cant wrap his head around navigating it alone so its a bit of an escort mission except viktor cant die so hes kind of just tagging along. You get to see moments of chuck/mundo and moments and memories of viktor and how he responds to them until you get to the end and fight mundo as the boss and can unite chuck and mundo as one entity hereafter referred to as atlas)

once the two of you are spat out and atlas has come to, viktor will reluctantly offer his services to you for the rest of the game, where he acts as a kind of shop and upgrade system, but at this point its fairly limited and hes still pretty standoffish.

If you want to fully unlock him and get i guess the true ending for these two, youd have to do viktors level which is completely optional because its BRUTAL. Just a completely unnecessarily harsh difficulty spike.

Viktors mind/level is a hostile environment. When you first enter its just a void with a small matryoshka in a spotlight. As you approach some wacky camera shit zooms in to find you on the surface of the now giant matryoshka, and the environment remains extremely dark, only your immediate surroundings are lit, save for the odd flash of bright light that will only briefly light up your environment. This place is overrun with enemies that are already difficult enough to deal with while trying to navigate in the dark as you look for the way to advance. The matryoshka acts as a giant safe where each doll is another vault you have to unlock to step down into the next level (each doll is also modeled after another "mask" for viktor, the outermost being the terrifying machine herald youve come to associate him as).

The real kicker to his level, though, is you are being pursued by an unkillable, unrelenting, furious and desperate machine herald through the entire level. The further down you go, the closer you get to the center, the more desperate your pursuer becomes, and the more relentless. If he catches you you will get thrown out and have to start all over, and the layout and puzzles will change. Every single part of this level is doing everything in its power to keep you from getting to the center

once you DO though, maybe you expect some kinda final boss fight against that pursuer, but once you reach the center you just find... viktor. viktor the day he got kicked out, just younger, fully human, small and afraid and extremely upset. No boss fight, just talk to viktor and help put him on the path of healing from this moment!

after finishing viktors level you unlock his shop/upgrades fully! His demeanor also changes towards you where he still feels a lil standoffish and awkward, but hes a lot more receptive to you now. His lab has also taken on more of chucks qualities since now atlas and viktor are reunited and can live together :) viktor seems more relaxed finally, sometimes he even sleeps now! he still refuses to return to the psychonauts but hes less obsessed with revenge against them, he just kind of wants to start his life over now with atlas

arguably this is the HAPPIEST au for him, psychonauts is a lot abt healing and how its a process, itll never be perfect but its all abt trying and accepting help so he gets to heal a lil as a treat here :)

uhh sorry this was the tldr version i just like coming up with fake levels, gameplay, idle animations, dialogue etc etc so its fun to stick him in a world like this and see what stays the same and whats different

[aventurineswife]

helloo, may I req platonic blade,jing yuan,dan heng and moze with a teen!reader who is like sirin from honkai impact 3rd?

“You can destroy everything in your path, but you can never destroy what lives inside you”

Tags: Blade x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Moze x Reader, Teen!Sirin!Reader, Platonic Relationships, Mentorship, Emotional Struggles, Inner Conflict, Vulnerability, Angst, Personal Growth.

Warnings: Mentions of pain and emotional turmoil, Inner conflict and rage, Destructive thoughts (brief), Themes of vengeance and loss, Mild language.

Blade stood motionless, the broken sword in his hand reflecting the dim light of the underground hideout. His eyes narrowed as he watched you, a figure consumed by inner turmoil and rage. Your expression flickered between innocence and something far darker, a complex mix of vulnerability and an undeniable thirst for vengeance. Blade recognized it instantly—the hunger for destruction, the same fire that burned within him.

“You have a choice,” Blade said softly, his voice devoid of emotion. “The path you’re walking leads to nothing but despair. I know this better than anyone.”

You glared at him, eyes flickering with frustration, before your voice cracked, “I don’t care. The world deserves to burn.”

Blade tilted his head slightly, observing your inner conflict. “Burning it all down won’t make the pain go away. Trust me, I’ve walked that path.” he muttered, glancing down at his fractured sword, a symbol of his own lost humanity. He could see the darkness in your eyes, but also a hint of something more—something worth saving.

“You’re not alone in this,” Blade said, a rare softness in his tone. “But don’t let your anger consume you. You’ll end up like me. A weapon without a soul.”

Jing Yuan leaned against a pillar, the soft glow of his golden eyes observing you as you paced restlessly. The weight of the world seemed to sit heavy on your shoulders, and the way you clutched your hands, as if holding back a storm, was telling. Jing Yuan's reputation for his foresight and calm demeanor preceded him, but he could still sense the conflict beneath your hardened exterior.

“You seem troubled,” Jing Yuan remarked, his voice slow, measured, as always. “I know what it’s like to carry the burdens of the world, but you need to understand one thing: you’re not alone.”

You stopped and turned sharply, eyes blazing with unspoken words. “I don’t need anyone. I’m stronger alone.”

Jing Yuan’s expression softened, but there was no pity in his gaze—only understanding. “Strength is not always about being alone, my young friend. Sometimes, it’s about learning to rely on others. Even the greatest warriors rely on those who walk beside them.”

You looked away, clearly struggling with the idea. Jing Yuan could sense the unresolved anger in you, a mirror of the feelings he had fought to keep in check for centuries. “I know it’s hard to trust,” Jing Yuan continued, his voice a little quieter. “But don’t let your pain isolate you. It can only make you weaker in the end.”

Dan Heng sat silently on the edge of the Astral Express, staring at the vast, starry expanse. Your footsteps were soft, almost hesitant, as you approached him. He didn’t look up immediately, but he could sense your presence—tension hanging thick in the air.

“You’re avoiding them,” your voice broke the silence, a directness that took Dan Heng by surprise. He finally looked up, his expression guarded, though his dark eyes betrayed a certain wariness.

“Not avoiding,” Dan Heng replied coolly. “Just staying out of trouble.”

You smirked bitterly, stepping closer. “Seems like you’ve been doing that your whole life.”

Dan Heng’s gaze hardened. “You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough,” you retorted. “You hide behind your responsibilities, your stoic face. You think running will make things go away. But it doesn’t.”

Dan Heng stiffened, and for a moment, his calm mask cracked. He had seen too much of himself in your rebellious defiance—too much of the pain he had buried deep within. “Running won’t solve everything, no,” he admitted quietly. “But it can keep me from destroying the things I care about.”

Your eyes softened for a brief moment before you turned away. “Yeah, I get that. But maybe you don’t have to run forever.”

Dan Heng’s gaze lingered on you. “Maybe.”

The room was quiet, save for the faint sounds of your breathing as you sat, your back pressed against the cold stone wall. Moze stood in the shadows, watching you with a cold, calculating gaze. He had been sent to observe, not to interact, but there was something about you that drew him in.

“You’re restless,” Moze said, his voice low and devoid of emotion. You flinched, not expecting the intrusion into your thoughts.

“Yeah, so?” you shot back, sharp and defensive. “What’s it to you?”

Moze stepped forward, his expression unreadable. “Restlessness doesn’t serve you. It’s a sign of a broken mind. You seek control, but you can’t control what’s inside of you.”

You clenched your fists, your shoulders tense. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Moze raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps not. But I know what it’s like to feel trapped by your past. To be consumed by the things you’ve done and the things you’ve lost.”

Your anger flickered in your eyes, but there was something else—something vulnerable, buried deep. Moze could see it, and it troubled him more than he cared to admit.

“Pain is a part of life,” Moze said, his voice steady. “But it doesn’t have to control you. You can choose to let it define you or let it go.”

You didn’t respond, but the silence between you felt different—less tense, perhaps, more thoughtful. Moze didn’t expect you to understand right away, but sometimes, it was enough to plant a seed.

[theworldwalkersdiaries]

Winter in Baldur's Gate

A Fic Series [Only viewable by registered ao3 users at this time to protect against some AI scraping]

Since I haven't been posting individually for every fic, this post will act as a directory!

Overall, the series is:

Tavstarion (Astarion/Winter, or...Aster...wwww)

SLOWBURN

Winter and Companions Friendship pieces ahoy

Eventually, Tavstarion AND Tavsin, maybe someday even HalTavStarion

The first line of each fic's summary includes the Act for ease of access/browsing/avoidance of spoilers.

Individual links under the cut!

SERIES DIRECTORY

ACT 1

A Knife to the Throat In the wake of the Nautiloid crash, Astarion clocked Winter perfectly. Namely, as someone who would, in fact, kill another roving brain at the request of a complete stranger. He didn't account for everything, however.

Elturel's Unwanted - NEW! Winter has already survived a trip to the hells and a crashing nautiloid, fought disembodied brains and imps, killed a downed mind flayer, and had a knife held to his throat. Now, he has to do the most harrowing thing of all: talk. To other people. It is going to be a Very Long Day.

On a Bird's Wing After a long day, Winter is grateful that camp is set up, but there's more yet to be done. He remembers suddenly that there's someone who needs to be told what's going on: his sister, back in Baldur's Gate.

The Beat of Wings in the Stomach | Butterflies Winter has never been good with people. In fact, he's been out in the wilds alone for so long that he often doesn't know what to do with himself. But his instinct, when he finds that one of his companions is utterly beautiful, is to try to hide it. It's not working.

Hellspawn Wyll is unmoored in the face of the changes wrought upon him by his patron, but is offered an unexpected comfort from Winter. He asks what Winter sees, and gets rather more than he bargained for.

A Little Flattery | Insight Check Astarion catches himself performing as he would were he still in Baldur’s Gate. Winter almost sees through him.

The Lightning Strike Astarion does not like being taken by surprise. But...his new companion keeps managing it. Not all of it makes him as grumpy as he thinks it ought to. Or, a storm, a tiefling who loves them, and the pale elf who doesn't know what to make of him.

Fear and Hunger Astarion wakes from a terrible nightmare and wonders just how many rules of his old life he can break. He thinks Winter is the safest bet to try and find out. He gets more than he bargained for.

Shadowheart's Phobia Shadowheart unintentionally confronts and reveals her fear. Winter is gobsmacked. Later, they share a bottle of wine and talk. Really talk.

A Tavern’s-worth of Delights Astarion entertains further expanding his palate, if only theoretically. Winter is swept along for the ride.

Prowess, and A Grimoire Hard-Won Diptypch. Prowess: Winter practices throwing some daggers and gets some unexpected company. Later, he learns a new skill, and he's not the only one surprised by it. A Grimoire Hard-Won: Astarion had told Winter he would happily carry that very cursed tome for him if he wanted, thank you very much. Now that they have the keystone, Winter offers it to him. Astarion didn't for a moment think he'd actually hand it over so easily.

A Glimpse (A Slip of the Mask) ⚠️ ASTARION'S BACKSTORY SPOILERS! ⚠️ Astarion tells Winter about his past, and what that might mean for the party's already-precarious present.

A Lullaby, or, Flies and Honey Raphael introduces himself. The companions react over dinner.

An Arrangement Winter has something he needs to talk to Astarion about, and he is Deeply Mortified.

ACT 2

Astral Aftershocks Winter is reeling in the aftermath of discovering just who, exactly, is protecting him and his companions from ceremorphosis, and how he does it, and what he offered him. Dazed and in shock, he wanders the camp, and right over to the tent of the one person he wants comfort from but is too afraid to ask for it...

ACT 3

No Sleep for the Wicked nor Wise Following an unexpected confrontation in camp, Winter has fled to the rooftops, Astarion's words lodged like a splinter in his mind. Halsin checks on him.

[invarietas]

1/2/3 for the wildly specific questions -corditeheart

Wildy Specific Headcanon Questions / @corditeheart

1. What's the lie your character says most often?

Malachi:

Given how many rescue/infiltration/generic observatory missions he's done over the course of not only his career as a SeeD, but as a realm-displaced Glaive, the answer to this is, tragically, "You're going to be okay."

From sites of war, to the peripheral villages and cities in the path of destruction- Malachi has seen more than his share of futile rescues, and many 'last moments' of those with no one to call. Yet no pre-assessment is going to stop him from providing what last, miniscule comfort he can to those that need it most. Being a realist doesn't make him an asshole, and admittedly much of that is due to life experience and age.

Nyx:

Inversely, Ulric's largest lies tend to be some variety of "I'm fine"/"I'll be fine". Not only from battleground injury or overuse of borrowed magic, but from the egregious and untreated case of C-PTSD and survivor's guilt that haunts his near-every quiet hour.

From auditory hallucinations of his sister to dissociative flashbacks and what-if scenarios that underline his potential for failure, Nyx Ulric is very much not okay. Guilt eats at him and can reliably be said to be his driving force: why he is so dead-set on being 'the Hero'. Perhaps if he saves enough of those in need, he can be forgiven for failing those who mattered most.

Ardyn:

If we're talking about (recent) active duty lying; for the past 30 in-universe years this man has been deceiving and manipulating an entire Empire, and regularly (within the last 3 years) not even knowing who he is day-to day. Yet if I were to hazard a guess/establish a HC right here, I'd have to say it would be some variety of "There's no need to fret~." / "Don't worry~.", with a potential 'my dear' added on by instinct.

If we are to speak on simply the lie spoken most often over the course of time itself; two-thousand years of simmering in the betrayal of your kin and hanging like a slab of meat, bound to an Astral-guarded Isle whilst boiling alive in the rage and confusion on what you POSSIBLY could have done to deserve such agony-- I like to think 'He didn't mean it/it was a mistake...' was likely the most often, deliriously uttered lie told to himself to comfort his shattered heart over his brother's betrayal.

Grief is cyclical. Imagine that cycle yoyoing for millennia.

2. How loosely or strictly do they use the word 'friend'?

Malachi:

In terms of using the word in general? It's flung all over the place if it will help foster goodwill for whatever his missions may need. He'll cozy up to civilians, merchants- most anyone who shouldn't be exposed to the ugly of his work- again whatever that may be. The world is already a disaster (either 8's or 15's, it's all a mess) and most everyone is just trying to make it day in and day out.

Also, one gets more with honey than with vinegar.

In the emotional sense on who he considers his legitimate, actual friends worthy of his trust and vulnerability? It's... I wanna say astronomically rare.

In his native amnesiac!Glaive state (and to an extent his ff8verse), a warbond is built - for him - out of necessity. He trusts them to keep him alive; to do what they are trained to; to give enough of a shit that they all go home to do it all again the next day in a world on it's last legs. In that sense they're war buddies, brothers-in-arms. But the amount of people he has fought alongside to GET that sentiment can be counted on one hand (to his failing memory) and half are dead.

Malachi is a bizarrely mixed case of abundant-if-restrained compassion, vaguely pessimistic realism, caustic wit, don't-give-a-fuck-itis, and introversion. So the previous point isn't to say he's cold and distant. He's remarkably personable, and will shoot the shit for as long as such a mood lasts. He'll even play guitar when requested- not that he can remember where he learned to do so.

He's a friendly sort to most, but only considers a handful of people friends to himself.

3. How often do they show their genuine emotions to others versus just the audience knowing?

Malachi:

It depends on the emotion, the situation, and the opposing "other" muse he's interacting with. And believe me, I want to shove a hot pepper in my own mouth every time I say the words 'it depends' because... I say it too often. But in this case it's less 'oh, he's soooo changeable' and more he's fair willing to show emotions to those he knows and trusts to some degree.

He's secure in the knowledge he can beat ass if someone wants to be a dick about it.

But as stated before, it depends on the emotion, situation, and person combo- so I'd say the audience gets far more exposition because I'm a slut for it, no matter if the scene is him mean-mugging someone.

Nyx:

This one's a bit easier to answer, simply because Nyx - to me - is a 'keep to himself' sort for a myriad of reasons (outside his friend group). Be it 'I gotta be the hero' to 'my friends are having a good time, I can't bring em down' to 'I'm having a good time, who tf is this asshat crashing the party' and in any of those situations he tends to mask up-- aka, the audience will definitely see far more from my exposition.

Military training (to my extremely limited knowledge and thus portrayal) also doesn't quite encourage soldiers to be anything other than ready to deploy/the weapon they were honed to be. With enough time a soldier can outgrow that- and had this pretty face been less traumatised about who and what he could trust (fuck you Glautos), and not - y'know - internally crispy fried, he may have been able to loosen up.

Mind you I'd be more than down to write plots and developments where he learns to trust again!

[kanamori-kamper-moved]

🥰❤️‍🩹 for Astral and Shark please!

Thanks for sending an ask!! My mind completely went blank when trying to think of something for reunited after a long time, so I’ll do saying I love you without saying it!!

It’s a little short. I’m not too proud of this but I hope you at least like it </3

-

There is something in the way Shark talks, and walks, and behaves that never fails to fascinate Astral. Most of all, the way he acted when it came to people. And honestly, he couldn’t blame him. He himself found humans odd, too. But, honestly, Shark took the cake. (More like bit a huge chunk out of it and left the rest on the table, really)

He faintly recalls where his fascination started. Astral grew to detest him from the start, really. After all, his first memory of him was the purple-haired bastard terrorizing Yuma in a duel. What made humans hate each other so? Why did Shark have so much hatred in his heart? He was 14, after all. Teenagers just seem to hate everything, don’t they.

But Astral supposes he’s become fond of him as the time passed. He can’t deny it any longer, or else it would linger.

There are many things about humans that Astral does not understand. But Shark, just by being himself, is an enigma. Even to the people he seems to love the most, he showed little to no respect to. Not even that sister of his, but he supposes it’s natural when it comes to siblings.

Astral is lucky that he has Yuma, because without him he would not know what love felt like. He would not know the joy of being hugged or kissed or told “I love you”, for it would all be a distant, forgotten memory. But Yuma’s kindness, and acts of love do not seem to move Shark, at most times.

He remembers when Yuma would endlessly pester Shark to duel, even when the key that gave him life was at stake. But perhaps Shark took pity on him, letting Yuma keep it. The way him and Yuma behaved was cute, in a way. Because no matter how much they fought, they were always attached by the hip.

No matter how much Shark seemed to call him “stupid”, or a “bastard”, or any other vulgarity, he still seemed to love him. And Astral can’t help but feel jealous at times, jealous of what they have. He wishes he were physical, to be of flesh and blood, so then Shark would like him just as he liked Yuma. Or to hate him. For Shark to acknowledge him was all he craved, honestly.

Astral can’t help but stare at him at times. He has this cat-eyed stare that Yuma always criticized him for, but he just couldn’t help himself at times.

He is tall and athletic, but ever so starved. His sunken eyes and silky, deep violet hair is haunting to him, in a way. Even more haunting than the absolute chompers stuck in his face that he called teeth. There’s such an disquiet to him at times, and Astral can’t seem to get enough.

But he supposes he’s been staring too long, Shark can feel the burning of another persons eyes against him, snapping his head towards Astral quickly, “Why are you looking at me?” Shark growls, although his voice not above his regular tone, “Oh, uhm.” For just once in his life, Astral is unsure of what to say, “Nothing, sorry.”

“I know you have something on your mind. Spit it out.” And he doesn’t find it in himself to take it as an insult. “Really, it’s nothing.”

“Fine.” The tension is beginning to become so thick that you could cut it with a knife, or however the saying goes, “Tch.. You’re just like Yuma. He stares at me just like that.”

And Astral can’t quite find it in him to take offense to it. “Really?” His voice is full of wonder and awe, “Wh- of course you are! He must be rubbing off on you, I swear.” But he doesn’t stop there, he’s continuing.

Astral doesn’t quite listen to him from then. The way he mouths off at him so passionately is so endearing to him. Adorable, even. He’s like the angriest, cutest little puppy, and he isn’t quite sure why. Astral just wants to pick him up and pet him.

"I like the way you are when you’re angry.” Astral cuts him off mid sentence, and honestly it doesn’t matter, Sharks beginning to forget what he was even saying, “What?” Shark is flushed, blushing from cheek to cheek.

“There’s something I like about it, just like the way you duel. And the way you refuse to show how much you care about others, even though you do.”

“Are you making fun of me?” He swallows, eyebrows furrowed, although averting his gaze. “No, why would I?”

“Whatever.” The silence is so evident between them, the second seeming too much like hours.

But, finally, Shark opens his mouth, “I like the way you duel, too..”

“There. that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Shut up!”