#the Magic system breaks down at that point

[aventurineswife]

Can I request Anaxa, Jiaoqiu, Jing Yuan, and Ratio with a reader who is able to boost other people's powers and abilities by letting them basically use their energy in addition to the characters' own (like a living battery almost), but is unable to use any kind of powers or abilities themself? If the healers are running out of juice, they will immediately offer themselves up as a power source. Their own limitations are not even considered. There are people hurt and they want to help however they can.

To Burn and Be Bright

Tags: Anaxa x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Power Sharing, Self-Sacrificial Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Soft Angst, Fluff with Emotional Depth, Mutual Respect, Protective, Existential Themes, Slow Burn Elements, Emotional Intimacy.

Warnings: Burnout From Overexertion, Non-Graphic Self-Harm (Magic Exhaustion), Battlefield Trauma, Mentions of Death and War, Medical Distress, Emotional Vulnerability, Power Imbalance (Non-Abusive), Philosophical Themes, Mild Romantic Implications.

Anaxa slammed a scorched tome closed, its golden filigree burning beneath his fingertips.

"The soul-thread is too weak."

Blood dripped from his lip where he'd bitten it, frustration overwhelming calculation. Around you, wounded scholars writhed in agony, their essence destabilized after his reckless experiment to siphon divinity.

“I can help,” you said.

He didn't look at you. “No.”

“But I—”

“No.” His voice was sharper now, cracking like ice across old stone. “Your body wasn't made for this. Your energy isn't refined. You'd burn out.”

You stepped closer, kneeling beside the blood-drenched cipher altar. “And what? Let them die?”

He finally turned, and for a moment—just a moment—his eye glowed behind the gold-etched eyepatch.

“You think I haven’t run the probability? You think I haven’t seen the consequences?” His voice dropped, bitter and fractured. “You're not a tool, damn it.”

You reached out and placed your hand over his.

“I’m not a tool. I’m a choice. Let me choose.”

Anaxa closed his eyes.

Seconds later, the room pulsed with arcane light. His voice chanted in forbidden tongue as your body trembled beside him, energy rushing into his system like a star being born inside his veins.

You blacked out halfway through the ritual.

When you woke up hours later, his coat was draped over your body. His gloved hand clutched yours tightly. His voice, just barely above a whisper:

“Don’t ever call yourself powerless again. Without you… there is no proof. There is no me.”

The tent reeked of blood and ash, and the healing grid was already flickering.

Jiaoqiu’s hand trembled as he stirred the alchemical cauldron, nine distinct broths bubbling in a complex pattern. He was running out of energy—his tail low, ears pinned back, chest rising with every restrained breath.

“I’m here,” you whispered.

His eyes opened—painful, cracked—and though he normally kept them closed, he held your gaze.

“You always come when I’m weakest.”

You smiled. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

“No,” he murmured, setting down his fan. “The point was to protect you from this. Every time I let you give me your strength, a part of me worries you’ll burn out. Like a candle for everyone else’s fire.”

You didn’t hesitate. You sat beside the cauldron and reached for him.

“I’d rather flicker than watch you break.”

With a solemn sigh, he intertwined your fingers with his, guiding your energy into his own. The broth glowed brighter. Soldiers outside stopped groaning. The battlefield quieted.

His voice trembled, even as his wounds healed. “One day, I want to heal you too. Not just your body. But the part of you that thinks it’s only useful when it's giving.”

You leaned into his shoulder as your strength faded, smiling.

“Then we’ll keep going until you do.”

“General, the formation’s collapsing!”

Jing Yuan stood at the edge of the shattered ridge, blood dripping from his blade, cloak shredded in the wind. A dozen injured Cloud Knights groaned behind him. He had minutes. Less.

Then he felt it���warmth against his back. Familiar. Steady.

You.

“Don’t,” he said immediately, voice like rumbling thunder. “You’ve given too much today.”

“I can give more.”

He turned, his eyes tired. Not from battle—but from worry.

“You’ll collapse.”

“Better me than them.”

His fist clenched, and he looked away. “You do this every time. You rush into my shadow and light it with your soul.”

You touched his arm gently. “Because I believe in you. And because you’ve never once let that light go to waste.”

He didn’t respond for a long moment. Then he gently placed his hand over your heart.

“Promise me something.”

You blinked. “What?”

“When all this is over… when there’s peace… let me carry your burden for once.”

Your lips curved faintly as your energy surged into his form. The storm around him reignited with luminous force.

“I’d like that,” you said softly, before the light overtook you both.

“You are reckless.”

His voice echoed down the marble corridors of the ruined observatory, each word a jagged verdict.

“Don’t start,” you muttered, stumbling from exhaustion. “They needed power. I had it. You would’ve done the same.”

“I wouldn’t have nearly died doing it four times in a row,” he snapped, for once not hiding behind metaphor or philosophy. He pulled you into a chair, unwrapping your burned palms with maddening precision.

“You always say knowledge must be used, Veritas.”

“Yes. By minds capable of wielding it rationally. Not by idealists burning themselves like inefficient fuel rods!”

Your laughter was faint. “You sound scared.”

“I am,” he hissed. “You are the one equation I cannot balance. The one constant I cannot afford to lose.”

You softened.

“I don’t want to be an equation,” you whispered. “I want to be your choice.”

He paused. Then, for the first time, removed the alabaster mask himself.

“I’m not good at emotion,” he said simply. “But if I could rewrite this universe’s formula…”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’d be the center of it.”

You passed out moments later, spent.

But when you awoke, his coat was around your shoulders, a steaming cup of nutrient broth on the table—and a newly published thesis titled:

“On the Strength of a Soul that Gives Without Asking: A Dedication.”

[asquared-ohgodnotthehorrors]

Ya know, I have a setting I would love to run a D&D campaign in - specifically a D&D 5E campaign in. The setting specifically requires so many assumptions that are baked into the rules that were given, and without that anchor, that mechanical core, everything sorta falls apart.

The problem is two things however:

1. 5E has a lot of problems. Problems I can no longer overlook- because I’ve played other systems. I’ve seen how much more freeing and fun it is to run other systems, and I simply don’t feel like I can go back to 5E. I don’t want to go back to 5E, despite how crucial the class assumptions and species are to what I want to run. I don’t want the game to be as crunchy, and I don’t want to have to struggle to make my players feel like they’re challenged or forcing a narrative onto a system that isn’t designed to make the narrative I want to run.

2. 5E is dying. Not because of the fan base or anything- no, WotC is actively killing off the rules that were and replacing them with what will be. It’s changing the thing I want into something else rather than making something new. And it’s not like I can just ignore that either- if I somehow found players who wanted play in this system, they would inevitably use those resources, rely on them. And they would be stranded. Few of my friends want to go back to D&D- and I don’t feel comfortable reaching out to that community to play either. Because I don’t think they’d want to play in the world I want to run.

All in all, I just feel… a little lost on what I want to do. There are a few systems that are able to do what I want. And I just feel a little lost.

[ohno-the-sun]

Ya know sometimes it’s funny to me

I’m like why do I always write the boys as humans and specifically recently mermaids, why not write them as robots?

And then I look at my backlog of human bio and fish anatomy stuff and I’m like-

Yeah okay I could world-build for hours using this

And on the other hand I am completely in the dark about most programming and robotics things

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

✨ HOW TO ACTUALLY START A BOOK

(no ✨vibes✨, just structure, stakes, and first-sentence sweat)

hello writer friends 💌 so you opened a doc. you sat down. you cracked your knuckles. maybe you even made a playlist or moodboard. and then… you stared at the blinking cursor like it personally insulted your entire bloodline.

here’s your intervention. this post is for when you want to write chapter one, but all you have is aesthetic, maybe a plot bunny, maybe a world idea, maybe nothing at all. here’s how to actually start a book, from structure to sentence one.

—

🌶️ STEP 1: THE SPICE BASE ~ “WHAT’S CHANGING?”

start with this question:

what changes in the protagonist’s life in the first 5–10 pages?

doesn’t have to be earth-shattering. they could get a letter, lose a job, run late, break a rule, wake up hungover in the wrong house. what matters is disruption. the opening of your book should mark a shift. if their day starts normal, it shouldn’t end that way.

🏁 opening chapters are about motion. forward movement. tension. momentum. if nothing is changing, your story isn’t starting, you’re just doing a prequel.

—

⚙️ STEP 2: THE CRUNCHY BITS - CHOOSE AN ENTRY POINT

there are 3 classic places to start a novel. each one works if you’re intentional:

The Day Everything Changes most popular. you drop us in right before or during the inciting incident. clean, fast, efficient.

pro: immediate stakes con: harder to sneak in worldbuilding or character grounding

The Calm Before the Storm starts slightly earlier. show the character’s “normal” life, then break it. useful if the change won’t make sense without context.

pro: space to introduce your character’s routine/flaws con: risky if it drags or feels like setup

The Aftermath drop us in after the big event and fill in gaps as we go. works well for thrillers, mysteries, or emotionally heavy plots.

pro: instant drama con: requires precision to avoid confusion

📝 pick one. commit. don’t blend them or you’ll write three intros at once and cry.

—

🧠 STEP 3: CHARACTER FIRST, ALWAYS

readers don’t care about your setting, your magic system, or your cool mafia politics unless they’re anchored in someone.

in the first scene, we need to know:

what this person wants

what’s bothering them (externally or internally)

one trait they lead with (bold, anxious, calculating, naive, etc.)

that’s it. just one want, one tension, one vibe. no bios. no monologues. no “they weren’t like other girls” essays. put them in a situation and show how they act.

—

⛓️ STEP 4: OPEN WITH FRICTION

first scenes should create questions, not answer them.

there should be tension between:

what the character wants vs. what they’re getting

what’s happening vs. what they expected

what’s being said vs. what’s being felt

you don’t need a gunshot or a car crash (unless you want one). you need conflict. tension = momentum = readers keep reading.

—

✏️ STEP 5: WRITE THE FIRST SENTENCE - THEN IGNORE IT

okay. now you write it.

no pressure. you’re not tattooing it on your soul. this isn’t the final line on the final page. you just need something.

tricks that work:

start in the middle of an action

start with a contradiction

start with something unexpected, funny, or sharp

start with a small lie or a weird detail

💬 examples:

“The body was exactly where she’d left it - rude.” “He was already two hours late to his own kidnapping.” “There was blood on the welcome mat. Again.” “They said don’t open the door. She opened it anyway.”

once you’ve got it? keep going. don’t revise yet. don’t edit. just build momentum.

you can come back and make it ✨iconic✨ later.

—

📦 BONUS: WHAT NOT TO DO IN YOUR OPENING

don’t start with a dream

don’t info-dump lore in paragraph one

don’t give me three pages of your OC making toast

don’t try to sound like a Victorian cryptid unless it’s on purpose

don’t introduce 7 named characters in one scene

don’t start with a quote unless you are 800% sure it slaps

be weird. be sharp. be specific. aim for interest, not perfection.

—

🏁 TL;DR (but make it ✨useful✨)

something in your MC’s life should change immediately

pick a structural entry point and stick to it

give us a person, not a setting

friction = good

first lines are disposable, just make them interesting

and if you needed a sign to just start the damn book, this is it.

💌 love, -rin t.

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

[cloakedpress]

How to Write Better Characters: Roles, Motivation & Actually Making People Care

Let’s be real: your story can have the coolest magic system, the twistiness of the plot, or the hottest vampire/detective/alien—  

but if your characters are flat?  

Nobody’s sticking around.

So let’s break down how to give your characters real presence in your story by understanding their role, their motivation, and how to make them hit harder on the page.

1. What’s Their Role in the Story?

Every character needs a *reason to exist*. Think of them like parts in a machine. What do they *do* in your narrative?

Here are a few basic types:

- Protagonist: The one we’re rooting for. They drive the plot forward.

- Antagonist: The one in their way. Doesn’t have to be evil—just opposed.

- Foil: Someone who reflects the main character’s traits by contrast.

- Mentor: Offers wisdom, often with a tragic backstory or dramatic exit.

- Love Interest: Romantic tension? Check. But make sure they’re *more* than just eye candy.

- Wildcard: Unpredictable chaos gremlin. Every story needs one.

TIP: If you can remove a character without changing the plot? You probably should.

2. What Do They Want? (AKA Motivation)

This is the *core* of your character. Motivation makes everything feel real. Ask yourself:

- What does this character want more than anything?

- Why do they want it?

- What are they willing to do (or give up) to get it?

Bonus points if their motivation is in conflict with someone else’s. That’s where the juicy drama lives.

Ex: “She wants to save her sister. He wants to save the world. One bomb. One choice.”    Now we’re COOKING.

3. How Do You Show It?

Motivation isn’t just monologues and dramatic speeches. It’s in:

- What they *notice* first in a room.

- Who they *trust* (or don’t).

- The mistakes they keep repeating.

- The lies they tell *themselves*.

A character who’s obsessed with control might organize their bag mid-crisis.  

A character desperate to be loved might make themselves useful to everyone… even villains.

4. Let Them Be Messy

Perfect characters are boring.  

Give them contradictions. Regrets. Bad coping mechanisms. Let them be *wrong*. Let them grow.

Characters who never fail or change = characters nobody relates to.

Let your soft boys punch someone. Let your bad girls cry. Let your villains have a point.

5. Ask Yourself the Hard Stuff

- What would break this character?

- What line won’t they cross?

- Who are they when no one’s watching?

If you can answer these? You *know* your character.

6. Level Up: Relationships Matter

Characters don’t exist in a vacuum. Use dynamics to reveal depth:

- A character might be brave in a fight but terrified of disappointing their mentor.

- A flirty rogue might go speechless around the person they actually care about.

- A villain’s cruelty might soften around their childhood friend.

People are different with different people. Show it.

 TL;DR:  

Great characters = clear role + deep motivation + real emotion. 

Make them want things. Make them struggle. Make them human (even if they’re a dragon princess from space).

Want help building a specific character? Drop their name + vibe in my ask box. Let’s break them open together.

[astra-ravana]

The Anatomy Of Baphomet

Baphomet is one of the most complex and misunderstood figures in occult and esoteric history. Over centuries, it has evolved from a mysterious name whispered during the Crusades to a symbol deeply embedded in modern occultism, especially within Satanism, Thelema, and Left-Hand Path traditions.

History Of Baphomet

Origins in the Templar Trials (14th Century):

• The earliest known use of the name Baphomet was during the Inquisition of the Knights Templar in 1307.

• The Templars were accused of heresy and idolatry, including worship of an idol called "Baphomet". The exact nature of this idol remains unclear—some described it as a human head, a bearded man, or a demon.

• Most modern historians believe the name Baphomet may have been a corruption of Mahomet (an old form of Muhammad), reflecting the Crusaders' exposure to Islam.

19th Century Revival; Eliphas Lévi:

• In 1856, Éliphas Lévi, a French occultist, radically redefined Baphomet in his book Dogme et Rituel de la Haute Magie.

• Lévi depicted Baphomet as a winged hermaphroditic figure with the head of a goat, a torch between the horns, female breasts and androgynous features, one arm pointing up and one down, with the words Solve (dissolve) and Coagula (combine) on each forearm. This became the iconic image associated with Baphomet today and symbolized the unity of opposites: light and dark, male and female, human and beast, matter and spirit.

20th Century and Beyond (Satanism and the Occult):

• The Church of Satan, founded by Anton LaVey in 1966, adopted Baphomet as a symbol of Satanic philosophy—not as a literal being, but as a representation of rebellion, knowledge, and liberation from religious dogma.

• The Sigil of Baphomet—a goat’s head within an inverted pentagram surrounded by Hebrew letters spelling “Leviathan”—became the official insignia of the Church.

Symbolism Of Baphomet

Baphomet represents balance and integration of opposites. It is a philosophical and alchemical emblem rather than a deity to be worshipped.

Key Symbolic Elements:

• Goat Head- Instinct, primal nature, and untamed energy (possibly derived from the god Pan).

• Torch Between Horns- Divine illumination; the light of intellect and truth.

• Androgyny (Breasts and Caduceus Phallus)- Union of male and female, symbolizing wholeness.

• Wings and Hooves- Duality of spiritual ascent and earthly grounding.

• Arms Pointing Up and Down- The Hermetic axiom “As above, so below”, expressing the correspondence between planes.

• Solve et Coagula- Alchemical principle of breaking down and reforming—transformation and enlightenment.

Baphomet In Magick And Occult Practice

Baphomet is not commonly invoked as a deity but is used as a symbol of occult mastery, personal transformation, and spiritual rebellion.

In Thelema (Aleister Crowley’s System):

• Crowley saw Baphomet as a mystical androgen, a symbol of spiritual initiation and the reconciler of opposites.

• He took the name “Baphomet” as a magical name when he became head of the O.T.O. (Ordo Templi Orientis), aligning it with sexual magick and Gnostic symbolism.

In Satanism (LaVeyan, Theological, Etc.):

• Baphomet is used as a symbol of rational self-interest, rejection of traditional religious authority, and the embrace of carnal existence.

• The Sigil of Baphomet is used in rituals, meditations, and symbolic expressions of personal empowerment.

In Witchcraft and Modern Paganism:

Some non-theistic witches or Left-Hand Path practitioners view Baphomet as:

• An archetype of sacred balance

• A symbol of hidden knowledge

• A guardian of the threshold—facing and integrating one’s shadow

Magickal Uses Of Baphomet

Rituals and Practices:

• Invocation or Meditation- To balance opposing forces within oneself—gender, emotion and reason, higher and lower self.

• Shadow Work- Baphomet can be invoked as a symbol during introspective work, especially when dealing with repressed desires or fears.

• Alchemy and Transformation- In rituals seeking internal transformation, Baphomet represents the alchemical process of spiritual rebirth.

• Sigil Magick- The Sigil of Baphomet is used for protection, empowerment, and banishing fear or dogma.

Altars and Tools:

• Practitioners may use statues, medallions, or artwork of Baphomet to create a liminal sacred space, serve as a focal point for meditation, and represent the divine within and without—a mirror for the seeker.

The Nature Of Baphomet

Baphomet is not a devil, not a god, and not a literal being—it is a metaphysical symbol. Its purpose is to challenge, to enlighten, and to reveal the wholeness hidden in duality. Baphomet asks the seeker to transcend dogma, embrace the totality of existence, and find spiritual freedom through inner synthesis.

[alisonsfics]

the stupid one

pairing: ex-bf!bucky barnes x reader

summary: your breakup with bucky had all been his fault. he got scared and called it quits. and he regretted more than you knew. but he’d never admit that to you. at least, not while sober.

inspired this lyric ~~ “i know i’m the stupid one who ended it. now i’m the stupid one regretting it. it took me a couple drinks to admit it” (“moving along” by 5sos)

a/n: we’re ignoring the super soldiers can’t get drunk plot point just fyi

word count: 2.3k

warnings: alcohol, mentions of smut

Fuck— Bucky was drunk. When he’d walked into the bar an hour earlier, he told himself he would only have a drink or two.

And he stuck to that promise…until he got a jarring notification on his phone.

1 year ago today, look back at your memories, from his photos app. As soon as he opened it, he knew it was a mistake.

It was photos from one of his date nights with you, at a fancy Italian restaurant he picked out.

The first photo was a selfie of the two of you, Bucky pressing a kiss against your cheek. The second photo was a picture he’d taken of you showing off the specialty cocktail you’d ordered— which you’d only ordered because it came in a glow in the dark glass. When it came out and was the side of your head, Bucky couldn’t stop laughing.

Before he knew it, Bucky felt that tight feeling in his gut. The one that couldn’t help but pop up when he thought about you.

When Bucky broke up with you, it was like he cut off his air supply, and he’d been struggling to survive ever since.

He still wasn’t entirely sure why he did it. All his friends asked him, and he never had a good answer.

All he knew is that if he’d kept dating you, he probably would’ve married you. He didn’t know why that scared him so much. Probably because he’d lost everyone he ever loved. He thought if he could break up with you before he fell deeper in love with you that somehow he’d be spared the heartbreak.

He knew now that wasn’t true.

All of sudden, he’d been at the bar for hours and scrolling through pictures of you the whole time.

His fingers were shaking as he clicked your contact and pressed call.

The decision was entirely fueled by the alcohol swimming through his system and not his brain. He didn’t know what he was going to say, only that he wanted to hear your voice.

On the other side of town, you nearly jumped out of your skin when Bucky’s name popped up on your screen. It rang and rang and rang, all while you were frozen still.

Bucky was starting to think you wouldn’t answer. I mean, hell— he wouldn’t even blame you.

Then he heard a quiet “hello?”

“I uhh— oh, hi. I’m surprised you answer.” He mumbled, stunned.

“Bucky, what’s wrong?” You asked, noticing the obvious slurring in his words.

Bucky felt a tear slip down his cheek. Hearing your voice again was like magic. His heart swelled in ways it hadn’t in months. “I just really miss you, doll.” His voice broke in the middle of the sentence.

He waited for you to say something anything. He’d even let you yell at him if it meant he could hear your voice for a little longer.

“Have you been drinking?” You asked.

He stalled. “Just because I have doesn’t mean I don’t mean it. I messed up, doll. I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to realize.” He told you, nervously.

“Do you need a ride home? You shouldn’t drive.” You breezed over the confession.

It pained you to talk to Bucky. He’d broken your heart and never really given you a reason for the breakup. You knew he was scared of getting hurt, but he hurt you in the process.

Despite the aching in your chest from hearing his voice, you still wanted to make sure he was safe.

“You always take such good care of me. I don’t know why I threw that away. God, I’m such an idiot.” He mumbled.

You focused on taking deep breaths. The emotion in his voice tugged on your heart. It’d been so long since you’d seen that side of Bucky. The side that adored you.

“Bucky, promise me that you’ll ask someone for a ride or call a cab?” You asked, feeling your voice get caught in your throat.

“Yeah, I promise I’ll—” his voice got cut off by his phone dying.

Bucky stumbled aimlessly through the bar. All he wanted was you. He wanted to feel the way you clung to him when you slept. He wanted to taste the peach lipgloss on your lips. He wanted to hear you tell him you loved him.

The pit in his stomach only got deeper as he hopped in a cab and headed towards his empty apartment.

He tried to pretend he was heading home to you— that he’d somehow never screwed things up and you were at home waiting for him.

By the time the cab pulled up outside his door, heavy raindrops were thudding against the windows.

He chucked a few loose bills in the driver’s hand before stumbling out of the car.

The rain instantly soaked his body— a cold freezing rain. It coated every inch of his skin and clothing.

He stood there, eyes closed. The cab drove away, and he just stood. Wanting the rain to wash away this nightmare.

His shirt clung to his chest as he felt the cold seep into his bones.

He opened his eyes, slowly— and they landed on you, sitting on his doorstep.

Had he done it? Had his prayers actually been answered? Had he gone back in time?

The familiar warmth of your eyes pulled him in. He felt like he was walking in slow motion as he crossed the sidewalk towards you.

“What’re you doing here?” He yelled over the rain. You stood before him in a rain jacket with your hood up. You’d been standing in the rain waiting for him to get home.

“I wanted to make sure you got home safe.” You told him.

Relief washed over him. He felt around his pocket, searching for his house key. Noticing the look of panic on his face, you grabbed the spare key from under the doormat and unlocked the door for him.

He stumbled inside. Instinctively, you held onto his hips to steady him. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” He slurred, failing to instill any confidence in you.

“C’mere, Bucky.” You said, simply. You wrapped your arm around his waist and led him up the stairs.

He threw his flesh arm around your shoulders, leaning into your touch. “I love you s’much, sweets.” He mumbled into your neck. He nuzzled his nose against your neck, softly kissing your skin.

You fought every ounce of your nature that wanted to melt into his touch.

He was drunk. He wasn’t thinking straight. You reminded yourself.

“Let’s just get you up to bed.” You redirected his affection.

He wasn’t so easily distracted. His hot breath blew against your neck. Reminding you of quickies together in his car. Or even sleepy mornings in bed when you’d both been too tired to do anything. So, he’d just perfectly jut his hips against yours, both of you still completely clothed as he would groan and whine in your ear.

“Perfect, you’re jus’ perfect,” he mumbled, continuing to kiss your collarbone.

You lowered him down onto his bed. You wanted to run out the door. To never see him again. It was certainly preferable to the specific torture of having your ex-boyfriend, who you still had feelings for, drunkenly profess his feelings for you.

But, you saw him lying on his bed in soaking wet clothes from the rain. And you saw the hurt in his eyes. The same one you often saw when you looked in the mirror.

Before you could change your mind, you peeled his wet shirt off of him. Next, you took off his shoes, socks, and jeans.

He watched silently as you ventured into his closet and emerged with a pair of sweatpants and a dry shirt.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he mumbled, as you pulled the dry clothes onto his body.

After you’d finished, he leapt towards you, clinging to your frame. Your arms were pinned to your side as he hugged you. “Can you stay tonight?” He mumbled against your skin.

You wanted really wanted to. To curl into his side under the sheets and drown in the smell of his citrus cologne. To forget about the lonely nights and tears shed.

“I shouldn’t.” You said, trying to pull out of his grasp. But, he was still a super soldier and much stronger than you. “I’m a mess without ya, sweets.” He said, looking into your eyes.

Those damn eyes.

You gave in immediately. “I’ll sleep on the couch, but only to make sure you’re okay.” You resigned. He pressed a chaste kiss to your temple before whispering goodnight.

After he got into bed, you retreated downstairs to the couch. Part of you was hoping that when you woke up, it would be a dream.

You woke up to the smell of fresh coffee brewing. You sat up, stretching the sleep out of your muscles.

“Morning,” Bucky entered the room holding two cups of coffee.

“Good morning,” you mumbled, the events of last night coming flooding back to you.

He sat down beside you, this thigh brushing up against yours. He handed you one of the mugs. His fingers brushed against yours in a way that made you jump and nearly spill your coffee.

“I only remember bits of last night, but I feel like we should talk.” He said, nervously.

“I should probably go.” You tried to excuse yourself.

Bucky placed his hand on your knee. “Please, stay,” he begged softly.

“This is too much for me, Bucky. I can’t go through all this again.” You said, looking up at the ceiling trying to will away the tears.

As soon as a tear rolled down your cheek, he brushed it away with his thumb. “Please, don’t cry, doll.” He whispered. Heartbreak was written all over both your faces.

“I need to apologize for last night. I crossed a line, but I want you to know that everything I said last night was true. I meant it all. It wasn’t drunk nonsense, I swear. But I know that I shouldn’t have dumped that all on you. I’m really sorry.” He said, genuinely.

His eyes were trained on your face— watching for any reaction. Any hint of a smile or a frown.

You felt a chill run down your spine. You didn't know what to say. Of course you still loved him, but getting hurt again haunted you.

He sensed a rejection coming. He leaned his head slowly onto your shoulder. It took everything in his power to not fall apart. “I know it’s not fair, but I just need to know, doll. Have you missed me the way I miss you?” His voice creaked.

“Why should you be allowed to miss me? You called it off. Cause yeah I’ve missed you like hell, but that’s because you decided you didn’t want me in your life anymore.” You finally snapped.

“I swear on my life, that’s not why I ended things. Of course I wanted you in my life and of course I loved you. That’s not why,” he defended. As much as you didn’t want to, you believed him.

“Then why? Please just tell me because you’ve never given me a straight answer.” You begged him for the closure you’d chased for months. You couldn’t even grieve your relationship because you still didn’t know why it ended.

Bucky’s eyes turned glassy, and he bit the inside of his cheek. You could see how much these past few months had weighed on him.

He reached over— slowly, hesitantly— and interlaced his fingers with yours. “I don’t know how to be a husband— or, a dad. I barely knew how to be a good boyfriend.” He confessed.

You gently squeezed his hand. “I wasn’t asking you to do those things yet. We weren’t even at that point.” You told him.

“But I knew how much I loved you. I fell harder for you everyday. I knew if I stayed, I would end up marrying you. Which sounds like a dream, like a beautiful dream— but a really fucking scary dream too. I didn’t want to disappoint you and have you resent me. I figured it would just be easier to end it before we got to that point. It would be so much harder to lose you when there’s a ring on this finger.” He said, looking down at your hand in his.

You pressed a soft kiss to his lips. His eyes fluttered closed, not having time to kiss you back before you pulled away. “You were never going to lose me. You said you weren’t a good boyfriend, but you were. You’re the love of my life, and you made me feel so special and seen. I know you feel all these expectations, but those aren’t mine. I just wanted you.” You promised him.

“I’m not enough for you.” He admitted, weakly. You shook your head, cupping his cheek with your hand. “You are all that I need.” You said.

He closed his eyes, a few rogue tears rolling down his cheeks. The relief was written all over his face. Forgiveness. Finally.

He felt your lips press against his cheek, kissing each one of his tears away. “To answer what you said last night, I’m a mess without you too.” You told him simply.

He smiled at you before leaning down to kiss you. There was familiarity but also a little bit of exploration. He didn’t waste a second before letting his hands roam your body. You melted into his touch like the first time.

Your bodies jumped back to old habits as you laced your fingers through his hair and he pulled you into his lap.

His lips still fit perfectly against yours. Like you both were built for each other— and no one else.

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[fixyourwritinghabits]

I don't know if you possibly have any advice/encouragement for this but...I feel like I'm only any good at fanfiction/character studies, and absolutely garbage at plot. I'm an extensive outliner and I've read all the how-to books, but it just doesn't come to me. Antagonists, motivation, pinch points, magic systems...I struggle so much with anything that isn't character interactions and dialogue, but I want so badly to make well-structured, plot-heavy original fiction.

Help?

Right, I'm going to break the emergency glass of all writing advice and tell it to you frank:

If you can't figure out how to plot, steal.

Let's say you really like Sherlock Holmes and really want to write a Sherlock Holmes story, but you think no one will want a story where Sherlock Holmes was a modern doctor (House), or a superhero (multiple takes on Batman), or as a sci-fi/fantasy augmented woman reliant on her assistant (Robert Jackson Bennet's The Tainted Cup), etc etc. What I'm saying is that this is not only common, but an acceptable form of writing. It's not about boiling a character down to tropes and going with that - it's about taking what you like from fiction and making it your own.

The second question is how. I'm not telling you to rewrite The Hunger Games and set it in space (partly because arguably that already exists), but what I do recommend is:

Take your favorite media and break down why you like it. If you're writing a novel, I recommend sticking to novels, but there's no harm in taking a look at your favorite movies or comics either. What appeals the most to you about the plot? Which parts of your favorite media hit the hardest? Do you gravitate toward space operas or heists? Can you connect some consistent themes or character moments they share?

Pick your top favorite and break down the plot in an outline. The Save the Cat Beat sheet works really well for this (click here for examples of how to use it!), but if you prefer a different method or have your own, use that. Try to nail down as much of the plot into an outline view that you can. Note the big moments (the Inciting Event, the Middle, the Climax, etc) as much as you can, as well as when they happen.

Boil that specific outline down to a generic outline that could apply to any story. Here I want you to strip out the identifying information until you have an outline that follows the plot of your favorite movie without directly referencing it. Here's an example:

The Hunger Games Inciting Event: Katniss Everdeen volunteers to take her sister's place in a death game. Generic Summary: Main character takes a loved one's place in a nearly unsurvivable situation.

Most importantly, I do want you to do this for the entire piece of media. Not because I want you to write a Hunger Games rip-off, but because I want you to distill down what really appeals to you about this story in a format where you can see how the plot comes together. If you have the time, I recommend doing this to a few different favorite stories, just so you can build your library of plot points and how to connect them.

Second step, and this is the hard part, take those outlined plot points and try to put your characters in them. You don't have to follow one outline - if you have a couple, mix and match to see what fits together. If this still feels too hard to do with your original characters, try fanfiction! Fanfiction can really help you shake off the fear of being too derivative and allows you to experiment.

Now, even if you end up with a draft that reads like "The Hunger Games in 18th century France and Also There's Dragons For Some Reason," do not panic! The first draft is your private little experiment to get a working plot. If you do have a working plot, you now are in a way better position then you were before. Take a break from your book (I mean it, this step is important), and when you come back, look at it from a distance.

What parts of it do you like? Would it flow better if you plucked a subplot from another media you like and tried it out? Maybe you've realized you want a heist instead of a death game, but still want to keep the dragons. The first draft does not have to resemble the second, or even the third. But you will have a plot to build upon and rework, and the next time you take a crack at plotting, you will feel more confident. Even if you don't, feel free to use this format again to rework a concept you really like into something you feel is your own.

[elexuscal]

Scholomance: A Series In Conversation With Harry Potter

(and often, that conversation is 'fuck you') So I've seen posts (and made some myself), talking about how Scholomance is a response to Harry Potter, perhaps the most recent being this addition to a reblog chain of alternatives to the HP-series in light of Rowling's raging bigotry. For folks who aren't familiar about the series, I think it's very possible you'll go "oh yeah because they're both in magic schools, sure". Or even "yeah all YA-adjacent fantasy in the last 20 years is influenced by Harry Potter, duh".

But no. I mean, specifically, the author Naomi Novik is a known fanfic writer who has spent years emersed in fandom, and I think she wrote the series in part as a response to critiques of the HP series. Some of this is more tongue-in-cheek playing with fandom specific tropes and ideas, but others I think are very insightful responses to how Rowling ended up creating a world based on British hegemony and replication of the status quo. Which isn't to say that the Scholomance series don't stand on their own-- I think they do!-- but if you were someone who grew up playing in that space, it'll have a whole other layer for you. So, whether you've read the series, or are curious and want a spoiler-minimal break down, here's my thesis, starting with:

Harry X Draco

The two leads, El and Orion, are designed to parallel and reflect common tropes given to Harry and Draco in the HP fandom, though not necessarily in a one to one. Beyond the rivals-to-lovers romantic pairing, we have… El: The protagonist, struggling against the perceptions of a prophecy, the social outcast, Angry and Scowly (Harry) Takes on the roll of the apparently-evil nascent dark wizard who secretly has a heart of gold (Draco) Orion: the golden boy, the hero (Harry) Latin name, Comes from a powerful and established family, parent is a major villain, silvery-blonde (Draco) Their relationship arc requires El to unpack that Orion's upbringing was not necessarily happy for all it was privileged, while Orion needs to recognise he had privilege in the first place, and other people had to struggle where he didn't-- which are common arcs in Draco/Harry fics.

HP Adults Are Useless

A constant (sometimes joking, sometimes serious) complaint of HP, was how the adults were functionally useless, requiring the kids to constantly save the day. Honestly, I think this is just one of the fundamental elements of the genre: YA fiction will have Young Adults do the plot stuff.

Nonetheless, Scholomance has an elegant solution to the accidental byproduct of making the adults seem idiots and/or negligent—the adults can’t help, because there are none in the school. Even once they graduate, it’s not so much that adults are useless per say; some are in fact quite helpful! But many of the most powerful have been co-opted by corrupt corporate systems, and those who haven’t are struggling with intense trauma that makes them unwilling to rock the boat.

Man, The Way HP Treats Muggles-Born Is Kinda Whack

Sure is! Scholomance amps this up even more. Magical kids born of non-magical parents don’t last long. This is because young wizards are basically yummy mana snacks for monsters. The one “muggleborn” kid we hear about getting schlorped up by the Scholomance is said to have died painfully and messily due to any lack of knowledge, equipment, or allies. It encapsulates the failings of the current system.

Why Don’t Wizards Help Muggles?

As an extension of the last point, wizards in HP consistently treat non-magical people with disdain at best. At worst, they actively hurt them, as evidenced by stuff like innocent civilians suffering brain damage due to repeated memory wipes. They certainly don’t do anything like use their magic to help cure disease, duplicate and/or transport food, or provide clean energy, all of which seems easily within their power. The reasoning for this is pretty unexplored (bad blood from witch trials?) and seems kind of laughable given that the average witch or wizard should be able to easily overpower the average muggle. Again, Scholomance has an elegant solution here: magic just doesn’t work around non-magical folks.

Rather, magic is powered, deep down, on the belief that it’ll work. And deep, deep down, normal people don’t believe magic is real. Monsters become weak in their presence; spells fizzle out. Indeed, a smart strategy for survival as a wizard is to hide yourself deep among non-magical crowds. Otherwise, mana is expensive. Even if you could cast a cure-cancer spell in a mundane hospital with confidence it wouldn’t just fail, that would be prohibitively mana-hungry for all but the most secure Enclave wizards.

How Can There Be Any Material Poverty In The Wizarding World?

A lot of the HP books are obsessed with class. Like the Weasleys are poor. Really poor. They seem to struggle with basic expenses for food and clothes, let alone stuff like school supplies. How does that make any sense, when over the series, we see ability to near instantly repair items, replicate food, etc?

In Scholomance, poverty has nothing to do with material wealth over mundane things, like food and clothes. Indeed, it's explicitly said getting money is trivial. The currency is mana, which is what you need to cast any spells... Which is what you need to not get eaten by monsters.

HP’s Wizarding World Has So Few Jobs!

An oft-repeated critique of Rowling’s worldbuilding is that there were like, five jobs (teacher, cop, merchant, healer, and government official).

Scholomance’s worldbuilding focuses hugely on the wide variety of careers available in their world, with everyone very preoccupied with what job they’re going to take, since it actively impacts their survival both in and out of high school. We hear about maintenance workers, water sanitation, food scientists, doctors, artificers, gardeners, and more. That said, everyone who graduates ends up being a skilled martial combatant, cuz if you aren’t, monsters eat you. Ouch. … this probably has an impact on why wizard society, at large, is so combative and dog-eat-dog.

Why Are HP Spells Only In Latin?

All the spells the students learn in Hogwarts are Latin. IIRC, we might see some French and Nordic spells when other schools visit in book 4, but we get pretty much no world building an explanation. Why Latin? Out of universe, of course, it’s because it has associations with sophistication and academia and lost knowledge. By why in-universe? Do spells simply not work in English? What about other contemporary languages? Why would that matter at all? Do languages become magic if they're old enough? What's the logic here? Scholomance answers all of these questions. Different languages have different schools and philosophies around spell crafting. While all contemporary languages have their own spells, anyone who wants to be competitive needs to learn spells from other languages, both modern and archaic. “The Language Track”, which El is on, is necessary for those who want to become particularly flexible and skilled spell-crafters.

Actually, HP’s Global Worldbuilding In General Is Either Non-Existent Or Downright Shitty

Sure fucking was. As a refresher for those who never read the books or have just forgotten, the HP series is pretty disinterested in questions of what the so-called “wizarding world” looks like outside Europe, or even Britain. We get glimpses of French and Nordic wizards, as mentioned. We hear about dragons from a variety of countries; we know there’s “curse breaking” on Egyptian pyramids. That’s about it. On the official HP extended lore site “Pottermore”, Rowling began to write short stories and other material to fill in the gaps. These were bad. Really bad. Things like there being a single wizarding school for all of China. Or the Indigenous witches and wizards of the Americas apparently not being very good at magic, until European wizards came, taught them how to make wands, and set up the first school on the continent (which every kid, presumably including Indigenous ones, go to.) Wow. Again, Scholomance-- both the series and the titular school-- is designed to answer these critiques.

Why is there only one magical school? Because it was an incredibly complex and mana-hungry construction project. Why is it so British and American in its design? Because those were the main builders/funders, and they intended to keep it for themselves... Until they realised they needed to put more kids in there to up the chances for their own childrens' survival. But while Britain and America have an outsized impact on the school, they are not the only major players. International politics is a huge theme of the series, with Enclaves from all around the world fighting for power and influence. China in particular is becoming a rising star, and is pressuring for more seats in the school, or else they might break away and make one of their own. Everyone is bracing for an international wizard war that seems liable to start any moment. Our protagonist, El, is of both Welsh and Indian descent, notably both nations that were colonized by the British. As the series goes on, that colonization becomes a major theme, arguably the one that underpins the whole series. In order to counter this, El needs to cultivate friends and allies from all around the world. While I think it's telling that her first real friend ends up being a Desi-American girl, her core team ends up including folks from China, Germany, Malaysia, and more. All of these nations are shown to have their own cultural backgrounds and approaches to magic. Notably, the powerful ancient magical tome that holds the promise for potential peace, the Golden Sutras, are rooted in Indian culture, just like El.

Harry Potter Is Pretty Heteronormative, Huh?

Sure is. And while there were critiques of this even when the books were coming out, its failure there has become much more damning in hindsight given Rowling's descent into becoming perhaps the most politically active and powerful transphobe on the planet. Sadly, I don't believe Scholomance has any explicit trans representation (though let me know if I'm forgetting something). I will say, though, that on top of having some background queer rep, El is bisexual, who has an on-page sexual relationship with another young woman. (I adore that whole relationship so much frankly, but it's kinda out side the scope here, so I'll leave that aside for now).

Status Quo

And then, the crux of it. Harry Potter, for all the series presented itself as a counter-cultural rebellion against a fascist take over, ends right where it started. Voldemort is defeated, sure, but none of the systems that led to his creation and rise to power are dismantle. Harry grows up to become a wizard cop, marries his high school sweet heart, and has three kids. Without spoilers, Scholomance ends on a much more open note. There is no single villain to defeat. Fixing the system is a long, hard, slow process. The powers that be will try to block El and her allies at every turn. But she's still determined to try.

... PS

My Immortal

Galadriel Higgins is a goth who puts up her middle fingers at preps. The end.

[sunshiinebeetle]

Plural Mars Analysis

This is just chapter 1 cause it's kind of late- let me know if you want more!! I have many thoughts on chapter 2 and 3 so far :]

I'll be posting pages of the comic for readability, but PLEASEEEE read it HERE!! I leave several pages out and it'd be really sad not to support the original.

It’s important to note here how the bunny plush very quickly switches from aggressive to hurt and scared. The aggression is a defense mechanism, but not one that Mars wants to use. It comes from fear of breaking their “normal”. Once it’s shown that Laika won’t be easily scared off, it stops and runs away. Akin to an opossum (which have a very weak bite strength) flashing its teeth. I believe that the bunny was never going to hit Laika, at least not very hard (especially when later it’s shown that Mars has extreme reactions to the idea of hurting people).

Ok very important 2 pages, cause SYMBOLISM!! Willow has mentioned before that they packed a lot of symbolism and hidden clues into Laika’s, especially involving Mars’ backstory in chapter 1. The motif of bunny, kitty, teddy is shown on these two pages, the second is the “intro” page for Mars. It’s not lost on me that these three plushies are in the debut shot. They’re a deep representation of them! This will be elaborated on later, but for now I’m going to break Mars down into 3 alters. Bunny (timid, flight response), Kitty (neutral/happy, protected from those emotions), and Teddy (serious, fight/fawn response). I’ll be referring to them by these names to keep the confusion to a minimum.

Here we see Teddy Mars holding the bunny plush (representing Bunny Mars) and once again trying to intimidate Laika into going away. This is a weaker attempt, and shows Teddy’s fawn response as well- they don’t want to offend Laika so they use polite language, but still ask a question that will help them understand how best to protect the system. They don’t drop their stars until Laika displays that she’s not a threat. Notice what Laika is saying and how Mars’ reaction shifts entirely…

This is because Bunny switches in! Teddy is still co-fronting (as they’re prone to do) to keep an eye on things, but generally lets Bunny lead the conversation. Right away you’ll notice that Mars’ claws go away. Teddy’s claws are often extended because they’re on edge and protective, but Bunny has softer paws (and a complex about hurting things). Teddy’s claws are out when they cast the magic because Bunny doesn’t use magic intentionally. Bunny seeks comfort from Laika as soon as they know she’s safe.

Arguably there’s a hint of Kitty Mars in here too, especially on the second page. Bunny’s body language is often very closed off and small, but when Mars offers to show Laika their room and toys, their posture opens up and their tone shifts!

During the first page Mars is very blended between Bunny and Kitty. This is to emotionally protect Mars as they walk past all the portraits of their past. I’ll explain more later, but Kitty Mars is walled off emotionally from (at least some of) their trauma, while Bunny bears the guilt for it. You can see them both emote during the conversation- up until Kitty blends in, Mars doesn’t really use any enthusiasm in their dialogue. Literally zero exclamation points. But between the two “oh!”s, Kitty peeks through in the conversation :]

Then there’s a bit of wind as Bunny talks more, subconsciously using their powers due to their melancholy. The mood gets more tense as they breach a painful topic.

Mars avoids the question, shutting down emotionally… Kitty is likely booted from the front due to the traumatic nature of the topic. This coincides with their arrival at Mars’ room, which is perhaps also a trigger for Kitty to leave. The lightheartedness from their headmate disappears and leaves Bunny feeling hurt.

This is the first time we see Bunny properly shut down. They try to confide in Laika about their guilt and seek comfort, but she doesn’t quite get it… Good effort though!! Bunny’s routine and mental state at this point is a form of self punishment. They can’t leave because they haven’t hurt enough to pay for it. But at the same time they desperately don’t want to be alone. They’d had fun meeting Laika, but since she can’t stay (that would be “selfish”) and Mars can’t leave (that would be “disobedient” and “too good for them”), they just get even more hurt when Laika gives them a non-solution that just reminds them of their loneliness. The reality dawning on them feels crushing.

Bunny’s subconscious magic spikes again. This provides a solution to their conundrum- it’s not their choice, but authority’s. They won’t have to tell Laika to leave, which would break their heart, playtime is simply over. Teddy comes back to help Bunny cope and not break down- their speech becomes more clipped and formal, and their expression neutralizes (except for when it cracks, showing Bunny’s feelings). Teddy’s fawn response also shows, asking Laika politely to do the same as them. BIG ol trauma response. Clearly this was the way that Mars survived every scary encounter before. It’s trained, and likely why Teddy split in the first place.

Teddy is polite again, and using their magic intentionally to make the encounter run smoothly. They keep giving Laika instructions so that nothing goes wrong. This behavior implies that they were punished over very small things, even hesitation.

More trauma responses!! Mars looks almost bored here, but it’s actually Teddy’s trained neutral expression. You can’t get yelled at for feeling things if you’re feeling nothing! Teddy is maintaining this to mask Bunny’s fear of being around their parents, but it’s a hard thing to do. As tension gets higher, Bunny’s expressions show through and they start shaking.

Bunny is resigned to riding out this encounter, but Laika can’t stand for it. She interrupts, which terrifies Teddy. She’s way out of line in their mind, and they don’t want anyone to get punished when they can simply take the hurt. Teddy snaps at Laika, using their powers on accident for once. When Laika gets hurt by this, Bunny gets scared for two reasons. 1. They hurt someone, a severe trigger for Bunny. 2. It wasn’t Bunny controlling the body in a situation where they were otherwise the main pilot. This is an objectively terrifying thing to happen, and there’s often a lot of emotional conflict about this in systems who don’t know what’s going on.

Bunny is triggered and shuts down once again. Teddy directs the magic to get Laika out of there and away from Bunny to help them calm down. The earrings doll tries to grab Laika, while the tie doll swipes at her; this implies that they were the more violent and impulsive of the two. Additionally, the tie doll hurting the earrings doll was likely an allusion to domestic abuse between Mars’ parents. However, both were abusive to Mars in their own ways.

Laika unintentionally invokes the royalty/fairy tale symbolism, which speaks to Bunny and cuts through their shutdown. Since their reality hurts so much for them, they find everything much easier to process in stories.

You could see this as Bunny breaking down, but I think it’s Teddy too. Throughout this chapter, Teddy has been nearby suppressing everyone’s emotional reactions to protect them. But now they give into the hurt and the guilt and the loneliness and finally let themself AND Bunny express how they feel. It’s only now that they accept that vulnerability that they can drop their intentional disguise of everything in town. They hid everything to keep Kitty and Bunny happy, to keep them safe. But now that there’s someone else to protect them, they let themself be a scared kid and all of their hard work crumbles under the stress of keeping everything together. (At the beginning of this chapter when Mars is introduced, Teddy was playing with Bunny to keep them happy and distracted. Bunny feels lonely despite their headmates company and is prone to spiraling when they feel bad, so part of Teddy’s job is to entertain them to keep the illusion of stability.) Anyways that's all for now :3 I'll probably do the rest of the comic later. Keep in mind that everything I say here is just my interpretation and I could definitely be wrong! Though it'd be fun to see how accurate I am hehe

obligatory @laikascomet tag <3 yes i'm the same guy who mentioned it on stream :]

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 6 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

Sung Jinwoo didn't know what to expect from you. You were fascinating, more so than he would ever admit out loud. All the clues the system had fed him about your existence were vague at best, referring to you as only the "Trial Player." And while he couldn't yet piece together what that truly meant, he wasn’t going to let his guard down around you.

If you were planning something, he would figure it out eventually. For now, he would keep you close, both as an asset and as a potential threat.

He stole a glance at you now as you knelt by the remains of a fallen beast, checking to make sure its soul was vanishing, as it should. There was nothing particularly alarming about you outwardly. You were quiet, practical. But he noticed the way you watched the world—distant.

Despite his wariness, Jinwoo couldn't deny that you were useful. In raids, your healing abilities were top-notch, quick to mend injuries, faster than his own healing factor. Not to mention that you could directly heal his shadows, Jinwoo took note that the amount of mana he needed to regenerate them decreased when you were around.

Jinwoo had initially assumed that you were strictly a healer type. That’s what the Hunter’s Association records said, and your mana signature had a distinct, calming presence to it that he had only ever felt from skilled support-class hunters. Yet your mana felt… dense, almost limitless. If his own mana was a roiling river, yours was an ocean, calm on the surface but powerful beneath, which wasn’t too surprising, considering you'd been a part of the system before him. But a mere healer shouldn't have that much mana reserve.

Are you actually a mage class too?

 His suspicions were confirmed when he saw your summons.

---

The first time he’d seen them, Jinwoo had barely registered what he was seeing. An ethereal swarm fluttering around you like an aura. They were mesmerizing, each one a different color and size, their wings glittering with a soft, otherworldly light, brushing against your cheeks as you gently whisper to them.

Your mana poured out of you and into each butterfly, connecting you to them as though they were extensions of yourself.

Jinwoo couldn’t help but wonder: Were these creatures merely magical constructs? If they were—

“Why butterflies?” he had once asked, when you were both taking a rare break between raids. The delicate creatures flitted around you, glimmering faintly.

You glanced up at him, blinking. “Why shadows?

Another point taken.

He shrugged, accepting your answer—or lack thereof. Jinwoo didn’t miss the way your butterflies tended to hover near his shadows, seemingly fascinated by them. His shadows didn’t react aggressively, which surprised him. Normally, any foreign magic would cause a disturbance, but your butterflies were… different. It was odd, watching those bright, delicate wings fluttering around his pitch-black soldiers, but it was almost... cute, in a way. A contrast between darkness and light.

It wasn’t long before Jinwoo realized there was more to your butterflies than their strange, almost playful nature.

During one of their dungeons together, Jinwoo had summoned Igris to deal with a particularly tough group of orcs. He watched, mildly perplexed, as one of your butterflies—brilliant red with iridescent wings—flitted toward Igris. At first, the shadow knight seemed to briefly stop, his glowing, empty eyes flickered to the butterfly perched on his shoulder.

The crimson light from its wings seemed to seep into Igris, and Jinwoo blinked in surprise when his loyal knight straightened, his movements becoming quicker, more precise.

Jinwoo couldn't deny the difference. Whenever your butterflies were around, his shadows seemed to grow stronger, faster, even more resilient. The boost was subtle, but for someone like him who had honed his skills through the system, it was noticeable. You hadn’t mentioned this, and he planned to ask you about it later—after all, he was in no hurry to reveal how closely he was watching you.

As the raid came to an end, Jinwoo glanced over at you, watching as your butterflies settled back around you. You smiled softly, looking at them with an expression so gentle it almost made him forget about his suspicions. Almost.

He learned early on that you treated them with unusual care, a gentle vigilance like a mother would her children. There was a fondness in your tone, a rare warmth that softened the careful detachment you usually kept.

That same red butterfly always seemed to stick closest to you, fluttering protectively by your side. Yet, every now and then, Jinwoo would catch it drifting toward Igris, as if drawn to the shadow knight’s presence.

One day, it had landed on Igris’ sharp armored finger when there were no more enemies around. The shadow knight had looked at his master with a flicker of—well, if shadows could be confused, Igris certainly looked it at that moment. Jinwoo gave him a shrug, watching with mild amusement as the red butterfly seemed to glow brighter, almost as if content.

He wasn’t sure if Igris understood, the knight merely tilted his head but remained still, allowing the butterfly to rest on him until it eventually fluttered back to you.

---

Jinwoo often found himself watching you as much as he knew you watched him. But even as he remained wary, he couldn’t deny his respect for your skill. You were no burden to him. You wielded primarily healing abilities, you also seemed to know when to boost his power or his shadow’s, almost anticipating his needs before he even voiced them.

As far as your own magic went, Jinwoo had seen enough to confirm his suspicions. You had offensive capabilities as well, striking enemies with long-range magic that was precise and deadly. You were the most versatile support type hunter he had ever seen.

Still, he assumed your strength was primarily in long-range magic. He’d noted your blind spots in close combat—standard for a healer type, though he didn’t miss the subtle, fluid way you adjusted your stance or deflected attacks from mid-range with your scepter-like staff. This led him to conclude that, for all your talent, you still had weaknesses in close range.

That was, at least, until today.

It was a sprawling forest dungeon, lit by beams of eerie green light filtering down from an unnatural, leafy canopy above. They were knee-deep in werewolves, snarling beasts that prowled out of the shadowy depths of a ruin. Jinwoo's shadows were handling most of the enemies, and you were providing your usual support from the backline, healing and boosting his soldiers while occasionally sending out a volley of offensive spells.

Jinwoo had been keeping an eye on you from the corner of his vision. After all, mages, more so healers, were supposed to be squishy, vulnerable when isolated. However, something had drawn Jinwoo’s attention, leaving him at a distance from you for just a moment too long.

Everything was going smoothly until Jinwoo sensed a surge of bloodlust behind you.

When he turned, he saw it—a massive, hulking werewolf, eyes glowing a sickly yellow, leaping at you from behind with razor-sharp claws extended, ready to tear you apart.

Jinwoo’s pulse spiked, the realization hitting him a heartbeat too late. He reached out instinctively, calling for a shadow to intercept, but then—

Shing! Slash!

In one fluid movement, you had twisted on your heel, a silver blur in your hand. The werewolf's momentum came to a sudden, brutal stop as its body split cleanly in two, blood spraying across the ground. You stood over the corpse, a rapier gleaming in your hand. The silver blade pulsed with magic before you flicked the blood off and sheathed it in one graceful motion, the weapon seamlessly retracting back into what looked like your scepter.

Jinwoo stopped in his tracks, your gaze meeting his for the briefest of moments, offering a nod, before you turned back to the shadows.

By then, more werewolves emerged from the trees. The rest of the pack howled, charging at you, and Jinwoo saw the faintest shift in your expression—a steely determination, and something almost akin to exhilaration.

As the next wave of beasts closed in, Jinwoo watched as your fingers danced over the length of your scepter, infusing it with your mana. The staff elongated, shifting its shape until it became a spear, the blade at its tip crackling with your signature silver magic.

You twirled it with practiced ease, thrusting it into the nearest enemy with deadly precision.

The scene was a blur of movement, each swing of your weapon releasing bursts of silver energy that cut through the werewolves like a hot knife through butter. You fought with a grace and precision that was almost hypnotic, your movements fluid and controlled.

When one of the beasts tried to flank you, you sent a wave of silver butterflies at it. They swarmed the creature, their wings fading in and out, and Jinwoo saw the werewolf's eyes glazed over right before you struck it down.

“Are you just going to watch, or are you planning on helping?” you called over to him as you pulled out the bloody spear from the beast’s corpse, not even turning to face him.

Grey eyes shifted to blue, Jinwoo couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle.

As the two of you fell into rhythm, your combined strength decimated the remaining enemies. His shadows worked in sync with your butterflies, an unspoken alliance that seemed more natural than either of you expected. He didn’t fully trust you, but standing here together, he felt a rare sense of ease, an almost enjoyable synergy he hadn’t experienced with anyone before.

Once the last beast fell, you took a breath, looking entirely unruffled as you dusted yourself off, letting your spear shift back into its scepter form with a wave of your hand.

Jinwoo watched as the butterflies gathered back around you, the red one taking its usual place by your ear.

“So, are you a healer? A mage? Or something else entirely?” he finally asked the question he probably already knew the answer to.

Your gaze flickered, “A little of both. The system assigned me as a hybrid after my job change quest.”

Ah, so you went through that too.

“Why’d you hide it?”

You arched an eyebrow. “Hide it? You never asked.”

Again, Jinwoo couldn’t deny that.

---

The moment Jinwoo proposed a sparring match, he could see a flicker of hesitation in your eyes, a split-second of doubt that you quickly masked when you uttered your first refusal. It would take weeks for Jinwoo to finally convince you to spar with him.

“Fight me.” Jinwoo had said, his gaze piercing through you with that unyielding resolve he was known for. It wasn’t a request; it was a challenge.

“I don’t see the point.” you replied, arms crossed over your chest. But he had insisted, and eventually, your resistance gave way to a reluctant agreement. It was inevitable. After all, you couldn't keep avoiding this confrontation forever.

Now, here you stood, the tension was palpable in the quiet clearing. The both of you had been going to forest-themed dungeons quite a lot. Jinwoo wondered if the system was indicating something by giving him the keys to these instant C-rank dungeons ever since he and you teamed up. Jinwoo studied you as you calmly positioned yourself a few steps away from him, your scepter in hand, ready for the match. You always seemed to reserve a part of yourself, moving just enough to protect him but never enough to display the full range of your abilities. It left him guessing—just like what he had done before for the rest of you.

If the mouth couldn’t speak, then let the body do the talking; and Jinwoo intended to get a clear answer.

The rules were simple: no summons or any other external help, just the two of you, weapons in hand, magic thrumming beneath your skin. A fair fight

As he set his stance, his grip on his daggers tightened, the familiar weight of the weapon grounding him.

“Ready?” Jinwoo called out; his tone steady but edged with a hint of challenge.

You nodded, adjusting your grip on the scepter as it began to shimmer faintly, energy pulsing through it. “Whenever you are.”

There was a heartbeat of silence, and then Jinwoo lunged, moving with the same fluid, precise agility he’d honed through countless battles. He closed the distance between you in a second, his dagger slicing down with surgical accuracy, aimed at your shoulder. But before he could even blink, you’d shifted to the side, your scepter flicking up in a smooth arc that deflected his strike.

The metallic clash rang through the air, and for a moment, your eyes met. There was a fire in his gaze—evoking a brand-new feeling of hunger. The force of your parry pushed him back a step, and he narrowed his eyes.

He feinted left, trying to throw you off balance, and for a moment, he thought he saw an opening. He moved to take it, his dagger flashing toward your side, but you sidestepped just as quickly, countering with a swing of your scepter that glowed as it extended into a spear. Jinwoo felt the air crackle as it barely missed him, grazing his shirt with enough force that he knew it would have been a devastating blow had it landed. He grinned, adrenaline surging. You were no exception, what with the subtle twitch at the edge of your lips.

“Not bad,” he admitted, shifting his stance.

You met his gaze evenly. Without another word, you lunged, and Jinwoo found himself on the defensive. Your movements were a whirlwind of adaptability, your scepter shifting seamlessly from spear to rapier as you closed in, then retracting back to its original form when you needed to parry his strikes. Jinwoo was fast, his dagger an extension of his arm as he blocked, dodged, and countered each of your attacks, but you moved with a surprising endurance, like you were used to fighting prolonged battles and conserving your energy with each fluid motion.

He pressed forward, feinting high and then dropping low to swipe at your legs. But you saw through it, stepping back just in time, and as he rose to meet you, your scepter extended again, transforming into a rapier that gleamed with concentrated energy. He barely had time to deflect it, the clash of metal reverberating in his grip as the force of the impact sent a shock up his arm.

“Yield?” you asked, your tone light.

“Not yet.”

He switched tactics, lunging in quick succession, trying to find a rhythm that would force you to defend and expose a weakness. He noticed that your form wasn’t as refined as a true close-combat specialist; there were small openings that a trained fighter would have exploited. But what you lacked in close-combat finesse, you made up for with versatility, adapting each move to match his. Every time he tried to predict your next move, you countered with something new, always one step ahead.

Jinwoo managed to get a hit in—his dagger grazing your arm—and he saw the slightest wince cross your face. But instead of faltering, you used the momentum to shift your scepter’s shape once more, retracting it briefly before extending it into a gun-like form, a barrel forming at the tip with an audible hum as energy gathered within.

He hadn’t seen this before.

You aimed, and Jinwoo’s instincts screamed at him to dodge. He barely evaded as a bullet of condensed mana shot past, searing the ground where he’d just stood. He shot you a glare, but you only shrugged, as if to say You asked, and I answered.

“You can do that too?” Jinwoo growled under his breath, wiping sweat from his brow, his chest rising and falling with each breath. “I thought you were more of a mage type.”

Look who’s talking.

You twirled the scepter-turned-gun in your hand before letting it shift back to its original staff form. “I am. But being adaptable is… useful.”

He scoffed, though there was no real frustration behind it. “Adaptable? You’re like fighting a damn chameleon.”

He lunged again, forcing you back, his strikes coming faster now as he tried to keep you from regaining control. But you parried each blow, countering with a series of swift jabs and thrusts that drove him to the defensive. The longer the fight continued, the more Jinwoo realized you were every bit his equal—or possibly even stronger. Each time he thought he’d found a gap in your defenses, you shifted your stance, countering his attacks with an unpredictable rhythm that left him scrambling to keep up.

The fight dragged on, each of you pushing the other to your limits. Jinwoo could feel fatigue beginning to wear at him, his breaths growing heavier, but you showed no signs of slowing. He wasn’t sure if it was raw endurance or sheer experience that kept you moving with the same fluidity you’d had at the start.

Finally, he saw what he thought was an opening. He lunged, putting every ounce of his remaining strength into the strike, but in the split second before his dagger could make contact, your scepter blocked it, catching his blade mid-strike. And in that moment, you pivoted, shifting your scepter back to a spear and hooking it behind his leg to throw him off balance. He staggered, and in the heartbeat it took him to recover, you had already retracted the spear and brought the tip of your scepter to his throat.

“Yield?” you asked again, your voice calm, breathing hard but steady.

“...I yield,” he muttered, lowering his weapon.

You stepped back, lowering your scepter as Jinwoo straightened, a grudging respect settling in his gaze. It was a hard pill to swallow—realizing that even with all his progress, he was still a step behind someone like you.

“Well,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I guess I got my answer.”

“Did you?” you replied, there was no arrogance there, it was almost… reassuring.

He met your gaze, you nodded, offering a faint smile. “Work harder to catch up.”

I’ll wait for you.

As he watched you walk away, Jinwoo felt a mix of frustration and admiration twisting in his chest. For all his progress, all his strength, there were still mysteries he couldn’t crack, and you were one of them. But as maddening as it was, he couldn’t deny the excitement that thrummed beneath his skin at the thought of growing stronger, of one day standing on equal footing with you.

---

Your power was… formidable. Jinwoo was not the type to admit it easily, but you were undeniably stronger than him, at least for the time being. Every joint raid you participated in, every dungeon you cleared together, made that abundantly clear.

He could see it in the way you fought with lethal efficiency. You wielded your mana with a deftness he could only respect, if not quite trust. Your abilities, whether in healing or combat, suggested years—maybe decades—of experience. Yet, your gaze flicked to him every so often, as if gauging his reaction.

Despite that overwhelming power, you still played along with his orders, never challenging his authority. Here you were, guarding his back as if you had no greater ambition than to follow him. The thought of it unsettled him.

You were holding back.

If you were so powerful, why did you follow him? Why didn’t you resist more on this arrangement? Was it truly just because the system compelled you? And if that was the case, why didn’t you seem to resent it? Sure, you seem frustrated, but that was just about it.

“You’re… strong,” he admitted, watching you carefully. “Stronger than I am, for now. So why do you go along with all of this?”

Your eyes met his, surprise flickering in them before you looked away, staring off into the dimly lit cavern, adjusting your staff in your hands.

“I thought we’ve been over this. The system—”

“That’s just an excuse,” he pressed. “We both know how the system is. What I’m asking is why you follow my lead?”

For a moment, you didn’t respond. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, you turned to him, your expression serious, your eyes searching his as if you were weighing something crucial.

“It’s… complicated,” you murmured that word again, as if it could sum up everything left unsaid.

“Let’s just say,” There was a quiet edge to your tone, “that I believe in what you’re doing.”

You said them softly, almost wistfully. “Or just call it curiosity, if you want.”

Jinwoo didn’t know what to make of that answer, and it frustrated him to no end.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that you knew more about him than you let on. That watchful gaze of yours wasn’t one of mere curiosity—it was the gaze of someone who was studying a well-worn book they had read countless times before. Jinwoo caught you doing it often enough to notice: the way you would follow his movements, anticipate his decisions, even predict his strategies as if you’d already seen it all play out before.

It was unnerving.

Jinwoo clenched his jaw, frustrated by the half-answers you always seemed to give. “You keep saying that. But you’ve been watching me just as much as I’ve been watching you,” He said that while never taking his eyes off you.

“But I get the feeling you know a lot more about me than I do about you.”

Your gaze flickered, and for a moment, he thought he saw a flash of guilt. But you quickly masked it, a faint smile tugged at your lips, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “I observe you because I… want to understand you better. Maybe it’s because, in some ways, you’re the first person I—”

You suddenly clammed up and then turned away. Jinwoo could tell that he wasn’t going to get any more out of you on this topic.

“Alright,” he said finally, voice dropping to a neutral tone. “But if you’re keeping secrets, just know—one day, I’ll find them out.”

You chuckled, the sound both warm and distant. “You wouldn’t be the Sung Jinwoo I know if you didn’t.”

---

Whatever your motives were, Jinwoo was now sure they weren’t as simple as he initially thought.

Why had you been helping him for all those years before he even knew you existed? What did you gain from it?

Maybe you really are just that kind.

It was a conclusion that didn’t sit well with him. Jinwoo had grown used to people having ulterior motives, but you seemed different. Your actions were selfless, almost to a fault. You cared, yet there was still more to your story.

There were days when he almost believed he’d solved the puzzle of who you were, pieced together from your silent gestures and guarded glances. And yet, the closer he got, the more he felt he was overlooking something vital, something you were desperate to tell him but couldn’t.

It gnawed at him in the quiet moments after a fight, and even more so as he lay awake at night, thinking back to those rare glimpses of a different you. For every truth you hinted at, there seemed to be a secret you swallowed, and the weight of it left him wondering if you were carrying a lot more than you should have.

As for your quiet knowledge, he’d caught on that it went beyond mere strategy or observation. You seemed to know his habits, his tendencies, even some things he himself hadn’t fully realized. He watched as you predicted his actions in battle, shifting to support him before he even had a chance to react, as if you knew what he’d do next.

But more than that, he could sense that you carried a strange sort of empathy for him—a sadness that didn’t quite make sense coming from a stranger. The feeling unsettled him, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to ignore it. You weren’t just another faceless hunter to him now.

It wasn’t enough, not nearly. Trust wasn’t something he could afford easily, not in this world, not after everything he’d been through. So, until he could figure you out, Jinwoo would keep you close.

Because, if there was one thing he had learned from years of surviving dungeons, it was that the most dangerous thing wasn’t always the monsters lurking in the shadows.

Sometimes, it was the ones standing right next to you.

And that, maddening as it was, was enough to keep him close for now.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [015/10/2024] -

First dive into Jinwoo's p.o.v. And also my first attempt at writing full fight scene, hopefully it make sense. Let me know your thoughts! Is Jinwoo too OOC? Is the fight scene lacking too much? Constructive criticisms are appreciated! <3

[kick-a-long]

Mamdani being mayor or nyc. Obviously he’s an antisemite, he’s less obviously (but still convincingly) pro terrorism, but these things are not what primary voters cared about. They wanted a socialist to come in and make the quality of life cheaper and better as their gift to the poor who didn’t vote for mamdani. /S

Why would the poor not vote in droves for mamdani’s magical market model to fix all their woes? Because it’s bullshit. And not even the populous slam dunk of blame rich Jew lawyers, Jew bankers, Jew landlords and Jew bosses is enough to convince them otherwise.

First, mamdani has a vanishingly small chance of getting anywhere with any of his promises. He’s a baby in politics who knows no one of consequence and has no favors to trade.

Second, every promise he’s made would have the opposite of its promised outcome:

Set up free grocery stores? They will be a nightmare to run and stock (and frankly will be the target of scalpers who will just go in and buy up the subsidized products and sell them around town at market price with fake products mixed in.) they will fuck with the bodaga system, which is the local small business markets, as unlicensed resellers expand throughout the city and won’t need to contend with inspections and reputation of a brick and mortar store. They will get seriously hurt, they were already on life support and being kept alive by selling skunk weed and illegal vapes.

Freeze rents? The point is to bring rent down right? Well rent is high because landlords don’t want to deal with tenants or repair costs keeping old housing off the market and more importantly developers don’t want to lose money do there’s no new houses going up. You effectively tell the owners of houses not to rent them and the makers of new houses not to build in nyc.

Congrats 🎉 rich intellectual people! You tried punishing “non intellectual rich people” but only managed to further punish poor people and immigrants!! Fuck you!

It’s the same story with all his bullshit promises. This isn’t even considering how complicated keeping nyc running is. He’s absolutely not qualified to do that. Literally just getting the garbage taken out and the parks safe and open to everyone is spectacularly hard let alone the current gathering storms of nyc’s failing prisons, subways (which are controlled by the state not the city), terrorism prevention, water pipes, gas lines, highways like the BQE, legal cases, tax base, and budget.

I hate him for being a Jew hating terrorism promoting knob of shit. I also understand enough economics to know he’s at best going to do nothing, either way running the city into the ground by neglecting to addressing existential issues that are close to breaking point.

If you need to vote for a socialist, for the love of god please make sure they aren’t the kind who thinks setting their bed on fire in the middle of winter is a good way to save on gas heating.

[glowettee]

🦢 you don't need more tips, you need to trust yourself

hey lovelies!! mindy here, back with another "no aesthetics post". so i've been thinking about this a lot lately (like, literally in the middle of the night when i should be sleeping but my brain won't shut up??) and i realized something that honestly changed everything for me. we're all obsessed with consuming advice, tips, strategies… but at some point we need to ask: is all this "help" actually helping?

i used to be that girl with 27 self-help books on her nightstand, 14 productivity podcasts in my queue, and approximately 10000 saved posts about "how to live your best life." i was drowning in good advice. and yet? i wasn't actually doing anything with it all.

here's the uncomfortable truth that i personally learned: collecting self-help is often just another form of procrastination. we trick ourselves into thinking we're making progress because we're "learning," but we're actually just avoiding the scary part, taking action when we don't feel ready.

✧ when you know it's become a problem:

you feel like you need to read "just one more" article before starting

you have notebooks filled with advice you've never implemented

you follow dozens of gurus but haven't committed to any single approach

you constantly switch systems hoping to find the "perfect" one

you know what to do but still feel paralyzed

you use phrases like "once i learn enough about x, then i'll start"

you feel overwhelmed by conflicting advice but keep seeking more

the most painful realization? all this consumption is actually making you less confident. every new piece of advice makes you question your instincts more. every contradicting tip makes you doubt your judgment. every perfect "before and after" makes you wonder what's wrong with you.

✧ why we get stuck in the advice loop:

consuming feels safe. implementing feels risky. reading about someone else's success story gives us the emotional satisfaction of achievement without any of the messy work or potential failure. it's like emotional junk food, momentarily satisfying but ultimately empty.

plus, there's something so alluring about the promise that the next book, the next course, the next system will finally be THE ONE that changes everything. we become collectors of solutions rather than solvers of problems.

✧ how to break free (ironic, i know… more advice):

declare an information fast. seriously. no new self-help for at least 30 days. it will feel uncomfortable, like an itch you can't scratch. that's how you know you need it.

pick ONE system or approach you've already learned and commit to it fully. not perfectly, just consistently. the magic isn't in finding the perfect system, it's in the consistent application of any decent one.

start before you feel ready. that knot in your stomach when you think about taking action? that's your growth edge. the discomfort isn't a sign to seek more knowledge, it's the signal that you're about to grow.

recognize that implementation creates wisdom that consumption never will. you'll learn more from a week of messy action than a year of perfect theory.

identify your "consumption triggers" do you reach for advice when you're afraid? uncertain? compare yourself to others? notice the emotional patterns.

create an "already know" document. write down everything you already know about your goal. you'll be shocked at how much wisdom you already possess.

trust that you are the expert on your own life. external advice can inform you, but it can never know the nuances of your specific situation like you do.

the truth is, you already know enough. you've probably known enough for a while now. the answers you're seeking outside yourself are usually already within you, buried under layers of doubt and other people's opinions.

what if the most radical act of self-improvement isn't finding new advice, but trusting the wisdom you already have? what if you already have everything you need?

so this is my gentle nudge to put down the self-help, close the tabs, unfollow the gurus (yes, even me if you need to), and start the messy, imperfect process of actually living instead of just learning about living.

because honestly, the world doesn't need more people who know all the right theories. it needs people brave enough to take imperfect action on what they already know.

xoxo, mindy 🤍

p.s. if you're wondering "but how will i know what to do without guidance?", that's exactly the point. you won't know for certain. and that uncertainty is where the real growth happens. trust yourself anyway.

[who-can-touch-my-boob]

<- love and deepspace masterlist

AN: angsty and a hurt/comfort drabble. Sorry just had to get this out of my system.

-

Imagine this, you’re sitting in Sylus’ living room, waiting and waiting. He’s been gone for hours, much longer than he’d told you. You’re anxious, finger tapping on your knee, eyes glancing over at the door as if he’s magically appear.

And then finally, he does. However despite him looking like he usually does after one of his cryptic “work” where he’s covered in blood, Sylus doesn’t have that same aloof expression.

The man who’s always so calm and collected, rarely fazed or shows emotions other than the tender smiles that’s exclusively for you, he is now looking utterly broken down.

His sharp features twisted into what you can only describe as agony.

You don’t say anything, instead you move as quickly as you can, just in time to catch him as he falls down on his knees. Slowly you ease yourself down, grabbing his shoulder and pull him into a tight hug.

Sylus buries his face into the crook of your neck, his warm breath hitching and his heart’s pounding so loud you can feel it against your own chest.

You’re too stunned and worried to speak, all you do is hug him tighter. Your hand gently rub his back as you coo softly, letting him know you’re here.

Something’s dampening your skin, warm droplets of tears that trickles down his cheeks and on you. His breath hitches again, he’s trying to speak but it’s as if the words are stuck.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” You murmur softly, placing a kiss on his temple.

After a long and heavy silence apart from Sylus’ muffled sobs, he slowly pulls back, just enough for your faces to be only centimetres apart.

With a tender hand you cup his face, the other brushing away the hair from his forehead, silently examining him for any injuries. You’re relieved to find out he’s not wounded, atleast not physically.

Sylus leans into your palm, nuzzling his before placing a small kiss. His eyelashes are sticking together from the tears he just shed, but it seems he’s managed to control his emotions.

“I… did something horrible.” He whispers, voice barely audible and hoarse. His red eyes flickers up to meet yours before looking away in shame.

You frown, studying his features to try and understand what had happened to make him this distraught. Sylus has done a lot of bad things, but he always walked out of the situations with a calm and relaxed demeanour.

“What did you do?” You ask him, but your voice is hesitant, almost scared of what he’s about to say next.

Sylus takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before slowly lifting his gaze, his eyes filled with emotions.

“Amidst all the… exchange of firearm, a…”

He pauses, voice rough and shaky. He takes another deep breath before continuing.

“A small girl got caught in the middle of it. For once in my life, something happened that I had not anticipated.”

Your eyes widens, realising where this is going. Sylus can see it clearly and it’s breaking his heart imagining how you’ll just leave him. That this was the breaking point, that you’ll never want to see him again.

However Sylus is an honest man, he would never lie to you, so he clears his throat softly and use all his strength to finish.

“She was no older than eight years old… And my bullet was the one to. I killed her.”

He looks at his hand, covered in blood and dirt, but what catches your attention is the keychain with a small cat plushie.

“I didn’t meant to… I would never, not a child. Please, believe me.”

Sylus start rambling, the fear of being abandoned now by you, the guilt heavy for what he’d done, the small blood covered keychain that had not long ago had its home in a little girl’s pocket.

You see it, the way he’s digging himself deeper and tears wells up in your eyes at the sight before you.

“Sylus,”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling in once more and you can feel how much he’s trembling.

“I believe you. I know you. You would never do such a thing. I’m here and I won’t leave you.”

Your voice is firm, yet affectionate as you hug him tighter.

Neither of you say anything after that, and you remain sitting on your knees for a long time. Not until Sylus finally calms down and speaks more do you release him from your embrace.

“Whatever did a monster like me do to deserve an angel like you?”

You flash him a smile and shake your head before kissing his cheek. Seeing his usual playfulness somewhat returned you hope to lighten up the mood.

“You can thank this angel after helping you bathe.”

As you both get up on your feet, Sylus glances down at the small cat plushie attached to the keychain and with a gentle smile looks at you as you guide him to the bathroom.

“Can this little kitten also get a bath? I want to change out my old keychain.”

[a-sparrows-melody]

Things I Would Change About PJO

(I might write a fanfic based on these points):

The whole Hunters-Of-Artemis thing. Like what do you mean Artemis hates all men. What about Orion and all the rest. What do you mean she hates Apollo. She loves him so much. Stop already. That whole thing was just erroneous interpretation of Greek Mythology and it felt really weird and toxic.

Annabeth and Percy's trauma bond. Annabeth is pretty toxic in a relationship, especially in the HoO books when she and Percy get together. Love their relationship as a concept but the way Rick writes it is just... not it. To show Annabeth as a "strong woman" he continuously makes her put Percy down - and not only in COTG and WOTTG. She literally judo-flips him when they met after that long traumatic period where Percy was suffering from amnesia and being killed so many times. I would love to see more of their dynamic as friends and make it a longer, healthier, equal-footed relationship.

Thalia Grace joining the Hunters and never leaving. What the hell. She only joined to escape the Great Prophecy 1. She can leave right after the Battle of Manhattan and take Percy's place in Great Prophecy 2.

Bianca being alive, only "lost" (never specified dead!). It's a pretty big plot-point for Nico and I think it would probably have a bigger impact on him to lose his only care-giver and watch her come back into his life after he's grieving greatly and he's in the process of learning how to live life without her. It would truly change up their entire systems and I would love to see Nico and Bianca coming to a point where they realize it's time to live their own lives. ALSO STOP TREATING BIANCA LIKE A PLOT-DEVICE FOR NICO. COME ON. DO BETTER.

Make Nico better. In general. The character has so much potential but is just reduced to "sunshine character's grumpy emo goth boyfriend" or "kid whose type is NOT PERCY HAHAHAHA SO FUNNY". Give him some more development.

LUKE WAS A GROOMER AND ACTIVELY ENGAGED IN HUMAN TRAFFICKING. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU JUST FORGIVE HIM AND NOT OCTAVIAN, WHO WAS LITERALLY BULLIED AND MANIPULATED INTO DOING THE SHIT HE DID. If you want to hate Luke, hate Octavian too. If you want to forgive him, forgive Octavian too. Stop hating complex characters.

CALEO. OH MY GOD CALEO. LIKE ACTUALLY DIE. THAT IS SO HORRIBLE.

Piper does not need to be gay.

Jason does not need to die.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN GROVER DID NOT USE HIS EMPATHY LINK TO SEARCH FOR PERCY IN TARTARUS. SMH.

Percy should NOT have become Praetor.

Reyna should not be aro/ace or she's just horrible representation of both those things. STOP PUTTING EVERY ARO/ACE CHARACTER IN THE HUNTERS OF ARTEMIS.

Why would Nico search for Bianca and bring Hazel back? That thing makes no sense. His whole arc in TLO was to accept the loss of his sister. Instead, bring out Ethan Nakamura who is still angry and jealous and wants to bring balance to the world. He comes out on his own, BTW.

The whole "Wilderness school" plotline thing. OF COURSE monsters would come for Pipes and Leo. They're really damn powerful and really damn young. What the hell do you mean by they never knew anything till Jason? smh.

SOLANGELO. CAN'T BELIEVE I'M SAYING THIS BUT IT'S OUT THERE. Will is just a blank character to show that Nico's gay and prove he's over Percy (STOP WITH THE "NOT MY TYPE" JOKES OH MY GOD GET OVER IT ALREADY WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU). If you're doing this, at least give me a good, long slow-burn. Or don't show it at all. Nico decides to live in normal life after being shunned and confused all his life in the magical world. Now he finds a mortal boyfriend and is actually thriving. His character is so beautiful like stop ruining him and using him as a goddamn plot-device all the time. Ugh.

CHANGE NICO'S COMING OUT SCENE! LITERALLY WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT.

Jason and Piper breaking up was such a good plot point because not everyone falls in love but you need to make it heart-wrenching. Jason doesn't know what's going on. He's just dating Piper because that's what he's being told, that's what he did his whole life. MAKE IT HAPPEN IN HOO.

NO FRAZEL AND LEO LOVE TRIANGLE. ALSO JUST NO FRAZEL IN GENERAL. STOP WITH THE FRAZEL. THAT'S SO UNHEALTHY.

MAKE LEO ARO/ACE GODDAMN. He has so much potential. Like he always feels loveless? Like a failure? Feels a need to have a partner to prove his worth? DIE. MAKE HIM ARO/ACE. MAKE HIM DEAL WITH ALL THAT.

Actually valgrace is a pretty good plot point as well. valdangelo as well.

WHY AREN'T THERE ANY POLY SHIPS IN PJO? SMH. SERIOUSLY. SO MUCH POTENTIAL.

Don't kill me but... perachel is pretty good. I've written a small post about it here.

Welp this is officially too long. Anyway. I wanted to add more but this has been sitting in my drafts and collecting dust a long time so here you go.

[formulakracing]

fair lady — o.p.

pairing -> princess!reader x knight!oscar piastri

word count -> 1.7k

warnings -> cursing, mutual pining, mentions of violence, arranged marriage trope, slight angst, mainly lots of fluff

a/n -> i have been in a bit of a writing slump and concept keeps gnawing away at my brain. i am not a history buff nor do i have extensive knowledge about period pieces, so i apologize if this is not historically accurate. this was a request by my dear 🎀 anon (pssttttt! if you guys like it enough i'lll expand the au!)

"oh, sweet one, you look wonderful!"

"gorgeous!"

"how exquisite!"

~𖥔☾𖤓☽𖥔~

sucking in breath, you swivel on your heel, performing a little twirl for the audience gathered around. there are a few more gasps, as well as several nods of approval. in your peripheral, you catch your mother beaming, her lips curled in a dazzling smile.

your sisters squeal, fanning rapidly as your mother approaches. she faces you, carefully smoothing out a wrinkle on your right shoulder.

"what do you think, sweet one? is it everything you dreamed of?"

your heart races, thudding against your rib-cage. dozens of eyes hone in, anticipating your answer. your throat is dry as your palms clam u, blood roaring in your ears.

"it will do."

your mother's brow furrows, the jewels adorning her crown glittering as she cocks her head, "sweet girl, this is your wedding gown. i would have expected more enthusiasm from you! you are getting married in one week's time. you should be thrilled!"

at her sentiment, you hang your head. shame bubbles up in the pit of your gut as your sisters scoff, shaking their heads. as much as you wanted to protest, you knew that it would be no use.

you had no say in this arrangement.

that fateful day, when the clock struck midnight on your thirteenth birthday, it was arranged that you would be marrying lord lando, heir to the mclaren state. as one of the daughters of the established belmont lineage, you were destined to marry into another royal family.

it was an ideology interwoven throughout your adolescent years, as your father often mentioned that it was your sole purpose in life. well, one of many sole purposes.

your other purpose in life was to bear children. healthy children. children with royal blood. children that would expand the kingdom, far and wide throughout the countryside.

yet, there was nothing that you dreaded more than marrying that man. any time the thought crossed your mind, there was this awful, putrid vile that rose in the back of your throat. a shudder would slither down your spine, the hairs on your arms and neck standing on end.

rather, you wanted to marry out of love. if it meant breaking away from your family, then so be it. if it meant being exiled, then it was a fate you were willing to accept.

after all, your parents were able to marry out of love.

why couldn't you?

although your father would not explicitly tell you the reason, you had a few assumptions. the first was that the marriage would unite the territories together. there would an abundance of spoils to be shared. not only would your father be a richer man, but there would be far more wealth among the common folk. there would be more livestock to raise. more produce to harvest. more land to explore.

the second was a bit darker, but it was the reality of the world you lived in.

when you were sixteen, your father received a decree from the mclaren state. they demanded that lord lando was given a wife by the time he turned twenty-five. from what you could recall, if your father did not comply, then the mclaren state would invade a crucial strip of the belmont territory.

the piece of land was simply a meadow, but there were rumors of what lied beneath. it was rumored that there was an intricate system of caverns and pools underneath the meadow. it was said that the fae dwelled among these caverns and caves, where their magic was highly sought after.

the only access point to these caves were along a steep ridge, located on the edge of the belmont territory. the ridge was only a few kilometers from where the mclaren state began, so it made sense why their family was interested in the meadow.

thus, if you were to go through with the marriage to lord lando, then the land would be consequently shared among the royal families. it would no longer be a quarrel that lasted generations.

in a way, your marriage would be a peace offering. from that moment on, there would only be joy and harmony. everyone would benefit in some way.

well, everyone except you.

you would be thrust into a life you wanted no part of. you would loathe the man you betrothed. you would spiral into a great depression.

the light that once danced in your eyes would wither away, quelled to nothing but darkness.

"give it some time," your mother's voice is gentle now, the stern notes no longer lingering, "i am aware that this has been difficult for you. your father mentioned this morning that you were melancholy. we will speak more about it in the morning. slip out of this gown, freshen up, and get some rest."

you merely nod in response, two of your sisters trailing after your mother as she strolls out of the room. your littlest sister, aurora, stays put, crossing over to you.

carefully, she places a tender hand on your shoulder, "do you need help, sister?"

"of course," the corners of your lips twitch into a meek smile, "i would love your help, aurora."

aurora dips her head, bearing a grin. careful fingers find your back, hastily getting to work. the gown slides down your body, falling to the floor.

several layers are discarded, aurora offering a hand as you carefully fold your gown and undergarments, placing them in your wardrobe. before you know it, she has you sitting at vanity, nimbly combing away at your locks.

aurora was only eighteen, but you felt at times that she was far older, perhaps even older than you. she was wiser than your other siblings, remarkably cunning, and knew how to speak to just about anyone. she was adored by all, as her aura radiated a pureness you were envious of.

and although you were the oldest, you felt that aurora was the sister who took care of everyone. she even doted on your parents, ensuring all of their needs were met.

if anyone was to be married to lord lando, it should be aurora.

yet, you did not want that for her. she deserved a man who would care for her the way she cared for others, if not more. and in your heart, you knew that no suitor would even compare.

"well," aurora tuts, placing the comb beside you, "i am finished. please, get some rest. i am afraid that you are going to need as much sleep as you can manage in these next few days."

"why?" you arch a brow, feeling a laugh bubble up in your throat, "are you nervous about the wedding?"

"i am not going to answer that," aurora shrugs, fighting a smirk, "all i will say is that i am curious to see how it will all unfold. goodnight, sister. i love you."

"i love you," your heart swells as aurora wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in for a brief embrace, "sleep well, my sister."

"you do the same."

however, as your sister's steps crescendo, her warm presence leaving the room, you cannot help but fidget. your head turns, angling toward the window.

in the far distance, way beyond the lush pine trees, you can make out the sea of green. there are little specks, only reminding you of the beautiful flora that grace that stretch of land.

letting out a shaky breath, you rise to your feet, padding over to your door. pressing an ear against it, you cannot make out the sound of hushed voices. aurora must have been the last one to bed.

gnawing at your lip, fingers wrap around the handle, the coolness of the metal earning goosebumps. you pull at the thick wood, wrinkling your nose at the creaking that floods your ears.

the events that follow are a blur.

before you know it, you are on your beloved horse, the sound of hooves echoing throughout the greenery. a breeze rolls through the trees, promising of summer. birds chirp about, ravens squawking at the sight of a fair maiden traveling alone.

yet, you have no fear.

after all, what was there to be afraid of? your life was going to be altered in ways you could not quite grasp. you were no longer going to have freedom. you were no longer going to have a voice.

there was nothing left to lose.

coming to a halt, you slip off your horse, exhaling as you are met with plush grass.

yet, your breath catches in your throat as you hear a twig snap, a shadow emerging from the forest on your right.

"show yourself!" your voice is pitifully small, "i demand that you come out this instant!"

your eyes adjust, squinting as you make out the outline of a man. he is on a horse, but he is alone. yet, your heart races as he approaches, your blood running cold as he whistles, signaling for his horse to stop.

he clambers down, dipping his head, "my apologies, fair maiden. i am simply patrolling the borders. i did not intend to frighten you."

"frighten me?" you spit out, "w-who are you?"

his armor gleams as he bows, bringing a hand to his chest, "i am sir oscar, knight of the mclaren state."

pursing your lips, you pick out the crest adorning his helmet, "do you realize that you are on belmont territory, sir oscar, knight of the mclaren state?"

"yes," he chirps, "i was simply in pursuit of an enemy. however, as i came closer, i realized that it was not an enemy, but rather a maiden. i followed you, as i was under the impression that you were in need of assistance."

"i am exactly where i want to be," folding your arms across your chest, you tilt your head, "i am free to roam wherever i please. my whereabouts are none of your concern. i advise that you leave this territory at once before—"

yet, your breath is taken away as the knight's fingers curl around his helmet, raising it from his head.

before your eyes was the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

"forgive me, fair lady. i just wanted to make sure that my eyes were not deceiving me."

"and what makes you say that?" you press, brow furrowing as he descends to one knee, bowing his bead.

"forgive me, fair lady. for i did not realize that i was standing before a princess."