#I cannot express how BAFFLED I am by this ask

[mochiwrites]

You say you dont want people copying your work but you dont seem to have a problem with other mumscarian aus that clearly draw heavily on songbird like rift au? Explain

anon wdym? 🤨

on a serious note:

first of all, belle (stitchthesewords) is a very dear friend of mine, and I happen to enjoy rift au very much. SECOND of all, rift au existed before songbird did. and I'll have you know, belle helped me plan songbird's base storyline. we talk about fic ideas all the time??

I'd genuinely love to see how you think rift au, a fantasy crime story with a resistance against king ren, draws "heavily" on songbird, a fantasy murder mystery with a deeply rooted theme of humanity. these two aus HARDLY have any similarities between them. so I'd love to see what you think is heavy influence.

the only similarities is the fantasy genre, and that mumbo is a vampire. other than that, the stories are two completely separate entities.

I'd rather people not copy my work, this is correct. but taking inspiration from it is fine?? as long as the inspiration inspires your own idea. this may shock you, but songbird took inspiration from the midnight series. and before you assume that series takes heavy influence from songbird, midnight existed first, hope that helps!

there is a fine line between taking inspiration and copying someone's work. copying songbird would be someone taking the plotline and ripping off of it. however taking inspiration would be putting your own spin on an idea or concept.

also it's not like I'm religiously stalking the mumscarian tag to see the fics either???

I don't know if you think I'm supposed to have a problem with other writers taking inspiration from me, but I don't. as long as the plot isn't a straight rip off from my own work, people can go crazy! creativity inspires creativity. that's how stories work! and that's okay. inspiration does NOT equal copying. are there some stories that draw a bit too much influence from my works? yes, I've seen them. and it's not like I can stop people from doing what they want. the most I can do is say "hey, please don't copy/rip off of my work" and hope that people are kind enough to listen.

as I always say, fanfic writing is a hobby, it's not serious or "professional" like publishing a book is. and BOY anon don't look at how publishing works, you might be upset over how the book marketing is done (spoiler alert: agents will ask you to compare your story to at least two other books that are similar to yours!)

you're allowed to take inspiration from the things you read.

and next time? you might want to check if the writers of the two fics you're claiming are "similar" are friends.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Demon King Headcanons

You have accepted the Demon King’s marriage proposal! Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance

[Main Story]

The proposal, as you quickly found out, came as a surprise to everyone. Not even the King’s loyal butler knew of such intentions; he’d assumed they were finally going to destroy everything and everyone at once. To him, the dramatic scene of you and his Lord enveloped in flames was anything but a romantic confession. It was your final battle. So one might imagine the poor lizard’s confusion when the Demon King returned with you following behind. “S-sir?” He questioned meekly. The armored creature nodded at his servant. “It has been done. We’ll plan the wedding upon our arrival home.” The what? His baffled expression must’ve given him away, because the Demon continued: “What’re you gawking like that for? Didn’t I ask you earlier how humans forge a bond?” The butler stumbled to search for his words, swallowing dryly. “Well y-yes, your Majesty…I just didn’t expect it to be anything more than curiosity.”

The same speechless reaction repeated itself all the way to the Kingdom. Soldiers, diplomats, other monstrous entities of the unknown Land, they all greeted you in disbelief. So much, in fact, that you began to poke fun at their hesitant response: “I am his mortal enemy”, you’d announce with a dramatic bow. “Spouse! We talked about this!” the Demon Lord would quickly correct you, flustered.

Truth be told, you're not quite sure what made you accept this ridiculous offer. Perhaps a mixture of intrigue and disillusionment. The city you've dedicated yourself to stood no longer, burnt to a crisp along with its corruption and crookery. In a way, the monster had unshackled you from a responsibility you no longer wanted to bear. And if that wasn't enough to convince you, well, the sight of the Ruler himself kneeling before you certainly sealed the deal.

Although it may take a while for you to accept the idea that your worst adversary had actually been infatuated with you this entire time. Were there even any hints? During your last battle you nearly died. You'd crawled out of an enormous crater on your fours, bones shattered and ligaments torn. When you pointed this out to your groom-to-be, he stared at you in horror. "I had no idea humans were that fragile. I was trying to adjust my strength so as to not do any harm." You could only nod, patting away the sweat beads forming on your forehead. Uh huh. Maybe it's better you didn't experience his full range of attacks.

Ever since the devastating revelation, he's been extra careful when handling you. Sometimes he'll awkwardly hover his large hands above you, with a concentrated frown on his face. "What the hell are you doing?" you ask, eyeing him suspiciously. "I'm trying to be gentle." he'll answer. "You're not even touching me." Fair point, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

The Demon King will often ask you about customs from your world as a way to make you comfortable, just in case you get struck by the occasional homesickness. His Realm is very different from what you're used to, after all. Lamentably, his own years spent in the human world were not too fruitful from a cultural point of view. He was either busy stalking you or devouring the souls of the innocent. Now that he has nothing else to worry about, he will gladly listen and even do his best to actively participate.

You wake up shrouded in thick smoke. Overwhelmed by heavy déjà vu, you rush down the grand stairs, searching for the source of the fire. Are you being attacked? Enemies of the Demon King? You elbow yourself against the kitchen door, similar to when you left your home to find the city ablaze. The Demon Lord turns to face you, visibly overwhelmed and exhausted. You gawk at the scene unfolding before you and remember to close your mouth, mainly out of politeness. "It's too small. I'm afraid I cannot use it", he reveals timidly, holding a human spatula between his fingers to showcase the impractical size difference. You glance at the disastrous attempt behind him and manage to deduce he'd been trying to make breakfast. In an unspoken agreement, he steps back and allows you to take over.

"I'm surprised you let him burn down the kitchen", you mention to the butler once you get a moment to yourself. The scaly servant sighs, and theatrically lifts his clawed hands in hopelessness. "Pointless to argue with him when he's like this, (Y/N). In my entire life serving the Family, I've never witnessed a more stubborn leader." He points to the lavish portraits adorning the walls with a faint smile. "And, to put it frankly, he's obsessed with you. I've never seen him in a more deplorable state. Marrying a human?! The shame, the outrage!” he cries out. “No offense intended to you, of course. You must understand." You hum in agreement, a tad uncomfortable, yet sympathetic. "M-maybe it'll tone down after the wedding?" you suggest as encouragement. "Oh, no, I suspect it will only get worse", he bemoans in return. Then, he promptly straightens his back and resumes his duties.

You go on your own way, not wanting to burden the lizard in his work. As you cross the hallway, you find the Demon King himself scanning each room, somewhat agitated. He notices you and his features soften. "I was wondering where you'd vanished." You approach him with the words of the butler still ringing in your ears.

[gotta-winwin]

(💬) ... vernon chwe x reader

⭐ starring: vernon

💬 preview: the seemingly 'extraterrestrial' man that occupies Cubicle #218 cannot seem to take a hint - no matter how many flashing signs you throw at him.

tw/cw: fluff, corporate vernon, vernon is an oblivious lil shit, allusions to sex, quotes from b.e.d by Jacquees, shameless flirting and banter

based on an ask (hi + thanks for requesting!) as well as b.e.d by Jacquees MDNI

🪽fic rating/wc: pg 13/ 3.5k

☁️ masterlist & a/n: i am forever stuck in this vernon loop - alas, here's a request that's been sitting in my inbox for awhile, brewing vernon thoughts the whole time. although this fic is entirely fluff, there are allusions to sex so please be mindful of your age and the fic rating.

Vernon would have quit his job a long time ago if it hadn’t been for you. A part of him still yearned for the stage, a trusty guitar in his hands and the sound of diehard fans screaming his name. Instead, he had found himself stuck, circling the corporate ladder, clocking in to work everyday just to sit in his one lonely cubicle, staring at numbers he had only pretended to understand when getting his degree. 

He had his resignation letter signed and ready to go, and he would have handed it in if it hadn’t been for the notes that had begun to appear.

Colorful post-it notes that he’d find in the most random places - first his desk, then his lunchbox, in the pocket of his coat, stuck dead center on his computer screen. It baffled him, yet the notes kept coming, every single day of work without fail. At first he had scoffed, chalking it up to some silly office prank, but as time progressed, the notes became almost a given, as if the notes itself had rooted into his everyday routine. It filled him with anticipation and a reason to clock in everyday. As much as he hesitated to admit it, the silly notes made his day.

Of course, the notes were anonymous. Vernon had no idea that you were the reason he still showed up to work. 

“This is basically workplace harassment.” Anne, your closest co-worker, commented, as she watched you pen your next note to Vernon. She was the only one who knew it was you behind the colorful post-its.

“If he didn’t like it he would’ve told HR months ago.” You argued, ripping the completed note off the pad of bright orange post-its. “Besides, you’ve seen him smile at the notes. Even got a laugh out of him a couple times.” 

“But-” Anne snatched the note from you and read it aloud. “I hope our love will be like the number Pi: irrational and endless.” She shook her head, tsking. “Even for a compsci major, Y/N, Vernon would never find this funny. And if he does- he’s either mocking you, or his humor is just as broken as yours.”

“It’s funny!” You protested, snatching the note back. “Besides, I don’t even know where to leave this one. I’m running out of creative ideas.”

“What’s the point? You just need him to see it, right?”

You gave her a look. “There’s a higher probability of him laughing if he doesn’t expect the note. The less obvious the place, the better. He can’t be actively looking for it.” 

Anne sighed, spinning her chair back to face her work desk. “Compsci nerds.” 

Ignoring her, you continued. “I’m torn between leaving it taped to his water bottle, or taped to his bike.” 

“Of course Cubicle Number 218 Vernon Chwe would bike to work.” Anne rolled her eyes. “How old is this man? Can’t he drive?” 

“Hey!” You protested once again, defending him. “Maybe he just lives close, more cost-efficient you know.”  

Anne sighed. “Tape it to his bike.” Her fingers tapped against her keyboard as she spoke. “He’s definitely not going to be expecting that one.”

Your smile widened, already imagining his little stunned expression. “Okay. Cover for me- I’ll be right back.”

“Whatever.” Anne mumbled, although you caught a glance of the amused smile on her face. 

It was famously known throughout your office that the resident of Cubicle #218, Hansol Vernon Chwe, did not smile. He came into work and left while sporting the exact same facial expression the entire time. But you knew he smiled at your silly pick-up lines, no matter how stupid. And you knew that you might be the only person who knew just how pretty Vernon’s laugh was- even if it was from a distance.

If only you knew just how much Vernon wanted to know who was behind the silly notes that were his pick-me-up each day. 

You: 1 Vernon: 0

“I wanna live in your socks so I can be with you every step of the way.”

Vernon snorted audibly as he read the note, this time written on a hot pink post-it. His neighbouring co-workers snuck glances at him, drawn by the sudden noise. 

He ignored their stares, tucking the note into his jacket pocket for later. He was slowly amassing a collection of them, his desk back at home covered in multicolored post-its, each one from a different day. Sometimes the lines would be so terrible he’d shudder in cringe, but more often than not, he’d find them genuinely funny. 

Grabbing a file he needed faxed, Vernon made his way to the copier down the hall. Someone was already occupying it- and he realized he recognized her, the pretty girl who lived in cubicle #17. 

He could hear the loud music coming from her headphones, poorly hidden under her strands of hair. 

“Charli?” He asked, recognizing the familiar beats and rhythm of the song. 

He watched you turn around to face him, startled by his sudden appearance. “What?”

He pointed awkwardly to your headphones. “Is that Charli XCX? I didn’t think your name was Charli, don’t worry. It’s Y/N, right?” He rambled on, smiling sheepishly. 

You blinked, a little dazed by the amount of words he was suddenly speaking to you. You had always thought, like everyone else in the office, that Vernon was somehow untouchable. Someone so mysterious and way out of reality that the two of you just didn’t exist on the same plane of the universe. But now here he was, talking to you like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

“Yeah.” You answered, after realizing you had just been blankly staring at him. “To both questions.” You quickly added, equally awkward. “It’s Charli XCX and my name is Y/N.”

“Great.” His gaze drifted past you towards the copier. “Are you nearly done?” Holding up the file in his hand, he gestured behind you. “I need to fax something.” 

“Oh!” Hurriedly moving aside, you let out a tiny laugh. “I wasn’t really using it. Sometimes I just come in here and pretend I’m busy- to get away from how stuffy the office is. I don’t know why I just told you that.” You were mortified, glancing at him to make sure he wasn’t judging you.

Vernon’s lips were quirked into a smirk, as he tried hard to push down the laughter that was threatening to bubble up inside of him. Ultimately failing, his mouth widened into a smile as he laughed, the sound filling your ears better than any song could. 

“I like you.” He stated, as if it was such a simple thing and didn’t have your heart racing. “You’re funny.”

His smile widened once he caught sight of your open mouth, stunned into silence at the new side of Mr. Cubicle #218 you were currently seeing. 

“Close your mouth.” He mumbled, reaching a hand out to do it for you, his fingertips lightly pressing against your jaw. “You look like a fish.” 

“I- what?” You spluttered, moving a step back. 

Vernon shot you another melting smile, picking up his file and closing the copier. “Anyways, I’m all done. Are you going to hide out here some more?” He kept his eyes on you as he stacked the papers in his hands, organizing them against a nearby table. 

You nodded dumbly, eyes following his movement as he walked out, stopping by the doorway to shoot you a tiny salute before turning away. He walked down the hall with a gait only he had, disappearing down the hallway, leaving you feeling extremely confused, your cheeks oddly warm. 

You: 1 Vernon: 1

“Are you a worm? Cause I’d like to split you apart.” 

Morbid, yes, but you were slowly running out of ideas. Placing the sticky note strategically in his work bag, you scurried off, ducking behind a bookshelf to watch his reaction. 

“Are you a worm-” Vernon made a face as he read the note aloud. “Ew. Weird. Kinky?” He looked up at the ceiling, a concerning yet intrigued look on his face. A chuckle escaped him and you smiled in your success. 

Your work days seemed to blow right by with the joy in knowing you had successfully made him laugh, mind still churning through your last encounter with Vernon by the copier a couple weeks ago. It had both startled you and ignited something within- a longing to know more about him. 

“Looks like we’re the only ones left.” 

You looked up, blinking your dry and strained eyes, spotting Vernon hovering right above your cubicle wall, a tired expression filling his face. You glanced around the office and realized he was right. 

“Has it already been that long?” You wondered, rubbing your eyes as you shut off your computer, standing up to stretch your stiff back. 

You could’ve sworn Vernon snorted at your words. “Do you enjoy working here? Time does fly when you’re having fun.”

You shook your head. “God, no. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.” Yeah, you. 

An unspeakable look crossed his face as he grabbed your coat, helping you put it on. “C’mon, we can walk together.” 

“Oh. Thanks- alright.” 

The walk was amicably silent as you fell in step beside him, clutching your winter coat tightly as you both entered against the harsh wind. You spotted his banged up yellow bike across the street and bit back a grin. 

“You bike to work and back?” You asked, although you already knew the answer. You often passed him on your own way to work, spotting him through the windshield of your car. Nearly ran him over once, in your earlier days of working, but you don’t speak of that.

“I do.” Vernon patted the trusty bike with a loving hand. “Never failed me once.” 

A laugh escaped you, your breath hitting the winter wind and turning into a light fog. 

His eyebrows raised. “Are you laughing at me?” His lips quivered up as he watched you descend into laughter once again. 

“No!” You exclaimed through a fit of giggles, clutching your stomach. “Oh god, it’s just- Vernon Chwe- on a bike-”

A clear and infectious cackle of a laugh joined yours as Vernon too, doubled over in laughter. You paused, staring wide-eyed as giggles escaped him, thoroughly entertained by the amusement you had found in his transportation method. 

Passerbys would have deemed the pair of you as mad, with the way you clutched onto Vernon’s arm to hold yourself up as you laughed harder, his own hand gripping yours in the bitter wind. It was numbingly cold but both of your insides were warm, cheeks flushed due to the ridiculous image of Vernon on a bike. 

Y/N: 1 Vernon: 1 The universe(?): 1

“Yo.” 

Your music paused suddenly, jolting you out of your zone. Spinning around in your chair, you frowned up at Vernon, who had somehow swiped your phone from your desk without you noticing. 

“What’s up?” You sighed, taking off your headphones to glare at him. “You didn’t need to pause my music, y’know.” 

“I’ve been sent on a coffee run, wanna come?” He spread his arms open in invitation. “We can take as long as we like.” 

Ditching work for a while did sound like a nice pastime, especially with the lack of work you had currently. “I wouldn’t mind a breath of fresh air, actually. I’m down.”

“Put on your coat.” Vernon handed it to you, watching as you shrugged it on. 

“I know you want to be in my b.e.d, grinding slowly.” 

The last note had taken him terribly off guard and he needed a distraction to remedy that. 

To be fair, you didn’t really know what had gotten into you- the sudden bravado and confidence put into the note had caught you terribly off guard as well. 

“Do you know Joshua? He works in upper management but we’re pretty good friends.” Vernon suddenly asked, walking backwards along the sidewalk so he could look at you. 

You nodded. “I’ve seen him around. He’s very social.” Unlike you, you declined to add. 

“Yes. He’s hosting a social gathering later tonight, and asked if I could invite you.”

“He asked you to invite me?” You shot him a wary look, not quite believing him. You and Joshua barely passed as acquaintances. 

Vernon’s hand reached behind his neck as he rubbed his nape, a sheepish and embarrassed expression on his face. You noticed his ears would turn pink whenever he was even mildly shy. “Okay, maybe I just wanted to invite you, alright?” He turned away, walking properly now to hide his face from your keen eyes. 

A slow smile crossed your face. “Oh, no.” You mimed dread. “You’re in love with me, aren’t you.”

“What?” Vernon turned so fast you reckoned he must’ve gotten whiplash. 

“I’m joking.” Punching his arm lightly, you gave him a lighthearted smile, ignoring the way your heart pounded at the brunt question. “I’d love to go to the little party. You didn’t have to use Joshua to invite me.”

“Well,” Vernon’s ears turned pink once again. “I’d say I’d pick you up and give you a ride home after, but- I don’t think we’d both fit on my bike.” 

Both your lips twitched at the reminder of that night, where the two of you had laughed like it was the first time either one of you had found anything remotely funny. 

“I’ll drive.” You offered, once the wave of silent laughter dissipated. “You can hitch your bike to the back of my car.” 

“Me,” Vernon’s mouth dropped comically as he pressed his hands to his chest. “A passenger princess? How lucky.”

His smile widened as you laughed, and he shamelessly basked in the sound of it. 

Y/N: 2? Vernon: 2? The universe: 1

The smell of musk was the first thing that hit you as the two of you entered Joshua’s townhouse. It was a small, quaint place, decorated to the brim with trinkets and flower pots, overflowing with both people and food. Vernon led the way as you shuffled in, greeting familiar faces and smiling at strangers. 

“I thought you said ‘small gathering.’” You yelled, tiptoed next to Vernon so you could reach his ear. 

You could tell from his eyes that he had no idea what you were saying. “What?” He yelled back, although his voice was carried away by the crowd as well.

“I said-” You felt like you might burst a lung trying to communicate. “I thought you said, ‘small gathering!’” 

He stared at you blankly, blinking slowly, evidently still not in the loop. 

Giving up, you were about to turn away when you suddenly felt his whole body shake, quivering against you as he laughed. 

“What the fuck?” You yelled, this time right in his face. 

“I heard you the first time, silly.” He yelled back, a shit-eating grin spreading wider as he watched your eyebrows furrow. 

“Party Vernon sucks.” You concluded, moving away, only to be pulled back by his hand on your arm.

“Didn’t you complain that I was too ‘mysterious’?” He yelled, laughing harder when you visibly paled. “Yeah, I heard that. But it’s okay. I am very…how did you put it. Sullen, at work.”

Hiding your face, you slapped his chest, causing him to groan in pain. 

“Ow.” 

“Ow.” You mocked back. There really was no answer as to where the sudden childishness came from, but the way Vernon was staring at you- it made reason seem almost meaningless.

He threw his head back and laughed, soundless against the party’s atmosphere but somehow just as electrifying. 

“Have fun, Y/N.” He said, grabbing your hands. “Let’s dance.” 

Y/N: 2 Vernon: 3 The universe: 1

You had always sworn by the fact that driving late at night with the windows down, cold air blowing through your hair was the way to go. 

“Admit it!” Vernon yelled through the wind, glancing at you from the passenger seat. “You had fun tonight.”

“I did.” You admitted. The party had been overwhelming at first, but the later the night got, the more fun you discovered yourself to have. “I haven’t had a night like that in a while.”

You braked at a red light and flipped through your playlist, switching on the one song you knew would get a reaction out of Vernon. 

“I know you wanna love But I just wanna fuck And girl, you know the deal I gotta keep it real I know you wanna see I know you wanna be In my B.E.D., grinding slowly”

The light turned green and you continued to drive, the roads empty and deserted, street lamps illuminating the world in a soft amber. Occasionally, you’d glance over at Vernon, who was bopping his head to the beat, murmuring the lyrics under his breath. 

Oblivious man. 

Reaching over, you turned the volume up, as if the louder the music was, it’d somehow reverberate its message into his skull. Get a hint! You wanted to scream at him. I’m kind of in love with you and want to jump your bones! Hello??

Vernon continued to groove to the music without a care in the world.

“This is a good song!” He yelled in your ear, his voice mixed with the whistling of the air, whooshing past you. 

“I know!” You screamed back. Oh my god. Is he really this dense? 

The song kept playing as you drove, winds calming down as you neared his place. In between the gap of the song switching to the next, Vernon spoke, his calm voice contrastingly the loudness before. 

“I think I’m going to quit the job.” 

You nearly crashed the car at his words, jerking the steering wheel back as you computed his words. “What?”

“I mean,” he turned in his seat to face you, his hair catching the last pieces of moonlight and shimmering against his skin. “I’ve always hated my job. And I already wrote a resignation letter and everything.” 

“Oh.” 

He must’ve noticed your silence, because he quickly continued. “Who knows? I might try being a rockstar or something.” 

“A rockstar?” You let out an astonished laugh. Vernon Chwe seemed to be surprising you at every turn, even when you felt like you'd already figured him out. 

He hummed. “Yeah. It just keeps..calling me, y’know?”

“Well then you should go for it.” You parked into the driveway of his apartment complex and turned to face him. “Really.”

“You think so?” His eyes were sparkling like precious jewels. 

“Yeah. I do.”

Even though you knew that meant your next note would be your last. 

Y/N: -10 Vernon: 3 The universe: -10

The office seemed even colder without the presence of Vernon around you. Even though he had always kept to himself, you could feel the lack of “Vernon” in the atmosphere. How he’d entrance you with the funny way he’d walk down the hall, his countless snack breaks and your shared copier trips. But most of all- it was the lack of notes.

“First day without Mr. Cubicle Number 218, how do you feel?” Anne asked you from her own desk. “Although, I guess he’s not 218 anymore, huh?”

“Yeah.” You stared dejectedly at your computer screen. “This job sucks.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re quitting too.” Anne let out a loud sigh. “I still think you should’ve told him you liked him.”

“I did!” You protested, rather loudly, drawing odd looks from nearby coworkers. 

“You played a sex song in the car.” Anne pointed out, lowering her voice. “That is not confessing.” 

“Well he should’ve put two and two together. The lyrics on the note was from that song.”

Anne laughed. “We’re talking about the male species. They wouldn’t know subtlety if it ran them over with a truck.” 

“Whatever.” You muttered, returning to sulk in front of your giant mountain of paperwork. “He definitely didn’t like me like that anyways.” Sifling through the papers, you sighed. “I’m going to fax these, I’ll be right back.” 

Anne only hummed, too engrossed by whatever she was reading on her phone. 

Opening up the copier, you frowned at the paper already sitting there, a hot pink post-it note with messy handwriting scrawled on it. 

“With all the variables in life, baby can you be my constant?” 

You didn’t remember writing this. 

“Call me ;)” 

A loud laugh escaped you as you covered your mouth, looking around to make sure you hadn’t been caught loitering in the copy room once again. Grabbing your phone from your pocket you fumbled the numbers on the bottom of the note in, raising it to your ear as you listened to it ring. 

“Hello?” You whispered, cupping your hand around your mouth to avoid detection. 

Silence.

“Vernon?” 

The sound of shuffling from the other line reached your ears. “You didn’t think I was just going to leave without saying goodbye, right?”

“Vernon?” 

“Actually, pretend I didn’t say that.” 

Your heart puttered to a stop.

“When can I see you again?” 

Y/N: 0 Vernon: ♾️ The universe: 0

[caramelarrowswife]

can i request pure vanilla suffering from a cold because he visited the dark cacao kingdom without proper arraengements for the climate thinking that after all this years his body would have developed against the frozen land, turns out the one holding the light of truth was incredibly wrong, and know he gotta deal with the antiquated dark cacao kingdom medicine

GOOD OLD-FASHIONED CHICKEN SOUP

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Pure Vanilla Cookie had ended up with red eyes, a sore throat and a runny nose after wearing too little layers on his trip to the Dark Cacao Kingdom.. it didn’t take a healer to figure out what was wrong with him.

Luckily, Dark Cacao Cookie has just the remedy!

A/N: I read five different websites for information on this and it's STILL only 550 words I'm going to cry I'm so sorry

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Pure Vanilla Cookie woke up a small hour after Dark Cacao Cookie did. He made his way downstairs towards the throne room, sniffling quietly. It seemed Dark Cacao had been right, and Pure Vanilla hadn’t prepared well enough for the cold.. oh, he already knew his husband was going to be insufferable about it.

His expectations were, as always, completely correct.

“Why is your nose running?” Was the first thing Dark Cacao said. Then, “Are you sick? Why are you sniffing?”

“Good morning to you too, my dear,” Pure Vanilla murmured sarcastically, approaching the other and nuzzling his face into Dark Cacao’s warm chest. “I slept fine, thank you, how was your night?”

“Don’t contaminate me,” Dark Cacao grumbled, inarguably not pulling away.

“Wouldn’t want to risk having to stay in bed all day, hm?” Pure Vanilla said without even bothering to hide his smile.

“That’s different. I have things to do. You, on the other hand, should be resting.” Dark Cacao turned from his healer, focusing back on the reports that had been resting on the left armrest of the throne.

“I cannot fall asleep in this condition,” Pure Vanilla sighed.

“This may come as a surprise to you, but I am not God. I cannot cure your cold with a snap of my fingers,” Dark Cacao said dryly.

“You don’t have anything against colds here?” Pure Vanilla asked, raising an eyeb

“Yes, but the leeches are scarce and I’d prefer to save them for a more dire situation.

Pure Vanilla’s eyebrow inhaled sharply through his nose (a mistake, because he had to sneeze immediately after). “The what now?”

“The leeches?” Dark Cacao said, his tone of voice taking that of a mother talking to her three-year-old. “The leeches that suck the illness out of your blood? By the Witches, don’t tell me you still use stale ale for colds in the Vanilla Kingdom..”

“No,” Pure Vanilla said, a little baffled. “No, we use paracetamol.”

It was Dark Cacao’s turn to look confused. “Do you seriously trust the tree root medicine?”

“Do you seriously trust leeches? Cacao, what in the world are you giving to your people when they’ve fallen ill?” Pure Vanilla’s eyes had opened just so his husband could see how much this bothered him.

“The usual,” Dark Cacao said vaguely.

“That says absolutely nothing,” Pure Vanilla replied. “I think I’m going to make a little visit to your medical facilities when my cold has passed.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good-”

“Cacao, I’d rather bring a few dozens of paracetamol from my Kingdom to yours if it means not putting any leeches on your soldiers.”

“..hmgh,” Dark Cacao muttered, turning away from Pure Vanilla with a mildly displeased expression on his face. “Is chicken soup too good for the king of healers, or can he bring himself to force a spoonful down his throat?”

Pure Vanilla chuckled, the outer corners of his closed eyes crinkling. “Oh, it’ll have to do.”

[the-traveling-poet]

Hi love! I’ve read a levi x reader where the reader was Levi’s lieutenant and they had a secret relationship and I just liked it so much… so I’d like to ask could you do a Levi x lieutenant reader where the reader gets injured during an expedition out of the walls and they have a secret relationship, but like, Levi cannot show too much affection cause of course he is “ice cold Captain Levi” but he is so worried for her? I’m feeling a bit sick lately, stuck at home with the flu and wanted to cheer myself up… thank you anyway! ❤️

Priorities

Being Corporal Levi’s Lieutenant was a demanding job. As well as being his second in command, you doubled as his personal assistant. Though you were always up for the job, sometimes it was tough.

But not as tough as keeping the two of your’s relationship behind closed doors and away from prying eyes.

One particular expedition gone wrong might just bring to light a side of Levi the rest of the Scouting Regime hasn’t seen before; The one that only you get to.

Pairing: Corporal Levi x Lieutenant!Reader

Warnings: Angst-to-fluff, long fic, language, descriptions of wounds, secret relationship. SFW, xReader, Multiple POV’s, S1

A/N: Ofc! I too am a sucker for “secret relationship” tropes, so I was really excited to write this one out! I downed 4 shots of tequila and speed wrote this. I’m not ashamed of myself, just a little surprised. I hope it’s to your expectations, and if not I will happily redo whatever you prefer~

Get well soon babe!🤎 Enjoy~

Typically, you preferred to go through your warm up routine before sparring. Stretching, running a couple laps, exercising your legs to ensure flexibility; the usual.

But today, you didn’t get that luxury.

Landing on your ass for the third time in twenty minuets, you huffed a sigh of frustration.

The hell is his problem?

“Get up, L/N.” A bored tone called down to you.

Brushing the dirt off your rear, you pulled yourself to your feet and tried your best to keep your expression neutral. Levi paced closer to you, arms folded across his chest and his brow furrowed.

“Your stance isn’t steady, so you keep falling on your ass. How many more time do I have to knock you down before you realize this?” he continued.

Slowly bringing your arms up to salute him, you met his steely gaze.

“Yeah yeah, sorry sir,” you muttered. Typically, backtalk or anything of the such wouldn’t be tolerated, but you were an exception. A fact that still baffled the rest of the Special Operations Squad.

Rolling his eyes, he turned his attention to the small group watching your matches.

“That’s enough for today. Clean up and get down to the mess hall.”

“Sir!” his squad responded with salutes of their own, and were quick to follow his orders.

Petra stalled for a moment, shooting you a concerned look over her shoulder before she followed after the others. She was a sweet girl, you thought. She’s come to you many times about her concerns for the way your Captain treated you, but you’d always reassured her that you and Levi simply just butted heads more often than not.

Once they were gone, you sighed and threw a look over at your Captain.

“Yknow, if you’d have let me warm up first, those fights would have ended differently.”

“You think on the field you’ll have time to stretch your pretty legs before you fly after a titan’s nape?” He responded, but this time his tone wasn’t so harsh.

“What’s up your ass?” You grinned, stepping closer to him.

“Your attitude,” he smirked ever so slightly. He looked you up and down quickly, then glanced around your surroundings. You two were alone on the training grounds. His posture relaxed slightly as he reached out to fix some of your lose hairs.

“You know I push you because I want to see you succeed,” he stated softly.

“I know, Lee. I know,” you smiled back, taking his hand out of your hair and into your own. “I’m starting to think your ‘reverse physiology’ isn’t working, though.”

“What do you mean?” He raised a single brow as he squeezed your hand and slowly led you back to the entrance of HQ.

“Acting harder on me to hide the fact you love me. It’s just drawing us more attention.” You shrugged.

Levi sighed, almost in defeat. “I suppose you’re right. I don’t like being hard on you. But with our positions in the Corps…You know this isn’t allowed.”

You mimicked his sigh, briefly leaning your head against his shoulder before the doors opened. Though all too soon, he pushed open the doors and let go of your hand, his face immediately set with indifference.

“I’ll see you tonight. Eyebrows wants us Captains and Section Commanders to report to him before tomorrow’s expedition.” He murmured softly in your ear before taking his leave, leaving you to find your own way to the mess hall for the evening.

Sitting with your companions, you picked listlessly at the food on your plate. Eld and Gunther were too caught up in their own conversation to notice your melancholy demeanor, while Oulo was far too focused on his plate to care.

Petra sat to your right, sipping from her cup but keeping a close eye on you. Catching her stare, you shoot her a reassuring smile.

The 56th expedition beyond the walls was the following day, and needless to say it weighed heavily on all your minds.

Petra placed a hand onto your shoulder and tried her best to smile back. She returned her attention back to her food, and you were quick to follow suit. But the longer you sat there, glancing up towards the empty seat at the head of the table, the less of an appetite you had.

If only we didn’t have to hide…

═════════════════

Stepping out of the shower, you wrapped a towel loosely around your body before braiding back your hair. You’d ate what you could stomach in the mess hall, then decided to retire to your room early to avoid having to socialize with anyone.

And by your room, you meant Levi’s personal room. You’d been staying with him for awhile now, though you’d have to sneak in early and leave even earlier in the morning to avoid being caught by anyone else.

Slipping on one of his shirts and a pair of shorts, you left his private bathroom and entered the bedroom.

“Well don’t you look lovely.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, and as it was you barely muffled a gasp.

“Shit Levi, I didn’t even hear you enter.”

Levi sat on the corner of his mattress, loose carvat around his neck and uniform straps removed from his torso and legs. He offered you a minuet smirk, then stood and strode over to you.

“Usually, you’re not in here till later,” he observed aloud.

“I wanted to retire early. Get a shower in, relax…See you…” You muttered sheepishly, playing with the hem of the shirt you wore.

Giving you a soft smile, his arms quickly found purchase around your waist. Immediately you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and laid your head on his chest with a contented sigh.

You both stayed like that for a handful of minuets, living in the peaceful moment life had decided to grant you this evening. Suddenly, with a sigh, Levi slowly released you.

“Listen…About tomorrow-“

“I know, I know. ‘Stay close to the squad, don’t be a dumbass, and don’t die.’” You recited with a chuckle. Rolling his eyes with a huff, Levi led you to sit on the bed beside him.

“Precisely. You’d better watch yourself out there. I need…We need more moments like this; together. Can’t do that if your dumbass doesn’t come back.”

“You, too. You may be ‘Humanity’s Strongest Soldier’ and all, but I don’t want to see a single cut on you when we’re back.” You poked his at his chest playfully and leaned into his warm embrace.

“Yea, dear.” His mocking tone didn’t go unnoticed by you, but before you could retort, you found yourself falling sideways onto the bed. Levi had shifted on the bed and let you fall forward so that he could stand up.

“Erwin made a comment tonight,” he spoke over his shoulder as he gathered up a change of clothes for himself.

“Oh?” You propped yourself up on your elbows to follow him with your eyes.

“Said ‘You and Lieutenant Y/N make a good team. We’ll need you both on the far right of the formation.’” Levi quoted as he slipped on a new shirt.

“Then he pulled me aside after the meeting. ‘Don’t let personal feelings get in the way of the mission. I understand this may seem unfair to ask, but I’ve seen the way you look at your second in command .’, so I said I wouldn’t.”

Scoffing back a laugh, you grinned. “It’s a little too late for that.”

“By about two years, yeah.” Levi hummed in agreement, joining you in bed with a relaxed sigh.

You were quick to snuggle up to him, and his arm instinctively draped over your waist. Laying your head back onto his chest, you looked up at him. Only to find his gaze already on you. You knew that look in his eyes…

“Hey, I will come back. I always do,” you reassured him in a soft whisper.

“You’d better. I’m not sure what I’d do without you here,” he whispered back, letting his eyes close shut.

Placing a kiss on his cheek, you snuggled under the covers and closed your eyes. “You won’t ever have to find out,” was the last thing you whispered before you let your exhaustion take over.

═════════════════

3rd person POV

“The 56th expedition is about to begin; prepare yourselves!”

Commander Erwin’s voice boomed from the front of the formation, reaching every soldier under his command. With cheers from the civilians gathered around to see them off, Levi snuck one last glance over to you. Giving you a confident nod, he gripped the reins from atop his horse and stared straight ahead.

Soon enough, the gates opened wide, and the Survey Corps spilled out at a gallop.

For the first hour, everything was going smoothly. A handful of titans here and there were quickly dealt with by the S.O.S. Onwards they raced, until a splitting scream broke the eire silence hanging over them. Whipping her head forward, Y/N was quick to shoot her ODMG onto the nearest tree and grapple onto it. Despite her Captain’s screams of protest, Y/N was off.

Only a moment passed, and Levi had lost sight of her amongst the forming group of titans.

Half an hour later, Commander Erwin had called for a retreat. What had originally been a mere observation exposition, had turned into a blood bath. Only half the soldiers sent out had returned to the vantage point, and most were wounded.

Whether it be a deep cut or a punctured lung, the field medics were kept busy.

Captain Levi slid off his horse hastily, looking around at everyone gathered. His eyes scanned the loose crowd anxiously, but not once did his eager gaze meet yours. Panic bubbles up in his chest, but he manages to keep calm.

On the outside, anyways.

Once a frantic Preta comes running over to him, out of breath and panting, does he get a clue as to your whereabouts.

His ever present mask starts to shatter, and in an instant he’s sprinting across the open field towards the medic tents; your name on his lips.

The moment he entered one of the several tents set up not far outside the walls, the make-shift camp went silent.

Cadets and Captains alike all paused in their tasks when a broken cry came from the larger of the tents set up.

Everyone turned their heads towards the sound. A sight lay before them they never thought they would ever see before; Humanity’s strongest solder nearly buckling under his own weight, clutching at the flaps of the center most medical tent as he cried out in fear.

Many crowded around him, fearful for his safety and curious of any injuries he might have sustained. But once they were able to see over shoulder, the truth hit them like a punch to the face.

Levi had rushed to one of the beds in the tent, falling to his knees and grasping the hand of the person who laid unconscious under the sheets.

Pushing through the crowd, Commander Erwin and Section Commander Hange softly gasped at the sight of Levi’s second in command, Lieutenant Y/N, out cold on the cot.

“The hell are you doing?! Tend to her, that’s an order!” Levi barked out harshly to one of the medics, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

For a moment, no one knew what to do. Every rumor of the raven before them being unemotional quickly went out the window as they finally understood.

The cold man did have a heart. And it belonged to you.

═════════════════

Reader’s POV

The last thing you remembered, was rushing out of formation to save the poor cadet caught in the grasp of a fifteen meter. Your blades were at the ready, gleaming in the sunlight reflected off the cloudy sky overhead.

The moment you freed the cadet from the monster’s grasp, you realized a fatal mistake you’d made; you’d gotten too close to its mouth.

In a moment of panic, you twisted yourself in midair and made to get away, but you were far too late. In a mere second that seemed to last an eternity, you felt a searing white hot pain erupt near your right hip. Screaming out in pain and frustration, you managed to swing your arm back just far enough to jab your blade into the titan’s lip, causing its jaw to lock for a moment as it processed what you were doing.

This gave you enough time to wiggle your way out from between its teeth, shooting your ODM gear hooks into its shoulder and glide away.

Despite the amount of blood you were losing, as well as the blinding pain that threatened to render you unconscious at any moment, you’d swung yourself up into a sharp arch and sliced through its tough nape.

With the titan’s corpse, you fell as well. An intense ringing sounded in your ears when you opened your eyes, only to see the young cadet hovering over you with tears in their eyes. Faintly, you heard them mention a medic, but then your eyes shut against your will.

Before you lost consciousness, your mind drifted back in time, to a moment you last remembered experiencing joy. That very morning, in fact.

The way you’d woken up cocooned in the arms of your lover, feeling warm and safe. Not a care in the world, as you ignored your soon to be pending responsibilities. The way you had looked up and seen his smile, so bright and genuine and filled with such love.

If this is it, then I’m glad he’s the last thing I remember seeing…

Some time later, much to your confusion, your eyes cracked open to see a window. Sunlight poured through, nearly threatening to blind you as you lifted a weak arm up to block the light.

A groan left your lips as you tried to sit up, only to find you couldn’t manage the movement on your own. Reaching down below the covers that covered your midsection with your other hand, you felt the distinct material of thick medical wraps around your midsection. It was slightly damp, and you caught the faint whiff of blood.

Confusion clouded your judgment, causing you to try and remove the bandages to see what exactly was wrong with you. You supposed you were back in HQ, safely within the infirmary. Yet when you tried to shift your shoulders forward to remove the cloths, you suddenly became aware of a weight pressing down on your left shoulder.

Turning your head, you squinted your eyes at the veil of raven black hair obscuring your vision.

Only one thing came to mind when seeing the color…

“Levi?” you managed to croak out.

Immediately the weight shifted, and a face rose up from your shoulder where it had previously rested. Tired grey eyes met yours, and immediately widened.

“Y/N,” Levi whispered, almost in disbelief. Sitting up straight in the chair he sat in beside your bed, his hand immediately came up to cup the side of your face.

“You’re awake…”

“No shit, babe.”

Biting back a chuckle, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours.

“You’ve been out of it for three days…How do you feel? Can I get you anything? Water? More blankets? Do your wraps need replaced yet?”

“Levi, baby, slow down…What-what happened?” You couldn’t help but for a soft chuckle to escape you at his worried tone. Immediately, a scowl took over his face.

“Your dumb fucking ass got hurt. You promised…You idiot.” He whispered, his eyes giving him away. He could look as mad as he wanted, but his eyes would always tell you exactly what he was really thinking. He was scared shitless, but also relieved.

“I’m sorry,” you cooed softly, running your shaking hands through his hair. “I wanted to save that kid. They looked so scared…Ao helpless…But what matters right now, is that we’re both safe. We made it back in once piece.”

Levi took your words into consideration, his brow furrowed and his eyes frantically searching your face. Finally, with a sigh, he leaned in and pressed his lips to your gently. It wasn’t a rushed kiss, nor a heated one. Moreover, it was soft. Reassuring, for both you and him. Kissing him back just as softly, you allowed your tense posture to relax softly.

Breaking away, his face stayed within an inch of yours as he caught his breath. “Don’t you ever dare scare me like that again. I made a fucking fool of myself out there, thinking I was too late…”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” you chuckled teasingly.

“Shut up, you know what I meant,” he breathed, his breath hitting against your now damp lips.

“I’m sorry. I really am, Lee. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Looking you in the eye for confirmation, Levi seemed to come to terms with your statement and leaned in once more, quickly taking your lips back to rest against his own.

From the infirmary threshold, the door creaked open slightly. Yet neither you nor Levi seemed to notice.

On the other side peaked in a curious Hange and a concerned Erwin. Upon seeing the sight displayed before them, Erwin had to hold Hange back from squeaking in excitement.

“I told you something was going on between the two of them!“ they shouted in a hushed voice.

Shaking his head with a weary smile, Erwin closed the door to the infirmary and headed back down the hall with the scientist.

“I know. They think they’re clever in hiding it, but two years ago I walked into Levi’s office and saw something similar. But for now, let’s let them continue to live in blissful ‘secrecy’ a little longer.”

[strxnged]

platonic; 1k; reader is cautious about friendships due to past experience.

“Do you think you’ll ever change your mind about being friends with me?”

Alhaitham’s hand froze, pen paused mid-sentence. Ink dripped once or twice onto the paper, and you watched it intensely so that you would not see his expression.

“I mean, I know you eventually will,” you continued, “but how… soon… do you think that will happen?”

You couldn’t help your gaze from falling on his face. Your fellow scholar was staring sharply across the library table at you, eyes slightly wider than usual.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you said, feeling a bit antsy. “It’s just a question.”

“A baffling one,” he finally said, and then pressed his lips into a line.

“I just want to see where you’re at. It’s been… how long, three years now? So you should have some idea by now, right?”

Alhaitham laid his pen in its case, leaning back into the chair with his arms crossed over his chest. He humphed. “I refuse to answer that question until you properly elaborate on why you’re asking it. We were sitting in what I assumed to be peaceful silence, doing our reading—which, mind you, is completely unrelated to your inquiry as I recall. And now you’re asking me that. To me, it’s coming out of nowhere. So please, explain yourself.”

He was delaying his answer, and it was only making you feel more frantic. Was he going to leave you behind that quickly? Were you catching him on the way out? “I only want to be prepared.”

“Prepared, you say?”

“Y-yes, prepared.”

“For?”

You let go of a long, shaky sigh, acknowledging that he would not relent. “People get tired of me, you know. I’m not exactly the easiest person to be around. It’s usually possible for me to anticipate exactly how long people are going to last, but with you… I haven’t wanted to think about it. So I’ve got to ask you directly. I’ve got to know how long I have so that I don’t take you for—” Your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat before finishing the sentence, “—for granted.” 

Alhaitham pinched between his eyes. He sounded unmistakably bothered. “And how long have you been meaning to ask me?”

You cleared your throat again, averting your eyes to the bookshelves around the table. You could feel tears pricking at your eyes but you did not permit them to fall.

“Awhile, huh?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, praying the tears would go back in. 

He clicked his tongue. You could feel his glare on you even as you admired the cut of the Adhigama wood. One book was hanging out of the shelf. You stood up suddenly and walked over to fix it so that Alhaitham would not see your jaw trembling. You had meant for this to be a logical, calm conversation. Damn, you thought, shoving the book back into place. Pull yourself together.

You felt the shadow of Alhaitham leaning his elbow on a shelf to look at you. “You asked me a question and then walked away. Do you want to hear my answer, or not?”

With a shrug, you focused on the feeling of the book's spine under your lingering fingertips. It was a cloth hardcover. Some of the tiny weaving was worn out.

“Alright. I’ll start with all of the things you got wrong. First of all, it is not fair to neither me nor you for such a question to be asked. We cannot know the future and there is no use in living outside of the reality of the present. You may not prepare.”

You stayed silent, pulling the book out and pushing it back in again over and over again. With your other hand, you wiped away one disobedient teardrop.

“Secondly, I wonder if you were paying attention to the words you were saying. You said you’re not the easiest person for ‘people’ to be around.” Neither was he, you thought. “Well, neither am I,” he said, echoing your thought.

“Okay,” you said, “but still.”

He scoffed. “‘But still’? That’s your best argument against my point?”

You laughed, although it sounded a bit more like a sob. He was correct, there. “You still haven’t answered my question, Alhaitham.”

“I see no need.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide and red.

He considered this. “Fine, I see a need. But you're picturing I’ll tell you something I haven’t once implied, I hope. I am not going to change my mind about being friends with someone who means as much to me as you do. That’s not how friendship works, and I am rather distressed that you are under such an impression.”

“Alh—”

“Let me be clear. I am not changing my mind on you. I’m going to stay your friend as long, if not longer, than you will allow it.”

You rubbed both your eyes with the heels of your hands. “Well, that’s real nice of you.”

You did not believe him, and you could tell that he knew this. “Besides,” he conceded, “who else is going to sit with me in the library for eight hours just because they like being around me? People don’t do that.”

“I’m not people,” you said.

“No,” he agreed. “You’re not. And neither am I.”

ps. dear that one irl who might end up reading this (the one who has literally asked me this question) (you really are a devoted gal if you're here right now, people don't just read other people's fanfiction for a fandom they know nothing about) (unless you're howdy) (but you're not), alhaitham's response is my response to you.

i relate to him for reasons i hope are clear.

➳ GENSHIN MASTERLIST

[randomprose]

no use i just do

he may not understand it, but Sakura will always love Sasuke —for ssmonth24 day 24: confessions

Haruno Sakura loves Uchiha Sasuke. She loves him in all the ways that matter despite everything and anything. 

It’s just a fact of life—a universal truth. The sky is blue, water is wet, Naruto wants to be Hokage, and Haruno Sakura has always loved Uchiha Sasuke. 

Sakura doesn’t say it or throw around the phrase as much as she used to, but she radiates it. In every look she sends his way, in every word she speaks to him, the way her eyes always find his even in a crowded room or across a sea of people, the way she gravitates to him even without meaning to, and even the way she breathes when she’s around him. Everything about her speaks of her love for him. Her very existence itself is an expression of that unyielding and unconditional love.

To this, all Sasuke could ask is, "Still? After all this time?"

Sakura just shrugs, not even bothering to defend herself. Not like there’s anything to anyhow. Sakura has never been ashamed of her love. 

"Why?" Sasuke continues to prod, truly baffled. "There's nothing—I’m not—I’m just—” I have nothing to offer. “What do you even see in me?"

“You,” Sakura answers easily without missing a beat as if that’s enough of an explanation. “Just you.”

“And that is enough for you?”

“Well,” Sakura looks considering, hands clasped behind her and expression wholly open, always open when she’s with him. “It’s not like I didn’t try to stop. I did try to talk myself into some sense, you know?” Tried to make herself see reason and consider focusing her affections on Naruto instead—strong, dependable, steady, and safe Naruto who would never hurt or make her cry. At least not knowingly. There were other candidates too, of course. Sakura has long since passed that phase of self-doubt and insecurity, has gained confidence in herself and her skills, and knows full well of her worth. “I’m fully aware that I am a catch, Sasuke-kun. Even if you’re not aware of the fact.”

“No, I am,” Sasuke replies because he is, in fact, very aware.

“Good.”

“What happened then?” If she knows she could do better—so much better—how come it’s still him she chooses? “Why haven’t you stopped?”

“What can I say? I just couldn’t,” she shrugs again and her smile is lighthearted as she says, “Looking back, it all seems so silly. I tried to stop and I just couldn’t and after some time I just gave up trying to not love you. Sure, I hated you at times,  but that’s not the opposite of love, is it? Besides,” here her smile turns rueful, “I could never truly hate you, Sasuke-kun.” 

“Why?” he asks again, a tinge of desperation seeping at the word. How can she not hate him after everything? “How can you—What’s there to love?”

"What's not to love?” 

“Don’t answer my question with another.”

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” she retorts. “What’s there to love you ask? Everything. All of you. The good and the bad and everything in between.”

“Tch,” Sasuke shakes his head. “There really is no accounting for taste.”

“That there isn’t,” Sakura laughs, then she sighs. "It's no use, Sasuke-kun. I just love you."

It is in Sasuke’s nature as an Uchiha to self-destruct. It is also in his nature to be selfish and to take without giving, but for the life of him, Sasuke could never be selfish enough when it comes to Sakura. Because everything the Uchiha touches seems to get tainted and doomed to a life of loss, destruction, and heartache, but despite everything he has taken from her—and will continue to take from her—Sasuke cannot bring himself to damn her to a similar fate. 

“You should try again. To stop,” Sasuke says, looking at her imploringly with his mismatched eyes. "I'm broken, Sakura. Beyond repair.” He doesn’t know if he’s doing her a kindness by trying to make her see sense—because maybe she’ll listen to him if her own logic fails her—but Sasuke goes on to make his case against himself anyway. “There's no use trying to fix me. I can't be fixed."

"Is that what you think I've been trying to do all this time? Fix you?” Sakura says, throwing him a funny look before rolling her eyes. "Idiot. I've always known. Even when we were genin, I knew I couldn't fix you. That's not what I was or am trying to do. It never was."

"Then what is it that you want from me."

"Nothing! I just want to love you.” And it’s the truth too. It always was. Once she realizes what she feels for Sasuke is more than just childish infatuation and passing fancy, Sakura has never asked for anything in return for her affections. “The least you could do after everything is to let me."

Sasuke meets Sakura’s gentle gaze and considers her words. 

He supposes that, despite everything, he’s always known that it was always going to be Sakura for him, that it was always going to be them in the end, even when he didn’t allow himself to think about those things.

In the lofty years of his youth, he had often thought of returning to Konoha after settling the score with his brother and finding Sakura waiting for him. He had argued to himself that she was a logical choice and the reason his mind conjured her as a first—and only—choice was because she was his closest female companion being his teammate and somewhat friend. Not to mention, he found her the least annoying of the girls who used to fawn over him, never mind why he never questioned why he found it so.

And in the rare times that Sasuke has allowed himself to think of a future for himself after accomplishing his goals—misguided as they were—and beyond the battles and the tragedies he’s faced, it is Sakura who is a constant in those musings and the only one he sees himself with, be it settling down and continuing his other goal of restoring his clan or even just simple companionship for however long the fates shall allow Sasuke’s wretched life to go on. 

The fact of the matter is, Sasuke is to his bare bones a selfish bastard who has always thought of Sakura as his—just as much as he has always been hers as he has come to realize. 

(It does not cross his mind that Sakura is as selfish and as greedy as he is, maybe even more, in the way she loves him—how she would let Konoha burn rather than hurt him, forsake her duties if it meant she could be by his side, defend him to the death against those who speak ill of him.)

"Okay," Sasuke sighs in surrender, but it is of the sweet kind. “Okay.”

"Okay?” Sakura asks, peering up at him as if in confirmation.

"Yes."

Yes, you may love me and this time I will allow myself to be loved and reciprocate in the ways I know how. This is an act of selfishness as much as it is a kindness. For both of us. 

"Good."

The smile on her face is pleased and Sasuke lets the pleasant feeling wash over him with the knowledge that he is the cause of that.

“Sakura,” he calls to her, and her name almost sounds holy as he rolls off his tongue. Reverent like a prayer or benediction. Heavy with meaning and all the things that Sasuke cannot form the words to say.

Sasuke takes his hand and moves to close the gap between them. Sakura feels herself rooted on the spot, tensing when he steps into her space and loops his arm around her in an embrace. It takes her a second to relax and her arms to come up and wound around his waist to return the embrace. A memory comes to her unbidden and she pinches the skin on his back in warning.

"If you knock me out and leave me on some godforsaken bench again, Uchiha Sasuke, I swear to all your ancestors I will—”

Sasuke chuckles and squeezes her to him to stop her tirade.

"I already apologized for that."

“Tch.” Sakura puffs her cheeks and pouts, even as she lets him hold her against him and buries her face into his chest. "Whatever."

"I'm sorry. And thank you.” Two things that have never been easy for Uchiha Sasuke to say, but no one else has ever been more deserving to hear from him as much as Haruno Sakura. “For loving me. Even after all these years. Even when I'm—” 

"Batshit insane completely off your rockers and out of control?"

"Tch." Sasuke lightly tugs at the ends of her hair in annoyance, to which Sakura only snickers. He's trying to be sincere and maybe a little romantic here dammit and there she goes and ruins it. "So annoying."

"Ehh, you love me." She looks up at him with a teasing look and a cheeky grin before catching herself. "I mean—”

Eyes never leaving hers, Sasuke takes Sakura’s hand and puts it over his chest where his heart beats for her, hoping it’s enough for her to know even when he can’t find the words and the courage to say them yet.

I do. With all my heart and soul and everything that I am in my wretchedness, I do love you.

[bengiyo]

Thoughts on Office Relationships, Breakups, Outings, and More in August ‘24 Shows

I couldn’t bring myself to finish Cosmetic Playlover today, so instead I decided to write about three shows doing interesting things with relationships right now. I don’t really have the time or interest in Stray Thoughts anymore, so I hope y’all enjoy this. For the past two weeks I’ve been thinking about the breakups and new relationships in The Trainee and Mr. Mitsuya’s Planned Feeding, and now I’m also thinking about Takara being upfront with Taishin about the state of their relationship on Takara’s Treasure. I want to get some of these thoughts down for posterity. 

The Ba-Mhee and Tae Breakup on The Trainee

I genuinely love that this show followed through on these two splitting up. I also like that Ba-Mhee asked to take the time to figure out what she’s feeling for Judy before doing something else. Ba-Mhee seems to define herself a lot by the relationship she’s in, and it was sad to see her struggling with the way Tae didn’t always respond to her attempts at expressing care and affection–methods which he never asked for. I think the two of them definitely needed to separate, because it’s not going to work if she’s feeling insecure because Tae is working hard in his preferred field.

That being said, I don’t like the thing with Judy because we know so little about Judy. All I really know about Judy right now is that she’s a workaholic with few personal relationships outside of the office, she’s queer, and she is good at handling clients. When she went to see Ba-Mhee after kissing her drunk intern the night before her anniversary at a work event, I wasn’t keen on the way it felt like Judy managed Ba-Mhee in that scene. Judy feels a bit inaccessible as a character right now, and I hope that’s a choice the show is making about how Ba-Mhee’s relationship with Judy is also rather one-sided, and entirely about her. I hope part of Ba-Mhee’s queer journey is recognizing how she seems to define herself by her relationships, and finds an identity independent of romance.

As for Judy… I hope there’s more to her here than just being pretty and good at her job. We’ve been let down twice this year by GL office romance, and I’d like for that to not be a constant trend. I’d like to see them give her nuance in her pursuit of a relationship with one of her reports.

Lastly, I really loved that Tae is trying to figure out how to be single again, and Pah got mad on his behalf. It’s a good compromise in a genre that seems to really not want characters to be  mad at each other for too long, especially when one of them has really hurt another. Tae got to be sad, and someone got to be righteous on his behalf. We even had good storytelling come out of these two using their jobs to punish each other, with it being very clear that these were bad choices. 

Ayaka is in Love with Hiroko Betrayed Its Characters

While I’m here, let me just say that the back half of this show was utterly offensive, and actively betrayed its own characters. I cannot believe that Hiroko’s own community was so quick to betray her trust and out her repeatedly. I cannot believe this show abandoned Hiroko’s straight girl problems from the beginning for a message that “It’s not that bad now, so just come out. I cannot believe this show had a Boob Monster lesbian withhold sex from her horny girlfriend for a year so she could “cherish her.” I am baffled by all of the choices that went into this, and I will not be recommending it. It gets a 4 from me. 

Jane’s Ex on The Trainee

I thought it was really interesting to introduce an ex at this point while Ba-Mhee and Ryan are both considering potential relationships with their mentors. There are consequences in a professional field when you date within your field for some folks, and it’s clear that happened with Jane. Nine, the ex, was here to once again benefit from Jane’s talents, and Jane did not seem like he expected to receive any real credit or benefit from that work. I’m curious if the show intends for any resolution for Jane with Nine, or if he’s here as a romantic tool for Ryan.

Speaking of Ryan, he is clearly in his early 20s, because his jealousy spiral exhausted me. Jane was obviously not into that man, and assured Ryan that he would be back later by making sure he and Ryan had plans for later. I hope we get back to Ryan actually being a good supporter when he’s focused and motivated, especially now that we know that Jo was meant to illuminate things about Pah.

Mitsuya’s Breakup with Noguchi on Mr. Mitsuya’s Planned Feeding

One of my favorite things about this age-gap story is that Mitsuya has been out for a long time, and he has a romantic and sexual history. I loved that he’s had an on again-off again relationship that he needed to bring to a close as part of his own story, and I loved how it wasn’t the ugliest of breakups. These two men know each other intimately, and this final break for them turned into a small celebration of what they had between them. Important things got aired, they snipped a little at each other, and they got to enjoy one last meal together in a way that added a gentle finality to the situation.

On Ishida’s end, I absolutely loved that he’s continued to be upright with Mitsuya about his feelings, called their date what it was, and stepped down from his professional role with Mitsuya. On top of that, I actually love that it was Noguchi that gave him the final inspiration he needed to go back to sports and face his own angst there. It’s actually so special for me that a 27 year-old man who felt like he had to give up on his dreams is finding a way to do something with the specific feelings he has about that. 

I’m also never getting over Ishida telling Mitsuya that he wants to be seen as a man and not a cute kid.This, right after introducing Mitsuya to a food he’d never experienced before! We can thank @isaksbestpillow for making this possible, and this feels especially poignant for me right after we said goodbye to Okita Kakeru, who explicitly wanted to be seen as cute. I am really excited about the queer themes that keep coming out of this show, and I’m sure I’ll have more to say.

Takara and Taishin Avoiding Breakup Nonsense on Takara’s Treasure

So often in these shows with small age gaps in school, they never seem to know how to cope with graduation. I finished rewatching You’re My Sky last night, and that show solved it with travel for one couple, and external collaboration for the mains. I loved this show having the older partner ask the junior directly about the challenges of life after graduation for them as a couple. 

This worked so well, because the show has shown us for weeks that Taishin is always paying attention to Takara, and @lurkingshan detailed how many ways Taishin showed that he understood Takara this week, and I appreciated @clownshoessqueaking covering how Takara has managed his restraint across this show. It’s just so rare that we see two characters have the important conversation that needs to be had, and give each other the exact assurances they need. Taishin got to hear directly from Takara about how things were going for them, and was able to say that he wanted the relationship and initiate physical intimacy between them. 

For all that this show has felt really quiet for two months, it’s becoming one of the shows I will likely remember from this year. 

That’s all for now. Thanks for reading!

[walkersbeloved]

okay full transparency i wrote this A WHILE ago based off a post i saw over here, but i cannot for the life of me remember who it was from?? i think it was maybe smth @gothushi reblogged.

anyway this is basically: luke is a slut and you make him prove how badly he wants you by challenging him to a whole year without sex.

cw/// luke davenport x reader. dirty talk. creampie. a very cruel and long form of edging. reader has a vagina, but no pronouns are used.

When Luke slides into your pussy for the first time, there are tears in his eyes. His arms tremble from where they’re propped up beside your head and his teeth are digging into his bottom lip.

The two of you have been dating for a year, and in that year you have yet to have sex. That part was your idea, obviously.

The problem was that Luke was a whore. He fucked constantly and without attachment, going through woman after woman with no care for their feelings or personhood. So, when he decided to take a shot at you, you were quick to decline.

Luke was taken aback. You could still remember the way his face had dropped in confusion and shock when you turned him down.

“What do you mean no?” he asked, looking at you like you were stupid.

You scoff at him. “It means I’m declining your offer.

“But—what?” he laughed incredulously. “Why?”

Crossing your arms, you give him a pointed look. “You’re a slut, Luke.”

At that, Luke’s face flushed red, a series of stutters coming out of his mouth. “I—I am not a slut!” he said a bit too loudly, drawing the attention of his teammates who all began to chuckle at his outburst. Luke glared at them all, his face turning a darker shade of red.

“I’m not a slut,” he repeated, quieter this time.

“You’re a slut and I’m not dating someone who would leave me for the next skirt that swished in his direction.”

“I would not—“ he huffed. You had genuinely baffled him. “I—I would not leave you that easily!”

“You’ve been glancing at the team managers ass this entire conversation,” you said blandly.

Luke flushed again. “Well that’s not—I—I bet you!” he spit out finally. “I bet you that I could abstain from other women while with you.”

At that, you raise an eyebrow, amusement heavy in your expression. Luke seemed to cower at your gaze as he realized what he had just said.

“You bet me?” You hum, considering. “Okay. You have a deal, but—it’s not just other women you have to abstain from.”

Luke blinked. “Huh?”

“If you’re serious about dating me, then you have to prove that you’re not just in this for sex. We have to date for an entire year before you can have sex with me.” You smirk, that he would definitely say no to.

Luke’s face dropped. It was like he had been dunked in a cold vat of water. “You—you aren’t serious.”

“Oh, I am.”

His mouth opened and closed a few times before you saw his expression shift into one of determination. “Fine!” he declared loudly. “Deal.”

His agreement stunned you. “You can’t be serious,” you deadpan. “You can’t want to date me that badly.”

Luke smirked. “I do. Don’t back out now, Y/N, unless you didn’t really mean it, of course.”

His smugness sent a wave of annoyance through you. You cross your arms and steal your expression. “I meant every word. You have a deal.”

“Y-Y/N,” he sobs, limbs shaking, “fuck. fuck you feel so good.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, moaning softly at the stretch of his cock. “Worth the wait?” you tease.

Luke lets out a shaky cry. “S-So worth it. Best pussy in the world.” His hips move in disjointed thrusts, almost like he’s lost his rhythm after all this time. “Never…never going to think about another pussy.”

“Yeah?” you tease as you run your fingers through his messy hair. “Never, ever? That’s a lot to promise, Luke. You love my pussy that much?”

“Love it, love it so much,” he says with a shaky nod, tears falling down his cheeks. “So tight. F-Fuck.”

Giggling, your hand moves down your stomach to between your legs where you place two fingers against your clit, rubbing the swollen bud in slow circles. The action makes your pussy clench around him, drawing another sob from his lips.

“Let me,” he begs pathetically, trying to move a shaking hand between your thighs, but you stop him before he can get very far.

“Shh, just focus on how good my cunt feels. You’re shaking too badly to do anything else.”

Luke whines. “M’not,” he protests weakly. “I’m not, I’m not. I-I know how to have sex. I can make you feel good.”

“Oh, Luke,” you coo, moaning as your fingers work your clit and his cock presses against your g-spot, “it’s been sooo long for you. I'm going to have to teach you everything all over again like a little virgin.”

Sobbing, he shakes his head defiantly. “N-No. M’not a virgin. I’m good, I promise I am.”

“My sweet little virgin,” you laugh. “Such a pretty little cock and you don’t know how to use it. I can feel you throbbing inside me. You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

His lip trembles with the force it takes to keep himself together. “I—no!” he tries to increase the speed of his thrusts then, determined to make you scream for him. Loud slapping noises echo through his bedroom.

You mewl softly as his cock drives into you harder. “Mmh, fuck, Luke—“

He moans when you say his name, crying like it’s better than any trophy, and redoubles his efforts, fucking into you as hard as he can. “Best pussy, best pussy, best pussy. Please, please, please, please—“

“Please what?”

“A-Are you close?” he grunts. His blue eyes are flooded with tears, pretty lashes wet.

“Are you?” you ask teasingly, knowing the anger.

His face flushes in shame, his eyes shifting away from yours. “N-No,” he mumbles quietly.

Your fingers speed up on your clit, pussy clenching around him rhythmically. You watch as he trembles from it, his eyes clenching shut with the effort it takes to keep himself away from the edge.

“Yeah you are.” Your fingers are quick against your clit and you let your eyes flutter closed for a moment to bask in the feeling. “Tell you what, if you can hold on until I cum, then I’ll let you cum inside me instead of pulling out.”

Luke moans wantonly at that. His eyes are screwed shut, face scrunched from the effort it’s taking for him to postpone his orgasm.

“Please hurry, please hurry, please hurry,” he begs.

You lift your hips to meet his thrusts, his cock fucking you deep every time your hips meet. You can feel yourself approaching that wonderful edge as your fingers work your clit. It’s a slippery mess between your legs and the sound is audible as you fuck.

Luke is looking at you frantically, searching for any sign that you’re about to cum. He looks a lot like a desperate puppy at that moment.

The sight of him—it’s enough to push you over the edge with a wanton cry of his name, back arching.

Luke moans with you as you clench around him, his hips stuttering through his first shared orgasm in a year. His cock pumps his sticky release deep inside you, hips rocking with minute thrusts as he tries to keep it all in you.

When his orgasm finishes, he collapses on top of you like a spent teenager, his nose buried in your neck as his chest heaves.

“Fuck,” he curses.

Your hands find the damp strands of his hair and comb their way through them. “You did it,” you laugh. “I’m proud of you.”

Luke shivers at your praise. “Wasn’t—wasn’t that hard,” he lies.

“Oh? So I take it you don’t remember the dry humping incident, then.”

He groans at the memory, shoving his face deeper into your neck. It was six months into your relationship at that point and the two of you had started making out on his bed. He remembers the desperation he felt as his tongue slipped into your mouth, the way his hips started to move on their own, grinding his hard cock against your covered pussy.

He had been so close before you pushed him away, his eyes rolling back, five seconds away from going over that edge before you ripped it away from him.

His face flames at the memory of how he had broken down into tears after that and the way you slipped your panties off from under your skirt, giving them to him to jerk off into as he sobbed, wanting nothing more than to bury himself inside you.

“S-Shut up, don’t talk about that,” he murmured.

After a moment of quiet he speaks again. “I—I love you.” He says it in a soft, vulnerable voice, as if the quiet admission is the equivalent of him baring his soul to you. But for Luke, it is.

“I love you too,” you smile. Your fingers never stop carding through his hair. “And I meant it, you know, I am proud of you.”

He groans into your neck. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Just—shh. I wanna lay like this for a little while.”

You snort at his childish display. “Alright, alright.”

[mystxmomo]

OC interview tag

(answer the questions for your OC as if your character were answering them)

I got tagged by @mogruith. I love being included, thank you for including me and letting me write in a character voice.

Enclave time.

== For the sake of simplicity, the interview is taking place in her preferred Tongue: High Drow. ==

Are you named after anyone?

"No. Not to my knowledge," She's quiet, though after a few seconds, she snorts and says, "Honestly, if my mother had it her way, I probably would not have been named at all. But alas. To the misfortune of everyone involved, I sit before you today all the same."

When was the last time you cried?

She does not look like she has any interest in answering this question, and in fact looks a little baffled that you asked her?

"Mm. No."

Do you have kids?

"Well, I suppose that depends! Are we limiting this to children who are alive, or will dead ones suffice in consideration?" Despite her tone, she does seem a little unsure as to whether people consider their dead children as still being... their children, and so it is clarified to her that yes, she should consider her dead children as part of this. She gives a long exhale, as though that's something rather tedious to be doing, but considers it all the same, "Ah. Well. I have had four, however none of them made it out of the underdark. Put bluntly, only one really survived until adulthood..."

She trails off, looking a little troubled.

Worth mentioning, of course, this is not considering the adopted child she has that she does not consider her child despite the author absolutely considering him her child

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

With the flattest expression imaginable, "No."

This... seems to be a joke? It's a little hard to tell.

She pours more wine into her goblet.

What's the first thing you notice about people?

"How attached they are to their weapons," She doesn't look up as she says this. It's the first question she seems to answer without needing to put much thought into it, "And how visible those weapons are, I suppose. It does not matter how kind you are when your hand sits next to your blade for most of the conversation," Enclave looks off to the side. Her own blade remains unseen, however is undeniably within reach, "I suppose I cannot fault anyone for being suspicious, though. Lest I be a hypocrite within the framework of my own standards."

Scary stories or happy endings?

"I am not really a .... story... person..." She looks a little apprehensive. Unlike the other questions she'd skipped over, she does offer this some amount of consideration, rolling the goblet between her fingers as she does, "If I had to make a choice, I would still say neither. I prefer stories grounded in reality, and reality tends neither be so kind or straightforward in the tone of it's ending."

Then, she mutters to herself, "Besides. There is nothing more irritating than a bard who dramatizes for the sake of performance."

Any special talents?

"I have many. I have none I am willing to share."

Where were you born?

"The Underdark. It does not matter beyond that."

Again, this is something she otherwise has no interest in expounding upon. Even when further pressed on the matter, she just offers a blank stare in return.

Do you have any pets?

"What? No. With the kind of life I lead, why would I?" Her lips thin in disdain and she rubs her eyes.

She does not consider the stray cat she feeds when she's in town as being her pet, even if everyone else around her absolutely would.

What sort of sports do you play?

"... I have never been the sort particularly inclined towards sport, and was fortunate enough to have the luxury to avoid those," Her idea of sports being largely influenced by her time within the outskirts of drow nobility and the bloodsports they indulged in, she seems rather concerned with the question. Even after clarification that the question probably means less "blood" and more "ball", she only offers;

"Ah.." and, "I suppose I prefer to rest when I have the chance. I spend too much time on my feet as it stands."

The pun seems intentional, though her expression does not break when she says it.

How tall are you?

".... 5'0"

What was your favourite academic subject?

"...." She momentarily looks like she's going to need further clarification on this. But she does not ask for that clarification.

"History. Not what was taught, but what was true," She traces the rim of her glass, her gaze far-off, and rather distracted seeming, "... I suppose if you wanted a straightforward answer, I was always inclined towards the arcane. A shame, really. Being so invested in the arcane continues to reflect poorly on my character."

What she means by this, we are unsure.

What is your dream job?

"Anything besides what I'm fucking doing now," She says, switching to common to answer that. Not unlike earlier, though her expression doesn't change, this also seems to be a joke. She grabs her head, rolls her eyes, and with less venom to her tone eventually finishes by saying, "... I did quite like being a teacher. I would love to do so again one day, under kinder circumstances."

...

Tagging @bluejeanne & @mmigrainee, if you want to talk about your oc's. And anyone else that wants to be included.

[siblingshuffle]

Day 12: Regret.

This is a snippet of Sibling Shuffle’s version of Spiritus Ex Machina!

And the theme is regret!

This isn’t very happy. I mean, we’re talking about a mother who was so scared of losing her child that she technically killed her herself and is now confronting that choice. Of course it is.

It’s also a little longer than normal, so be forewarned! ————————

“Speaking of robot girls,” Dr. Light mentioned, “Blues has been very excited to see Tempo again. Did you bring her with you?”

Dr. LaLinde froze, the mirth melting from her expression “…Right… of course…” she murmured, averting eye contact as she turned around. After a moment, she led a girl who appeared to be around Blues’s age to the group, seeming more melancholic than before. “…Quake Woman,” she addressed the girl, “You remember Dr. Light and Blues…”

‘Quake Woman?’ Roll wondered. The girl was clearly a Robot Master, yes - Roll’s sensors didn’t give any indication that she was organic whatsoever - but Blues and Dr. Light had been referring to her by the name “Tempo”.

“Yes. Hello,” Tempo-- Quake Woman-- whichever, waved. The movement was strangely stiff, with no discernible emotion behind it. 

“Why’s she calling you your Robot Master name?” Blues asked, smiling confusedly as he waved back. “You’re not working right now, are you?”

“I am not. However, ‘Quake Woman’ is my name. I am a geological surveyor robot,” Quake Woman responded. Her voice was… strange. It lacked inflection, but it sounded as though it had been designed with a range of emotions in mind. In fact, now that she thought of it, Roll hadn’t noticed her making any obvious facial expressions, either…

Blues nodded slowly, his expression faltering as though unsure of himself. He shook it off so quickly, however, that Roll had to wonder if she had imagined it, “Uh, okay…? I’d like you to meet my little sister, Roll. Roll, meet Tem— Quake Woman, my best friend.”

“Hi!” Roll grinned, extending a hand to shake. “Blues told me a lot about you!”

Quake Woman took her hand, but, looking at Blues, said, “Your statement is illogical.”

Roll blinked, tilting her head and staring at the girl. “…What do you mean?”

“Blues referred to you as his ‘sister,’” Quake Woman responded matter-of-factly. “That statement is illogical. Robots cannot have familial relations.”

Blues stared at Quake Woman, baffled. “What…?” He asked, glancing over at Dr. LaLinde as though expecting answers from her. “...Dr. LaLinde?”

Dr. LaLinde didn’t look at him.

“…Quake Woman…required some adjustments. She’s fine.”

“…What kind of ‘adjustments’?” demanded Blues, his voice low and apprehensive as he studied Dr. LaLinde’s expression, his eyes searching for something that he couldn’t seem to find.

Dr. LaLinde swallowed, biting her lower lip. Her voice was tight when she next spoke. “…I…I’ll…let you get reacquainted.”

With that, she stepped away into the crowd. Roll’s gaze followed her, noticing how stiff her posture was. And with how abruptly she had left… something was definitely wrong.

Dr. Light placed a hand on Blues’ shoulder. “I’ll be right back,” he told him before running after her.

Blues just stared numbly in the direction the two roboticists had disappeared to. Hesitantly, Roll reached out her hand to him, but Blues withdrew, pulling his scarf up to his cheeks and turning around sharply. Before Roll could stop him, he slipped away into the crowd in the opposite direction, leaving Roll and Quake Woman alone.

————————————————————————

“Noele, wait,” Dr. Light called out, catching her by the arm before she could lose him. She stopped but didn’t turn to face him. “What’s going on? Tempo - and you, as well- are acting strangely,” Dr. Light eventually asked, a mix of concern and confusion coloring his expression.

Dr. LaLinde still didn't turn to face him. “…You have a lot of people you should catch up with, and there’s not a lot of time to do it before you have to be onstage for the debate,” she said, her voice tight.

Dr. Light nodded. “You’re right, but that can wait,” he insisted. “Something’s going on with you.”

Dr. LaLinde took a shaky breath. When she turned towards him, her eyes were more tired and sad than he’d ever seen them before.

“You know that you can talk to me, right? Any time that you need me, I’m here for you,” he offered gently, taking her hands in his. His eyes were filled with a warmth that could melt the sturdiest of defenses - a familiar, understanding, comforting warmth, but one that burned if Dr. LaLinde tried to look directly into.

Dr. LaLinde extricated hands from Dr. Light’s.

“Thomas, I know you mean well, but…” she shook her head. “…nothing is wrong.”

“…You’re sure?” Dr. Light asked, his voice soft. He knew Dr. LaLinde was brilliant, the dark circles under her eyes made him wonder how much sleep she had been losing as of late.

Dr. LaLinde inhaled sharply, but nodded, though her eyes remained downcast. “I’ll see you at the debate, Tom.”

Dr. Light watched her leave again, a sense of helplessness, concern, and worry pressing down on him.

Dr. Light couldn’t help but reflect on the LaLindes he had known before - the vibrant, happy family that only nominally resembled the lifeless one he’d just met. It seemed impossible to reconcile the two, yet he knew they were one in the same.

Dr. Light sighed deeply, his hand combing through his beard, his mind racing with questions and concerns. The loudest question of all, though, was this: what happened to the LaLinde’s?

————————————————————————

Story Notes:

My autocorrect tried to call this segment “Sorry Notes” and I think that’s kinda fitting lol

I know you guys know what happened, and furthermore that Dr. LaLinde had sympathetic reasons. However. No one else does at this point on the timeline. All they know is that Dr. LaLinde seems sadder than normal and Tempo isn’t emoting at all. And it’s freaking Blues TF out—

Dr. LaLinde mostly keeps her reasoning to herself because of grief & guilt & regret (as well as the narrative reason of “it makes for a better story if we don’t learn her reasoning until the timing it took canonically”)

DISCLAIMER: Dr. LaLinde is a very compelling character to me! I like that she’s a flawed parent trying her best! In fact, I like all of the LaLinde’s! They’re awesome characters and fantastic foils that I could go on for hours analyzing if I had the time! That aside, though, Dr. LaLinde is a foil to Dr. Light just as much as Tempo is to the Light kids. They’re both parents who care deeply about their kids and would do anything to protect them. The thing is, Dr. LaLinde took it too far by removing the possibility for Tempo to feel anything at all, pain included, and ended up hurting herself and others in the process.

This is a snippet from before any of the Healing Journey character arc starts - she misses her Tempo, yes, but she can’t really bring herself to admit that she was wrong quite yet. Surely it’s better that she removed the part that was her child but kept the part that was a tool. Surely then it would hurt less. Surely it’s better to feel nothing than to feel pain. She must be doing the right thing. She doesn’t know what she’d do if she were not.

Can you imagine having to re-introduce your newly-emotionless child to your child’s former best friend though. Can you imagine that.

I didn’t write it in here (because it would end up turning into a whole novelization of the Sibling Shuffle version if the first comic in this arc by that point), but Blues is so distracted that he ends up knocking over Kalinka and meeting the Cossacks in a way that is similar to the original story, just with the Cossacks not getting to catch up with Dr. Light quite yet.

Everyone ends up present for the debate, with Roll meeting Kalinka when they sit next to each other. Blues ends up storming out of the lecture hall after connecting a couple dots, and from there the Emerald Spears attack.

————————————————————————

Art Notes:

Reference: Tempo’s introductory panel.

Someone pointed out that her eyes half-lidded “made her look high” so I just didn’t make her eyes shiny instead. This is a serious emotional scene lol

Lowered the color saturation & brightness slightly to play more into the mood

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Both my parents actually suffer from HORRID emotional dysregulation and are prone to snapping and going into rages. My sister is the same way tbh. I am now realizing this is why they are constantly baffled by the question of whether or not I am mad at them.

I don't have external meltdowns.

I could. I don't let it happen.

I keep my rage on the inside and stay pretty quiet about it. It's just as strong as theirs [physically shaking nose bleed from high blood pressure kind of bad], but like as a kid I saw how terrifying it was to be around [dad breaking dishes, mom putting our lawn chairs into walls] and I just internalized that I wasn't going to wear that anger on the outside.

So my mother genuinely cannot tell if I am just being quiet or if I am silently hearing the dial-up noises of pure rage. This has lead her to both making strong and confident statements like "You are a pacifist who would never hurt a fly U.U" but also acting like I am secretly dangerous maybe... It's because she has never seen me snap.

She knows what her temper is like [throwing chairs through walls], she knows what my father's temper is like [pick up child and toss out door], and she can tell I am being tested, but she doesn't know what happens when I snap or where that breaking point is.

Her -perhaps unhinged- solution to this, my whole life, has been to do things that should obviously enrage me or shut me down completely, like ignoring important boundaries, repeatedly, punishing me for expressing emotions or needs at all, etc... And then to constantly ask me if I am angry with her when I get too quiet [right after near directly telling me to shut up].

It has occurred to me now, they have never once seen me lose my temper, so they literally just can't tell if I am angry at them. My sister is easy, my mother fights and screams with my sister constantly, my mother understands this. My mother doesn't have any grasp of feelings or boundaries that are not screamed at her [apparently, and I fear my sister is the same way]. Her and my sister are close despite constant fucking fighting because they understand each other.

They are trying to get me to engage the same way and it is not working. I realize now that this has been hard for them.

I was so successfully taught to suppress my emotions, by being punished for any outburst, that rage quiet looks the same as any other kind of quiet from the outside. To them anyway.

I did tell her. For the record. I used my words. I did tell her very calmly that my response to rage, in order to avoid doing the things that terrified me as a child, was to simply leave [the autistic urge to GTFO]. When a situation or person causes too much of the dial-up rage noise, I simply extract myself from that situation, up to and including never speaking to a person again. I explained this calmly. I explained it calmly 100 times and I explained that I explain myself calmly as my rage response 1-5 [also pretty much every other negative emotion tbh], and I told her that what came next was me simply opting out and fucking off. I told her this. I couldn't understand why she never took me seriously, or why she never fucking understood.

I couldn't understand what made her like this.

But it's the same problem I have with everyone else multiplied by a factor of 10.

If I am explaining myself calmly, they can't understand that it's actually serious or that I am actually upset. ESPECIALLY because they read me as "female" and women "aren't that rational" so if I am not screaming and crying about something, which I never do, people assume I can't be upset and it isn't serious.

And then after having my boundaries ignored too many times despite having calmly explained how and why it's a problem [shaking inside or not]... I leave. I leave and everyone gets upset like this is unexpected behaviour, even though I told them 50 times that is how I would respond if they kept doing *the thing.*

And for neurotypical people especially, they are expecting there to be a disconnect between what someone says they need or feel and what their actually boundaries and feelings are, and they expect the latter to be demonstrated with emotions. Telling them bluntly you do not function that way somehow never helps?

My mother isn't just looking for normal yelling or a few tears to know I am serious, whether or not I do those either [I don't], she's looking for an explosion to know there's a problem at all.

Fucked if I know how she proceeds through life this way in general or if this is just her expectation of her own kids???

And I couldn't get why my mother couldn't read my emotions and didn't seem to think I have any. It's because she's testing for the rage limit to see where my 'actual' limit is instead of taking my word for it. Never the fuck mind that she could simply *not* test at my boundaries instead of letting me have them. Separate issue.

I couldn't figure out what made her *like this*

She's expecting me to throw a giant meltdown violent tantrum at people when I have 'actually' had enough. Maybe she got away with those being like 5'4" in another time, but I am the size of the average man, I do not get to have giant screaming rages, whether or not people perceive me consciously as a woman, and least of all because a lot of people -at least unconsciously- read me as 'masculine' or at least always "they guy" of the situation compared to all other women and some men [bigger stronger and more rational, more able to just absorb the damage and let it go so the less rational screaming/crying one doesn't have to be dealt with]. Even if it was in me to be willing to terrify people [usually never], there are such limited instances where it wouldn't just blow back on me. Potentially very dangerously.

I am going to be the quiet calm one. You are going to have to let me use my words, bitch.

So she kept ignoring my boundaries until I had to cut her out of my life, and she probably doesn't understand and probably thinks it feels sudden -after 36 long years of bullshit- abrupt and unfair.

But I told her hundreds of times.

I probably should have just screamed at her.

[papaver-decervicatus]

Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 2, Mus Rusticus

After months of tense flirting and teasing with the mountain of a man she only knows an König, Mouse finds herself in a life-or-death situation while on patrol in the Alps. Maybe her new admiration isn't as one-sided as she thinks…

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care

Authors Note: Wow! The response to this fic has been incredible, heartwarming, and just baffling to me! I cannot express how happy I am to share this with you all!

Being completely objective, this chapter requires some suspension of disbelief, the circumstance is not totally likely but alas, I am here for fun.

My college classes are starting up soon, so expect slower updates moving forward. As always, please feel free to leave a comment/reblog with a message saying you want to be added to the taglist or just interact in general!

Cura ut Veleas❣️~ Caedis

PREV | Pt. 2, Mus Rusticus | 4.1k words | Mouse POV | NEXT

He’s a vision, he’s hard to miss on the horizon, he stands out like a mountain lion against his fellow men. He sways his hips wide, the trusty Glock Field knife he keeps on his belt shines like a beacon. It’s such an outrageously cocky move, to keep glinting metal on his person when she’s sure he’s supposed to be stealthy. He’s tall as a tree and broad as a train and always has some hood covering his face. He’s sniper candy, he’s so obviously right there it makes her dig blunt nails into her arm in frustration. He’s hard to miss, should be her straight shot. 

But he never is. 

She never gets the barked orders, the confirmation. She’s asked a hundred times. When it’s in the forest, it’s less warfare and more stakeout. She’s not paid enough to know what she’s looking for, but she always sees him. And she’s always been told not to shoot. She stops asking at some point, but like everything else with this man, she doesn’t quite remember when. Her life is a blur of missions and off time and him and nothing else.

It’s been months since the ravine and she’s seen him just about everywhere she’s been. When SpecGru was gathering intel on KorTacs drug affiliations, she saw him in the haunted deserts of Sonora, Mexico where she lies in the dirt redder than blood and coyotes sing her to sleep. She gazes down at him atop crumbling 16th-century Byzantine marble when she picks off the guards of a weapons supplier in Belgrade, Serbia. In the ancient and verdant bamboo forest of Yibin, China, hunting down spy affiliations, she camps across a creek from him for a night. 

It’s a small world, but not quite small enough for her to believe just how they keep running into each other. No matter where she ends up, their eyes always meet. 

The eyes of the apparition with bloody tears on top of an executioner's hood always flick right towards her, even when she’s under a ghillie or some camo or nothing particularly obtrusive at all. She’s even taken off her scope once or twice to reduce glare, to see if the monster still turns her way then. To see if the cat is following a laser pointer she’s unwittingly putting out. 

He does.

Always finds her.

No matter what. 

He would’ve been a good sniper, in another life. If he wasn’t built like the trees she climbs for her shots. 

Very few things are constant in her work. Very few people stay, very few people know. It’s awful, but she starts to hope to see him on the fields. Like he’s some coworker she’s been flirting with in the coffee lounge. 

But he’s not her coworker. Quite the opposite, he’s a soldier on the other side. The enemy. He breaks men’s spines on his knee like toothpicks. He hums with visceral energy, like mud, blood, and guts. He disembowels men like fish. He walks like a monster with three legs (and at some point about three months into their little game, she touches herself thinking about that third leg.) He swings wide, he keeps his knives sharper than cat eyes. 

His stare is constant, glacial, beautiful. 

She wonders what the rest of him looks like, with such a beautiful set of eyes. Beautiful thighs. Beautiful shoulders. He must have some reason for the mask, but she can’t help but think (or hope) he’s a good kisser under there. That his hands must be larger than life, that his skin must be warm. That his teeth must feel good if used in particular places with caution and moderation. 

She’s sure if he ever caught her, the cat would sink his teeth right in. 

She finds she wouldn’t quite mind getting chewed on by him when they accidentally pick up each other’s radio frequencies in the field. They should be encrypted. They shouldn’t be able to, but the cruel stars align and they make their pacts. 

It’s a game of cat and mouse.  They’ve got their own little rules, too. 

They don’t talk about work or positioning, he always knows where she is but never tells anyone on his team. Once she reaches out, he never gets any closer. Like it’s a game. Like they’re playing hide and seek and he knows he opened his eyes too early so he’s closing them again and pinky swearing not to tell. 

He must not tell, because SpecGru has yet to fall into an ambush. So has KorTac, though. If anyone knew they’d have their heads, but no one else does. The secret stays between them and their radios become the divining rods of close encounters. 

Mostly it’s just breathing on each line, mostly it’s just- 

“König?”

“Maus?” 

“Mhm.”

“Hmm.”

And that’s it. And they breathe at the same time, and he looks up at her in the trees or in her towers or wherever she is. And she hopes he’s thinking the same terrible things that she is, and she hopes that he keeps striking out at base camp and bars and wherever just like she has, and she hopes that he’s lonely like she is. That he has nothing else to focus on so she takes all the space in his head like he does hers. 

She knows she should get a shrink or a good fuck to stop fucking thinking about him like this, but sometimes he whispers a joke into his radio and she laughs, and sometimes she tells him about the book she’s been reading, and sometimes he shows her his favorite knife tricks, and sometimes she tells him stories of before she was in the military and he always laughs and asks questions to show he’s actually engaged and he cares and- 

She doesn’t know when she started missing shots. When she started covering his ass the three or so times he didn’t recognize some hostile getting a bit too close for comfort. 

When the fire is heavy and the mission is condensed into a 100th the size of their usual open field rendezvous, she’s seen him in action. He can handle himself, he can more than handle himself.  Some terrible part of her hopes, though, that he is thankful for her. Cover fire from a traitorous Angel in the trees, makes for a good romance novel but a terrible dynamic in war. And that’s what this is, right? It’s war? But what for? 

She doesn’t know. She’s not sure she wants to. So she keeps their little secret and she prays that he stays safe when she really can’t risk covering for him. To that point, though, he does himself no favors. He fights like he can’t get hit. 

When they’re alone he’s the perfect gentleman, he gets no closer than when she reaches out to contact him first. When they’re not, it's a whole different story. He runs into the middle field like if he can just reach her, he can keep her. If he can carry back his conquest, well… kings get their war spoils, don’t they? It’s a terrible secret she keeps alive only in her heart, but she hopes one day he finally will. 

She’d never shoot one of her own, to save his hide. But when it’s one of his own going after his neck, or when one of hers needs cover too, or one of some other guys on him, it’s easy. 

The Mouse saves the King. 

But a game is no fun with only one player. 

The King also saves the Mouse. 

It’s November, it’s somewhere in the Alps. She’s had quite the pleasure of seeing him so in his element, so proud, broad-chested, and covered in the swagger of a mountain as it walks with its own. The snowfall constricts her view but not his movement. He’s practically prancing around like a snow leopard and despite the temperature it’s warming her up a little to think about how happy he looks down there. 

“Are you gonna get me, kitty?” She hums into her radio, lips curling into a saccharine smile, when it’s just them alone in the cold. His eyes find her immediately after she’s made contact. Like always, they breathe in and out at exactly the same time once those terribly fantastic eyes of his meet hers. 

“Haha!” His whole body shakes like an earthquake when he laughs. “No. Just…” he stops for a moment like he’s catching his breath or remembering the right word, “-watching.” He says, hand reaching to his mask, lifting it up just enough so she can see a red, red, mouth and sharp, sharp teeth turning in a cruel, Cheshire Cat smile. He languishes on a stump, playing with his signature knife, downright admiring her from far away. He pulls his mask back down, but the outline of his exhales still turn into clouds in the snow. 

They breathe in tandem. Their hearts must sync. 

Today is unusual because he is actually working at something in his grasp. Usually, his beloved knife is his dancing partner, his muse of movement, the loyal companion of his oversized hands. 

Many times she’s been lost in the beautiful dance of his hands and his knife, as he flicks it up and catches it with ease. Every time he does so, her heart clenches in her all of a sudden seemingly too-small chest as she fears it’ll come down and slice him. She knows how sharp he keeps his many knives, she knows how terribly it would go for him should it ever fall out of its practiced battle dance. The knife, of course, never does. When he gets bored of tossing it, he starts doing little tricks. He balances it on his index finger, he spins it between the fingers on his massive hand, he can even juggle it between his hands without a moment's hesitation. What’s worse, is the whole time he does it, he is watching her with a relaxed posture. Like he’s showing off like he’s saying “Don’t you see how good I can be with my hands? Don’t you want to invite me over? Don’t you ache to know just what I’ll make them do for you?”

This surgical precision never ceases to amaze her because she’s seen him around his comrades. The steady hands she so admires (and yearns to touch her) disappear and shake like leaves the second he has to talk strategy or cover for others outside of immediate battle. He’s a capable soldier, he’s a great commander, he’s an excellent strategist, sure. But he’s never at ease enough to make his knife dance like this, never like he is with her. His hands shake without adrenaline and with the company. 

His hands never shake when the two exist like this, though. No, the shy soldier boy who won’t look anyone in the eye doesn’t exist to her. Like a fairytale, the second the two see each other, he disappears and instead, a man of ferocious devotion finds himself in her sights. He waits for her. He never once gets closer to her than the moment she reaches out to him first. 

It would almost be romantic. If it wasn’t war and she wasn’t herself and he wasn’t himself. 

Her comm line lights up, ripping her away from her inattentive, lovelorn adorations. Apparently, there’s an enemy scout that’s inching treacherously close to her position and slipped past someone further ahead of her. If he gets beneath her, she’s D.O.A in her tree. 

She sees König’s body tense a second after hers, the way she’s come to recognize he’s received a transmission. He stops his idle patrol and puts down the something he was working on in his hands. Quickly, he tucks it into his pocket. He’s ready to hunt all of a sudden, the relaxed air of his body falls away with all the quickness and ferocity of an avalanche. She knows to pity the poor soul on the receiving end of that look in his eyes and-

Is it her this time? Her heart stutters to a stop. 

The snow is picking up, she can’t see much of anything but she sees him blur into motion. Towards her spot. 

“Keep moving and I shoot,” she says to him. In warning. Begging him not to. She’d miss his comfort if he does make her. 

“It’s right under you, Liebling.” His voice rasps through static colder than the snow on the ground. 

She realizes she’s stranded on her branch, there’s a widow’s maker close enough to her perch to mean she’s screwed if she moves too quickly. She doesn’t have enough time to maneuver out of the tree safely and she’s a sitting duck for someone else’s shot, so long as all they’ve got is short range. If it were longer range she’d be dead already. She’s going to fall to her death or get shot at from below. It’s a shame, but she’s a little happy that it’ll be König, her cat, that’ll catch her corpse. 

She sees the would-be assailant on the horizon and she brings her gun to her cheek. He darts frantically between trees, careful to only go far enough that she’ll have to re-aim as he darts out again. He’s gaining a substantial amount of ground as she finally has a good enough line of sight to execute and-

Her gun jams. 

With all the futility of a mouse in a glue trap, she begins to shake and replace everything she can afford to in such little time to make her rifle usable. The man on the forest floor uses all of the seconds she cannot afford to waste as it becomes clear that he will reach her before she can either get down or get her gun unjammed. 

But by the time she’s gone to pray and say her goodbyes in her head while frantically looking around, she hears the footfalls of a desperate man crunching snow and she sees red spill out. 

König’s massive hands cradle one of his very own, dead. She sees the outline of hardwired explosive packs on the corpse’s chest, apparently a suicide bomber? Alone in the Alps? 

For his part, the giant doesn’t seem the least bit displeased with his kill. He wipes his bloody knife on his pant thigh and sheaths it like it’s nothing. He’s got another man’s blood all over his lower half, he sliced that poor bastard clean between his third and fourth ribs.

“Threat eliminated. My position is compromised, I’m moving.” She says to her comm. 

“Rog, Mouse.” Someone in command responds. 

She, very slowly, makes her way down to the carnage near the base of her tree, sniper rifle at her hip like a mother huddles an unruly toddler. When she’s only 12 feet in the air instead of 40, König spreads his arms out to her. It’s snowing. Hard. He doesn’t move, arms outstretched like a tree.

“Maus, I‘ll help you!” He says. 

It’s the first thing he says to her outside of the buzz of the radio. 

It’s her name. Or, the only one he knows her by. 

And the first thing he says is a promise. A promise of help. A promise of aid. 

She shouldn’t trust him. 

She tosses her gun to the pillowy snow, against all safety protocols and everything she’s ever known. He doesn’t move for it. He’s got a rifle of his own, well- not a sniper's rifle, on his back. Maybe he doesn’t need two?

She unhooks her cabling. 

It’s snowing hard. 

She kicks off the tree and into the air. 

It’s snowing really hard and dawn is breaking. 

He does, indeed, catch her. 

He audibly gasps when she lands in his arms. He doesn’t move, she’s much too small and light to move the man. He just holds her. For a moment- in the air. 

“… klein,” he all but whispers and puts her on the ground. His hands don’t start trembling as she expects them to.

She doesn’t know what that means and goes to pick up her gun and makes a quiet mental note to find a German Dictionary or self-teacher or something if this weird romance is gonna keep up. 

“What’s this guy's story?” She motions to the left. Where there’s the stump of a man who should’ve been her death. 

“Traitor, against both sides. Al Qatala. Made off with classified files.” He rolls his shoulders, completely unconcerned. 

It could be a lie. It could’ve been that this man just has a weird obsession with her and couldn’t stand to see her get taken out by someone that wasn’t him. 

Well, if that were the case, why’s she still around? He could just kill her. But then again, couldn’t she have killed him multiple times over? 

She doesn’t think he's lying. He’s affected by some things, not by others. He’s much too jittery and anxious of a man to lie so easily to her. She recognizes she’s putting a terrible amount of trust in the enemy, but if it’s gotta be anyone, she’d rather it be the man who sometimes radios her terrible jokes instead of some stranger. 

But now they’re as face to face as over a foot and a half of height difference will let them be. There’s still the hood on his face which is haunting, but this monster-  he’s scarcely made a move to her that hasn’t been some perverse version of love or care. 

She realizes she’s thankful for him. 

Stockholm syndrome, she decides. Even though this is the first time they’ve been within 80 yards of each other. 

“Thank you.” Is what she says instead, breathless and quiet, almost like she’s sorry she has to say the words out loud. Almost like they’re bad news like she’s telling the kids they have to put the family cat down. 

“Bitte schön,” he says, gentle and warm like a wool blanket. His hands are drumming on his thighs with nervous kinetic energy and he looks intently at where he grabbed her, maybe he’s worried he hurt her? But he’s not trembling. She tries not to think about it, that he’s not trembling. Her face is red and her heart is fast but for all the wrong reasons.

Before they part ways and go back to their little lives on opposite sides of some silly war she’s sure is not worth the human toll, he reaches into his pocket. 

He brings the little thing to his hood and places it right where she reckons his lips are. 

Their breaths puff into billows of smoke. 

They breathe in time. 

It’s bloody from his pant legs when he presents it to her, holding the tiny object in two forefingers and thumbs. She cups her hands in front of her like a child begging the family pet to drop an injured bird it found in the backyard. He drops it just like that pet, a few inches above her hands to avoid bloodying her hands directly. Like it would be a shame. Like he cares about tainting her. 

It’s a piece of light wood, whittled into the shape of a mouse. 

She holds the thing in the palms of her hands and they ache. It is so small, so hard for even her to hold. His field knife, the one he loves so much, is massive but she knows it was the one that he used to make it. She did research one day, trying to discover what sort of blade it was. It's a custom Glock Field Knife, with a near mirror-perfect patina and two whole inches larger than the standard issue. She also thinks he wrapped the handle himself because she cannot find that stark red chord on any seller’s website. It's a monster of a knife, for a monster of a man. It’s not made for woodworking, for whittling, for creation– it's a thing of utter annihilation and destruction. Yet, he changed its nature. He utilized his most favored possession to carve intricately into fallen birch wood. He’s given a second life in the shape of her name to what would rot without his attention. He has created, against all odds, something beautiful and delicate out of a brutal tool and doomed material. For her.

She is dumbstruck by this man. She has no words for him, for herself, she wouldn’t have any for anyone who asked either. Suddenly, the Alps aren’t so cold even though it is verifiably snowing. 

When he turns to go she thinks how much his hands must’ve hurt to make this little thing and she can’t just let him go, not empty-handed. 

“Wait!” She calls to him. 

He stops and looks back at her. She fishes around in her pockets and curses her nearly-frostbitten fingers until she finds it. 

She tosses it to him. 

He opens the little leather pouch and she sees his smile through his eyes as he recognizes what it is. It’s her pocket whetstone, with the crown she doodled onto the leather holder with charcoal. 

Her lucky charm. 

She shouldn’t trust him, she’s really got no reason to. But this man, he’s saved her life. He likes knives more than she does, hell, uses them more than she does. There’s really no reason for her to have it (just like there was no reason for her to put his symbol into the leather.) His glacial eyes melt while looking down at the object and she’s never known the winter wilderness to be so warm. She tries not to think about the way her heart speeds up when his eyes soften looking at the object. 

“I will only use this from now on, Maus.” He says, voice quiet and reverent. Like he holds the keys to his kingdom when he holds the cheap piece of rock. 

“Don’t. It’s- it’s not a great one. Just. My charm.” She shrugs. She wants to say ‘It’s a piece of shit and useless, just like I am. It’ll fuck up your knives. I know you love them. Don’t ruin useful things on my account.’ 

“All the more reason to treasure it.” He replies, simple and unburdened.

God. She wishes he wasn’t so charming. There’s no going back. 

She feels like she’s in his jaws already, totally caught. He seems not to realize that he could march off with her and go anywhere and she’d just let him. He walks away and it genuinely hurts when his form disappears into snow and trees and leaves no trace like he’s a fairy tale. Like he’s not real and never was and cannot be. 

And with that, the King had saved the Mouse. He turned and left and she moved her position before returning to base camp. 

The next time she sees him, about a week later, she sees him sharpening his massive field knife with the tiny whetstone on his comically large thigh, and in response, she thumbs at the wooden effigy in her pocket. They laughed into their radios to each other. Her cheeks flush red. Her thighs clench around nothing. She dreams about those big, big, hands, the ones that cradled her in the air, pinning her down and leaving black and blue bruises all over her hips and thighs. She thinks about that red, red mouth tracing said bruises with a gentle tongue. She thinks about the hands caressing her neck, the mouth kissing the top of her head. The hands, holding her at the hip snug to his massive frame throughout the night. The mouth, hushing her to sleep and promising to be there in the morning. 

She’s got nothing for him, though. Other than her body and the vain, ridiculous, impossible dream that’s enough for him. He doesn’t seem the romantic type. She doesn’t think he’d settle down. She doesn’t know him at all, not really.

But, she does have something for him. The answer to a question from what feels like lifetimes ago. 

“It’s because I’m quiet.” She whispers into her radio, half hoping he won’t pick up. 

“What?” He hums back. 

“Mouse. Because I’m short and quiet in the field.” 

“Really?” He asks back. “That’s it?”

“Yep.” A heartbeat too long of silence passes between them. She chews the inside of her lip to bits, waiting for a response. “Your turn,” she prods gently. 

“Because I am not.” Is his response. 

“Really, that’s it?” She chuckles into her radio. 

He just laughs on the other end. And now she’s really got nothing else to give him, save a rare book recommendation, a laugh in return for his bad jokes, and her sharp eyes always trained on his form in her scope. She’s got nothing to give him that she hasn’t already given him, and nothing he couldn’t just find elsewhere. 

But God, she wants him all the same. 

It’s dangerous to be at war. 

It’s dangerous to play cat and mouse. 

Even more dangerous to fall in love on top of those two. 

taglist!

@kneelingshadowsalomee @sprout-fics @bucca2 @dead-cipher @gallowsjoker @lostagoodcigar 

[schwarzgeier-side]

HI GEIER A FUN QUESTION FOR U but do you have any particular artists and/or pieces of media (like movies shows videogames etc) that inspire your own art style/you want to take inspiration from?? Ive asked a couple peeps and I'm curious abt you!!!

OMG MY TURN?? THANK U HHH Im still baffled sometimes by you knowing i exist dhdhdh but im honored.

Sooo Inspiration huh. Very interesting topic for me because i am. Very much shaped by the art and media I like / consume. And yet i dont feel like much of it shows up in my own art style really. I am not sure why, probably because i never fully. Studied art tbh. Went to art school in free time ever since i was a 1st grader but i still feel like i skipped some major steps in actual art teachings. Color theory is my enemy.

But as direct inspirations I would say I have wayy to many to count.

Signalis (unsuprisingly) has been a literal life changing experience and I am putting down here because i cannot fully express how much it fuels me and my artistic aspirations ever since i played it. I truly wish to make a story on signalises level that can impact others.

As a second biggest inspo , i have to go with my long term soft spot that i have for the Dishonored series , specificly the art of Dishonored 2 will never leave my soul. There were multiple incredible artists working on the design team but the general feel and dedication they put into this world is smth i wish to do similiarly. Arkanes general philosophy aligns with mine.

For final big game i suppose ill put Ultrakill. I dont know what it is specificly about it that makes me so. At awe of it but it scratches my brain in similair way signalis did with its low poly style and striking colors and solid designs.

For artists god uh theres to many fjfhshdhg my own art changes style everydamn week i feel like but at least for people that impact me lately . @mrzuddie(sorry for the tag)s style has personaly spoken to me on a lot of levels , dont know why specificly but it scratches my brain so well . I always admired the more. Chaotic artstyles ? Sketchy , or rough looking pieces speak to me more than smth hyper realistic or shaded. Thats why i like pixelated stuff too. Remarins speedpaints on youtube were big part of my teen years i would say and they shaped me into being a digital artist mainly. Shiwasu Hoshikawa's Bungo Stray Dogs art also falls under the scratchy wild art category i love and wish i could replicate more .

I cant really think of any movie funikly enough that shaped me artisticly much. I like Top Gun Maverick but thats cause im a pilot and have a history with it fjfhfj. 9 film from 2009 was striking though that might have been subconciously affecting me. Also as most i think Into the spideverse and any recent well animated movie can fall in this category.

Idunno i just. Like to draw. I need to create stuff. And everything around me influences the way i draw. Including you btw your art is incredible and It is honestly fascinating studying the texture of your brushes and strokes. Thank you for asking me :]

[ganondoodle]

Dude I love how you make gods feel like *gods*. One thing I think a lot of people have trouble with is making their deities feel like either A. Non-characters that are just forces of nature, like a hurricane, or B. making them *too* much like regular characters, negating the impression of how powerful they're supposed to be.

In every part of that first Demise vs Hylia fight, it felt like something that would be both awe-inspiring and terrifying to witness, and when you mentioned in that other post how Demise would use his true form to escape a mountain, it gave me mental images of a massive volcano, but simultaneously all the *rage* that would be involved. Like I don't know the context but. Oh boy is Demise probably not going to be happy about getting stuck in a mountain

I just!! It is very early rn and Idk if I'm making a lot of sense but you are *so good at this*

I'll be honest, at first i wondered if this ask was actually meant for me or perhaps got to the wrong person ( i got teary eyed reading this ... multiple times qoq)

ANd yes i agree that often gods tend to be either too distant or too much like a normal character, personally im not a fan of the latter xD

the deities in destiny are supposed to be like a middle ground, the three golden gods are very 'other' while the deities are supposed to be a mix of mortals and gods, not half-gods since they more god than mortal but still with a connection to the world (thats almost the entire reason the gods made them like that, bc the gods themselves cannot walk the worlds they created on their own; the deities are essentially their hand to control the world - which isnt working to well as we see gnvfjdknkdfn)

anyway, waht i mean is ... Thank you??!! i, sometimes get so lost in self doubt and how others do similar concepts just wayyy better and like .. idk how to express how this lil ask makes me feel (positively!!!), i always hope i can convey at least a fraction of what i feel writing my stories, which is hard with no movement and no sound, just art, to hear that i am actually somewhat succeeding at it is kinda .. idk, baffling?? i am no good with words myself ;O;

the scene you mentioned is from chapter 3, and i got so motivated by this ask that i had to .. attempt to draw a lil concept of that scene in it, even tho i know its really rough and i hope will get it done better once i get to that chapter .. but its something? ;u;

[blackjackkent]

They stand over his fallen body, these two women that Enver Gortash used for his own ends. His blood still drips off of Karlach's blade from the final blow she struck. Rakha's hands are covered in it.

"So. Gortash is nothing more than a pile of flesh," Karlach says. Her voice is unusually flat, lacking all of the color Rakha is used to from her. "Same as the rest of us."

"He's dead now," Rakha says gruffly. "You've won." We've won. I've won. Another slice through the fabric of the person she used to be. Another killing with purpose because it's all she knows how to do.

But she watches Karlach's expression out of the corner of her eye, sees the dark twisting of rage and grief still working itself out there.

"I don't feel like I've won," Karlach says quietly. "All I feel is tired."

She takes a few pacing steps up and down next to Gortash's corpse. Her footsteps are damp in the puddles of his blood. "Is that it, then?" she asks in a low voice. "I've killed the bastard who ruined my life, and now I crawl into a corner and die?"

Her head snaps up, her eyes full of fire, and the words explode out of her with sudden resentful fury.

"AM I FUCKING MISSING SOMETHING?"

Rakha cocks her head slowly to one side. She can still feel the lingering heat from Karlach's engine and her anger, but she doesn't flinch away from it, doesn't blink, just listens. "What do you mean?" she asks.

"It makes no sense," Karlach whispers. "None of it means anything." She halts her pacing, stares down at Gortash again; her breath starts to come quicker, her fingers flexing. "He's dead," she says, and Rakha can hear the strain in her voice. "And he's no fucking sorrier now than he was before."

Her eyes lift to Rakha's again, desperate, pleading - frightened. "What was the point?" she cries. "I'm still dying!"

She clutches one fist to her chest as if to grip at the pulsing heart inside it. "I'm dying," she repeats, louder, a wail of agony, a curse. "I'm going to die!"

Her voice breaks. Tears begin to flow down her face, boiling off of her skin, cutting strange jagged lines in the bloodstains.

There is a strange answering tightness in Rakha's throat, hearing Karlach's control slipping. She and Karlach have both spoken very little of Karlach's impending death. Karlach made it clear that it was far more important to her that she die as herself in Baldur's Gate than live a slave anywhere else - and Rakha could understand that, after having lived with the comfort of knowing that her friends would kill her if the beast took too much control. So she took Karlach at her word on this subject and has said nothing further about it.

And yet it tugs at something deep in her, hearing the other woman starting to cry now. They have not been close - but Karlach is still her friend. Rakha does not want her to die, does not enjoy her pain. Perhaps this is one of the secret costs of being freed from Bhaal and beginning to become her own person. Perhaps with that vicious and ruthless practicality gone, she is now free to begin to understand empathy - just in time for it to be of deeply painful use to her.

But what can she say? This is not a problem she can fix. She is still, despite everything, very very good at killing, and there is a great deal in her life for which that has continued to be necessary. But Karlach's point is all too clear - no amount of fallen enemies will heal the wound that is killing her.

"It makes no sense,"(*) Rakha agrees in a low voice.

"It's evil." Karlach's expression twists with muted inward agony. "I was so young when this fucker betrayed me. So naive. They stole my heart before I even knew what I had..."

"My heart..." She groans the word out, like a plea to some unhearing god. "It was mine... and they took it..."

Rakha's eyes flick closed for a moment. A strange sense of brutal irony strikes her.

She is used to encountering situations to which she cannot relate, with her memory stripped from her and the world so baffling and large. But this... she cannot fathom the experience that Karlach has had.

Bhaal formed her to kill, to be without mercy or empathy or warmth. She was born with no heart - emotionally, if not physically. And her escape from him has been the process of building her own out of scraps of understanding, and clawing her way to a life of freedom as herself.

Meanwhile, Karlach - who began life in freedom with a heart big enough for the world - has been hurled into mutilated slavery with the core of her cut out. She is collapsing while Rakha rises, and there is nothing either of them can do about it.

Perhaps Karlach's thoughts are trending in the same direction, because Rakha can see anger start to work its way back in, threaded through the grief.

"I'm going to be as dead as Gortash any day now," she mutters brokenly, her eyes lifting to Rakha's again. "Any moment. And what then? Off to the City of Judgment to waste into oblivion? Into the dirt to get eaten by maggots? Is that it for me?! Is that fucking all?!"

Her voice is lifting, rising to a shout, a howl, all but screaming in Rakha's face. "And you - you'll just keep going, won't you?! Watching the stars. Warming your hands on the campfire. Dancing, eating, making fucking love all night, all of it, ALL OF IT!"

Her fingers close on the collar of Rakha's robe.(**) Flame bursts up around them, a sudden raging inferno that doesn't quite touch Rakha's skin. Rakha doesn't resist, doesn't blink, just braces herself as Karlach yanks her forward, pulling her almost off her feet with the motion until their faces are only a few inches apart.

"That's my reward for everything I suffered!" Karlach roars. "That's why I survived ten years of torment! The fighting, the clawing, the loneliness, the FUCKING loneliness. All of it, so I could ROT! Because the person I trusted the most gave me away to the devil!"

The flames sputter, flare up brighter still around her for a moment... and then fade. Her shoulders slump, the grip on Rakha's robes loosening, and she looks down at Gortash's body, the tears now streaming down her face in a flood. "It isn't fair..." she gasps out, her voice shattered as her heart. "I don't want it like this..."

Rakha remains perfectly still while Karlach sobs. Eventually the grip on her robes falls away completely, leaving Karlach standing there unmoored, broken, bitter, swallowed in the maelstrom of grief.

She blames Rakha for all of this in part. Of course she does. Rakha can hear it in her voice, in her words. And why shouldn't she?

Rakha was allied once with Gortash; Rakha might even have had a hand in what happened to her. Rakha has escaped her master while Karlach is inextricably bound to hers. Rakha, who has the blood of thousands of innocents on her hands, will perhaps live a long life searching for and finding her new identity, while Karlach will die screaming with no greater crime to her name than trying to survive in a wasteland that wanted to destroy her, body and soul.

It isn't fair, Rakha thinks, and there is bitter resentment in the thought. It should be me and not her.

"I would change it if I could," she says, her voice low and weary and full of an echoing grief that feels odd and foreign. "But I can't."(***)

"You could try." Something indomitable in Karlach rallies for a moment, and she tries brokenly to laugh. "Haven't you got a Wish spell in that pack of yours?"

But the effort fails almost at once. She draws a harsh, sobbing breath and squeezes her eyes shut. "What the fuck am I supposed to do now?"

What can she say? What is there to say? She casts a glance at Wyll, wanting to believe that he will have an answer when she does not, but he shakes his head slightly. His eyes are fixed on Karlach as well, and she can see the devastation in his expression.

She swallows. She needs to speak, but what good will it do?

"Live," she says quietly. "For as long as you can."

Karlach snorts humorlessly. "You do it," she mutters. "I'm tired."

A long silence. Then she turns away, shoving her greatsword back into its sheathe. "Let's get out of here. I've always hated this place," she quips curtly. "Stupid fucking gigantic bridge or whatever."

She takes a few steps towards the door, then stops, glancing over her shoulder at Rakha. "I think I need to go to camp for a while. Be alone. Scream at the sky. You can come and find me later, if you want to." Again that bitter smile without any humor. "You might only find a pile of ash, but I'll be there all the same."

She turns and walks out, leaving a heartwrenching silence in her wake.

-----

(*) Cropped this line ("I don't want you to die. It makes no sense.") to be shorter and more Rakha-ish.

(**) Artistic license, but I want to lean into the idea of Karlach lashing out at Rakha more specifically here.

(***) In-game line: "I would do anything to change it, but I just can't."