#I don't want an answer. I love that it is ambiguous

[zeondraws]

Making another post about the AMA, as a few questions couldn't be answered on the reddit post before it was closed. Some of the answers were send to the Secret Mode server instead.

So I am listing them all in this post, so I can use it for the wiki. I also asked a few additional questions about Alex, (for example, we were confused if we had two Alex on the rig because of the Alex P. signature. But turns out, Alex Cranstoun is the same Alex who talks to Sunil).

Lead Narrative Sagar: "His full name is Stuart Gibson"

Lead Design Jade & Lead Narrative Sagar - "Spot on, this was definitely our goal!"

Lead Narrative Sagar: "Wait, we completely agree: Billy Chamberlain is DEFINITELY very important! He's the inciting reason for Caz's presence on the Beira D to begin with! Yeah, we have a sense of what sort of person he is, and what happened that fateful evening at the pub in Glasgow. But nothing more we can share here, I'm afraid..."

Lead Narrative Sagar: "Haha! This is the first name of a very important member of the crew. Check out the answers I gave to roses-in-the-abyss and to Icy_Piglet4732"

Lead Narrative Sagar: "Thanks for asking this. It had to do with the overall arc of Mhairi's story. Mhairi, for us, works really well as a foil to Caz. She has more information, plans more, and most importantly, chooses to go into a dangerous situation. True, she doesn't know quite how dangerous it's going to be. But it's a far cry from Caz, who never expected to be running around like mad on a sinking oil rig, and is equipped just with a screwdriver. His final action is exactly what he has grown to be capable of doing. By contrast, no one asked Mhairi to go to the bottom of the North Sea and disturb what was there. She chose to. The most straightforward thing to do, narratively, is to make her pay for that choice, maybe with the ultimate sacrifice. But we wanted to reflect the greater agency Mhairi has a character to do a bit more, and ask the player what they think makes sense for their version of Mhairi. After all, even the game itself opens up a bit more: your version of Mhairi might be more exploratory and less resolute than another, or vice versa. We don't branch very widely in this story, just at the end, so it's not too hard to keep the various realities in our heads simultaneously. It would be a different design challenge if the game were built around branching. Thanks for your question!" Lead Design Jade: "On SWTD we wanted to tell a story about a person who was always running finally deciding to do what's right for his family. A choice would have not given the experience we wanted. But Mhairi has a choice because I think we all deal with grief in a different way. When someone dies you can feel guilty about letting go of that sadness because it feels scary when you built yourself around it. Ultimately you can either let it consume you or let it go and I love that we managed to talk about it in such a way. I think in our mind both ending are open enough that we can do different things with them if we decide to."

Who is Alex/what is his backstory, and what's his surname? (Lo-Honko is my reddit name)

From Sagar: Lo-Honko's questions were quite fun to respond to. But this specific question (the 5th) was ambiguous. There isn't just one body in those two locations: there are two, one in each named spot. In my answer, I only responded to what I thought was being referred to in the second one, later on in the pipe maze, the body with the lighter. But let me expand on both bodies, because I think the first at least has some cool implications about events we never get to see. Once you're down at 237 metres, you get into Mud Pits. (That's the "giant room, split by a fence", as Rob says.) If you make your way through a pipe at the top of the room, you can snake your way into a smaller room, called Mud Handling. That's the one that has a dartboard and also something that looks like a body, buried under some rubble... but also bizarrely with a seeming cross / grave marker? Now that is a weird and confusing thing... is it a legit grave marker? What the hell? This is actually one of the oddest things Mhairi has found to date. It's what leads her, uncharacteristically, to trip over her words. "I-I don't know... body," Mhairi says. Because she can see something Rob can't. It's not just a body. It's a body with debris that seems to have fallen (or been placed!) in the shape of a grave marker. Who would have done that? Presumably the collapse of the rig was an emergency. Who would've had the time, and if they did, why do it in that location? Doesn't seem to be someone in their right mind, and moreover, it'd have to be someone (or some thing) that could have survived such an emergency, present in Engineering and full of confused emotions. --------------------------

The second body (the one holding the lighter in the pipe maze) after you listen to the second data logger recording is Alex Cranstoun. I expanded on this in the AMA and how he got ahold of Finlay's lighter. Alex worked hard on the rig, and he was seen in the first game working with Sunil. He works on the Deck and is always fixing something or trying to keep the rig from falling apart. We get a hint way back when Mhairi discovers the Ganpati murti of just how heavily Sunil's loss was felt, but we don't discover too much about Alex. In fact, Mhairi's quite confused by this body too, even about how it possibly has arrived into the vent. How horrific, if this person died, trapped in the vent. Alex was no less loved by his mates. He was a particularly close co-worker with Sunil. In fact, we see the two of them talking together very early in Still Wakes the Deep. Work on a rig can be very uncompromising and very busy. But there can also be a lot of dead time. You have to make your own entertainment. Sunil, Alex, Archie, and Gregor would sometimes have competitions around who could grow the most luxurious facial hair. Let's just say that Alex did not win this competition... He was determined to get his revenge on Sunil during the darts tournament, and even this did not go his way. Though as a consolation, Alex did manage to win Finlay's lighter off her late in the darts tournament, after everyone was deep in their cups. When the disaster began, and the leccy went out, that lighter was what Alex used to navigate for a little bit while he was running for safety. But it barely lasted a few minutes, before plunging him into darkness. And as the rig listed, Alex tragically tripped and fell into a vent, a slow and tragic end for someone who deserved better.

And for context, this was Lo-Honko's question from the AMA.

"Does the guy from the vents and mudpits have a name? Who is this person Finlay lend her lighter to?"

-

-

Thanks to Liam from Secret Mode for forwarding the Alex questions!!

This is super interesting, this is gonna take a while to put into the wiki. But today I am editing Alex and Archie (I deleted the Cranstoun page and will delete the Dunbar page later, don't touch it!)

I find it important to have sources because some people will think you lie and edit something and claim it's a headcanon. I had to re-edit a page because someone claimed the father-son relationship between Muir and Innes was a headcanon (because of the new memento). I think the person means no harm, but I figured I mention this.

Double check before you edit something, because if you don't have a source for example, you may spread wrong information.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Peeped the horrors

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[himasgod]

Hii :3

Could I request Diasomnia with an s/o that is a demon? Like an actual demon in human disguise but they still do some weird stuff like popping up out of nowhere (teleportation) behind people, hang upside down like Lilia, levitating objects and other demonic antics. They don't reveal what they are so they leave the boys guessing what's up with them.

DIASOMNIA X READER

Where you are a demon

How would the Diasomnia boys react to your weird and mocking attitude as a harmless human-like demon in NRC?

Silver Vanrouge

Silver is far too used to strange things thanks to living in Diasomnia, but even so, there are times when he stares at you, trying to process what he just saw.

He once woke up in the middle of the forest after falling asleep… and saw you walking upside down in the air, as if gravity didn't apply to you.

"…Am I dreaming again?"

"Nah this is real."

He decided not to ask questions and just accept it.

More than once, he's felt something watching him while he sleeps, only to open his eyes and find you hovering above him, peering up close.

"…Why are you there?"

"I just wanted to see how you sleep. You're cute."

He's confused but flattered.

He doesn't judge you or pressure you to explain anything. If there's one thing he's learned from his training, it's that some mysteries are better left unsolved.

Lilia Vanrouge

He's the ONLY one who seems completely unsurprised by your abilities. In fact, he finds it hilarious.

"Oh, how nostalgic! I haven't seen someone hang upside down so naturally since my days in the war. Except myself, of course"

"Why do I feel alluded to…?"

He sees you appear out of nowhere and all he does is laugh and say,

"Oh, adorable! You thought you could scare me."

You really wanted to scare him :(

Of all of them, he's the one who grasps the fact that you're not human the quickest. He doesn't say anything to you directly, but makes ambiguous comments like:

"It's a pleasure to see another nocturnal creature around here." "You know, on my travels I've met beings like you…" "Why do I feel like you're actually much older than you look?"

You just smile mysteriously.

He LOVES to play pranks with you. You become a chaotic duo. Suddenly, everyone at school is afraid that one of you will appear behind them without warning.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek is CONVINCED that you're some kind of evil being who wants to test his loyalty to Malleus MY POOR BOY.

Ever since he saw you effortlessly levitate a book without any spell, he's been following you closely. Not because he suspects you… but because he wants to find out how you did it.

"That wasn't a normal spell! How did you pull it off?"

"Guess."

"THAT'S NOT AN ANSWER!"

He yells at you every time you appear out of nowhere.

"STOP DOING THAT, HUMAN…! WAIT, ARE YOU REALLY HUMAN?!"

He doesn't want to admit it, but it makes his hair stand on end when you disappear just as he blinks.

"A KNIGHT IS NOT FOOLED BY ILLUSIONS! BUT YOU'RE IRRITATING ME!"

It annoys him, but at the same time he wants to impress Malleus by learning your "secret technique."

"If you tell me how you do that, I'll use it to protect the Young Master!"

"Or you could just accept that I'm awesome."

REFUSES.

Malleus Draconia

From the beginning, he sensed something different about you. Your aura didn't resemble that of humans or fae. However, he couldn't quite put his finger on what you were.

Your ability to disappear and reappear without warning confused and him. Normally, he's the one who appears out of nowhere, but you did the same to him

"Oh, my dear, I see you also enjoy making unexpected entrances."

Though he says it calmly, inside he's fascinated. Not many can match you at that.

Once, while walking at night, he felt a presence behind him… He turned slowly, and there you were, looking back at him with a mischievous smile.

"I hadn't sensed you approaching. How did you do it?"

You wink at him.

"Magic."

Now he has more questions than answers.

He's also intrigued by how you can hold things in the air without touching them. He once saw a book float towards you while you were lying on his lap.

"That's not a typical student spell…"

"Maybe I'm naturally talented."

Suspicious.

If you ever decide to tell him the truth, he'll accept it without a problem. After all, he himself is a being that humans consider a "nightmare creature."

HEADCANON BONUS:

You bet with Lilia to see who can scare the most people at school.

One day they see you floating and peacefully reading on the dormitory ceiling. Everyone in Diasomnia simply accepts their fate.

People at Night Raven College think you're a ghost.

Azul even tries to sell stories about "the mysterious Diasomnia entity that appears out of nowhere."

Vil saw you once and said, "I don't know what you are, but at least you have good skin."

Malleus and Lilia find your abilities quite natural, while Silver simply accepts your oddness, and Sebek grows more stressed every day <3

[heyhoeudoin]

LOYALTY BUILT FROM LOVE

"I will always be by your side."

pairing: senku ishigami x fem!reader

words: 5.4k

genre/s: fluff, mystery, storytelling in the third perspective (s1, s2)

warning/s: she/her, swearing, ambiguous/not direct ending

synopsis: there is always someone next to senku, all the time.

masterlist ; times senku talked about you (part 2)

a/n: i've been wanting to do something similar to my bakugo fanfic, "Indebted to you" for a while now, and i finally thought of one.

also woah, i posted... revolutionary!

ever since senku arrived at the newfound kingdom of science, he's always had someone next to him

that someone is you

you are never too far from senku

and senku is never too far away from you

when kohaku met senku under that log, that's when she saw you the first time

at first she didn't question it, thinking that you might've just not been there when she saw the fight, but after observing you and senku

she then changed her mind and thought it was strange that she didn't see you

the way the two of you worked together was mesmerizing; efficiently done in silence

she could see that the two of you have some sort of special relationship with that silent communication

you reminded her of her sister; almost princess like with the way you carry your knowledge and demeanor

that impression quickly changed when you flipped ginro and kinro to the ground when they tried to attack senku

it happened so fast that you were just a blur in the corner of her eye! you were faster than her and you took them both out with a single hand

at that moment she knew not to cross senku

she wasn't even sure if she could defeat you

she almost pities the long-haired man

when gen appeared, you didn't recognize him, but he had recognized you

of course he did

everyone in japan knows who you are and anyone who doesn't is living under a rock

he was confused on why a person of your caliber is acting like a servant

maybe for survival, but he's sure that you'd be able to survive on your own

but then he started observing the two of you and this master-servant relationship seemed normal on both end

it made him curious on just what exactly your relationship with senku is

his curiosity skyrocketed after he overheard a conversation between you and senku

gen stood at the bottom of the hut after you and senku climbed up. he was lucky enough that you didn't spot him (well, that's what he thinks).

"so," senku spoke. "do you know him?" then asked. there was a pause. gen thinks you might've gave a non-verbal answer. senku chuckles. "of course, i didn't think you would. he's just some tv show mentalist."

gen rolled his eyes at that, but agrees with what senku said. it would be very shocking to hear that you know of him. "so he's a psychologist?" the first words he heard from you.

"yeah," answered senku. "he wrote these magazines that some of the club talked about some times. it would have questions like "if you could only save one, would you rather save your mother or your partner?" how illogical is that?" he scoffs.

this time you chuckled at him. "but senku," you interrupted. "you do understand just how useful he is, right?" gen felt a chill run up his spine as his whole body tensed up. your light tone immediately changed to a more penetrating one. it almost feels like you're reminding senku of your authority.

"yeah, yeah, i know, and don't use that tone on me. you know that shit don't work," senku replies, dismissing your tone like it was nothing! and to which you giggled at in a playful manner. "so, your assessment of him?" he then asked.

"gen is like a stray cat; give him something to eat and he'll stay," you answered with smooth confidence. "sooner or later he'll ask you for something in exchange for his loyalty." you let out a chuckle. "isn't that right, gen?"

he quickly walked away and didn't look back

maybe you were the one to plant the seed in him

maybe it was senku with his fast-paced bringing back the modern world (and his charisma)

or maybe it was the both of you

but whatever it was, in the end you were right

gen became an important member of the the kingdom of science

although he still wants answers about the two of you

there's two stories that ruri likes out of all hundred tales

she loves sharing them the most

after all, it's the only two love stories from it

number ninety-eight: loyalty built from love there was once a girl who had everything everything but happiness the people around her always worshipped her like a god it made her feel lonely and dull but then she met a boy a boy who knew of everything everything except who she is she talked to him... she argued against him... she laughed alongside him she made him smile.... they were friends they were inseparable but then she felt love he didn't like love she was afraid he became distant she sought after him he stopped seeing her she went to him it was silent then she talked... then he shouted... then they confessed they were in love her love shined through the things she did for him loyalty knows no bounds when you're in love

number ninety-nine: learning to love there was once a boy who found everything interesting everything except love he thought it was illogical and he didn't want to feel it but then he met a girl a girl who can do everything everything except how to feel he talked to her... he fought her... he laughed with her... he smiled at her they were friends they were inseparable he felt different with her he didn't know what it was it scared him he tried to push her away she stayed he ignored her she confronted him it was silent then she spoke... then he screamed... then they confessed they were in love his love was seen from the way he treated her love wasn't so illogical than he thought he did

there was no names mentioned in the two love stories

ruri wished the founder of the village had included the names

maybe it did but was forgotten through time

kohaku didn't really care about her own romances

but if it's other's?

then that's when she's interested

she could never forget the scene she saw between you and senku after the grad bout ended

the placed turned quiet as the realization seeped in. the winner of the grand bout is senku which means... "the new village chief and the husband of the priestess is the winner of the grand bout, senku!"

"well, this is a pain in the ass," senku says as he stuck his pinky into his ear. "so i just have to marry ruri and the whole village is mine, right?" he approached ruri. "i'll do it then."

from the corner of kohaku's eye, she saw you hurriedly walk away with a tightly closed fist. you're actually walking away without senku. that's the first time she ever saw you go away from senku.

she turned back to senku who's staring at your retreating figure. he turned his head back and demanded, "wine! bring me wine!" then after that, it all happened so quickly. senku divorced her sister, took the wine, and ran back to the kingdom of science, dragging kaseki with him.

once they arrived, senku left towards the laboratory where you were, gathering the materials to make the sulfa drug. kohaku watched as you ignored senku. he reached up and flicked your forehead. the two of you talked, rather fast paced with how fast the two of you exchanged words.

senku gently reached out for you hand, bringing it up to his lay on his cheek. he turned his head and kissed your palm.

kohaku's eyes widen in shock.

it looked like you laughed and tackled him into a hug that almost caused you both to fall. you stepped back as you brought your hands up to cup his face. you spoke a few words, then brought your face down to his forehead, giving it a gentle yet light kiss.

kohaku's jaw slacked in shock.

she remembered being flustered, shocked, and confused from the sudden public display of affection the two of you showed

it changed the way she sees the two of you

she always thought that you were like a bodyguard for senku, but also good friends

but if that's how you two always act when you think no one's watching?

maybe the two of you aren't just friends

at first, homura went around spreading the fire to the village

then all she saw was black the next

when hyoga revealed that he was just a distraction, the fire wasn't as big as he planned it to be

in fact, he never planned for homura to be carried in bridal style by someone he didn't expect

did senku revive you? why would he revive you? wait, how did he even find you? your place is no where near where they are right now

it doesn't make any sense

but for now, he'll retreat

he'll surely be beaten by you in mere minutes

chrome admires you and senku, everyone could see that

senku taught him many things about being a sciencer and you'd teach him "life skills"

the two of you work so well together

there are times wherein he watches you and senku work in the lab and it would always leave him in awe

how can the two of you work that well and that fast without any talking?!

are you also a science user like him?

but senku said you weren't so that made him slightly confused

it became even more confusing when he saw you beat kohaku in a spar for the grand bout

just who are you?

and why are you so good at everything?

it reminds him of something but he can't remember what exactly

then he saw something between you and senku that he can't help but make assumptions from

senku turned away from the group after experimenting with the bamboo filaments. "damn it," he cursed out. "bamboo filaments are just fundamentally too weak for vacuum tubes." your shoulders dropped as you looked at senku in worry.

"i don't get science, but bamboo is too weak, is that right?" kohaku spoke up.

"what do we need?" chrome asked with desperation. "if we need something tougher, i'll go find it!"

"no..." senku turned around, showing his pained expression. "there's nothing better in this age."

kohaku and chrome gathered the baskets of rocks that he collected and placed them out in the open for anyone to look through. from the news that senku needed something other than bamboo, the villagers who were still awake gathered at the kingdom of science to help.

chrome turned to call for senku, but he hesitated.

you stood next to senku and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. he turned to you with eyes that chrome can't explain as he placed his hand on top of yours. you brought your other hand and took hold of his hand that was on top of your other one. you guided his hand to the side of your lips and placed a kiss on his palm.

chrome's bulged out of his sockets in shock. his face feeling a bit flustered.

you slowly went down his arm, leaving a trail of kisses. you stopped at his inner elbow and turned to his face. chrome thought you were going to kiss senku, but instead you left a peck on his cheek. you spoke a few words to him and he let out a small smile.

chrome knows that smile

it's the smile that he only gives to you

he never understood why that smile felt different from all the other smiles and smirks senku gives

but from what he just witnessed

maybe the two of you hold a special bond that he should've noticed sooner

it was senku's birthday

the entire village gathered at the kingdom of science

ruri stared at you from afar

you watched as senku was guided towards the newly built watch tower (observatory)

it was the first time she'd seen you not go after senku

after all, the two of you were inseparable

it reminds her about the two love stories from the hundred tales

you started walking away from her line of vision. ruri watched as you walked towards the watch tower as the main group of the kingdom of science left. she could see senku climbing down as well, then approached you. you immediately took his hand in yours and placed the other on his cheek. you spoke a few words then leaned down, giving him a tender yet short kiss on the lips.

on the lips.

on the lips.

AND HE DIDN'T PUSH YOU AWAY!111!1!!!

ruri doesn't remember what happened after that

she was too flustered over the sudden public display of affections the two of you shared that it was the only thing stuck in her head for a while

although, she now hopes that her two favorite stories were based off of the relationship you and senku hold with each other

if only

the first time kohaku, well, anyone, saw you cry was when senku's father relayed a message to you (instead of his own son)

"senku, it's you, isn't it?"

"—nah, you don't need that dramatic father-and-son crap, do you?" senku cackled from that. "but y/n better be there standing next to you like she always is." it was the first mention of you from the record. "i know rebuilding japan will be your priority, y/n, but i also know that you'll stay by senku's side to rebuild the world. take care of him for me, y/n!"

from the corner of kohaku's eye, she saw you raising your hands up to your face, covering it. she saw senku move his arm that lays on your lower back. it looks like he's comforting you.

something then happened that kohaku can never forget

it'll be embedded in her head for so long

kohaku walked towards senku about to call him out, but stopped mid walk. senku stood next to you; both of your backs facing her. he turned his head to look at you. you turned your head to look at him. a few words were exchanged. he raised his hand and gently held your chin. he pulled you towards him and gave a short peck, but then you took hold of his collar and smashed your lips back onto his.

...

kohaku paused for a second. "senku!" then decided to just call the scientist out and continued with what she was going to tell senku either way.

gen was about to go up the observatory when he heard you and senku having a talk

"hey, senku, how would you feel if i..." your question trailed off, hinting at something that seemed like only you and senku know about, or you did something non-verbal.

there was a pause; senku probably thinking over his reply. "but i thought you like playing this game?"

they were playing a game? at this time? gen thought to himself, confused.

"of course i do; it amuses me. this game can only be played a few times after all. i'm only asking because i thought it'd be my turn to do it," you clarified which didn't really make any sense to gen at all. what you said got rid of the image that you two are playing game. just what the hell are you two talking about up there?

there was another pause. "just come up already. what do you want?" it was senku calling him.

kohaku was never afraid of you

why would she be?

you're no enemy

"senku, let me make something clear," kohaku called out. "homura's movements are exceptional."

"gymnastics," says senku. "it's a skill that doesn't exist in your age. y/n can do them too." he jerked his head to your direction you.

"we won't be able to capture her unharmed, but i could behead her with my sword. am i free to kill her?" a serious question kohaku dropped. yours and senku's eyes narrowed at her.

"kohaku, have you ever killed a human being?" you asked kohaku, now standing in front of her. kohaku opened her mouth, but you raised your hand up. "of course you haven't—i know that—and you'll hesitate when the time comes, but, please, kohaku," you called her name with a shaky tone and a hint of guilt that she never heard from you. "never offer yourself to kill another human being. you need to keep that morality with you, it's what makes a person human."

kohaku understood what you said

but she was left with questions that hung in the air, afraid to be asked

were you surrounded by death through killing?

or were you the one killing?

she really wouldn't dare ask

gen knows just how formidable the people around tsukasa are

but the thing is the kingdom of science has you

and he kind of wants to brag about that

"i'm sure you guys know how strong tsukasa is, but it's not just him. the people around him are formidable as well," says nikki through the phone. she then revealed another of tsukasa's allies being someone of great hearing.

"ukyo?" senku asks, turning to gen.

"he was a sonar operator on a submarine," explained gen. "he's got insanely good hearing. that's why tsukasa woke him up."

"good hearing you say?" you piped up. "what a useful thing in certain situations. what are the chances we could get him to our side?" you asked senku with a carefree grin to which he just fondly smiles at.

it was then gen realized something after your comment. "y/n-chan, is it true that your family are...?" he trailed off, not sure how to ask and afraid that you'd be offended from him bringing up rumors about your family.

you understood what he was asking, but all you did was chuckle making senku sigh. gen smartly decided not to push any further. he also took your ominous chuckle as confirmation.

"wait," called nikki. "y/n?"

gen smirked. "yes, nikki! we have the l/n y/n on our side! tsukasa and his army may be formidable, but we have the most formidable on our side," he boasted proudly. "as everyone in japan knows, no one can ever beat a member of the l/n family."

you smiled knowingly, feeling a sense of control and pride at gen's comment making senku sigh once more. "can we stop feeding her ego?" he comments

"y/n!" screamed taiju, both as a calling out and a greeting. "are you taking care of senku?!"

"i am perfectly capable of taking care of myself," commented senku with a deadpan.

you howled out a laughter. "of course i am taiju. are you taking care of yuzuriha?" you asked back.

"yes i am!" he answered confidently to which you laughed fondly at.

gen's plan was to just brag about you

but he was not expecting to get something interesting out of this

he thought yuzuriha and taiju didn't know about you

but they do

which just brings him more questions than answers, honestly

when could they have met you?

actually now that he thinks about it, when did senku meet you?

when magma came back after escaping the hands of ukyo, he also relayed the message that chrome got abducted

kohaku immediately wanted to barge in and take chrome back

and she could never forget the humbling moment of when you instantly stopped her

"chrome's been captured by the tsukasa empire!" exclaimed suika in a fits of worry and panic.

"well, what's the plan, twig?" demanded magma towards senku.

a serious look on the scientist's face as you straightened your posture up, standing next to him. kohaku frowned then ran off with her sword in hand.

"kohaku?!" screamed ruri. "she's not going to help him by herself, is she?"

"she's so quick to act," commented kaseki.

"stop kohaku!" kokuyo commanded, pointing in the directed his daughter took off.

ginro looked at the former village chief in aghast. "but how?! there's no one in this village who can catch up to kohaku-chan!"

oh but there is someone.

"y/n." with one simple call from senku, you had already appeared in front of kohaku, disarmed her of her sword, and pushed her against the ground.

all in three seconds.

she was right from the start

she could never beat you

it really is a good thing you're on their side

of all the people he'd expect to be on the other side of this stone world call

he never would have expected you

in fact, ukyo never expected to to talk to you at all

but here he is

being reassured by you, of all people

"—if you promise to produce zero casualties, i'll cooperate with you. but if you kill even one person..."

senku starts cackling at his request. "sounds great! i'm in." gen shrieks at this. "no problem. we've said—" senku turned around to see your hand on his shoulder. he immediately moved away for you to stand in front of the microphone.

"i do not know what kind of person you are, ukyo, but you are naive to think that a war would not have any bloodshed." he freezes. he knows that voice... he knows it too well. everyone in japan knows it too well. "however, i know how senku is. i know that his plan from the beginning were to have zero casualties, and if that's the plan, then i assure you that there will be no bloodshed at all."

"that's gonna be a pretty tough battle!" exclaimed gen after your declaration.

ukyo believed you

he believed you immediately

he had no reason to doubt you... or senku

especially when you supported him that confidently

he feels relieved to know that you're not on tsukasa's side

if you were

then the ground would've been red

tsukasa never expected there to be a phone in the grave of senku

he never expected for some of his allies to turn against him

he also didn't believe hyoga when he said you were revived

but maybe he should've believed him

but at the same time, what good would it be if he had believed hyoga?

tsukasa is sure that no one can beat you

not even the strongest high school primate

"i can save everyone with this paper airplane dynamite," says senku as the nitroglycerin covered airplane exploded upon impact at a tree.

"what the hell was that?!" stammered ginro.

"anyone caught in that would be gone without a trace," commented kinro.

kohaku stared in awe at the leftover the explosion made, then smirked smugly. "human strength is laughable in comparison to the power of science."

senku laughs. "we made it just in time. you held out well, battle team."

"the kingdom of science has just completed dynamite! it has the power of ten billion megaton joules," gen boldly gave out a lie. senku glanced at him calling out for his bold ass lie to which gen defended that senku sucks at negotiating.

"whether i parry it or smack it down, it'll explode. there's no way to dodge a large blast." tsukasa hums. "yes, it's true that we're out of moves, but that would surely cause collateral damage and kill many people. senku, you're incapable of abandoning people. you would never sacrifice yourself either."

"well, well, it looks like we're both stuck. this isn't a victory; it's a stalemate," says senku. "in your eyes anyways." he moved forward and held onto another nitroglycerin covered airplane. "did you know nitroglycerin is y/n's favorite?"

tsukasa froze at the sudden information drop. so it was true? of all the people, why would you be on senku's side? in fact, why were you at this side of the country at all when the petrification happened?

"y/n, no bloodshed remember?"

tsukasa looked behind him to see you standing there with a knife against his throat. he didn't even hear you nor sensed your presence. is this the power you hold as a member of the l/n family? "are you going to take revenge, senku?" he asked.

"no, of course not," senku deadpans. "let's negotiate, tsukasa."

throughout the entire negotiation, you did not move one bit away from his neck

tsuksa knew of your abilities, but seeing it in person was a different experience

he had one question for you though

why do you let senku command you like that?

"what reason do i have to believe you?" he asked senku.

"all you have is my word. i don't lie when it comes to science," answered senku, cooly. "is that not enough?" tsukasa heard you softly squeal at the sight of senku. does senku really have you wrapped around his finger that quickly? no, that wouldn't make any sense. unless the two of you share some history together?

"no, that's plenty."

this would be chrome's first time watching someone get revived from petrification

instead, before that could happen, he revealed some information that he thought was common knowledge

it wasn't

as senku was about to pour the revival fluid, taiju stopped him. "wait senku! mirai-chan's naked," exclaimed taiju as he poked senku's eyes. "no! you can't revive her now!"

senku writhed on the ground in pain, covering his eyes. "here we go again with your absurd nonsense," he managed to let out. "we're in an emergency, in the stone world! who cares if you're buck naked or if your peepee's showing?" he raised his hand up, rubbing his eye to soothe the pain, then removed them showing his teary eyes. "you really like this plot twist, don't you? we'll figure it out once she wakes up—"

"but if it's y/n, would you be okay with it?" senku snapped his mouth shut at taiju's rebuttal. he turned over to you, who's standing next to him, to see a smirk growing on your face. he could already feel the headache coming from this small tease.

you raised your hand and casually revealed, "actually he revived me naked, so..." heads turned to senku who flinched at the sudden movement, all of them looking shocked (sans kohaku, she's actually mad).

"senku!" kohaku roared, drawing her dagger out.

"what's wrong with that?" asked chrome, breaking the tension. kohaku turned her head to glare at chrome who flinched at that hostility.

"chrome-chan, it's bad manners to see someone naked without their consent," informed gen, treating chrome as if he was an innocent child.

"no, i know that!" exclaimed chrome. "but they bathe together, so they see each other naked all the time," he then revealed. heads turned once again to senku, but this time to you as well to which senku sighs and you laugh at.

"and just how do you know that, chrome?" senku asks, then lets out a disgusted face. "don't tell me..."

"no!" denied chrome immediately. "i notice you guys heading towards the springs together a lot and y/n would be carrying a bamboo basket of like these cases and i also saw soap in it, so i assumed that you two would be taking a bath... together." he then realized the implications of what he revealed and turned red.

god bless yuzuriha on making a set of clothes for mirai, breaking the tension.

many things were revealed that night

under the curtesy of chrome

he never thought too deeply about the things he know, but saying it out loud made him realize some things

it made gen and tsuka understand just what of relationship you hold with senku as well (kind of)

and so the question changes

how did you and senku get to that point?

"senku..." chrome called out. "we're missing some dynamite," he shared with a serious tone.

upon hearing that you quickly scanned the area and noticed who are missing, and bolted off. a few minutes later, an explosion rang out, then you heard gen screaming out to the villagers to hurry up.

you snuck up on hyoga, bloodlust accidentally slipping which made him dodge, but barely. a line of blood forming across the back of his shoulder blades. he raised his spear and instead of aiming it at you, he aimed it at mirai. you moved forward, blocking the attack on hitting her. the spear pierced through you, but not as deep as hyoga wanted since you were able to stop it by holding onto it.

"so you're not impenetrable," he mused.

"go fuck yourself," you spat.

you broke the spear in half then pushed it through you, popping it out from the back. you spun around, catching the bloodied half of the spear, then turned right back around, using the momentum to throw it towards hyoga.

"get out of there! tsukasa! mirai!" you heard senku cry out from the distance. "y/n!" then you heard him let out this blood curdling scream.

you lost balance from the powerful throw causing you to slip and fall. tsukasa ran over. hyoga blocked the spear with the other half of it. tsukasa managed to catch you, holding onto your wrist. hyoga quickly picked up the bloodied upper half of the spear and aimed it at tsukasa. you swung yourself forward, your feet flat against the mountain wall and pushed yourself off, pulling tsukasa down with you. hyoga missed his stab, grazing the side of his torso instead. the sudden pull made mirai slip from the edge, but luckily senku caught up and pulled her away from the edge. however, hyoga then kicked senku off the mountain to which he jumped down afterwards.

senku's hands trembled as he held the wound, putting pressure on it. you could feel his fright against your skin, in fact, you're just as frightful as he is. the both of you can't lose each other. he can't lose you; and you don't wanna leave him. tsukasa kept himself busy as he fought against hyoga, but anyone with eyes could see that tsukasa is affected by the cut.

"you need to work with him, senku, i can survive for a few minutes," you managed to tell him as you reached towards your wound, holding it down with two hands. "you two can end this fight just as quickly as it started. we both know how bad water and blood is inside of a punctured lung." your breathing increased.

"save your breath! y/n, please..." senku lowered his head, laying it against your forehead.

"then go and help tsukasa already," you forcefully told him with gritted teeth.

hyoga managed to get his way over to where the two of you were. he kicked you away from senku. "y/n!" he screamed out.

anyone could tell that senku was distressed

it was the most obvious thing

you've been unconscious for barely a few hours and yet he's become restless

the people who know senku well enough are shocked at this newfound side of his

then again at the same time, they weren't shocked

everyone knows just how much you and senku care for each other despite not knowing just what exactly the relationship the two of you hold

(there was assumptions of it, but that's all they were: bold assumptions)

"senku, you need to rest," advised gen, looking worried. "you took a beating as well."

senku shook his head. "what's the point of sleeping when i need to think of a way to save y/n," he replied, pacing in the cave room you laid in.

taiju and yuzuhira glanced at each other, worried for their long time friend. this was not the first time this had happened. they hoped it would be the last, but here they are yet again, watching senku worry upon hours for an injured you.

"senku, do you want to sleep in here?" yuzuriha asked softly. senku looked up at her and nodded, no words to be said.

"i'll get a spare bed for you senku! no worries!" exclaimed taiju as he ran off.

"has he ever been like this before?" kohaku asked, going straight to the point. gen and chrome walked closer to kohaku and yuzuriha.

yuzuriha's lips drew into a thin line, unsure if she should share. she knew about the game you and senku liked to play, after all, she was one of the first victims. "only when y/n becomes reckless and injuries herself, but this time it's worse. it's hard to heal an injury as severe as that in the stone world."

"it's obvious," mentioned gen. "i may not know what relationship they have together, but if my assumptions are right, then it makes sense. usually senku would've thought of something by now, but he hasn't. his mind is being blocked by anxiousness, panic, and worry. he needs to calm down."

"senku..." you weakly called out which caught senku's attention immediately, and crouched down next to you. "get your ass to sleep." the others were taken aback at the first sentence you spoke after you woken up from a short coma.

senku let out a huff of amusement. "of course that's the first thing you say," he mentions.

"you know me so well, love." a weak smirk formed on your face. if anyone picked up on the sudden affectionate name, they didn't mention it. "but seriously though, how can you save me when you can't even think straight. you know me well, but i know you just as well, senku."

senku furrowed his brows.

"you need to accept what you need to do, senku."

masterlist ; times senku talked about you (part 2) a/n: it's not as ambiguous as i want it to be, but i thought the ending seemed fitting

[hcneymooners]

⋆ do wolves mourn? ( i leave that up to you. )

winter soldier!sevika x red room!fem!reader. men & minors dni.

cw: age gap, older woman/younger woman, girl she's the winter soldier lmao, alternate universe, heavy discussions of trauma, angst, moral ambiguity, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, power play, dom/sub undertones, sexual tension, unresolved sexual tension, neither one of you are good people, non-sexual intimacy, non-sexual submission, emotional hurt/comfort, mutual pining, voyeurism but not in the way you think, stalking, strangulation, unreliable narrators, psychological trauma, mommy issues, copious mentions of ballet, dubious consent because of the nature of sevi's mind, mental health, grief, this is very psychosexual, minor violence, enemies to lovers, open (but positive) ending.

wc: 10.8k

notes: this is very loosely based on marvel's winter soldier/red room concept. i provided my own spin on things. also i am so sorry to my russian/polish girlies ahead of time. i used a combination of a translator and what i could remember from my language courses that i took in high school. same to my desi girls. i deeply apologize if it's terrible!. hope you enjoy. love you.

I: ANASTASIA.

and you are not allowed to die.

it's strange to be mythologized in the beginning years of your life. the words are said to you by your mother when you are first born and then again upon her deathbed. she looks relentlessly beautiful, as people always do just before they die. it's as if her body rallied one last time to rage against the machine, push tirelessly against the disease before all the health bled out and she could barely rise to pee.

your legs are tucked beneath you, your hair still long and almost trailing the floor. you're said to look like her: same face shape, same eyes, same wide boxy smile. it relieves you that she will still haunt you whenever you glance into a mirror. it helps console you although you are watching her die.

you thought your mother would be more vibrant in death, given how cruel she could be. you're slightly disappointed that the fight has abated in the final moments. the two of you were good at being cruel to one another, screaming in scraps of your native language. your mother tongue burned whenever you spoke it through anger, but it was the only way she seemed to understand that she really had hurt you. she spat back and swore at you until you cried, and she felt you were as clean as bone.

you'd miss your mother. it was a surprising thought, though not one you'd had before. you thought a lot in this house, filled with a thousand beautiful things and many people who deluded themselves with the notion that they were gods. well, it used to be. now it was shot into ruin, but your mother never wanted to leave.

you don't remember much of this "golden era" she never stops speaking of. you only remember the wail of the missile warning and the hot, white heat. it could have killed you, but it hadn't. you had only lain under what used to be the ceiling of the dining room, choking through the dust caking your six-year-old lungs.

do you hear me? your mother asks, and you turn back to look at her. it's hard to look at her.

yes, you say, but you say it in your mother tongue.

yes, you will try very hard to be good for your mother. yes, you will never die. but the world will try its hardest to kill you.

your mother seems to glow, and suddenly, you have so many things you want to ask her. you open and close your mouth like a fish and then finally settle. where were you from? you ask her.

you do not know the old language that you speak, only that it was yours and your mother's and that its country is gone.

nowhere, your mother answers as she always does. it's gone. you are from me. that's all you get. be happy with it.

mmm, you nod. i will be happy.

she laughs because she knows you've lied. halfway through the sound, she just…stops breathing. but still—she is looking you in the eye, mouth open the same way it was shaped when she spoke to hurt you.

girl-soldier 𓃠: the operation that surrounds you is called cassandra. get it? the soldier's handler said, snorting a laugh. his russian is thick and phlegmy. because she's a vision. it is written in all caps like CASSANDRA. it blinks in the soldier's mind in the same manner. CASSANDRA. CASSANDRA. CASSANDRA. CASS—

you are it now. you are the only one.

the soldier remembers the first time she sees you. she stared at the black and white photograph held captive beneath the silver paper clip for days, ran through the simulation of what you could be if you changed the color of your hair, the color of your eyes, the shape of your teeth, the curve of your smile. she knows you in all ways and learns to recognize the basis of you so that you are incapable of escape. she knows the matching curves of your hips.

she sketches you, decorates the dark of the cell with charcoal lines that roughly capture the look of vicious determination in your eyes. you are cruel and important. she knows that. your father was a crime lord masquerading as a scientist, and your mother was just like you, so you know nothing of who you are and, therefore, you move uneasily through your habitats.

but you make an impression, teeth bared into a box when you smile, and the light always catches on your face. your face…this face that is not compelling upon first glance, but, upon seeing it a second time, you realize that you have always wanted to see it again. the girl-soldier is methodical in every way a human could be, so her thoughts are patterned and observant.

she closes her eyes and sees the protuberance of your collar bones, the way there were twin saundary chihn (सौंदर्य चिह्न) at the junctions of your shoulders. what did they call them outside of here? beauty marks.

her eyes open, and she makes a mental note of how odd it is that you keep them on display when you dress. once, when she felt more like herself, a woman whose husband she would kill told her of how she had hidden hers the first chance she could get. would have carved them out of her stomach herself if she could. she thought they were horribly ugly. malignant.

though the soldier knew that was an exaggeration. most would have kept the marks in place of fear of the gore that would follow marring a body, let alone their own. the soldier licks her lips and bends over, till the cold of the floor hits her cheek. she flexes her arm—the metal one. she closes her eyes again.

your face is waiting there, like a dog that comes at a beckon. your lips are full, and so are your eyes. there is a large portion of life stored inside of you. she has to take it out. that is the mission. if she had the time, she would stare until she reaped your full story from inside of you. but she has a feeling you wouldn't give over so easily.

your eyes are fox-like and dark when you realize you are being watched, like the night had bled into them and then stopped just shy of filling them. your parents had created a perfect amalgamation of themselves upon you, as if you were achilles and they were both thetis, holding on to your ankle as they dipped you into the river of their memory.

the soldier is feeling—maybe feels?—charged at the thought of seeing you in the flesh instead of print. she wants, something she is not programmed for. maybe it is because you are younger and she has seen you ornamented in a tulle dress as red as blood at your first ballet, unknowing that you were a limb in the tree of your bloodline's well-planned extinction. or maybe it's the sudden feeling that if she doesn't shoot when she sees you, you will take her throat out with your bare hands, rip her up, and dispose of her. she does not know. she never knows.

the soldier imagines you in the cell with her, in the lab, eyes watching her unreadably as she writhes against the table. watching as her mind covers itself in dark water.

the soldier's teeth click together. she switches her head to the other side, lets the cool of the stone calm the neglected skin of this cheek. but she keeps her eyes closed, imagines you with her, without her, around her.

she knows you: [name.]

she pictures you in your simplest form and has the thought that your mind is just as beautiful and fractured as hers feels. maybe you understand, but will you extend the understanding?

the soldier tastes blood and realizes that she's bitten through her lip. she opens her eyes, and you are not there. she must focus. she closes them again and sleeps.

𓃦

the cell opens. the soldier looks up into the light.

the handler tilts his head and mutters something in russian as if she cannot understand. then, in english, he says: go hunt, wolf.

to kill you is the operation. of course.

but the soldier has yet to decide whether or not you will suffer.

II: OLGA.

“fuck!”

you shout as you fall, and your instructor scoffs, rolling your eyes. your instructor’s name is ima,n and she knew your mother. she comes to you and rolls out your ankle, which makes you scream. your pointe shoes are ribboned around your calves and sheltered by your thick, black leg warmers.

“sorry,” she says, short and light. you glare at her, but your mouth twitches as if to smile.

she's taught you for several years now. the only constant in your life after your mother died. after the new bombs. she was what you had left of the old. she was a lithe woman, so worn down by hardship that she seemed to rattle when she moved. sometimes, you swore you saw her bones sinking inside of her blood, calling your name through their skin.

the studio is cold. always cold, with its high windows and concrete floors. you like it that way. the chill keeps you alert, keeps your muscles taut and ready. iman says you dance like you're trying to escape something. she has never been wrong—at least, not about you.

“again,” iman commands, stepping back.

you rise, ignoring the throb in your ankle. it’s less of a rise and more of a spiral. your body warps and spins as you sail upward, pushing through the white heat of the pain so that you can glance into the mirror. your expression hardens into something your mother would recognize—that cocktail of stubbornness and grace she cultivated in you. behind that expression is something else. a sense that's been growing stronger for days now.

you are being watched.

not by iman, who watches you professionally, clinically. this is different. it prickles at the base of your neck when you walk home alone. it follows you into dreams where you're running through corridors that never end. you've started taking different routes home, doubling back unexpectedly, waiting in shop doorways to see if anyone follows.

you’ve only ever felt this way one other time. it was in your early life, when you were a child. you had maybe seen only five summers, one summer shy of your estate’s total annihilation. you had been at the lake, dipping your feet in but too afraid to dive without the reassurance of shallow waters or a return point.

it was getting dark, and you could hear your mother calling for you, could almost smell your father somewhere behind you. you looked at the water, and then you turned, marching toward home. all the while, you looked back and back and back. over and over. you were so sure of something hunting you, of something evaluating you.

it was only when you went home that you turned fast enough, with a bumbling child’s grace, to catch what was behind you. there it was: a lone, white wolf with startling blue eyes. you had stumbled through her cubs’ nest sometime in the week and were now streaked with the scent of her womb. she thought you were either a danger or her child. you were four, so you hoped for her to see herself as your true mother.

this was the same, though you felt less curious and more afraid. you thought of the proverb on your mother’s wrist: fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil. you hated being afraid, but then again, who would be calm in the knowledge of your possible death? it may have sounded dramatic to anyone that did not have your blood, but instictively you knew that whatever watched you only aimed to kill and maim you.

no one ever appears. but the feeling remains.

“focus,” iman snaps. “your mind is everywhere but here.”

you nod, forcing yourself to concentrate. your body moves into first position. then second. then across the floor in a series of fouettés that leave you breathless but steady.

“better, but not good,” iman says, her lips thin and mottled in odd places. “you dance like your mother.”

she says it with disgust, but you keep eye contact with her as you respond.

“she was your best. never forget that.”

she seems pleased and irritated that you’ve spoken back.

you don't tell her that you never forget anything, that your mind catalogues every slip of sun, every unexpected sound and shadow, every unfamiliar face. your father taught you that before he left. trust no one completely. not even me.

you remembered that as you watched him trek across that white tundra, disappearing into the white. so, you don’t tell her. you just pack up and leave.

after practice—what are you practicing for? you will never dance on a stage—you shower in the cramped bathroom. the water pressure is weak, but the heat is scalding, which soothes your muscles. it is different from the biting cold. another extreme. you dress quickly in dark jeans and a loose black sweater that slips off one shoulder, revealing one of your moles. you never hide them. you check them constantly, terrified of them growing larger while you sleep. it didn’t matter, really. if they changed in size, you wouldn’t go to a doctor. that would mean a record.

things like this upset you. it was the most aggravating thing to know your family had done something bad, even evil, but to still not be clear. you only knew that you were not allowed to conduct a normal life or else the time you were allotted would shrink in quantity.

outside, the evening is settling over the city. the streets are busy enough that you should feel safe, but that crawling sensation returns immediately. you pause, pretending to check your phone while your eyes scan the crowd.

nothing unusual. a couple arguing quietly. a man walking his dog. a woman in a coat too heavy for the weather, her face half-hidden by a scarf, standing motionless across the street.

you notice her because she doesn't move like everyone else. she is perfectly still. and there's something about the way she holds herself—rigid yet somehow coiled, like a spring waiting to be released.

your eyes meet briefly across the distance, and something electric passes between you. recognition, though you've never seen her before. danger, though she's made no threatening move. your heartbeat quickens.

then, a bus passes, and it makes a thunderous sound as it collides with a semi-truck. it’s a terrifying, colossal explosion that sends you to your knees. metal grates across metal, and your ears are ringing as your mind splits. you forget you are on the sidewalk for a moment, believe you are back in that house, and then you are present again.

people are running, shouting. they pass, desperate to get to the accident, and when they are gone, so is she.

woman-soldier 𓃠: the soldier watches from the rooftop as you drag yourself up and continue down the street. her position gives her a perfect vantage point of your route home. she watches you slink over the cobblestone, your shoulders flexing as you try to avoid looking back at the crash.

she should have stayed hidden. it was a mistake to let you see her. but something had compelled her to test you—to see if you were as aware as she suspected.

you were.

here is a little of what she understands. she is both an executioner and a cautionary tale. she is the creation returning to destroy its creator, only to find the creator's child, who represents both threat and salvation.

you are not aware yet of your true inheritance. you operate as if you are in possession of nothing, but according to the file, your parents have been the ones to create her. to fracture and rebuild her, or at least provide the framework for breaking her in. for breaking the others in.

you are nothing but your bloodline. she had seen the instant calculation in your eyes. the way your posture had shifted subtly into something more defensive. the slight tensing of your jaw told her you were ready to run if needed.

you are not as naive as the scientists had suggested. there is cunning there, beneath the graceful exterior. she wonders if you inherited it from your father or if it's something you taught yourself after they killed him. she recalls that you still believe he just left. mmm.

through her scope, she watches you turn down an alley—a shortcut you've never taken before. clever. you're trying to draw out anyone following you, forcing them to reveal themselves or lose you.

the soldier smiles. this hunt will be more interesting than she anticipated.

her orders are clear: observe for three days. learn your patterns. then eliminate. clean and simple.

but nothing about you seems simple. even from a distance, even through a lens, your movements are complex. you carry yourself like someone who knows the weight of a target on their back but without the shame.

she lowers her scope and moves silently across the rooftops, keeping pace with you below. tonight, she will only watch. tomorrow, perhaps, she will let you glimpse her again. she wants to see what you'll do—whether you'll run or fight.

suddenly, you stop. carefully, you look to the sides of you and then up. she pulls back, blinks, then looks through the scope again. you are looking directly at her.

you do not run or fight.

she realizes you consider there to be a third option.

III: TATIANA.

you don't sleep.

after seeing her on the rooftop—after letting her know that you saw her—sleep feels more like a quiet surrender than something you need. instead, you sit by your window, curtains drawn back just enough to watch the street below. your apartment is small but strategically positioned: corner unit, second floor, fire escape access, two exit routes.

the night passes in silence. if she's still watching, she's moved beyond your line of sight. the thought of this makes you sicker than before. you twitch in place, a rabbit in her burrow.

morning comes with pale light filtering through the grimy windows. you move with precision through your routine. your hands don't shake. they never do.

today will be different. you've spent the night planning, considering variables. calculating. your head hurts, and your wrists ache. the watcher has broken the pattern by allowing herself to be seen. you have broken the pattern by forcing her to see you. for her, this means either carelessness—unlikely—or intention. for you, it is only intention. you want something more than simple surveillance. she seems willing to…

you are unsure. you feel ill again.

eventually, you unfold yourself and dress carefully: high-waisted cream trousers that fall just above your ankles, a fitted black turtleneck, and ballet flats. not trying to be noticed, nor trying to hide. your jewelry is minimal—small gold hoops, a thin asymmetrical garnet chain around your neck.

in your bathroom cabinet, behind the aspirin and bandages, is a small metal case. inside: three syringes, each filled with clear liquid, capped and sealed. you've never known what they contain—only that your mother pressed them into your hands the last time you saw her out of bed, her eyes uncharacteristically urgent.

she explained nothing and left you in the dark continuously, but you were intelligent enough to piece it together.

you take one, slip it into your purse. just in case.

𓃦

the café is busy enough to provide cover but quiet enough for a conversation. you've chosen a table against the wall, back to the corner, with a full view of both exits. the herbal tea you ordered sits untouched. you've been there forty-three minutes when she walks in.

she moves differently in daylight. less predatory, more human. her arms are concealed beneath a leather jacket, but you can see the faint outline of metal where one meets her shoulder. she orders at the counter, then turns as if scanning for a seat. her eyes find yours immediately—gray, two sharp disks of steel. stainless.

no pretense now. there is no use for it. she walks directly to your table and sits across from you.

“i thought you were smart,” she says. her voice is lower than you expected, rough at the edges like she doesn't use it often.

you don't respond immediately, holding her gaze instead. “i am,” you say. “i’m here.”

your heart hammers, but your face reveals nothing. stillness as strategy. she studies you, head tilted slightly.

“most would run.”

“would they?” the question is genuine. you've never known what most people would do, let alone a mark.

her eyes narrow, assessing. she's beautiful in a severe way—sharp cheekbones, that unnatural blank expression shared by predators and prey. there's a scar running from her temple to her jaw, partially obscured by her hair.

“why are you following me?” you ask.

“do not act stupid if you are not,” she says. then, “orders.” she shrugs, the motion fluid on her human side, slightly mechanical on the other.

you tilt your head, and your hair shifts.

“from whom?”

she doesn't answer, but her gaze intensifies, as if searching for something in your face.

“does it have to do with my parents?” you press.

something changes in her expression—a tightening around the eyes, a subtle shift in posture.

“what do you know about your parents?” her voice is careful now, measured.

“less than you. they had me and held me once. when they put me down, we were forever disconnected.” you take a sip of your tea. “but i observed enough to know they weren't just researchers. there is a reason people want me and killed them.”

she watches you drink the tea, follows the bob of your throat as you swallow.

“killed is a strong word to describe an ill woman and missing man.”

“i thought we were not stupid,” you respond. “my mother was abnormally healthy, even for a woman only in her fifties, and succumbed to her ‘cancer’ in under three days. my father gave me a warning before going on a rather long ‘walk.’ in a few days, you were probably going to arrange my evident ‘suicide.’”

“smart,” the woman rumbles, her mouth quirking for a moment.

“predictable,’ you counter, settling back in your chair.

“and? do you have what they want?”

you meet her gaze directly. “i don't know what they want.”

it's the truth, and she seems to recognize it. she sits back, something like disappointment crossing her features.

“what's your name?” you ask.

the question seems to startle her. "a designation."

“that wasn’t my question.”

you personalize, she notes. ‘my’ instead of ‘the’.

her eyes narrow. “why does that matter to you?”

“curiosity.” you blink, eyes large. “connection.”

she watches you for a long moment as if weighing something in her mind.

“sevika.”

you nod once, accepting this small truth. “is that what you choose to call yourself? or is it a cover?”

the question disturbs her. you can see it in the slight widening of her eyes, the way her metal hand flexes unconsciously.

“it's what i am,” she replies, but there's a flicker of uncertainty. “what i can remember.”

“is it? if your mind is not fully there, how can you be so sure?”

her reaction is immediate—chair scraping back, body tensing. for a moment, you think she might attack you right there in the café. instead, she stands, looming over you.

“you know nothing,” she says, voice tight.

“i know more than i did yesterday.” simple truth. no bluff needed. “sevika. ‘servant of god. ’”

sevika stares at you, conflict evident in her eyes. then, decision made, she leans down until her face is inches from yours.

“your parents created a program,” she tells you, the words barely audible. “they built it inside our heads. cast our true selves out. and now their employers want to make sure no one can rebuild it—especially not their child.”

you arc your head up, revealing your neck. “do you get tired of serving, sevika?”

she straightens and adjusts her jacket. “you have three days.”

before you can say more, she's walking away, disappearing into the morning crowd. you remain seated, expression neutral, despite the chaos rising in your mind. only when you're certain she's gone do you allow yourself to exhale.

your hand drifts to your purse, fingers brushing against the syringe. whatever your mother gave you suddenly feels more significant—not just protection, but possibly a key. to what, you don't yet know.

you bite your cheek until you taste blood. you resist the urge to scream.

sevika 𓃠: do you get tired of serving, sevika? 

the soldier covers her face, pressing her metal fingers into her nose until the bone threatens to give. she pulls away and shakes her head like an agitated bull.

do you get tired of serving, sevika?

“you did this to me,” she hisses.

do you get tired of serving? 

sevika?

𓃦

the storage unit is in the industrial district, rented under a name you've never used but recognize immediately.

your wet nurse had the same one. you are unsure whether it was hers or given to her by your mother to make remembering who she was much easier. knowing her, it was most likely the more callous option.

the key was where you thought it would be—hidden inside her most prized possession: a heavy, turquoise fabergé egg complete with a false bottom that would’ve taken a more reverent person three hours to discover but only took you five minutes to smash.

inside the unit: boxes. dozens of them, stacked to the ceiling, labeled in your mother's precise handwriting. research notes. prototypes. personnel files. you start with the one labeled “оперативник обсидиана; первая фаза.” obsidian operative; phase one.

inside, photographs and dossiers. men and women with empty eyes and metal limbs. modification specifications. psychological evaluations. you flip through them, looking for that silvery, vast gaze—for sevika.

you find her file near the bottom of the box. her full name has been blacked out, but if you hold it up to the light, you can see it faintly. sevika, it turns out, is her real name.

there's a photograph paper-clipped to the front page. she looks younger, hair longer, eyes clearer. no scar yet. the file details her "acquisition"—a clinical term for kidnapping—and subsequent "integration" into the program.

the technical language is dense, full of terms you don't understand. most of it is in russian, but there are haphazard notes in your mother tongue. phrases jump out: neural recalibration, memory suppression, compliance protocols. your stomach turns as you realize what your parents were doing—what they created.

and then you find the notes in your mother's handwriting: subject displays unusual resistance to compliance measures. recommend increased cognitive recalibration combined with focused tactile stimulus.

torture. your mother was recommending torture.

you close the file, expression unchanged. this is neither shock nor surprise—merely confirmation of suspicions long held about the woman who raised you. the distance between you suddenly makes more sense. you wonder if she would have changed you if she could, if she was able.

you continue sorting through the boxes with methodical precision, searching for anything related to "neural programming" or "compliance protocols." time slips away as you read, absorbing information, connecting dots your parents deliberately scattered.

hours later, you sit surrounded by yellowed papers, understanding ebbing and flowing through your mind. the syringes. you know what they contain now—two are filled with the counteragent to the compliance serum. one provides a coward’s way out. not redemption, then. strategy. always strategy with your mother.

a noise at the door makes you freeze. metal scraping against metal. the lock is turning.

you gather the most crucial papers, folding them crisply and depositing them into your bag. it’s too late to escape. the door slides open, and sevika stands silhouetted against the fading daylight.

“you found your way,” she says, stepping inside. her eyes take in the scattered files, the copies of testing. “are you happy with what you’ve found?”

you straighten, maintaining your composure. inside, your mind flicks through scenarios, seeking an advantage.

“no one is ever happy with the truth,” you answer. “the best you can do is be unafraid of it, better aware of it. i am aware, now, about what they did to you. about what they made.”

she moves closer, her eyes gleaming in the dim light. “and?”

you’re honest.

“they built you to be a weapon,” you say, meeting her gaze steadily. “and i am deeply sorry that they made it their life’s work to destroy and dismantle you.”

something shifts in her expression—a crack in the perfect soldier façade. confusion, perhaps. or the first tremors of recognition that you and your parents are not the same entity.

“and?” she asks a second time. “do you absolve yourself?”

you gather your bag, stepping around her toward the door. you make a decision. as you pass, you tell her,

“not fully. i am my blood.”

“and?” she sounds irate now, annoyed.

you turn one last time, look her right in the eye. your necklace gleams along your throat like a crooked trail of blood.

“well, i did not make you.”

you feel her watching as you walk away, the weight of her gaze settling right between your shoulder blades. you don't turn back. you don't have to. something has changed between you—an understanding reached without words.

she will come for you again. but next time, it will be different.

sevika 𓃠: she wants you with the view of the city behind your back, legs open to her mouth, her head resting satedly on your thigh as she presses kiss after kiss to the soft bits of your skin.

she wants you covered in jewels, writhing underneath her as she pleasures you, takes you somewhere close to heaven as the sun rises slowly.

wants you between her teeth, underneath the caress of her tongue. wants your jugular pumping jerkily against her lips.

she wants.

IV: MARIA.

the dance studio smells differently than you remember: rosin dust, sweat, and the faint trace of sandalwood incense that iman burns. maybe she has been burning it every morning for the past twenty years. you are unsure, shaken by your connection with sevika, and therefore fixated on the idea of an unreliable memory. you can no longer remember if the studio was cold or if you only felt that way because there was no warmth inside of you.

you stand in the doorway, watching her lead a class of young girls through a series of positions. her voice is melodic, patient—the same voice that once coaxed precision from your reluctant limbs.

“eyes up, miriam. the ceiling holds your dreams.” iman demonstrates, her neck elongating, spine straightening despite her sixty-plus years. she moves behind the girl, her fingers pressing sharply into the child's shoulders until she winces. you feel a phantom pain rise in your own.“pain is temporary. poor technique is forever.”

the casual cruelty feels familiar, almost comforting in its echo of your mother's methods. your body remembers what your mind forgets. you wonder if the same is true for sevika—if somewhere beneath the programming, her body remembers who she was before. you can’t stop thinking of her eyes, of how much emotion they contain for someone who was supposed to be drained of life.

iman notices you then, her eyes narrowing slightly. she doesn't break rhythm, continuing to guide her students through the combination, but you can feel her attention split between them and you—a presence she clearly could have gone without.

when class ends, the girls file past you in a flutter of black leotards and timid silence. in time, they will learn to become grateful for iman’s instruction. once you belonged to a larger company, you understood that she was kind. you remain still, a technique iman herself taught you. stillness draws less attention than movement and provides more importance.

“i thought perhaps you were a ghost,” she says finally, approaching with the measured grace that once made her famous across three continents. "it has been, what—a month?”

“it’s only been four days,” you correct, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“well, missing a day sets you back for two.” iman pauses, studying your face. “you look so much like her now. around the eyes.” you know she speaks of your mother. she gestures toward her small office. “come. whatever has brought you back must be important.”

you follow her into the cramped space lined with photographs—iman in her prime, performing with the greats of her generation. among them, a small picture of you at thirteen, balanced in arabesque, face serious with concentration. you're surprised she kept it. she catches the twist of your face and smiles, a soft arch that lights up her face.

“despite my nature, i do like you.”

your throat tightens, and you turn away.

“tea?” she asks, already filling an electric kettle. “i still have the blue lotus you liked.”

“thank you.” you sit in the single chair opposite her desk. for the first time in days, you feel your shoulders loosen slightly. here, at least, is someone who knew you before.

iman prepares the tea with ritualistic precision, measuring by eye, adding just the right amount of milk. the familiar floral haze transports you momentarily to afternoons after practice, your muscles aching, iman's steady hands correcting your posture with firm, uncompromising pressure.

“so,” she says, placing a steaming cup before you. “what trouble has found you, kochanie?” the endearment sounds like an accusation in her clipped tone.

the familiar sharpness—dear, sweetheart—nearly undoes you. your mother made fun of your softness, your sensitivity. you don’t understand what she’d wanted you to be like. you stare into your cup, gathering yourself. “i need information.”

“speak up. what about?”

“a woman. south asian descent.” you speak louder, then hesitate. “she may have trained in dance, perhaps classical forms. there's a… precision to her movements.”

iman's eyebrows rise slightly. “that describes many women. including me.”

“she's in her forties, possibly. has a cybernetic arm. she’s called sevika.”

recognition flashes across iman's face, quickly suppressed. your heart rate increases.

“you know her.”

iman sips her tea, eyes distant. “not directly. but i know of her. there was talk, years ago.” she sets down her cup with a sharp click against the saucer. “why are you looking for this woman? is this one of your asinine crushes?”

you blink at her, cheeks growing warm in the silence. she laughs, full-bodied.

“you had such a thing for strong, older women. you were embarrassingly obvious about your brief attraction to me and even worse about your crush on that girl i hired to be an assistant. you worried me. i was afraid you would be too brash, too naive, and get swept up by an evil nature.”

“i—” you kept eye contact, despite the faint horror washing over you. “we will not speak of this again.”

iman’s lips curled into a saccharine sickle shape. “of course, kochanie.”

“anyway, she's looking for me.” you meet iman's gaze. “my parents…what they did to her. i need to understand.”

a shadow crosses iman's face. “your parents. yes.” her voice turns cooler. “i wondered when their work would find you.”

“you knew?”

“i suspected. your mother was many things, but humble was not one of them. her arrogance was a strong contender for what would eventually kill her.” iman sighs. “the girl you're asking about—she was a dancer once. bharatanatyam. quite gifted.”

something shifts in your chest—the first concrete detail of sevika before she became a weapon. “where? when? why?”

iman gives you a look of annoyance but continues. “zaun, a small industrialized portion of the countryside just outside of delhi. perhaps fifteen years ago. her family was…traditional. religious. they disowned her when she chose dance over marriage. she came here for a scholarship.” iman's eyes narrow. “and then she disappeared. there were rumors that she joined some experimental program. military, perhaps. or private sector.”

your parents' program. you swallow.

iman tilts her head. “we both know better than to believe that. she was preyed on. she most likely felt she had no other option. many young dancers were in the same way and are so easy to find in this country.”

“what was her name? her real name?”

iman hesitates. “why do you want to know this? to help her, or to protect yourself?” she leans forward, voice cutting. “you have a great capacity for selfishness. like your mother.”

the accusation stings with its precision. iman always knew exactly where to apply pressure.

“both,” you answer honestly. “maybe neither. i just need to know.”

iman studies you, searching for something in your face. whatever she finds seems to satisfy her.

“sevika,” she says finally. “that was her name even then. she was never devout, but she worshipped her mother—wore her kara, never removed it.” iman gestures to her wrist. “a steel bracelet. symbol of strength, unbreakable bonds with god.”

sevika. the name settles into you like a stone dropping into still water. so, she had been telling the truth. the file had not been doctored. it was not a code name, but her true name. a dancer, not just a weapon. a person with links to faith, with links to history.

“thank you,” you say, voice steadier than you feel.

“what will you do with this information?” iman's tone softens slightly, a rare concession.

you consider lying, offering some reassurance that would ease the concern in iman's eyes. instead, you offer truth—a habit you unfortunately seem to be developing.

“i don't know yet.”

iman nods, accepting this. "be careful, kochanie. whatever your parents built, it was designed to consume. don't let it consume you too.” she reaches across the desk, her fingers gripping your wrist painfully. “i didn't waste years training you to die foolishly.”

you finish your tea in silence, the warmth spreading through your chest, momentarily displacing the cold dread that's been your constant companion. when you stand to leave, iman surprises you by pulling you into an embrace. her body is small but solid, smelling of violet and ice. her fingers dig into your shoulders with familiar sharpness.

“your feet still remember the steps,” she murmurs, releasing you. “even if your mind has forgotten the dance.”

you look at her for a long time, press your face into your neck. she allows you to pretend you are a child. her gwiazdeczko. her only star.

you both know you will never see each other again.

𓃦

the library's microfiche archives are housed in a basement level that smells of dust and aging paper. the elderly archivist barely glances at your researcher credentials—fake, but convincing enough—before granting you access to the international dance competition records.

hours pass as you scan through images and articles, searching for glimpses of sevika. your eyes burn, and your back aches, but you continue, driven by something beyond yourself.

and then—there she is.

the image is grainy, black and white, but unmistakable. younger sevika suspended mid-performance. her body forms a perfect line, one leg extended behind her, arms arced overhead. her face is transformed by concentration, by connection to something beyond herself. on her right wrist, visible despite the poor image quality, was a simple steel bracelet.

you print the image, along with several articles mentioning her name. one features a brief interview where she speaks of dance as “conversation with the divine.” she gives the impression that she doesn’t believe it. another announces her acceptance to a prestigious dance academy in piltover. the last mentions her as a notable absence from a major competition, with no explanation given.

after that—nothing. as if sevika simply ceased to exist.

you know what happened. you've seen the files and read the clinical descriptions of “acquisition” and “integration.” but seeing her like this—alive with purpose, connected to heritage that was sawed off at the bone—makes the horror of what followed newly visceral.

𓃦

the basement apartment you've rented is sparse but functional. cash only, no questions asked. you've lined the windows with specialized film that prevents surveillance and swept for bugs twice. standard precautions.

what isn't standard is the small shrine you've assembled on the kitchen counter.

a printed image of lakshmi, the goddess of prosperity and fortune, downloaded and printed at the library. a small dish of water. a tea light candle. and beside these, the printout of sevika mid-dance.

you're not of any belief. you have no faith to speak of. yet, something compels you to create this space—a remembrance for the woman who existed before the weapon. perhaps it's strategy, preparation for your next encounter. perhaps it's something else entirely. maybe you are trying to become her.

you light the candle, watching the flame catch and steady. in its glow, sevika seems almost to move, her frozen pose briefly animated.

“sevika,” you say aloud, testing the name with new understanding. it feels right in your mouth.

the window behind you creaks. you don't turn, don't reach for the knife concealed beneath the sink. you know who it is.

“where did you get this?” her voice is dangerously neutral.

“library archives. international dance competition, 2010.” you glance at her. “you were extraordinary.”

something flickers across her face—confusion, perhaps. or pain. her cybernetic hand opens and closes reflexively.

“why?” she asks finally. “why are you doing this?”

the question hangs between you. why indeed? you're not entirely sure yourself.

“you deserve to know who you were,” you say. “before my parents told you who you are.”

her laugh is sharp, brittle. “strategy. make the assest question its focus.”

“i’m not sure if that’s it completely. do you feel it working?” you turn to face her fully now. in the dim light, her features seem softer, the hard edges blurred.

she doesn't answer. instead, she reaches toward the shrine, metal fingers hovering over the image of herself. she doesn't touch it.

“i remember… fragments,” she says, voice lower. “the smell of jasmine oil in my hair. the sound of bells on my ankles.” her hand drops. “nothing useful to me know. it won’t make me whole.”

“it's still yours,” you say. “those memories. that life.”

her eyes find yours, gray and penetrating. “why do you care?”

this time, the question feels genuine rather than accusatory. you consider your answer carefully.

“because what they did to you was wrong,” you say. “and because—” you hesitate, unsure how to articulate the strange connection forming between you.

“because?” she steps closer, and you can smell her—metal and leather and beneath that, something faintly sweet.

“i would rather be killed by someone i know than by a stranger,” you finish.

“i’m still a stranger,” she says.

“less now,” you answer.

sevika studies you, searching for deception. her flesh hand rises slowly, hovering near your face without touching. you remain still, heart hammering against your ribs.

“they're still coming for you,” she says. “three days. i wasn't lying.”

“i know.” you shift in place. “it’s been longer.”

“yes.” she is so close. “i should complete my mission.”

“you should,” you agree.

neither of you moves.

“why is it that when you’re so young, you are unafraid to die?” she asks you.

“i grew up surrounded by people who never wanted me alive,” you say, and something flickers within her gaze. “i cannot have a life of my own because of my parents’ sins. what is left for me?”

the candle flame flickers between you, casting shifting shadows across her face, illuminating slivers of the woman who was once better than this.

“you wear your kara on your left wrist now,” you observe quietly. “not the right.”

her eyes widen fractionally. beneath her jacket sleeve, barely visible: a band of steel encircling her human wrist.

“how did you—”

“a woman who knew of you told me you never removed it. symbol of unbreakable bonds with god.” you meet her gaze steadily. “they couldn't take everything from you.”

something breaks in her expression—a crack in the perfect soldier façade. she turns away sharply, moving toward the window.

“sevika,” you call softly.

she doesn't turn back, but her posture changes—a subtle shift that reminds you of the dancer in the photograph.

“i'll return,” she says, voice rough.

“and what will you be to me?”

“whatever i need to be.”

she slips through the window into the night, leaving you alone with the dancing flame and a strange, warm ache spreading through your chest—an unfamiliar feeling that might, in someone else, be called hope.

you blow out the candle but leave the shrine intact. whatever comes next, you want to remember this moment: the first time you saw sevika truly see herself.

sevika 𓃠: she dreams of bells on her ankles. the weight of jewelry in her hair. hands moving through precise mudras, telling stories her conscious mind no longer remembers.

she wakes clutching her kara, the steel warm against her skin. something is shifting inside her—memory returning like water seeping through cracks in a dam. dangerous. destabilizing.

she should complete her mission. she is nothing but an asset.

instead, she traces the curve of the bracelet, remembers a temple filled with marigolds and incense, remembers a promise made before gods whose names she can almost recall. she thinks she hears her mother laugh.

sevika. the name feels both foreign and familiar in her mind, as it always does.

you—the target—are destabilizing. sevika knows she is being manipulated. knows that the cloak of her compassion is simply another strategy.

and yet.

in the darkness, she whispers your name. she weeps.

do you get tired of serving, sevika?

she answers you.

yes.

V: ALEXANDRA FEODOROVNA.

sevika enters with the precision of someone who has already made up her mind. she doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t falter. the weight of decision is a chain around her throat, one she has worn before, heavy with rust and familiarity. she is here to finish this. to close the door, to cut the thread. that’s the way it’s always been.

and yet.

the moment she sees you, something snags in her resolve like a nail catching on silk. you are not afraid—not in the way you should be. you look at her like you expected this, like you summoned her here with your own bare hands. there is something reckless in you, something that makes her hesitate. the air between you is electric, brimming with the possibility of violence or something worse.

“get up,” she says, low and even.

you don't move. she exhales, slow and measured, as if she's convincing herself of something. then she steps forward, the heavy drag of her boots loud against the silence.

“don't make me say it again.”

“and if i do?” the words are out before you can stop them, brittle and reckless. you're exhausted, but something inside you still strains against the inevitability of her. “are you going to kill me?”

your body betrays you before your mind does; you shift forward as if to meet her, not away. sevika notices. of course, she does.

your voice is quiet, steady, a blade run along the strop. sevika should say yes. should finish this. should do what she came here to do. instead, she takes a step closer.

“should i?”

a pause. your lips part, a sharp inhale, and sevika watches the way your throat moves when you swallow. everything you do betrays that you are a ballerina. this is the kind of detail she shouldn’t notice. this is the kind of detail that betrays her.

you shake your head, but it isn’t a no. “you told me that when you returned, you would possess the answer to that already.”

the heat between you is unbearable. this is not seduction, not in the traditional sense. this is something else—something raw, desperate, as old as war. attraction sharpened to a knife’s edge, desire that tastes like iron. if sevika touches you, it won’t be gentle. if you touch her, it won’t be soft. there is too much between you. and still—you step closer.

sevika exhales sharply, her hand twitching at her side. her fingers itch, but she doesn’t know if it’s to hold you or to hurt you. maybe both. maybe neither. and then you say it,

“i don’t want to die.”

it spills from you like a confession, the rawest thing you’ve ever given someone else. you’ve spent so long pretending that death is just something that comes and goes, guiding your every choice. and now, at the precipice, you fold.

you want to live. and sevika—

something shifts. the space between you collapses. the weight of inevitability bears down on both of you, crushing, suffocating. this is not mercy. it is something worse.

sevika reaches for you.

you let her.

woman-soldier/sevika 𓃠: “you want to continue to live like this?” she asks you. “don’t be stupid.”

her hand settles around your throat, presses down. you are losing air, but you speak anyway. 

“when i was younger, i was obsessed with the romanovas. otma. the sisters. olga, tatiana, maria, and anastasia. the tsarita too. i don’t know why. maybe, despite my mother’s best efforts, i was just like every other little girl. i loved a fairytale, i loved the glamour.”

the solider cups the back of your head with her human hand.

“everyone wanted to be like anastasia, but i felt the most like tatiana. relentlessly private, withdrawn.”

she does not understand the point of this. maybe this is you trying to live.

“my entire life,” you wheeze, “i have been anastasia. mythologized and the imagined last living thing of a bloodline so vast and well-known that it almost kills you. for my entire life, i envied tatiana, who died first. it’s such an evil thing to envy, and i’m aware of it. i know.”

“what is the point of this?” sevika asks, her voice weary. 

your eyes darken, your voice strengthens. your face is wet, gleaming like a diamond with your tears.

“this is a slow, pathetic way to kill me. give me what i want.”

the soldier loosens the constriction of her metal fingers, and she sees you see her consider it. she could put a bullet in your brain and move on from this. the soldier pulls away from your throat and reaches down, holds your hand. the soldier returns to your throat, only now you are suffocating yourself. the soldier leans forward. 

sevika kisses you.

𓃦

she is kissing you, and it's not gentle. it's not meant to comfort. it's a challenge, a demand, and a concession all at once. your mouth opens under hers like a flower, and you taste something metallic, almost alcoholic. it could be regret. her metal hand is still around your throat, forcing you to strangle yourself—a twisted form of agency in your own destruction.

when she pulls away, there's a thin line of blood on her lower lip. yours or hers, it's impossible to tell.

“this isn't what i came here for,” she says, but her voice lacks conviction.

“what did you come here for, then?” your voice is sandpaper, raw from the pressure on your trachea. “to kill me or to save me? do you not know the answer, or are they the same thing in your world?"

the soldier releases your hand from your throat, and you gasp, drawing in air that burns like fire. she steps back, creating distance, but her eyes never leave yours. there's something haunted in them, something that makes you wonder if the woman you see before you is really sevika at all or just the ghost that lives inside the weapon they made her to be.

“you know nothing of yourself,” you remind her.

“your mother,” sevika says finally, “she knew exactly what she was doing.”

you flinch. the mention of your mother—architect of nightmares, designer of the programming that stripped the woman before you of everything—lands like a slap.

“i am not her.”

“aren't you?” sevika's laugh is harsh, cutting. “the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, as they say. and you—parts of you—are rotten.”

“spoiled,” you correct her. “never rotten.”

she scoffs.

“i didn't know.” your voice breaks. “i didn't know what she was doing. what they were doing.”

“would it have mattered if you did?”

the question hangs between you, unanswerable. you are unsure. you'd like to think it would have, that you would have been brave enough to stand against your own blood. but the truth is, you've spent your life in willful ignorance, basking in the privilege that your family name afforded you, never questioning where the money came from, what built the empire you inherited. you were silly and stupid and angry—but misdirected. at odds with the world around you.

you think of what you told her before: no one is ever happy with the truth. the best you can do is be unafraid of it, better aware of it.

“i want to make it right,” you say finally.

“you can't.” sevika's voice is flat. “some things can't be undone.”

she moves suddenly, and you manage to stifle your flinch, expecting violence. instead, she slides her jacket off, revealing the full extent of her mechanical arm. the metal gleams in the dim light, a masterpiece of engineering and cruelty. where flesh meets metal, a network of scars radiates outward, a map of her suffering. there is a red star pressed upon it.

“this is what your family did,” she says, jutting her chin toward you. “not just to me. to dozens. most didn't survive the process.”

you reach out, hesitant, and she goes still as a corpse. your fingers hover over the scars, not quite touching. a muscle jumps in her jaw. she nods, a quick, sharp movement. your fingertips brush against the raised tissue where metal meets flesh. the scars are smooth in some places, puckered in others. you trace the boundary between woman and weapon, feeling the heat of her skin give way to the cool bite of metal. sevika watches you, her breath shallow, controlled.

“does it hurt?”

“always.”

the word is heavy with years of endurance. you withdraw your hand, ashamed of your curiosity, your fascination with the physical manifestation of her pain.

"i'm sorry."

"apologies won’t fix anything." sevika moves past you, further into the room. she surveys your living space—spartan, impersonal, a place to exist rather than live. "you've been hiding."

it's not a question, but you answer anyway. "yes."

"from who?"

"everyone. the people who want what's in my head. the people who want revenge for what my family did." you pause. "from you."

sevika turns to face you, and there's a terrible kind of understanding in her eyes. "and how has that worked out for you?"

you gesture around the empty room, at the life you've carved out in shadows. "it is working. i'm still breathing."

"is that enough?"

the question lands like a blow. is it enough? to exist in this half-life, always looking over your shoulder, never allowing yourself to be known? you've survived, yes, but at what cost?

"i do not know anymore," you admit.

sevika nods as if you've confirmed something she already knew.

“why do you speak like that?” she asks, eyes cool and steady. “breaking apart your words, never contracting.”

“it makes me feel like i have more to say.”

she hums and moves to the window, parting the curtain with her metal fingers. the city lights create strange patterns on her face, illuminating half, leaving the rest in shadow.

“they're coming,” she says simply.

your heart stutters. “i know.”

sevika lets the curtain fall. "the files you accessed most likely have triggered alerts. the remaining members of the program, government agencies, private contractors looking to restart the project. they all want what you know.”

the revelation shouldn't surprise you, but it does.

"will you continue to help them?"

"no." sevika's denial is immediate, certain. "not anymore."

"so, why are you here, sevika?"

she doesn't answer immediately. instead, she crosses the room to where your ballet shoes hang on a hook by the door—a remnant of your former life, the one thing you couldn't bear to leave behind. she touches them with her human hand, a gesture so gentle it feels intrusive to watch.

"do you miss the stage?" she says, and it's not a question.

"i was never on it."

sevika nods as if this makes perfect sense to her. "the muscle memory never leaves you.”

the words strike a chord in you, resonating with something deeper than their surface meaning. you wonder what her body remembers that her mind has been forced to forget.

"why are you here, sevika?" you ask again, softer this time.

she turns to face you, and the look in her eyes makes your breath catch. it's not hatred, not anger, but something far more dangerous—conviction.

"to warn you," she says. "and to make you an offer."

"an offer?"

sevika moves toward you with the fluid grace of a predator, each step deliberate, measured. you hold your ground, even as every instinct screams at you to run.

"they're going to tear apart everything you've built here," she says. "they’re going to tear you apart. they'll extract every piece of information from your mind, willingly or not. and when they're done, they'll discard what's left. or worse, they'll use you to rebuild what your mother started."

the cold certainty in her voice leaves no room for doubt. she's not threatening you; she's warning you.

"what's your offer, then?"

"come with me." sevika stops just shy of touching you.

you laugh, a brittle sound. "and go where? do what? live on the run for the rest of my life?"

"live freely."

the simplicity of her answer takes you aback. free. the word tastes foreign on your tongue.

“you are still trapped. you are worse than me.” suspicion colors your voice. "why would you help me?"

sevika's eyes harden. "don't misunderstand. this isn't forgiveness."

"then what is it?"

she reaches out, her metal hand cold against your cheek. the gesture should be threatening, but it's not. it's almost tender, despite the chill of the metal.

"insurance," she says. "you're the last one who knows how the program worked. how to undo it."

understanding dawns, cold and clear. "you think i can help you."

"i know you can." there's no doubt in her voice, no hesitation. "your mother might have created the program, but you've spent the past few days studying it, trying to understand what she did. you've pieced together more than you realize."

you want to deny it, but the truth is, she's right. since discovering your mother's role in the winter soldier program, you've been obsessively researching, gathering fragments of information, trying to make sense of the horror that festered inside of you. not out of scientific curiosity, but out of a desperate need to atone.

"and if i help you," you say carefully, "what then?"

"then we're done." sevika's voice is matter-of-fact. "you go your way, i go mine."

"just like that?"

"just like that."

you search her face for deception but find only grim determination. she means it, or at least, she believes she means it. whether she'll feel the same once you've served your purpose is another matter entirely.

“liar.”

sevika's expression doesn't change, but something in her eyes grows colder. "then i leave you to them. what happens after that isn't my concern."

it's another lie, and you both know it. if it wasn't her concern, she wouldn't be here at all.

"you're lying," you say again, and there's no accusation in your voice, just certainty.

sevika's jaw tightens. "think what you want."

"i think you care." you take a step closer, closing the distance between you. "i think that scares you more than anything they ever did to you."

her metal hand moves faster than you can react, wrapping around your upper arm with bruising force. "don't," she warns, her voice low, dangerous.

"don't what? tell the truth?"

the pressure on your arm increases. you'll have bruises tomorrow if you live that long. but you don't back down.

"you've been watching me for days. well past your given three," you continue. "you could have killed me anytime. but you didn't. you're here. why?"

"i told you why."

"no. you told me a reason. not the reason."

sevika's grip tightens further, and you wince. she notices, and something flickers across her face—not regret, exactly, but awareness. she releases you, steps back.

"get your things," she says, her voice clipped. "we leave in five minutes."

"i'm not going anywhere until you tell me the truth."

sevika's laugh is harsh, incredulous. "you're bargaining? now?”

"yes."

she stares at you, disbelief warring with something like respect in her eyes. "you really are like her."

the words hit harder than any physical blow could. you recoil as if struck, and sevika watches the impact of her words with calculating eyes.

"i am nothing like her," you say, each word precise, cutting.

"no?" sevika moves closer again, invading your space. "the same reckless disregard for consequence. the same arrogance, thinking you can control forces beyond your understanding. the same willingness to use people as means to an end."

"that's not true."

"isn't it?" she's so close now that you can feel the heat radiating from her body, smell the faint scent of amber and gun oil that clings to her. "what do you call this? standing here, demanding truth while death comes knocking? what do you call using my—" she stops, biting back whatever she was about to say.

"using your what?" you press.

sevika's expression shutters. "nothing."

but it's not nothing. you saw it, just for a moment—vulnerability. a crack in the armor. and suddenly, you understand.

"using your attraction to me," you finish for her.

sevika goes still, so perfectly motionless that she might as well be carved from stone. then, with deliberate control, she steps away from you.

"pack your things," she says, her voice devoid of emotion. "or stay and die. i don't care which."

but she does care. that's the problem, isn't it? for both of you.

“sevika,” you murmur.

she turns to you, a puppet on invisible strings. you sit on the bed.

“are you tired of serving, sevika?”

your voice is soft, almost soothing. you wait.

sevika 𓃠: you watch it hit her. that phrase. that relentless phrase. it shakes her teeth, boils her blood. you are putting your own code inside of her.

you sit on the bed, soft and sweet. she wants to carve you up.

are you tired of serving, sevika?

you get up, move to your closet, and pull out a small duffle bag already packed. you move back to the bed.

“i'm always prepared to run,” you explain.

you sit again, slinging the bag beside you. it’s baby pink. a dancer's bag. you meet her eyes. “sevika.”

she feels stuck, both in and outside of herself.

“it’s less about going with you and more a question of if you would like to come with me,” you tell her. you’re patient, uncaring of her silence.

she looks at you, and for just a moment, the mask slips. you seem determined, and there’s something else—something slightly sinister. it sends warmth pooling in the pit of her stomach.

“do i want to come with you?” she repeats.

“yes. we run," you say. "together."

the word hangs between you. together. not as captor and captive, not as hunter and prey. undefined.

you rise and step forward. she follows you into the hallway, leaving behind the shell of a life that was never really yours to begin with. ahead lies danger, and possibly death. as you descend the stairs, sevika's metal hand brushes against yours, cold and reassuring in equal measure.

you don't pull away.

neither does she.

this isn't a fairytale. there will be no happy ending, no redemption that erases the past. the ghosts of your mother's creation will follow you both, perhaps forever. the winter soldier and the daughter of her creator—an unstable alliance, a desperate gamble.

“sevika.”

she looks at you. your eyes are bright, a meteor. she hears the silent question.

do you get tired of serving, sevika?

are you tired of serving, sevika?

who do you wish to serve, sevika?

sevika?

sevika?

sevika?

“yes.”

you smile. she lunges at you, kisses you. you bruise.

обсидиановый оперативник (новый): первая фаза - излечение.

obsidian operative (new): phase one - cure.

𓃠 | 𓃦.

oct.12 ❝…anya brought me from malama (probably she speaks about dmitry malama, officer of the life-guards uhlan regiment) a small french bulldog (ortino). it's a very cute little thing.

i am so happy…❞

— letters of grand duchess tatiana romanov.

©hcneymooners.

[le-trash-prince]

That KimKenta Scene

Kim truly has so much empathy and understanding. Here's a man that no one would blame Kim if he hated him, but all Kim can see is Kenta's hurt.

I also just uhhh need to scream at the sun because we've never seen anyone ask Kenta how he feels about anything, and here Kim comes and rips the bandaid off of the gaping wound of Kenta's heart.

Kenta tries to dodge Kim's question, so Kim responds in true Kim fashion, by being more direct. And more than that, he sits down next to Kenta, putting the two of them on even ground. If he wants honesty from Kenta, he can't talk down to him.

It makes me think of the most personal conversation Pete and Kenta have had with each other so far this season, and how much Pete towered over Kenta the whole time.

But Kim meets Kenta where he’s at. And sitting next to Kenta also lets him see Kenta's face, because that's where the answers lie. Yes, he's heartbroken, yes, he's in love with Pete. It's written all over Kenta's face.

cue Kenta's internal flashback that Pit Babe knows it doesn't even have to show us:

bc the visuals of Kenta and Kim sitting side by side in black and white are such a distinct reminder of That One Time Pete Found Out About Kenta's Feelings. And while there's ambiguity about whether Pete actually truly knows how Kenta feels, the man is a touch empath.

Kim's solution to everything is of course to tackle it head on. "Just tell him, and then maybe you can be happy." Kim assumes that Pete doesn't already know because 1. When do Tony Chen's kids ever talk about their feelings? And 2. If Pete knew about Kenta's feelings, why would he treat Kenta the way he has. (And 3. If Kenta loved you, how could you do anything but love him back? Impossible in Kim's opinion)

And this tiny, self-deprecating smile Kenta gives here tears me to shreds. "No way." He knows there's no chance. He's always known there was no chance.

This is translated as "He just doesn't feel the same," but what Kenta says is "kao kae mai dai chop pom." He just doesn't like me.

I think they probably translated it the way they did to remove the ambiguity of the word "like," to clarify that Kenta's romantic feelings aren't returned. But the ambiguity cuts me to pieces every time I listen to this line bc if Kenta feels like Pete just... doesn't like him? As a person? Like Pete only cares for him out of a sense of obligation, but doesn't actually want to be around him? Like a family member who you're tied to, but you don't actually like? I need to go outside and scream at the sun.

And there's the Oh. on Kim's face. Because yeah, sometimes honesty has its price, and that price is having someone knowing you love them and them walking away from you anyways without a single reassurance that they care about you.

And I wonder how much Kim is reassessing all the interactions he’s seen between Pete and Kenta. The way Pete left Kenta with Kim. The way he said he would find an escape route for Kenta and then never mentioned it again. The way Kenta was willing to put himself at risk by leaving Kim's apartment to go talk to Pete, only for Pete to ask, “Do we have to do this now?” The way Kenta could have been killed earlier that day, and Pete never once asked if he was okay.

"Never felt anything for me." "He just doesn't like me." I'm falling apart at the seams I swear to god.

Kenta has spent his whole life chasing affection from Tony and from Pete, only to be abandoned by Pete and treated like an animal by Tony. And he just accepts it. He accepts that he's never had a father and that Pete doesn't even like him. I need to bundle him into a pile of blankets. I'm going to chew my arm off.

But it's okay because Kim is gonna bundle him up in love for me. I'm certain this is the first time anyone has ever told Kenta he could be loved. And Kim says it so easily, so matter-of-factly, like it's a simple truth. It doesn't feel like an empty platitude from Kim, it just reflects the way he lives his life. If you meet an obstacle, you either find a way through it, or you shift your trajectory.

Kenta gives Kim such a dubious look in response, though, like the idea of being loved is a fairy tale he stopped believing in long ago. He can't believe that anyone would truly love him because no one ever has. As much as it's a truth for Kim that Kenta can be loved, it's a truth for Kenta that it's impossible.

Except Kenta still craves love anyways. It's why he immediately replaced Tony with Pete, why he's trying to make Pete proud, why he keeps showing up at Pete's in the middle of the night to go, "Hey look, I can be useful, won't you let me stay?"

I know it's impossible for Kenta to believe Kim right now. But even if he resists the idea of Kim loving him, Kim will be determined to prove it to him. Already, he's earned Kenta's trust through simple, concrete actions. More than anyone else right now, Kim is in a position to hurt and torment Kenta, and instead he keeps going out of his way to help Kenta. He has sheltered Kenta, he has kept Kenta from isolating himself, and more than that, he has seen Kenta without judgement.

And the fact that Kenta was willing to open up this much to Kim is proof of that trust. Kenta spent all of s1 hiding his pain and suffering, and the only time his mask crumbles around other people is when he is at a breaking point.

But with Kim, with the first person to ask how Kenta feels, he's able to let himself be vulnerable enough to say Everything I have ever done has been for men who never loved me. And in return for that vulnerability, Kim reaffirms that trust by telling him, It's okay, you can still be loved anyways.

[witchthewriter]

𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 🐦‍⬛

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: I've added Victor into this, but I want to have a conversation about if he can be a romantic partner - or he will always be platonic?

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

You're still in Fromville, not having escaped yet but making the best of it.

𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒅 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

・Domesticity to Boyd is so much different in this town compared to the 'real' world.

・For example, he would be awake before you, no matter the day just so he could surprise you with your favourite drink and a pastry each morning.

・The chores would be split 50/50, with Boyd usually picking up any slack (he doesn't mind at all)

・He loves doing the laundry, folding your clothes with so much care.

・But here... his actions to show his love are limited and it kinda pisses him off

・But you constantly remind him of all the good he's done here and how he keeps everyone together.

・You celebrate every win, even the small ones.

・Boyd is big on DIY, and loves fixing up things for you. Anything you ask - you want a different type of curtain, or you want part of the window patched up - he does NOT let you do it. That is HIS job.

・Massaging his shoulders at night, feeling how taught he is. This town is so hard on him. It constantly makes you wonder, why him?

・You do have one rule though: last one in bed has to make it!

・Boyd seems like the type of person to keep everything about himself to himself. But that isn't true. He likes telling you things, he enjoys opening up to you.

・One really important factor in your relationship is the challenges of town and its mysteries.

・Many people in town were basically betting how long you two would together.

・But what they didn't know, was that the horrors STRENGTHENED your bond. It made you both rely on each other so deeply.

・Having a partner means so much to him.

・Boyd loves you so much. He would never burden you with what he knows, but he loves when you have random conversations.

・It makes things feel just a bit more normal. It gives him hope.

𝑲𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒚 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

・Mornings and nights are especially special to you both

・Slow, careful, mindful, warm and cosy.

・Touching each other in some way - hugging each other from behind, pinkies entwined, cheek kisses, forehead kisses, rubbing noses together - if anyone else saw you too they would gag (ITS CALLED LOVE)

・Kenny LOVES tucking you in at night.

"You comfy now?" As he wedges the blanket under the side of your body.

"Yes Kenny! Now get in bed you loser!" You answer laughing.

"Okay, okay, I'm just looking after the most important person in my life thank you very much."

・You love listening to him; to his stories about his childhood up until he came to town.

・One of Kenny's favourite things is when you read to him. Even if you don't have a book in front of you, he just wants you to recount as much as you can from books you have read.

・Might be kind of painful, but you two like talking about how life would be like together outside of this hell.

・Owning two cats, two dogs, maybe some fish.

・Whenever you hear the creatures screeching, you automatically cling to Kenny, you can't help it. You HATE the noises.

・But you always feel safe around Kenny. Always.

"I've got you. I swear to god I'll never let anything happen to you."

𝑱𝒂𝒅𝒆 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

・Every morning he gives you a kiss on the head and 'tip toes' out of the room, trying not to disturb you.

・You usually yell at him to get back in bed

"My looooooove, I have important business to attend to!"

・The bed is pressed up against the wall, and Jade says if someone/something were to enter the room, he would be the first thing they see

・From then he starts his daily ritual of figuring out how to get the hell home

・Jade teaches you A LOT of stuff. And you're always surprised by how well he does at teaching. He's patient (only with you but you don't know that), and takes his time to teach in ways you'll understand (once again, only for you...)

・He is like a walking computer at times. Really good with dates and great with measurements.

・But one thing he is terrible about is the fact that he's a repeat offender blanket stealer. Absolute criminal.

・No matter how much you tug and pull, or wrap yourself in it, Jade somehow unravels you in his sleep and takes the blanket.

・When you both wake up, you've practically snuggled underneath him...

"Babe, what are you doing?"

"You stole the blanket again and I got cold," you reply muffled beneath him. He's very warm.

"Oh god, sorry! We ah, we should probably get more blankets then... god why didn't you wake me?"

"Wake you? Ever since we got our own place, you've slept like you've never done so in your life!"

・It was quiet before he replied, and then he wrapped his arms around you.

"That's because I haven't sleep properly before I met you."

𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒍 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

・Your relationship with Randall is one that surprises you. Constantly.

・People don't see him the way you do. At times they start to though.

・But only you get to see his true soft side. The side that moves the hair from your face, kisses your forehead, nudges his nose against your own.

・You are the ONLY person to make him laugh.

・He knows so much about you - the way you like your clothes folded or hung up. He knows which books are your favourite, which song you could listen to on replay.

・Music is a big thing to Randall, and the fact that he can't just randomly play something on his phone gets him really down.

・So one night you guys make a list of every song you like, when you heard it and what it made you feel

・Making each other guess who you were before arriving in hell.

"Hmm... you were ... a ... farmhand on a ranch..."

"What the fuck Y/N."

"What? Were you?"

"Oh yeah sure, you hit the nail straight on the head sweetcheeks," and then he rolled his eyes.

・You laugh, loving when he gets 'annoyed' (you know he can never really be annoyed with you right?)

・You know each other's favourite tv shows, colours, smells, literature and so on. You whisper to each other through the night, trying to take your mind off of the screeching coming from outside.

𝑬𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒔 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

・Always the last to get up, sometimes he wakes before you but he'll still lay in bed, watching you sleep. Sometimes blowing air on your face when it's been a few hours and he gets bored

・Leaving sweet notes in unexpected places, they range from:

'hey baby, went down to do some work in the greenhouse, love you xx' to 'yo sexy honey see you tonight ;)'

・And you keep every single one of them. You have a sort of time capsule thing underneath the bed in one of your bags. Just small photos, letters written to each other, etc.

・Side note - Ellis is a cheeky man who loves to rile you up. Push your buttons. Make you red in the face.

・But he knows when enough is enough; he's extremely intune with your moods and doesn't have to ask when the days get too much.

・LOVES MAKING UP RANDOM SONGS ABOUT YOU, they are terrible but they make you laugh

・CONSTANTLY setting up spontaneous things for you guys to do. Seeing a smile on your face is the best thing he has ever seen.

・Literally puppy love.

・You guys seem to be able to talk to each other mind to mind. Glances from across the room are easily read by one another.

𝑽𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

PSA: As I said above, I'm not sure if Victor can be a romantic partner - I would love everyone's thoughts on it and maybe we can come to some kind of agreement??? Anyway, read this how you like ⟡☾⚝☽⟡

・Home...this town is the only home that Victor had ever truly known.

・How could you show him that the way he'd been living was not normal? That he should be able to feel safe, he should have gone to school - maybe even his drawing could have evolved into something astonishing

・So, in little ways you introduce this life to him

・He can't remember his birthday (so you help him choose one) and the two of you, along with Ethan, Tabitha and Julie celebrate

・...home decor projects are mostly just Victor's drawings. The really scary ones, you ask to be put away and he obliges <3

・Victor is used to living with other being, but not sleeping in the same room as another person.

・You would also need to get used to his blatant honesty. It isn't like he's trying to hurt you but he can just be brutally honest.

・Picnics in your room where you scavenge whatever food you can and talk about the funniest things you've seen people do

"I saw Jim ... trip over today," Victor says in a hushed voice, a cookie halfway to his mouth.

You burst out laughing, even snorting as you imagine the uppity Jim Matthews take a tumble.

"God, I wish I saw that."

・At first Victor didn't want another friend. He didn't want to get close to someone, he knew something would happen to you. You'd be taken away from him.

・But you swore to him that you would always be there for him.

・In town, and when everyone leaves. You've told him that you can be his home, his family.

[cup-o-stars]

Relativity Falls Lore Concept- The Oracle and Bill

The Oracle:

I was initially inspired by the Twitter user @SUwu159's depiction of the Oracle in their take on Relativity Falls, and made my own adaptation as I learned about her in canon.

(Assume she can change colors because I couldn't pick what I liked most)

This version of The Oracle isn't malicious per se, and does not desire the same conquest or chaos sought out by Bill. But she likes universes to be organized and quaint (or answers to another high power that demands it), and finds fulfillment in achieving these goals through any means necessary.

The Oracle and Dipper:

(Sorry if this dialogue tastes like a corndog in your mouth. I just needed to write a semi-resolution to Dipper's side of the relationship, ha.)

Getting into the real struggle with the Pines family. Dipper and Mabel don't fight and hold grudges like the Stans (that we've seen of), so my opinion is that they drifted apart in their late teens and twenties, both feeling pressured to be less attached at the hip. My current belief (though I'm very willing to rewrite this section) is that Mabel and Dipper both poured a lot of energy into pretty niche fields, and being very busy meant very short and rare windows to reach out. Both assumed the other was doing bigger and better things and felt self conscious / childish for wanting eachother's company.

I'm still considering Mabel's backstory, since I think she probably hit lower points than Dipper. You know. Starving artist, lol. But Dipper entered into paranormal investigation, pest control, etc. before his ghost + monster catching went far enough for his name to gain some notoriety. Hell, maybe Pacifica's family reached out to him to take care of "rats" that were actually ghosts, cementing his interest in Gravity Falls and giving him a window inter supernatural work.

Dipper was taken on as something of an apprentice to the Oracle 30ish years before canon as word of his good and dangerous deeds spread. However, what was at first a personal dream come true (saving lives with nerd magic) soon became a personal hell as the Oracle began to overwhelm Dipper with knowledge of various futures and universes where everything he cared about could be destroyed. He's always been over prepared and incredibly paranoid, and became obsessed with protecting the world by acting as a partner to the Oracle.

He ends up doing- or not doing- a lot of morally ambiguous things and gaining a lot of enemies. He is too ashamed to face his family- especially Mabel- with what he's done and burden them, giving the Oracle more to use against him to keep him working for her. Basically "you've already done all this and risked it all, there's nowhere to go if you stop now." Eventually this ends in her seeing him fit for her work and convincing him to hide out in and save other universes, which he gets trapped doing for the next three decades.

Little throw away idea: Pacifica could have been an investor or partner, but left as they uncovered secrets about the Northwest family. Maybe she wanted to undo something (debating making any of the Oracle's powers time related just because I hate time travel) or stop a current show of corruption, but Dipper had to stop her for the "greater good."

In the main universe, Mabel goes to Gravity Falls upon news of her brother's disappearance, searching for any loose end to trace back to him.

I love that in canon, Dipper is willing to do anything for Mabel, and Mabel gives it back. Dipper here spends all of his life keeping as many versions of her as safe as he can, and she spends all her life trying go seek him out- maybe even dropping a larger opportunity outside of Gravity Falls for her art and settling on business at the shack. Dipper wants Mabel alive, Mabel wants them both happy. I like the idea that it's Dipper and Mable vs. The Future but the future is a demon, alien thing.

Which leads me to...

Bill Cipher:

I'm actually gonna cover a couple versions of Bill I think are fitting for this AU, because I initially wasn't sure if I wanted him here at all.

Child Bill:

Pretty straight forward. Bill as a baby, child thing is tempting and this is the au where he'd exist. Personally though, I think Ford's friendship with Fidds would be more enriching to his growth, and Bill's personality is so close to Stan's they would likely be competing to fill very similiar roles. (If Bill behaves differenty as kid, I don't know about it.) Honestly, Bill is super similiar to Ford and Stan, and works better as a kind of foil or antagonist because of that (imo). I do find the mental image of Ford carrying Bill around funny. I do not enjoy human bill like, conceptually, so I'm probably never gonna design one as an adult or child, lol.

It would be cool to see a world where Bill didn't accidentally kill his parents though.

Bill - Reincarnated Original

Technically I guess they could all be reincarneted (especially baby Bill), but this version of Bill experienced and holds memories of the original canon events in GF. Beings like Bill and the Oracle can remember recent/soon approaching lives, and catch glimpses of more distant cycles as well.

What I like about Bill's recent role as an antagonist to Ford and Stan is that he constantly describes them in the terms of their worst traits, and sees them through the lens of the roles the world placed on them. In this AU, Bill is the epitome of the past (in this case a past life) coming back to bite the twins. He rattles their progress in communication as well as their sense of inner peace by bringing old Glass Shard Beach issues into Gravity Falls.

(Depicted here-> moments after Ford summons Bill using the same ritual as Gideon.)

The drawback to this is that it feels a lot like covering old ground.

Simply Bill:

This is pretty much just regular old Bill with the same fresh perspective as everyone else, and also the one I'm going with. He tried and failed to get Dipper's trust in the past and had to lay low at the arrival of the Oracle. Once they left, Bill targeted Mabel. I think it could be very interesting for Mabel and Bill to either have a fresh relationship wherein Bill is actively taking advantage of her desperation to find Dipper, or for Bill to be an old betrayal (not romantic, but not dissimilar to the opportunistic exes Stan and Ford have to be wary of and beat back under the rug regardless).

Either he shows himself to Mable early on, or decides that Gravity Falls is both Oracle-free and worth the time after either Ford or Mable summon him. Afterall, 30 years isn't much to him.

Maybe he exists in the background like he's always done, or the kids (being snoopy and disrespectful of Mabel's secrets) discover what Mabel's doing and run into him on their own.

Whether Bill is aware of the original series or not, I think he could be neat to stick in between Stan and Ford again for conflict. My favorite aspect about Relativity Falls is the prospects of the Stans having a larger support system and better tools to help themselves with. Beating Bill faster and better would be the ultimate testament to Mabel and Dipper's skills as functioning role models, even if Mabel is currently blinded by her focus on Dipper.

Stan and Ford will fight and they will make up, but this time maybe they can overcome it on their own.

I also think a good idea is having Ford and Stan's issues be completely Bill free (outside of like an episode or two's worth of relevance, unless he put them into a particularly stinging situation). It would feel fresher and also streamline the plot, lol.

Overview:

- Dipper is stuck travelling the multiverse with the Oracle and keeps himself sane by thinking of Mabel and protecting various versions of her.

- Mabel is investigating his disappearance in Gravity Falls and is working on a portal/portal equivalent with Bill to bring him back.

- The kids may or may not be aware of this.

Looking at the main series of events, I think it'd be neat go back to the apprenticeship conflict, where Ford could be approached by the Oracle (or something else that makes sense) with the promise of being a "hero," but knows better now because of Dipper and his experiences with Bill. It's kind of a more convoluted version of Ford's proposal to Dipper in canon, and they basically learn the same thing, lol. You can hang out with ghosts if you want, but demons are gonna get you. Maybe being a child with siblings is all you need.

(Stan could also be offered this, given the Oracle already knew he- or at least someone with his face- would beat Bill, but I think it's well established he isn't very interested in doing anything without family.)

All in all, things might be a bit crowded with two antagonists. But I do like the concept of Bill's arrival and subsequent chaos triggering Dipper and the Oracle's return to Mabel's dimension. I also love the idea of Bill, the Oracle, and some secret third thing all trying to pull the Pines family apart, and it's like a Man vs. God turned into a Family vs. Destiny thing, idk. Just trying to make it feel bigger.

Thank you for reading all this. It was a lot to draw. Next time I do anything for Relativity Falls, I'm gonna go back to the smaller things like Mabel bonding with the kids and stuff like that.

[dilf-docs]

"Call It What You Want" Series: Drabbles. In today's episode, Y/n L/n goes on a Chicken Shop Date! ft. Amelia Dimoldenberg

Set: Before the first part of the CIWYW series Warnings: None. Just lousy comedy. I'm sorry Word count: 974 words

"So, I heard a rumor"

You pop a fry into your mouth. "Gotta be more specific with that"

"That you like older men" she replies back in an instant. You almost choke on your fry. Almost. You're quick to recover, taken back still.

"Oh, that" you let out a laugh. "I suppose it's true"

You think back about one of your most liked instagram posts, an old one. A graphic t-shirt with the front spelling I Love Dilfs, a red heart in the middle. Pedro had teased you about it, to which you replied: Are you stalking me?

"Why not older women?" she questions, and your eyes go wide at it. You've never been one to label yourself, especially not online.

"You aren't old, Amelia"

Her character falters a bit at your comeback.

"Did you just called me old?" she jabs. "I can poison your nuggets"

"Well" you reply, "it would be a bit weird that I thought about other people while we're on a date, right?"

She contains a laugh.

"I'd say then, that you have good taste" she bites a nugget. You bite yours. "Can I ask one thing, though?"

"Sure" you lean forward, then look at the camera, pleading, "as long as it's not about my dating life-"

Finding out who you were dating was one of the Internet's favorite topics. It went wild every time a new project of yours dropped, since you seemed to have insane chemistry with your co-stars. This time, the victim was Sam Cafflin, who just happened to star in some horror flick called Bagman. You weren't even together in the movie, but the few promotions you did together were enough for fans to place their imput in your relationship. They always did, yet, so far, no one had been able to guess it right.

And you're lucky, because it's been a while now since you and Pedro were together.

"If you could choose any D.I.L.F to take my place and be on a date with you, right now, who would it be?"

"Rude. I see you insist on me cheating on you on our date"

"I'm curious" she says, her accent shinning. "The Internet loves to pair you up with older men as much as you love to pair up yourself. Have you noticed?"

It's no secret. You're as clear as ambiguous. Everyone knows your preference, but none the fact that you're even married.

"Of course. I love my fans too much" you take a sip of your lemonade. "You could say I am a fan of them"

"Alright, but who you'd pick?" Amelia insists.

"Depends on the season" you chuckle. Your mind instantly goes to your husband. Still, you decide to spice things a bit with your answer. Give the Internet something to say. Give him something to say. Shit stirrer, you hear his voice in your mind. "Right now, it's summer, and Hugh Jackman seems the right answer"

The blonde woman raises her eyebrows.

"He was here just last month" Amelia says. "Should I give him your number?"

"You don't have my number" you deadpan. "Nor his"

Her eyes go wide as she suppresses a smile.

"Say I did. Should I ask yours for him?"

You shrug. "I'm a busy woman. If they want me, they better find me"

She chuckles lightly at that. "Well, thank you for making time for me then"

"Oh, for a pretty girl, anytime. Might like you more than my D.I.L.F.S"

Yet, in your heart, there's only a space and Pedro's carved itself inside it.

"Hugh Jackman, huh?" he muses. "What the fuck is he gonna do for you, hmh?"

You wrap your arms around his neck, moving from side to side in a cheeky manner. He's been bugging you with it ever since you stepped inside the house, and you've been trying so hard for him to drop it, but you knew it was lost case ever since he started spamming your phone once the interview dropped last night.

"Pop those claws out"

"You could have a Roman general yet you chose a mutant freak"

"The Roman general dies. Wolverine is immortal" you argue back.

"You're saying that just because he's trending right now... I want to see if you hold to the same answer when Gladiator II comes out"

"Baby, be honest. Are you jealous?" you tease.

He scoffs. "Of a guy with forks for hands? Please"

"Calm down. No need to fight this war, general" you stand on your tiptoes, his lips brushing yours. "You know I'm all yours"

His grip on your waist tightens, then leans into your ear and whispers, possessively so.

"Damn right you fucking are"

You're enjoying this a bit too much. Not even the Internet had gone that crazy over your interview.

"Hugh Jackman can sing though"

"Aw, c'mon!" you laugh as he slips from your embrace. "That's it, you're sleeping on the couch tonight!"

"No, wait" you chase after him, giggling.

His face is flushed when he looks back at you.

"You know, I Iearned to sign Future Days, for Joel. But now? You get nothing, ungrateful deceiving wifey"

You feign hurt, placing a hand on your chest.

"Is it bad to say another man is hot, or have you gone too woke?"

"You're married. Don't bullshit me"

"Secretly married!" you protest.

"So that allows you to thirst out-loud for other men?" you remain silent. God, he's stubborn. "You've been a real bad girl"

You stop on your tracks. So does he. When you smile, wickedly so, he knows he's done for.

"I can be a good girl if you want"

Sultry voice. Dripping in honey, dropping in tone. Batting eyelashes. Parted glossed-up lips. His cock twitches. He feels like a fool.

Pedro just runs a hand through his hair. "Fuck, baby. You're gonna be the death of me"

[rooniearts]

Metal Wins Asks 1: Initial Reactions

YALL TORE ME APARRRTTTT IN THE ASKBOX LOL THANK YOU FOR ALL THE RESPONSES!!! I'm glad to see that the AU has been well received despite it all! :'D I already have enough asks about it (TWENTY SEVEN!!!!!!!!!!!!) to justify a longpost, so here goes!

Any trigger warnings that pertain to the Metal Wins AU are gonna apply here in the discussion, just so you're warned. You can find the warning under my pinned post

@railway323

IM SORRAYYYYYYY,,,, IT HAD TO HAPPENNNNN,,,,

@zezodacol

yeahh,,,, yeahhhh,,,....,..,

@akaneenaka33

Unfortunately, it's gonna have to be cruel and unusual punishment for now :') This AU works differently from my other ones in the sense that this one has a bit of a running story to it, so I can't tell you much without spoiling things.

The basic premise is that this incident happens and everyone has to navigate how they cope with it, Metal included. Some find their way through, while others continue to spiral downwards to rock bottom.

MY BABY BOYYY!!!!!!!!! MY LITTE GUYYYYY!!!!! AUUGHHHHH

@niyana-the-ambiguous-mobian

The true answer is that I just thought Metal looked really cool whenever I put blood on him and then it just kinda went downhill from there </3

So. Metal killed him and brought him there to mess with Sonic. That's about the lore I can give you about it for now unfortunately, except for the few other bits and pieces throughout the rest of this post :')

@sanicdetails

YOU KNOW WHAT. Good point. All crimes have been forgiven <3

@sparkyboi

NEVERRRR!!!! IF SEGA CAN KILL TAILS THEN SO CAN I!!!!!!!

BWUH,,,, Tails nation please don't publicly execute me I would be so very sad

@disgruntled-rat

YAYYY thank goodness...... I may rejoin my people..............

@thatbirdguyy

Unfortunately for our little guy, it is by decree of the author that he Must suffer. It is simply inevitable for any Tails enthusiast to put him through the wringer </3

ALSO YO?? I love your art and au sm! :D I'm so glad you find mine interesting too!! <3

@thecustomcosplayed

HE DID NOTHING WRONGGG THATS THE WORST PART,,, MY POOR LIL GUY DOESN'T DESERVE THISSSS

Ohohhhh yess ! I too love me a good whump au or two

Oh, he was long gone before Metal even showed up with him :( There was nothing they could've done

@cheeseburgerhelper

See, Metal wanted an efficient kill, but the problem is that Tails isn't about to go down without a fight. That's why he got so brutal, and also why he's sporting some scuffs and dents.

@humble-introvert0808

LMAOOO NOO MY GIRL AMY 😭 I do really enjoy this response to seeing me kill off my blorbo baby boy being "ooohh do mine next!! do mine next!!" bcus it's so so real

I prob won't do anything like that anytime soon, but rest assured that Amy's a MAJOR player in this AU and gets to be sad asf a LOT <3

@anactualfuckingnerd

Well. Yes. But I get the feeling that it's not what the most of y'all are looking for rn because Metal does, in fact, NOT get obliterated immediately :'D

Sonic WISHES he could've pulverized Metal on the spot, but no, he lost the fight and Metal got away. Sure, he was mad, but more angry =/= better at fighting

The next part (which I'm currently working on!) will go over this, but basically it was a fit of jealous rage. A "if I can't have this, then you can't either" type of thing.

But you're right. The real Sonic would NEVER have done that. Metal's realization of this fact is the basis that sets off his character arc and exploring that is what half of this AU is all about :]

(I use any pronouns for my version of Metal! I tend to mostly use he/him before character growth, and mostly they/them and she/her after, but y'all can use whatever)

YEAH they are fighting an uphill battle for that redemption arc after this one :') They fucked up BADDDDDD and they KNOW it.

LMAOOASDFGH,,, It's definitely a slow climb for her :'D All will be revealed in due time!

HELP NOOOO NOT THE BLAME SHIFTIIINGGG!!!! HES THE BLAME SHIFTER!!!!!!

I think he might have, like, a twinge of resentment towards him about it, but on some level he does understand that Silver had no earthly chance of knowing even if he is from the future. That, and Silver's like one of the only people who are willing to go along with his murder death revenge quest, so he can't afford to piss him off lol

Even still, I'm sure it comes out as snide remarks once in a while though :')

@i-only-created-this-to-read

The Tornado is fine! It's probably just sitting in Tails' hangar, collecting dust. No one can bear looking at it right now.

And oof. That's actually hard to say! I don't think I can accurately place it in a specific game timeline, unfortunately. But I can say that Sage isn't here nor has she been created yet (as much as I love her </3 but my co-auther hasn't played Frontiers) Eggman will behave much like he does in IDW, if that gives you a good reference point.

Eggman is very much alive, and we will see him! But no, he's NOT happy about any of this. We'll see this explored later, but yes, he absolutely sees Metal as a liability now that he's gone and painted such a HUGE target on their backs. And also little mad that he acted autonomously and took away a potential asset/victory from him.

From what I've heard, he needs either the real or fake set of Chaos Emeralds to do that....??? And right now he has neither, so no, unfortunately not :') He's never once allowed near any of the emeralds, because his friends know he's crashing out and will hurt himself and others if he goes super/dark. They spend the whole time playing Emerald Hot Potato to keep them from him lol

Sonic absolutely drops his whole being the better person shtick IMMEDIATLY though, at least regarding Metal. He's gone too far, and now there's no more second chances for him. As far as Sonic's concerned, Metal is to be destroyed on sight.

YES! Or, at least, Shadow tries. He tries to reach out, and he tries to help him cope, but Sonic just isn't open to it. He's not in a headspace to be able to receive any advice at all.

@i-only-created-this-to-read

Honestly, I like to think Amy probably came crying to him and told him about it pretty much immediately, and that he becomes one of the biggest comforts to her during all of this. He seems like he'd be a great listener and give some top tier advice <3

@anactualfuckingnerd

LMAOOOO yeahh,,.,,, Valid reaction

[venusbyline]

Jacaerys Velaryon — Under the Mistletoe

— summary: When you decided to spend the Christmas Break at your best friend Helaena's house, you did not expect her half-sister's family to be there too. Meeting your ex-boyfriend after the messy breakup was something you did not want for the holidays. At least that was what you thought before looking at him again.

— pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x ex-girlfriend!reader

— type: smut, dark, modern AU

— word count: 2.0k

— tags/warnings: female!reader, dark!Jacaerys, ex-boyfriend!Jacaerys, dubcon, modern AU, Christmas smut, rough sex, vaginal fingering, fingerfucking, semi-public sex, kitchen sex, degradation, finger sucking, cum eating, cum licking, dry humping, rough kiss, past infidelity, referenced cheating, argument, possessive behaviour, past relationship, toxic relationship, college students, Targtowers mentioned, Lucerys Velaryon mentioned, Rhaenyra Targaryen mentioned, curse words, ambiguous/open ending, implied Lucerys Velaryon/reader, toxic!Jacaerys, dom!Jacaerys, sub!reader, no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— author's notes: Jace was the most voted in the poll I did asking about this modern AU one-shot for Christmas <3 <3 I hope you guys like it and enjoy the holidays.

— author's notes²: The mention about Lucerys Velaryon/reader is really just a mention. But anyway, he's already 18 years old in this one-shot. Also, I'm considering writing fics about Lucerys. It's hard for me to find fics about him and he's really a character that I love very much. So if you want read these next stories, don't forget to tell me. <3 <3

— crossposting: AO3

When your best friend Helaena invited you to spend Christmas Eve at her house, you thought it might be a good idea. You loved her family, despite everything. Alicent, her widowed mom, always treated you like you were her second daughter. Aemond, Helena's younger brother, was so introverted and quiet that he never ended up causing any problems between the two of you. Daeron, the youngest, was sweet to you and loved telling you about how his high school was going.

The bad thing usually was Aegon, Alicent's firstborn, who always drank before and during the celebration and end up causing some intrigue in the family. However, Helaena had assured you that this time Aegon was traveling to another corner of the world and would not be in England for a few weeks. She said his big brother was enjoying Copacabana beach with his friends in Rio de Janeiro, taking advantage of the fact that summer days had started in Brazil, unlike winter in London, and you would only need to catch a glimpse of him on the college campus when classes start again.

The only problem about that night was the sudden presence of Jacaerys Velaryon during Christmas dinner. Eldest son of Rhaenyra, Helaena's half-sister. Your ex-boyfriend.

"Where are you gonna spend the Christmas Break?" Jacaerys murmured without much enthusiasm while you were alone in the kitchen, finishing baking a pie with lemon cream, cornstarch biscuits and meringue.

You turned to face him across the room, the dark red turtleneck he wore matching perfectly with the black jeans and leather jacket of the same color. And especially with that dark, long wavy hair. You sighed, looking away and focusing on the oven again, despite answering him with another question. "Why you wanna know?"

You hoped that Jacaerys would understand your attempts to divert the topic so you could just ignore his existence, even though you knew he did not give up on anything very often, his little side smile proving your point. "Whoa... Don't be so rude, sweetheart. I'm trying to be polite."

"Well, I don't give a shit about your fake polite manner. I shouldn't even be talking to you more than necessary, actually." You murmured in a low but firm voice, standing up and putting the red gloves back on so you could turn off the oven and remove the pan from inside, the hot steam from the pie floating throughout the kitchen and collaborating along with the heater on the wall to warm up the natural cold of winter.

Jacaerys took a few steps, moving closer so he could look at the dessert as you placed it on the table. Even without saying anything, it was impossible not to notice his curious face, seeming surprised by how the pie looked good. However, he cleared his throat and teased you again.

"Aren't you mad that Helaena didn't tell you that my family was going to spend the holiday at her mom's house?"

His invasive question made you roll your eyes, taking the gloves off your hands and putting them back in place, moving around the kitchen to look for a lemon in the fridge and a grater in one of the cabinet drawers. With the object and the citrus fruit in hand, you returned to the table so you could start scraping the peel, small and thin yellow pieces decorating the top of the dessert now.

"Maybe. I wouldn't have come if she warned me."

Jacaerys lose focus on watching the finishing of the pie after your bluntness words, letting out a giggle. "Goddamnit, pretty girl. Still so freaky mad at me?"

You stopped decorating the candy, your hands clenching around the grater handle. "And that surprise you? That I'm still mad about you kissing that stupid bitch during your college friends' Halloween party?"

Jacaerys hummed at your aggressive sarcasm, the smirk playing on his lips while he leaned on the table next to you. "Not really. But I'm impressed that you admitted something like that to me."

When he leaned his face closer to yours, you let out the breath you had been holding since he placed his large, firm fingers on the marble. The woody fragrance of the Jacaerys' fancy cologne made you sigh slightly, your mind filling with memories when you felt that smell very often, especially lying on the bed with him.

You struggled to put the grater and the rest of the lemon on the table and Jacaerys took advantage of the fact that you had not moved away. You could have done it. You should have done that. You had promised to yourself that you would not fall for another Jacaerys Velaryon's stupid apology again. Not after what he did. Not after he kissed another girl at the same party you were at, just to piss you off over a silly argument.

"Stop overthinking, sweetheart. You're so gorgeous when you just understand that you belong to me." Jace teased, using the height difference to his own advantage, his tall body practically covering yours as he moved behind you, his face in your neck and smelling the perfume. "Fuck, pretty girl... You have no idea how much I missed you and your body."

You did not even say anything when he reached up to the medium-sized velvet red dress you were wearing, pushing the fabric with an almost irritating calm and moving his hand to the waistband of your pantyhose. As soon as he lowered it enough and ran his fingers through the lace of your panties, you finally let out a sigh. "We shouldn't be doing this, Jace."

Jace did not bother to answer at first, kissing the back of your neck and playing with your folds covered by your panties, eliciting a few weak whimpers from you until you repeated. "Jace, I said we shouldn't be doing this."

The boy snorted, the small warm gust of air near your face causing you to shiver, his large hand going to your chin and pulling it without much affection to his side, your eyes meeting now. "What shouldn't we be doing, sweetheart? Finally fucking a few months after our stupid breakup or fucking in the kitchen of Alicent Hightower's house, while my family and your best friend's are in the other rooms, almost no one knowing that their beloved guest is nothing more than a needy and dramatic cockslut?”

Your eyes widened at the accusation, knowing full well what he was talking about. "I-I'm not... I'm not dramatic. How can you say something like that? How can you think I'm the wrong one even after you cheated on me?" You exclaimed a little louder, and Jace rolled his eyes, the fingers that was holding your chin now covering your mouth, not worrying about whether or not it would stain your lip gloss. "If you hadn't pissed me off that night, so I wouldn't have cheated on you." You growled under his hand when he whispered in your ear, wanting to push him far away from your body, although his hand inside the lace that covered your pussy made any shred of sanity disappear from your mind.

“J-Jace, don’t…” You whimpered muffled and almost impossible to hear, your ass pressing against his crotch as you squirmed. "They'll hear us..."

"No one will hear us if you keep your pretty mouth quiet, sweetheart. But maybe some of them would like to hear or see you like this. I bet on my little brother Lucerys, the freshman has a secret crush on you. That's why he's always watching you in the college hallways." Jacaerys mocked, nibbling on your earlobe, the tip of his index and middle finger playing with your clit, going down to collect some of your dripping juices and moving his hand up to caress your bud again. "You're so fucking wet. Have you been like this since I came into Hel's house?"

You trembled at the teasing, your hands imitating what he had done before, gripping the edge of the table to keep your body steady without falling to the floor. Jace's fingers gradually increased the pressure and you moaned, trying your best to open your eyes, seeing the mischievous gleam in his brown eyes and the smile widening while he slid the same two fingers in and pushed them inside you without any difficulty. The tearful and loud moan that would echo through the kitchen was interrupted by Jace's mouth on yours, desperate and hungry lips kissing you without worrying about how messy the kiss was being.

Jacaerys was not someone who disliked wet and aggressive kisses, in fact he was totally into it. You knew about that since you dated him months before, so it was not a big surprise when his arousal began to grow inside his jeans, your ass rubbing against him to tease him just like he was doing to you.

"You fucking whore. Are you trying to make me cum in my pants?" Your skin crawled at the sound of his growling whisper.

Jacaerys bit your lip while you were still panting, only letting out soft whimpers when he increased the speed of his fingers and took the opportunity to rub his soft palm over your sensitive clit, making you see stars and moan his name one more time, mentally thanking the universe for Jacaerys loving being DJ at the university parties and know how to use his pretty hands very well.

At least there was something good about always hooking up with Jacaerys Velaryon.

Without taking out of you, Jacaerys pulled you towards the other door in the kitchen with his free arm, the one that led to the hallway stairs. For a moment, you looked at him in silence, confused but thinking he would take you upstairs and fuck you in the guest room. However, the boy let out a nasal scoff and pointed to the green and red mistletoe decorated at the top of the doorframe. Your furrowed seeing the Christmas ornament above your heads, but you did not have time to question anything, not when Jace fucked his fingers in and out of you.

The wet noises of your pussy being used by him was as lascivious as the sound of his tongue searching for yours again, tasting your mouth as if it were the best candy in the world. The moment you distanced yourself so you could lift your head and shake through the overwhelming orgasm that possessed your body, that was when you understood.

Jace kissed you under a mistletoe. And not just that... he also fingering your pussy and made you cum right there.

Taking a deep breath to calm your body and your mind about what happened, you opened your eyes, watching Jace licking one of his fingers creamy with your release. He smirked to you, a sticky noise echoing when his full lips stopped enjoying your juices. He did not care about your look of disgust and carefully slipped his other finger into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself as he placed soft kisses on your forehead. A false affection that you both knew would not make up for all the hell and toxicity that had been your situationship.

"You came hard around my fingers and under the mistletoe too."

"I noticed…" Your voice came out more breathless and grumpy than expected and Jace chuckled, caressing your soft cheek.

"You'll spend the next few days of the Christmas Break here at Helaena's house, together with me. Then you'll be my good girlfriend again when we get back to campus." It was not a question but an order, your eyes immediately widening, not knowing how you were going to explain that whole damn turn of events. Not knowing how you were going to explain to your best friend that you were giving in to Jacaerys as you had promised never to do again.

Running the tips of his fingers still dirty with your cum across the pie's meringue, he gave you one last kiss for now. "Happy Christmas Eve, my pretty girl."

[creatingblackcharacters]

Some General Notes, Week 1

(in no particular order, no you don't have to agree, no they're not "the right answer", no I'm not going to argue. They're just my thoughts!)

-What I definitely enjoyed seeing was (the discomfort and frustration of, rightfully so!) people realizing just how much writing and character design go hand in hand, when told they could not consider the writing! Context is a beast, isn't it? People unfortunately judge with their eyes a lot faster than they bother to read and comprehend (‼️‼️‼️) and so sometimes we have to think about what we've drawn, and what we're trying to or could possibly SAY with that design. It doesn't have to be super detailed, but little things can go a long way.

-White folk tended to overcorrect, with more negative opinions about certain designs than Black and NB fans of color. I don't think it came from a bad place, as much as a place of concern with some lack of understanding.

-Black viewers are overall quite gracious about Black character design if it looks like you cared enough to try (contrary to popular Tumblr and Societal Belief, we don't bite!) But it did sometimes feel that it was to the point of being too nice. There are a lot of Black people who will accept the bare minimum just to feel included, and I hope to one day see less of that. We deserve the effort!

-Measured in three separate groups, we actually tend to be on the same page about design! We won't see the end result of the polls til next week (sorry ahead of time about the poll notification onslaught) so I could be wrong, but usually after the first thirty minutes, our bars tended to trend similarly from what I saw. This is likely due to the bias of my userbase; I'm sure if this poll reached The Unfortunate Masses of Fan Racists, it would be different. We shall see!

-There is usually a beginning wave of NB fans of color that actually find designs better than Black people will, which I found interesting, but then it evens out over time.

-Professional artists seem to be real big fans of the fade. The fade and the killmonger. The fade is funny because fades have been around for decades, and no one ever cared this much, but suddenly there are fades every other character. I wish there were more teeny weeny afros and short locs and just loose curls. Twists too!

-A lot of people were surprised about some characters who were supposed to be Black (and actually were). Which is telling, both on your side as the viewer and their side as the artists! Because that means something was not conveyed, communicated, or understood when you consumed that media!

-Black folk, I love y'all, I'm saying this kindly and I want you to hear me: I think there were times where your emotional attachment to the design affected your answers, even when told to only base it off visuals (e.g., yes, I know that particular character wears wigs! I know that's in the writing! I hear y'all! But unfortunately, when told to look at that character with the pictures provided, without the writing, given the genre, no, that is not an apparent piece of information. I am sorry.)

-I think NB fans of color especially understood this concept, which is just because a character isn't Black doesn't mean they aren't still a person of color. I say that to mean, some of these people felt ambiguously brown to a point that yes, they could be anyone else! 80% of the blue haired characters submitted (and the majority of the gacha ones) fell into this category, imo. Like, we should not all have to share the One Brown for Representation.

-I definitely didn't think that people would assume that the answers were "is this design Black, nonblack, or white"... I must admit that it doesn't make much sense to me 😅 it explained some of the answers I saw, though. Felt like some folks had to be trolling. Unfortunate, not something I can control once posted. Moving on.

-I do wish more people understood that this was meant to be a thought exercise moreso than "this is the right answer" (though sometimes, there was a right answer lmao. Beau is trash IDC.) It's not to gauge "do you know" as much as "based off of what you know, what would you say". It's for you (and me) to gauge where you are! It's okay to realize that you don't know what you don't know!

[43501]

Opened my copy of Another Note: The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases for the first time in a decade and man, I forgot this is a goldmine of info and Mello characterization. It lets us know what kind of person Mello is almost more than the source material. Every time he's on panel/screen he's always so intense, it's fascinating to see him write and kind of get this feeling of "oh, he is also a normal guy outside of those situations".

He says he had one extensive in-person meeting with L, which is backed up by this other post of mine where I point out that, in the anime at least, Mello references having spoken to L personally. If we take it as canon it means L and Mello met at some point between Kira emerging and L leaving England for Japan.

He expresses a strong sense he might die. I've seen people say that he's "narrating from beyond (heh) the grave" and it's nonsensical, but that's not what's happening here. He's just writing while anticipating his death and writing as if these notes may be discovered posthumously.

He thinks that, in the event he dies, Near is the one who will discover his writings. This is interesting to me because it suggests Mello either knows Near knows his whereabouts, or would figure it out and recover his belongings. I actually think this is outright supported by canon - we see Near eating Mello's chocolate in the manga's epilogue. I don't think he instructed his staff to go out and buy that same chocolate, I think that's straight up Mello's stash.

At some point he started identifying less with the "Mello" alias and calling himself Mihael.

He's so sentimental... ending the prologue simply with "Good memories and nightmares". Bro.

"Imagine you were going to kill someone. What do you think would be the most difficult part? .... The correct answer: killing someone." Damn, I love you Mello lol. Also fascinating when you remember that he achieved his status in the mafia by beheading someone. Yes, he would know how hard it is to kill a person.

Mello states that he and Near belong to the "fourth generation" of Wammy's House kids.

He expresses open sympathy for Beyond and his state, twice... based on his own narration and how he portrays B in the course of the story, he definitely relates to B's emotions.

"Perhaps these gods actually wanted a blood soaked world of betrayal and false accusation. Perhaps the entire episode exists as a lesson to teach us the difference between the Almighty and the shinigami." I can't entirely make sense of this, and I don't want to get ahead of myself, but is "Almighty" capitalized here to definitely refer to the divine? Like, the Christian God but in a bit of a sidestepped, roundabout way? Wish I could see the original Japanese text for this line. If anyone has essays/posts about it, please show me.

And on a meta-textual level, the ambiguity of our role/perspective as the reader of these notes is also interesting. We're probably just an omniscient, unmoored observer being told about this set of notes Mello wrote and his line to the effect of "if it happens to turn into [a book]" is tongue-in-cheek. I know there's a slight, hanging implication that Near did in fact publish his notes, but I think that's unlikely since they contain so much sensitive/classified information.

[sweetkpopmusings]

stray kids soulmate aus | y. jeongin <3

a/n: oh gosh, don't even get me started on how much i love jeongin :,-((( he has such a special place in my heart, so i hope my fellow innie girls appreciate this au as much as i do <333 pics not mine~

content: fluff, soulmate au | wc: 2k  | warnings: none really! | pairing: soulmate!jeongin x gn!reader | requests: open

♡ chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin ♡

a soulmate mark appears on your body the first time you and your soulmate touch.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

jeongin wasn’t one to dwell much on when he’d meet his soulmate. he was happy with his life exactly as it was, and, unlike a lot of people, he lacked anything that hinted to when, where, or how he would meet his person. jeongin decided, that rather than falling into an existential crisis, he’d keep his thoughts glued to the present moment. everything would fall into place eventually. jeongin trusted that.

you, on the other hand, weren’t always so secure in the ambiguity of it all. lately, it seemed as though all of your friends were meeting their soulmates. you were happy for them, but the question of when is it my turn? nagged the back of your mind more often than you’d like to admit. you confided in your best friend one night about all of this, and, despite their lovestruck state after just meeting their person, they understood your feelings perfectly. everyone who knew you knew that you had a lot to offer, and they all wanted you to find someone who would tend to your heart like you deserved.

“i know there’s no way to force this kind of thing, but maybe…” your best friend trailed off, clearly considering their suggestion again before vocalizing it.

“at this point, i don’t think any idea is a bad idea,” you sighed.”

“what if you tried going on blind dates?”

“okay, i think we managed to find the one bad idea.”

your best friend laughed at your scowl, “i know, i know. no one wants to go on a blind date when we’re itching to be with our soulmate. but, if you didn’t want to feel like you’re twiddling your thumbs, maybe meeting new people could increase your chances of meeting your person sooner?”

you had to give it to them. their logic checked out. logic did not equal appeal though, so you gave them a “maybe” and a promise to let them set up the first blind date if it came to that. understanding the shift in tone, your friend changed the subject to your current content obsession. you let out a deep breath, happy to focus on something other than your incessant, endless longing to know who you were destined to be with.

a few days passed before you gave proper thought to the whole blind date suggestion. during your break, you sat in a plaza outside your office building, mind wandering with the background buzz of businesspeople. 

going on a string of blind dates seemed like a cinematic nightmare, with no guarantee that you’d meet your soulmate that way. then, there was the chance that this could expedite the process. you had to admit that, if going on some bad blind dates ultimately led to discovering who your soulmate was, then the risk could outweigh the benefits. were you really that desperate though? it didn’t feel great to be one of the few people you knew without your soulmate, but wouldn’t it feel worse to be the only one dating?

“excuse me, do you have a pen i could borrow?”

you frowned slightly at a stranger’s voice breaking your train of thought. that frown melted away, however, when you saw arguably the most attractive person standing in front of you. their golden hair fell in soft waves, accentuating the sharp features of their face. when you were caught in the gaze of their bubbly, brown eyes, you couldn’t fight the butterflies in your stomach.

“oh…i think i have one in my bag,” you answered, turning your face away from the beautiful stranger.

“it’s okay if you don’t!”

their voice was like wind chimes on a perfect spring day, so you prayed that you had a pen. that was a surefire way to hear them speak again.

“ah, here it is!” you smiled and held the pen out.

they grinned, “thank you! i–AH!”

the pen bounced between both of their hands several times before landing on the ground between you two. you laughed at both the comical scene and the frustrated scream they let out.

you leaned forward to grab the pen, jumping slightly when their hand brushed against yours. inhaling, you willed the bolts of lightning in your veins to fade quickly. you couldn’t handle embarrassing yourself in front of someone this cute.

with a sheepish chuckle, they picked up the pen, “i’ll bring this right back to you.”

you shook your head, still trying to regulate your heartbeat, “no, it’s okay! you can keep it.”

their eyes went wide, and you swore you saw them sparkle in the sunlight, “oh! thank you!”

you giggled at their response and again when they offered an awkward goodbye wave at the same time you did. once they turned their back, you bit your lip in a failed attempt to hide the huge smile on your face. that smile faded once you realized you had given away your favorite pen.

by the time your break was over, you made peace with the fact you’d never see that pen again. it was almost out of ink anyway, so maybe this was a sign you should finally buy a new one. you entered your office, sighing for a multitude of reasons.

the rest of the workday passed, and you grew excited at the prospect of returning home. perhaps you would stop at a stationery store on your way back to replace the pen you lost. while you mentally ran through the list of store options, your coworker leaned over your desk.

“hey, y/n! since when do you have a soulmate mark?”

you blinked a few times in confusion, “a what?”

your coworker pointed to the side of your hand, “that, right there! it’s a soulmate mark, isn’t it?”

you lifted your hand to your face, unsure of what to expect. somehow, you had failed to notice the bluish-purple blotch on the side of your hand. 

“i don’t know. maybe it’s just a bruise?”

you glanced up at your coworker, hoping they could provide some insight into the discovery they made. they shook their head vehemently.

“my cousin got one of those on her shoulder last year. it turns out the woman who bumped into her on the train was her soulmate. i swear, yours looks almost exactly like hers. just smaller,” they focused their eyes on your hand again, making you feel a little self-conscious, “yeah, that’s definitely a soulmate mark. how exciting!”

you ran your fingers over the discolored area, “huh, yeah, i guess so…”

not wanting to continue the conversation, you offered them a polite smile. when they asked you to keep them updated, you promised to, even though you had no idea when that mark appeared on your hand, much less who had touched you to cause it. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“wait…so why did you end up running three blocks to get a pen?” jisung furrowed his brow.

jeongin huffed after taking a big bite of food. it always amazed him how many times he’d have to explain stories like this.

“hyunjin’s pen broke,” jeongin pointed to hyunjin with his spoon, “he was having a breakdown because he was feeling so inspired at the café and was going to ‘lose the vision’ if he couldn’t finish his sketches. i wanted to have my drink in peace, so i offered to find a pen. it turns out, in this day and age, someone having a pen on them is rarer than a conversation without changbin flirting.”

hyunjin wrapped his arms around jeongin, “innie, you’re my hero!”

jeongin pushed him away, but hyunjin kept at it, “you saved the drawing. i don’t know how you did it, but you found the perfect pen.”

“that’s our innie! perfect as always!” jisung added in a baby voice.

jeongin groaned, swatting hyunjin away while reaching for more food. when seungmin started talking about a new game, he thought he was finally free from the attention. that dream was shattered when felix spoke.

“jeongin? what happened to your hand?”

jeongin lifted both hands to his face, unable to see anything at first. then, he saw a blue and purple mark on the side of his right hand. 

“i guessed i bruised it,” he shrugged.

“no way!” chan squealed, “that’s a soulmate mark! our innie met his soulmate!”

everyone cheered about how he grew up so fast! and jeongin reassured them that it wasn’t possible. the only people who touched him today were his members, who, thankfully, were not his romantic soulmates.

hunger took over, so everyone returned to their food. in the quiet, something clicked inside jeongin’s head.

“ah! i know who it is!”

his seven members whipped their heads in his direction, perfectly synchronized. 

“it was the pen person!”

hyunjin gasped, “oh my god! this is amazing! were they pretty?”

“why is that your first question?”

minho laughed, “they must be gorgeous. look at how red jeongin’s ears are.”

jeongin waved his hand in the air to dispel the subject. deep down, he appreciated their excitement–they never ceased to amuse him–but their energy didn’t exactly help him figure out how he was going to find you again.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

the fresh air that hit you the second you stepped out of the office building instantly refreshed you. you stretched your arms, gazing around the area to find the perfect spot to enjoy your break. you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw the gorgeous pen person sitting exactly where you sat yesterday.

it had to be a dream, right? what’re the chances that you’d see them again? 

you only realized what the chances were when you caught yourself unconsciously rubbing the bruise-like mark on the side of your hand.

the way you saw it, you had two options. one, you could avoid that spot because you didn’t feel prepared to interact with a person who is downright statuesque during your break today. or, two, you could be brave and meet your soulmate, for real this time.

you took a deep breath and walked forward. the risk of being awkward in the presence of a beautiful person now was way lower than the risk of awkward blind dates, and you had almost convinced yourself to do the latter.

jeongin, twirling the fateful pen and staring off into space, almost missed you walking by. at the last second, he looked up, thrilled to see you again. he felt his heart pound as he spoke. 

“hi! excuse me?” jeongin offered you a smile and a small wave, “i don’t know if you remember, but you gave me your pen yesterday. i think we might be soulmates, so i wanted to see you again to confirm it. if we’re not soulmates, i wanted to compliment your taste in pens.”

how you stayed standing at that moment was beyond you. everything from his gaze, his smile, to his voice had you out of breath and knees weak. his confidence was astounding. while this was a bold move, you respected that he wasn’t going to waste any time waiting and wondering.

“hi! yes, i remember you,” you returned his smile, feeling butterflies when you noticed him blush, “i’m glad you like the pen. i’m y/n.”

unsure of how the soulmate mark thing worked, you offered your hand, which he naturally took into his for a handshake.

“i’m jeongin.” 

you two looked down at your hands. like magic, the bruises faded away into flowers. on your hand was the outline of a violet. you understood the meaning once you saw that jeongin’s hand held an etching of your birth flower.

“well,” jeongin chuckled, “i guess that confirms things then.”

“yeah, i guess so,” you agreed, still holding onto his hand.

before the silence turned awkward, jeongin adjusted your hands from their handshake position so they were comfortably intertwined, “are you on a break right now? i’d love to buy you a replacement pen if you have the time.”

you nodded, not fighting the way your smile beamed when you looked at jeongin, “for a new pen, i have all the time in the world.”

with a charmed laugh, jeongin led you to his preferred stationery store around the corner, tracing the flower on your skin with his pinky finger. it used to feel like you were waiting an eternity to meet your soulmate, but now, with jeongin by your side, you understood forever better than you ever had before.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[wendichester]

hiii! love your work so much. i was wondering if you could do something where reader owns a bar that dean visits often and she has a natural flirty personality and she usually reserves it for dean but one day she flirts with another bargoer and dean gets jealous and becomes distant so she confronts him and he finally asks him out! if not it's okay but thanks for reading!

-🪽(idk if anyone's claimed this emoji but if not i'd like to)

｡𖦹°‧ another round,

summary. a new patron catches your eye and dean is not amused

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 583

notes. thank you for requesting love! you can definitely be 🪽 ᵔᴗᵔ

The soft clinking of glass bottles and the murmur of low voices fill the air of your bar as you wipe down the counter, a playful smile tugging at your lips. It's one of those nights when everything feels just a little bit more alive. Your usual crowd has settled in, but there’s a new face in the mix—a tall, rugged guy with messy hair and a grin that could charm anyone.

You catch his eye as you approach with a tray of drinks. "What can I get you, handsome?" you ask, your voice dripping with that flirtatious charm you’ve honed over the years. You don't usually flirt with anyone but Dean, but there's something about this guy’s smile that makes you want to tease.

Dean’s sitting at his usual spot at the end of the bar, watching you with those piercing green eyes. But tonight, there’s something off about the way he’s looking at you. His jaw is tight, his usual relaxed posture is stiff, and his beer bottle sits untouched in front of him. You can tell something’s up, but you focus back on the new guy, keeping the conversation light and teasing.

You hand him his drink, your fingers brushing just a little too long against his. You catch the slight smirk he gives you, and for a moment, you’re amused. But out of the corner of your eye, you see Dean shift in his seat, and you can almost feel the weight of his gaze burning into you.

By the time the night winds down, you can’t ignore it any longer. Dean’s been distant, giving short responses when you try to engage with him. You can feel the tension building, but you’re not sure what to do about it. You decide to confront him, knowing that this isn't how it usually is between the two of you.

You walk over to his side of the bar, leaning against it casually, but your eyes never leave his. “Something bothering you, Winchester?”

He doesn’t look at you right away, taking a long swig from his beer before finally glancing up. His expression is unreadable, but his voice is sharp when he speaks. “You seemed real... friendly with him tonight.”

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow. “It’s just flirting, Dean. You know how I am.”

He exhales through his nose, a deep sigh escaping as his hands grip the edge of the counter. “Yeah, I know. I guess I just didn’t like seeing it with someone else.”

The sudden honesty in his voice catches you off guard. You take a step closer, your heart fluttering. “Dean, are you jealous?”

He doesn’t answer right away, and for a second, you think he might brush it off. But then, he leans forward, his eyes meeting yours with a vulnerability you rarely see. “Maybe I am,” he admits, his voice softer now. “Maybe I’m tired of just watching.”

You feel a smile tug at your lips, the tension easing between you. “Well, maybe you should stop watching and do something about it, then.”

Dean’s grin is quick and genuine, that familiar spark returning to his eyes. “How about I take you out sometime? Just the two of us. No one else around.”

You laugh softly, your heart racing at the thought. “I think I’d like that.”

Dean’s face softens, a warmth in his eyes as he reaches over and gently takes your hand. “Good. ‘Cause I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while.”

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[rye-bread-soda-iceberg]

I saw some light discourse going around hsrtwt about Ratio being bad/good/morally ambiguous

I'm not gonna comment on that too much cause I wanna talk about smth else but clearly he's a good person, probably one of the nicest people we meet compared to the war criminals and murderers. his major crime is that he's blunt, mean and makes his students cry (which is something about him I don't particularly enjoy for personal reasons, but still)

what I like, something that i feel like people tend to forget, is that he's very openly kind and caring

of course there's the basic stuff, like the fact that he pours his whole heart into making the universe a better place, has eradicated a whole illness called 'the king of illnesses' (so, supposedly, very deadly) and the entire not getting into the genius society because he cares about humanity too much. but also, you know

first of all, he has canonically made various statues depicting himself making a heart with his hands while smiling warmly. I've always found it endearing how he mildly prides himself on 'keeping the world at bay' and just being generally mean while also doing this so casually. I mean, it's a clear message: 'I love you' that's what he's saying, and he's saying it in a silly way

something a bit more hidden is these quotes from hoyolab's post. we all know the 'ignorance is an ailment' quote is directly taken from his character stories, making it canon. that subsequently makes the other two just as canon. obviously it's an official post, but I sometimes see people doubting the validity of these silly little snippets into the hsr universe

I don't particularly know if he is saying those last two quotes in general or to someone/a group of people in particular, but it's like... one of the sweetest (and corniest) things ever, and it makes me giggle a little bit. it almost felt out of character to me the first time I've seen these, but if you think about it, it's always been there

this one is from the valentines day ""event"" on twitter from earlier this year. I like his reaction to the gift for he still has some of his usual, you know, 'I cannot bear to hear such foolish questions'. he's being nice in his own way here, his demeanor is just barely reserved but the sentiment behind his words remains a positive one

another quick thing, though I don't have more examples for this one. he's always going on about how you should always consider whether the question you're about to ask already has an answer (so encouraging you to think for yourself) but he's still Always offering to help. in this and, if I remember correctly, in the mail description you get when you used to receive him for free he's making it clear that he's willing to help you discuss things for you to understand them better and will answer any question as long as it's not a 'stupid' one. he is a teacher, after all. the biggest thing about him is that he wants people to do better. other than this, despite his slight reluctance to help others himself, he does say in his character trailer that sometimes a little encouragement is required

and he does encourage people openly when they do good! no 'I suppose this is acceptable' nor 'I guess you did good'. when someone or something impresses him, he genuinely expresses it. I like to point this out because I see so many people say he's self absorbed or puts himself above others, when that is simply not true. which, I mean, can also be seen in his small little interactions with Herta, Ruan Mei and Screwllum (he literally praises them)

then he also says this a couple times. I don't exactly know what he considers courtesy or discourtesy, but it's clear that at least not all his blunt or mean words are meant to offend. this is something I'd love to look further into, but for now simply want to put here with the rest cause it's an interesting thing about him. he is already described as elegant, which implies a certain level of basic courtesy and politeness when interacting with others, though this just slightly crashes with his 'rude' demeanor

supposedly, you could make the argument that while he canonically realizes how non-endearing he can be (knows his own shortcomings, one of the exact traits he praises) perhaps he actively struggles with coming off as nice. and seeing all I've pointed out so far, maybe all those instances of him being nice are how he'd prefer to come off as (some times). that is unless I missed some bits of canon dialogue where it's implied otherwise

this isn't that detailed or well made of a post, nor the first time someone has pointed out this stuff. in fact I reblogged an incredibly good, lengthy post some time ago that talks more in depth about how nice/kind of a person Veritas Ratio really is

I simply cannot stand when he is described as cold, uncaring, selfish, self-centered or someone incapable of being gentle and loving. and it's not nearly as subtle as people seem to think it is