#and didn’t suggest the brotherhood? /would/ things have been different?

[luobingmeis]

every day i feel like both the prosecutor and defense attorney for 3zun and all of my thoughts end in “would things have been different if the brotherhood was never formed” and then in every AU i make they are married and in love forever and ever

[teecupangel]

Tee I can't remember if I've sent this idea before, but with [insert Desmond as an animal au] of your choice (or multiple of them, or all of them)--consider Desmond stuck as an animal and getting used to that being his new life. Until. He meets one of his ancestors he spent time as (havihg sought them out of course. He could never resist). And then, maybe it's by design, or maybe it's some kind of weird crossed wires from the Bleeding Effect, the echo of a flesh and blood body given a reminder in the code of the universe what shape it's supposed to be--

Whatever it is, it turns out that as long as Desmond is in skin-to-skin contact with his ancestor, he reverts to human form.

which is to say: big convoluted excuse for lots of hugs and hand-holding.

It would be funny if Desmond was some kind of big animal so when his ancestor lets go of him, enemies would be surprised by the sudden appearance of such a beast XD

Since you gave me free rein on this, I’m going for 12th century Levant XD

.

.

Malik did not believe he was close minded.

He accepted Altaïr was in love with a mysterious man who can turn into a beast even before Altaïr had admitted it.

Altaïr didn’t try hard to deny it anyway.

Saying “this is necessary” while they were holding hands or Altaïr’s hand was on his neck or they were in each other’s embrace (and many more positions that Malik didn’t have any time to list down at the moment) was such a weak excuse that Malik didn’t really think he should even be using the term excuse in the first place.

When he sent a letter saying he was going on a ‘trip’ with Desmond after they finished the mission in Cyprus, no one in the Brotherhood was surprised.

They immediately looked for Malik to lead them as if Altaïr had planned it.

No.

This felt more like Desmond’s work. That man seemed to believe Malik could handle more things than Malik was comfortable with handling.

Yet, he persevered for no one was willing to take the mantle from him.

After the first year of his tenure as the temporary mentor, Rauf was already suggesting that he, Altaïr and Desmond should just be the mentors together.

The way he said it though made it clear to Malik that Rauf believed Malik was entangled in Altaïr and Desmond’s relationship.

Or was harboring unsaid feelings for either or both of them.

Malik wanted to vomit there and then.

He would rather lose both of his arms than be part of whatever relationship those two had.

They were the cause of Malik’s headache.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

.

Their trip lasted for four long years.

Malik’s list of complaints had turned into a journal and he was planning to read everything out loud.

But his tenure as the long suffering temporary mentor has finally come to an end for those two idiots had returned.

When he reached the courtyard to greet them, Kadar grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“Brother.” Kadar’s eyes were wide and his hands were trembling.

“What is it?” Malik asked, his mind going through the many worrying fates those two idiots could have had while they had been away.

“I’m so sorry, brother.” Kadar looked like a man who had his heart broken.

… on behalf of Malik.

Oh no.

Please.

No.

“Malik!” Desmond shouted and Kadar let go of him, stepping back into the crowd like the coward that he was.

Malik turned to where he heard Desmond’s face and saw Desmond’s grinning face.

With both of his hands holding two different persons.

Altaïr was, of course, one of them.

That was a common sight by now.

The other was a woman though.

“This is Maria Thorpe.” Desmond introduced, “The mother of our first son! He’ll be born three months from now!”

Oh, it was worse.

Many Assassins behind the three currently in front of Malik were looking at him with pitying eyes.

It seemed their imagination had run wild.

And now they had cast Malik into the role of an unfortunate man who just heard the two men (or one of these idiots) he was in love with (He. Was. Not.) had married a woman while he had been waiting for them to return.

Forget reading out loud his complaints.

He was going to beat the both of them with that damn journal.

[ch0wen]

Cover - Part III | Tangerine x Fem!Reader | 18+

warnings: smut mentioned, (minors dni), cursing, & violence

to catch up - Cover - parts one & two

———-

Tangerine's large hands wrapped around the diner's ceramic mug full of his muddled-grey tea. Warming himself while also trying to still his shakiness. He was having a tough time attempting to conceal his nerves. He avoided eye contact to retroactively stall the dreaded discussion.

“So,” you started, “Tangerine and Lemon. Fruits. Why choose from that category?”

Across from you, the man looked physically and mentally relieved that you hadn't leaped right into the hard questions. A smile wriggled under his mustache,

"When we were younger, Lem and I loved to watch American cinema. We would get inspired by a lot of ‘em. We played the games they did, tried out the sports, and picked up similar traditions.

One day, during a rare, hot English summer, I suggested starting a lemonade stand. My brother reacted with, ‘lemons are too tart! No one even likes sour drinks. I don't want to sell rotten lemons,' and I would remind him that you can turn a sour lemon into a sweet delight with a little bit of sugar. Shit, you should've seen his face when I ended up persuading him and he tried our first attempt at a batch. We got the measurements so wrong!”

His eyes shone as he spoke. He seemed to have been slowly opening up. Laughing into his hand and playing it off as a scratch to his face before dropping it to the table's surface. He was earnest as he told of his boyhood. Intriguing you with his storytelling, and leaning toward him as he continued on.

"Anyway. He would tell me that I'm like the sugar. That I make things better. But frankly, I can be a rotten arsehole to him. And by now, maybe he has forgotten about those silly childhood praises, but I never did. Those were the times, especially at the beginning of our career, when he made me feel wanted. He's good at that. He doesn't even require me to be the sugar in our brotherhood. He's naturally a genuinely good man.

I do need to tell myself I am useful, and deep down, I may not believe that to be all true. But he reminds me. He’s good at making people feel understood and cared for. He is true to his codename. He's a lemon, and everybody loves ‘em.”

Absentmindedly, you played with his finger twitching on the sticky table. He curled his hand properly around yours to hold.

———-

The hours passed and the diner went through waves of people. Coming and going, in and out, like clouds in unsettled coffee. Breakfast rush, stillness, then lunch chaos. To the both of you, the other was the focal point. Everything else just felt like a static buzz.

“I can't help but notice that you haven't asked the question. Basically the entire point of this morning."

"I didn't want to force it out," you finger at the sugar packets, like skimming a mini record collection. Attempting to downplay your interest. “I wanted us to get there without having to press it.”

A grateful hum of, “You are a peach," transitioned into a sigh, "but I suppose you deserve to know that I am a contracted assassin."

———-

It was only half past two in the afternoon when you both emerged from the diner. You made sure to avoid the eyes in the queue of the waiting patrons. The large tip, Tangerine thought he dropped into the checkbook unseen, should at least ease the hostess's agitation about your prolonged stay. You stand facing each other on the bustling city sidewalk.

The silence felt heavy after hours-long conversations. You studied each other. Your chance to fully take him in, in a different perspective, a new light. You were wary of how to leave this after the time you just spent together. The things he depicted. The part of himself that he had fanned out. He seemed to have bore it all. How do you grapple with that while having to part ways?

Tangerine didn’t keep you speculating. His handsome face sported a pleasant smile as he stepped forward to hug you. The embrace lasted only a moment, but it felt that he didn’t want to let go -

Like he was trying to hold you still. Keeping all those secrets that he poured out over the cooling cups of coffee between the two of you. Pressing them in close and sealing them behind tight lips. To him, when you walk out of his sight, you’ll take his story with you. The moment that he lets you go, the truth gets out. Exposed are all the mysteries on the inside and his safety. The scary reality is that he potentially jeopardized his and his brother’s lives to answer your curiosity.

Except, that was just your mind racing again. Tangerine's hug lasted for a minute and in a beat, he was pulling his shoulders back to look down at your face. And then he pulled you in for a kiss, the breath-stealing and tangling your hand in his hair, kind.

———-

The date with Tangerine was like an omen that you wouldn't be able to get the pair of assassins out of your life. Every day, something happened that would remind you of them. One of your little students would ask for a bandaid. You'd hear a song that played in the diner or a familiar theme song that Lemon definitely was humming. You’d find yourself grinning.

Little reminders would pop up here and there. Until one-half of the duo started turning up here and there when you’d least expect or anticipate it. It was a gradually natural formation of a budding friendship with Lemon and an eventual relationship between you and Tangerine.

Your romance with the latter was like any 2000s Rom. Com. daydream, except for the consistent reminders that you were dating a killer ——

Your boyfriend would show up unannounced with fresh flowers and a splat of blood on his neck peeking out from under his collar.

Written-out jokes from Lemon were handed over with a roll of his eyes but the ghost of a smile on his lips. Signaling that he has already heard the ridiculous gag that his brother came up with.

He’d be up early and missing in action during the day, but made up for it by staying late on date nights.

He always found time to call you between the sporadic periods of action while on the job. Just hoping to chat about your day so far or what he wanted to do to you later. Your mind runs with what exact situations he was calling in the middle of, whenever he was out of breath or your conversations were cut short with crashes and shouts.

You could sense when he exerted too much energy after those particularly long workdays. He tended to be quieter, or his body weight pressed impossibly closer on top of yours as his cock pushed in deep, or when Lemon would physically need to drag him into your apartment and throw him onto the couch.

Regardless of his fatigue, once you got each other going - either by massaging his sore neck, his rough thumbs grazing over your exposed thighs, or knee rubbing against his bulge as you bandage up a cut - He basically reverted back into stealth mode. Targeting his focus on only you. It felt like he existed to get you off. Wanting you to come on either his mouth, fingers, or pounding dick. He may have been exhausted but he wouldn't lose stamina until you were finished.

Nine times out of ten, whether after a hotel rendezvous or candle-lit dinner over a pack of instant potatoes and Kraft Mac and cheese, you’d find yourselves snuggled up in bed. You were always left stated after a good fuck from Tangerine. Hands, tongues, and whispers danced in the shared tranquility of your space. You were making special memories with the limited time you found with him.

———-

It went on like this for years. Each day felt like you peeled away another layer of a fruit's skin. Discovering a new trait or trick of your boyfriend's. You anticipated something exciting when he flung open the apartment door or your bedroom window. He never ceased to thrill and fulfill your every need.

And that one Tuesday in Spring was no different. He strode up to your car after class let out, seizing your waist from behind. A spin to your hips in his grasp had him close enough to breathe into your ear,

"Fly out to France with me, yeah?"

———-

[shyanddreamy]

You can't save everyone

Happy Lowman x Reader | Part 5 | Finale

Outside Stockton, there were some bikes waiting. Chibs and Happy were by your side, and next to you were the Mayans Oakland Pres and VP. Marcus Alvarez was there too. Although he no more wore his kutt, he wanted to be there with the rest of you. Two years were a great amount of time to rebuild what had been destroyed, so Mayans and Sons were partners once again. The biggest difference was that this time, there were lot of new prospects to refill the charters.

When you saw Creeper get out of prison, you grinned. His smile grew wide too. He hugged Marcus first and his brothers second. And then, he looked at you. You jumped into his arms at the same time he embraced you tightly.

“I can’t believe you’re finally out”, you greeted him.

“Fuck, me neither.”

After the end of the war, Santo Padre’s charter was blamed for all the crimes Creeper had confessed, so his sentence was changed, and he got only two years. It was all bullshit, of course, but whatever deal Kody made with the person in charge of the operation against the MC, she made sure it would benefit Creeper. Six months later, his request to be transferred to Stockton was approved. There were more Mayans and Sons in that prison, so he was safer, and he was also nearer his future new charter. And nearer you, too.

Once he released himself from your hug, Creeper approached Chibs and Happy to greet them with a handshake and a pat on the back. During this time, they had been working together to reunite both MCs. And they had done a good job.

“C’mon, we have some ladies back home waiting to give you a warm welcome”, Chibs told him.

“Listen to him, carnal”, Marcus added. “SAMCRO has always had great women around them.”

“I’m sure we could find one for you too, old man”, Happy responded.

“Not if I want my wife to open the door for me when I get home. But as long as you have booze in there, I’m in for a welcome party.”

After the war, when SAMCRO voted on the direction they wanted to take, the decision was controversial. Over time, they realised that the porn industry moved a lot of money, but they kept doing smaller business outlaw, as well as threatening or blackmailing their competition. You can take the man out of the criminal life, but you can’t take the criminal life out of the man. Anyway, things were good now.

The fact that Creeper’s welcome party was held at Charming was something meaningful. SAMCRO wanted to demonstrate their goodwill by letting a bunch of Mayans enter their territory, celebrate the return of a brother, and together pay their respects to the fallen.

When you saw Neron coming back from the dorms as he was in pain, you couldn’t help but laugh. He walked towards you and took a sit next to you on the sofa.

“They're treating you more than well.”

“Fuck. Those hoes are going to kill me”, he said. “I really wanted to bang some chick, but now I won’t be able to have a hard-on for days.”

“What were you expecting? You are like a legend here”, you remained him. “The Mayan who convinced his brothers to sit down and talk with SOA. The one who got peace from prison.”

“Just because you kept me alive first.”

“Oh, c’mon, shut up”, you said, shaking your head while smiling. “We’ve talk about that too many times. Don’t start again.”

The first time you talked with Creeper after the war, he was completely broken. Knowing FBI had killed his whole charter was devastating for him. He thought he had lost everything, but he didn’t give up. And when you suggested that he should talk to his brothers to open the door to dialogue, you gave him a new purpose to live for. It was only a matter of time before he was able to heal his wounds. When Oakland’s charter offered him a place at their table, Neron was more convinced that the brotherhood for which he had given his life was not completely over.

“But it’s the truth, Y/N”, he insisted. “I owe you my life.”

“So, just keep living”, you told him. “Don’t let the past drag you down.”

“I won’t. I swear.”

“Good.”

You looked at him with a sweet smile, recognising in him the genuine smile you had loved since the first time you saw it. Despite everything, the deaths, the blood, and the betrayals, that smile was still there. He was there. And that filled you with joy. It was amusing to think that all this had started just because he was in the bathroom you desperately needed to use. Fate was peculiar.

“Have you heard anything more from Kody?”, you asked him since the memory of how you met reminded you of the time Kody called you asking for the bathroom chick.

“Fuck no”, he growled. “And I don’t wanna hear her name again. She’s dead to me.”

You didn’t know what had really happened between them or why she had so much influence in the FBI, and probably you would never know for sure, but you had some conjectures in mind. However, it no longer mattered.

Even if you had wanted to, you wouldn’t have been able to add anything before Tig shouted for you to approach the group who were about to do a round of shots.  

“It’s going to be a fucking long day”, Creeper muttered as he stood up. “Are you in? I’d like to see who’s the first to throw up over the table.”

“Hell yes.”

*

As hours went by, you felt your body getting more and more tired. You didn’t want to go home yet, so you opted to sit down on a stool next to the counter bar. When one of the prospects asked if you wanted something, you said a bottle of water.

“Welcome parties are always hard”, Marcus commented, sitting on the stool next to you with a glass full of some liquor. “I’m glad to finally meet Happy’s Old Lady.”

“It’s my pleasure, Padrino”, you answered. “I've heard great things about you.”

“Half will be lies”, he assured you, smiling slightly. “Good things I’ve done are only because I’m too old. Experience always makes you clever.”

“Those pricks could learn something from you then. I’m pretty sure that some of them just think with their dicks.”, you added. And your words made Marcus laughed. “But I like to see them like that. After all that happened, it’s good to see them having a good time together.”

“Yeah, it is”, he nodded. “When you don’t know war, peace is overrated. I hope they have learnt enough not to repeat the same mistakes”.

“Sounds good, but there’s always going to be mistakes. Doing bad things is their way of living. Is what they do.”

“Did you get to know Clay?”, Marcus asked you suddenly.

“Yeah, for a while. But mostly at the end”, you answered. “With half lung less he wasn’t so intimidating.”

“He did good things, but also bad ones. Now is remembered for the bad ones. Jax did bad things too, but he’s remembered just for the great ones. What I mean is that we all do both. Always. That’s why our successes must be bigger than our mistakes”, he explained to you before suddenly changing the subject. “Happy and you want kids?”

“Nope. We’re good. Kids ain’t our thing.”

“I have a two-years-old boy waiting for me at home. And two teenagers too. Having your own family helps you to think more with the heart and less with the head.”, he told you. “You did it too. Thinking with your heart. You convincing SAMCRO to protect Creeper so he could find out who the rat was helped us a lot after the war. SAMCRO upholding the code between MCs and the brotherhood really meant something to the rest of the Mayans who were tired of so much betrayal and lies.”

“Some of these men wouldn’t say that it was a good thing I thought with the heart. They’d say I did what I did because I’m a woman. That we’re always the weakest and fucking sensitive.”

“So, fuck them”, Marcus answered. “Thinking only with the head is what has caused so much bloodshed.”

“Now I understand why they call you Padrino”, you said with a grin on your face. “And now I really believe all the great things I heard about you.”

Although you would have loved to carry on the conversation for the rest of the night, noticing your phone vibrating in your jeans managed to throw you off. When you took it out of your pocket, you saw a missing call.

“I’m sorry. I have to take it.”

“It’s okay, querida”, he answered, putting his hand on your shoulder in an affectionate manner. “Just take care of your man. And help him to think with his heart too. Happy’s going to need it.”

“I’ll do try.”

With the phone in your hand, you left the clubhouse and walked away from drunks outside. Only when you were far enough, you called her back. She didn’t even bother to say hello.

“Everything’s good? Is Neron out?”, she asked you. It was easy to notice the worry in her voice.

“Yeah. Everything’s perfect”, you confirmed her. “He’s inside the club with his brothers celebrating his return.”

“Great. Great”, he mumbled. And despite the silence, you knew what she was going to say now. Since she stopped visiting him after what happened in Santo Padre, every time you spoke it was the same two questions. “Did he ask for me? Did he say anything about me?”

“Neron has his head in too many things right now.”

It was always the same answer from you too. But this time, it was different. Now he was out, he was a free man without visiting hours or restrictions. And she knew it.

“I was thinking I could go there. He might want to see me and talk. I have so many things I want to tell him if he gives me the opportunity. If you talk to him first, he might…”

“I’m sorry, Kody”, you interrupted her. “I’m really sorry, but it seems that Neron hasn’t forgiven you yet for whatever happened between you two.”

You really felt bad for her, but it would have been even worse confessing that Creeper had told you she was dead to him. Perhaps you should have warned her earlier so that she would not get her hopes up, but you also thought that Creeper might change his mind once he was released from prison.

“Perhaps, if you let some time pass, he…”

“No. It’s fine. I should have known better”, she raised her voice, but this time it seemed angrier. “I’ve already lost more than two years of my life with him. It’s fucking unhealthy and I need to stop. It’s better this way.”

“I’m really sorry, Kody”, you told her again because it was the only thing you could say right now.

“I don’t think we should talk anymore either”, she added. And after talking to her by phone at least once a month for two years, it will be weird at first, but it was the right choice.

“You could save my number”, you suggested. “In case one day you have some information that could be useful to us. We don’t want a repeat of what happened in Santo Padre.”

You had never talk about your private lives. Kody knew you were an outlaw, and you knew she was close to the FBI. Your only topic of conversation had been Neron, but it would be good to have an acquaintance who could warn you in case police became interested in the MCs again.

“It won’t happen again as longer as you don’t leave dead bodies on the streets”, she answered back. “But I’ll do. I’ll save it.”

Kody hung up seconds later and you put your phone back in your pocket with mixed feelings. She seemed to really care about Creeper, so it was a fucked up that he hated her so much. But at the same time, if he felt that way, it was because she had done something really bad to him, so it was better for him to be far away from Kody.

“Everything’s all right over there, doll?”, Tig brought you out of your thoughts.

“Perfect”, you assured him with a smile on your face. “Are you having fun, baby?”

“Fuck yes. I love welcome parties”, he said as he passed an arm around your shoulders. “Weren’t you trying to go home already, were you?”

“Of course not”, you answered. “Indeed, I’d want another beer.”

“You have read my mind, love.”

*

By the end of the night, everyone was either passed out or lying on a sofa or a chair. Some were even on the floor. Nothing you hadn’t seen before actually. You were with Happy on a single sofa, sitting on his lap while you kissed. The kisses could be sweet, but the way Happy stroked your thigh caused a warn feeling inside you.

“The night was amazing”, you told him, aware that no one else would be able to hear you right now. “But you know what a perfect ending would be? You fucking me until we pass out too”.

“Right here?”

“You wish”, you answered. As he smirked, you bit your lower lip.

“Maybe there’s an empty dorm. If not, I’ll kick out whoever is there.”

“Sounds good”, you nodded, but a gasp caught your attention. Creeper had two croweaters on either side kissing his neck and caressing his body. The fact that he was the only one who drank just water could be the reason why he was one of the few who were still awake. “Seems he’s having fun till the end.”

“He’s definitely doing so.”

“Would you want to be him?”, you asked him, looking at Happy again. “Having all the croweaters you want doing whatever you ask, just to make you feel good.”

You felt the hand on your thigh grip you more tightly as the other moved up to the back of your neck.

“I wouldn’t change you for anything”, he promised you with his deep, dark gaze on yours. “You are the only one I want. The only one I’ll ever want.”

Your smile widened at his words even though you already knew that would be his answer. He kissed you more passionately than before, and you lost yourself on the kiss until his fingers grabbed the necklace hidden under your shirt.

“When are we gonna tell them?”, he asked you.

“Don’t know. I’m waiting for the right moment.”

You took your fingers to his necklace too. You had both been hiding the fine silver chain with a ring on it under your shirts for weeks. You didn’t expect Happy to be into the whole wedding thing. You didn’t expect it from you either. But when one night Happy put a ring on your finger while you were simply on the sofa watching tv, you almost started crying. Apparently, he had been carrying the ring in his pocket for months, trying to figure out the best way to give it to you. And until this day, you had been waiting for the right time to announce it to the boys.

“Don’t wanna wait more”, he said. And before you could even process his words, Happy kept talking. “Hey! We’re getting married.”

Between the gazes that were suddenly on you, you focused on Creeper and Chibs.

“Just you, fucking bastards, could choose a moment like this to tell us something like that”, Chibs complained. He was sitting on a stool, leaning on the counter bar with both arms, his sunglasses on, and a cigarette between his fingers. “I’d hug you, but I’d better do it some other time when I don’t smell like a fucking minibar.”

“We all know it’s because you can’t even stand up now, old man”, you said, grinning.

“Fuck you, sweetheart.”

“I’d hug you too, but I smell like something you really don’t want to smell”, Creeper added. “But congratulations, guys. I knew this was gonna happen sooner or later. I’m so happy for you both.”

“Hey!”, Happy raised his voice again, but this time while kicking Tig’s back, who was lying on the floor next to your feet with a women slept over him. “We’re getting married, dickhead.”

“Yeah, whatever you say, brother”, Tig mumbled. He needed some seconds to understand what Happy had told him. And when he did, his eyes opened widely. “Wait, what?”

Tig careless pushed the women who was with him and sat down on the floor before resting his head on your legs.

“Congratulations, man. I guess I no longer have any chance of banging you, Y/N.”

“You’ve never had a chance, Tig”, you answered.

“Don’t know. When you first came to Charming, I thought you might be looking for a daddy, but you preferred that weirdo”, he continued, deadly serious. “But I’m so happy for you both. You’re both as insane as each other. And I fucking love you, guys.”

“And we love you too, Tiggy”, you said while caressing his tousled black curls, which was enough to make him close his eyes again.

“What’s his fucking problem?” Creeper asked, moving his eyes between Chibs and Happy and you, not understanding why none of you were startled by what Tig had said.

“I’d like to say that is cause he’s drunk, but it’s not”, you told him.

“He’s just a sick bastard”, Happy added.

“The sickest bastard I've ever known”, Chibs pointed out.

The death, the dangers, the risks... nothing mattered at that moment. It was a fucked-up life and a fucked-up family, but it was the life and the family you had chosen. And you didn’t regret a single thing. Even if you have your whole life ahead of you or only a few years left to live. Even if you could go back in time to the moment when a prospect offered you to go to a party at Sons of Anarchy Tacoma’s clubhouse, you would do it all over again until you get back to this very moment.

“What the fuck is doing fucking Marcus Alvarez in my room?”

It was quite amusing the way Happy looked at you when he opened the door of his club’s dormitory to find El Padrino on his bed.

“Shit. I forgot. He wanted to leave early to Santo Padre to see his family, so I told him he could sleep in your dorm to not be disturbed.”

“Well, it’s your loss”, he answered. “Now I’m not gonna fuck you.”

“You are not?” you asked him with a raised eyebrow. “Then I’ll ask Tig. He seemed eager to do so.”

“Fuck you.”

Happy took you in his arms and carried you to the bathroom. He kicked out a Mayan who was sleeping over the toilet after throwing up and slammed the door. Suddenly, he put you against the sink, facing the mirror, and dropped your shorts.

“It’s so easy to get under your skin, babe”, you told him, biting your lower lip. He looked at you deadly serious while unbuckling his belt. “And it may have been a set up. Perhaps I wanted you to fuck me in the bath from the beginning. So, I win again.”

Happy pulled your hair apart to be able to kiss and bite your neck. His hands clutched tightly to your hips, and as his trousers were down his knees, you could feel his hard-on against you.

“You’re so fucking mean”, Happy muttered against your skin before pushing your back a little further down, so he could have better access. “And I fucking love you for that.”

“I love you too. So fucking much.”

“Now, try not to shout too much. Or do it if you want”, he said. “I don’t give a shit.”

THE END

←Part 4

[callipraxia]

Hii! I’m curious about your opinion re: one of the most controversial questions in this fandom, the Reverse Portal AU. What would have Ford, as we know him in canon, done if Stan went through the portal instead? Saved him or prioritized what he then considered a “greater good”? From the fanfics I’ve encountered, people definitely disagree on this, but they can be pretty biased. I’m personally of the opinion he would have saved Stan despite all his chiding about responsibility -- considering his decision to succumb to Bill’s blackmail and give him the universe in Weirdmaggedon, he’s a tiiiny bit hypocritical/contradictory in this regard (as well as in many others), hahah. I’d say it was pretty clear that he valued family above everything then, at least, but researcher!Ford... I am not 100% sure. To me there’s a difference between what Ford considers Danger with a Capital D™ (Bill Cipher) and what he didn’t even stop to consider was dangerous (Stan’s life in the streets). Stan going through the Portal That Made Fiddleford Crazy would fall into the former. Still, I don’t want to be seeing all of this through rose colored brotherhood glasses and it’s hard to get fully rid of my own bias. What do you, who wrote a huge wonderful canon analysis about him, think?

Hm, you know, I had never really thought about this! It is a tricky question, considering that the post-Portal version of Ford we know best can be considered a very different person from the pre-Portal Ford...except for all the ways in which they're exactly the same, of course. Thinking on it, though, there are some bits and bops I can use to speculate...Short answer, I think you're right that "there's a difference between what Ford considers Danger with a Capital D and what he didn't even stop to consider was dangerous" (a much more succinct summary than I could have made, lol) and that, despite their estrangement, Ford would have...at least wanted to rescue Stan. I also think that he would have at least been delayed by the need to get Fiddleford back on board, though. Considering Ford's tendency to assume the worst, it also seems quite plausible that Ford could quickly come to believe that rescuing Stan would be impossible, either due to Fiddleford's lack of cooperation with anything that involved opening the Portal back up to the Nightmare Realm or due to assuming/being convinced that Stan was dead. From either of those solutions, I reckon there's a number of ways things could go.

(notgonnawriteit, notgonnawriteit, notgonnawriteit....)

Ahem. To expand on that:

I’ll begin by addressing the counterargument. It's fair to point out that even when he wasn't in a distinctly grandiose frame of mind ("save the world or lose my life in the attempt"), Ford does have a tendency to lash out at Stan in a way that could be interpreted as suggesting that he values [whatever he's mad about] as more valuable than his brother. On the night of the science fair, Ford came into the living room looking like he was spoiling for a fight before Filbrick interrupted; on-screen, Ford and Stan come to blows three times, and on two of those occasions, Ford is the one who swings first. However, I think it's equally important to note that on both of those occasions, Ford's also the one who first realizes oh my God what am I doing? and tries to deescalate it again. In the 1981 flashbacks, he immediately backs off once he realizes Stan had gotten injured on the machinery, and when it looks like Stan might still want to fight, he keeps backing off for the rest of the scene despite the great big gaping, gravity-altering doorway to another reality being both turned on and right behind him. In 2012, he punches Stan on autopilot after going straight from a grenade-tossing and death ray-wielding and up-against-impossible-odds space battle to the ruins of the basement, but when Stan tries to escalate the conflict into an outright brawl like the one they had before, Ford is cross but relatively calm, and merely restrains him instead of indulging in further violence (I suppose his entry into the multiverse was a mistake he actually learned from and didn't care to risk any chance that he might repeat). So, to conclude the argument on this point - I don’t feel it’s really reasonable to assume that “Ford wanted to beat the tar out of Stan” in any way implies “Ford would have callously written off Portal Stan as a necessary sacrifice and then gone on his merry way.” One of Ford’s major flaws is a failure to accurately assess and deal with his own emotions and how they affect his relationships, and he’s pretty consistently shown to be far more sentimental about his attachments than he thinks he is. And even if he weren’t, well, good grief – even if he had genuinely hated Stan or considered him a totally worthless person, there would still be a long, long way between “I would like to beat this guy up” and “I am sufficiently jaded that I won’t feel a bit bad about it if my actions accidentally lead to Something Truly Horrible happening to this guy.” When we look at Stan and Ford specifically, we also have to factor in both that Ford had apparently (if the scattered references in the Journal are anything to go by) been thinking of Stan semi-fondly/at least ambivalently again for a while before he contacted him in the winter of ‘81, and what Ford’s mental state was at the time. He had very little life experience involving other people/outside of a laboratory and he seemed to be on the brink of an anxiety-and-sleep-deprivation-fueled psychotic break. He may have very well enjoyed lashing out at Stan in the moment, directing his bottomless pit of unpleasant emotions outward toward this Other who conveniently looked just like him instead of inward at himself, but I really do think he would have freaked out and felt incredibly guilty and upset had Stan actually gone through the Portal.***

Now, as for how he might have reacted instead of going on his merry way…in the possibly unlikely event anyone is still reading, then that’s where things get really interesting.

To begin on a gloomy note, I don’t think Ford could have launched an immediate rescue attempt for Portal Stan, no matter how much he wanted to. It’s made clear that he doesn’t understand everything about the Portal, and hinted that he actually understands even less than he thinks he does. When Ford writes in the Journal about the early stages of building the Portal, he makes it clear that, for whatever reason, he could not finish without Fiddleford, who understands the plans so well that he is able to suggest improvements and see the danger in them; when Ford writes in the Journal about the “Better World” dimension, he makes it clear that Parallel Ford was unable to achieve anything until he persuaded Parallel Fiddleford to come back. If AU Ford tried to retrieve Portal Stan, then he’d first have to persuade AU Fiddleford to help him, and it is extremely unlikely that AU Fiddleford would have allowed even a brief connection to the Nightmare Realm before he stabilized the Portal for good, even if Ford begged him on his knees to do so – not least because Fiddleford, having seen what was on the other side for himself, probably would assume that nobody who went through without a rope could possibly survive long. I suppose it’s possible that AU Fiddleford could at least outwardly convince AU Ford that he has to give up any hope of retrieving his brother in the service of the Greater Good – perhaps even that this is the universe’s punishment for being presumptuous and toying with Things Man Was Not Meant To Know – but I find it hard to imagine that Ford wouldn’t be severely haunted by this even in the best-case scenario. Worst-case scenario, that would have been the straw that broke the somewhat mentally unstable camel's back, with who knows what results.

(notgonnawriteit, notgonnawriteit, notgonnawriteit.…)

However, there’s a number of other solutions besides "gave up, regardless of the reason or how he felt about it." One might be Ford going out into the multiverse at a later date, after Fiddleford somehow figured out how to make the Portal work without going through Bill’s domain, in search of his brother, in the slight hopes that Stan might have survived long enough to dimension-hop. Another might involve him staying in his home dimension, but secretly experimenting behind Fiddleford’s back in an attempt to figure out if Stan’s still alive – I say ‘experimenting’ because the original Portal was a doorway, essentially, but it seems to have exceeded that mandate when it found Ford for Stan over the course of Season 2A. It's possible that some of the “components held together with duct tape” that Ford mentions might represent Stan-made modifications of the design intended to make it do what Stan wanted it to do. If it was modified, that could also explain why its final activation was so much more violent and unstable than the other two times it was turned on. Gravity behaved anomalously when both Fiddleford and Ford went through the Portal, sure, but it seems to have only done so in extremely close proximity to the device. When Ford came back the other way, half the buildings in town seem to have been lifted clean off their foundations. Something about that third time was...different. Though, of course, it's always also possible that Stan just hoped Ford would have stayed in place for thirty years and thus did simply open the Portal back up - as for why it took so long, it's implied at one point that Stan had trouble getting his hands on enough toxic waste to adequately fuel the thing - and that Ford happening to be in the Nightmare Realm right then was either because of Fate or sheer dumb Pines luck.

I could go on further (about how Ford might half-convince himself he doesn't care at all, with this having zero impact on how he actually does, or how the 'tinkering behind Fiddleford's back' thing could lead into a script flip of "Not What He Seems," or...etc.) but it gets increasingly speculative/like I'm drawing up plans for a specific plot. Hopefully something in all this managed to answer the question to your satisfaction, Anon, and hopefully it was at least mildly entertaining even if it failed in its primary mission? Glad you enjoyed the canon analysis!

***Another important factor to consider in all this may well be that Ford and Stan both trained as boxers for a long time - possibly for as long seven or eight years, probably for five at a minimum. They both knew all about punching, both how to dish it and how to take it with minimal damage, and the photo in Stan’s car indicates they at least practiced together. I suspect (despite having never punched anyone, either in or out of a boxing ring) that punching someone in boxing gloves when everyone involved has consented to getting punched at some point is a lot different than punching someone in anger and with your bare hands, but "try to punch Stan in the head" is still something Ford probably did many times when they were younger, all without a hint of ill will existing on either side. Ford might therefore not necessarily think of ‘hit Stan’ as an action that would or even could seriously harm him, even if done in anger instead of as part of a recreational sport. Plus, while he was almost certainly using violence as an ineffective form of communication before the end of the 1981 fight, he started it when he was alarmed, not enraged, and he was shocked/horrified out of being angry the instant a factor other than just the two of them trying to pummel the stupid out of each other directly got involved. It's certainly worth noting that Stan, at least, didn't seem to take "Ford punched me in the face before I could say hello properly" or "I then tried to hit back because I was annoyed about that punching/lack of gratitude business" as indicators that the situation was beyond salvaging; he only seems to have given up on any hope of reconciliation at the very end of ATOTS, after Ford first talked civilly with him, then made a joke with him, and then calmly announced that he was basically going to take his toys and go play alone in the basement until Stan went away. Years earlier, after the science fair, Stan also seemed to initially shrug off how Ford had blown up at him and to have assumed that he could smooth things over at first; it's Ford's silent, seemingly more miserable and conflicted than fisticuffs-inducingly angry, refusal to intercede with Filbrick on his behalf, after the initial outburst of temper has ended, that finally gets to him and prompts him to loudly and unconvincingly declare that he doesn't care anyway before he storms off. They...both really need to work on improving those verbal communication skills.

[psychology-stuffs-blog]

Want a tattoo??

Body modification: why do some people get tattoos? What does having a tattoo signal to others?

What are tattoos? Tattoos are where there is a needle gun injecting ink into the dermis of your skin up to 3000 times per minute, in order to leave an imprint of an image or text onto your skin. Now it doesn’t sound very fun - painful in fact - but many people find that getting a tattoo can allow them to be their true selves by expressing their passion and love for the art form, while others make mistakes and regrettable tattoo choices, like tattooing your exes name on your wrist, for example.

*******BIG MISTAKE******* :o

Now, tattoos are shown in many lights. However, it is very common that they are seen negatively due to the origins of the art. The stigma comes from when criminals would tattoo their criminal career milestones onto their skin as reminders and did this to flaunt their success in criminal activity (Larsen et al., 2014). However, it is found that originally Stigma was a Greek term that meant the process of marking criminals to defame them. Since then, it has become a term largely known for being a negative belief about a person and or group of people that is often overgeneralised and is used to dishonour or bash the individuals.

In some countries, such as Japan, it is seen as a sign that you are a member of a gang to have a Tattoo - they were seen as rebellious and conflicted with many traditions in the country. There is still a big stigma attached to the idea of getting a tattoo in east Asian countries, but this could not be narrowed down to fit into any category as to the reasons why this is the case. Despite this, here are a few of the many reasons east Asia do not like tattoos: There are still many prejudicial beliefs about tattoos representing the uncivilised culture of the youth in today’s society, it also represents possible criminal associations; many of the folks in the country are very religious, and it is seen as a negative thing to get tattoos as it goes against their religious codes; lastly, in some cases, they have a system of ideology (e.g., China and Confucian) and this means they have certain values which should be upheld as much as possible. Therefore, having tattoos can signify to some people a lack of Respect and can present rebellion and more.

However, in some countries it is seen as a tradition to get tattoos, as it can indicate whether you are a part of a tribe or not. This is used to show your loyalty and brotherhood / sisterhood. There are cultures which do encourage you to get tattoos in order to honour your ancestors, or tribe (e.g., Māori tribes), as it is seen as a form respect towards them. Now I can imagine what that may mean for some……. Plenty of opportunity to get a tattoo, however this is not always the case as not everyone from tribes would get a tattoo. Similar to modern days, people are still on the fence and cannot decide whether it is safe to get a tattoo or not.

There are hundreds of thousands of people in this world, who have at least one tattoo - if not more. There are many things that can be associated with different types of tattoos. Some tattoos are related to death of a loved one, some, to the happiest memories of your life, while some choose to get tattoos to remember a time when they’ve struggled or persevered, a view which was shown in a study conducted by Naudé et al. (2017). This study also suggested that many people have different perceptions of getting tattoos some of the reasons were because; it looked cool and trendy, free-spirited, artistic and brave. While some individuals did not share all positive perceptions, the few that had negative perceptions said the reasons they didn’t want tattoos was because it appeared to be trashy, reckless, ungodly, evil and satanic (Naudé et al., 2017).

There have been many instances where tattoos have been affiliated with crime or gang membership, and this has been one of the biggest issues leading to prejudice and discrimination across the globe and within courtrooms as well. For example, in a study it was found that offenders were more likely to be convicted or deemed guilty if they looked like they had an untrustworthy face (Funk & Todorov, 2013). This just goes to show that although some people may not have any negative views on tattoos, depending on the setting there is a chance that prejudice towards tattoos will always be Prevalent.

Getting a tattoo is completely up to the individual, it will NOT depend on other people’s opinions to determine whether they get one or not. However, some people get tattoos to help boost their self- confidence. It can make them feel more attractive towards potential mates. Or in very few cases make them feel worse about their appearance as a whole. Due to the media representation about tattoos it has been a very glamorised topic for men and sometimes the women too. It is often found that when men have tattoos, they come across as more masculine and aggressive, whereas when women have tattoos, they come across as more sexually promiscuous (Molloy & Wagstaff, 2021). The standards are very different for men and women in terms of beauty, and this will be forever changing, meaning that the standards may be high one day, but very low the next and vice versa. Therefore, social influences will likely impact people’s ideas of getting tattoos.

Tattoos are and will always be a big shock to people, whether that be because of the stigmatism surrounded by them or the fact that they hurt ☹ when you get them, but you cannot please everyone, and you should do what makes you happy!

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: someone of the (good-ish) mdzs cast is a serial killer. Why? Who else knows? Could be modern au, could be canon verse

Serial Killer - ao3

“So what are you going to do about it, Xichen?” Jin Guangyao heard Nie Mingjue demanding, and paused, tilting his head to the side to listen rather than proceeding to enter the room.

Nie Mingjue had gotten increasingly irascible as of late, no doubt in large part to the growing influence of the Song of Turmoil that he’d been playing for him, and much of his ire was (correctly, although unknowingly) aimed at Jin Guangyao. Most of the time, given Nie Mingjue’s straightforward nature, it was directly aimed at him, rather than through an indirect method, such as trying to convince Lan Xichen to turn away from him – and yet that was a method that Jin Guangyao was far more concerned about, given that Nie Mingjue had the benefit of a very old friendship with Lan Xichen that could be used to his benefit, if only he were a little less blockheaded about manipulating people.

Jin Guangyao absolutely refused to lose Lan Xichen, delighting as he did in the man’s faith and trust and benefiting from his influence and repeated interventions on his behalf; as a result, he would treat any such attempts by Nie Mingjue to drive a wedge between them very seriously. It therefore would be better to stay outside and listen, to figure out what argument Nie Mingjue was using and design appropriate countermeasures – to convince Lan Xichen that Nie Mingjue was, as usual, making a fuss when there was no reason, and that it was safe to simply ignore him or downplay his concerns.

Lan Xichen would believe him, as he always did, and never realize that he was helping push Nie Mingjue along the road to ruin – or indeed realize that he was pivotal to Jin Guangyao’s plan. Without Lan Xichen to support Jin Guangyao and make Nie Mingjue mistrust his own instincts, it would be much harder to isolate him from the few people he was willing to turn to for help, subtly influencing him not to believe his own symptoms, to doubt himself…to not realize what Jin Guangyao was doing to him.

“Da-ge…”

“Don’t da-ge me! He’s killing people!”

Jin Guangyao tensed.

How had Nie Mingjue discovered that?

Jin Guangyao had taken every precaution, going to great lengths to misdirect attention and cover up those deaths, whether it be the clans he’d fed into Xue Yang’s noxious experiments or else the ones he’d just had quietly executed somewhere no one would notice because they represented a threat to the rising power of the Jin sect. He’d known, of course, that he’d be held responsible for those deaths if anyone ever found out, there was no doubt that he would scapegoated by his father in that case, but he knew that it was especially dangerous to him if the person who discovered the truth was Nie Mingjue. Sure, he had his excuses ready in the event that Lan Xichen ever heard about it and found some evidence – he had a plan: to first deny convincingly, and then if that didn’t work, deny increasingly unconvincingly, and finally ‘give in’ and confess that he’d been driven to it by his father, that he’d been under duress, the sort of thing that Lan Xichen would happily swallow rather than believe that he’d been so fundamentally mistaken about Jin Guangyao.

Nie Mingjue, though – he’d been concerned that if Nie Mingjue ever found out about it, even the rumor of it without any evidence, he wouldn’t bother waiting for Jin Guangyao to explain or to blame his father. No, that brute would rather just take his saber and come and execute him on the steps of Jinlin Tower, if that was what it took to satisfy justice in his own mind, and never mind the consequences or costs. That Nie Mingjue would likely commit an honorable suicide thereafter for having misjudged and then executed his sworn brother was not, in fact, anywhere near as comforting as Nie Mingjue might think it was.

If anything, Nie Mingjue going to Lan Xichen with his concerns first was highly unexpected.

Jin Guangyao hated the unexpected.

“Da-ge, please, calm down,” Lan Xichen said, and his voice was – oddly calm, really. Jin Guangyao would have expected him to be a little more agitated, a little more demanding for details…was Lan Xichen’s faith in him really so strong? “Think this through before you do anything rash.”

“Rash!” Nie Mingjue fumed. “Rash..! Xichen, really.”

“You know he’s a good person,” Lan Xichen insisted, and Jin Guangyao smiled. “He has always meant well, strived to do good, regardless of whether it was commonly accepted – even you have to admit it.”

“I don’t have to admit anything,” Nie Mingjue grumbled, but Jin Guangyao could hear the rage dying down to something more of a simmer, rather than a roaring boil. Truly only Lan Xichen had such remarkable abilities, soothing the fierce beast with nothing but his presence and voice, no magic songs required – even Jin Guangyao found himself soothed by his presence.

There was a reason he wouldn’t give him up.

“You’ve known him for years, da-ge,” Lan Xichen said, voice soft, convincing, persuasive. Jin Guangyao didn’t have to be inside the room to imagine the scene he would see: Lan Xichen would be leaning forward, the slightest curve adding softness to the rigid posture required of Lan sect disciples, his eyes curved in a smile, his head a little dropped so that he could look up at Nie Mingjue with an expression of cheerfulness livened by a touch of mischief – full of charm, the way the women in the brothel practiced all day to do, but superior to any of their petty tricks. Lan Xichen was pure as a breath of fresh air in the lonely mountaintop, a benevolent god above the concerns of the world and yet determined to reach out his hands down to the needy – truly it was no wonder that Jin Guangyao was determined to take all that benevolence and joy and keep it all to himself. “For years, da-ge. And more than that, you know how hard he’s had it – how hard things have been, how much he’s suffered, all those things that other people don’t understand. You know that even when he’s strayed and been confused, he’s always returned back to the right way of doing things in the end.”

Nie Mingjue sighed, a great exhalation of breath.

“I suppose you’re right,” he conceded, and Jin Guangyao felt the sharp taste of joy on his tongue – there were few feelings in the world so great as this, to have started with nothing and risen so far, to have so thoroughly deceived these men, even Nie Mingjue who ought to know better after having seen him. “And yet, I can’t help but worry – this doesn’t seem like the rest of it. Isn’t he going too far this time?”

“Da-ge, if you have concerns, why not raise them with him directly?” Lan Xichen suggested, and Jin Guangyao nodded in approval. If Nie Mingjue came to him first with any concerns, he would be able to devise the appropriate response to those concerns – whether it was through coming up with some method of assuaging the concerns or in preemptively eliminated whoever had raised them, that was his business. Either way, it would be much easier to take action when he had prior warning, whereas some sort of unexpected public confrontation would be much more difficult to deal with.

“I don’t know, Xichen. You know he doesn’t listen to me.”

“That’s not true! Your opinion means so much to him – he’s always admired you, looked up to you. He wants you to approve of him.”

That was nonsense, of course. Jin Guangyao hadn’t cared one whit for Nie Mingjue’s opinion of him since the day the man had lost his usefulness – the Nie sect had been a necessary hurdle for him, the only Great Sect that allowed for promotion purely on the basis of merit without a thousand and one other rules, and Nie Mingjue himself was known to promote men quickly if they had skills he could use. Jin Guangyao had needed that back then, when he’d had nothing, and he’d been able to parlay it into additional use in the future: first, by getting Nie Mingjue’s recommendation letter to enter the Jin sect troops, although that hadn’t ended up working out, and then later, by using it to leverage himself a position with the Wen sect, courtesy of Wen Ruohan’s strange fixation on the Nie sect leader.

Would he like Nie Mingjue’s good opinion? Certainly, especially after he’d traded his somewhat dubious claim to a life-debt for Nie Mingjue swearing brotherhood with him; it would be extremely helpful if Nie Mingjue would support him the way Lan Xichen did. But since it didn’t seem likely that he’d be able to get on Nie Mingjue’s good side again, there was no point in expecting anything further from the man.

Well, no, that was wrong. He also expected great things from Nie Mingjue’s upcoming death, which would tally in quite nicely with many of his plans for domination in the cultivation world.

“I’d like to approve of him,” Nie Mingjue said. “I really would, Xichen, you know that. He’s smart and he’s capable and he has so much potential for goodness – I greatly admire him, really, I do. I would even go so far as to say that there are things for which I would trust his word over the evidence of my own eyes.”

Jin Guangyao couldn’t help but preen a little.

What an idiot, he thought, smiling. Truly there was nothing in that man’s brain but saber, and everything else had long ago rotted away – the Song of Turmoil boiling him alive until he was pickled with rage, leaving nothing else behind. Certainly not any critical thinking skills.

That final qi deviation must not be far away, now.

“But at the same time,” Nie Mingjue continued, presumably that last bit of self-preservation instinct trying to ring the alarms. “At the same time, I really do think that this is different in kind. It’s literally murder, Xichen. He’s murdering people. Not just killing, the way you do in wartime – actual murder. Premeditated, pre-planned murder. How can you just look away from that?”

Lan Xichen was quiet for a long moment, and Jin Guangyao tensed a little, his head tilting towards the door, awaiting the answer with both anticipation and fear.

“I think it’s a little more complicated than that,” he finally said, and Jin Guangyao’s eyebrows arched a little in surprise and wholly unanticipated pleasure. “It’s not just his actions that I look at, but those that died, too – we killed many people during the war, da-ge, didn’t we? Not all of whom had done evil against us, but who had to go because of the evil they represented…”

“Xichen!” Nie Mingjue cried, and for once Jin Guangyao couldn’t help but side with his reaction, his shock. “Are you suggesting that the victims deserved it?”

“Is that really so hard to believe?” Lan Xichen asked. Jin Guangyao had to admit that he was deeply impressed – he wouldn’t have thought Lan Xichen, the perfect gentleman, would have had it in him to side with him quite so deeply as that. “I’m with you, Mingjue-xiong. I’d believe him over even myself in just about every case – every time I’ve questioned what he was doing, he explained, and when he explained, I understood. It isn’t as black and white as all that.”

“I mean…I guess,” Nie Mingjue said, still sounding shocked and a little appalled. “But murder – so many murders…Xichen, are you sure it’s not some sort of qi deviation, something that gives him pleasure in taking lives? Are you sure each one is justified?”

“Those are two separate questions,” Lan Xichen said delicately. “I do think he takes pleasure in the act, and although I don’t understand it myself, I can understand that it helps him deal with…everything, really. Everything that’s happened to him. The tragedy, the senselessness of it…maybe it helps him feel better about it, helps comfort him. Maybe it’s some sort of sense that he’s evening the scales, perhaps? Some overall karmic balance?”

Jin Guangyao nodded along. He could certainly see Lan Xichen talking himself into believing something like that, and who knew? Maybe it was even a little true. He certainly enjoyed taking out the trash that had seen itself as above him, enjoyed stamping their lives into the mud – he wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t a necessity, a part of his power play, and he wouldn’t have described himself as taking pleasure in it, but at the same time, he certainly didn’t regret any of it. If it made Lan Xichen feel better to think that he had some sort of complex psychology driving his actions, well, so be it.

As long as he continued to support him.

“But as for whether it’s justified…” Lan Xichen sighed. “I’m not perfect at telling good from evil, Mingjue-xiong, and neither are you. No one is. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Nie Mingjue grunted. It almost sounded as if he really were agreeing.

Was Lan Xichen really convincing Nie Mingjue that Jin Guangyao ought to be allowed to murder people with impunity as long as he came up with a good enough reason for it in advance? How delightful.

Jin Guangyao couldn’t help but wonder – although he’d never actually take the risk of it – whether he could convince Lan Xichen that Nie Mingjue’s death, too, had been justified. It was an amusing enough thought to make him genuinely smile, a smile full of all the bloodthirstiness he normally kept hidden deep down: truly, if he had his choice in the matter, he’d love to see Nie Mingjue’s expression if he ever found out what Jin Guangyao was doing to him, ideally once it was too late for him to do anything about it or alert anyone to what was happening.

Maybe, if Jin Guangyao could arrange to be there to push him over the edge, he might even get to see it.

Maybe he’d even remind him of this little conversation, and ask if he found his own murder justified.

“All right, then,” Nie Mingjue finally said, exhaling slowly, and Jin Guangyao bit his lips to keep from laughing out loud. “I see what you mean, and…yes, I suppose you’re right, Xichen. I may not understand all the motives behind the murders, and I may not like the idea of just – trusting that he knows what he’s doing in killing them, but at the same time…”

He sighed.

“At the same time, I can’t disagree that if there’s one person I trust to have a good reason to kill someone in some deserted place for their undiscovered wrongdoings, it would be Wangji.”

Jin Guangyao’s smile faded away.

Lan Wangji?

What in the world were they talking about? How had Lan Wangji entered into it?

It wasn’t as if Lan Wangji were going around randomly killing people for, what, sport – killing them, and then justifying their deaths as having been deserved because they had supposedly done bad things –

A hand fell on Jin Guangyao’s shoulder, and he jumped a little, surprised: he hadn’t realized that anyone else was there with him in the deserted hallway or seen them come up behind him, much less close enough to touch.

He turned around: it was Lan Wangji himself, pale-faced and miserable the way he’d looked since the Massacre at the Nightless City, since he’d missed the Siege of the Burial Mounds on account of being confined – miserable, but upright, hale and hearty and righteous as always, his eyes bright with passion that verged on obsession.

He had his sword in his hand.

It was unsheathed.

“Wait,” Jin Guangyao said, taking a step back, his eyes going wide as he realized something. Surely he didn’t mean to – surely they hadn’t really meant – surely not – “Wait, Wangji, don’t..!”

[elivanto]

Review: Brotherhood by Mike Chen

I finished reading Brotherhood yesterday!

Since I’ve seen some people undecided whether they should read Brotherhood because of the mixed reviews that are either THIS BOOK IS FANTASTIC or THIS BOOK IS BULLSHIT I’ve written a semi-serious review (you can tell by the proper capitalization and punctuation) of the novel and tried to be as objective as I could. Which was practically impossible but it’s the thought that counts, right?

I grouped the review into three parts: The good (what I liked), the bad (what I disliked) and suggestions for anyone who is unsure about whether to read it (basically a TLDR! just scroll down in the read more).

THE GOOD

1. Chapter lengths. Yeah, I know, that’s a weird thing to comment on, but I was pleasantly surprised by how easy the short chapters made it to read this book. And there’s not really any unnecessary exposition or big words that threw me out of the plot because I had to go look something up every two minutes (looking at you here, Luceno).

2. The Padmé/Anakin. If you follow me you probably know I’m not an Anidala fan, but their parts were very sweet and in character. Anakin admires her (as he should!) and she’s in his thoughts a lot. They’re bad at hiding their feelings for each from other people (read: Obi-Wan) which is also very typical for them.

3. Neimoidian culture. I think this was my favorite thing in the entire book. We accompany Obi-Wan on a mission to Cato Neimoidia which is set up to fail, of course, and Chen included some really nice world-building here. I’m not sure how much of it was present in previous (Legends) books like Labyrinth of Evil but I enjoyed getting a feel for the geographical, political and social structures on this planet. Some of the characters rightfully call the Core worlds (and the reader!) out for stereotyping Neimoidians, and I was just reading like “Yeah! Yeah! We need more of this in Star Wars!”

4. Original characters. This is where I’m very torn. I very much love Ruug, a Neimoidian who Obi-Wan meets on his mission. I wish I could say more about her, but no spoilers. And I do very much love Mill, too. She’s a youngling that kind of “gets stuck” with Anakin — or rather they get stuck with each other. I’m unsure about if I like what Mill’s character is supposed to represent, though. More about that in the ‘bad’ section.

5. Asajj Ventress. She gets her own little paragraph because she’s iconic. I loved reading about her and I think that Chen really did her justice. Not the epic introduction I’d hoped for in canon (I was thinking more Clone Wars 2003-esque, but maybe that was too expectant of me) but very nice nonetheless.

6. Anakin and Obi-Wan’s POVs (in general). All in all their characterizations are quite accurate in this, so I’m putting this in the ‘good’ section. Sadly, their inner monologues are overflowing with things I didn’t enjoy very much (see the ‘bad’ section), so that kind of overshadowed the characterizations for me. But still, I think Chen did a good job.

THE BAD

1. Depiction of Jedi culture. Oof. I have so much to say about the takes on the Jedi Order in this novel that I don’t think I can articulate myself properly. There are some quotes in the book that I just know people are going to run with when they need arguments for why the Jedi are… Bad? A cult? Emotionless? Lacking empathy? BIG YIKES. Going hand in hand with the perception of Jedi by the characters in the novel is Obi-Wan’s and Anakin’s thoughts on Qui-Gon Jinn. Thoughts like if adopting his attitude would have been better than the ‘usual, strict’ Jedi ways (newsflash: the ‘Jedi ways’ are like that because they need to be! But that’s a whole different post. A book, really). Basically lots of pondering about things that can’t be changed, anyway.

2. Continuation from the previous point: Special shoutout to Mace Windu, because dude, you deserve so much better than this. Much (if not all?) of the description of him is from Anakin’s POV, so it kind of makes sense that there’s not much fondness to be had here. Especially because Anakin has his proverbial hands full with juggling his promotion to knight, the shift in his dynamic with Obi-Wan, and his feelings for Padmé. However, I got the distinct impression of Mace bashing, and I’m sure that it wasn’t Chen’s intention, but… this could’ve, no, should’ve been handled differently.

3. Qui-Gon Jinn. Yes, I know he’s a focal point in Obi-Wan’s jouney, but this book takes it to a whole different level. There are multiple mentions of him in pretty much every chapter, and every time they’re accompanied by something that annoys me regarding the Jedi or Anakin and Obi-Wan. I don’t get the obsession some Star Wars writers have with (idolizing) him and I wish they would stop.

4. Mill Alibeth. She’s a fantastic character by herself, and I always love when there’s more female characters added into the mix. She’s clearly supposed to represent a kind of narrative foil to Anakin, and show that she deals with her issues in a mature and insightful way (especially considering she’s just a youngling!). And as someone who appreciates the Jedi, I can appreciate what Chen is trying to do here. For someone else who maybe doesn’t like the Jedi much, I think it could come across as yet another reason in this novel to demonize (I hate using this word but lbr it fits here) Jedi culture as a whole.

ANAKIN & OBI-WAN

If you’ve read the whole thing you probably noticed that I didn’t mention the Anakin & Obi-Wan dynamic. That’s because I’m not actually sure how I feel about it. On one hand I very much agree with Chen’s interpretation — Anakin was just knighted, they’re on unsure footing, Anakin feels like he’s going to be reprimanded for every little mistake he makes and Obi-Wan barely restrains himself from reprimanding him (most of the time). And honestly? That’s not too different from the AOTC characterization! And not too different from the first season of Clone Wars either, to be honest.

On the other hand, their interactions, especially in the second half of the novel, give the impression that Chen hasn’t mastered the friendly bickering/teasing that’s so prevalent and important in their relationship. Comments that are supposed to be teasing just get across as borderline rude (to me, at least). Anakin and Obi-Wan constantly assume they’d understand each other better or that their relationship would be completely different if Qui-Gon were there. Sigh.

I think a lot of people reading this novel that ended up being disappointed by it had a hard time taking off their ROTS novelization goggles. And I really get that, because once you get there you can’t let go of it (Attachment! Ha!). I doubt anyone can recreate what Matthew Stover did, and other authors adopting elements of it (like Chen did in Brotherhood with the sun-dragon, for instance) just doesn’t feel the same.

SUGGESTIONS FOR MIGHT-BE READERS (TLDR)

If you’re here for the plot and background on the Cato Neimoidia mission as well as the start of the Clone War: Yes! Read it! It’s super interesting.

If you’re here for Anidala (or even Obitine): Yup, go ahead and read it, I’m pretty sure you’ll love this. I quite liked Padmé’s characterization, too, and the mentions of Satine are quite charming. If you’re into that kind of thing.

If you’re here for Ventress: 1) Let’s be friends? 2) I’d read it. She isn’t there that much but I adored her in this.

If you’re here for Anakin and Obi-Wan’s relationship, especially if you’ve read the ROTS novelization, ESPECIALLY if you’re a shipper: Honestly? It’s not worth it, despite the book being literally about their relationship. Go on and read Labyrinth of Evil, if you haven’t. Or Wild Space. Or the ROTS novelization, again.

If you’re here for the Jedi: [wiggles hand vaguely] Meh, well. I’m not very impressed by Chen’s take on them. I’d avoid this novel.

If you’re here for Qui-Gon nostalgia: Read it. I don’t think there’s any other piece of Star Wars media containing THIS much Qui-Gon without him physically being there.

[goodneighborxfallout]

Companions react to sole asking them to cum inside for the first time please!

There are some things I have to say about how I handled this request:

1. I wasn't originally going to write this request as it made me uncomfortable, but then I realized you can go one or two ways with this one: either focus on the smut, or the possible pregnancy that can follow. I decided to focus on the latter. Apologies to the person who requested this if that is not what you wanted, but I'm afraid that if you wanted it to be focused on the smut I wouldn't have been comfortable writing it anyway.

2. The request didn't specify whether Sole asked this in the middle of having sex, or whether they sat the companion down to talk about it. I decided to cover both.

3. I did not include Nick because it felt weird and I just couldn't get it right.

4. In the "talk before sex" parts, I made it so that Sole and companion use protection, and Sole is asking to stop using it. In the "during sex" parts, Sole and companion do not use protection and just rely on the companion pulling out in time (because it was more convenient to write it this way). Please, do not use that last 'method' irl, guys! It is NOT safe!! Use protection!!

5. I - in general - had a really hard time with this request and I'm not exactly satisfied with how it turned out, so please don't be too hard on me.

Danse

Before Blind Betrayal

During sex: When he heard you beg to please cum inside you, a huge wave of both shock and arousal went through him, so much so he almost didn’t consider the possible consequences. But Danse is incredibly disciplined, so he did not fulfill your wish and instead pulled out there and then. And then he’d lecture you, because how could you - as a soldier - get so caught up in the moment that you’d request something that could have such dire consequences for both your careers? Not once did it cross his mind that maybe you actually wanted him to impregnate you, but bringing that up would only make things worse as he’d be pissed because you didn’t even discuss that with him before making your decision.

Talk before sex: Absolutely not! You were both soldiers and it hadn’t even been that long since you started your career in the Brotherhood of Steel. Potentially getting pregnant this early on would not be good for your career. The Institute threat was also still at large, so as long as that hadn’t been dealt with, Danse wouldn’t risk getting sidelined on a mission this important to take care of his newborn child. It’s not that Danse didn’t want to start a family with you, it’s just that he had never thought about it before, so his initial response was quite harsh. He’d realize it a few hours - maybe days - after the talk, and he’d approach you to have the same talk again, only this time he’d fully hear you out and tell you why it wasn’t a good idea at that moment in a calm and collected way.

After Blind Betrayal

During sex: Danse thought he was human for his entire life, so even now when he knows he is not, there are moments when he - briefly - forgets the differences between a human body and his synthetic body. This was one of those moments. You saw how shocked he was and when he started to pull out, you pulled him closer to you and reassured him. Of course, how could he be so stupid? He was a machine, he couldn’t possibly get you pregnant. And although the realization hit hard, he pushed it away for now, kissed you and fulfilled your wish.

Talk before sex: “Can’t we just get rid of any and all protection? You can’t get me pregnant.” Though your words weren’t meant to hurt, they hit Danse pretty hard. You noticed that as well and quickly moved closer to comfort the man. In the end he agreed to your suggestion, because there really wasn’t any reason why he shouldn’t.

Deacon

During sex: He was so close to his climax and just about to pull out when the words spilled from your lips, only once interrupted by your moaning. Apparently that was all he needed to get pushed over the edge and before he could even process it, he had cum - as per your request - inside of you. Oh no. After the initial bliss subsided, he immediately pulled out and looked down at you, but the damage was done. “What the hell, Sole?!” Deacon would be proper panicked and demand that you visit Carrington every day to get a check up even though both the doctor, you and even Deacon himself knew that it’d take weeks before any sign of pregnancy would show. But it didn’t matter. Deacon was in full panic mode and he would be until he knew for sure that you weren’t pregnant. Deacon would refuse to talk about what happened though. He wanted to believe it was a ‘heat of the moment’ sort of thing, and he did not want to risk you telling him otherwise. He knew that you knew how difficult it had been for him to build a relationship with you, there was no way you’d push even more, want even more from him. It simply could not be true.

(If he was not close to his climax when you made your sudden request, he would immediately pull out, but his reaction would be much the same: “What the hell?” Why did you ask that? What were you trying to achieve with it? If you apologized and said it was just a heat of the moment thing, he’d quickly forgive you. But if you did it on purpose, he’d be disappointed and angry, and he’d lose trust in you. You knew him better than anyone, so you knew he wouldn’t be okay with this, and you didn’t even discuss it with him.)

Talk before sex: Unsurprisingly, Deacon would pretend not to hear you, brush you off and quickly make his way over to Des to beg request a new mission. He’d avoid you like the plague and if you did accidentally end up running into each other, he’d make a light hearted joke followed by a quick u-turn. Saying that he was freaking out was an understatement. Even staying committed to you got hard at times, but a baby? His baby?? If you got pregnant, he’d have to stay, for you and for the child, and that made it so much harder. You’d have to be together with Deacon for a long time before asking that would not immediately cause him to run off but instead sit down with you to talk about it. But even then Deacon would deny your request, not willing to take the risk. He moved on from his dream of having a child, now he was focused on his work and raising a child in a crypt with enemies lurking around every corner was just too dangerous. He promised to get you back Shaun, but that’s where any child related topic ended.

Hancock

During sex: Hancock has a past with substance abuse, so he knows all too well what it’s like to lose control. But he’s grown a lot from those experiences and turned into a man who generally only loses control when he knows he’s fully prepared to deal with the consequences of his actions. So when he heard you begging for him to cum inside of you, he did not lose control like MacCready, nor did he pull out like Danse. Instead, he kept lazily thrusting into you, loving how you were begging for him, and in the meantime he’d question you. “You sure about that?” “You better not blame me if this somehow turns you into a ghoul.” If he saw you were completely lost in the moment however, he would pull out, not fulfill your wish and talk about it with you sometime later, because he wouldn’t want you to actually regret the decision.

Talk before sex: Completely, utterly ecstatic! Hancock couldn’t get you pregnant so that was not why you two used protection. It’s because no one really knew how safe (concerning diseases) sex between ghouls and humans was. That you now asked him to stop using protection made clear to him just how much you trusted him. But he’d still make sure you were doing it for the right reasons. “You’re sure, right? You’re not just doing this to make me happy?”

MacCready

During sex: Mac would definitely lose control. He’s young and had not at all expected you to all of a sudden make such a bold request. Whether he was close to his climax or not didn’t really matter. He was so caught up in the moment that he forgot about any and all consequences. However, after coming down from his high he - much like Deacon - would start panicking like crazy. He’d probably immediately get up, get dressed and for the rest of the night he’d be searching through any pharmacies and hospitals within reach, looking for a morning-after pill. He barely could take care of one child, no way could he handle another (and then there was your son as well). He’d probably stop by any doctor he sees as well and ask them if they have anything or can do anything to help.

Talk before sex: Mac might not take you serious at first and instead make a joke about how you two would never be able to handle another child. When he realized you were serious however, he’d be pretty shocked. He knew you missed Shaun, but the two of you were gonna find him, then get Duncan to join you, and live together as a family. However, nowhere in that plan was there mention of a third child. Mac knew another child would be too much to handle, and though he had never discussed that with you, he thought you were of the same opinion. To hear now that you were not was pretty baffling to him and he was afraid you wanted it for the wrong reasons. So he’d have a long talk with you to convince you that it was way too soon for the two of you to have a baby together, but did promise you to have this talk again after both getting Shaun back, healing Duncan, and spending a few years together raising the boys.

Preston

During sex: Preston would freeze. He wouldn’t pull out, he’d just stop moving all together and look at you in shock. “Wh-Did… did you just… Wait… You do know that you can get pregnant if I do that… right?” Part of him wanted you to say that you actually did not know that - even though he knew you did - because at least then you two could pretend like this never happened. But of course you knew the risks! If you confirmed that you were indeed aware of it, he’d pull out. He wouldn’t be angry, or scared, or anything. He’d just be so confused, and he needed to discuss this with you immediately.

Talk before sex: Again, really shocked. Preston would awkwardly bring up that while you were still full on rebuilding the Minutemen, it wasn’t such a good idea to start a family. He really hoped you’d just agree with him because to him that was the most important thing in his life. Nothing you’d say would be able to change his mind, so if you didn’t agree with him, it’d most likely result in a fight.

X6-88

During sex: X6 won’t give any reaction to your request. It was like he hadn’t heard you, but he clearly had because he did exactly what you asked of him. It’s just that it didn’t shock or unsettle him because he couldn’t get you pregnant. He actually had a harder time understanding why he wasn’t allowed to do it sooner.

Talk before sex: “You know that’s fine by me.” It’s true. The first time you two had sex he had asked you why you wanted him to use protection. He had assured you that no matter how human he looks, he wasn’t human and couldn’t get you pregnant, but you had insisted and he had never really understood why.

[thoughtfulturtleprincess]

A non-OP fan’s (slashy/romantic)take on Buggy and Shanks’ relationship

Disclaimer: I’m not a One Piece fan by any stretch so I don’t follow the manga or anime but I’ve seen clips of it here and there on the internet, and got intrigued by the one and only Buggy and his relationship with Shanks. I’ve been thinking a lot about them recently and reading a lot of fics/reddit theories so here’s my take. I’ll most definitely miss stuff so actual fans please jump in and correct me/add things!

Warning: My interpretation is that there is some romantic undertones to their relationship. If you don’t agree with this please don’t read! Thanks :D

1. Shanks and Buggy grew up together on the same ship. Some have suggested that they were only 1 when they were picked up by Roger’s crew, although the youngest we’ve seen them tgt was when they were 9 years old. Regardless, they probably didn’t have much of a chance to form long lasting friendships with other children outside the ship, so their peer group consisted only of each other, and that’s crazy. 

2. I feel like these circumstances would’ve led to a form of closeness that supersedes modern friendship. Some have described their bond as a brotherhood, and many have stated that they love each other.

3. However, I feel like brotherly love doesn’t fully explain their dynamic(in the anime version of their Marineford reunion). While it explains why Shanks took care of Buggy when on the Oro Jackson despite their squabbles, why he invited Buggy to go with him after Roger’s execution, and why he seemed quite happy to see Buggy at Marineford aged 39, it doesn’t quite explain why his first instinct there was to make a fool of Buggy, only to brush it off as a whim afterwards. And it most certainly doesn’t explain the most SUS thing about that interaction, which was Shanks’ facial expression and tone of voice. There’s just something very sus about that in particular because it doesn’t feel brotherly, but more like flirtatious teasing??? which Buggy is totally confused by btw.

4. I watched the Japanese version of their reunion. During most of it one of Shanks’ eyebrows was slightly raised in a sort of mischievous way, and just before he walks off he says ‘I know, so don’t be angry.’ in a tone that’s borderline flirtatious???? Does Shanks know that he can placate Buggy with flirtatious teasing?? In that case I wouldn’t call this brotherly love anymore. Does that mean he’s done that in the past and it’s worked???????

5. Perhaps these are artistic liberties that the animators and voice actors have taken, but I assume this is also approved by Oda? Maybe this is a trap for yaoi fangirls and I’ve fallen into it lmao I am not sure how this works - someone more well versed in the mechanics of this please chip in :D In any case, we’ll see where this takes us:

6. There’s 2 things to address here: the trickery, and the borderline playful flirting that happened towards the end. Firstly, the trickery: there’s a power dynamic here and Shanks is the one on top. He’s thinking about how to stop the war, Luffy, and probably other bigger things. When he sees Buggy he probably felt a lot of things then but because of the circumstance, he decides to use him as a way to get something done. 

7. It was a funny interaction, and I’m going to over-analyse it. When Buggy refused to help Shanks with the strawhat, it’s interesting that the latter decided to trick him with the false promise of a treasure map, rather than to just say sth along the lines of ‘why not help for old times’ sake’ etc. Perhaps he thinks that Buggy would be too prideful to be swayed by those types of arguments. But perhaps this is where Shanks miscalculated, and why Buggy was so offended lol just a while ago Buggy had helped Luffy because he had been touched by his innocence and resemblance to young Shanks, and here Shanks is basically saying that even after all these years he still thinks Buggy is below matters of the heart. 

8. Shanks probably also thinks he can trick Buggy into doing things for him without incurring any real consequence. It’s almost like the ‘I’m just going to say this first and then deal with his reaction later’ type mentality. Let’s face it, what can Buggy do? Fighting is out of the question: the disparity in their power levels seems too large for this to be a concern for Shanks, and Buggy is highly averse to fighting battles that he knows he can’t win. Cutting ties? Well, that’s been done: Buggy rejected Shanks’ offer to join his crew years ago, and they haven’t really met since, so the worst has already happened. Shanks has had years to get over that.

9. Perhaps over time Shanks has become more focused than his easy smiles let on. Ironically, Buggy was the one to criticise Shanks for being soft hearted when they were younger, but ultimately it is Buggy who tears up at the sight of Luffy’s innocence and decides to fight alongside him in Impel Down, and it is him that calls out Shanks’ name in the middle of the battlefield, seemingly without a care for their surroundings or consequences, just to be taken advantage of by the other.

10. Some may say I’m making Shanks sound a bit evil, and that perhaps all of this happened subconsciously. Maybe the sentiment behind tricking Buggy is half a funny way to greet his old comrade, and half a sign that he still remembers a lot about him and on top of that trusts him with his hat.

11. While I agree with the fact that Shanks basically does not have any true malice towards Buggy, I can’t ignore the power dynamic between them. The trickery was funny only to Shanks, not to Buggy, but I think this dynamic fits perfectly with Shanks’ role as the Emperor and Buggy’s as the Clown.  

12. Alas, Emperors maintain an indestructible reputation, and Clowns make themselves look bad for laughs. So mb Buggy is just fulfilling that role for Shanks in the story. After all, Shanks is portrayed as a flawless man: he is selfless, ambitious, righteous, protects the weak, stops wars and has never lost a battle in his life. On the other hand, Buggy is portrayed in the complete opposite manner: he is self-serving, duplicitous, scummy, money-loving and lazy. 

13. It’s kind of sad that Buggy was basically born into(afaik his nose is natural) this role though and is forced to make the most out of it.

14. Secondly, the playful flirtatiousness(I keep using this word because I feel like that’s the vibe he gave off at the end of one of the clips I saw lmao): Shanks is not really treating Buggy as an adult in his own right, but acts as if Buggy is a child(or capricious lover??) that has to be coaxed into doing the right thing. That’s also borderline disrespectful, but it could just be a matter of them having been apart for such a long time that Shanks automatically defaulted to their old, childish ways because he hadn’t really had the chance to get to know Buggy as an adult.

15. But then this begs the question of what exactly is the nature of their relationship? Brotherly love doesn’t fit with the flirting, so perhaps it’s a different kind of love? Some possible reasons for why Shanks would ever be flirtatious could be 1. there’s some romantic elements to their relationship in the past that he’s taking advantage of now e.g. maybe Buggy was attracted to him and he is taking advantage of it? or 2. it’s a new thing he’s trying because he thinks it’s funny and Buggy would be too confused to keep retorting so it’s a fun way to end the conversation and at the same time to plant a seed in the clown that might make him follow Shanks later? (Buggy did immediately think about doing that lololol) Is this Shanks’ way of getting Buggy to come back to him lmao without explicitly asking loooool 

16. Judging by Buggy’s reaction it seems like number 2 is more likely but this is all anime-only afaik

17. All in all, I feel like Buggy is a special person to Shanks and vice versa, and even though Buggy is just one element of a much bigger picture for Shanks (whereas for Buggy, Shanks seems to have a much bigger presence in his mind), the fact that they spent their childhood only having each other as peers enabled them to form a deep mutual trust and closeness that didn’t seem to have dampened after twenty odd years of separation.

[teecupangel]

Having just watched Captain Laserhawk, I must ask- no, i must Beg- for our dear precious Bullfrog to be descended from Desmond! And to let those poor souls LIVE HAPPILY- and preferably with the other ancestors who desperately need a hug! Dang that show was beautifully deranged

It absolutely was, nonny. I love it.

We’re gonna play fast and loose with canon in this one though. (Spoilers to Captain Laserhawk's season 1 ending)

.

.

Bullfrog was not the only hybrid in the Brotherhood.

But he came from two old Assassin families, a rarity even in the Brotherhood.

He had only heard about it though.

He was told that they were originally created in a modified lab of one of the ancient ones.

Created by the remaining descendant of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad and, through the Kenway line, Ezio Auditore.

A man that only goes by the name ‘Elijah’.

He was not an Assassin. He preferred to stay away from the war between the Brotherhood and the Order. But he was hunted by the Templars so he had a ‘distant’ alliance with the Brotherhood.

They didn’t trust him and he didn’t trust them in turn.

Elijah wanted to be left alone in peace and anyone who threatened that were killed without mercy.

Bullfrog’s grandparents were born from his lab, ‘blessed’ with Elijah’s blood and the blood of another great Assassin of old, Callum Lynch.

According to his parents, Callum Lynch agreed to provide his blood in exchange for Elijah’s help in one of the more dangerous missions the great Master Assassin had before Eden had taken over everything.

When there was still a glimmer of hope that the Brotherhood could defeat the Templars...

And from the combination of those two bloods, their ability to access the Calculations were formed.

Elijah’s blood held the genetic codes of the men whose fate were closely linked to the Calculations. Callum Lynch’s blood held the genetic codes of a French Assassin who can ‘see’ the memories of his targets.

Modifications had to be made to stabilize them and…

Well.

Like they said, the rest was history.

When Elijah disappeared (dead, he must be dead, it has been a long time), Bullfrog’s family was taken in by the Brotherhood. Bullfrog had grown up having human childhood friends, Hastings and Darcy.

Then…

Eden found them.

And Bullfrog survived because he had been lucky.

Because the Warden saw his potential.

He was sure Eden ordered the complete eradication of the Brotherhood.

The Warden was playing a dangerous game and everything went to head at the end.

And now, here he was, being escorted back to his cell.

At least they were kind enough to hand him a juice box to drink while they walk.

Maybe they were still all confused by the orders they received to stay his execution.

They seemed a bit daze.

There was one more thing that separated his kind from the other hybrids.

Bullfrog had lived his entire life with the whispers of dead men.

Sometimes, he would even stand back and let them control his body.

The Bleeding Effect, the Brotherhood called it.

It was rare though.

The whispers prefer to advise and to talk to him.

They were the ones who suggested he talk to Eden’s puppet.

There was nothing to lose after all.

[Now.]

The moment he heard that whisper echo with different voices, all speaking at once, he threw his juice box at the guard to his right before kicking the guard to his left. He grabbed the man’s pistol from his shoulder holster and fired at the three guards behind them.

Head.

Neck.

The third one moved enough that he was hit on the shoulder and he quickly took out his own gun.

Bullfrog kicked the man he had taken the gun from and ducked, firing two more rounds.

The first one hit the man between them on the chest at the same time the guard with the bleeding shoulder fired and hit him on the back. The second one hit the hole that the first shot created and the shot goes through the man.

Both men fell on the floor, killed by that single bullet as it hit the chest of one and the head of the other.

Bullfrog jumped the remaining man that he had hit with his juice box, jamming his gun inside the man’s mouth and pulling the trigger as his screams were muffled by the gun in his mouth.

He jumped off the corpse as it slumped on the floor and rummaged their bodies, finding the key to his cuffs in the first man he killed.

The whispers continued the entire time.

[Good job.]

[We must go.]

[Run.]

[Don’t take the elevator.]

Bullfrog nodded.

His hidden blade and other weapons would be near his prison but it was too risky.

He’ll have to find someplace to make his own weapons after escaping this shithole.

That was easy.

One of his whispers knew how to make a hidden blade.

[satanwritesfanfiction]

Title: Cicero lives to serve

Ship: Cicero x f!reader

Triggers:  only smut and the absolute cringe I experienced by proofreading

Characters: Cicero, f!reader

Wordcount: 1922

a/n: idk man, hope you enjoy the den of iniquity-

***

Bodies against one another, gasps, moans.. a piece you'd not exactly voice as the thoughts turn in tune with the hand desperately working between your legs.

You had pictured him, as inappropriate as it may have been, it wasn't the first time either. You pictured him behind you this time, hand locked into your hair and using your body as he wished. He would pull you flush against him and whisper obscene things against your skin before biting down and you'd cry out.

These thoughts would on occasion bleed over into reality as you'd audibly voiced your frustrations and ecstasy, being away from the sanctuary so much, it has never quite been an issue, just something that brought a heat to your cheeks when you had been coherent enough to notice it.

You knew you made the mistake again and listened for any sound but nothing seemed amiss as your body froze and then, you continued, thoughts of his hand on your bare body, pushing and pulling and bruising in the most delicious way.

And then everything was brought back. "Cicero lives to serve." The voice came from outside your illusions and you froze, eyes shot open in fear as it went to the source.

You hadn't been dressed exactly decent with only the covers to hide some of your bare body. No doubts of what you were doing, hand almost knuckle deep within your warmth. You were flushed, heat burning on your cheeks, searing almost.

He smiled but you were unsure if it was his usual demeanor or a new grin at your predicament. Presumably caught with your most inner thoughts of him on the table, exposed.

You removed your hand from you and pulled the covers to at least cover some parts of you that were on display. "I'm sorry, Cicero, I didn't mean to-"

You were at a loss of words but luckily you didn't have to give more as Cicero spoke again. "Oh no no no, Listener. No apologies needed for dear Cicero. " He stalked closer and in this moment you felt like prey as his eyes were trained on you. "Cicero lives to serve." He repeated the phrase. "Listener should've told Cicero, Cicero is more than happy to help."

He leaned over, placing a chaste kiss to your lips and grinned. "Cicero will make it right, Cicero will take care of you."

This time when your lips met it was all fire, hand curling around your middle and pulling you to him as he hovered over your body. Your arms locked around his neck, barely processing as barely covered legs rested at the side of his hips.

He broke the kiss and for a moment he looked down at you, face unreadable and then he placed an open mouthed kiss to your bare neck and then your collarbone, pulling the cover from your body to reveal your breasts. Hands cupped your breasts harshly, a tongue flicking over the left bud while fingers teased the other, the tip of his jester hat tickling your skin as he moved. Sensation not of your own making, making you gasp into the night air.

Your eyes flicked to the ceiling as he moved lower, covers removed from your body and exposed to him completely. This couldn't be happening, it was too good to be real and still, you were terrified of your own actions.

"Cicero has a question for the lisener." He hummed, your thoughts were jolted back to reality as he spoke. "Did listener think of Cicero like this, between the listener's legs."

When his tongue made contact you gasped for air, him licking a line through your folds while he held your hips down. His eyes were trained on you and then he pulled away slightly.

"Answer the question." He spoke but it felt less like a command than the words would suggest.

"Yes." You said, cheeks burning as a hand clasped over your mouth as if it would stop the confession from reaching his ears.

"Then Cicero has something to live up to, hmm?" His lips closed around your clit, he sucked softly and then flicked with his tongue. He removed his one hand that had a vice grip on your hip and placed it at your entrance, pushing a single digit in slowly and watching your body give way to the new sensation when he pumped leisurely within you.

He added another finger and then another, pumping into you as his tongue played with your clit. Not long before it all came together and snapped, your cunt convulsing against his fingers that were still pumping slowly inside you as the world came back to you.

When he pulled away he licked his fingers clean, sitting on his knees while you were sprawled out on the bed, breathing heavy. You bare as the day you were born and him still fully clothed including the now slightly crooked jester hat with a certain hardness pressing against his pants just below his abdomen.

You bit your lip as you got onto your knees, hands working to rid him of his shirt. You were shaking a bit to which he wrapped a hand softly over yours to halt your actions. You looked up at his eyes and he wasn't grinning anymore. There was a faint smile but it was a look you couldn't decipher. Your heart pounded against your chest as you wondered about the reason he would stop your actions. Perhaps this was just serving your needs and nothing beyond the duties he has for the Brotherhood and your title as listener.

Your mind recoiled, feelings clashing against each other inside you. Pleasure and pain mixing into something toxic until the reason for him stopping presumably reared its head as he quickly rid himself of the jester jacket.

Your mind slightly agape as you were faced with skin you had never seen before, a chest covered in scars from his past as an assassin and from a time more recent when you had refused to take his life.

Your fingers softly ran across the lines on his chest, muscle and scars alike, and he allowed you that moment. If not for you then certainly for himself. It had been a very long time since someone had seen so much of him nevermind touched him so delicately, furthermore, that person was you, his listener.

Cicero had been so taken by you, the intelligence and strength. Someone to be feared and admired, it was an odd throught to him that everyone didn't praise the ground you walked on like he would. You were all these apposing qualities meshed together into something otherworldly. Strong but soft, killer instinct but caring... Perfect.

You looked into his eyes, pressing your bare body against his as you kissed him deeply. Unsure hands rested on your hips and then experimentally roamed your back until a hand tangled into your hair giving him the ability to keep you flush to him as your body rocked softly against his with the motion of your lips working against each other.

He broke the kiss but still held you close to him. Your hands moved towards the pants he was still wearing to which he pushed you closer to him to halt your actions.

His eyes closed momentarily and from this close you could see the clench of his jaw. It was a few moments before he looked back at you. "Is the listener sure this is what the listener wants?" His voice was less high and a bit cracked at the end.

You nodded and he let go of the hold he had on you only to push you back against the bed. He quickly rid himself of his boots and then the rest of his clothing including the jester hat. He hovered over you, nothing in between the two of you now, bare as the day you were born.

He pressed a kiss to your lips. You felt something blunt press against your core and then his hips moved, running his cock up and down your folds as he groaned softly. The slight friction was electrifying but not quite hitting the spot.

"Cicero.." you pleaded, voice barely above a whisper.

"Tell me what my listener wants. " He purred, placing a few open mouthed kisses to the side of your neck.

"Please.. " you breathed, eyes closed as different sensations teased you but was just short of enough. "I need you inside me."

A grin spread across his lips and he pressed another kiss to your temple before fiddling between your legs, taking hold of his cock and lining up to your entrance. He pressed slowly, cautiously filling you up. You bit into your palm  as your body gave way to the new sensation, a slight sting but not unpleasantly so.

"Cicero wondered.." he breathed as his hips slowly moved in and out as your body gave way. "What it would... Oh, be like... thoughts don't compare.. to this. Close.. So tight.. wet."

His thrusts turned sharp, body screaming with each thrust of his hips, filling you so deliciously. Your breath had been stolen and soft cries for the jester falling from your lips as praises left his.

Nails dug into his shoulders, bed groaning with every thrust. Your memories, your illusions, none could compare how he played your body now. The angle of his hips, the power behind his thrusts, the way he spoke when he said you were being so good to him, it all pushing you further and further until you were right on the edge.

The grunts of 'listener' echoing inside your mind as legs wrapped around his hips. The new angle elicited a new cry that originated from deep within, involuntarily. Your nails dug into his back as you felt your release crawling ever closer.

"I-I'm close." You breathed, eyes clenched shut  you tried to hold onto the world around you.

"Come for me, (Y/n)." He grunted against your skin, delivering an especially powerful thrust before pressing your lips to his in a quick kiss.

You gasped as the words reached you. A name, unimportant from anyone else but coming from him it felt so intimate and raw. Special. You cried out, back arching as you let go, jumping off the edge into the sweet waters that waited below. Muscles tensed impossibly, making it hard for Cicero to move and then your body relaxed around him.

The tightness of your body pushed him impossibly further, another few sharp thrusts and he stilled buried inside you with a groan. You felt warmth spread inside you as he came. Chaste kisses were pressed to your heated body as he held your bodies in place. Neck, collarbone, shoulder. Featherlight, his lips moved as you caught your breath until he pulled himself from you, small sounds falling from your lips when he did.

He laid down beside you, head held up by the elbow he had planted on the bed as he looked at you, grin playing on his lips. "Did Cicero serve the lisener well?" He asked, fingers softly running across the skin on your stomach and drawing elaborate patterns there.

A soft blush scattered along your cheeks as you giggled softly. "Yes, Cicero."

He nodded and there was silence for a few moments before the movement against your stomach stopped. "Listener should let Cicero know when the listener requires.. assistance. Cicero is more than happy to help."

You smiled. "I'll remember that." You said and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

[jamaisjoons]

of oleanders & honeysuckle I ⤑ knj | m.

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 when one of your coven sisters, malise, had first mentioned your soulmate, you’d been young and unbothered - preferring to chase the elusive seduction of power. now, you’re twenty-five, and having established yourself as a powerful witch of the sisters of elysia, you've grown tired of the cold embrace of power. looking to settle down, you move to carelia in search of the one destined for you. within days, you come across the charmingly handsome apothecary owner, and warlock, kim namjoon. something about him magnetises you. but is he the one the universe has fated for you? 〞strangers to lovers au. supernatural au. witch/warlock au. soulmates au.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: witch!reader x warlock!namjoon

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: angst ∝ fluff ∝ future smut

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 12k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: mentions of death, oc has a traumatic™ childhood, oc is also an orphan so mentions of parental death, brief mentions of religious persecution? (yn’s parent’s coven is destroyed by knights from a new religion), brief depictions of fighting/violence, there’s no smut in this part but namjoon is hot as fuck, namjoon in leather which needs a warning in itself, use of magic ofc, namjoon is I N S A N E and im simping for him

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: this was,,, supposed to be a oneshot but fneorifnge i’ve been so lazy and i haven’t been writing as much so in order to post something I’ve decided to split this into four parts! also sorry there’s no smut in this chapter but the next three parts all have smut yeehaw 🤩

⏤ beta read by the lovely @yeoldontknow, @nightshadevinter, @inthecrescentmoonight​ and @jjungkooksthighs​

⟴ Series Masterlist

It’s the dead of winter. Snow crunches under your soles; the muffled sounds of your footsteps intermingling with the odd cracking branch, and crinkling leaf-litter as you navigate through the Forest of Ingredeen. The sky above you is bleak: faint wisps of smoke-grey clouds obscuring the otherwise stark, white canvas; and the harsh light causes your eyes to squint in the slightest. The thick blanket of snow that surrounds you doesn’t help; the pristine-white coating only further reflecting the brightness. Despite the austereness of the sky, life continues thriving around you. Barren skeletons of deciduous trees are juxtaposed by evergreens of pine, fir, and yew – the latter of whose verdant branches still boast succulent needles of jade and viridian. Some of them, most notably the yew trees, still bear fruits: the scarlet berries adding a splash of colour to the contrary dreary scene.

Stillness befalls the entirety of the forest, and the eerie silence only amplifies the sounds of snow crunching under your feet. The air is equally stagnant, with not a single gust of a howling gale, nor a gentle wisp of a susurrus breeze, drifting through the atmosphere. Though, that's a small blessing you’re thankful for; because even with the absence of the wind, the frigid bite of the cold settles into your bones. As a matter of fact, you’re dressed in a thick-piled winter cloak - the black material lined with fur – as well as your woollen dress and leather boots. Yet, you still feel the brisk chill kiss your skin, the surface turning icy as it prickles with goosebumps.

Curling further into the warmth of your cloak, you pull the piled fabric further around your body and continue walking through the dense thicket of trees. The quiet is strange, and heavy, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think the woodland was devoid of all life. Nonetheless, every now and then, the shrubs around you move: their foliage rustling as hares and squirrels scuttle about, and wintertime birds flit through the canopy: sweet chirps of birdsong and languid flaps of wings resonating through the air. Albeit, they come infrequently, with long, gaping silences between. But they still come, and that settles the inkling of unease that flutters through your stomach.

You’ve only just moved into the large province of Carelia; the nation nestled between the much smaller territories of Alphana and Eyres; the latter of which had once been your previous home. Of course, in spite of Carelia being a large country – abundant with diverse wildlife and vast expanses of wilderness – the population of inhabitants itself was fairly small. In fact, throughout the entire country, there were only five human settlements; a significant decrease from the almost overpopulated country of Eyres. Naturally, that wasn’t the only difference. No, here, in Carelia, magic was bountiful – the very essence of life so palpable that you could feel it thrum in the air. Not that any of that was surprising by all means. No. After all, nature was plentiful here, and as a result, it meant that the innate magic of life was equally as powerful.

Taking a deep breath, you watch as your breath fogs in front of your face, causing your nose to scrunch at the sight. You had chosen to leave your previous coven, of your own volition. It had been a spur of the moment decision, after one of your past sisters, who’d specialised in oracles and premonitions, had suggested through thinly-veiled euphemisms that you’d find your destined soulmate here. When she’d first prophesied her vision, you’d been but a young wiccan, at the tender age of eighteen, a mere two years after your initiation into your coven, and you hadn’t cared too much. Back then, the idea of love, soulmates, and destiny had been far out of your mind. Rather, your entire being burned with the need to learn, to hone your magic and see just how far you could take it.

Your past coven had been a famous one, known by the entire world as the Sisters of Elysia. It had been an elusive coven, shrouded in mystery and repute, and one that was only open to the most powerful, or promising, female witches. In fact, it had been so exclusively prestigious, that it could only be joined by invitation from the High Priestess herself; a powerful seer with the ability to seek out the potential, innate magic of a witch or warlock. Though of course, the Sisters of Elysia had only been interested in an all-female coven, and even the most powerful warlocks had been turned away. Not that they’d even consider joining, though. No, they had their own coven for that – the Brotherhood of Requiem.

Being discovered by Mardella, the High Priestess, at the age of fifteen had been a blessing, and an honour; and having been told you’d had an incredible affinity for the Destructive Arts and Alchemical Restoration, two powerful schools of magic, had been even more of a privilege. As such, Mardella, and the rest of your sisters, had taken you under their wing, and taught you all about witchcraft for a year. And then, the very day you’d turned sixteen, you’d been formally initiated into the coven.

After that, you’d spent years upon years training your two schools of magic, honing them to the skill they are today. For the vast majority of your young adulthood, you’d chased the beguiling essence of magic – learning as much as you could about the two different archetypes – and soaking every ounce of the information into the very fibre of your skin. Power was a seductive thing, something far more enticing than the notion of love, and readily, you’d fallen into its clutches. Naturally, it was only made easier by being part of the Sister of Elysia.

You see, your previous coven had been a nomadic one – and its migratory nature had made learning all the more easier – especially since at the age of twenty-five now, you’ve traversed almost the entire world, and seen more things than an ordinary witch of your age would have. At first, the vagrancy of your previous home had been exciting. You’d loved travelling the globe, visiting different countries, and learning all types of cultures while simultaneously acuminating your magic. As a matter of fact, you had craved it – and wandering about the different kingdoms had whetted your own innate wanderlust; as well as the desire to learn as much as you could.

The Sister of Elysia had been your home, and you’d loved the family you’d created – after all, the blood of the covenant was thicker than the water of the womb. Or so, you’d been told all your life. Nevertheless, despite all your attachment and adoration for your coven – you couldn’t help but find that something was missing. You see, your blood-related family had been torn from you at the young age of ten, the coven of your parents razed to the ground by Knights of the Seven Lights: a new religion that had swept through Eyres, and in the bloodbath that had followed, you’d lost everything.

Orphaned from childhood, you’d spent the next five years living in the abandoned church that your parents’ coven, Mages of Mirror Lake, had occupied when they’d still been alive. Thankfully, the Kingdom of Eyres had a warm temperate, and winters were non-existent. Hence, even though you were essentially homeless, you’d somehow survived. By all means, you’d had to forage for scraps of food, clothing, or any other basic necessities – sometimes even needing to find a neighbouring human settlement and stealing whatever you could get your hands upon – but you’d survived. Moreover, you’d even continued sharpening your skills in witchcraft, using the ruined library of the church in order to continue your schooling.

For five years, you’d lived like that. Using the school of Destructive Arts, you’d kept those who would harm you, typically members of the Knights of the Seven Lights, at bay. And using the school of Alchemical Restoration, you’d heal and look after yourself; as well as the odd human who was desperate enough for a treatment to an ailment that they would turn away from their new religion and back towards the Magic of Old. Eventually, though, you’d met Mardella, who’d sought you out and brought you back to the Sisters of Elysia. And that was where you’d found your home, happiness, and solace.

That was, until now.

In the recent years, your magic had grown listless, and you, yourself, had grown restless – until eventually, you found yourself at an impasse.

You no longer found joy in travelling, and considering you’ve travelled everywhere there was little more you could learn that way, and even less that you could discover. You’ve reached the peak of your power. You’ve spent an entire decade garnering your knowledge, immersing yourself in the seductive lure of the Black Arts, only to hit a culmination. And now, there was nowhere else you could go except down. Of course, you could always consider learning a new school of magic if you so wished to continue chasing power. Except, lately, that deep, insatiable need for it had started diminishing; the searing fire dwindling until it was nothing more than weak flames licking at your being.

You still loved to practice your witchcraft, of course you did. You’d never really lose your love for power or magic. But your hunger for it had ebbed, its cold seduction releasing you from its tantalising embrace – and the moment that had disappeared, you’d found yourself lost. For the longest time, power had been your only vice, the only thing you had sought after, and cared for. But with that thirst gone, you had no idea what to do; or where to go anymore. More than that, you'd found yourself craving for some sense of home, of belonging. You had that with your coven, of course you did. But it just wasn’t the same.

A while now, there was a small, distant part of you that craved what had been stolen from you from a young age. A family. Love. You craved a sense of belonging; the affection of a lover, and the comfort and safety that they afforded. Something that was out of your reach with the Sisters of Elysia. By all means, it wasn’t as if there were rules that forbid romance. No, of course not. It was more, with how elusive the coven was, and with the doctrine that knowledge was power, and power was prestige; it meant that while romance wasn’t frowned upon, it just wasn’t something that was frequently entertained. Especially since the Sisters of Elysia had no room for men. Though, of course, if you fell for one of the sisters, that was a wholly different matter.

Which had all been well and good when you were younger. But now, you’re older, and you no longer covet power. Rather, you yearn for a sense of security, of home, of stability.

And thus, lately, you’ve found yourself going back to Malise’s oracle; the seer having foreseen of your soulmate almost a decade ago. You see, everyone in the world has someone fated for them – the knots of destiny tied by the Moirai long before even your own grandparents were born. Naturally, not everyone who was bound together actually found each other; after all, the world is large, and the universe was rarely ever so kind. No, more often than not, soulmates could be born miles apart, or even countries apart – and as a result – very few people found love with their soulmates. That is, of course, if you’re a human with no ties to the Magic of Old.

For witches and wizards, it was different.

The natural essence of the universe – the energy that made up the Magic of Old – was what guided practitioners of the Black Arts, and it was that very power that had bound the two beings together. And as such, for witches and warlocks, it was easier to find soulmates. Easier. Magic was mysterious, and the universe very scarcely answered definitively. Oracles were particularly attuned to the cosmos, hence their ability to catch glimpses of the future. But that’s all they were, mere glimpses and vague inklings. It was very rare for a seer to be able to clearly see the future – which is why Mardella was so powerful: she was particularly harmonious with the world.

However, Mardella very rarely involved herself with matters of the heart. As the High Priestess of the Sisters of Elysia, she embodied the fundamental teachings of knowledge and power; and as such her prophecies were seldom about the frivolities of romance or soulmates. Malise, however, was another matter. Frequently, the seer would have visions about soulmates, and she could even control them to a degree – having them at will. The first vision she’d had of you and your destined lover, had been involuntary; the fortune triggered randomly. She’d tried to speak to you about it, even offering to look further into it. However, you’d quickly dismissed her. After all, back then, you hadn’t cared.

Now, though, was a completely different matter.

Thus, a week ago, you’d sheepishly slunk into her chambers, and quietly asked if she’d be able to find out more about your soulmate. Her response had been eager, and she’d conducted her divination swiftly. As usual, her vision had been vague – veiled in euphemisms and cloaked with mysticism – the universe purposely responding to her questions with ambiguous answers. All she could say was that it was a man, a warlock to be specific, and that he lived in Carelia. It wasn’t much, but it was something. The idea of moving and settling down in Carelia – a kingdom so rich in nature and magic – immediately had excitement flourishing through you. Your earlier listlessness quickly faded, and with a new sense of purpose, you’d formally, and abruptly, left the Sisters of Elysia before you made your way to Carelia.

Naturally, there’s not much you know about your soulmate – because, really, living in Carelia and being a warlock was barely any information to go off of. Nevertheless, as mentioned before, despite how large of a country it is, Carelia only had a small population of humans inhabiting it. More than that, despite the abundance of magic, there was only one coven that was still prolific in the nation: Coven of the Evening Star. Moreover, out of curiosity, and before you had moved, you’d brewed the Essence of Venus; a potion that took on the scent of your destined lover. Each fragrance is wholly unique, customised purely for the individual, and completely memorable. In fact, you doubt you could ever forget the scent.

Thick notes of a pungent scent made up the bulk of your soulmate’s fragrance. Despite the sharpness of it, it was fruity and warm; with subtle hints of rich honey and ripe citrus. The fragrance was sharp, deeply intoxicating, and incredibly comforting. The telltale scent of honeysuckles in full bloom. Undercurrents of morning dew and fresh soil cut the effluvious aroma, adding a depth of light freshness and earthen musk to it that had your stomach flourishing with warmth. The first time you smelled it, you'd completely melted into the scent - something about it calling to the very recesses of your being, and soothing your soul - and you'd wanted nothing more than to sink into it.

After that, you'd immediately found yourself daydreaming about the mysterious warlock it belonged to. Lost in your fantasies, you wondered what his name was, what he looked like, and what he was like. You wondered what kind of magic he practised, and what he liked to do in his spare time. Moreover, you wonder just why he smells the way he does - and whether the scent of honeysuckle was wholly natural to him or artificial. Momentarily, you wonder where the fresh soil and morning dew comes from too. Mainly because, none of the notes that make up your soulmate's scents are common, or ordinary. Though, that's something you're thankful for, because hopefully, just hopefully, it would make finding him all that bit easier.

Distracted by your thoughts, you don't notice the dense thicket of woodland start to thin: the space between the trees growing further and further apart; until, all of a sudden, you're thrown out of your thoughts by the sight that greets you. Out of the blue, you find yourself in a large clearing. The glade is spacious, fringed by shrubs and bushes that make up the understory of the forest. Above you, the once thick canopy has cleared up, allowing dense beams of stark-white light to flood the ground: the sky's radiance bathing over the forest floor and casting its harsh brilliance over the structure that makes its home in the middle of the meadow.

When had you reached home?

Your cottage is moderately sized, and homely, but nevertheless, a sight to behold. The roof is gabled: made up of thin, multi-shaded hues of black slate, and the walls are smooth: made up of clay and stone of varied shades of beige. Flowering vines scale the exterior of your home, from the climbing roses that frame the oakwood entrance to your home, to the branches of clematis and moonflower that intertwine together over the side walls. Trumpet vine hangs over the edge of the roof, the lush foliage draping over the large windows that peek into your home. A wooden fence encloses your land, with the only entrance a small gate that breaks up the stakes. Bushes fill the space between your home and the timber barrier, however, being the dead of winter, only a few still bloom: the large shrub of daphne in the corner by the chimney, little clusters of violas nestled between clumps of cyclamen, and the vines of winter clematis that creep over the walls.

Carelia is large, and there are few settlements littered around the wild expanse of the wilderness. Nevertheless, your home is still secluded from even the nearest community - your new coven. Most people would be daunted by the fact that you're living alone in the woods. However, you? Not so much. After all, with your proficiency in the Destructive Arts, it would be hard for someone to get the best of you. Not to mention, that you had lived by yourself in the woods from the ages of ten to fifteen. No, to you, living alone in the forest, is somewhat comforting, and nostalgic.

At the comforting sight of your home, the corners of your lips curl into a slight smile, and you begin walking down the thin, winding dirt path that leads through the gate and to your home. Getting to the entrance to your cottage, though, you abruptly stop; the smile on your face falling. A small wicker basket sits on the shallow concrete step at the foot of your door. Curiosity colouring your being, you place your own basket of firewood and food down, before cautiously pulling back the soft linen cloth that covers the contents. Seeing the items inside, however, your curiosity is swiftly replaced by surprise.

A pot of lilac makes the centrepiece, the four-petaled flowers blooming in soft shades of periwinkle and blush despite the mid-winter atmosphere. Next to the pot lies a bundle of dried lavender, wrapped in a piece of plain brown parchment and tied with silk black ribbons. A few of the desiccated petals litter the base of the wicker basket, and in spite of its dryness, the thick, piney-floral scent of the bulbs intermingle with the cloying - almost sacchariferous - scent of lilac into a delicate floral aroma. The last items in the basket are three muslin sachets that contain a mix of rosemary, sage and cloves - the bag tied shut with red thread.

Thanks to your background in Alchemical Restoration, you’re well versed in the craft of herbalism, and from your extensive knowledge, you know that all the items signify protection. Lavender for purification and healing of the soul, lilac to banish malicious spirits or malevolent intentions, and the sachets to ward off negative energy. Having only moved into your new home yesterday, you haven't had a chance to properly ward off your property, and as such, the protective charms that keep you safe are basic and easily penetrable. Thus, the gift of the flowers and herbs is incredibly sweet. If a little strange, considering you have yet to meet any of your new coven members, or even announce your arrival. Nevertheless, you don't sense any negativity radiating off of the basket. In fact, if anything, you can feel a soft aura of safety enclosing the items - the gifter having clearly cast a few more wards of protection around them.

“Hello,” a voice suddenly speaks, and not expecting it, you immediately startle. Instantly, a rush of adrenaline surges through you, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on edge, and a swell of power to flood through your fingertips. Before you can even consider your actions, lightning begins crackling around your fingertips: small bolts of bright, purple-hued sparks arcing around the pads of your digits; your magic involuntarily manifesting itself in a bid to protect you.

Spinning on your heel, you thrust out your hand on instinct, causing a large bolt of lightning to appear out of thin air. The moment you turn around, however, your eyes blow wide and despair courses through you. The newcomers are dressed in two large cloaks, their coats effectively hiding their forms from you. However, from the design of the brooch that fastens their coverings - the emblem of an intricate silver star - you know that they’re members of your new coven; most likely coming to greet you. Nonetheless, the damage is already done - your magic having flooded out of you and into the air.

The lightning bolt surges towards the two and you watch as the female’s hands move in a flash, a spell immediately slipping from her lips as she erects a shield in front of her and her partner. It appears just in time - your own magic colliding directly into the middle of the barrier. To the witch’s credit, the shield manages to deflect your attack, and the force of the collision causes the lightning to bound into the stratosphere. A large flash of blue blazes through the sky, accompanied by the thunderous sound of lightning cracking, before your magic dissipates and ebbs back into the atmosphere; a terse silence once again shrouding the forest.

The moment it disperses, the aura of power around you fades away, and your shoulders immediately tense. Clambering to your feet, “Sweet Earth Mother, I am so sorry,” you quickly splutter. Adrenaline still coursing through you, your heart continues beating rapidly and your hands turn sweaty. Though, this time, rather than fear, it’s out of trepidation: a ripple of nervousness fluttering through you. This was not a good way to greet your new coven members.

The shorter of the two, the woman, pulls down her hood, and you’re met by mesmerising, cat-like eyes and a mischievous smile, “It’s okay. I kinda startled you on purpose,” comes her coy response. Nervousness replaced by confusion, your eyebrows furrow as you regard her in puzzlement. Beside her, the taller of the two lets out a little sigh and pulls down his own hood. The first thing you notice is that both of them have identical features: the same, sharp eyes; smooth, glass-like tanned skin, and small, pouty lips. Twins, no doubt.

“Yeah, and you almost had us killed. I told you not to startle her,” he chides, causing the woman’s cheeks to puff in a pout.

“Hey! I saved us, didn’t I? If it weren’t for my shield, we’d both be ash,” she backfires. The man simply scoffs and shakes his head.

“If you hadn’t scared her, we wouldn’t have needed the shield in the first place,” he retorts. The woman opens her mouth to retaliate, however, not having a comeback, she quickly closes it.

“Fair enough,” she concedes with a simple shrug of her shoulders.

“Purpose? Test?” you reiterate softly, breaking their little spat.

“Well, yes, of course. Your reputation precedes you, ____. I just had to see if the famed Witch of Ruin was truly as powerful as the rumours made you out to be,” the woman replies. Hearing her words, you let out an awkward chuckle.

Witch of Ruin.

Gods, you hadn’t heard that in a while.

You’d first gained the epithet during your years in Eyres, after you’d single handedly defeated a small group of the Knights of the Seven Lights, who’d come to ‘purge’ you of evil. After that one event, you’d gained infamy as the Witch of Ruin; rumours of a child born of chaos, lightning and fire, spreading through the country. As a result, more and more groups of the Knights would come looking for you, and one by one, they would fall at your hand. By all means, it had all stopped once you’d been rescued by Mardella. Nonetheless, being initiated into the Sisters of Elysia, of all covens, had only caused your fame to grow. After all, it was a coven that prized themselves on power.

Still, you haven’t heard that epithet in a while; having stayed your lust for power a while ago, and falling more into your love of Alchemical Restoration in the recent years. In fact, if you were being completely honest, you’d tried your hardest to put the nickname, Witch of Ruin, behind you. Mainly due to the fact that it had been born out of your need for survival. Not to mention, your anger, and what could only be considered ‘teenage angst’, over your circumstances from when you were an adolescent.

The man in front of you bows, the movement breaking you out of your reverie abruptly. “I’m sorry about my sister. I’m Min Yoongi, and this is Yoonji. We’re here to welcomeyou to the coven,” he apologises. Then, straightening out his back, he glares at his twin pointedly through the corner of his eyes, “Welcome. Not test,” he mutters. His words cause Yoonji to pout and stick her tongue out.

Eyes blowing out, you quickly shake your head while waving your hands dismissively. “No, no. It’s okay! Would you like to come in?” you ask as you gesture towards your home. This time, it’s Yoonji who shakes her head.

“Usually, we’d love to. But we don’t have long today. We need to get back to prepare for the coven meeting tomorrow,” she replies, her mischievous smile curling into an apologetic one. “We’re only here to drop off your initiation robes, as well as let you know that your formal induction into the coven will take place tomorrow, at evening’s twilight, in the Lunar Grove,” she continues.

Eyebrows knitting together, you cock your head to the side, “Lunar Grove?” you repeat, causing Yoongi to smile at you kindly.

“Someone will come collect you around dusk and bring you to the meeting spot,” he supplies, and you nod in understanding.

“Do we not have a building to convene in, or…?” you find yourself asking before you can stop.

A tinkling laugh slipping from her lips, Yoonji shakes her head. “The Coven of the Evening Star reveres nature first and foremost. We feel that buildings impair our ability to connect with both nature and the universe. So, while we aren’t a nomadic coven, we do not have an official church building to worship in either,” she explains. Mouth forming a little ‘o’, a ripple of sheepishness washes through you. You remember Malise telling you something about that, however, in your excitement to move and settle down, you hadn’t completely researched your new coven; a blight on your part.

Sensing your mortification, “Don’t worry about it too much. Our coven is very different from your old one, so I’m sure it’ll take you a while to get used to everything anyway. In the meantime, we’re here to help you with whatever you need,” Yoongi speaks, his voice low and comforting. A grateful smile curls onto your face as you thank him.

“Not to mention, everyone is excited to meet you. It’s all anyone can talk about lately. About how we’re not only going to meet a previous member of the Sisters of Elysia, but that she’s also joining our new coven. Not only that, but she’s also the fabled Witch of Ruin… I can assure you, that almost every member of the coven will travel to view your initiation tomorrow,” Yoonji chuckles lightly. The moment her words slip out her mouth, you let out an awkward laugh, and hearing the sound, Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“It’s not that daunting, don’t worry. And Yoonji is exaggerating, I doubt that many people will turn up,” he says while pointedly glaring at his sister through the corner of his eyes. Before she can say anything, however, he’s cutting her off, “We really must get going now, though. We still need to complete preparations for your initiation,” he continues before thrusting a neatly wrapped bundle of fabric towards you. “These are your Initiation Robes for the ceremony tomorrow. We look forward to having you join us,” he finishes.

Taking the bundled material from him, you smile at him once again, “I’m looking forward to joining,” comes your reply. With their business complete, the two of them turn on their heels and begin walking away. All of a sudden, however, a thought springs to mind, and you quickly call out to them. Immediately, they stop and turn back towards you, a look of interest on their face. With a wave of your hand, you gesture towards the wicker basket still laying on the porch of your door. “Did you send me this, by any chance?” you ask as you point towards your gift.

The twins glance at each other, a knowing glint flashing in their eyes as they silently communicate amongst one another. Simply watching them, you await their response. You don’t have to wait long, however, because a few short moments later, they’re both turning back to look at you; their heads moving eerily in sync - almost as if they’d planned it.

“It’s not from us, no. It’ll be from Namjoon,” Yoonji explains.

“Namjoon?” you dumbly repeat.

“Mhm. Kim Namjoon. He’s a warlock in our coven. He specialises in Herbalism, and he runs the apothecary that supplies us with the ingredients we need for our rituals, spells or potions. It’s probably a gift welcoming you to the neighbourhood,” she explains. For the umpteenth time today, confusion colours your face.

“Neighbourhood...? I didn’t think I had any neighbours,” comes your response. The land you own now, once belonged to the human settlement that borders the Forest of Ingredeen. When you’d purchased this area of land from the chief, he’d tried to explain that it was a secluded property and that a powerful coven lived in the Forest - and one that could take offense to a strange witch moving into their territory. Of course, once you’d explained that you were soon to join the coven yourself, you’d assuaged his fears and he’d easily bequeathed the land to you.

“Oh, theoretically, you don’t. But Namjoon’s home is the closest to you; he’s about a ten, maybe fifteen minute walk north-west from here. The rest of us live deeper in the forest,” Yoongi explains, his hand lifting as he points towards the general direction of Namjoon’s home. Eyebrows quirking, you turn your gaze back down to the gift as you look at it in interest.

“It’s a wonderful gift,” you mutter under your breath. Despite it being the middle of winter, the pot of lilacs are in full bloom: the velour petals still brightly coloured despite their pastel hue; the leaves still succulent, and a vivid shade of pine-green. Not to mention that the quality of the dried lavender is some of the best you’ve ever seen. Fully dessicated lavender usually tends to lose some of it’s scent, and with the deep, dusky-mauve shading, you know they’ve had all the moisture removed from them. Nevertheless, the camphorous scent of it is still strong; wafting into the atmosphere in soft waves.

“He’s incredibly skilled in what he does,” Yoongi responds, his voice laced with pride. Then, after a short pause, he continues, “He’s similar to you. He was raised by the Brotherhood of Requiem, but moved here and joined the coven, hmm… maybe two and a half years ago?”

Stilling at his words, your eyebrows shoot up into your hairline. If he was part of the Brotherhood of Requiem, he’d have to be incredibly skilled as a warlock; not to mention powerful. Mind casting back to Malise’s oracle, your heart flutters at the discovery. Could Namjoon be the one you’re destined for? Suddenly, you find yourself itching to go look for him. Though, of course, you wouldn’t know unless you smelled him. And it’d be a bit odd to walk up to a stranger and simply sniff him. Especially if it turned out he was not your soulmate. Still, his gift was sweet, and generous, and that in itself is enough of a reason for you to go meet him.

“If that’s all?” Yoonji asks, her words cutting you out of your thoughts. Startled by her voice, you snap your head back up and grace them both with a sheepish smile.

Scratching the back of your head, “Yes! Sorry to keep you,” you quickly respond. Neither of them say anything. Rather, they smile kindly before once again turning around and walking away. You watch their backs retreat, until their figures disappear into the dense woods that surround your home. Once they’re no longer in sight, you bend over and pick up both your gift, as well as your basket of firewood and food, before entering your home.

As soon as you’re inside the warm comfort of your cottage, you let out a soft sigh. Considering you’re about to leave soon, in order to go thank Namjoon for his gift, you leave on your heavy cloak. Instead, you pad further into your home - dragging in the snow on your boots with you - and into the kitchen. With a casual wave of your hand, the two baskets begin floating in the air before following your figure, and with another flick of your wrist, the firewood sails through the air and towards the fireplace; your food sorting itself out into the pantry and fridge.

Left with only the gift, you carefully place the basket onto the wooden counter of your kitchen island. Gently, you pick up the lilac pot, and the moment you touch the ceramic vase, your eyes widen. A soft thrum of magical essence flitters through your fingertips - travelling from your extremities and down your limbs, only to settle into your core. A sensation of comfort fills you, as well as a spark of energy, and immediately, you know that both spells of protection, and vitality, have been cast upon the pot. The former is obvious - the protection wards boosting the natural magical essence of the lilacs. The latter, however, probably explains just why the lilacs are still in bloom; their life force is most likely supported by the magic cast into it.

Thoughtlessly, your fingertips graze up the side of the vase, along a plump leaf, and towards a supple petal. Another spark of magic jolts through you, and as the calming sensation washes over you, a smile unknowingly curls on your face. It wasn’t often that witches and wizards could imbue feelings into an object; and even less often into a living organism. He really must be a powerful wizard. As you place the vase onto your windowsill, a small frown mars your lips. How are you going to pay him back?

Suddenly, a thought crosses your mind. Swiftly, albeit carefully, you empty out his wicker basket and once it’s empty, you wave your hand; summoning small empty mason jars and your own blend of different tea leaves. The items soar towards you, and with another wave of your hand, they precisely land onto your kitchen counter. Eyes flicking over the different tea leaves, you promptly decide on three different blends - your most favourite ones. In the first one, you scoop in your special blend of cardamom, nutmeg and cinnamon: the laden scent of aromatic spices diffusing into the air and flooding your senses as you fill the jar. The second one, you fill with a blend of chamomile and jasmine; a soft aroma of a floral fragrance replacing the previous, headier one.

With the first two done, you turn your attention to the third, and final one. A mischievous glint flashes in your eyes. Lavender and oolong. A fine homage to his own gift. Opening up the last container, you fill up the last mason jar: the delicate, fresh scent of the lavender intermingling with the sweet, elegant one of oolong. When you’re done, you quickly shut all three jars, wrapping the neck of the containers in a satin ribbon, before attaching a manila label to them. Summoning a pen from one of your drawers, you quickly scrawl on the names of the teas in blue ink.

Once your thank you present has been packed, you cover them with the cloth and grab the handle of the basket, before making your way back out. As you step into the cold once more, the gelid air kisses your skin, causing a soft shiver to run down your spine. Huddling further into your fur coat, you begin walking in the general direction of Namjoon’s home. You’ve no idea what it looks like, or how far it realistically is. Yoongi had mentioned a ten, perhaps fifteen minute walk, but considering you didn’t know the forest very well yet, you weren’t sure how long it would take. You hope it really is a ten to fifteen minute journey. And, of course, that you don’t get lost.

Thankfully, after faithfully sticking north-west, it’s not long before you happen upon what you believe to be Namjoon’s home. The glade of the property is similar to yours: the dense woodland clearing up into an open expanse. In the middle, and a little towards the left, sits a quaint little cottage; with a gambrel roof made of dark brown wood shake, and stone walls of greyed-white to match. Unlike your home, this one has large square windows around the entire property, allowing thick shafts of light to filter through. Yet, despite the panes of glass, you can’t see into the building: the thick cotton curtains blinding your view of the interior.

The area surrounding the cottage is wild, and almost overgrown - in a strange, coordinated way. An organised mess if you would. Small trees skirt the property, growing near the moss-clad, brick fence that separates the forest from Namjoon’s own land, while smaller brushes and shrubs litter the spaces between. One section is covered in flowering perennials, another with potted plants and herbs, and the last third with low growing blossoms. Eyes widening at the sight, you take in a deep breath, only to be filled with a renewed sense of vigour.

Breath hitching in the middle of your throat, you look at the property in surprise. The magic in the air is thick; so palpable that you feel the very cells of your being begin to vibrate with power. Not only is it potent, however, but also pure - the quality of life’s essence so refined that it’s almost suffocating. In fact, you have to physically keep your magic in check, lest it fritz and grow out of your control. Taking a deep breath, you purposely subdue your inner magical core - dulling it towards the vigor of the energy in the air.

Fingers clenching around the woven handle of the basket, you grip it tighter as you step onto the property, a faint ripple of nervousness fluttering through you. With the potency of magic in the air, you desperately hope you don’t trigger any protective wards surrounding the land. When you safely cross the boundary between the forest and Namjoon’s home, your shoulders tense and you immediately come to a halt. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge, and a nervous edge tinges at the corners of your being as you wait for something to happen.

After a few moments of silence, you let out a relieved breath. The wards, if there are any, have accepted you. With that knowledge, you begin your descent down the brick path, from the outskirts of the property and towards the arched front door. Stopping by the dark wood entrance, you lift your hand and gently rap your knuckles on the surface, before stepping away as you wait for an answer. Long, drawn out moments pass, and when you get no response half a minute later, a frown descends upon your lips.

Is he not home?

Lifting your fist, you knock once again; and just like before, you don’t get an answer. Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, you shuffle to the side and towards a window. Then, stepping onto the tips of your toes, you attempt to peek into Namjoon’s home; looking for any signs of life. However, with the curtains drawn shut - only a sliver of an opening between the two, thick pieces of fabric - you barely have a sufficient view of the inside. Shoulders drooping, you let out a deep exhale and flick your gaze down to the wicker basket in your grasp. If he’s not home, there’s nothing you can do about it.

Disappointment settles into your bones, and for a moment, you consider abandoning your gift on his front porch - just like he’d left his. The thought only lasts a brief moment, however, because suddenly, you hear a small commotion from the back of his home. Startling at the muffled cluttering noise, you raise your eyebrow. Maybe he ishome. Intrigued by the noise, you follow after the sound. It leads you around the perimeter of his home, and getting towards the back, surprise colours your face as you see another building behind his cottage.

The emporium is fairly small, almost the size of a large shed, and made of a beautifully preserved walnut: the timber panelling still ripe with its rich colouring. Walking further towards the building, and to the front, you come to a halt at the entrance. Large panes of glass fill up the front wall, but in spite of the glass, your view of the interior is partially obscured: the dark-tinted, translucent surface preventing your complete view into the shop. Two large pots of firs sit on either side of the door, and just above the tips of the tree, hangs a banner made of dark linoleum. ‘The Blackthorne Codex’ it reads; the letters gleaming in burnished shades of bronze under the stark brightness of the sky.

Steadily, you approach the shop, and placing your hand on the brass handle, you push it open. The tinkle of a bell chimes through the air, and the moment you enter, you're assaulted by an onslaught of sensations. A balmy heat greets you immediately, the warm air rushing past your face and immediately heating up your numb skin. Following the heat is a sacchariferous fragrance: notes of a fruity tartness flooding your senses. Currents of a warm, woody scent coalesce with the stronger aroma; the piquant spiciness of what you know to be cloves weaving with that of dried black cherries into an amalgamation of intoxicating aromas. The incense is strong - almost overpowering - and wholly unique: perhaps a blend of his own concoction. It's so potent in fact, that you can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue: tinges of a pungent sweetness dyeing your tongue and causing you to salivate.

"Sorry, I'll be with you in a moment." The deep voice comes out of nowhere, the sound breaking the silence and causing you to jump.

Taking heed of the voice, however, you walk further into the shop, simultaneously letting go of the door handle and allowing it to shut behind you. Once you're into the heart of the shop, prickles of heat sting at your skin, the chilled surface quickly warming up - and from the magic charged in the air, you have no doubt it's thanks to some warming enchantment. Carefully placing your woven basket onto a table near you, you unclasp the heavy cloak around your shoulders before quickly shrugging it off and draping it over your arm. With the thick material off of your body, you let out a sigh of relief - your body quickly cooling down.

More comfortable with the temperature, and with the man - who you assume to be Namjoon - still keeping you waiting, you take a moment to look around the shop. Neatly stacked shelves of mahogany line the entire perimeter of the shop, the surfaces chipped and faded with age. Nonetheless, despite their worn appearance, they're not decrepit. Rather, they're antique - with a rustic feel to them. Glass containers of all sizes line the shelves: large jars of preserved tree barks and animal products occupy the top shelves, smaller sized flasks of various herbs, botanics and minerals fill the next few ledges; and little vials and ampoules of oils, extracts and essences litter the final racks. Each one is faithfully marked with a black label, the nature of their contents scrawled in gold ink.

Hand sketched drawings are strewn across the very tops of the walls, the drawings depicting a variety of beautifully illustrated, and incredibly detailed, plants and flowers. Looking closer at them, you can even spot labels, along with scrawled annotations, pointing out to different parts of the plants. They’re vivid, and colourful: the dazzling hues contrasting with the darker shades of the interior. Turning your gaze, you carefully peer at the counter that separates you from the back of the shop.

Similar to the rest of the store, it's made up of wood, with a white marble tabletop that offsets the walnut wood of everything else. One half of the wall behind is filled with a stack of drawers, each one labelled in black ink; the other half holding a door that undoubtedly leads to the back. A cash register sits in the left corner; the till glinting in polished shades of murky gold and varnished oak. On the opposite side, sits a small book rack stacked with aged tomes and grimoires. Next to it, are a few pestles and mortars, some made of marble while others are made of stone - each one with its own specific purpose.

As you’re admiring the interior, a man suddenly slips out from the back. He appears out of nowhere, causing you to jump. The moment you spot him, however, you freeze. He’s tall. Incredibly so. And his size is only emphasised by the corded, bulging muscles that fill his frame. He’s dressed in black leather trousers - the tight material clinging to his full thighs - and with each step he takes, you could swear the material threatens to tear. Moreover, the snugness of his trousers only emphasise the length of his legs: the toned limbs seemingly going on forever. His top is simple, a plain white t-shirt. Yet, despite the simplicity of it, you find yourself swallowing thickly.

Similar to his trousers, the cotton fabric of his shirt clings to his broad chest, highlighting the smooth, yet prominent, outline of his pecs. From how taut the material is, the garment straining against his upper body, you can spot the faintest hint of his dark nipples - the sight of them causing your cheeks to tinge with specks of heat. A simple leather apron is tied around his hips; the hide straps emphasising his trim waist and slender hips. Gaze travelling further up his body, your eyes lock onto his, and this time, you gulp audibly.

He is, perhaps, the most handsome man you’ve ever laid your eyes upon.

And you’ve traversed the world.

Tanned skin - as smooth and delectable as dulce de leche - glows under the ivory light filtering through the window. It casts a halo of argentate around him - the silvery hue juxtaposing his delicious, honey-kissed skin in the most enchanting way. Dark locks of silk, as black as coal, fall in choppy waves around his face, the front tips kissing his eyelids, and the back ends grazing the nape of his neck. They frame his face, accentuating the elegant slant of his cheekbones, the gentle slope of his nose, and the angled definition of his jaw. His eyes are hooded, and heavy, with a deep-set crease at the inner corners that only highlight the sharpness of them.

Irises of obsidian peek from between his keen eyes, the inky depths freckled with specks of silver and jade that only add to his allure. Eyes glimmering, he radiates an air of power: waves of soft, yet dominant, energy seeping off of his being. If you didn’t know better, you would say his aura practically thrummed with the same lively essence of the very forest itself. Sucking in a sharp breath, the cloying scent of black cherries and cloves floods your senses as you lock eyes, and effortlessly, you sink into his dark gaze.

A look of surprise paints his features, and in a once over, his stare sweeps over you. In one, long glance, he takes you in in your entirety, from the very tips of your boots, to the top of your head, and then back onto your face. His features are carefully stoic as he observes you - his eyes giving nothing away. But then, all of a sudden, it changes. A strong, thick eyebrow rises, and sensual, voluptuous lips pull into an impish, lop-sided grin. It’s wolfish, practically predatory, and almost as if he could devour you whole with a single look.

In two, swift strides, he moves closer, and pressing both hands onto the edge of the marble counter, he grins at you. The movement draws your attention, and your gaze immediately flicks from his eyes and towards his sinewy arms. So enamoured by his handsomeness earlier on, you hadn’t noticed the identical tattoos that brand each of his biceps. Three bands make up each tattoo. The outer ones are simple - embellished with geometric patterns and alchemical runes - and made up of the blackest ink; the colour so rich, it soaks up the light into its ebon void. Framed by the two simplistic bands, however, is an inner one - this tattoo more intricate, and vibrant. Thick, unassuming vines of pine-green form the bulk of the design, with supple foliage of fern-green and moss engraved between.

“Hello. Welcome to The Blackthorne Codex. I’m Kim Namjoon.” The man greets. His voice breaks you out of your trance, and instantly, your eyes lock back onto his. Then, features twisting into one of apology, “Sorry about the wait. I had a slight issue with some stock in the back. How can I help you?” he asks.

For a moment, you simply stare at him, your mind completely blank, and your face effectively illustrating it’s emptiness. His voice is low, and baritone, with a mellifluous undertow that threatens to drag you under and drown you in its beguile. Of course, the enchanting lure of his magic does nothing to help. Neither of you say anything, Namjoon waiting for you to reply, and you waiting for your mind to process the Adonis-like man in front of you. Eventually, and once you realise he’s staring at you, your brain finally kicks itself into gear.

“Oh. Oh!” you quickly splutter out, your cheeks tinging with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t… expect you to be so young,” comes your reply.

Arching an eyebrow, “Young? I’m twenty-eight years old,” he replies, a playful inflexion to his voice as his smirk deepens. Finally getting a hold of yourself, you simply roll your eyes, a coy smile curling onto your own lips.

“Hmmm. Well, when I heard about the man who lived in the forest, and was dropping off welcome gifts at my house, I couldn’t help but assume he was an old man,” you counter. That has Namjoon pausing.

“Wait. You’re ____? The Witch of Ruin?” he asks, his strong eyebrows disappearing into his hairline as he gazes at you in incredulity.

Taken aback by his surprise, you cock your head to the side, “Is that such a surprise?” you ask while lightly waving him off. Scoffing in response, he simply shrugs.

“I just expected you to be…” he begins, only to halt as he ponders his next words. After a short pause, “More menacing,” he finishes.

Once again, you roll your eyes, before waving your hand dismissively, “Well, I guess we both had incorrect assumptions about each other.”

“Touche,” Namjoon laughs. “So, what brings you to my humble apothecary? Need ingredients so soon, already?”

Placing your basket onto the counter, you slide your present over to him. “Hmmm, no. I come bearing a thank you gift,” you reply. Namjoon chuckles, and for a moment, you feel your abdomen stir with a fuzzy warmth. The sound of his laughter is enchanting: deep, rich, and thick like honey as it drips from his mouth like viscous ambrosia. His eyes flash with mirth, and he angles his head down to look at you through his sharp, hooded eyes.

“A thank you gift in response to my ‘welcome to the neighbourhood’ one? Your parents must have raised you right,” he jokes. His tone is light, and airy, and you know he means well - realistically knowing nothing of your past. Yet, you still find yourself gracing him with a rueful smile. Though, there’s only a faintest hint of bitterness laced through it.

“They did. Up until their final moments,” you respond. At your words, Namjoon immediately halts, and visibly, you watch every single one of his muscles locking; the corner of his jaw simultaneously twitching.

Face immediately dropping, Namjoon glances at you for a moment - his eyes carefully guarded, and giving away none of his inner thoughts. Unconsciously, you bristle; in preparation for his pity, and the meaningless words that tend to fall out of people’s mouth when you speak of your traumatic childhood. They mean well. You know they do. But it’s been close to sixteen years. And you’re tired of the constant condolences and well wishes. Tired of the way they walk on glass around the issue of your parents. After all, you’ve long since come to terms with it.

To your utter surprise, however, Namjoon’s face immediately relaxes, and his - what you assume to be trademark at this point - wolfish grin once again creeps onto his pillowy lips. “Well, then I’m sure they’re happy you’ve retained your manners then. Or they’d probably rise from their graves and haunt you,” comes his breezy response. That’s it. No ‘I’m sorry’s’ or sympathetic looks, or that tone people take when they find out you’re an orphan. Just a lighthearted joke. Perhaps, to someone else, he may seem insensitive. Perhaps, someone else would be offended. But you? You appreciate it more than he could, or would, ever know.

“Hmmm. Considering my mother was a necromancer… you’re right. She’d definitely be the type to raise herself from the dead just to lecture me on societal etiquette,” you deadpan - your voice purposely flat as you retort. Eyes bugging wide, Namjoon splutters as he chokes on his own spit.

“A necromancer? Please tell me you’re joking,” he replies, a look of bewilderment colouring his visage. Features twisted almost comically, it’s all you can do to laugh.

“Of course, I’m joking! What do you take my mother for? She birthed the Witch of Ruin. There’s no way she’d be foolish enough to practice necromancy,” you laugh in response. Hearing your reply, Namjoon immediately relaxes, and seeing the relief on his face, you can’t help but laugh harder. Necromancy was a false school of witchcraft, one only perpetrated by humans who wished they could practice magic. However, they had one thing wrong. There was no magic that could raise the dead. None.

After all, magic came from nature, and the cosmos, and life itself. It’s why most, if not all, witches and warlocks worship some aspect of the natural universe. Some worship the sky, others the sea, a few the mountains, and many the earth and forests. But no self-respecting practitioner of the Magic of Old, would ever worship the dead. Or even consider bringing the dead back to life. Mostly because it was an impossible feat.

Once a living creature reaches the end of its life, the magic that sustains it fades away. Instead, it returns back to the universe, only to be rebirthed into a new form of life. Sometimes that’s in humans - the species having faint tethers to the universe - or what they’d call their ‘souls’. Sometimes, it’s in witches and warlocks - a child born particularly talented in an archetype of magic. More often than not, though, it’s into the very cosmos, as the sea, or the plants, or the stars. Or really, any component of life, or power, that makes up the universe.

“You have me there,” Namjoon concedes with a chuckle. Then, turning his attention to your gift, he gestures towards it. “So, what do we have here?”

Cheeks flushing with heat, you pull your lower lip between your teeth and begin to chew on it while Namjoon unravels the cloth from the wicker basket. When he spots the three, neatly wrapped jars, he flicks his gaze to you in surprise. Suddenly feeling far too self-conscious - was the gift too much? - you suppress an awkward smile. “I don’t know if you drink tea… but these are some of my own special blends,” you explain, your voice a few decibels above a whisper, and laced with your unsureness.

You watch as Namjoon picks up one of the jars, only to open the lid and take in a deep breath of the aromatic fragrance. “God… that smells good. Is that lavender… and oolong?” he asks, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

Floored by his deduction, “How did you even… you can barely even smell the oolong,” you point out. You’re not lying. The scent of lavender is always strong - and overpowering - and no matter what ratios you blend of the two ingredients, you can’t seem to find a way to bring out the oolong. At your obvious shock, Namjoon laughs.

“I spent my day tending plants, or selling them, ____. I know what most of them look, and smell, like. Even if it’s subtle,” he replies.

Intrigued by his words, you look at him curiously. “If you don’t mind me asking… what school of witchcraft do you practice?”

Snapping the lid back onto the jar, he places it back into the basket. Then, eyes flashing mischievously, his lips curl into a teasing smirk. Gazing at you with his smouldering eyes, “How can you not tell? Weren’t you raised by the Sisters of Elysia? I thought they were supposed to be incredibly knowledgeable. Or perhaps… they don’t hold a candle to the Brotherhood of Requiem,” he provokes. Jaw dropping in surprise, you instantly bristle.

“W-What’s that supposed to mean?” you splutter in indignation. “The Brotherhood of Requiem is not better than the Sisters of Elysia,” you continue with a hiss.

“Hmmm… not if you can’t guess what my magic is,” he backfires easily. Huffing at his response, you roll your eyes. Though, there’s no real ire to it.

“Well it’s obvious you practice Herbalism. But with the potency of the magic surrounding you, that can’t be all you practice,” you reply smartly.

Laughing, “I guess you’re right. Botanic Arts. I also practice the Botanic Arts,” he explains. Ah. That would explain the aura of life that surrounds him.

Contrary to your Destructive Arts - a discipline that was focused on elements of chaos, such as lightning or fire, in order to bring about calamity; the Botanic Arts was a discipline focused around the elements of life, such as earth and nature, in order to bring about life. Nonetheless, even with their juxtaposing natures, they were both two incredibly powerful schools of witchcraft, and if used correctly, even the Botanic Arts could be wielded as a cataclysmic magic. A notion only emphasised by his incredibly imposing presence; as well as his sheer confidence.

“How about you?” he asks, his words breaking you out of your thoughts.

Lips twisting into a wry smirk, “How can you not tell? Weren’t you raised by the Brotherhood of Requiem?” you mock, throwing back his own words at him.

With a snort, Namjoon looks at you pointedly. “Well, everything I know about you is from rumours. The witch of ruin, a child of chaos, birthed from lightning and fire. So… I’m assuming you’re proficient in the Destructive Arts. But… considering you just brought me tea leaves I doubt it’s just that,” he says, imitating your own sentiments. Tongue poking out, you swipe it across your lips as you feel the corners of your lips twitching.

“Alchemical Restoration. The teas have healing properties,” you reply as you try to suppress your grin.

You can’t help it.

Namjoon is unlike any other witch or warlock you’ve ever met. In your life, you’ve travelled the world, and you’ve met many of your kind; from all different walks of life. As such, you’re not new to a little flirtatious banter, nor were you unknown to the pleasures of sex, or a budding romance. Nonetheless, it was rare for it to go past that. The moment they found out who you were, who you truly were, they would immediately lose interest in you - either by their own jealousy, or intimidation, or insecurities that you were most likely better, and more powerful, than them.

However, here was a man, who knew who you were, and still continued showing an interest. Or well, at least what you hoped was interest. Though, with the way his eyes subtly roam over your figure every now and then, and with how he keeps his attention focused on you, and only you, you doubt you’re wrong. Namjoon is different. Because even knowing who you are, and knowing about your past, his demeanour hasn’t changed. He’s not the least bit intimidated, nor insecure, or resentful. If anything, you have a feeling you’ve only stoked his interest. And that has a fuzzy warmth blooming within the pits of your stomach.

“A remedial discipline? Didn’t take you for the type,” comes his immediate answer. Then, eyes flashing in mirth, “Though… I can’t say I’m mad. I don’t even want to thinkabout what your gift would be if you just practiced the Destructive Arts… perhaps you’d set my apothecary on fire for daring to intrude on your property?” he teases, and as the words slip out of his mouth, you can’t help but hear the flirtatious intonation.

Your conversation is ordinary, and full of pleasant niceties. Yet, buried between both your tones, is a touch of something deeper; something heavier. Perhaps it’s the playfulness of his entire demeanour, or the coquettish nature of your own replies. But no matter what it is, you can’t help but feel the spark between the two of you. You don’t know where it’s come from, or why. After all, you’re both strangers, and this is your first time meeting. Nevertheless, you can’t help but feel drawn to him - a baser need, something more corporeal pulling you towards him. A flutter of excitement flits through you,

In response to his words, you childishly stick your tongue out. Then, “Yes, well, as much as I adore the Destructive Arts and the power trip that comes with it… I’ve just… somewhat grown tired of it,” you find yourself confessing - the words falling from your lips before you can even stop them. That has Namjoon’s devilish disposition dropping, his features twisting into one of inquisitiveness.

“Oh? Why is that?” he asks.

Once again, and before you even realise what you’re saying, you find yourself shrugging. “Honestly? I don’t know if I ever really even wanted to learn the Destructive Arts. But after my parent’s coven was destroyed, and once the Knights of the Seven Lights began hunting me… I had no other choice, you know? I learnt it because I had to. Because I needed to survive. It was born out of my need to prove something… that I could endure everything, and that I would still come out on top,” you confess. All of a sudden, you pause.

Eyelids widening in the slightest, you quickly halt your tongue as you realise what you’d just blurted out. It’s not often that you talk about your past. You’re over it. Or well, you’re more numb to it. But it wasn’t often that you brought it up - wanting to leave the past… well, in the past. Hell, the only reason the Sisters of Elysia had known, was because they’d saved you from that life. But you never spoke about it. At least, not of your own accord. And certainly not to a random stranger you’d just met. So really, you’re not sure why you’d suddenly, and completely out of the blue, truthfully spoken about your past. Especially in a casual meeting like this.

Nonetheless, something about him calls to you. You don’t know what it is, and you can’t accurately place it. But there’s something about him that you find reassuring. He’s a stranger, and realistically, you know nothing about him. Yet, still, you can’t help but trust him. There’s an air of power around him, yes. It pulses around him in an enticing fashion: a refined aura of magic that is both completely sensual, and commanding. However, woven between that presence, is a sense of solace. The kind that’s filled with a promise of safety, and home. The kind you’ve been desperately searching for all your life. It beckons to you, and effortlessly, you find yourself magnetised to him.

Momentarily, Malise’s words echo in the back of your mind. About how you’d find your soulmate here, and fleetingly, you wonder if it’s him. A part of you is desperate for him to be. For him to be the one you call your home. Yet, even with that yearning that tingles through you, you can’t bring yourself to put any real hope on it. He’s enchanting, and you’re completely enamoured by him. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s your one. The universe has a twisted sense of humour, and seldom did it ever play to one’s hand. Soulmates aren’t perfect. And just because you’re fated for someone, doesn’t mean that you’d work out. Love wasn’t that simple. Thus, with the attraction that you do feel for him already, a weird, twisted part of you doesn’t wantto know. Just in case, he’s not the one destined for you.

A heavy air befalls the two of you; the tension intensifying until it’s so thick that you almost suffocate within its hold. Jittery under the sudden pressure, your hands turn clammy as you begin shuffling from foot to foot. You want to say something, to make a casual joke and immediately diffuse the stiffness in the atmosphere. Nonetheless, your throat is tight, and your mouth dry, and you simply can’t bring yourself to force the words out. Sensing your awkwardness, however, Namjoon quickly comes to your aid. The corners of his lips tugs, and the plush petals of his mouth pull into an easy smile as he points back towards your gift.

“Well, they seem really well-made, and I can already tell just how high quality these are. I’m looking forward to trying them,” comes his airy response. Then, after a brief pause, an impish smirk teases at his lips. “... And giving you my honest opinion,” he taunts. A sense of relief washing over you at the return of his playful demeanour, and with the tension quickly diffusing, you grace him with your own coy grin.

“I’m sure you’ll find them to your standards. It’s not like I could give you something subpar after your lavish present, after all,” you counter. Eyes lighting up suddenly, “Which, speaking of high quality, the lilacs and lavender… where did you get them?” you question. A deep, throaty chuckle emanates from the middle of Namjoon’s chest, and you watch his speckled onyx eyes glint in amusement.

“I didn’t get them anywhere. I grew them myself,” he responds. Taken aback by his answer, you blink at him owlishly. He’d… grown them himself? Well. You hadn’t been expecting that. Though, now that you think about it, it makes sense. Initially, you’d thought that perhaps he’d only enchanted the lilacs, in order to keep them blooming. However, with the sheer life imbued into them, you realise that for that level of magic, he’d probably have to grow them himself. Which, with his mastery in the Botanic Arts, paired with his expertise of Herbalism, would be a feat easier said than done.

With a fleeting glance, you flick your gaze around his shop, only to catch his eye once again. “Do you grow most of your stock?” you ask, astonishment evident in your voice. Once again, Namjoon chuckles, before nodding easily.

“A lot of it, yes. If not most. The things I can’t grow, I have to source from the human settlements. Though, it’s mostly animal products or minerals,” he begins, a look of thought crossing his face. “The minerals, because I don’t have time to go mine for that… Nor do I want to,” he laughs. “And I can’t bring myself to hunt for animal products myself because everytime I do, I end up not wanting to hurt them and letting them go. So I rely on humans a lot for those kinds of things. It’s why, unlike the rest of the coven who lives deeper into the forest, I live closer towards the edge… and also why I’m your only neighbour,” he continues his explanation.

Mouth forming an ‘o’, “That makes sense,” you reply.

“Why do you live so close to the edge? I’m sure High Priest Torin would have offered you a home in the coven’s territory?” Namjoon questions.

With a nonchalant shrug, “I just needed a change I guess. With the Sisters of Elysia being nomadic, we never had an actual home. And so we’d always live in temporary homes while sharing living spaces. Moving here, I knew I kinda just wanted some more privacy, you know?” comes your answer. Once again, there’s nothing but truth in it, and internally, you wonder just what kind of bewitchment he’s cast on you, for you to be so honest. Though, it’s probably just his natural charm.

“Plus, I’m focusing more on my Alchemical Restoration, and I want to be able to help as many people as I can. Both, our coven, and the humans in the country,” you continue. Then, letting out a sigh, “Except… I’m still new to the area and the Forest of Ingredeen is huge and I have no idea where the human settlements are,” you finish. Then, after a small pause for thought, “Other than the Sundale settlement, that is,” you ponder out loud.

“Oh. There are a total of five in the entire country, and they all border the Forest of Ingredeen since it’s the oldest and most ancient woodland,” Namjoon points out. Taking his hands off of the counter, he shuffles towards the book rack on the tabletop, and pulling out a large scroll from the corner, he unravels it flat onto the surface. A large map greets you; the parchment yellowed and the ink faded with time. Still, you can make out all the details of the cartograph. It’s of Carelia, you note, with the human settlements clearly illustrated, as well as the paths to them.

“These are the general routes that you can traverse. Though, not all of them are in use anymore. And newer ones have been created. There’s also no real roads to follow,” Namjoon explains, a small frown marring his lips. Then, flicking his gaze towards you, he looks at you through hooded eyes. “If you’re free tomorrow, I can show you around? I doubt anyone knows these woods as well as me” he boasts.

Lips pulling into a flirtatious smile, you loll your head to the side before cocking your eyebrow. “Like a date?” comes your glib suggestion. Your voice is light, and airy, and your tone completely casual. And of course, you don’t expect him to actually agree. Still, to your complete disappointment, Namjoon shakes his head

“Not like a date,” comes his quick response, his voice causing ripples of devastation to tinge at your being. However, “A date,” he continues. Instantly, your disappointment is replaced with delight, and your heart simultaneously flutters.

Pulling your lower lip between your teeth, you chew on the soft petal in a bid to suppress your grin. “I’ll look forward to it.”

a/n: SCREAM god fneorngeoirgnoeig i dont know why that was so long when absolutely nothing happened but  i hope y’all liked it ahhh 🥺👉🏼👈🏼 i’m hoping to get the next part up next weekend but jfneronorign no promises rip ♡

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[chromosome23hq]

sometime in early january of 1998. the xavier institute.

The past few months have brought Charles to a conclusion he had avoided for a long time. In the decades since the president acknowledged the existence of mutants, society remained largely the same on the surface. Most non-mutants went about their daily lives, and didn’t spare a thought to the mutants who lived in fear. Charles did his best to give a home to those in desperate need, and slowly push for further tolerance of mutants. Of course, Erik and his plans lingered in the back of his mind, but he foolishly believed he had more time to prepare for what his grand plan would be.

Then, the mayor was shot and killed. The Brotherhood eagerly claimed responsibility, and encouraged a riot in the streets. Weeks later, Rebecca was killed and her head was gruesomely put on display for Halloween. That same night the crowd who watched in horror was stabbed at random. He knew that the Brotherhood had nothing to do with that, but the news pinning the blame on radical mutants all the same. Even after he disclosed the school’s true purpose and held a gala in hopes of bring mutants and non-mutants together, an attack occurred and raised the alarm all over again.

Each event had increased the city’s fear of mutants, which in turn worsened how mutants were treated in their daily lives. That validated Erik’s message of dominance as the only answer to their oppression.

In short, Erik had the upper hand.

That was what Han-Byul and Charles were speaking about today. It was a conversation filled more with contemplative silence than words. That was until Han-Byul voiced an idea he had been saving for a moment like this.

“Every plan of the Brotherhood’s is thought of down to the detail. By the time your teachers or the Omegas arrive, it’s too late,” Han-byul began, as Charles nodded in agreement. “That’s why we need to be there from the beginning.”

Charles found himself unable to respond for a moment. “You aren’t suggesting–”

“I am,” Han-Byul confirmed. “The only way to stop the Brotherhood is to know what they’ll do before they do it. If we have someone on the inside, we can shift our focus to prevention. We can save lives.”

It was true. Right now, the Brotherhood was three steps ahead of them, and held all the advantages because of it. With the few people Charles knew were under Erik and the man himself, he had to admit they were brilliant strategists.

“Which professors do you suggest we send?” Charles asked.

Han-Byul shook his head. “We can’t send people who are known to be close to you, or too attached to the school to leave it. It would register as suspicious immediately.” He took a sip of his tea. “Students and allies of the school are our best bet.”

Shock overtook Charles’ face. It was one thing to ask this of people who had years of training, and could handle themselves in tense situations. But, students? People who helped the school, yet weren’t a part of it and had no formal training? “We would be sending undertrained mutants into a battle that began long before most of them were born,” he argued.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing now in the danger room? What makes this idea any different?” Han-Byul questioned with a raised brow.

A tense silence settled into the room.

Then, Charles sighed. “You’re right.”

The only difference would be when the students would be put into the line of fire. As much as Charles wished things were different, he knew they didn’t have time to waste. “I’d like at least a month to prepare who we send, so they aren’t going in blind.”

“That’s what I was thinking. We’ll need to come up with a way they can relay what they learn without exposing themselves, and how they’ll get in contact if they are in danger,” Han-Byul explained. He would do everything he could to make sure this mission succeeded.

After another few hours of going over details and what they would do next, Han-Byul stood to leave. “Charles,” Han-Byul looked over his shoulder before opening the door to his office. “This plan cannot fail.”

With a humorless smile, Charles asked, “Do you have that much confidence in our plan?”

Han-Byul nodded, “I do.” He looked away before Charles’ smile dropped into a grave expression.

Both men knew that wasn’t what Han-Byul had meant. It was a warning.

If this mission failed, the entire city would feel the consequences of it.

mid-january to february 1998. the xavier institute.

The recruitment process would be quick and messy. There was no space for interviews or going down a list of potential candidates. Han-Byul had given his advice for what type of people to look out for: Adaptable, responsible, and powerful. At least each person should have one of those traits, he had told him.

He rolled through the halls of the institute with those words in mind as he nearly bumped into one of his students who was leaning against a wall. The moment a wheel touched her foot her camouflage wore off, and he could see her clearly–April. While he didn’t get much one-on-one time with all of his students, he still knew all of their names and powers. However, he had never seen April’s camouflage in action.

It was the epitome of adaptability.

Before she could give any explanations or apologize for what she was doing, Charles asked, “You’ve done nothing wrong. But would you come to my office with me, April? I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

— — — — — — — — 

With one person down and two more to go, Charles mentally went over the list of people he felt would be right for this mission. It was a difficult process–Han-Byul and Charles would be asking a lot of each person. They would act as if they had abandoned all their values, and cut off everyone close to them. No one could know but Charles, Han-Byul, and the three of them; it was for their safety. That didn’t make it any less of a burden.

His thoughts were broken by a small shriek by his secretary, and he quickly pushed himself to the door. Then, he felt the mind behind the door, before he heard his voice giving quick apologies. It was Evan, one of his former students and current recruiter for the school. Despite his frequent visits to the campus, his “entrances” could still give people quite the fright.

Charles considered Evan a large asset, as he was always able to pick up mutants he found and return them safely. He even had a way of calming down and connecting with the especially nervous ones. It occurred to the professor how reliable he was, and how his ability would lend itself well to undercover work.

He opened the door as Evan had his hand up ready to knock, and he smiled at the young man. “Do you have time to talk, Evan?”

— — — — — — — — 

Finally, Charles and Han-Byul needed only one more person to round out their group of agents. It had to be soon, and they had to fit within the two people they already had. This decision would be Charles’ hardest one yet.

While doing paperwork at his desk one day, he received a sudden telepathic link from Professor Frost. “Duck,” was all she said, and he followed the instruction just as a plastic ball flew through the glass window next to him.

He looked over in bewilderment, and saw two figures off in the distance. It was Emma and a redhead–Finley, Emma helpfully supplied–who was the one who had accidentally sent the ball in his direction. A few minutes later Finley and Emma were in his office, and she was apologizing profusely.

“I told you he would understand, it’s okay, Finley,” Emma attempted to comfort the nervous woman.

“It really is fine. Worse things have happened,” Charles tried to joke, but Finley still seemed weighed down by guilt.

She was one of the new students at the school, who had joined with her friend. From what Charles knew, she could control the space around her. It was astonishing she could cause an object to fly that distance already. She seemed to have a large amount of power despite little practice with it.

“Emma, would you mind giving me a moment with Finley?” His fellow professor nodded, giving Finley one last shoulder touch before leaving.

“You’re not in any sort of trouble,” he explained to her, which seemed to perk her up somewhat. “Actually, it’s the very opposite, I have an opportunity for you.”

march 1st, 1998. the xavier institute.

Everything was ready. The time was near. Three mutants handpicked by Charles and trained by Han-Byul would take the first step in infiltrating the Brotherhood, and taking it down from the inside.

Charles had told the school a few days earlier the loss of April, Finley, and Evan as allies to the school. They would no longer be welcome at the school, and could even be considered dangerous. It was not the first time he had lied to students and staff alike, nor would it be the last.

Let this betrayal be worth it in the end. Let them all return home unharmed.

march 3rd, 1998. riker’s island.

April had always felt like she was hopping along throughout life at Xavier’s, remaining off the radar, never really gaining the attention of Professor Xavier or the other teachers. Oh, how wrong she’d been. At first, when she’d been asked to go undercover, her first instinct was to laugh in the bald man’s face and tell him he’d been watching too many James Bond movies. But the look on his face had told her that he was being completely serious. So, like any good student, she agreed to be a super-secret spy. Very cool, if she did say so herself. 

“Oh, yeah, you’re so cool, April... dumbass,” she grumbled under her breath, waiting for her opportune moment to strike. She’d been laying on the ground for a while now, camouflaged with the carpet, tucked away in a corner. She was waiting for the room to empty a little so that she was left with only 4 or 5 guards to deal with. A few minutes later, the moment had come, and she grabbed the ankles of three of the guys walking past her, yanking them down to the ground. The look on their faces was hilarious, but she didn’t have time to enjoy it before the other guards came running to see what had happened. 

Jumping up from her position on the ground, she hopped up onto the desk, sitting on all fours as she extended her tongue. She could tell that they were both disgusted and confused as it came speeding towards them, hitting one in the face and sending them flying backwards, then hitting another. “Uhh, hi, I’m here to check if you guys are able to fight off a mutant,” she said, then shrugged. “Turns out you aren’t. Boo you! Your bosses won’t be happy.” She wondered if she’d done enough for Finley to get in yet. To be honest, all of this was making her stomach do horrible flips. 

As a couple of the guards got back up, April shook her head and leapt toward them, landing in front of them. Reaching out, she grabbed their wrists, excreting her paralyzing toxin from her skin. She always felt disgusted whenever she did this. But, needs must, and all that. As she held them, her tongue wrapped around the other men, crushing them tight enough to keep them quiet and unable to move, but not enough to leave them with permanent damage. Fuck, she hoped her toxin wouldn’t permanently paralyse anyone. “So sorry about this,” she whispered, not wanting Finley to overhear her. She didn’t want to seem weak and like she couldn’t handle things like this. For now, she had shit handled... But maybe this whole infiltrating the enemy thing wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought.

— — — — — — — — 

Breaking someone out of prison had never been on Finley’s bucket list. Yet, here she was, hiding behind a corner in the prison, waiting for her window of opportunity. None of them had much experience with planning a prison break – surprisingly, it’s not how most people spend their afternoons – but, they’ve done their best to cultivate a plan. Besides, they succeed or end up in prison themselves. Finley liked to think the institute would bail them out, but she’s not blind to the fact that it would certainly give the plan away. And, if Xavier were to choose between three students, and putting a target on the back of the institute, he’d pick the school. Not that she blamed him for that. At least it put pressure on them not to fail. 

April was impressively good at distractions. All eyes were on her, and that left Finley open to do her job. It seemed easy enough. All she had to do was get a keycard off one of the employees without them noticing. With her ability, it should be a piece of cake if she could just get eyes on one for long enough. But, as it turned out, a moving target wasn’t ideal for someone as novice as her. If one of these guards could stop moving for all of ten seconds so Finley can focus...

But, with each wild and unruly turn the bodies in the room take, it broke any concentration Finley had. And, subsequently, made her hope for success waver. The thought crossed her mind that she should not have been one of the people Xavier picked for this job. She might be powerful, but she’s inexperienced. April and Evan had been involved with the school so much longer than her and had been trained for years to have the tools to succeed – unlike her who had only been enrolled in the school for a few weeks. The only difference? Her power was unique, and useful. Damn the universe that cursed her with a complex ability. She wouldn’t have been asked to do this if she could do something simple like shapeshift. 

The only option was to attempt to creep forward on the desk and hope someone was stupid enough to leave their keycard there. At least that wouldn’t be a moving target. 

It’s a bold move, and the blood rushed into Finley’s ears, pulsing so hard that it dampened the sound of all the other chaos in the room. Her stance was low to the ground, red hair tucked into a hat to keep it from looking like a beacon in the sea of balding heads, and dark hair. Finley’s shot to the desk was clear and unoccupied thanks to April.

Frantic eyes dance across the desk. It’s an absolute mess. Files were strewn about the desk with complete disregard. Food wrappers, hangman games, and post-it notes with nonsense were some of the only things she could make out clearly. How much closer could she get to the desk without getting caught?

A few more steps. And then she spotted it. Amidst the chaos, piles of paper, she set her eyes upon the holy grail: A keycard. 

Her hand opened up, and eyes squeeze shut for the briefest moment. All she had to do was picture the keycard in her hand and then – there it was. She opened her eyes again, glancing down at the white card now nestled in her palm. 

And it all went off without a –

“Hey!” 

Her eyes snapped up to meet another Guard’s. And, before she could even think about it, she bolted. All she had to do was meet Evan. If she could get Evan the key card to open the cells, then they’re one step closer. 

But the hammering in her chest wouldn’t slow down, and she could hear footsteps behind her. She swiveled around a corner, shoes skidding against the linoleum floor. If she didn’t do something drastic, she knew this would end with her getting caught, and the plan falling apart before it even started. 

All she needed to do was buy herself a few seconds of stillness, and maybe she could get herself to Evan without having to outrun a bunch of prison guards. She rounded another corner, eyes scanning for anywhere to hide. A file room, grabbing onto the door handle, Finley slid the keycard through the reader. Once. Twice. Click.

Finley barreled through the door, whipping around to close it in the nick of time. She could hear the sound of the booted footsteps rushing through the hall on the other side of the door. The paces slow to a halt, and she’s sure they’re scanning for her now. Closing her eyes, she did her best to picture the place that Evan was meant to wait for her arrival with the keycard. 

The feeling of the door against her back disappeared without warning, and Finley stumbled back a few steps, bracing herself for it to be the guards that had been following her. It wasn’t like it was the most ingenious hiding spot. But, when she opened her eyes, she spotted Evan instead. 

A quick glance of her surroundings confirmed that her power had worked. Regardless, the prison knew they were there now. Their window of opportunity was closing, and there was no time to waste. She stuck the keycard out to Evan. 

“They know we’re here. I’ll try and give you some more time, but move fast,” Finley warned. 

From here, it’s up to Evan. The best Finley could do is hold back anyone who came to check the cellblock while he worked. She braced herself for another first.

— — — — — — — — 

He could so very easily remember the day he sat down in Xavier’s office for that meeting. Up until he hit 16 Evan was sure the only goal in life was to drive as fast as he could, make underground history as some sort of prodigy with illegal street racing ... until he’d met Charles Xavier. The dream shifted to becoming an X-Man, fighting for the beliefs and rights of mutants everywhere, for their safety. He’d accepted that role with open palms and a smile so wide that his face hurt for days ... but he’d never expected being asked to do this. Of course, a promise had been made. And while he had his reservations, Evan saw it as a challenge. He never backed down from those.

Getting into the facility for someone like him was a breeze. Of course, it was easier if he knew the building layout, and pouring over stolen plans the night before meant he had dark circles under his eyes. Doing things for the Brotherhood, for Xavier, felt so backward that Evan felt like his head would spin off if he spent too much time lingering on it. So he simply didn’t... everything was broken down into tasks. Task one was being in a position to receive the keycard from Finley. Initiation. He could only be thankful that breaking someone out of prison was the only task they needed to achieve ( as opposed to so many worse options ).

“Hey.”

His voice felt hoarse, throat dry, when Finley appeared. Without seeing someone else he knew in this place he could convince himself it was just a bad dream, but the reality of it came with the feeling of the keycard at his palm, the extension of his arm to receive it. With Finley’s warning. And Evan wanted to suggest maybe she check on April, wanted to tell her to be safe and stay hidden, wanted to ask if she was alright in the middle of this all ... but all he could muster was a lame attempt at humor.

“Fast? I’ll make Speed Racer look like a chump.” And he was off.

Theoretically he could have teleported. If he had the willpower to ensure that he’d have enough energy through it, he could have saved them all a lot of trouble ( and he truly hoped both Finley and April would be safe ). But life didn’t work that way, and teleporting a passenger with him always left Evan feeling less of himself. At least he could thank himself for having boundless energy to run, and with a prayer he kept going.

It was just broken down into tasks. Step one was done: keycard in hand Evan paced through the first ward of the cellblock. Step two was hoping the keycard would work on the barred gates that split the second ward from the first. With a CLICK! he was in, and that was that. Step three was finding Levi - all based off of a photograph given to him by Ezra. And how fucking flippant that entire thing was ... Floor plans flashed in his head while he moved and by the time he came to the end of the corridor where Levi’s cell was estimated to be, the air felt like stinging cold when he inhaled.

“Greetings and salutations. I’m here to pull you out of the depths of hell and show you the light. You may call me your Flight Captain.” Keycard swiped, another loud CLICK! and when the door swung open Evan peered within to ensure the person matched the picture. Thankfully it did, and he reached a hand out to Levi within.

“The Brotherhood sent us. We’re getting you out of here. Hold on and close your eyes because this is going to be really uncomfortable.” He held out his hand, breathless, and readied every part of himself to make the jump. All it would take was contact, but he made sure his grip on Levi was tight ( lest something be lost in translation and how unfortunate that would be ) before he felt that familiar tingle. The swallow of movement, the neon-purple traces left behind.

With a snap they were out of the cellblock. Finley’s location wasn’t safe ( his original plan to pop himself and their mark to her location caput the moment she mentioned the guards knew they were there ) and April’s location was, by virtue of her role, not safe either. So he slipped them just outside of a lone fire escape on the west side of the cellblock, and prayed the prison schematics weren’t out of date. The slap of cold March air let him know they’d made it, and with a cursory glance at Levi he nodded. They could slip to the gate and he’d pop them across easy … or perhaps he’d teleport them into the world beyond the high fence surrounding. The world was his oyster.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Step three done. Step four was praying everyone made it out alright.

IC INFORMATION

Finley Walsh, Evan Stone, and April Honey are recruited as spies tasked to retrieve information on any future attacks by the Brotherhood.

They’ll be relaying information on a weekly basis, updating Professor Charles Xavier and Prism on the goings-on within the Brotherhood’s HQ.

To ensure discretion and the success of this mission, they’ll be asked to (pretend to) sever their ties with the Institute and go incognito in preparation for them going undercover. This means they’ll have to (temporarily) cut off contact with everyone in the Institute and keep the word of their mission a secret.

The three of them will perform a joint initiation task of breaking Levi Crowe out of prison.

Once the spies have broken them out of prison, their mission should commence immediately.

Finley Walsh is assigned to Ezra Shaw

Evan Stone is assigned to Sela Musa

April Honey is assigned to Daichi Kato

OOC INFORMATION

It’s the beginning of the end! Stay tuned for more plot drops and missions 😈

The admins will be giving the chosen Brotherhood members specific plans that the Xavier spies will have to try and extract from them so they can send the intel back to the Institute, which will be done through threads.

Once the spies have retrieved valuable information (i.e. future plans of attack), you can post about it through self-paras.

Whether all spies will be successful in their missions is up to the muns; however we advise that at least two spies will be able to successfully retrieve information.

Muns with Brotherhood members: Your character (for right now) will not have any suspicions or doubts about the spies.

Big thanks to Admin Izzy, Casey, Marcy, and Zed for being awesome writers and collaborating on the first plot drop of the end of arc one!

[nightingaelic]

NV companions reactions to taking the courier’s place in OWB

"Here and now got its ups and downs, but... focusing on the past, like it was any better? That's just Old World Blues." -Blind Diode Jefferson

Arcade Gannon: Being whisked off to a pre-war scientific research haven and adopted by a group of five floating brains in jars was actually a dream Arcade had once, but he was pretty sure it didn't involve losing his own brain along the way. Conversation with the Think Tank would leave him amused at first, but increasingly more horrified as he learned the secrets of Big MT and realized just how much chaos they could create if they weren't busy playing in their Mojave sandbox. The most intriguing part of Big MT for Arcade would, of course, be the Sink. The Biological research station, the light switches, the Sink Central Intelligence Unit and all the others would fascinate him, and he would do his best to figure out their components and try to replicate them in New Vegas for the Followers of the Apocalypse to use. This leads to more than a few circular conversations with Doctor Klein and, once he meets him, Doctor Mobius. I think Mobius' side of the story would leave Arcade depressed about the state of Big MT and the various things roaming its landscape that used to be people. His argument with his own brain, on the other hand, would be worthy of any pre-war sitcom. Though sorely tempted to destroy the Think Tank for good and prevent their wild experimentation ever escaping the crater, I think Arcade would weight the potential good their technology could do much more heavily and convince Doctor Klein to partner with him as a new head researcher.

Craig Boone: Given Boone's hatred for the Legion and their enslavement practices, the Think Tank would seal their doom as soon as they stripped him of his brain and his ability to fight back. And once he found Little Yangtze and its total pacification collars? Oh, it's on. I don't think Boone would be sly about his anger either, but given the Think Tank's flippant attitude toward their lobotomites, they probably wouldn't pick up on just how furious he was until it was too late. There are two things Boone would form attachments to while sneaking around Big MT: Roxie, the ever-loyal cyberdog with a heart of gold, and the Stealth Suit Mk II, which compliments Boone's combat style with minimal commentary. While I don't think Boone would have any strong feelings either way toward Doctor Mobius, I don't think he would kill him unless he had to. Mobius would probably be tickled by his stoic countenance, and would attempt to shower him in Mentats as a way of loosening up. Boone's brain would be a bit like Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh, reveling in its own sadness for once because Boone always shoved those feelings out of sight and out of mind. Their main argument would be over a compromise to confront that deep sorrow once reunited. When the Think Tank is dead, Boone zaps Roxie and himself back to Nipton, then smashes the Big Mountain Transportalponder! on the nearest rock.

Lily Bowen: I think we could class Lily's reaction to being kidnapped and experimented upon by the Think Tank as utter confusion. She would still be as benevolent as ever, trying her best to soothe the over-inflated egos of the various doctors as they debated what to do with this creature that had thoroughly stumped the Auto-Doc upon recovery, but I think she would start looking for the exit as soon as they suggested a full dissection. Lily's experience in Big MT would be very different from the other companions after that, with the Think Tank sending wave after wave of lobotomites and night stalkers after her in an attempt to regain their new test subject, and Lily beating each attack back with her trusty vertibird blade and the growing pile of new gadgets she accumulated with every location visited. I think Doctor Mobius would watch this play out with interest, and would send a few packs of robo-scorpions to herd her toward the radar fence, then surreptitiously lower the barrier long enough for her to stumble outside. The story of her time in "the Big Empty" would become a fireside hit in Jacobstown, but few would believe that she had actually found the place where all cazadores and night stalkers come from.

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul is already missing a few body parts, so what's one more? The old ghoul would be somewhat exasperated at finding himself in another situation of imprisonment and being forced to do work for others, but at least it's not as boring as Black Mountain. Big MT, on the other hand, is a heck of a lot more deadly than the State of Utobitha, but all Raul can do is roll his eyes every time he spots another band of lobotomites chasing him down or robo-scorpions crawling over the horizon. Like Boone, Raul grows fond of Roxie, though his favorite acquisition from Big MT's tech piles would definitely be the proton axe: He just likes the way it looks and feels when he's swinging it around. Confronting Doctor Mobius would come when the old ghoul is reaching the end of his patience with the Think Tank, though he would spare the mad scientist some time to listen to his sad story and ponder the fate of Big MT. I think Raul would be the one most in tune with his disembodied brain, and they would greet each other as old friends that share a rocky history, but have accepted each other's flaws. As for the Think Tank, Raul would leave the decision of what to do with them up to Doctor Mobius: After all, they're not his mess to clean up.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Oh boy. Cass is no one's errand girl, but she's also rather fond of her brain, pickled in liquor though it may be. She would blaze a deadly trail through Big MT, marked by the wrecked bodies of robo-scorpions and Y-17 trauma override harnesses (a personal scourge for the former caravan owner, maybe her teams wouldn't have been killed if she'd just had some goddamned walking suits to do the job) and the never-ending stream of curse words floating on the crater's breeze. The lobotomites would quickly learn to stay out of her way, and every new acquisition for the Think Tank would be tossed unceremoniously on the floor of the sanctum with a clatter. Doctor Dala loves the caravaner, but the others all hate her, and Cass can't help but find the feeling mutual. Doctor Mobius would not be able to sway her from high-tailing it out of Big MT as soon as possible, and like Raul, she would not see the Think Tank's containment as her responsibility. Her brain, on the other hand, would berate her for her internalized guilt and bully her into doing the right thing - which, in her case, is eliminating the Think Tank's threat once and for all.

Veronica Santangelo: The main challenge for the doctors of the Think Tank upon capturing Veronica would be prying her away from their sanctum long enough to set her on the path to retrieving tech for them. Like Arcade, Veronica would be fascinated by the Sink and everything in it, but she would be equally fascinated with the scientists themselves and their varied personalities. She would prod Doctor Klein for details about his work, decode Doctor 8's speech patterns, and roll her tongue around in her mouth for Doctor Dala's recording equipment. Getting her brain back would take a backseat to just wandering Big MT, taking in the crazy inventions from a world long gone and wondering which ones she could bring home to Elder McNamara to show him how remaining set in his ways has put the Brotherhood of Steel on a path to irrelevance. This desire would stay her hand after meeting Doctor Mobius, and would lead her to convince the Think Tank to abandon their escape attempts and return to testing silly hypotheses. Her most important discovery would be the clues left behind by Father Elijah, well on his way to becoming a mad scientist himself, and Christine, hot on his trail for the Brotherhood of Steel. All in all, the experience would leave Veronica hungry for more adventure and send her sprinting toward the Sierra Madre and an uncertain fate.

ED-E: As a robot, the Think Tank would be disappointed with the little intruder and would likely argue about whether to toss it in the scrap pile. Doctor 0 would be absolutely disgusted by the intrusion of Robert House's technology into Big MT, but Doctor Dala would become attached to the eyebot and adopt it, cooing about the elegance of its design while simultaneously bemoaning its lack of biorhythms. ED-E, confused, would humor her for a while before striking out to explore the crater and its many wonders. After its first run-in with lobotomites, the eyebot would flee in fear, straight past the X-42 giant robo-scorpion and into the clutches of Doctor Mobius. The self-proclaimed villain would take pity on the robot and release it outside the radar fence with an escort of robo-scorpions to take home.

Rex: Cyberdogs are a well-known quantity at Big MT, so the new arrival from outside the radar fence is immediately handed over to Doctor Borous for his X-8 project. With a fresh new brain, some grease on his joints, and a competent pack addition named Roxie, Rex is ready to take on any obstacle courses in the X-8 research center. Once the two cyberdogs grow bored of tearing through night stalkers and avoiding Gabe, they make their escape and lope off into the Mojave to have a litter of Boston terrifiers together.

[guiltycorp]

about the ‘sworn’ or ‘righteous’ part of Kaeya’s relation to Ragnvindrs Considering the fact that Kaeya must have been ~10-13 years old when he was taken in by Crepus and also that his profile description calls him his sworn son (義子) I believe it's safe to assume that this was the primary relationship. Later in his stories Kaeya is often referred to as 養子, adopted or foster son and it is my belief that the meaning is 100% foster because being a sworn son is different to actually getting adopted. Sworn children don't share their 'parents' surnames and they don't inherit anything, in fact, often there's no form of written contract at all and instead it's just an agreement where one side provides patronage and care while the other offers filial piety. So, that means that it probably wasn't Diluc's decision to swear an oath of brotherhood with Kaeya! Instead Kaeya first became Crepus's sworn son and thus became Diluc's sworn brother by association; though calling the children of your sworn parent your sworn siblings isn't an absolute rule it's still kind of expected. Having skimmed through the Chinese Wikipedia page it seems to me like the main contemporary reason to make other children your sworn sons/daughters is because people weren't allowed to have more than one child and 'adopting' sworn children like this allowed the kids to learn the value of 悌, concept of fraternal loyalty. Also just in general easier to make close friends when your parents already did that for you. It would make sense to me if Crepus didn't want to risk adopting a random kid but still took in Kaeya as his sworn son specifically to provide Diluc with a close friend of a similar age and semi-equal status (sorry Elzer т_т). I should note that the practice of sworn parents/siblings was often historically used for political and economical reasons, in turn leading to corruption and abuse. For example, 'I give you filial piety, you give me money and promotions' or 'I give you a roof over your head and you give me your servitude' etc. This isn't really relevant to Kaeya's character since he mentions happiness while being with Ragnvindrs (when comparing his duty to his feelings), but still this is to provide context bc the practice isn't seen as completely ideal&pure. Plus he diiiid become a knight under Diluc ehe, but of course it’s easy to make the case for ‘he deserved it’.  Anyway in my opinion, considering the fact that Kaeya's and Diluc's sworn brotherhood oath wasn't made by them on purpose, the only thing that truly matters when it comes to their relationship is the characters' own view. We don’t really have much information on their pre-fight dynamic aside from them having been very close with Diluc as the older perfect prodigy and Kaeya as his sidekick (support + planning). However, they are said to have been as close as the gemini, like, the sign that means twins. This is probably a point in favor of an actual brotherly relationship rather than a fairly distant friendship. Meanwhile their current in-game relationship is fraught with tension.  Kaeya obviously wants to reconcile and Diluc still relies on him whenever Kaeya suggests it, so when it comes to professionalism they fall back into the same dynamic of brawns & brain, but their dialogues are filled with mistrust on Diluc’s end and with bitterness on Kaeya’s side.  It's fairly concerning that the only sign Diluc might still care about his ex-sworn brother is that ugly ass vase he kept in the lobby.   Considering the amount of things Kaeya managed to do for him already, it's slightly unbalanced immo to say the least :/ :/ Some like to say that Diluc not giving him over to Jean is already a sign of caring on his part but idk, considering his personality he might just see Kaeya as his own responsibility to watch over and I doubt that he would leave Mond for 4 years if Kaeya actually seemed like a threat.  And there were plenty of times when Diluc could have alluded to Kaeya (like, kaeya alludes to him in his voicelines all the time) and yet just doesn't.  Even the line that could vaguely be associated with Kaeya, the one about nightingales, is a mistranslation — he meant night OWLS, his own constellation and symbol. What a pity tbh.  We just have to wait for further content with them to be sure that Diluc isn’t completely heartless.  And more about the pairing though, read only if it’s relevant to your interests.  While ideally sworn siblings are expected to maintain platonic relations and to care for each other their whole lives, being halves of a whole and all that, interestingly enough according to the Wikipedia page the specific kind of sworn siblings you make through parents is less regulated, so if kids grow up and pursue romantic relationships between each other it's seen as just fine, sometimes even encouraged by the more meddling type of grannies. Tbh at first I was surprised by that, but likely it's because becoming sworn siblings isn't really their call? While if you swear an oath of brotherhood/sisterhood by your own decision as an adult you're expected to maintain that specific kind of relationship? makes sense to me i guess (that said, of course there are also practices like 契兄弟, Qi sworn brothers — like, specifically the gay sworn brothers, when men swore brotherhood with their lovers to avoid persecution for homosexuality... also my understanding is that women did that way more often because for them it was also a way to get out of marriages by saying that they were fully devoted to their 'sisters' instead, this isn’t relevant here, just interesting) Basically as soon as you enter a romantic relationship with your sworn-anything the boundary you maintain is replaced by the new romantic kind and you shouldn't count as sworn siblings anymore; unless you're lgbtq in which case open romantic relationships are dangerous anyway so you might as well continue calling your partner whatever. Basically there would be nothing wrong with kaeluc especially since they even already stopped calling each other sworn brothers (the eng translation took liberties again, in the comic it’s not actually clear who was the first one to stop). It’s all about the characters’ own perspective and while I’m convinced that genshin won’t have any outright lgbt representation bc chinese game, we can still assume a lot from how things between Kaeya and Diluc develop, like whether they will reconcile and if they do will they go back to calling each other sworn brothers or if they will start a completely new friendship free of the ties to Crepus. Or will they fail to reconcile in a dramatic and angsty fashion? Either way, this time it would be their own choice and thus all the stronger for it!