#found family elements

[aventurineswife]

Anaxa with a reader who acts like a mitigation unit for whenever he says something blasphemous and leaves people wanting to punch him lmao

The reader is soft-spoken and gentler in disposition (much like castorice) and not exactly on par with him in terms of ingenuity, so some people wonder how they ended up together. But eh, who cares? Anaxa loves them anyways. Though, spending time with him is not good for their heart since whenever he states something outrageous, the reader will chime in with a "he doesn't mean that" and attempt to smoothen the tension, only for this dromas loving nerd to ruin the peace by spouting something like "no, actually, I meant every word I say" and the reader just stares up at the heavens, gaze resigned, and inwardly prays that they won't be stoned to death in that very moment

Bonus if they're taller than anaxa. I just think it would be cute if the reader has to constantly bend down whenever anaxa has something to say. Just the overall trope of the tall one being meek and withdrawn while the short one is feisty and outspoken

“He doesn’t mean that… I think”

Summary: You're the tall, soft-spoken partner of Anaxagoras—the infamous scholar with a talent for making blasphemous statements that nearly get you both stoned on a regular basis. While he fearlessly challenges gods and sages with wild theories and cutting wit, you're always close behind, offering polite smiles, calming words, and the occasional desperate "he doesn’t mean that." Despite your gentler nature and quieter intellect, Anaxa is fiercely devoted to you, pulling you into his chaotic orbit with unwavering affection. It’s loud, it’s intense, and your spine might just be made of divine patience.

Tags: Anaxagorus x Reader, Opposites Attract, Height Difference, Chaotic Genius x Soft-Tall Partner, Damage Control Partner, Romantic Tension, Emotional Vulnerability, Found Family Elements, Slow Burn (Implied), Philosophical Drama, “He Doesn’t Mean That” Energy, Protective Reader.

Warnings: Themes Of Death And Loss, Mentions Of Religious And Academic Conflict, Blasphemy (Fictional Context), Light Emotional Angst, Mild Language, Potential Reader Endangerment (Non-Graphic, Played For Irony/Humor), Anaxagorus being Anaxagorus.

A/N: I love this man, can you tell? 😋💚

It always starts with him saying something he absolutely shouldn’t.

The atmosphere in the courtyard of the Grove is as tense as a taut bowstring. A gathering of scholars and disciples encircle the infamous Anaxagoras, their faces twitching with barely concealed disdain, curiosity, or both. And there you are, standing right beside him like a loyal, bewildered lighthouse in the middle of an academic storm.

“…And that, my dear sages,” Anaxa declares, arms dramatically flared, coat swishing like some peacock possessed by hubris, “is why divine authority is nothing but an inherited illusion. If a god needs worship to maintain power, is it not merely a glorified parasite?”

Silence.

Not a respectful kind of silence. The "someone-is-about-to-throw-a-chair" kind of silence.

You blink. Smile nervously. And step in, gently placing a hand on Anaxa’s shoulder—he’s still mid-pose, soaking in the shocked silence like it’s validation—and clear your throat. You lean forward slightly, voice as gentle as spring rain.

“He doesn’t mean that.”

“I do,” Anaxa replies immediately, not even turning to look at you. “And if anyone disagrees, they’re welcome to explain how an all-powerful being managed to trip over the concept of mortality.”

You don't even sigh anymore. You just look up at the skies, lips silently mouthing the names of all the gods, hoping one of them has a sense of humor.

People often ask how the two of you ended up together.

You, the serene, quiet mitigation unit who wears soft colors and softer expressions. Him, the sharp-tongued philosopher whose idea of a romantic date involves reading banned texts and dismantling holy logic.

“They're not even on the same wavelength,” someone once whispered, watching you gently tug Anaxa back from yet another oncoming theological brawl. “How does it even work?”

You weren’t sure either.

Maybe it’s the way his eyes soften when you’re the one holding the scalpel during a shared experiment. Or how he lets you tie his ponytail every morning, mumbling critiques about symmetry but never actually fixing it. Or how he always looks for you in a room before he speaks—to see if you're there to watch the world burn with him.

Maybe it’s just love. Bizarre, inexplicable love.

Even if that love occasionally comes with public threats of excommunication.

You’re taller than him, of course. He pretends not to notice. But when he speaks, you always instinctively lean down just slightly, hands politely folded, like you’re giving a particularly chaotic child your full attention.

“Listen,” he says one day, post-lecture, voice low and dramatic, “I’ve discovered a correlation between Titan souls and the latent fear gods have of mortality. My next paper will be titled ‘The Cowards in the Sky.’”

You stare at him. Then glance nervously at the passing sages.

“He doesn’t mean that,” you murmur.

“I do,” Anaxa snaps, tilting his head up at you with that familiar glint of mischief and defiance. “And if I vanish in the middle of the night, assume they finally sent divine assassins. You’ll avenge me, won’t you?”

You rub your temple. “I’ll try to negotiate.”

“And you call yourself devoted,” he mutters, smug.

Still, for all the chaos he invites, Anaxa clings to you like a man who has seen too much fire and finds comfort in quiet.

When the nights are cold and long, he curls against you like he’s hiding from ghosts, his left hand resting just above yours. Sometimes, in those fragile hours, he whispers the names of people who aren’t alive anymore. Sometimes, he whispers yours like it's the only name he trusts to stay.

You don’t always understand the depth of his genius. You don’t have to.

You’re there. That’s enough.

You ground him, and occasionally save both your lives from being pelted by rocks.

“I’ve concluded,” Anaxa says one day, while reclining on your lap beneath a half-dead tree, “that your spine must be made of divine patience.”

You smile faintly, brushing a strand of mint hair from his face.

“And I’ve concluded,” you reply, voice barely audible, “that your mouth is going to get us killed one day.”

He laughs.

“You love me, still?”

You lean down slowly, forehead resting against his.

“Unfortunately,” you whisper.

And he grins.

“Good. That makes two of us.”

[mania-motherofsouls]

Whumptober Day 1: Race Against The Clock

search party | panic attack | "if only we could hold on"

TW: vaguely described panic attack, thalassophobia maybe

The storm was the worst Kaula had seen since her uncle had brought her aboard his ship. The waves rolled beneath the ship, heaving it about like a child's toy. Voices hollered back and forth, but the wind stole the words the very second they were spoken. 

Kaula had only been on the ship for a few months. Not nearly long enough to be of any help with the rigging. The ship tossed and suddenly there was a figure at her back. She recognized Fishbait by his beard as he bent close to her ear.

“Get to the galley! Help Zoulo tie down-”

A wave crashed over the deck. Water surrounded Kaula, slamming into her with a force beyond any she’d felt before. Fishbait’s hand was torn away from her shoulder and she was swept over the edge. 

Kaula plunged into darkness, lungs far too empty and beginning to burn as she tried to orient herself. Her mind was spinning too fast for her to process anything. Up? Down? Too dark to tell. No sun anyway. Just needed a moment of stillness. Just one moment. Just- one- she flung out her hands and the gem on her wrist glowed.

The water stilled immediately. She was still getting pushed around, but the little bubble that she occupied was still.

Everything around her was dark. No clues which way was up, but her mind settled ever so slightly. Her chest burned with sour air and she had nothing to replace it with. Still, she released a thin stream and watched the bubbles. They drifted to her right. 

Desperate for air, she broke her little bubble of calm and twisted the water to her left, propelling herself up. She breached the surface with enough velocity to fling herself into the air before splashing back down. Just time enough to take a breath. 

Surfacing a second time, Kaula twisted herself around rapidly. Where was the ship?

A sob caught in her throat as the magnitude of the ocean hit her, another wave pushing her down. Stubbornly she fought her way back to the surface. She was alone in the middle of the ocean, a tiny life in an uncaring sea. She'd never be found. Who could possibly find one little body in the vast expanse of water? 

Her breaths came faster and faster. Faster than she could afford. She was only fourteen! She hadn't even done anything yet! That storyteller didn't know anything. Kaula, do something great? Fat chance of that, she was about to die! 

Tears streamed down her face, the heat of them the only indicator that they were anything other than sea water. Her vision blurred and she screamed curses into the sky. Got a mouthful of salt water for her troubles. How was she supposed to find the ship when she couldn't even see? 

A dull shine caught her eye and she lifted her arm out of the water. It blurred out of focus. Angrily she used her other hand to brush the water from her eyes, stirring up the sea underneath her just a little bit more to compensate for her lack of arms while treading water. The shine grew brighter. 

The gem she got from the storyteller so many years ago. The gem that let her manipulate the water. She didn’t tend to notice the glow in daylight, but in the storm…

Kaula swallowed, ignoring the salt scratching at her throat. She could use this. If she got higher maybe. Gritting her teeth against the wind and rain, she pulled the water up around her in a spout, holding herself high above the twisting, roiling waves. The gem glowed brighter and she thrust her wrist into the dark sky. Now, she just had to hold on. If only, she could hold on.

“MAN OVERBOARD!” Came the call and Roka felt the chill down to his gut. Fishbait was clinging to the side of the ship, one arm waving, sheets of rain garbling his words. “CAPTAIN- KAULA!”

His gut turned to stone as the cry went up around the ship. “Hard to starboard!”

Ruza, straining at the whipstaff shook his head. “That’ll capsize us, Captain!” 

Roka grit his teeth. Curse it all, the man was right. The ship pitched to and fro, cresting the waves and getting farther away from his niece with every dip and rise. He couldn’t stop, he couldn’t turn back. He was the captain of the ship and he couldn’t do a single thing for the girl he’d raised as his own daughter. 

“Please don’t take her,” he found himself praying. “I’ll do anything, penitence, anything, Lora, please don’t take her.” 

“Bring her about! I don’t care how long it takes, we’re going back!” 

Maybe his prayer was answered. The next wave that hit them slammed the rudder in the same direction Ruza was pulling it. The ship began it’s wide turn about, navigating through the waves as best it could. 

“All eyes not on the rigging, out at sea! We’re finding her! If it’s the last thing we do!”

For far too long, all that could be heard was the howling wind and the rain pounding into the boards. 

“Captain! There’s something out there! Starboard! Off the forecastle!”  

Ruza needed no direction to alter their heading. Roka ran forward, searching desperately for whatever it was Squinteye had seen. 

The ship pitched down and it was everything Roka could do to keep his footing, but he saw it. A light shining out in the storm, far higher than he’d expected. A column of water rose up from the sea, height untouched by the waves and at the top, perched Kaula, visible only from the waist up, but there, alive!

“Kaula!”

Her answering cry was lost to the storm, but the water funnel rushed toward them, slapping the hull and dissipating against it. Kaula dropped to the deck where K-ro grabbed her, unwilling to let her wash away again.

Roka couldn’t get there fast enough. K-ro cut the distance for him, jumping down the steps and handing off the teenager he was all but carrying to his captain. 

Kaula clung to him, sobbing. Maybe in different circumstances he’d chide her for it, but right now? He too had far too much rain in his eyes. 

Distantly, he heard Kopuno taking over orders. Good. That meant Roka could focus his attention where it deserved to be. Zoulo pulled them both into the galley, out of the rage of the storm. Kaula buried her face in his chest, and with his other responsibilities handled, Roka held her.

[lightgamble]

DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN | 1.01, 1.02 & 1.03

I'm not him anymore. And, I won't let myself be.

[raccoonbug]

These kids were filthy, Eggman swears.

Sonic was easy enough to care for. Quills we’re easy to manage, and with such short fur, knots brushed out easily.

Tails, though?

It drove Eggman crazy. At first, he’d wanted to leave the kit alone, to allow his youngest the chance to manage his fur himself. At this point, though, it was getting ridiculous. Long gold fur tangled horrifically, with the white wisps along his muzzle slowly looking more like a birds nest was glued to his face. Honestly, it’s a miracle the boy hadn’t started matting!

Thankfully, Robotnik had purchased a brush for just this situation.

That’s how they’d gotten here. Tails sat perched in the man’s lap, fiddling anxiously with his namesakes. Eggman was poised behind him with a detangling brush made for the fox’s fur.

“You’ll be fine, my boy.” Eggman reassured, giving the kit a soft pat on the head. “I’ll be careful not to pull, and you’ll feel much better once I’m done.”

Tails nodded, but stayed quiet. The only person who’d ever brushed him before was Sonic, and the hoglet didn’t ever do things like this thoroughly. Besides, helping with fur was usually meant for families.

Did Eggy see them as family?

The thought made the kit happy. Finally having a whole family set tiny fireworks off in the boys heart. Meeting Sonic, his brother in all but blood, had done much the same.

At the same, though, he felt nervous. Did Eggman truly see them as family? Or was this a was to make the boys less of a hassle while they lived here? Was this permanent? Would Eggman cast him aside, too? Would the doctor leave him all alone, just as his parents had four years ago?

Before he could continue spiraling, Eggman’s brush made contact with his fur. The man was as gentle as he could be, brush peeling knots out of fur like a peeler did skin off of vegetables. Gloved hands tug-tug-tugged at particularly stubborn knots, each time met with a soft whine. This sound was answered with soft hushing, and careful hands soothing the area, before the brushing continued

For Eggman, it was almost hypnotic. A soothing, repetitive motion to calm his usually racing thoughts. Privately, he thought it felt nice, being able to care for someone who meant so much to him. Not like the scientist would ever admit to the parental feelings blossoming in his chest like flowers in the sunlight.

On Tails’ end, the brushing was a bit irritating at first. The tugging hurt, even if it was only a little, and he didn’t like staying still so long. He wanted the doctor to hurry up, to get this over with so the six year old could get up and go play.

Then the humming started.

Soft melodies drifted into the kit’s ears. He couldn’t place the tune, but it soothed his fraying nerves. Tails could feel Eggman’s chest rumble with the soft sound, and as the tender care continued, the boy began to be lulled.

The doctor brushed and brushed for what felt like hours, until no more knots could be found squirreled away in his youngest’s dense coat. For a moment, he looked the boy over, pride swelling in his chest at the sight of the kit looking so clean and well-kept.

Only as Eggman made to move, though, did he realize. The kit, now leaning heavily against his chest, was sound asleep, purring all the while.

He supposed it made sense. This sort of thing was usually soothing for mobians, and Eggman had had to hold the boy just a touch forward for the last twenty minutes to properly brush his back.

Well, he thought, it couldn’t be helped. Best to let the boy sleep. Eggman would likely be stuck here for a while until the kit woke up.

…wait.

…

…

He had to use the bathroom.

[artemx746]

any of you people who follow me for pjo should definitely read the Nevermoor series by Jessica Townsend

[aroaessidhe]

2025 reads / storygraph

The Stars Too Fondly

scifi romcom

20 years ago a deep space mission was supposed to depart for Proxima Centauri but the entire crew disappeared before launch

now a group of friends who’ve spent their whole lives obsessed with it break into the ship to try and figure out what happened - but when they go to look at the dark matter engine, it turns on and starts sending them into space - and gives them strange magical abilities

along with a holographic ai copy of the ship’s captain, they have to deal with their strange abilities, reckon with the fact they might be spending years of their lives in space, and unravel the mystery of what happened to the old crew

bi & lesbian MCs, trans girl & nonbinary aroace side characters

[tumblweeds-omegaverse]

random omegaverse thought:

There must be people who experience specific instinct things with indifference or boredom.

Procreative cycle coming up? "Crap, I've got plans this weekend...stupid skip weeks."

Caught an intriguing scent while walking? "But I need to get to work! Shut up brain."

Had a snap response to a distressed sound? "Who was it?! ...right, it's my day off, I can go back to sleep."

Somebody growled at them? "Kid, I'm not a rival, that's my sibling."

Super cozy cuddle session happening nearby? "I'm gonna pass tonight guys, no social battery left, maybe next time."

Group of friends heading out to flirt and check out other singles? "I'm coming with you but only to make sure you all get home safe."

Setting where fated mates or soul bonds or permanent marks are a thing? "Meh. I don't really want one or care if I ever get one."

People in the actual omegaverse would get as bored of their stuff, as we do of ours, you know? It could be interesting to see that kind of vibe in fics. Biological demands faced with all the excitement of paying bills or doing laundry or tying your shoes.

Even if that kind of energy might not drive a plot, it could be interesting to have as a contrast to the people who do have big feelings about them - good or bad.

There's the friends who can't wait til they have a pack of their own, and the one friend who isn't against it but couldn't care less. There's the group in the office who are all about scent compatibility tests and figuring out one's best match and what sprays most highlight it, and the coworker who has no intentions on putting that much effort in. There are parents who hover and protect their offspring by scenting them multiple times a day, and others who don't see what the fuss is as long as it's done in the morning.

...also: packs with introverts who show care by giving each other space. So often, closeness is depicted through physical touch and tactile affection, but comfortable silence is meaningful too. Knowing people are near, but not having to interact until you're ready. Sitting in the same room doing different things, knowing that all it takes is a "hey, look at this" to share what you're up to. People understanding and accepting each other's differing or fluctuating needs for how and when to recharge. Seeing somebody reaching out or sharing space, beyond what's their norm, as a signal of the fact that they care.

[galadriel-blue]

There better be a scene in TROP sometime in the future where Galadriel dances and Theo gets to see it. She told him that story and he took it with disbelief, but I want him to see that even the most cold, heartbroken people were once full of joy, and if Galadriel can feel happiness in something so simple after so many years, maybe he can experience that joy again too

[thelostgirl21]

How to solve the whole situation once they've found Ciri...

Jaskier: I think Ciri should marry Radovid.

Geralt: Are you insane? He's way too old for -

Radovid: If I may, he's talking about a purely political alliance. I can assure you I'm gay, and I've got absolutely no matrimonial interest in your daughter. I do, however, so happen to have a kingdom that I'd very much love to abdicate from in favor of a queen that might actually have an interest in running it.

Ciri: I could use a kingdom! One that would treat elves, dwarves and humans as equals...

Jaskier: See? She'd make a great queen! They get married, Radovid renounces the throne, they divorce, Ciri inherits Redania - and with it the most powerful army in the North to keep her safe... Oooh! And Yennefer could be her mage adviser!

Yennefer: You sound like you've been giving this way too much thought...

Geralt: Wait. Redania legalized divorce?

Jaskier: And gay marriage, too. *Tries to sound casual about it.* Not that this is, you know, at all relevant to the the current situation.

Geralt: And why should we believe the King of Redania would be keen on giving up power so easily?

Radovid: Look, all I really wanted was a pretty song...

Geralt: *Eyes him suspiciously*

Jaskier: No, he's being honest. Had my doubts, too, but turns out all he really wanted, at first, was a pretty song.

Geralt: *Slowly realizes what this is about, an amused glint in his eyes as he looks back at him.* I thought you didn't do pretty?

Jaskier: *Dramatically throws his arms in the air, slightly annoyed.* Well, apparently I do now, don't I?

Radovid: *Smirking smuggly* I'm "pretty".

Ciri: *Totally missing the innuendo* You really are!

Radovid: *Delighted and preening* Thank you.

Yennefer: *Snorts*

Yarpen: *Points to Jaskier and Radovid* Wait. Has the lute-playing walloper been fucking a King?

Geralt: *Groans and sighs* Again, real subtle, Yarpen.

Yarpen: *Whisling while looking at Jaskier, somewhat impressed.* Didn't think you'd have it in you, friend!

Radovid: Well, technically -

Jaskier: Aaand on that note! I'll also need Ciri to divorce him, so I can marry him after.

Ciri: *Excitedly* You two are getting married?

Jaskier: Only if you are! Which, I'm aware, makes very little sense...

Radovid: I actually did offer to marry him first - and have Redania become the first kingdom to have two kings - but that triggered a bit of a panic attack.

Jaskier: Look, I stopped using that viscount title and left nobility behind for a reason. If Ciri can make room in the castle for a retired king and his traveling bard, I'd be fine spending a few weeks or even months living at court from time to time. Especially at first, so Radovid can help her get settled and update her on the most important issues that need to be addressed and resolved in the kingdom.

Ciri: Of course you'd always have a home here, and I wouldn't just kick Radovid out! Actually, would it be okay for me to let him keep his prince title? Just in case anything happens to me, and -

Yennefer: *Firmly* Nothing's going to happen to you.

Ciri: Yeah but -

Geralt: No buts. We won't allow it.

Ciri: What if I accidentally portal myself to another dimension? Wouldn't want to force me to leave the Kingdom unattended until I get back, would you?

Jaskier: Hate to say it, but she does have a point.

Radovid: Look, if that would give the Princess some peace of mind to have someone willing to be holding the fort in case of emergencies... But, if that were to happen, I'd be needing Jaskier's help.

Jaskier: *Shrugs* I mean, I guess that would work. It's not that I don't want to get involved in making people's lives better in the kingdom, or share in any of those responsibilities. It's just that, no matter how much I love any of you guys - and I really do love you - I tend to get quite antsy and unpleasant confined to a single location for too long.

Radovid: And personally, I've always wanted to travel, meet different people, and experience some of the tales that have inspired Jaskier's songs for myself.

Geralt: You know he makes a lot of those things up, right?

Radovid: *Shrugs* I think Jaskier's always told those stories the way he sees them - for what they are or mean to him according to his own emotional truth, rather than facts. For example, I've always thought that "Toss a Coin to Your Witcher" was about how the world tends to forget that, behind every larger-than-life heroic figure, there's often just someone that needs to be looked after, too, offered a drink from time to time, listened to, and treated as a friend. If accuracy or factually reporting events had been his goal, then he'd have become a historian, not a bard.

Yennefer: That's... surprisingly insightful.

Jaskier: *Swooning* I know... *Sighs happily* He really is quite brilliant, isn't he?

Radovid: *Blushes brightly* I take it my humble interpretation's not too far off?

Jaskier: *Leans in to whisper into his ear.* I'll let you know just how close you got later...

Geralt: *Confused* Okay, what's actually happening here?

Ciri: *Chuckles* It's called poetry.

Jaskier: *Dreamily, mostly to himself* You'd have to be a spoon to get it...

Radovid: *Now also confused* Wait. What? Now I don't get it.

Jaskier: *Winces slightly* Sorry. That one's on me, you're missing context. You're a spoon, Geralt's a hammer - just...

Radovid: ...different tools for different purposes?

Jaskier: *Makes a half strangled noise, as his legs threaten to give up on him.*

Yarpen: *Motioning to Jaskier while looking at Yennefer, bit puzzled* Does your bard usually do that?

Yennefer: *Looking deep in thoughts, seemingly analysing the situation* Not that I've ever been aware of.

Geralt: Yeah, no. That's new.

Ciri: *Incredulously* You've been travelling with him for, like, over 20 years, and you're telling me you've never seen him have a crush before?

Yennefer: Oh! Oh. Yeah, that's um - okay. I think you're right - I mean, I can see the nuance.

Jaskier (*slowly coming back to himself*) & Geralt: What nuance?

Yennefer: *Innocently* Nothing! Just enjoy your spoon, bard. I'll explain it to the hammer later.

Geralt: *Huffs thoughtfully*

Jaskier: *Still looking unsure* Alright...

Yarpen: You know what, I think it's safer if I don't know.

Radovid: I'm actually not entirely sure I follow...

Yennefer: *Uses magic to telepathically communicate with Radovid, making him blush even brighter.*

Radovid: No, I mean, that seems...

Yennever: *Continues to telepathically communicate with him, looking fondly amused, and just the slightest bit smug.*

Radovid: *Bashfully* I'll ah, I'll take your word for it, and thank you...

Jaskier: What did she just say?

Radovid: Nothing bad, and I'll tell you one day, when the time's right, I promise.

Jaskier: *Doesn't look quite convinced.*

Yennefer: *Rolls eyes* I promise it's fine, Pankratz. Now stop pouting!

Jaskier: *Sighs dramatically* Fine!

Radovid: But,to go back to the whole political royal union thing, I did look to see if I could just hand the kingdom over to Ciri - simply name a successor and step down. Sadly, changing the laws of succession would appear to be a complete nightmare!

Geralt: Meaning we have to trust that you'll honor your end of the agreement, and -

Yarpen: What? You really think that King's going to attempt to stay married to your kid with the amount of eye fucking that's been happening between him and your bard?

Geralt: *Groans* Yarpen, for fuck's sake!

Yennefer: That's a bit of a crude way to put it, but he's got a point.

Geralt: You know Dijsktra and Philippa won't be happy about this, right?

Jaskier: Yeah, well, good thing you and Yennefer are scarier than Dijsktra and Philippa.

Ciri: *Crosses arms on her chest, pointedly looking at Jaskier* Why are you overlooking the fact that I'd totally rip their spines out if they tried to come after you and hurt my family?

Jaskier: Gods, I love you kid! *Pulls Ciri into a tight hug*

Radovid: Didn't you say Yennefer was the scary one?

Jaskier: Like mother, like daughter.

Yarpen: *Proudly* I actually taught the cub how to rip out spines.

Geralt: *Gives two vigorous pats on Radovid's shoulder, almost making him fall over* Welcome to the family, Radovid! *Whispering omninously* But, should you ever try to hurt Jaskier or Ciri, trust me, you'll be wishing she ripped out your spine.

Yennefer: Yes, because I know how to eternally trap souls into an infernal dimension.

Radovid: *Hesitating* That's... oddly reassuring. *Visibly relaxing while looking at Jaskier* You were right, love - Dijsktra and Philippa aren't so scary after all, are they?

Jaskier: *Smuggly* Told you!

Yennefer: Are we sure we shouldn't have been warning Jaskier not to hurt him?

Geralt: Hmm... I was just thinking that, too.

[aventurineswife]

Hi again :3 as mentioned I'm just gonna write these down as to not forget and you'll get here eventually

Platonic Boothill, Aventurine, Ratio and Jing Yuan meeting reader's biological father who is responsible for their mother's death and is generally just an awful person but wants to get his child back for reasons unknown.

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold

Tags: Boothill x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Platonic Relationships, Found Family, Protective, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy (or Bittersweet) Ending, Justice & Retribution, Revenge Themes, Confrontation, Subtle Whump, Power Displays, Strong Bonds, Reader Has a Dark Past, Mentorship Elements.

Warnings: Mentions of Parental Abuse & Neglect (emotional, possibly physical), Mentions of Murder (reader’s father killed their mother), Emotional Manipulation & Gaslighting (father trying to reclaim the reader), Mild to Moderate Violence, Themes of Found Family vs. Toxic Biological Family, Confrontation Scenes, Reader Processing Trauma.

Tagslist: @themiddletenmasibling

Boothill sat on a barrel, one leg crossed over the other, fingers toying with a bullet between his fingers. His eyes gleamed under the dim light of the saloon, narrowing as he regarded the man across from him—your father.

"You got some nerve, showin’ up here after all these years," Boothill drawled, twirling the bullet before snapping it between his fingers. "What’s the play, huh? You waltz in, say a few pretty words, and think you can take ‘em back like nothin’ happened?"

Your father sneered. "I don’t need to justify myself to some gunslinger freak."

Boothill’s grin widened, sharp teeth flashing like a predator scenting weakness. "See, that’s where you’re wrong. ‘Cause you ain't talkin’ to just me. You’re talkin’ to the one who made sure they never had to go back to you. You’re talkin’ to the man who sees right through your lies."

You stood behind Boothill, fists clenched, emotions tangled. He had always been the first to step up when you couldn’t, shielding you from the past you’d tried to escape.

"You killed their mother," Boothill continued, voice devoid of its usual humor. "And now you think you can come back, like you got some kinda right?" He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You lost that right the moment you pulled the trigger."

Your father scowled but didn’t move. Boothill stood up, slow and deliberate. "Now, I ain’t the law. I don’t got a badge. But I got my own way of dealin’ with muddle-fudger like you."

The mechanical plates in his fingers shifted as his hand hovered over his revolver.

"You best turn ‘round and leave, partner. Before I put you in the ground like the outlaw you are."

Your father took one last look at you. You felt the weight of his stare, the years of pain he’d inflicted. But with Boothill standing beside you, unwavering, you knew—you were never going back.

And your father knew it too.

Aventurine leaned back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head as he regarded the man before him—your father. His signature smirk was in place, but his eyes were cold, calculating.

"Ah, family reunions. Always so dramatic," he mused, adjusting the golden rings on his fingers. "But you see, I have a rule against bad investments. And you, my dear sir, are the worst kind."

Your father scoffed. "This is none of your concern. I came for my child."

Aventurine exhaled, feigning disappointment. "So predictable. You don’t actually care about them, do you? No, no, you just don’t like losing something you think belongs to you."

You stiffened beside Aventurine, but his presence was like a wall between you and the man who had haunted your nightmares.

Your father’s lips curled into a sneer. "What do you even know about it?"

"Oh, plenty," Aventurine replied smoothly, swirling the wine glass in his hand before setting it down with a clink. "See, I know the type. Men who think they own what they destroy. Men who kill and expect forgiveness. Men who show up after years of absence and think they still hold the cards."

He leaned forward, eyes glinting. "But here’s the thing—I rigged the deck before you even sat down."

A tense silence filled the air.

Aventurine smiled. "They’re not going with you. And I suggest you leave before the stakes get... lethal."

Your father hesitated, but there was something in Aventurine’s gaze, something dangerous beneath the charm. He knew when he was outmatched.

He turned sharply and walked away.

Aventurine leaned back, sighing theatrically. "Honestly, predictable men bore me."

You exhaled, tension leaving your shoulders. "Thank you."

He winked. "What are friends for, if not for running conmen like him out of town?"

Ratio stood between you and your father, arms crossed, his piercing gaze unwavering. His alabaster mask rested on the table, revealing his sharp eyes—the kind that saw through deception with ease.

"I fail to understand the logic in your request," Ratio said coolly, tilting his head. "You claim to want them back, yet you were the one who ensured they had no home to return to."

Your father clenched his jaw. "They’re my blood."

Ratio’s lips curled slightly in amusement. "Blood is merely biological happenstance. It has no bearing on worth or responsibility." He took a step forward, and though he did not raise his voice, there was an undeniable weight to his words. "You ended their mother’s life. And now, you dare demand theirs?"

Your father’s expression twisted in frustration, but Ratio’s calm, intellectual disdain was an impenetrable wall.

"Pathetic," Ratio remarked. "Your mind is so small, so desperately clinging to control you do not have. Tell me, have you truly convinced yourself that you deserve their forgiveness?"

Your father flinched.

Ratio smiled, but it held no warmth. "You are nothing but a relic of a past they’ve outgrown. Be grateful for that mercy and leave before I decide to educate you in a more... permanent manner."

Your father hesitated for only a moment before turning and vanishing into the night.

Ratio glanced at you. "Are you all right?"

You nodded, exhaling shakily. "I think so."

Ratio adjusted his cuffs, his sharp gaze softening just slightly. "Good. Then let us never speak of that fool again."

Jing Yuan sat, eyes calm but unreadable as he regarded your father. The General’s fingers drummed softly against the wooden desk, the only sound in the otherwise suffocating silence.

"You are asking for something that is no longer yours," Jing Yuan finally said, voice smooth yet firm. "And after what you have done, I wonder… do you truly believe you deserve it?"

Your father sneered. "This is none of your concern."

Jing Yuan chuckled softly, though there was no amusement in it. "You are mistaken. Everything concerning their safety is my concern."

Your father’s confidence wavered.

Jing Yuan leaned forward, resting his chin against his hand. "I have led armies, quelled rebellions, and negotiated peace among the stars. I have seen men like you, men who believe power grants them ownership over others." His gaze sharpened. "You are mistaken yet again."

Your father opened his mouth, but Jing Yuan’s next words left no room for argument.

"They are under my protection. I do not take that duty lightly."

The weight of authority in his tone was absolute. A silent warning.

Your father stiffened, realizing he had lost. Without another word, he turned and left.

Jing Yuan sighed, looking at you with a faint, knowing smile. "A shame, really. I had half a mind to throw him in a cell."

You chuckled weakly. "I wouldn’t have stopped you."

Jing Yuan placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You are safe now. That is all that matters."

[sroloc--elbisivni]

okay i SHOULD be asleep but instead i will swing a stick at a hornet’s nest and say. hey. even if one takes the perspective ‘monkey d dragon is a bad father for saying “my lifestyle is too dangerous to raise my child in”’, why the fuck do i keep seeing people put that sentiment in the mouth of Trafalgar Law, aka captain ‘I sent my crew away from me for their own safety’, a trait so foundational it made it into the external-to-canon film stampede. like. of ALL the characters in one piece.

[thenalexica]

how characters navigate family drama as subplot

Avoids picking sides at dinners Makes excuses to leave gatherings Keeps secrets between family members Mediates fights during holidays Hides relationship from relatives Deals with parental disappointment daily Creates buffer between arguing siblings Maintains diplomatic group texts Dodges nosy family questions Balances divided family events Protects younger ones from drama Carries emotional family baggage Plans careful seating arrangements Manages multiple family opinions Navigates cultural expectations

[starstruckodysseys]

the thing is. i am honored to be the nsbu guy. however comma. i was fucking blindsided by the nsbu fixation. like i’m not really an action movie person and as incredibly cool as the trailer was and how excited it made me i was not expecting to be So Invested. i don’t know what niche it filled in my heart but damn dude. like the obsession kind of started as a bit but it’s been five months since it ended and i think we can all tell it’s not a bit anymore

[unionizedwizard]

man. i just had the single most emotionally scarring dream ever. and this is coming from someone who only ever has nightmares and awful stress dreams. what the fuck

[always-a-joyful-note]

I think the reason I like the 5 Eccentrics so much is that it's just such a good depiction of the….variety of friendship. Because it was a group literally created to be destroyed. It was, in other words, a forced union of 5 people who might have never or barely interacted. Yet even with that, even knowing that, they all chose to have a meaningful friendship with each other - they chose to be friends and remain friends even if their union was forced, even if the very reason that they met was to be taken down. It's almost the arranged marriage trope but it wouldn't work as well like marriage because it really isn't that. It's like the family system (brought together by chance and a common identity) but it's still different. Because they didn't HAVE to be friends even if sharing the same label, because they didn't have to keep sticking around each other and become a real family. They chose to be friends in spite of all odds, chose to be grateful even amidst their destruction, and forged a precious bond that not even their predetermined fall could break and in this essay I will -

[summer-fire]

Muppet ass bird movie