#or at least to address within a reasonable amount of words

[melljam]

gosh this facial expression samuel makes is sooo interesting to me >_<

looong analysis below

only skimmed over some chapters to find it so im not sure if this is necessarily always the case but so far, all the instances ive seen of it have been in relation to samuels inferiority complex and jake

all of situations have been ones where samuel is evidently unstable (because of jake) and yet he can still look strangely calm while being in a manic state , which is considerably unsettling and adds some depth to his unwell behavior beyond “i will beat your ass reeeaally hard” (which is fun but ouhh the psychological aspects of his fights are so interestingg)

-> first image (and its context)

from chapter 311, samuels cruel treatment of the big deal girls prompt them to protest the conditions that he is forcing them to work in to make a 100k won in a month. yeonhui tries to bring up jake and how he would never do this to them and samuel immediately responds by trying to hit her (thank god jerry intervened)

when i first read this chapter and saw this scene i was so enamored with it because oh my god . its just so indicative of samuels character and how much his feelings of inferiority get to him. he doesnt care that he was about to hit yeonhui in front of everyone, he only knows that she compared him to jake and insinuated that jake is better than him, which strikes his sorest spot in the worst way possible (and no one truly understands why)

samuel got a lot more expressive after the big deal arc but his eyes in that picture say so much . he is brimming with rage and jealously over the mere mention of jakes name and comparison to him. the implication that jake could have done better, would have done better, than him just destroys any of his self esteem and sense of achievement while also bringing back all of the grief over feeling like he is no longer on equal footing with jake. he is being reminded of how he is now below him in every aspect (morally, family-wise due to gapryong, and later on in terms of strength since he loses against jake)

he is overwhelmed with his emotions and the only way that it can play out on his face is with a seemingly neutral expression displaying a crazed ache deeply ingrained into his eyes

-> second and third image

from chapter 466, during jake and samuels fight while samuel is drugged to give him a heightened feeling of inferiority and subsequent mania (or ‘frenzy’ as the official translation puts it)

all of his insecurities and terrible feelings are being intensified and it is absolutely not being helped by the fact he is fighting jake, the catalyst for his inferiority complex.

he is also remembering (and experiencing in his delusions) the sequence of events that happened during middle school: meet his real dad and committing patricide, learning that jake is gapryongs son, failing to receive guns approval twice, and becoming goos secret friend

(okay this is a side tangent but i love how this chapter was written to include all of that. the scene where samuel chokes alexander and sees his dad in him, the way he saw middle school jake and his own middle school self after re-realizing that jake is gaps son, the way he keeps on quoting people to show how much those events still affect him. its all written so gut wrenchingly well. i love the mental anguish)

he is effectively feeling his worst throughout this entire fight, and his face spells it outright for us

the second picture is samuels reaction to jake grabbing his collar after he ‘sentences him to death’ and lands a bunch of hits on him in tandem. this is probably looking waaaay too deep into it (but so is this entire post ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) however it almost like samuel is being reminded of his perceived inferiority simply by being stopped by jake. even though he cant be gapryongs son, he can still be stronger than him, right? right? jake continually disprove this and no matter how strong samuel gets, jake always seems to come out on top regardless.

in the third picture samuel is stepping away from his frenzied insanity (and the terrible, terrifying facial expressions that he makes because of it) to quietly question why it is that the universe has put jake in front of him to make him feel awful all over again, with a similar neutral face that displays undertones of distress and misery

and here he says it directly! jake shows up and makes samuel feel pathetic no matter what happens and its just … so perfect how his solemn face reflects how utterly defeated he is by that feeling

the way he is stepping on jake here, quite literally on top of him, yet he still feels lesser to him. he can beat jake up all he wants while smiling but at the end of it? he is still left with a burning feeling of inferiority that never gets resolved. and he can only wonder why that is

the frustration from not being able to figure it out overwhelms him, and thus causes the sudden change of his expression to a serious one. this is the issue that plagues his entire character and so it is only fitting that he reserve a special look for it; one of somber neutrality as the only way he can express his feelings of defeat and inadequacy

-> stylistic analysis

so all of that covered the context which surrounds that facial expression and the psychological aspects of it. while that serves to make the expression impactful as the culmination of all of those factors, the way that his face is artistically depicted also plays into its effect

i mentioned the look in his eyes before when discussing the first image, so lets just build onto that point of a crazed ache in his eyes by explaining why it evokes that feeling. his irises are small and much of the white of his eyes are showing, which is a stylistic choice that usually signals to us that a characters mental health has plummeted

his eyes are also shown to look like that in his other frenzied faces, but the contrast of his crazed eyes with the rest of his emotionless features distinguishes it well

and the second artistic choice i would like to point out is the use of lighting and shadows to depict his face to the audience

shadows are a very useful tool for artists to convey emotion on seemingly neutral or indifferent expressions as a little signal for the reader that the character is seriously ticked off but attempt to not show it

in all of the images, the light source seems to behind his head and leaves his face in the shadows. this lighting conveys a sense of seriousness along with undertones of horror. his somber expression is incredibly unsettling in contrast to all of the emotional turmoil he is feeling, and the use of shadows excels at giving us this visual cue

and its very interesting how the lighting stays consistent whenever he makes a face, signaling a certain emotion (of disdain? of grim comtemplation?? something along those lines i think) each time

final thoughts

well, my first final thought is that i wrote too much about this and somehow managed to overanalyze three panels into a little mess of angsty mush but it was sure fun :)

but secondly, i love how ptj does facial expressions, of course samuels faces in particular (this whole post is about him after all) since he is always so incredibly expressive. i love unhinged samuel, i love his ‘actively in mental decline’ faces. so freaky, so awesome ^_^

third and lastly, the parallels for samuel throughout the story are so, so interesting. i had to resist multiple tangents that go waaay beyond the scope of this post while writing it because of the sheer amount of stuff i found out i wanted to write about. so i will likely be writing more about that stuff in the future :p

thanks for reading !!!

[witheredtoashes]

birds and their wings

Okay, okay, everyone.

Here's my piece, aka predictions, for the Phil and his wings lore.

He's not getting them back. Or at least, he'll be the last one.

Why?

Because he wants them.

As far as I know, phil is the only one to be actively asking the federation, admins, and Cucurucho for the restoration of his wings. Not only that, I think while it's a very common headcanon or belief that Jaiden, baghera, and quackity have wings and are avians, and this is accepted by the creators themselves, they've never wanted wings. They've never asked for them. Correct me if I'm wrong, since I don't watch them often, but the other avians on qsmp are birdlike and like to be considered birds, but.. it's not ingrained. And I say these things in comparison to Phil.

Day one, barely into the stream when he was on the train, Phil talked about his wings and them being clipped. IMMEDIATELY addressed why he couldn't fly, because flying is utterly ingrained into his movements, his thinking, and everything he does. If he's not flying, there has to be a reason.

Fast forward, Phil's getting more into lore. All of his lore is about the eggs and the federation, or his wings. Being a bird. It's starting to show in everything he does, and it's purposeful.

He's perching more, when he's idle. He's always perched high in his hardcore world or even in qsmp, wanting to get the best viewpoint to see what's around him, what dangers there are, and get a look of the land. But, he's perching in places where he doesn't need to do all that.

In forever's office. On the wall, which he knows is safe and knows the surroundings of. Whenever he's idle, he will parkour and climb to the highest spot he can reach every single time, out of boredom. But it's an instinct, and it's one he's PURPOSELY tying into being a bird.

Another reason- he's more birdlike than all the other avians. It shows in his movements, his words, even his morals. He thinks like a bird. It shows in every part of his character, not just design.

Phil treasures nature and natural things over everything. He likes large open spaces. He perched and builds on the wall, and then he COVERS it in grass and transforms it into a place bustling with life and nature. Natural, wild, a place where animals can thrive and live, like a forest. Somewhere where a bird would flourish.

Not only this, it's in his hardcore world. Which we KNOW is canon. Everything he builds is connected to nature and wildlife, or at least large open spaces he can soar around. Endlantis? The sea and life taking over the barren end, and it's BRIMMING with plants and animals and growth. The ocean monument? Come on, self explanatory. Nethervoid? It's a void, barren of life, but he has pockets of life and animals within it. It's wide open, letting him soar through and admire it and fly without fear. The spawn islands? Literally pockets of floating life. The wall around his spawn? A artificial stone structure, cold and unforgiving, being taken over again by nature, weathered away, and covered in vines, trees, and moss. Life is everywhere.

Now, qsmp.

Jaiden shows Phil his wings, right? She says she just "busts them out", like she's had them, fully functional the entire time.

One of Phil's first questions is "can you fly yet?" Because that's the first thing he'd do if his wings were whole. Hearing Jaiden is too shy, he groans like he's disappointed before saying it's alright. He asks if she's always had wings. He says he's glad she's got her wings and that SHE CAN FLY AGAIN. After complaining of his own fucked up wings, and how he can no longer fly.

Phil adds more lore to his wings, and connects back to them again. He says that with the damage and the amount of feathers clipped, he has to wear the heavy backpack to balance himself, because he's so used to their weight. Now that it's off, he can't walk or move properly without that weight being fixed. It's such a natural part of him that he adjusted to, he can't live without them.

When Jaiden spoke of caging the birds she's found, Phil paused, and he got that hesitant joking along but please don't be serious voice he often uses, saying "You let them out of the cages though, right?"

He's concerned of the detriments of being caged, and how birds need to be free and fly. Exactly what he can't do. He calls the island a cage.

Now, all this MIGHT be because of the cage for a cage punishment, right? But I don't think it is. I think this instinct was already there, and that lore built onto it and got him to show it more.

He's mindful not of being trapped in a cage again, but the harm of being trapped and confined and not able to fly. We all saw how he went a little insane in that birdcage, right? Dreaming of hardcore, thinking he was in there for weeks, and how it left him shattered and unable to trust himself and his reality without outside assurance. Aka, the pheonix. He didn't call cucurucho out for fucking with him, he questioned whether.. it really was real, and maybe thats why he couldnt lasso it. He relaxed when cucurucho said it saw the bird in the picture, and still hung onto that moment and HOUR LATER, saying it was still fucking with him.

And in the birdcage. He saw all his fellow birds, imprisoned, and the next time we see him? They're all free. They're flying around in the little space they can, while he's grounded.

Outside of that, he croons over every bird and keeps it safe. But when it comes to running out of cages, he lets the birds fly freely again in the SAME stream he found them, instead of making new cages. He looks after them. He knows the importance of freedom, and that's why he's an anarchist, that's why he hated the elections and the federation, that's why he plans and avoids shit not only to keep his little fledglings, his eggs, safe, but to also save himself from being forced to make a decision via blackmail or threats. That's why he didn't enter the election in the first place. He's spiteful and treasures his freedom over everything.

What I'm saying is, his instincts, choices, and nature is tied to being a bird, and being part bird is tied to every part of him. Moreso than the other avians.

So what does this mean for him getting back his wings?

Well, he wont.

It's power over him, now that the eggs are gone. Not a threat, because those make him spiteful and prone to lashing out- uncontrollable.

It's a promise of what he could have, given he behaves. If he listens to the federation.

The minute he has his wings, he's free, there's no more power. He's too buffed as a player to have them taken away again, he's too interconnected with everyone, and everyone will rush to his aid if he says he needs help. They'll never be able to harm his wings, and now, he's too anxious and cautious to fall into a trap. He doesn't trust the federation in the first place, immediately assuming their goal is to kidnap people, and he DEFINITELY doesn't trust messages from the eggs/about the eggs because of the birdhouse. We see this with fit, because when fit tells Phil he got a message from his eggs, Phil IMMEDIATELY asks him if he's sure it was real. Light and cautious, he won't step on the trap again, and he won't let anyone else either.

So, they keep his wings away from him. Taunt him with them, with the idea of getting them, in order to keep them in line. Why do I know this?

Well, they've already started.

Again, Jaiden has her wings. Early on, she goes to Phil's house with them, and he sees them and REALIZES the federation is restoring wings, or at least allowing people to use them. Getting his wings back becomes a possibility, while they use Jaiden to parade that fact around.

Quickly after this, Phil starts to ask the federation to restore his wings. Immediately when he sees them come to his house (coincidentally, some time after Jaiden comes and with Jaiden there.) he asks for his wings. They laugh at him.

Phil gets a quest from cucurucho, the being he constantly curses out and hates on, and he TAKES THE QUEST. Because he sees he can get a reward- something that isn't set in stone or written down. Something he can bargain.

So he does the quest, and then when cucurucho comes to reward him, he starts to bargain.

"YOU WILL RECEIVE A REWARD."

"is it my wings back? JK you wouldn't do that"

"def worth it for the god apple. still no wings though, y'know. Still no healed wings.."

"BY THE WAY, DID YOU CATCH THAT SUNBIRD?"

"Yes, yes I did, thank you."

"GOOD JOB."

"Maybe repair my wings? Maybe repair my wings a little?" AND HE TURNS HIS BACK TOWARDS CUCURUCHO AND SH OWS HIM HIS CLIPPED WINGS,, "I can take off my backpack- oh, no, he's gone."

He turns his back to someone he knows has a gun, considers his enemy, and doesn't trust in the slightest. HE TURNS HIS BACK. In order to extend his wings and show them to cucurucho, show it the clipped ends, the most important part of him, as if to gain sympathy or further plead his case as "this is something that is broken, please fix it." To set things to right.

Cucurucho laughs, and leaves. No wings.

This leads me to believe that the federation will continue to ask tasks of Phil, because he is strong and smart and will get them done, and he will use it as a leverage tool of "hey, I'm helping you, why don't you help me?" And continuously ask them to restore his wings.

But they know that. And they'll say no. He'll do more and more.

Eventually, hell realize they're not going to give them to him. He's smart. Hell catch on. So what do the federation do to give him hope?

They give others their wings. They show him that there's a chance, because OTHERS are getting their wings, so why not him? He must not have done enough, it has to be a possibility. He can still work, and he can get them. He just has to do more.

Hell continue to work, because he sees it as a possibility. Subtly, they'll play him to be their strongest pawn.

And when he doesn't get his wings, even after all his work, I think he'll start to resent those with their wings. Jealousy turning into a little bit of hate, a little bit of bitterness at something so important to him being treated so lightly, not as priceless as he would see them. Not as treasured or appreciated. Hell be taunted with their freedom and how little value they give to it.

Everything recently has been trying to divide the islanders. Taking away their uniting goal, protecting the eggs. The create nerf scuffles. People working with cucurucho, their enemy, and foolish ratting everyone out. There's tension, and secrets are being kept, unlike before. But who's been allied with everyone, and who everyone trusts, despite it all?

Philza, with his honesty, plain to see goals, and lack of a motive or physical thing he cherishes over his friendships. There's nothing to use against him.

Until now. His wings. A way to create tension in Phil's life, a way to make him bitter, a way to control him.

By offering him his freedom, they'll be pressing him into a cage even smaller than before.

A cage made of glass, impossible for him to see.

[chekhovstrap]

Okay the reason I’m so intrigued by Rhaenyra and Alicent’s relationship and the love they have is because it almost has to exist solely within the subtext. Make no mistake, it is there. The contention it causes is, dare I say, what makes the entire show. But it is implicit for the most part because of course it is! In what world would either of them be able to fully confront what they have meant to each other? What they have continued to mean to each other despite everything? What would you have Rhaenyra say? “You have betrayed me in a way that has ruined me, but of course I can still voice how deeply I love and care for you without so much as a stutter” ? And Alicent, “This resentment I hold for you has bore itself so deeply it has made me a stranger even to myself, but even now my soul yearns for you” ? No. Of course they cannot say this. Yet it is still felt.

We feel it when Alicent refuses to accept the idea of killing Rhaenyra in front of the entire council. We feel it when she sends her ravens, and when we learn that she has kept the torn page from when they were girls. We feel it when Rhaenyra sneaks into KL to speak alone with Alicent. The tears that fall when Rhaenyra receives the torn page. It’s all there, yet it almost defies words.

It reminds me so much of how the relationship dynamic between Silver and Flint was handled on Black Sails. One of the writers for Black Sails, Jonathan E. Steinberg, said it best: “I think the moment you make them text, that’s the cop-out. Like, the cop-out is making it seem like it would be easy for him to address this. [...] We had to embrace the fact that there would have to be things that were left unsaid and were going to have to exist in subtext and performance and context in order for it to be honest. That felt right. There is, at least to me when I watch it, a significant amount happening between the two of them that is all under the surface. We relied on the audience a lot to fill in those blanks.”

[vasito-de-leche]

I love how you write, your interpretations of characters are my favorite. If you're okay with it, may I ask for romantic headcanons of Horropedia (Reverse 1999) x Reader? I would love to know what he is like when he's developing a crush, how he confronts his feelings when he realized them, what he's like when in a romantic relationship, etc. Thank you very much!

;R1999 HORROPEDIA - Relationship Headcanons

Compilation of headcanons about Horropedia in a romantic relationship.

awe! i'm glad you like my stuff! and thank you for the lovely words and request, cause i've been itching to write for horropedia <3

i got a liiiiittle carried away with this one, hope that's alright!

Horropedia as a character is fascinating because at a surface level he's a mess and a walking stereotype - a "nerdy nerd" with a very specific hyperfixation on the horror genre, the tall guy with glasses who explains the plot and does his own thing regardless of how others view him, the first one to die in a movie solely because he's perceived as cringe etc, etc.

And yet, his medium is "logic" - he, better than anyone, understands the nonsensical laws that make up the concept of horror, he sees the patterns and the reason why some things are done this way instead of that way. Through logic, pattern recognition and analysis, Horropedia can pretty much understand anything and work his way around any problem, no matter how unorthodox his solutions may be.

In a sense, I'd compare Horropedia to Pavia. Both are characters who are subject to the stereotypes and images others assign to them - but whereas Pavia both fights and plays into all of these roles, Horropedia just brushes it off and continues doing his own thing, being genuine and unapologetically himself.

When it comes to romance, it's easy to assume Horropedia has no interest in it - they're two different genres that don't go together most of the time. It's also easy to assume that he would be a troublesome partner, due to the laser focus attention he gives to his interests. And the latter is partially true: his lackluster love life is entirely because romance hasn't entered his radar, at least not enough to pull his attention away from his one true love.

But I think this is where the aspect of "logic" comes into play. All Horropedia needs is that spark, to find something to truly become invested in when it comes to romance - once he finds it, he'll dedicate the same amount of attention to detail and care as the horror movies he loves so much.

On the subject of Horropedia developing a crush.

Similar to Click, Horropedia would need some time to start noticing the signs of a crush - the difference is that Horropedia is a little quicker when it comes to realizing he's fallen for someone. His forte is horror movies, but he still knows a thing or two when it comes to other genres.

When he cannot rationalize his behaviour around you in a way that makes sense to his current fixation or situation, that's when he knows. And given how straightforward (to the point of bordering on obliviously rude) Horropedia can be, I'd say he'd also be the type to address this crush right away. Now that there's this brand new thing in his life, he'd like to understand it better - to dissect and study the way romance is potrayed, explore how it feels and just analyze it to hell and back. Basically, he wants to know the rules, to figure out how to best proceed.

Of course, he wouldn't dream of confronting you directly, only an amateur would do such a thing. Instead, he asks his friends and pretty much anyone within his general vicinity. He wants to understand romance from every angle, to hear about it from all sorts of people until he feels like he knows enough to start forming his own opinions.

His questions are all theoretical situations that begin rather innocent, innocuous. What does the hero of a romcom do to get the romantic interest? Does it follow a three act structure? And should the third act climax start with a confession or the breakup?

Overtime, they become a little more specific. To the point where his closest friends might suspect something is up, until Horropedia finds himself asking about your interests so that he can figure out the perfect gift for you. Just in case. He finds himself watching romcoms and making extensive research and charts and essays into the genres.

The funniest thing to me is that Horropedia would be extremely casual about this whole ordeal, this crush makes him extremely intrigued in the concept of romance (an oddity for someone so themed around horror), he finds himself staring at you from across the room (this is the third time he's walked into a door because of it) and so on and so forth. But he's so chill about it.

When confronted about his crush - should Blonney or anyone else decide to tease him a little by prodding - Horropedia has no problem blurting out that he has, indeed, fallen for someone. But he'll take your name to the grave, not out of shame or embarrassment but because "he doesn't want to spoil the plot, as obvious as it might be".

On the subject of Horropedia confronting his feelings and some more insight into his mentality.

I'd say there is this small possibility of Horropedia feeling disheartened if he begins to neglect his real passion for the sake of his feelings - it's that sort of guilt and shock one gets when they realize they've forgotten their wallet the moment they're meant to pay for dinner, or when they realize they've forgotten to turn off the oven.

Horror is a huge part of his life and who he is as a person - literally look at the name he's chosen for himself - and given how heavily coded he is to be neurodivergent, I can understand this aspect of him. The feeling like one must choose between two things they enjoy, and all the other things that might come with hyperfixation, both positive and negative.

This is the biggest obstacle for Horropedia when it comes to finally taking the first steps into forming a relationship with you or confessing - the irrational thought that by doing so, he's prioritizing you and romance over horror, something that he holds very dear. One of his stories gives some insight about Horropedia's relationship with horror and how it's something he shared with (and possibly was started by) his grandfather.

I feel like he'll grow a little distant, as a way to set some boundaries for himself or draw a line between his identity and his feelings for you, separate the two so that he doesn't have to feel guilty for giving one more attention than the other. Maybe he simply stops bringing up films around you, because "you're probably not that interested anyway". Masking, he's masking.

But overall, I can see Horropedia being capable enough to get out of this mindset by himself - or with a little help from someone else. Either way, he simply loops back to realizing the obvious: you two were friends, before he realized his feelings for you. You were fine with the whole Horropedia Experience. You liked him for who he was. And he liked you just as you were.

Horropedia is the one who confesses first, the one who asks you out. 100%. And it's so unnecessarily dramatic.

I DO think that Horropedia would make sure to be the one who confesses, just so he can put everything that he's learned about romance into play. And he delivers the most award worthy performance. It would be all about redirection, an unexpected reveal - his skills and animations are also all about fake outs and misleading the audience, after all.

In my head, there's this whole scene about Horropedia asking everyone to help him out confess to you, and everyone is so excited for it - but then he just asks them to fuel this slow rift that formed between you and him, to act vague, distant and mysterious should you ask Blonney or Tooth Fairy about him. Again, unorthodox and weird, but he's cooking. This is all done with the intention of forcing a confrontation between the two of you, just so he can pour his heart out right there - it's all or nothing.

Again, I want to insist that Horropedia, despite being a logical man, still makes as many aspects of his life revolve around the things that he loves and is interested in - he likes films, he likes you. And while romance is not his preferred genre, he still wants to explore all there is about it all thanks to you.

That alone should tell you how much you mean to him. Even if his methods aren't the "proper" way, you know he's putting his whole heart into this. It's all over the top, there's fake rain, etc etc. Of course, your reaction to this is up to you!

If you're mad at him for such convoluted plan, he'll sit there and allow you to scold him to your heart's content - he's used to it as one of the many troublemakers that the Foundation failed to raise as model students. If you laugh at him because of how ridiculous this guy can be sometimes, he'll laugh along, trying to get you to tell him what he could've been done better to get a third act reconciliation. And if you start crying, jump into his arms and play along then he'll be over the moon, trying every single impactful one-liner from every romcom he's watched in the past few weeks.

On the subject of Horropedia and how he acts when he's in a relationship.

Dating Horropedia is pretty easy, because you're dating your best friend. However, it is very easy to misunderstand Horropedia's way of showing affection - those who are more on the insecure side or less receptive to his subtleties may feel like there's been absolutely no shift in the dynamic, that he's treating you the same way he'd treat Tooth Fairy or Vertin.

This is far from the truth! Once Horropedia finally settles into the relationship, he grows very comfortable and allows himself to just exist around you - which isn't saying much since he doesn't mask as much around friends, but it's all about the subtle things!

I like to think Horropedia is very particular about space, as in he makes a point not to invade people's spaces if possible and he'd rather remain in his little bubble. But when it comes to you, he's very casual with physical touch. He's not as cuddly and touchy as characters like, let's say, Matilda, Jessica or Pavia, but being able to rest his head on your shoulder means a lot to him, or just have you lean on him when sitting together. This is pushed to the limit when you two pull all-nighters, binging all of your favorite movies.

He's on cloud nine when you pay attention to his ramblings and makes sure to listen when you ramble to him as well. More than often, he'll do his own little research into the topics you like, just so you have someone to properly discuss things with! Horropedia more than anyone knows what it's like to be brushed aside for being too much or too weird, to have no one listen. Despite his confidence, he has had days of feeling like he keeps on talking to a wall, so he doesn't want you to ever feel like that.

It's all about sharing interests and recommending things that you may like, keeping up with the latest events and so on and so forth, having looong discussions at night about whatever topic you two are extremely invested in.

If these discussions get a little heated and end up as arguments, expect Horropedia to insist on arguing because he's just stubborn like that - it'll take him time to realize that he might've hurt your feelings, or that he might've be hurting too, but he'll come around eventually to talk it out.

Overall, dating Horropedia would be fun because he's full of surprises and excitement, but he's also considerate in his own way.

[chiyoso]

HERRSCHER OF DEATH x HSRVerse PART TWO

▶SYPNOSIS. after successfully finding welt yang, as well as dealing with other encounters, you sought out to explore further, hoping to learn and differentiate this universe between being a new reality, or something constructed artificially by the imaginary tree. the xianzhou luofu for example, being one of many stops that you took interest on.

▶CONTENT. crossover, headcannons + combined oneshot, hsr x hi3rd, hi3rd elements, heavy descriptions of fighting, female reader, serious themes, no usage of y/n, flirting, reader's just a tease, heavy topics, dead dove: do not eat.

“You're beautiful.”

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 is perturbed, taken aback by your straightforward, words for him.

You were discovered floating, at least stomach level at one of the balconies where the Jade Gate resided grandiosely behind you, floating and laid comfortably, suggestively against your elegant, divine key—your lance, the very lance which caused attention to artisans within the Luofu.

It was twice the size of you, it was darker than midnight, flowers that patterned on its surfaces were replaced in glittered lines of gold, a more elegant, eerie version of the normal Abyss Flower than that one Schicksal Valkyrie had.

And with that, you held death—it was beneath you, leisurely, awaiting your commands.

You remained motionless on air, gravitating lazily, up and down idle, nonchalant towards the leading looking figure, and the people stood before you under his command.

A ruler? He did look the part, ravishingly at that.

Not caring too much, you just wanted to explore, traversing this bubble universe, all without too much usage of your limbs really.

Since a specific someone, frilly, pink and uplifting, somehow had managed to tire and drain your mentality through rigorous, unrelenting questions about you, your nature, and the relationship you had with the previous Herrscher of Reason—no, he had previously told you to stop addressing him by that title.

The mission in search for the missing Sovereign of Anti-Entropy had reached its peak, the task was completed, you were done.

What was not, was the overwhelming curiousity you harbored towards such a complex, and sturdily built universe. This world—this... bubble universe. Behaving so accordingly, properly. The stability of everything, it was almost anxiety inducing, frighteningly perfect, you were uneasy from how detailed, sentient and alive everything and everyone was.

Perfection is non-existent wherever sentience prevailed, but this... this is truly next, next level.

You're certain that this world wouldn't fall victim to the Sea of Quanta's abyss, not after being birthed with a vast, new whole new star system, ecological ruptures scattered in highs and lows, numerous amounts of advanced technology existing in all kinds of ways and forms, each world having their own ways of tech akin to their aesthetics and traditionalism.

And if the imaginary tree can create such complex systems, visuals—just how powerful, potent and complex is it to create godlike beings similar to you that could eradicate any existing molecule if they so wished? All the more reason to explore and gather valuable data for those awaiting you in your original world.

That's speaking if you do manage to find your way back, given the knowledge from Welt Yang that he hasn't found a way yet. Safely at least.

Speaking of perfection.

Golden irises met yours, he studied your intricately and interesting designed eyes, they were different, abnormal, but he was accustomed to concepts such as yours, at least, that's what he'd like to believe.

Northern star shaped pupils, a hollow, gradient iris as its bastion, one of many things he noticed about how ethereal you really were.

To give you a compliment with those words would be an insult, it was an understatement.

You were more than mesmerizing, extraordinary, otherworldly, but one thing was most clear to the General; you were also a threat, a large scale one.

He was no diviner like Fu Xuan, but the premonition of unease settled in, engraved so deeply within his gut.

“Your kind words are received, however,” sharp sounds of armory clinked and shifted, winds being cut forward as the horizontal row of spearsmen that positioned themselves behind the general, weaponry raised—all defensively towards you,

What a predicament you've gotten yourself into.

“What are you, and what do you stand to achieve at this hour of day, my lady?” His unidentifiable gaze remained to your direction, occasionally, subtly glancing down towards the weapon you had displayed under you, and back up to meet your hypnotic eyes.

The commotion from the civilians only grew, be it humans, Foxians, or the Vidyhadras.

Some had caused an uproar from your overly grand appearance, some were whispers, quickly plaguing gossips of you being a high Emanator from the deceased Aeon of Beauty Idrila, and the majority—perceived you to be a threat.

All assumptions based on how their mighty, Arbiter General had his Cloud Knights stationed protectively for them, and with apparent offense towards you.

Even if you were, Jing Yuan remained that positive demeanor, he had to, for the lives that resided in Central Starskiff Haven.

“Your... negative, internal inputs of me are so loud and misplaced, handsome,” you had to deeply inhale back a visible reaction, the way he stiffened when you gave him a nickname was nothing but so utterly, endearing.

“But, to avoid rousing concerns and disputes that you are so desperately trying to avoid,” you exaggerate, musing him with a chesire-like smile.

“I'll lower myself down to your standards, all for you,” your mouth slightly parts into a small grin, taking in that miniscule amount of surprise that showed on his face from the upgrade of handsome to that.

Lovely, just lovely. That twitch in between his brows, the slight pursing of his top lip, kissing it to the bottom, the way he'd raise his head to stand tall, masking whatever emotions that stirred cruelly inside him.

Subtle his reactions may be, his embarassment was present to your keen observations.

Your lance beneath your body dissipates into a golden light, leaving behind particles of particles, your form now straightened again, taking footing on the railing of the balcony, your hands raised to the sides of your head.

To diffuse the intensity of the situation of course, even if you did have to make yourself look weak by a small amount, aware that last time's show of strength towards the Astral Faction did a number of them—mentally anyways.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 would push unnecessary thoughts to the back of his head. Unorthodox thoughts related to attraction, ranging from the way your fingers effortlessly be positioned in a way similar to dancers that visit the Luofu, enthralling, captivating, the way your eyes—those eyes, the way those stars would glide, seize him, his knights, and the overall dauntiny situation.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 wasn't one to fear, but you were just haunting, overflowing with elegance, and you were dangerously coy, something that would, at theory, weaken and enable that primal instinct you see in charmed men.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 would slightly lower his guard down, signaling his men to lower their weapons, his own right hand moving towards the side of his head, mirroring half of your surrendered gesture.

But alluring your appearances may be.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 will not waver, nor will he allow his self-mastery of calm resolution to be wavered by your antics. To protect the Luofu, he'd add, defensively, even if the very concept of radiance stood confidently, and defiantly before him.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 would see you, see past your entity-like behavior, observing how you behave once his golden eyes travel enough, just enough to know you were a work of art underneath the silk you wore.

You were otherworldly, but you were still human.

”My lady...” He took a step to you, eyes never leaving your more visible physiq—your eyes.

He took a few moments to claw at any given thing that would reclaim his previous state of calm again, the silence, accompanied with a light buzzing and bustling commotion, filling his ears, uncertainty dulling his senses for a moment.

Be strong, General. He reaffirms himself, steeling his mind and heart, a noticable shift in his demeanor while you both locked your gazes to one another.

“You... are not a citizen of the Xianzhou Luofu, that much is obvious. Vast, the Astral Express may be, I have not heard word of you having an alliance with the travelers accustomed in traversing within the stars,” Oh, them?

“I have also noticed that you don't bear the crest of the Interastral Peace Corporation,”

Ah, so that's what it means. Previously hearing one, or a hundred continuously yell abbreviations during their chase for you.

For an alliance that wore the word 'peace' proudly in their name, their tactics were sure far from it.

“And the way you appear and hold yourself in such high, confident regards, even in my presence...” Mm?

So there is something special about hi—

“You, are not human, and of this world, are you? At the very least, one of which where the Luofu presides,” the air shifted, Cloud Knights once at ease, now filled with confusion, mixed with an alarm as they hear their General speak out with stern, a tone that can't be differentiated between being a question, or a threat.

Ha.

...

Even that Schicksal maid couldn't discern large, and small scale details that quickly upon just meeting a stranger such a few minutes of close contact.

“...You'd be more than correct.” You attempted to hold yourself and your facial muscles motionless, keeping your hands up to both sides of your head for him. You wouldn't hear the end of it from the trailblazers if you displayed such a disrespectful, unwelcomed, excitement. It was unbefitting of this situation, that much was obvious.

Mmh, but you would digress, for this man was so very, truly fascinating, one that interested you the most. Apart from the blue haired man that craved death in earlier events.

You would assume his abilities, almost purposely rousing him to invoke terrifying reactions you know he's capable of underneath all that reservation and mental fortitude.

His observational skills, overwhelming, giving you a surge that you are being preyed upon on, cat like eyes and reflexes, dilating towards everything subtle you do. That hollow, yet welcoming enough smile that doesn't reach to his pretty eyes, staged for the civilians in confusion, protecting them from feelings of panic and terror.

The highlight in his eyes that would shine brightly as if he just solved every problem there is, the problem being you perhaps, solving you without hints and solutions, guiding him to this battle of composure. A trained body language and demeanor so used to being in regal command.

And a mouth so well versed in literature and strategic prowess, knowing what words to use in all times. you could just...—

“An Emanator, then?”

...

Huh. What did he just call you?

His voice sounded lower than before, almost threatening, the delivery of tone in which you only picked up on since that expression still retained on that pretty face of his.

It may be a pleasant, questionare he'd staged carefully to not alarm his knights and the people present, but to you—you were aware it was only masked hiding the fact that it was an interrogation.

Maybe, a deserved one at that from your sudden appearance within their faction, but since it was a public confrontation, he'd trust your judgements that you wouldn't act so rashly, especially with innocent lives around the luofu were present.

What a bold, bold man.

Already trusting you to the stars with just a few moments of talking, since establishing main key points with you in entirety, of this conversation.

Wait. No, wait a moment.

The young March 7th did ramble to you something about an adventure of theirs not too long ago—containing a word with Emanator, or Lord Ravager within the storyline of hers. Ah.

An emanator. A defeated one. Phantylia, was it?

“Tch,” You didn't like that comparison, assumption it may be, it irked you, especially since encountering a being far greater than her, at least, almost, just barely almost the same level as you being a Herrscher.

You were only nothing but...

“Greater,” you lowered your hands to your sides, standing tall, chin raised with your eyes, fierce and lowered to them—towards him.

“...Greater.” Jing Yuan would repeat, slowly, as if he was relishing the intensity of the meaning behind your answer, the both of you staring each other down, neither side's auras waning down, exceeding amounts of hostility by the second, even if his was misdirected towards you.

He could only assume negatively then, but you were only reciprocating their behavior, after all.

You move both limbs up to your sides once more, a gradiose pose, unphased to the endless sky that accompanied this enormous grand hexafleet that reminded you of the Hyperion of Schicksal.

A step back from the railing would be a mortal man's doom to, perhaps, between, a fate of an endless free fall, suffering from loneliness, with death not being able to cradle and bring you to salvation—or, you would be accompanied with a fear and thoughts of inevitable doom as you fall to something ranging from abominations of the so-called Aeon of Abundance, or.

A simple, boring splat, meeting the ground with a gruesome, inelegant end.

His eyes narrowed with your gesture, finding himself—or the hand behind him subconsciously ready to summon his glaive, a defensive stance so buried deeply into his body that the simple word 'reflex' can't do it justice.

“By 'greater', my lady, you mean you are...—”

Ancient. Everlasting. A covenant.

“Immeasurable, inconceivable, a vessel to humanity's fatal destruction that reached over fifty thousand years ago, a concept humanity has yet to grasp in those countless eras of waste and fruition,”

“An ornament, a paradoxical lament to something greater, far, far greater than destruction itself,”

“I am greater, than those who were labeled the greatest.” It wasn't as if you were trying to appear narcissistic, nor overly confident in your abilities.

But that was only the bigger, and bitter truth.

And it is how Raiden Mei (Herrscher of Origin) would potentially word things given her serious, primordial nature—and your claims of such power, being supported due to the sudden glowing of your eyes.

The sound of cracking, and shattering glass that only you and the General can only hear since he was the closest, sourced from the skin behind your exposed back, a dark mist seeping out of it little by little, along with your Honkai energy levels that were growing simultaneously in an alarming pace.

What's worse—you were unaware of the phenomenon you were displaying right now for it was subconscious, as you revel in the truth of your words with a grin. A misplaced, mistrusting grin you weren't quite aware of you were showing for the General.

Not a Welt Yang within the area right now.

Not a Sovereign, nor a retired Herrscher in your sights to control the situation with knowledge he only held about your kind—your existence.

Not a creature that matched your power and strength, living or not, to stop you in your glory.

The weight of your words manifested into something heavy, full of density, full of dread, it felt awful, sickening, suffocating, his Cloud Knights and those who were near to hear your frightening words of calamity tensed, sweat starting to surface underneath the fabric that hides their terror, their feet glued to the cement as a helplessness guided them to their internal panic, his Cloud Knights in desparate waiting for any sort of order, movement, any syllable from the man before them.

The Jade Gate behind you blocked the brilliant light for the singular, attentive individual that remained tall, a pillar that he had to be for the ones cowering in the heaviness of your words—the Arbitrator Charioteer stands tall, immovable to your claims of calamitous power.

A Lord Ravager, then. The thought internalized inside his mind based on the grevious words, words of grief worthy testaments, laid bare for the citizens to find themselves in a state of fear that doesn't have the need to use any vocal chords.

“A threat,” he voiced, low and firm. His weaponry materializing from the back, the long length of the spear-like weapon, an oriental, traditional looking glaive, finding its solace within his grasp, making him appear complete his weapon apparent.

“You say you are the home to an enemy of humanity, do you acknowledge this, my lady.”

The glaive's tip finds its way towards your direction, the seriousness of the situation finally weighing down as you, your pupils landing on the weaponry pointed at you.

You look to your surroundings beyond the man, arms lowered as your gaze dissects the crowds near you.

Fear, and only fear.

Something you are so accustomed to since bearing the Will of the last Herrscher of Death, and only those who were equally—if not stronger can only ever truly look at you in the eyes, like how this man before you is currently doing.

“You raise a weapon to me.”

“A weapon with intentions to protect those who stand behind me,” his hold tightens around his weapon, his expression mirroring the seriousness of yours, excluding the disbelief you had, mixed with... something else he couldn't discern, at least not yet.

A long, deep inhale. To the point where you exhaust your lungs of air, then exhaling through your teeth, the few last seconds of it being shaky with lips parting slightly, forming into a small, horizontal oval.

They are only fearful. A kind voice reassured in the center of your mind, though it was faint, it was impactful.

That fear being you, you mean. A familiar, malicious one intruded, causing you to bring a hand to your head again, grasping the side as you clicked your tongue.

Even talking about a truth relating to your power, urges the Houkai?

No—illogical, it attacks your mental capacity.

To weaken it. Your emotions, your willpower. You'd long forgotten since then, for it had been quite long ago that anyone, had manage to waver your mental strength.

But you can't help it, you hate being looked at with such genuine fear. You hate it, you really do.

It was unfair, it really was. You only do good.

You've been only good. Only nothing but good.

You breathe unsteadily, giving yourself to the silence to calm yourself for a few, long moments, selective hearing at play.

Something was amiss, the General would observe in his guarded silence, lowering his weapon to his side, vertical, the end of his glaive grounded to the cement. He was to take a step, treading in eggshells, making his way with intentions of closing the gap between you and him.

But a hand, yours, a palm towards him had stopped him dead at his tracks, halting his attempt of a succor—towards you.

You're not one to seek help.

But, stubborn as you are, it would be devastating to put this hyperion like faction to a ruin that you've gotten used to seeing everywhere.

Ah. You, again. Me, again.

And so? You are unwelco—

Being a Herrscher, a catastrophic one, at that.

What is a Herrscher like you blending in with human civilizations, through time and time again?

...Ha. You are weak, I have conquered you, stabilized you—and myself long, long ago.

Yes. Yes, that would be the case right now, wouldn't it, partner of Death.

But recall, where a Herrscher presides—is where my existence remains intact.

For my will... is neverending.

Just like death, infinity and everlasting.

Tch. To choose the unpredictable willingly, that was your forte, to use the unknown in retaliation against the calculative will inside you, to descontruct the threatening finality of your stupor.

It is a new era. This one especially, the world of Pegana, the world that habors no virus that nestle inside you—at least, that's what you believe and have observed in your short time in this 'bubble universe.'

They don't struggle against the Houkai that resided inside you, and that was good, relieving.

Not until traumatic imagery, thoughts of you bringing a fate worse than whatever hell already existed for them, visible, cruel, and horrible.

The fragment of that possibility fine tuning muscles on your face to something sour, having that expression noticed immediately by the General that stood brightly before you.

“You,” you let out a call towards him, similarly to a snarl in your mental discomfort, gaining his attention. You sought out in voice, seeking out warmth, pacing yourself internally, resuming to reassure your will with familiar words that led to alleviate your worries.

“I don't desire to cause harm, and—”

“—And yet, you speak in alarming malice, my lady, such brutal, unfathomable words, coming from that mou-.. from- from the way you speak.”

...What was that pause?

“Listen,” a slight jolt from him, “and listen well,”

You appeared just before him in one step. His fingers twitch, his reflexes, motor skill, practicing heavy, heavy restraint to just have a swing at you.

Time had stood still for him, seeing you closer, you were no taller than him, but you remained intimidating, if anything, the differences made you appear more alluring, accompanied with lucent eyes he only started to focus on once captured by your gaze, an eager eye contact that matched his vigor, that subconscious curiousity and excitement, growing ever so finely, but then.

He remembered those under his command.

“YIELD—yield your weapons,” his free hand simultaneously moves up, open, signaling his Cloud Knights just in time, the muted rustling of equipment now heard, winds that were sliced from their cloud piercers towards you now halted abruptly, and of course, you hadn't wavered one bit. “Wise,” you add, tilting your head up to him.

A vicious, musing smirk, one which of which he couldn't decide to detest it, or to be smitten by it.

At least for right now.

“...If you think and speak of me in such ways, why haven't I brought said ruination into this beautiful, well constructed flagship we currently reside in?”

“Mm,” A great point. He'd look over his shoulder, towards the Cloud Knights coupled defensively, a sum of Xianzhou locals, astral tourists, stilled by fear and unease.

One last deep breath—you straighten your form, the hand from your head moving downwards to your chest, this time inhaling through your teeth. Simultaneously, the glow from your eyes would dull, along with the rejuvenation of your cracked skin, closing up a rift-like wound that was sourced at your spine.

The General sighs, the free hand moving towards his head, now letting frustration that had been tugging at him since this encounter with you.

It was unhealthy to someone imbued with mara.

There were only a few lasting seconds to take a stand, an initative, a singular choice that wouldn't provoke, you—nor worsen what the crowd that flocked together was feeling.

It was truly a taxing, and difficult situation.

Only for him anyways.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 will move with purpose, in every action in his next courses of actions. You would think in his 800 years of loyalty and commitment to the Xianzhou Luofu would easily override his curiousity for you—not at all. Eight centuries of repetitiveness, without the need to indulge in the other mysteries of the universe, and that will also be eight centuries of boredom, perhaps something the discover of your existence can begin to alleviate.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 is a man, an immortal one, the mara that presides within gnaws at his mind, but death isn't able to welcome him just yet, he is unmoving to that concept, but finding himself hesitant, yet feeling that want to play this game of cunning and intelligence against you.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 found eerieness, and a not so welcomed serenity the moment you introduced yourself formally, grand and opening, having you in the center of the divining area within the Divination Commission, wrists, ankles binded separately, ones that held you together, rendering you immobile were something of astral configuration, projection, but some sort of space manipulation, enchantment you can't fanthom, and most importantly—can't get out of.

And 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 would himself revel in that little smidge of discomfort you had, the little creasing between your eyebrows despite the polite and forced smile you had, amused at the way your hands would move, wriggle against the starry chains, and finding himself more impressed once you manage to hold your expression tightly, along with managing to hold back a sound with that pretty, pretty mouth of yours.

Because every time you would try to free yourself, your entire being feels this electrifying, unpleasant burning, it is invasive, mind and emotional means, it runs through your very soul, it tugs at it, warning you, and it behaves similarly like the Houkai within you, and it is sickening.

Sickening to feel something foreign creep up to you again, to try and destroy you from the inside out, what's worse—it had no traces of Houkai Energy, so you weren't able to identify and manipulate it at all, and everytime you would use your own abilities, you would be met with something sharp, a weapon immediately pressed against your nape.

Curiousity had once killed a cat, but what feline is there to be seen, for they have grasped only but a predator.

“You were the one who asked to be binded,”

“To cease any worries, of course,” a half truth. You feign another smile, one that he would mirror with slight amusement. Just where is this confidence he was getting from? You'd think, wincing as soon as your body naturally tries to free itself again, biting your bottom lip to stifle any noise.

“These... binds, they allow you to sense any malicious activity, yes?” The General would let out a musing hum, walking towards you, eyeing you.

“As much as I would love to partake in offering you knowledge,” he looks towards a direction, and you follow his gaze. “Unfortunately, you'll have to relay your questions to the Diviner over there,” A pink colored hair, a hue you wouldn't associate with Ms. March, her demeanor held respectable prowess, something you can admire.

“I see,” you reply, short and neat, sighing.

“Is this necessary, you question.” he narrates for you, taking the words that were already subconsciously forming in the back of your head.

You found it endearing, cocking your head to the side, a genuine smile this time, one that shifted immediately into a smirk. “You'd have to stare at me in long amounts to know what thoughts I currently harbor,” his head returns to your direction, finding those golden eyes gleam along with yours, his lips almost curling upwards.

Almost, but he won't allow it. Not just yet.

“Mm, you would be correct,” So, so dangerous.

“But almost anyone would think that once they know Lady Fu will be invading one of humanities vulnerabilities—the mind, being one of them.”

“Hmp, so much resistance for what...” you mumble softly, complaining about the way he would deflect your advances—he had been since encountering you, especially when you were on the way to the place where you currently are.

“I don't know what you mean,” you were heard. His answer made you look away from him, towards the calm ether, an atmosphere showered with golden leaves, most likely sourcing from the beautifully large scale tree you saw on the way to here, and those golden leaves, caught and nestled within the fabric of your outfit, only enhanced the state you were in—you being flushed, or almost from his comment.

And he'd think and believe, that this current expression suited you far more than the hierarchy fitting description one you masked yourself with.

You sigh, walking a few steps towards him. “As if I would act on malice,” you correct, fatigued, just arriving beside him, knowing he has you in his peripheral. “No, but you are still actively trying to escape, are you not?”

“If there's one thing that would unsettle me, it would be not able to move freely,”

“...Yet, you haven't, not once, have complained during your willing capture, especially when I was proving you immobile.” What are you doing, General. He berates himself internally just after saying that.

“...Your hands did feel better than these things after all,” silence. He answers with silence and three deep breaths, arms closed defensively, your words clearly, clearly affecting him, troubling him.

“Say,” he breaks the silence, and your amused humming. “Are you really fifty-thousand years old? Or did you mean it, harboring something of that age,”

“The latter,” you're quick to answer, now turning heel, moving towards the edge of the platform, eyes squinted nonchalantly. “Are these skies endless as they seem, or is there something that would await you down there?”

“I wouldn't know.” “Why n—”

“Because I haven't indulged myself in a free fall,”

You turn, looking over your shoulder, meeting his golden eyes, unable to choose between annoyance or attraction from his sudden sarcasm.

“General Jing Yuan,” a voice interrupts your reply, your head both turning to the source.

Mm. Jing Yuan, huh.

“Ah, Lady Fu,” he'd acknowledge the pink haired's presence, placing her attention quickly to you, and it only amused you, given how she had this look of disapproval, a twinge of curiousity.

But of course, emotions are more stronger when facing the unknown.

“The Matrix of Prescience is functioning at its finest, any unsealing, rudimentary or advanced would be completely left unscathed, and any type of escape will not be possible for the acting God as per dire request, at least, in 824 possibilities I've calculated f—”

“How accomodating,” you interrupt, shooting the Diviner, and the General an unamused look, a wry smile to hide a slight bitterness that you won't deny within you.

“Only for the best,” He'd add, low, teasing, grasping your attention effortlessly, noticing that slight tensing of your body language, quite liking the effect he had on you currently.

“Only for me, then?” You're quick to retaliate, now striding towards him, smirking and you'd purposely exaggerate your movements, alluring and elegant as you move, catching that miniscule, quick shift in his eyes.

“For the ones unwilling to share their truth,” he looks down as you arrive, indifferent you'd think, but he looked stiff, too professional, unnatural.

“As if your questions wouldn't be answered if you asked in the first place,” you're correct and you know it. “I digress, Lady Herrscher,” the pink is quick to interrupt. “There would be far more possibilities to assess if we were to take that free, unpremeditated route considering your claims of absolute destruction, whether it'd be the escape of your existence, endangering the Luofu, or—”

“That gate, it is acting as a fine line between the stars, and your faction, yes?” you interrupt, liking the slight crease of annoyance between her eyebrows.

“...You would be correct.” Fu Xuan answers, jolting shortly after once your head lowers to her, eyes dark with suspicious amusement.

“Be aware, had your shortly assessed claims prove multiple chances of being true, I would have already done so the moment I stepped foot into what you call the Jade Gate,” you answer with a wry, cold smile, your voice carrying a serious tone this time, along with your expression just like earlier tall, menacing, and haunting.

But still beautiful, the thought nestles comfortably in Jing Yuan's mind, eliciting a heavy exhale through his nose, and you can't identify if it was exhaustion, or frustration, but what you have determined is that he was calm, too calm for someone who is in the presence of a Herrscher.

...Or do the concept of Herrschers not exist in this universe?

“Hm,” the Diviner's eyes narrow, considering, thinking deeply, ignoring the threatening indications in your tone.

“That would... erase 7,254 possibilities of you wreaking havoc, causing no harm and chaos towards the Xianzhou Alliance, as well as having the idealogy, the possibility of you being a Lord Ravager, as well as the part where your loyalties lie for the Aeon of Destructio—”

“Thank you?” “It isn't a co—” the General interrupts by movement, and the action of coughing dryly onto his fist, stepping in between both you, and the Diviner.

“My lady, would you be so kind to indulge and alleviate our worries? It would be of much great help to the Xianzhou's mental fortitude, as well as mine,” he brings out his hand, trained, calloused yet well taken care of, towards the direction of the large, and no doubt advanced technology that was currently up and running, ready for you.

But, if you were to round up the little information you were given based on this sole interaction alone, this astral looking device would, in theory, be able to read, or pry into either your mind.

And that wasn't good for you, neither it is for the Houkai Energy that takes home in your body.

“I have a favor to ask both of you, and the Luofu,” they'd both perk, the word unexpected showing in their expressions to your sudden request.

“Whatever it is that is ongoing, cease everything once you witness something, anything, fluctuate, do everything to render me immobile, unable, or useless,” you'd look to the General for the last part of your sentence, a serious yet silent pleading on those lovely eyes, recognized by him.

He wouldn't need an explanation, he had already witnessed it, the sudden rouses of personality that didn't fit you, the physical and mental discomfort you displayed, grasping your head in earlier events and the radiant glow of your eyes.

“Do you understand, my mighty General?”

But even then, you'd still be able to surprise him, attract him despite being steeled by your vague warning, and that itself was dangerous already.

“I'm starting to destest this... lack of respect, and self preservation in your words and demeano—”

“Let's... start, Lady Fu, let's not keep our guest, waiting,” such strong words, but you'd know that you've only greatly affected him, considering his guarded expression, stoic and stern, but his eyes continue to glue to yours, unidentifiable, but determined, you just don't know if it's something related a positive one or not.

'My' General, you say. He'd pause, attempting to keep composed, giving a subtle, brief squint to you while he played your those lines over and over in his head. "I could wait all the time for you,” you muse with a teasing chuckle, letting him guide you towards the platform of spheres.

Astrological symbols and starry projections, it was pleasing to the eye, but its mechanism were unbefitting of the aesthetics, knowing this enclosure is one that is enable to invade your mind, your memories and your being.

It's funny, you are to stand within something so similar to how you are, it was beautiful, primordial like, and it was also something that people didn't want to associate themselves with. Just like you.

Jing Yuan would hum, mirroring your amused expression, he could only assume what thoughts had presented themselves to you as you gaze towards the Matrix of Prescience.

Fu Xuan's emotions dive into the categories of reminiscence, nostalgia and a twinge of guarded anticipation, you being inside it bringing memories flickering, familiar imagery of cunning, allure and authority flashing your figure.

Kafka. She'd sigh heavily, now attaining suitable form, ready to dive into mysteries that settled surfaced, or deep in your mind.

“Whenever you're ready,”

Whenever they're ready. A crude internal voice slips out, causing you a slight discomfort.

Behave, I believe they have the technology to get rid of you, and they're just unaware of it.

And considering the possibility that without me, you are nothing.

What makes you, yourself—is me.

I don't mind losing you.

You let your face muscles contract into a wicked grin on your face while your head remained low, your breathing intervallic with purpode to concentrate.

I've already found another that has the means and capacity to replace your greatness, if not greater. You look up, now taking witness to the light illuminating the entirety of you, all before placing your gaze at the General that stood with anticipation next to the initiator of this conduct.

You'd give up your divine principles for a nothing but a miniscule speck of human companionship?

Why not? You bore me.

...That is only the result of you not using me to immeasurable extents, destroying a continent, for example.

There are other ways to destroy things. Your chuckle is seen, confusing the Diviner and the Arbiter General, especially one that sounded out with endearment, especially once you bit your lip to the General.

You are all the same. Mm, yes.

I never did claim to abandon my humanity in the first place, no? That's n—

“Oh Miss lovely Diviner,” you call out, shunning the other internal voice out, closing your eyes, bliss and free, despite your restraints.

“You will be dealing with three consciousness,” you open your eyes, biting your bottom lip to stifle laughter from the priceless reactions of disbelief and confusion in both their faces.

“What.” Her eyes leave whatever she was working onto the astral projection, constellations floating adrift within her hands, just like you at the current.

“What do you mean by... three consciousness?”

“Steady, you are unfocused,” you chuckle thereafter, your words only snapping her out of seconds worth of shock, denying to process her emotions of disbelief.

“It is as literal as I can get, three, individual consciousness.” You bite your bottom lip harder, cheeks puffing and just stifling to let a sound of laughter out, your circumstances amusing the General as he crossed his arms, closing his eyes while you mused her with your teasing antics.

“Me, the last successor of the power I hold currently, and the culprit of ruination that I, have mentioned prior my captivity—the lovely General would know what I'm referring to,” you glance briefly at the General, dead in the eyes, admiring him before returning your eyes to the Diviner.

“So tread with utmost care, for once you stray off from mine, you will be dealing with fifty-thousand worth of memories, all filled with inconceivable amounts of terror... and otherworldly struggles.”

The familiar silence again, not including the sounds of stars and shapes moving around you, runes, magic circles appearing and diminishing in tempos. “...Do not take me lightly,” the Diviner refocuses, her attention and concentration towards the particles of light and spacial matter before her sights, and her fingertips.

“Hmhm,” “You need not tease her,” your full attention returns to the General, giving him that coy smile that unsettles and pleases him all in one.

“You'd prefer if I do it to you instead, then?”

“...I said no such thing,” “I don't hear resistance.”

There, that color. It suits him, and he wears the hue so, so well. He'd look away, down to the ground to avoid your smug gaze, arms crossed, as if that defense would stop you from continuing your attacks. “You hold so much beauty, General.”

Says you who continues to be frustratingly magnificent and irresistible. “Focus on the ta—”

“Mm, are you talking to me, or to yourself?” The General takes a deep breath, refusing to meet your gaze, his golden irises tearing away from yours and out towards the other platforms of the Divination Commission.

How long had it been since having himself indulge in interactions such as this? Too long.

You'd expect from the Mighty Arbiter General of the Luofu to not indulge himself in things that will hinder is work, distract him from protecting the Luofu, but you'd be surprise for how long 800 years can really be.

Eons that were accompanied by friends that named themselves longing, loneliness and emptiness, and even faced with emotions he wasn't acquainted with, the emotions being satisfaction, and this warming anticipation...—

He wouldn't, he wouldn't. He would not allow himself, or rather, the Mara wouldn't allow him.

He wouldn't let the one who will enter, capture and steal his heart witness his inevitable fate, one that involved the blossoming of ginkgo leaves, painted with the scarlet red that reeks of a cruel, unhappy death, he would rather just—let no one suffer, he will protect those who need protecting.

But of five people, four had only paid the price.

And right now, the sight of you, all tied, almost vulnerable, mixing in with the memories of pleasant interactions you and him had since the encounter.

To seek out this vixen of a woman, play her games as she did with his, testing him, observing him in the same manner he would to her.

He would gladly be the last.

How could he resist? His charms, wit, intelligence, it was all mirrored by someone so cunningly attractive, not only in physical but the way you hold yourself, his reflected charms being reciprocated if not better?

It all made him feel good.

So good, and maybe, just maybe, he can finally... at least once more in his immortality, can he finally prioritize something else other than the Luofu, other than—“General! General Jing Yuan!”

Yanqing? Familiar voices snap him out of his deep trance, eyes widened, confused, alarmed at the sight that came to be. Two floating blades of ice, both horizontal to block a large scale whip, it was dark, serpent like, exuding black mists—and it retracts again, golden dust particles trailing off from the direction it had attempted to attack him.

The serpent like whip slithered, back, back and forwards again, moving—“ABOVE!” It attacks again, its speed and velocity unmatched for the ice swords the little commander, the density and strength once it clashes with four, five blades, overruling it, shattering each sword with ease.

“Watc—Tch,” The General immediately acts, lunging and taking hold of the blonde boy to move out of the way, him being caught off guard making Jing Yuan barely dodge out of the way.

“At ease, Yanqing,” Rubbles, dusts, the aftermath of the shock scathed his skin in small cuts and dust, ornamental clothes dirtied.

“S-Sorry General... I was—” The platform gives out an unpleasant noise, one that threatened its unsteadiness as it rumbles.

His balance becomes unaffected once he steels himself, strong legs now bastioned against the floor, an arm wrapped around the blonde boy's torso. “Converge, and awaken!” Strategems of constellations manifest into the reality, its canvas a circular gradient of condensed energy, illustrated as magic circle of spatial patterns.

“Lady Fu—” “In short,” her summonings had fade, rejuvenating the two and those around within the vicinity within the Matrix of Prescience of fatigue and light injuries. The Master Diviner drifts down in glittering elegance, using her omniscial abilities to avoid rubble, footing now obtained, assuming a defensive stance to the omnidirectional moving whip, eyes attentive to any and every movement.

“A memory, one of most grief, it provoked something, triggered something. One moment she was well, infuriating, and what followed af—”

Grief? “Is—Is she... safe?”

“Physically, that would be a given, but in psychological means...” She followed his automatic gaze, up towards where you were continued to reside in. You were still restrained, but there were new details no one would miss, the first of few being your struggle that showed on your face, eyes closed, teeth grinding against each other, beads of sweat trickling along your skin.

Your skin would have these cracks, dark mists with golden particles as rifts this time would be plastered vertically on one half of your face, like train tracks, down and down to your neck, to the fabric of where your chest was located. It was beaming, pulsing, bright, despite the dark mist that shrouded you whole.

A source? Plausible. He'd reaffirm his suspicions, setting down the blonde that continuously squirmed in his arms. “G-General what—”

“Retreat, all of you.” Thank you for your consent.

He referred to your warning of earlier events, to stop you in your tracks, to harm you, to end you.

“B-But—!” “If you will, Lady Fu.” She looks over her shoulder, glaring at him, mumbling 'fool' before encasing herself, Yanqing and those who were valiant in the field, all into her spherical realm of stars, disappearing from the premises of danger. “Now then,” the General resummons his glaive, light manifesting in accordance to his hand movements.

“An attempt of harm towards the Master Diviner, my Cloud Knights, Commander Yanqing, and the Arbiter General,” he bends his knees, hands gripping the length of his weapon.

“Causing public disruption, disturbance and damage within the Divination Commission,” wind pressure forms, circular and forceful around him.

And including... particular indecencies. He adds internally, sighing, blushing, the General lifts his gaze to you, to the troubled you, radiant with no peace, veiled in darkness.

“By order of one of the Seven Arbiter Generals, you are to face judgement through the Ten-Lords Commission,” he lunges, strong and with intense speed, up and above with a grunt escaping him.

“A punishable degree, possible of long time imprisonment within Shackling Pris—” he jolts, offensive form faltering the moment he sees your eyes open slowly. “Welt... Welt Yang,” you mutter, rasp and low, struggling to maintain hold in your consciousness. What? He retracts, stopping the subconscious swing he was about to do, maintaining to float as lightning crackled all over him, keeping him leveled to you.

“Th-The Sovereign...—” You're quite accommodating, keeping this man at bay for me.

The moment your eyes widened in realization to your surroundings, the sight before already had taken a drastic turn, he had barely parried the serpent-like whip with his glaive, his strength barely able to hold against the weight and thickness of the entity like weapon.

Tch. You squirm, struggling, remembering the binds that hold you in place. “General!” You hold out both arms out towards his direction, desparate, giving your wrists out to him.

He sees you from the corners of his eyes, glancing for a second before forcing his focus to the assailant that threatens his life with ease.

Without hesitation, the General uses the weight of the whip, lowering his usage of strength and himself, now using the overwhelming momentum to force it downwards, barely dodging the vertical strike by tilting his side, a sharp air following, grazing his skin.

“Quite contradicting, are you?” His admirable strength and words that followed up bring you a sense of relief, amusement afterwards, as after images of parallel strikes, vertical, horizontal, diagonal free you from your binds.

“You like it,” you don't miss the chance to tease, grinning, moving your wrists to the opposite of each other, now moving with after-image like speed. “Do I distract you that much, General?”

“You-...” Instinct, instinct, instinct. His irises dilate, now sensing, feeling a throbbing dread that put him in a stunloc—“Focus,” you say, clicking your tongue, appearing just right infront of him again.

Your reflexes act, hands moving in elegant patterns, your own abilities manifesting that familiar golden dust-like summons as each particle hardens, coming into contact with multi-shooting, razor sharp attacks, parrying them in unsettling precision.

I truly don't understand the need to protect such selfish, greedy, imperfect anthropoids.

Cease your pet, I don't like how it uses my body to fuels itself.

Hmhm, you carry me most of your life, what's the difference of another presence?

It invades and drains me continuously, in a disgusting, putrid way most possible. Unlike you.

Flattering, somewhat, but no. Sounds of cracking could be heard, but you wouldn't hesitate to reinforce, the space all around you and the General filled with aerial destruction and explosions with each attack and defense.

You multitask, sighing, a hand moving lazily, snapping your fingers to the air beneath the two of you, setting up a barrier to protect those that remain on the Divination platform, and the whole floating structure itself.

You didn't have to protect, but you did. The natural reaction—no, reflex, for you being another surprise to the General, his eyes lowered to the see through glass-like barrier, protected from debris and the individual entity that caused the mayhem in the first place.

Then again, it did still stem from you, no?

The General glances back up to you, now standing idle, strucked with disorientation, his thoughts clashing with one another, like what you were currently doing right now.

No, you were performing, this was just another day for you, another day of familiarity. Just how much did you lose, endure in order to reach this state of almost Aeon-like advancements?

How... exhausted were you despite the strength you held? Those eyes, not once have they glimmered like in earlier events as you fend off the stray that came from you, or wherever else it came from. The radiance in your eyes, dulling, bored as it dilates to every precise attack it brings you, pinpointing its contact points with precision.

Not even Phantylia reached one-tenth of your speed and summoning.

“Sorry,” you mutter under your breath, only once had the sounds of explosions cease briefly, your unexpected apology heard and snapping Jing Yuan out of his thoughts. “I'm horrible,” you add, weak and nonchalant, but that undertone of bitterness was clear. To him only anyways.

He straightens, glancing between you, and what you had graced the ether with. A blazing, field of gold, mixed with a flashing images of the thick, dark colored serpentine that continued its relentless attacks, and you were still protecting not only him, but the whole Divination Commission space.

You were one to erase stars, your history of destruction painting over the world with your own light. Only to realize, in that self-made darkness, you were left alone time after time, surrounded by the Houkai you left behind. Huh? What?

...Don't mix your cognitive fragments with mine.

As if I could help it? You click your tongue in annoyance, deciding this situation was far too unnecessary, prolonged. You raise your hand, two fingers targeting the fast moving serpent, an orb that simulated a black hole, materializing, pulsing at the tip of your middle finger, the difference to it would be the color and how it works—it being made something of purity, transparency, visible-esqué sound waves, the closest you could describe it with, silly it may sound.

Hmph, you were experimenting with me.

A warning, actually. It surges, the orb sending off towards what your other conscience had manifested in speed even you can't quite grasp.

A low buzz it emanated, it was invisible to the naked eye, but not the sharp splitting of the clouds, Jing Yuan unable to process the severity of your strength as the clouds separate in a visible, razor sharp line. It was booming once it claimed impact, and you were unphased at the sound of a high frequency sounding explosion, once the serpentine expands in a gruesome way, withered and dissolving in its next sequences of death. It was just another day for you, but you can't say the same for the General.

Even in his 800 year long longevity.

He sighs, heavy. It's over. “...And you call you self horrible, after such a commendable, otherwordly feat?” The small frown that didn't suit your face goes unnoticed, right as you safely lower yourself and the General, drifting towards safety and back to the land. Minimal damage, in your eyes, but it was still damage, one that you had caused inevitably.

“What's commendable about all this, General?”

Rubble, cracks. Disorder, panic and peril. All in deafening, hollow silence. You'd see some people in the other platforms, safe, distanced yet disoriented, and their slowly increasing panic will become so much more once they will come to a realization that someone foreign to the Luofu had caused something so terrible.

Since visitation, of this grand hexafleet, whether it was brief or not, you would notice a troubling aura in the air, and beautiful—the skies, covered in raining gold, each leaf that welcomed themselves everywhere felt malicious, and the thought of causing destruction, hidden in beauty, hidden in aesthetics, it had set something so primal within you, it sickened you, disgusted you.

Given the chance, you would want to shrivel up in agony, processing the fact that these people's higher entities, hide their indefinite strength of terror behind something, masked in something.

They hide behind their emanators, commanding them, upholding their bidding, bestow them with a piece of their strength, and give those who choose and preside their path an even smaller fragment—all for what, exactly?

Lazy, prideful, lawless and with no purpose. They make factions based on their powers, limit those who follow their path with one or a few goals, dedicated to benefitting their Aeons wishes.

A few words out of many that you would describe how Aeons are really are. Then there's you, a Herrscher, one from a world that wasn't theirs, a concept they cannot understand, but it is human nature that they will try to do so—and it was human nature to take control of what threatens their species. Unknown specimens like you.

“...The IPC, as well as the Intelligencia Guild will certainly take interest in you, Miss Herrscher,” he breaks the silence, snapping you out from your heavy thoughts. He stood beside, staring with you onto the unpleasant sight. “They already have,” you add, moving your head to his direction, meeting his eyes, eyes that held softness.

“Just like me then,” you squint, processing his words. “You look at me as if I didn't just almost destroy a bit of architecture within the faction you lead, General.” You both fight back grinning, stifling the sly corners of your lips.

“And you certainly berate yourself like you just didn't protect the Divination Commission,” you clench your fist. This was protection? You tear away from his gaze again, letting the guilt overtake your amusement instantly, viewing the destructive sight you created. “You attempted to minimize the damage with the barrier, you kept your defenses purposeful, accurate, precise,”

He turns fully towards you, taking your attention with no effort, his words casually welcoming that swelling, warm feeling inside you again.

“You haven't attacked, not once during when my soldie—when I, encountered you,” what. The said heat only creeps up, up and up, grounded all over your face, spread to your ears. He was knelt on one knee, a hand placed over his chest, and all you could do was stare and still, trying to gain control over your facial muscles.

“Only until the last second, where you claimed victor against what threatened the Luofu, attacking only once, and it wasn't against our faction,” he looks up, assuming that charming smile, shifting even more into amusement once he took witness to your cute, confused expression, painted in flustered red.

“I didn't do—” “You did more than what I could,”

It really wasn't much. You purse your lips, not expecting him to interrupt and retaliate immediately. “I don't know how many more favors the Xianzhou Alliance will continue to owe, but with defending a part of our faction,” he lowers his head, bowing down.

“The Arbiter General will personally see to it that what you have caused within the Divination Commission would be sentenced to something more... forgiving.” Oh. That was funny. The audible exhale catches his attention, now rising his head to see you smiling widely, fighting back to laugh. “I was going to say... it would be very unsettling if I were somehow left unpunished,”

He'd mirror your expression, now pushing on his knee to stand, your gaze following his height as he stood tall, ravishing, and amused to your antics. “Mm, perhaps it would also be a chance to lengthen your stay, at least for a bit longer,”

“Missing me at the thought of my departure already, General Jing Yuan?” You'd see him freeze, his breathing paused, but his eyes would not dare to leave yours. If only you knew how deeply affected he was by you addressing him with his name the first time since the entirety of this.

“...You're dangerous,” he tilts his chin up, golden irises darkening with a certain glint.

“I did warn you,” you reply in the same tone, taking a step, closing the two-hand inch gap by one, your womanly instincts having a chance to let loose as your eyes mirrors his glint, seducing, alluring, and the cherry on top being that chesire-like grin, captivating him further.

And you knew he referred not with your strength, but the way you kept him provoked, challenged, on his toes, teasing and testing this generous, fine line between professionalism and another.

Your eyes shift instantly, a reflex as you see movement from him, his hands near reaching for your wais—“THERE YOU ARE!” A high pitched voice, all so familiar, jolts the both of you in place.

“Ah, it's Mar-... Wh—”This pink fool. Your foot rotates to her direction with dark prism-like barriers, quickly materializeling and sequenced like dominos towards her direction as she takes her rough landing with an 'oomph'.

“HAhua! See Mr. Yang? I told you she'd be fast enough to catch me!” Yang? Ah. You cock your head to the side, seeing past march to see a few others following her direction, towards you.

“That—that was still reckless March,” The Vidyhadra groans disapprovingly, only to have March laughing wryly while she rubbed the back of her head. “I'll... have to agree with Dan Heng, even I couldn't have done anything if something were to go wrong.” Welt adds, moving along with Dan Heng, two twins following along behind, only for one to shove past between her twin and the Vidyhadra, running—no, sprinting with emergency towards March, tackling her.

“Mm,” the whole spectacle leaves you dumbfounded, yet nostalgic in silence, all while familiar individuals gather and move towards you and the General. You assume they were called for assistance, but Welt would already assess that everything was already over, despite the disorder.

“...Whatever it is waiting for me,” you take the chance to break off the confusion, having a limited amount of privacy with the General left.

“I wouldn't mind being imprisoned again if it means keeping myself under your gaze, my General,” you return your sly, confident gaze to him, only for that to crumble, not having enough time to react and process as he leaned towards you swiftly.

“Then,” you let him lower your guard, letting him make you feel vulnerable, small yet womanly, letting that hand of his, opposite from the nearing group, slither from your hips, up towards your waist, seducing and with purpose, gripping your curve firmly as your cheeks brush against each other.

“Shall I bring further judgement to increase your punishment, Miss Herrscher?”

reblogs boost my audience reach, thank you.

[steaming-system-takes]

Hot take: What's the point of hot takes if it's only going to be hot takes you agree with? This gimmick is so tired. I can't wait for more of the world's coldest, most tired takes that have been circulating on this site for years. Thank you for your contribution.

not a steaming system take, posting this for clarification

first off, we dont only post takes we agree with. we have a section in our pinned post talking about that. there are a few takes weve posted that we dont agree with, but they either make valid points that should be considered or theyre opinions that we havent seen talked about that arent worded with any harmful meaning. so, we post them. a good amount of the submissions weve recieved and posted are opinions weve seen around, thats true. however, theres a reason some of these takes are being repeated via our blog as well as others. some of them are genuine issues within the system community that still occur. thats why theyre repeated so much. like our pinned post says, we (as in this blog) exist as a pinboard for other peoples opinions (as long as they dont have misinfo or are harmful). there are very few situations where we will give our own opinion of something. usually we wont unless theres something specific to address

second, the second half of the ask is needlessly sarcastic and passive aggressive. id prefer it if you didnt talk to our system (or anyone) that way. if youre gonna be moody and complain about someones blog, the least you can do is properly read their pinned post before doing so /lh

-Mod Z

[llflorence]

It's rude to keep friends waiting - RatedE, Didn't know they were dating, Dream of the Endless x Hob Gadling, Charles Rowland x Edwin Payne

The book she’s chosen is an obscure, narrow-minded piece. Stories of world domination, of blood and lust and murder. One hand holds the book open, the other trailing down the page as she reads. She’s been doing it now for an excruciating amount of time.

Dream tries to be patient and fails. He’s followed her into the eclectic and strange shop with focused purpose. He meant to approach her right away and gain answers to his questions, but the gentle smile on her face as she scanned the bookshelves stopped him.

He’s seen a smile such as that before.

Now, though, he feels as if she’s toying with him.

“What do you want?” she asks just as he’s about to begin to speak. “I assume it’s something important or you wouldn’t be stalking me like a creepy weirdo.”

Dream bristles; Johanna always has that effect on him. “I am not stalking you. I am seeking you out for advice.”

She laughs at that, cold and heartless and sardonic. “Advice from me? That’s hilarious.”

She does put down the book, however, tucking it under her arm and cocking her head to face him. The pain and sadness that comes with a life such as hers stares out at him. They are similar in that way.

“Well? Spit it out. Haven’t got all day to chat.”

There’s something about the antagonistic way she addresses him that sets a fire within, and he very nearly turns and walks away. But there’s a tugging inside his chest that’s become more and more urgent. He sets his chin high and proceeds.

“I need your help with something rather delicate.”

Her thick eyebrows raise and a dimple forms in her cheek. He’s caught her interest. “Go on.”

Dream does not feel fear nor shame nor uncertainty. He does, however, feel regret. “I have not been the most successful –” He pauses to find the right word. “Intimate partner.”

Instead of the scoff he’d expected, Johanna’s face remains the same. “And you think I have been?”

Dream nods his head once. “You are at least one step better than I. Your Rachel is with you still.”

Johanna, the clever girl, immediately understands. “Yeah, but we’ve been through the ringer, she and I. She’s patient and forgiving and absolutely lovely. I fucking don’t deserve her.”

Dream thinks Johanna deserves exactly her, but he knows she is not to be convinced. He moves the story along, laying out more of his reason for finding her.

“My past experiences have all ended in disaster. I do not know how to approach intimacy with another without failing before I even begin.”

Johanna considers him for a long moment, lips pursed. It appears she is taking him seriously. He’s prepared to be a good listener.

She draws in a quick breath. “Is it old Hobsie that interests you? Is that who you want to bang?”

Her tone is crude and Dream wishes to scold her, but he restrains himself. “He deserves better.”

Her mouth forms a smirk and her eyes fill with mischief. “My advice to you then is to go for it. He’s a big boy. He can handle whatever it is you can dish out.”

Dream agrees with her. There is something about the impossible man that intrigues him. A scoundrel with misaligned morals, he has adapted and changed and become a much kinder individual. Hob ebbs and flows with Dream’s stormy moods. Dream is drawn to him with the force of the Earth’s gravity.

“Look,” Johanna continues, taking a step closer. There are dark shadows under her eyes and tired lines around her mouth. “I don’t know that I’m the right person  –”

Dream has seen her dreams, the horrors that haunt her when she drifts off. There are things he can do to – “I can take away your nightmares. Bring the sleep you so desperately need. If only you’ll help me?”

Johanna recognizes a good bargain when she is presented with one. She takes it and warps it into something confusing. 

“Not for me,” she says, her tone dark and serious. “For Rachel. She wakes up screaming, thinking I’m never coming back. That I’ll be trapped in hell or I’ll die. Part of the reason I end up sabotaging us over and over is because I can’t stand watching her suffer like that.”

Dream wonders what it’s like to sacrifice such a gift for another. But he nods and agrees to it. “Rachel will worry no more.”

Johanna fixes him with a glare that says he’d better not back out on his word. Dream offers his hand. She takes it in her own.

“OK.” Her smile returns. “You know him well enough. What does he need?”

Confused, Dream blinks. The man needs for nothing.

“All right. What makes him happy? You must have an idea about that.”

Dream thinks of how Hob laughs at his favorite television programs. How he tears up when he speaks of homeless children being fed and clothed. The way he smiles when they talk about philosophy, about history, about complete nonsense. He supposes he does know what the man enjoys.

“I do. But how do I move past the awkwardness toward intimacy?”

Johanna laughs again. “The God of Dreams is ready to skip right to the sex, you absolute wanker, you.”

It’s vile, and it’s uncouth, but it’s regrettably the truth.

“Just be with him, Dream. He’s already into you. Communicate. Talk. And maybe butter him up with flowers and champagne, or some such nonsense. Works for Rachel every time I cock things up.”

Dream does not think Hob likes flowers. He’s bound to complain that they would only die. And he’s more of a scotch or whiskey drinker, although he might be convinced. Still, it seems strange to bribe him with such trivial gifts.

“I feel as if our relationship requires more than the traditional courtship. Robert is very different from any other partner –”

“Whoa. Hold on. Are we talking sex here? Or something more long-term? Like, a forever kind of thing?”

Dream sometimes thinks he must speak his own language. “Are they not the same?”

How Johanna finds that funny is beyond understanding. She slaps a hand on his upper arm and shakes him most violently. “What are you doing here, wasting precious time talking to me? Get in there and take him! You’re perfect for each other!”

—

Hob Gadling’s brow is lined as he bows over his work. There’s a focused seriousness about him tonight that Dream finds disconcerting. His new endeavor of teaching others about his passions has recently taken more of his time than ever. It’s drawn a line between them. One that must be crossed carefully.

Dream taps his fingers on the armrest of Hob’s sofa, absolutely not paying any attention to the movie currently playing. Instead, he’s focused on the intent set of his friend’s shoulders.

Dinner was delicious. The conversation flowed with ease. Hob reached for his hand no less than seven times, laughing, slightly drunk, beautiful. They sat side by side on the subway, knees touching, shoulders pressed together. Openly friendly and satisfyingly uninhibited, Dream had felt as if he actually had a soul.

Back in Hob’s apartment, though, things had shifted back to their usual. Hob took to his work, Dream to the couch.

His opportunity is slipping away quite decidedly. Dream must do something.

He pushes off the couch and approaches Hob at the table, looking down at the red-marked papers in a haphazard stack next to his laptop. Always the thorough one, Hob attaches little yellow sticky notes to each and every paper he scores. Words of encouragement grace every single one. He really is remarkable.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Dream tries, already knowing the answer. Robert is highly protective of his students’ privacy.

Hob doesn’t look up. “Load the dishwasher? Throw the dirty clothes in the washer? Fix me a cup of tea and get rid of this kink in the back of my neck?”

He’s joking, of course. He’s been doing that a lot lately. Almost as if it’s a coverup for what he really wants to say.

Dream turns and walks down the hall. He’s quite capable of doing the dishes and the laundry. He knows Hob doesn’t really mean for him to do it, but his friend is currently lost in his work. So he hauls the basket to the bottom floor and slots the coins into place before riding the elevator back to the flat.

While he waits, he fills the dishwasher, adds soap, and activates the machine. Then he sets the pot on the stove to boil and readies Hob’s favorite tea.

Dream’s hands begin to tremble as he stirs in the milk. He scolds himself for being so weak and delivers the beverage without a word.

Hob’s eyes slide to the right at the cup sitting on the coaster. His pen stills on the yellow note, and his shoulders tense the moment Dream touches him.

“W-what are you doing?” he asks, sounding hesitant and unnerved. Dream presses his thumbs into the space where Hob’s shoulder blades meet.

“Touching you,” he says, although it seems blatantly obvious to him. “Your tendons are quite stiff.”

A shudder makes its way through Hob’s body, most likely triggered by the too-light stroking of thumbs on the back of his neck. Dream corrects and presses harder, kneading the loose skin with care.

Hob drops his head forward and makes the most alarming of sounds, and Dream pulls back.

“Have I hurt you?”

Dream' worst fear, that his strength might cause harm to a most important person.

But Hob spins suddenly in the chair, his papers flying in all directions. Dream leans down and only just stops the tea from spilling and ruining them.

Hob is gasping for breath. His eyes wide, looking confused. “No. Please. Don’t stop. It – it doesn’t hurt.”

Dream acknowledges and continues massaging the man’s shoulders. Hob turns away and begins to tidy his papers.

“Did you take me seriously just now? Did I hear you actually doing dishes?”

Dream catches the disbelief in his voice; it’s extremely entertaining. “Of course. And the clothes are washing downstairs. I told you I wished to help. You gave me a task, I saw to it.”

Hob is leaning back against Dream’s hands now, his torso beginning to go limp, his neck malleable. “Thanks for that. But. You don’t have to. You’re not a servant, after all.”

Dream remembers quite clearly their discussion about the slave trade. The about-face the man took after his suggestion is another reason Dream adores Hob so.

Because it is most definitely adoration. An unfathomable devotion. Dream thinks there is nothing he wouldn’t do for Hob, if he so asked.

“Slavery of this sort is very different, my Dearest Hob. It’s not against anyone’s will. I enjoy serving you, if only to see the smile on your face.”

This has the same effect as Dream’s first touch on Hob’s tense neck. He whirls around again, this time mindful of the items on the table.

His deep brown eyes, so big and round and soft, search Dream for some falsehood. He’s in utter disbelief. “You can’t mean that.”

He moves his fingers into the base of Hob’s hair. He massages the man’s scalp and watches those eyes as they roll back.

“I do not say things I do not mean.” Robert should know that about him by now.

But Hob is looking shaken, visibly spooked by something Dream has done or said. His jaw is tight and his mouth a thin line. He’s direct when he speaks next, seeking answers just as Dream has done. “What is it you want? From me? Dream?”

It’s a challenge that begs to be met. Dream does just that.

“I wish to touch you. I think of nothing else.”

There is a horrible moment where it appears he’s ruined everything. The mutual respect. The friendship. The future. And then Hob stands so quickly Dream must take a step back. The man snatches at his shirt. Shakes him. Angry.

“I’ve been wanting you to do just that since our last reunion at the Inn. A hundred years spent thinking you hated me made me see how much you mean to m–.”

Hob’s voice trembles, stops and starts and stalls completely at the end. His fingers are stretched taut as they clutch at Dream’s clothing. Dream finds that he, too, is vibrating slightly. It’s like no sensation he’s ever felt before.

“I promise you, Robert Gadling, that I will fail at loving you. But if you give me a chance to try —“

Hob throws his head back and laughs. He readjusts one fist into the bulging loose front of Dream’s shirt and fixes an alarmingly hungry look upon Dream’s mouth.

They’re close now. Close enough to smell the afterburn of an evening cocktail, to feel the heat of rapidly increased breathing. Hob continues to stare at Dream’s mouth.

“I swear to god. If you don’t kiss me this very second, I’m going to p—“

Dream kisses him. The word he meant to say punctured into a gasp, mouth partially open as Dream slips inside. Momentarily stunned, Hob goes limp enough to require catching. But even as Dream wraps protective arms about him, Hob kisses back.

Dream has experienced immortal desire before, but nothing like this. The longing and determination and basic wanting that powers Hob’s mouth and tongue. Dream finds the amount of pressure the man gives with both lips is directly connected to the tug of something inside his chest. It’s incredibly erotic; it makes him dizzy.

Not only dizzy, but confused. Hob seems to simultaneously want to be touched and do the touching. He rips his own shirt off, exposing that fantastic hairy chest, but moves Dream’s hand over the fastens for his trousers. He pulls Dream to his mouth to bruise their lips together, then pushes him away and looks down to watch his hands. Licks his lips. Emits a soft moan. Then lifts his eyes again to Dream’s face.

“Jeezus,” Hob breathes as Dream frees him from the constraints of the remainder of his clothing. The man’s fully flushed cock nestles into the thick patch of fur across his tanned, toned lower abdomen. Both hands lift to Dream’s face, tugging hard to pull him in for another kiss.

It is something he cannot allow.

“Hob,” he says, voice dropped to decibels that seem to make the very air tremble. “Allow me?” And then, for good measure, and because he knows Johanna would be proud of him, “Please?”

“Oh god.” It’s something Hob says quite frequently. He’s always going on about some invisible deity, as if he needs saving.

Dream pulls Hob along to the bedroom, not wanting to share with anyone else. He wants no distractions; no calls, no texts, no annoying advertisements on the television. There was a time when he wished for the entire Waking World to know the pleasure his partner was feeling. His gut clenches at the thought of letting anyone infringe on Hob’s ecstasy.

His partner attempts again to kiss him, to distract him from the task at hand. He lifts Dream’s shirt, and although the brush of warm fingers on his skin is delectable, that’s neither here nor there.

Dream doesn’t need to speak. All it takes is a firm jaw and a look, and Hob is calling out his pathetic god’s name again, closing his eyes as if to pray.

It stops him from pawing at Dream’s clothing, though. He sits obediently on the end of the bed and looks up. The dimple in his handsome chin cries out for attention. Dream touches it with one fingertip.

Hob’s pretty mouth falls open and he sounds completely wrecked. He clutches the bedclothes as if preparing himself. “I dunno if I’m going to survive your hands, Dream.”

Amused, he asks. “My what?”

Brown eyes pierce his own. “Your hands! I’ve a thing for them; it’s pretty serious. Once you start touching me I’m never going to want it to stop.”

Dream leans one knee against the bed and allows Hob to collect both hands to his mouth. Then he permits the man to kiss his fingers because it appears to please him.

“Why would you ever want it to stop, Dearest Hob? If you’ve truly been thinking about it for as long as you claim –”

With a mighty yank, Hob manages to pull Dream down on top of him. Their bodies collide and meld in the kind of way that thrills; a most delightful crush. That wide jaw finds his, a long, crooked nose pushes Dream’s aside. Lips tease the edges of his own. “Will you just shut up?”

Dream smirks; it’s a powerful feeling knowing what he can do to Robert Gadling. 

He keeps his comments to himself as he proceeds to learn every possible fold and flaw in Hob’s skin.

He’s remarkably soft, where Dream had thought him to be rough, coarse. His chest hair and thigh hair and underarm are wonderful under his fingers. Nipples perk and draw forth more gasps, sensitive abdominal muscles jerk away at the slightest touch. And it’s fortunate the windows are closed when Dream wraps his whole hand around the man’s rigid cock.

“Fuck!” Hob shouts, startling Dream and causing him to squeeze a bit harder. This, in turn, elicits a sharp inhale and an entirely molten stare.

Quite suddenly, Robert’s eyes widen, and he pushes up on both palms. “Shit! You didn’t read my stories when we were in the Dreaming, did you?”

The laugh that builds and builds before escaping Dream’s lips feels warm and oddly welcome. He’s not used to the lightness in his chest, but he’s glad to share it with Hob.

“I would never do such a thing. Lucienne would have my head.”

Hob’s expression turns relieved and he lies back against the pillows. It’s a sight Dream knows he will never, ever tire of.

His lover is frightfully expressive as Dream strokes him to the peak. He almost appears in pain, especially when his testicles are caught tightly in one hand. Hob assures Dream he’s fine, then proceeds to writhe and arch and moan.

When he reaches for Dream’s fingers to move them more quickly over the flesh of his cock’s exquisite head, it’s Dream who makes a sound. The gorgeous stoppered grunt and then warm gush of fluid has been encouraged by Dream’s hand.

Hob’s body heaves as his cock jerks and twitches. He whimpers. He laughs. He squints up at Dream and then hides his face in both hands. Dream sits on his haunches over his lover’s thick thighs, watching with awe as Hob regains control of his breathing.

It’s a surprise when Robert grabs his face and pulls him down for a messy, uncoordinated kiss. He’s drunk on his orgasm and sharing, quite enthusiastically, how Dream’s made him feel.

There is an urge that begins in Dream’s loins, one that pushes him to swipe his hand through the ejaculate that spreads into Hob’s belly hair. He resists because he isn’t certain if that is acceptable behavior. Hadn't he once lectured this man about the evils of ownership?

Hob attempts to reciprocate, and Dream collects both wrists into one hand. The man could fight him, could wrench himself free if he wanted. But he ceases struggling and goes limp once again. His eyes roll shut. His mouth falls open. He turns his head from side to side.

Finally, he looks up under long, wet eyelashes and attempts to make a joke.

“God. If I’d have known you were a power junkie, I’d have played harder to get.”

He’s rather handsome when he tries to deflect like this. It matches well with his usual flirty tone. But Dream has merely scratched the surface of all this man can do. Oh, how he can’t wait to do it again.

AO3

[thesalemwitchtries]

Dreaming Of a Grave: Chapter Two

Word Count: 3,190

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Named! Fem! Enhanced! Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries sustained through physical assault (no implication of sexual assault at all, so maybe goons beat reader up in her apartment, but they weren't total pricks about it?), There is mention of a man being a creep towards young girls and physical violence against him because of it, the girls are fine, mention of distrust of police/government, Also I didn't change Mrs. Cardenas' existing dialogue, but for everything I created it's in Spanish, because the broken English being spoken when two other speakers are present and when she understands English just fine and then also being killed off for white male plot reasons... none of that sits right with me, so she speaks Spanish and Foggy is accommodated by Matt and Karen, as is perfectly common in an American setting I feel. I know that it was for an English speaking audience but still, subtitles or something. Also when they address her in Spanish they call her Sra, just because I've never spoke to someone in their native language and used an English title, it just was too weird for me to write it that way idk.

Masterlist

Thank you so much for reading! Any comments or feedback are much appreciated!

Also I am not a native Spanish speaker, I've been studying it for a long time, but I've been practicing French and Arabic more lately, which sometimes are all jumbled together in the Non-English half of my brain, so if you see something wrong or funky, please let me know, I would rather be corrected than go around not knowing, especially since it's my favorite language.

Another person might have struggled to focus when faced with the amount of turmoil that Matt Murdock was currently against. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily for those who cared about him, Matt had been capable of excellent focus ever since he was young. Beyond being able to tune out any extra input or hone in on the important bits, when Matt cared about something, he could drive out everything except for his goal. 

His problems with Fisk, the Russians, keeping Claire safe, that could all wait until after work. For now, his attention was locked in on the nervous woman who’d walked into their offices, claiming to have been directed there by Brett’s mother. 

Karen helped to translate as Mrs. Cardenas spoke, given her soft voice and more gentle demeanor, Matt felt content to let her do the questioning while he listened in. According to Elena, two weeks ago men came to her apartment building and tore into the walls with sledgehammers, leaving many people without power or water. Their landlord refused to answer them or help, and when they went to the police, they were told that there was nothing to be done, it was an issue for the city to solve. 

A whole building of people and families, left completely on their own. They deserved to have hope that justice would be served on their behalf. Nelson and Murdock could give them that, though it may take a few months in the courts.

The case that Mrs. Cardenas had brought them was daunting, to say the very least. 

Armand Tully had a reputation as a predatory landlord. His properties were rent-controlled by the city, which was the only protection that tenants had against his greed. Buildings crumbled under his purview. Leaky pipes, faulty wires, and poor security all combined to leave only the most desperate candidates willing to build their lives in his apartments. 

Tully presided over another twist in the cycle of poverty, ensuring his tenants had to spend their own money on these repairs and legal fees, money that could’ve been saved to afford a better landlord.

Worse still, no one could fight Tully. He kept barely within municipal code, and allowed other suits to be tied up in civil courts for as long as possible before doing the right thing. Matt and Foggy had detested running into his cases when they were interning, it felt like a betrayal of their roots.

To Matt, Wilson Fisk was like a blackout rolling through Hell’s Kitchen. Even when Fisk wasn't the direct cause, the increasing spread of darkness through the city was emboldened by his mere presence. The worst sides of everyone around him were encouraged, their greed and cruelty nurtured to monstrous levels.

People feared the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen for the pain left in his wake, but he wasn’t the one inspiring lowlifes like Tully to start smashing in the walls of family homes. All for a quick buck and an investment opportunity. 

Elena’s voice wavered as she explained that the tenants had exhausted all of the options that they could. They were desperate, and it was a relief for Matt to know that at least he was still capable of making one right decision, it could even be easy.

Talking with Claire had him questioning if he really was doing more harm as the Devil than good, it certainly hadn’t been good enough to help protect her last night. However, if Matt hadn’t decided to leave Landman & Zack, he would be defending an asshole like Tully against a vulnerable woman like Mrs. Cardenas right about now. 

Maybe he wasn’t doing the right thing as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, in fact he was pretty sure that he wasn’t, but he couldn’t stop. The work had to be done, and if the city was going to paint people with sin, Matt would prefer it to paint him. If it did, then the people who deserved better could finally have better. Matt Murdock would be there in the daylight, always ready to listen out for the weak, to help them the way that God and his father wanted him to.

Karen walked around the table to offer Mrs. Cardenas a box of tissues. Meanwhile, Foggy was already moving on to next steps, thinking aloud about strategy; “This says Tully offered them 10,000 dollars to give up their rent control and vacate the premises. Maybe we can pressure him into giving a better payout.”

While that’d be the easiest solution, Matt knew before she spoke that Mrs. Cardenas wouldn’t go for it. He could hear her head and gold earrings shake in unison, and a whiff of aerosol hairspray accompanied the resolute motion.

“No, Señor Foggy. We do no want money. We want to stay in our homes,” she pleaded, barely holding back her tears while trying to get them to understand her position. Matt already understood, he wouldn’t want to leave his home either. 

Matt remembers when aliens tore a hole in the sky and started smashing Hell’s Kitchen apart— as if anyone could forget something like that. He’d been sheltered with Foggy in their broom closet of an office at Landman & Zack, desperately trying to understand what was happening, worrying about the Nelson’s, and dreading the possibility that he may die before passing the bar. Below the more urgent panic, as the trembling ground and ear-splitting attacks slowed into one of the worst headaches of his life, Matt worried about Hell’s Kitchen, his apartment, if there would be even a scrap of home left to return to. 

He had prayed for a long time that day. Just as he was about to reassure her, Mrs. Cardenas took a shaky breath and continued speaking. 

“Hay algo más. Los obreros, son solamente un ‘city issue’. Pero, uno de mis vecinos, Ms. Charlotte, ella fue… atacada por ellos.”

“They attacked her?” Karen gasped, pen almost falling from her grip. She and Foggy exchanged a frantic look, and Matt’s back straightened, posture growing as stiff as the curl of his frown.

“Pienso que si, pero no me digas lo que sucedió—”

“She thinks so, but her neighbor won’t tell her what happened,” Karen translated, stumbling over the words a little in her shock.

Mrs. Cardenas grabbed another tissue from the box that Karen had provided for her as she spoke, explaining that she thought that her neighbor had been hurt while standing up to the workers.

With Karen intermittently translating for Foggy, Elena explained that once, an older man had been following some of the building’s young girls home from school. Rumor has it that when Charlotte found out, she began walking home with them to keep them safe. One day the creep dared to say something inappropriate, and Charlotte maced him. She then allegedly stomped so hard on one of his hands that the story says she broke every finger. Allegedly.

He never returned, and she leads a pigtailed parade into the building almost every afternoon.

Elena figured maybe Charlotte had tried to stop the damages, having been one of the only younger adults there that day, working from home. Many of the working tenants were out, leaving only children, older residents, and few others. People had been scared, many of the children down Elena’s hall had gone to hide in her own apartment. Mrs. Cardenas also swore that she’d seen Charlotte injury-free just that morning before the workers arrived.

“La próxima día, la ví en el vestíbulo. Charlotte tuvo moretones en la garganta y las muñecas, y en el pómulo— la piel está rota.” Mrs. Cardenas spat out the list of injuries as if they stung, jerkily motioning to her own body as she spoke. Karen turned her mouth into the palm of her hand and closed her eyes, Foggy looking between her and the stone-faced Matt.

“What does that mean? Guys, what happened?” 

Foggy’s question was absorbed into the tense silence of the conference room. 

Matt pulled his hands from the table and tightly knotted them in his lap. It was good that his glasses shielded the old woman acrost him from the full force of his glare, Mrs. Cardenas wasn’t the intended recipient of his rage. No, it was someone else entirely that he’d be searching for that night. The Devil had heard its name being called, and wanted nothing more than to punish the kind of worm that would beat a young woman in her own space. His fingers twitched, knuckles turning even whiter from the force of his restraint.

“Seriously, what did she say?”

Sensing the lump in Karen’s throat, Matt took it upon himself to answer Foggy’s question as best he could through the gritted frown on his face. He translated what Charlotte looked like when Mrs. Cardenas saw her in the building lobby the next day, from the bruises on her neck and wrists, to the one on her cheekbone that came from a hit so hard that the skin had split open.

“Jesus, and they still claim that these were contractors? Maybe brutes for hire, but certainly not plumbers.” Foggy scoffed, shaking his discomfort off in the only way that he knew how. Unknowingly, he’d set the Devil to work inside of Matt’s head, achingly familiar with the work of hired goons. Maybe there was more at play here. Or, you could be obsessed and paranoid.

“Did she say anything about what happened? Give some story or excuse?” Foggy asked, leaning in across the table. Karen picked her pen up again, turned to a fresh page of the notepad and copied down the injuries that Elena had described. The gentle scratching filled Matt’s ears as he thought. He arranged a tentative plan of action, the rest of the day could be spent on gathering information, and once the sun had fully set, he’d let the Devil pick his favorite of all the violent thoughts running through his head.

 “Excuse? No, no. Ella no hablará con nadie sobre eso. Intenté muchas veces, y nada. Brett, el hijo de Bess, lo vistió, sin uniforme, sin placa. Pero ella, no… no budge.”

Shifting in her seat, Karen turned toward Foggy and Matt, head bowed towards the table as she spoke; “She won’t talk to anyone about it, Brett Mahoney visited without his badge and uniform, but she still wouldn’t explain.”

“Sra. Cardenas, por qué Charlotte no se ha ido a hacer una denuncia? No es ‘city issue’, eso es criminal, asalto con agresión.” Matt asked, wanting to know why an assault charge hadn’t been filed. Were there more cops on Fisk’s payroll then he’d thought? Maybe they’d dismissed the charges to cover up what had been done.

“Si, yo sé, y le dije. Nada.” Mrs. Cardenas spread her hands in defeat as she explained that even though she’d explained this to Charlotte, it had done nothing.

“Mrs. Cardenas, if those men hurt her, why won’t she file a report?” Foggy asked, brow furrowed as he tried to understand this neighbor. There were many reasons why victims of various crimes didn’t come forward, maybe if they could help to ease her fears, then they could move forward with charges. 

It would certainly make the civil case more valid if they were also filing criminal charges against the workers. 

“Pienso que está herida y tiene mucho miedo. Más por los funcionarios que los obreros. Ella fue tajante, no quiere hacer una denuncia, no quiere hacer nada sobre eso.”

This wasn’t good news for the civil case. Injured and scared, Charlotte wasn’t willing to file a report because she was more afraid of the officials than of the workers returning. She was firm about not doing anything. Matt wondered if someone had already convinced her not to step forward. Like that one scumbag had said, there’s gonna be another light in another window.

“Sra. Cardenas, vamos hacer todo que podamos. Foggy hablará con su abogado de la gentador esta tarde, y hablaré con tu vecina sobre sus opciones para ayuda. Estarámos en contacto.”

It was such a relief to hear that something would be done, to have a plan, and Elena sighed, reaching across to squeeze Matt’s hands, “Gracias, Senor Murdock. Muchas gracias.”

Karen led Mrs. Cardenas out of the office, and Matt explained to Foggy that he was going to be spending his afternoon speaking with Tully’s lawyers on behalf of the tenants.

“Tully’s lawyer?” Foggy asked, exiting the conference room hot on Matt’s heels, “Do you know who reps him?”

Matt grabbed his cane from the corner, not even attempting to hide his laugh before he turned back around, “Yeah, I know.”

“Landman and Zack!” Foggy insisted, arms gesturing at his sides in a way that agitated the air, the smell of anxiety wafting towards Matt. Apparently deciding that Matt didn’t quite get it, Foggy leaned forward, voice straining with hushed emphasis, “Landman and mother-freakin' Zack, man!”

Karen and her soft perfume breezed through the door behind him, having guided Mrs. Cardenas to the taxi waiting for her on the street below. 

“Ooh, sounds impressive.” She made her way to her desk with the notes and information from their meeting, “Are they looking to hire?”

“Oh, you wouldn't be happy.” Matt said, gesturing to Foggy with his cane, “We used to intern there.”

“Oh, right.” Karen bobbed forward over the desk, how could she have forgotten about the first thing that Foggy brought up whenever the cooling fall air came in through cracks in the windows, or when the lights flickered, or if Matt breathed too loudly. Karen had made the mistake one of her first mornings on the job of thinking out loud about how nice a bagel would be for breakfast. Matt had groaned from his open office, and before she could ask, Foggy was suddenly opining in the reception space about a place where there were all the free bagels that you could eat, every. single. morning.

Foggy flicked his hands around in annoyance, defeat and coating his dry words, “And they offered us a job, a great job. Which we turned down to go off and save the world. Now they hate us.”

Karen and Foggy shared a smile as he finished his speech, all of them knowing that he wouldn’t change a thing, even for free bagels. As much as he complained about their circumstances, Matt knew that he loved what they were doing, that Foggy wouldn’t have survived long in a place like Landman and Zack. 

Letting Foggy in was easy, it was impossible not to really, and staying friends with him was even easier because Matt saw that Foggy was one of those people that was effortlessly good. Unlike him with his devilish shadow, Foggy didn’t have to struggle to make the right choice. Greed and desire could tempt as much as they wanted, he wouldn’t cave, even if he pretended differently. When he knew something was wrong, Foggy Nelson would not do or endorse, and having him by his side always made Matt feel more at ease.

Already, he was moving away from sarcastic complaints, turning back to Matt so they could start working on a plan for how to approach this case. “We'll need to load for bear if we're gonna take them on.” 

“I'll hit the precinct to check for complaints against Tully.”

Foggy’s panicked objection was cut off by Karen calling out, “Is that before, or after you go talk to Elena’s neighbor like you said you would?”

He released the hand that he’d had on the doorknob, he’d been so close to leaving. Unfortunately Karen seemed to have her own radar for picking things up, and she wasn’t always keen on offering slack. Matt could sense, but was in no way fooled by the innocent tilt of her head. Beside him, Foggy’s eyes narrowed. Just one step and he’d have been out the door, no such luck.

“After,” Matt nodded, having to accept defeat, “Thanks, Karen.”

“No problem,” she chirped back, mirroring the sarcastic smile that he’d given her. Hands spread between the two, Foggy abandoned his professionalism in favor of once again being annoyed at Matt Murdock.

“Wait, wait, hold on. How is it that I’m going to Landman and Zack, while you go and talk with the damsel in distress?”

It’s not as if Matt could say that he was going to speak with the neighbor not just for the case, but also for an illegal extracurricular activity where he would be using his super senses to try and identify the assailants. Matt sighed, shifting on his feet. Half-truth it is.

“Well, from what Mrs. Cardenas described, it seems like the only way that Ms. Tanner would answer the door for a man in a suit is if he looked like he needed help. What was it that you call it again?”

Foggy threw his head back, groaning for a long moment before facing Matt again. Though his face spelled his disapproval, his eyes shone with the reminder of their first meeting and love for his friend.

“The ‘wounded duck’, you’re gonna wounded duck yourself.” Foggy said, one hand on his hip and head bobbing. His free hand leveled an accusatory finger at Matt. “I swear she better not be hot, because this is becoming cosmically unfair. You need a new phone for all of your girls, and now I’m going to play chum while you’re off being a hero.”

“Chum?” Matt laughed, hearing Karen tilt her head in confusion, before her hair rustled with a shake and she focused back on organizing the new files. There were maybe three whole files in the whole cabinet, but Matt could hear her moving them around repeatedly on slow days. So, almost every day.

“Yeah, chum!” Foggy burst out, leaning forward to hiss out a plea to Matt, “I can't go to L and Z alone. They're gonna shark attack me, Matt. Look at me, I'm delicious.”

“Well, take Karen.” Matt said through his chuckling, pointing over at the woman who had been trying to mind her own business.

“I-I mean, yeah, if she wants to.” Foggy stumbled and shrugged, taken completely unaware by Matt’s suggestion. His heart raced despite the way that he was trying to play it cool, and Matt fought off a smirk.

“Oh,” Karen straightened with her own surprise at the action, before tossing her hands up. “Sure. Never seen sharks feed up close before.”

Matt chuckled as they all prepared to leave the office, “Try not to splash too much. It attracts 'em.”

“You both are so funny.” Foggy huffed in mock despair as he turned to grab a coat. The two just laughed louder. “That piece of notebook paper on the door has my name on it first, you know. Which means that only one of you is allowed to mock me at a time.”

Already out in the hall, Matt called over his shoulder, “Of course, that’s why we were taking turns.”

“Oh wounded duck off, Matt!” Foggy cried, and the laughter of his friends followed Matt all the way down the stairs and out onto the street.

[guhamun]

@plenilunaris said (inbox):

In order to be in another's good side, one must play as per their rules. Such is the logic Jīnhsī follows after spending a moderate amount of time watching from the shadows, gathering information. And it's through the information that she had gathered that the man she would come to identify as the leader of the Ghost Hounds and the mannerisms he displays in public. If solitude is what the man prefers even in moments of jubilation and celebration, so will be the approach the lóngzhèn will take to slip by his side, hands clutching one another behind her back as she stops and throws at him a placid smile. ◜So it is you, the unknown variable I have trying to decipher all this time.◞ The reason behind her pursuit to meet this man in flesh stems from much earlier than she even began to investigate him, when she was studying the Midnight Rangers' deeds to seek anything she could do to further help them in their strife against the Tacet Discords. For that is her modus operandi, going ahead of what necessities may permeate and palliate them before they manifest. Jīnhsī has realized that unexpected results, while subtle, were brought with less help from the city when the Midnight Rangers would've otherwise needed it as per her own judgement. Which led her to make a few trips to the base on her own, and send Sanhua to inspect thereafter once she left in case there was something she missed. And with due time, it was as per her retainer's suggestion to further investigate this man that Jīnhsī conceded. To her surprise, there would come the day in which Sanhua's acute perception would bear its fruits, leading her to the missing variable she has missed. But no amount of help comes without a price, and the Lóng Maiden wouldn't have it any other way. ◜The assistance you have provided thus far to the Midnight Rangers is inestimable to Jinzhou.◞ She takes one step back to honor him with a respectful salute of her own that will linger for a few seconds by bringing one of her hands forward and close to her chest with two fingers. ◜I extend you my gratitude in its name.◞ Jīnhsī straightens and turns to have a look at the festive ambiance before them for a few calculated seconds of silence before silver eyes peer back at him. ◜If you permit me, may I ask your thoughts about the offering of an extended partnership with the Midnight Rangers? For a generous recompense in kind, of course. I shall allow you to name the price.◞ It's the least she can do to repay him retroactively for his deeds, after all.

CALCHARO NEVER PARTICUPATED IN the celebrations that took place in Jinzhou. He watched from a distance, a silent sentinel that most were not even aware looked after them. Such was what he had been paid for, after all, and he was nothing, if not dedicated to his job. The reputation of the Ghost Hounds was a varied one, but none could say that they never stuck to the conditions of their contracts, Calcharo, most especially. Despite him knowing that he was being observed and followed, he did nothing to prevent it. If anything, he was curious as to who would be courageous enough to tail him of all individuals. When he was alone with the sounds of jubilation now distant echoes, only then did he address his guest. ❝You should be more careful about who you follow.❞ Turning to look upon them, he was not at all surprised that it was she whose eyes he had felt even amongst all the chaos of festivity. No others had noticed him, the Mercenary Leader blending in with the shadows as if he belonged there, and yet during all of that, she too had been a part of those shadows herself.

     He was intrigued.

     Despite his expression giving nothing away to this fact, there was that hint of curiosity that bubbled within him as cold eyes continued to linger unwavering. The words that came from the Madam Magistrate’s lips had surprised him a little, if only because it was so…unexpected. Was that why someone as important as her was here with him? Alone, at that? To thank him? Calcharo was used to people in her position keeping their distance, only communicating through others rather than taking their chances with one who was surrounded by rumors that would make anyone intimidated to catch his gaze, let alone speak to him privately without protection present. ❝Ah…you can thank the General for that. It was he who reached out to me and convinced me to offer my aid. I just went where credits were flowing. Nothing more than that.❞ Truthfully, he did not believe that he deserved such a thing to begin with – gratitude, that is. He was not here for altruistic reasons as like most mercenaries, he only cared about what was put in his pocket.

     Huanglong paid him well, so he continued to remain for as long as the deal that was established remained upheld and respected. It was a simple, yet honest, exchange. Arms soon crossing over his chest, he paused, considering the question soon aimed in his direction. An extended contract… Heh, so that was why she, of all people, was here. Calcharo didn’t need to think too hard about what his answer might be. ❝You have my attention,❞ he replied after a moment, his head tilting back just a little. ❝Pay me what you see fit, and if I accept it, I’ll agree. If it’s too low, then no deal.❞ Was this a test of some kind? Perhaps. He wanted to see what she thought him and his people were worth. It was a cunning game, and knowing how sharp this woman was, he knew that she would more than likely be aware of it.

[voidcatgalaxy]

Free Commission(s) for People Who Donate to These Palestine Aid Organizations

If you donate to one of these eight organizations (link here) recommended by buildpalestine.com, which focuses on empowering local organizations within Palestine, I will give you one or more free commission(s) matching up to the dollar value of your donation. If your donation exceeds the price of my most expensive commission listing, you'll get at least one more commission, with the total amount of extra commissions depending on the amount.

Hakini

Dalia Association

Atfaluna Society for Deaf Children

AlReef Fair Trade

Spark Gaza

Tamer Institute for Community Education

Sharek Youth Forum

ASHTAR for Theatre Productions and Training

If you're wondering, I've chosen these specific organizations for this post due to some of the reasons laid out on buildpalestine.com in far better words than I can put it, but to paraphrase: Local organizations have trust within the affected communities, which makes their work more effective. They are also able to more quickly spot and address issues within the communities. They want to focus on immediate help as well as long-term change. In short, donating to local organization can help maximize the positive impact on the ground. You can read more about this here.

You can donate to one of these eight organizations and send proof to me via DM (a screenshot of the donation page will work just fine) along with what type of commission(s) you would like. You can see more details about my commission listings (as well as any add-ons) on my Ko-fi page here. Here's a short list with some examples of what I offer. As an important note, I only take commissions for anthropomorphic animal (furry) characters at this time, so any free commission will have to be for a furry character.

I've got some examples of my art and pricing sheets below, but please visit my Ko-fi or contact me via DM if you're interested in knowing the price of any add-ons (such as commercial use for any artwork, extremity close-ups or shading on reference sheets, and props for sketches.)

Since this isn't a traditional commission, my usual terms of service for commissions doesn't apply. Unlike on my Ko-fi, I will take commissions for canon characters this time around, since I am not profiting off of them in any way. However, per my usual terms, I won't draw anything NSFW, suggestive, gory/violent, or hateful towards minorities. Thank you for understanding.

I would really appreciate reblogs on this post more than ever, so the word can get around and maybe somebody will donate. I've donated to various aid organizations myself in the past, but I can't currently due to my cat's veterinary bills, and I'd really like to help out in some way, even if it's just offering free commissions as I've seen other artists on Tumblr do. I know Tumblr tends to shadowban posts like these, so I worry people may not see it.

These are some of my commission listing previews, examples and price sheets. I do not have one for every listing at the moment, but my pricing sheet covers from head/bust shots of a character to full-body shots of a character. Feel free to ask me any questions you may have!

[toaarcan]

I want to get back to writing eventually, but this is just on my mind at the moment:

Re-integrating a character like Fiona into the Freedom Fighters post-Mecha Sally is weirdly easy, just because of how much shit they’ve been through in the past few weeks.

Fiona: You're being weirdly nice to me. It’s kinda confusing.

Sally: Last month Eggman shot me, rewrote the universe, roboticized me while trying to do the same to the entire planet and nuke every piece of technology on its surface, peeled my skin off with a blowtorch and shoved a bunch of guns in me while I was still awake, rebooted the universe again and tried to kill me with a failsafe when he lost. And while that was happening the council I set up to limit the power of the crown gave said crown to Ixis Naugus, who proceeded to exile one of my best friends from the city and make an alliance with Eggman to assassinate my brother. I'm finding it really hard to care about the small shit* these days.

Fiona: Are... are you okay?

Sally: No.

(*I’m referring to Fiona’s betrayal as “small shit” for a few reasons, 1) People in-universe don’t like or respect Scourge and treat his actions with appropriate scorn, and 2) Sally in particular has recognised that she was an abuse victim and so she’s more vigilant when it comes to other people in similar positions, which includes Fiona (do not challenge me on that, I have receipts), so she is substantially more willing to offer an olive branch than she otherwise would be. Also, 3) It had basically zero impact in the comic itself. Sally already didn’t like or trust her, Amy was upset about what Fiona said for one issue and then immediately got over it and also never exchanged words with her again, Ant took it as motivation to propose to Bunnie and then neither of them ever mentioned it again either, Tails was more angry about Sonic dating Fiona than he was about anything Fiona did within seven issues, and Sonic himself stopped giving a shit after 172 itself closed. Least impactful betrayal ever.)

I have it in my head that Mecha Sally was the turning point. It changed things. These characters just went through an intense amount of trauma, and it’s altered a lot of their perspectives. I recognise that, had this been an official continuation, they likely would’ve snapped back to normal fairly quickly. But I’m not trying to write an official continuation, I’m doing my own thing. And I say “Trauma responses for everybody!”

Eggman overstepped the line at warp speed, and that’s going to cause him problems. And not just because he pushed them so far that they decided that “Waking up the 3000-year-old apocalypse robot” was a risk worth taking.

(Art by @nicholas-anderson)

Fiona either escaping from her previous situation, or being forced to return by circumstance, would be coming back to a group of people who aren’t the same as they were when she left, and are in a position where they’re a lot more capable of understanding her perspective too.

And also, like, Sonic not going back to save her when they were kids is actually addressed. And explained.

(Sidenote: The explanation is that he did go back and save her, but it was actually Auto-Fiona 1.0 that he found. Being young and not knowing what an Auto-Automaton was, he assumed that Fiona had always been a robot and gave up on trying to save her. He didn’t know she was real until she turned up in Knothole after he came back from space.)

Things between her and the FF would still be fairly rocky in places, but honestly that has more to do with Fiona’s own trauma response being anger and self-isolation than anything else, and that the last people who were unexpectedly nice to her really didn’t have her best interests at heart.

[promethea-silk]

Midnight Daydream

Correspondence had been here and there between Cordelia and Ricard since the previous engagement had offered up such a surprise at dinner. The two had been considering their next steps in tandem but also apart, or at least she had been. Cordelia wasn’t relying solely on Ricard to hand her brother-in-law, she had some hand in the situation behind the scenes as well. Not to say that she hadn’t trusted Ricard to get the job done or that efforts weren’t being made, but she had secured an offshoot of information by way of one of Eivor’s men which was proving to be lucrative. 

Cordelia had planned to discuss her learnings at a previously planned time of meeting with Ricard, though upon her recent revelations she had inquired that they meet sooner than originally discussed. It was strange to her in some ways that with finding the Cress family book and letters between many members at play here that she thought to share this with Ricard. Partially she had hoped that he might be able to do some digging to find out more details on the matter but also she oddly sought comfort in wanting to unload this discovery with him. The night that she had found the items, Cordelia gathered everything she could find that related to her family and the Cress bloodline, carrying them back to her chambers where they lay strewn about the bed and nearby tables. She poured over them throughout the night straight until morning when she promptly had word sent to Ricard to meet her there. Still in her nightgown, hardly proper or prepared for company, she instructed the staff to have Ricard find her where she had been the hours previous no matter the time of day or night. 

Receiving word prior to his morning coffee had not been expected, to say the least, and Ricard had eyed the messenger with no small amount of suspicion for several moments before taking the missive, checking to make sure it was genuine and then - once he was sure, paying the poor man. After the events of the previous several days one couldn’t be too sure. “Cancel my day, Victor…and inform my father I won’t be into the office. I’ve an emergency that just came up.”

He didn’t wait for a response - trusting the young man to see that the messages were delivered - before dressing and heading out himself. He didn’t need to be terribly observant to recognize the change in tone between the typical missives he’s received from the Lady Gray and the one tucked away in his vest pocket this particularly brisk morning. The question was, what had happened between the time he’d left her estate the evening before and this morning to set her so off kilter. 

There was barely an opportunity to knock on the door to the estate before it was pulled open and he was ushered inside, directed back to the very chamber he’d been within the evening before - though for very different reasons. As his eyes adjusted, they narrowed, taking in the sight of the papers and books scattered across the various surfaces, and Cordelia herself. Ricard cleared his throat gently, announcing his presence as he moved over towards her, pulling the missive from his pocket, “Your message sounded rather urgent. Care to tell me what all this is about, Cordelia?”

His arrival did nothing to pull her attention away from the large book open on her bed, a finger tracing the written words from left to right. Despite him moving to her side and addressing her, there was a long silence before she finally replied. Slowly, almost creepily, she turned her attention to him as she narrowed her gaze onto him with a steady breath. “I… need your help with something.” Swallowing hard, she stood up straight, her hands lifting to about waist height with her palms outward to him almost as if she were showing an enemy she meant no harm.

“I need your help and I need you to try to look at this with a calm mind because what I am about to show you I suspect might bring about a certain reaction that I am attempting to avoid.” 

Ricard couldn’t help but tilt his head, attempting to read between the lines. “Cordelia - just tell me what it is you need my help with. I’ll…try to temper my response to whatever it is you have to show me, since you think it’s going to  bring about a response, but I can’t help with something if I don’t know what the something is…” He reached out, setting a gentle hand on her shoulder, turning her towards him as the other hand nudged under her chin and he offered a reassuring smile. 

“Now…what has you so worked up?”

Somehow his initial response caused her a bit of surprise, her tired eyes blinking up at him as she fought to ground herself and regain her typical ever stoic composure. A hand lifted to gently and kindly remove his touch from her chin, just as means to move back to the bed as her grasp held onto his for a brief moment before releasing it. She took a deep breath and gestured to the various and copious amounts of parchments, letters, as well as the tome in the center of it all. “Tell me this is not what it seems to be.” 

He noted the continued hold on his hand, brief as it was before moving to take a look at the scattered papers, letters, and eventually coming to rest on the tome, his eyes narrowing as he read. Slowly, methodically he moved from letter to letter - putting them in order and gradually putting together a timeline - then the papers, and finally the tome. 

“If the assumption you drew from looking over these forms is that your father is Adrian Cress…and that your late husband knew about it and utilized that knowledge to essentially blackmail your family into the arrangement you had with him…then I can’t tell you that. Because I would draw the same conclusion…” 

He gathered up one of the letters carefully, reading over it again before facing her. “...when did you find all of this?”

Lips pressed firmly together as she took a breath, holding it a moment before slowly releasing it. “I hadn’t actually expected you to tell me otherwise.” Her gaze flicked around the bed, continuing to take it all in the same as she had been hours before, nothing new standing out at her that she hadn’t already read. She felt an anger rising in her, the brisk rise and fall of her chest testimony to her growing emotions. Hands resting on the bed dug into the covers that lay beneath them,the grip tight enough to show tremors within her grasp. 

Multiple times she began to speak, struggling to form a word and essentially failing to do so. Releasing her hold to the sheets, she lifted her hands as her head fell into them. Vulnerable, in this moment she was entirely vulnerable and it was a state that was beyond her. “Vahalia does not know, she could not know this…” She chuckled, though it was obvious that it was out of frustration as it continued to grow further into an annoyed laugh. “Or perhaps she does and this entire thing has been a grand scheme between them all. Though I would certainly doubt so, what I do know of her I would imagine she wouldn’t have taken so kindly to this knowledge either.”  Her gaze was far off now as her fingers braided together to rest just at her lips, heading shaking softly. 

The letter in his hand was set aside, along with all the other pieces of parchment on the bed as he exhaled slowly, turning his focus to the woman next to him. “I would imagine, if she did know something would have been said prior to now…and I don’t know that there would be quite the paper trail either. Regardless…” He moved over so he would be in her line of sight, mindful not to get too close and not to impede on her space unless invited - he’d learned that lesson painfully well from another. “...telling you what you already knew wasn’t what you needed from me, was it, Cordelia? You have this information…but is this information alone enough?”

Looking back up to him, she scanned his features, almost as if the answer lay there within him somehow. “No…I-” She wet her lips yet again, struggling to keep her mouth from drying entirely, it was obvious she hadn’t slept. “I don’t know why, but I felt like I needed to tell you.” Her shoulders fell slightly, the ever pristine and elegant posture failing her in this moment. “But also, I wondered, outside of your…advice, and take this with the knowledge that I know it is a large ask, if you might help me learn more.”

“Better that I hear it from you than from some other source, to be quite frank.” His gaze met hers, the concern clear as he looked her over for a moment, moving away only long enough to neatly stack the various papers - the letters, and parchments all together and tucking them into the tome before turning back towards her. “What do you want to learn more about? What happened between Adrian Cress and your mother? Or what occurred between your ‘parents’ and your late husband…? What would you have of me, Cordelia? I need you to be clear in this…this is not the type of task I would be willing to hand off - this is something I will be seeing to personally.”

“All of it. Anything you can find.” She spoke abruptly, watching him gather all the items that had been sprawled out before them. “You…have no reservations about this?”

“I have plenty. You know my thoughts on dealing with the Cress family.” He knelt down, looking up at her carefully. “It seems the history of the Cress family is fraught with dangers and going around poking in those dangers is concerning, but it’s something I’m willing to do - if that’s what you’d have of me. Now…what do you know of this deal between your parents and your late husband? Just so I’ve an idea of where to start looking.” 

Her gaze followed him as he lowered, brows lifting curiously. She felt the word forming on her lips, curious as to why he was willing to do this now when he was so adamant to steer far away from the name Cress extensively. Opting to put that curiosity aside for the time being, Cordelia shook her head. “Not much, truthfully. All I know is that both heads of household relied on one another's businesses to function. Gray provided sourcing materials, Corvin handling production… though obviously that was just a front.” 

Ricard sighed heavily. “Indeed…but if they were ‘grounded’ in a business agreement, then that’s likely where I need to start looking. That, and in any correspondence between your late husband and your parents regarding arranging the marriage, particularly when they started speaking about the arrangement.” He frowned for a long moment. “Tell me, was it an abrupt arrangement - your marriage, or was it a long drawn out process?”

With a sigh, she turned to sit upon the edge of the bed, still finding herself wondering why he hadn’t simply done the same instead of kneeling to the floor. “The discussions were lengthy, but the decisions were abrupt and unexpected aside from the typical drone of needing to marry that you also understand. Our families had always worked together from what I had gathered but… I never thought to question where the marriage came from aside from what I assumed was the obvious.” 

“Then now might be the time to start asking where it came from and why it came about.” He stood before shifting over to sit next to her, lacing his hands together and letting them rest between his knees. “As you mentioned to me - there isn’t a child of a noble family within this city that doesn’t know the pressures of needing to marry, but how were their decisions abrupt and unexpected? Explain a bit more for me…”

Her fingers moved within her lap, thumb rubbing against the ring on her middle finger that constantly remained. “There were multiple suitors, options for choices, a choice that was out of my control, of course. Ambrose was at the top of the list in terms of options but he wasn’t initially their final pick. I knew he wanted there to be an agreement between us that my family’s business solely outsource to him but he really had little interest in the marriage as a part of that agreement originally.” She cleared her throat before continuing. “They changed their minds at the last minute.” Looking at him, a knowing and understanding in her gaze now washing over her. “That’s when he found out.”

“That would be a safe assumption - the question of how he came across the information still remains unanswered, and just how he utilized the information also remains up in the air…though,” he frowned, easily meeting her gaze, “-it’s not that difficult to garner a guess exactly how such information could be utilized in ‘negotiations’ to obtain both a business one wanted that might have originally been just out of reach and a wife in the process.”

He reached up, running a hand through his hair. “...Did your parents keep records of their meetings or discussions with potential suitors - or at the very least, with Ambrose?”  

“They kept records of everything but I’m not sure those exact details would be involved. The marriage contract detailed the signing over of the business titles to us as a married couple, instead of solely Ambrose. I suppose that was their way of attempting to keep it secure in some fashion.” Her toes tapped to the floor as she sat in thought before pushing from the bed and pacing. Hands rested on her hips as she walked the perimeter of the bed and then back, repeating it a few times as she spoke. “My father hated me, Ricard…well, my adopted father I suppose. He was so incredibly eager to be rid of me that he was willing to sign away the rights to his trade and secure simple financial lines to continue living. I never knew why.” 

Ricard shook his head and pushed away from the bed, walking over and setting his hands on her shoulders to stop her pacing. “Slow down, for just a minute, Cordelia - think this all the way through. I’ve no doubt  that your relationship with the man was as you said, but I find the idea that it would be so poor that the man would give away his company. We know that at some point, somehow, your late husband obtained the information regarding your lineage. We know that, even though he wasn’t their original choice for you - he was the final selection. And we know, that there were changes that seemed to be very abrupt. Could there be another explanation outside of your adoptive father’s dislike? I can think of at least one.”

The feeling of his hands on her shoulders brought a slight jump only out of surprise, though she calmed and stopped her pacing all the same. “If he knew of the affair and my true bloodline… Ambrose would have not hesitated to use it against my mother and father, he would have dug his heels in and threatened every form of blackmail at every opportunity, including involving Adrian Cress. If he wanted the business, and whatever else came of it, he would have done anything to secure it.  The snake he was… ”

“And I imagine, your parents would have wanted to submit to his requests, particularly if he was threatening to involve Adrian Cress…or any of the Cress family.” Satisfied that she wouldn’t immediately start to pace if he released her shoulders, he let his hands fall away. “Or it’s a good working theory. Now the trick is finding the information to actually back it up…surely Ambrose had a lovely hidden stash somewhere around here, hm?”

She waved a hand in the air, huffing a breath of air. “I’ve looked essentially everywhere in this house and up until last night I found nothing. There very well could be more there but it was in the middle of the night and..it was unexpected to say the least, to find. We could start there.” Cordelia closed her eyes, slowing her breathing even more. “What am I to do with this information once it is found if we are so lucky?”

“That, Cordelia, is the standing chocobo in the room. I’ll find the information, whether it’s tonight or in a few weeks. There’s always a trail, and with a clearer head and a good night's sleep, between the two of us I do believe we could find where your late husband might have stored his more sensitive documents. But what you choose to do with that information once we find it?” His voice trailed off as he took a small step closer, his gaze searching for hers.

“Do you march up to Cress manor and announce to Vahalia and Valeria that you’re their half-sister, and with paperwork in hand? Do you hold on to it to utilize at some ideal moment? Do you try to weaponize the name and circumstances, the way that it was weaponized against you? Information is versatile that way…” He hummed thoughtfully, the wheels in his head clearly turning as he watched her - eventually going quiet as he waited for her response.

“I don’t want to BE a Cress, Ricard.” Cordelia shook her head, turning her attention to look out the window nearby. It was slightly covered still by the curtains but light still shone in from the paned glass as a light snow fell just beyond it. “But as you said, this has its intricacies and is versatile in its uses, I will figure that out in time while we search for whatever it is we’re lacking. As for sleep, I’m unsure of how restful my nights will be.”

A tension left him that he hadn’t even realized was present to begin with as his gaze followed hers for a moment. “No one said you had to be. You are a Corvin and a Gray. Those are your documented, legal names. The Cress name - while I can find the information you want - can be buried under, connections never to be found again…if that’s what you want.” He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes, “...but, that’s not to say that it can’t be useful in and of itself. Much as I loath to admit it. That being said, none of this needs to be decided right now. You are still Cordelia Gray. You’ve simply discovered that your mother had more secrets than you knew and you already knew your late husband was a snake, you just have more information that confirms how much of a snake he was.”

Slowly she looked back to him, brows slightly furrowed. “And that is why he is dead and I have taken everything.” Cordelia stated firmly, beginning to piece together how ironic it was that Ambrose worked so hard to take over each business while taking her in the process only to have his actions be the beginning of his own downfall and demise in the end. “I don’t plan on showing any of my cards until I know the entire story. Not to Vahalia, certainly not to Damien. I just need to get my head straight first and have everything managed before then. It is hard to discern how either of them would react or what they would do and I’m not giving them any more power than I have to.” 

“Stop trying to find all of the answers right this second.” He grinned, it was easygoing, certainly the most relaxed he’d appeared since entering the room. “You don’t need to guess, or know how either one of them would react, certainly not right now. Right now we focus on identifying where some of this information might be located. I’ve some ideas within the city of where I can ask…discreetly, and after we’ve gotten you a bit more relaxed and your head a bit clearer then we start sorting through rooms to see if there’s anything within the estate here, or perhaps hidden within any business properties you have. And we go from there.” 

 He leaned in, playful grin shifting to a smirk for a moment, “And while I’m certainly not encouraging you to think ahead…wouldn’t it be something if little lord Gray thought he’d finally gotten one up on you by involving himself with the Cress House, only to discover that you were part of the House all along? Imagine the surprise….” He trailed his tongue across one of his canines easily as he straightened up with a small shrug of one shoulder. There was…potential there, to be sure.

“Despite seeing your point on that avenue, I also see a weak spot where he can come in and claim bastard on me.” 

“When we’ll potentially have evidence of his brother blackmailing your family? Ambrose knew you were a ‘bastard’ and married you - a legally binding contract - anyway, leveraging the fact that your father was Adrian Cress to get what he wanted. Don’t misunderstand me - this would all need to be planned carefully, and I wouldn’t suggest letting it slip without making sure that all our…informational ducks are in a row.”

Cordelia allowed her head to tilt downward, a sigh escaping her slightly parted lips before she nodded once to herself. “You’re right. I can’t dwell on the possibilities of all the negatives, there are angles and options to leverage here. We start back in the room where I found the other documents and go from there, then.” 

A hand reached out and gently, Ricard lifted her chin with two fingers, tilting her face up towards him. “There are more angles and options than we realize. We just have to give ourselves the opportunity to see them. Right now we’re focused on one aspect of this puzzle, we need to step back and take a look at the whole thing and let it all come into view.” He brushed a few stray hairs away from her face before he let his hand fall away. “Do not forget for one moment as we search, or as I do my research, you hold the cards, Cordelia…you have the power in this scenario. No one else.” 

She took an odd and unexpected comfort with this touch, the mere fact of his presence offered her something. Cordelia hadn’t anticipated the timely arrival from him, she hadn’t even asked for an abrupt response but here he was and while the web between all parties involved in their atmosphere was tangled and strained, Cordelia found herself thankful for Ricard surprisingly. “I suppose we both got a little more than we bargained for when putting the discussion of my parents on the back burner at the Starlight soirée…”

“I imagine the conversation we would have had then, compared to now, would have been very different indeed.” He had no reason to be as invested in this situation as he was. He had no reason to be offering the reassurances, the attempts to ground her, the gentle reminders - none of that was in the scope of the job he was expected to do. And yet here he was, compelled to do these things, concerned for her wellbeing as much if not more than he was for finding the information. “Have you gotten any rest, Cordelia?”

“I’m fine.” She stated simply tilting her head gently away from his touch with a soft breath. It was then that it dawned on her that she must have looked like a mess, in her nightgown with her hair falling loose from her braid as if she had just woken up. “By the Twelve… I should get myself together.” Taking a sharp inhale, she moved to stand in front of her vanity, looking in the mirror as she attempted to tame the raven locks. “Then I can get started going through the rest of the documents, I will bring you whatever I find, if that is suitable?” 

“I can assist in looking, if you’d like…” He shifted, watching her move over to her vanity with no small amount of concern - unconvinced that she was as ‘fine’ as she claimed to be. “What do you need of me, currently then? How can I best be of service?”

When she was pleased enough with the state of her hair, she turned back to Ricard and nodded. “I assume that you might know more than I exactly what we’re looking for, so if you are willing to stay then I would appreciate the aid. As long as it is not impeding on the rest of your work, of course.” 

“I’ve cleared my schedule for the day, and informed my father not to expect me in the office. The rest of my work is not a concern. My time and attention are yours, Cordelia. Simply point me in the direction of where you located these documents and we can begin to search in earnest.” His easy grin returned. “And we will find what we’re looking for…I assure you of that..”

“Now…” he took his time, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves and rolling them up to his mid forearm, his jacket having been taken at the door when he entered. “…let’s find where dear ol’ Ambrose kept all his dirty little secrets, shall we?” He offered a quick wink before moving for the door.

[ Collab with @ricard-blythe-ffxiv

Mentions : @vahalia-cress-ffxiv @damien-gray-ffxiv

@sanguinecourt-ffxiv ]

[aria-i-adagio]

For the WIP ask meme, I am curious about the premise of Thrift Shop Vikings!!

First things first, the project name is 'thrift shop vikings' because this has even less to do with historic vikings than the TV show "Vikings." The setting, however, and some of the (hopefully temporary) names have definitely be influenced by watching a little too much of "Vikings" and "The Last Kingdom."

This is about to turn into a multiple post excursion.

@hoochieblues and @motherofqups, you've also been subjected to my nonsense, so hop in! Let's go! It'll be an adventure!

Here. Have a map to start with. I like maps. A love of maps is apparently, one of the peculiar common traits of my family which has been commented on by several in laws. No GPS, we navigate via geometric reasoning like men.

Lets have some prosaic geographic and historic world-building because obviously, this is the most important part of developing an omegaverse story, because everyone reading that genre cares about coherent world-building.

Welcome to fantasy Europe. As you can see, we have what is definitely not the Mediterranean sea. Now, technically, this is post-apocalyptic, but post at least a millennium since the apocalypse in which highly developed tech savvy society (we shall call this Not!Atlantis) died of literal consumption, fueling various legends and mythologies. Major population bottle neck with various survivor groups essentially dumped back into Iron Age/Early Medieval tech levels. The knowledge loss/gap/etc was uneven, and aggravated by a lack of easily available fossil fuels and loss of the capacity to generate significant amounts of energy to restore an industrial society. Tech that doesn't require significant energy survived much better, so they haven't had to reinvent the wheel (or the printing press, or optics, or gunpowder, or clockwork, or even the basic idea of an engine, but you would have to be fabulously wealthy to access the last at a useful level). Ruins and some amount of historical records exist, etc. (I still do a lot of hand-waving.)

In the interim, several regional empires have risen and fallen, languages have changed enough that when records are recovered they are difficult to impossible to translate. There is also a 'gap' in the extant written records resulting from Not!Atlantis's digital age. The electronic records didn't make it.

Not!Atlantis is actually relevant. I promise.

The deep lore explanation for the omegaverse tropes is gene editing gone horribly wrong in an attempt to address a fertility crisis. Now, obviously, with the number of generations in between the immediate post-apocalypse the regionally separated population groups have formed their own mythologies (as gene editing as a concept would be unthinkable within three generations, if I had to guess). There is a general consensus that the 'hybrid' (for lack of a better word) sexes are created, rather than entirely nature, and distinctly human as one does not observe in a similar crossing of phenotype and reproductive function among animal populations. Evyn, the main Ω character and resident sarcastic nerd, will deadpan that he's a creature of artifice before launching into a lecture on cross-cultural variation of mythology and social constructions regarding omegas.

[Disclaimer: CRISPR is probably too precise for anything to go wrong on this degree. But my thoughts on benefits versus harm of gene editing and international conglomerates like Monsatan (yes, that spelling is deliberate, and yes, I know it's Bayer, not Monsanto) belong in a different post.]

On to the erotica tropes!

Main feature of the alpha/omega sub-types is hyper-fertility, although limited by reproductive cycles, aka the heat/rut cycles. Because if I'm not keeping those, why am I writing this trope? (A good question in general.) I've kept 'betas' as the 'norm' and by far the vast majority of the population. Whatever Not!Atlantis did to precipitate it's fertility crisis has lingered, and left to their own devices, the betas wouldn't quite manage a replacement rate. (Whatever genes are connected with 'beta-ness' are dominant however.)

Female omegas and male alphas are effectively indistinguishable from betas with the exception of the above mating cycles. There are, of course, layers and layers and layers of gender construction imposed on top of physical differences. So, do alphas tend to a higher level of aggression because of nature? Or nurture? Who knows?

The rare male omegas and female alphas (I think I've decided on averages of 1 in 200 live births and 1 in 400 respectively), are subject to even higher degrees of social control, while again being mindful of the fact that different population groups will have evolved social roles and means. In many cases, especially in more remote areas where there greater social devolution, they've become strongly associated with liminality and given spiritual significance. Other places, the main significance of a male omega (they can be identified with certainty at birth) is more functional 'gotta get fertility above replacement rates' and ranges from a very Roman Empire under Augustus 'we really don't care what you do as long as it involves making children as well' to very high levels of control and seclusion (think upper class Greek women in antiquity) because they're valuable units of economic exchange.

As a general rule, no one knows what the hell to do with female alphas due to the combination of rarity, lack of identification until adolescence, and good old fashioned toxic masculinity because not only is this chick another competitor, but hypothetically a competitor who is extra appealing because they 'know what women want.' The more things change the more they stay the same.

I kept the trope scent-thing, mating bonds, and psychic(?) attunement between 'mated' pairs. Why? It pleased me to do so. Also creates some fun talking past each other between two leads where one is extremely superstitious, obviously it's magic/spiritual/religious and the other is hyper-rational, obviously there is a physical mechanism that we simply don't understand.

Recognizing that none of the above addresses the actual question of the plot premise, I am pausing because it has passed 1000 words. Plot and character notes shall follow. ;) After I make lunch.

[Shout out to my brother, who has patiently let me bounce world-building ideas off him even though the omegaverse trope leaves him going, 'WTF? Why?!' There are many advantages to having a little brother with an engineering degree.]

[kigendragon]

The Imperial Majesty and His Family

This is to explain the workings of Lisa’s family position-wise/their duties in the royal family. 

Currently her only living family that she is aware of is her father. His parents have already passed away, and her mother’s parents were never involved in their lives and never knew of Lisa’s existence because of this. She is unsure if they are even alive or not and doesn’t really care to know. 

Lisa’s father, Igor, is the current Czar of Russia. Now, in the real world we no longer have a Czar of Russia. There is a president and prime minister, not a Czar. However in FFU it seems that, despite it (most likely) taking place around the same time it was released (so about 2000, 2001) there is still a royal family in place. 

So, Igor Pacifist is the acting Czar of Russia. What does that make Lisa? Well, the Czar is, essentially, an emperor. And under the Czars (also spelled Tsar, or Tzar) they did not use the word “prince,” or “princess.” Instead, she would be what was called a tsarevna, otherwise known as a grand duchess. There are other terms for a son, and for the eldest son who would be the next heir. The daughter, even if she is the oldest, would not be the Czar’s heir. It’s one of the reasons Igor was angry to find out Lisa was a girl when she was born, because she could not be his heir, or at the very least he would be ashamed for her to be his heir. 

Now, normally a Czar’s wife would be his Tsaritsa (or Tsarina), also known as an “empress.” However, Lisa’s mother, Misheela, and Igor never married. He wanted to wait to see if the baby would be an eligible heir before he brought the two into Russia and announced them. Seeing as Lisa was, in his eyes, not an eligible heir, he refused to bring them there, and instead made other plans for his daughter, plans Misheela could not refuse otherwise he would make a much worse outcome. 

Misheela was actually the sole practitioner of the Kigen Arts. It is a powerful form of martial arts, although it is really more than that. When Igor heard of some of her feets, he decided he wanted an heir from her, that way his child could learn the arts from her and hopefully be quite the powerful Czar, a force to be reckoned with. Misheela only agreed because she had wanted a child, and wanted to grow the amount of practitioners of the Kigen Arts as well. She could teach her child, and have something to connect over with the child. Not to mention her child would be better off by being the child of the Czar. Like having a safety net for the child to land on if they fell. 

More on that later on in its own post. Long story short, Misheela was never a Tsaritsa because of her and Igor never being married. 

Some may notice the title I put for this, which will bring me to what the Czar is addressed as! He is addressed using the word “Majesty” (so ‘His Imperial Majesty” OR “His Majesty”- I will be using both in writing, both are technically correct as far as I could tell when trying to find said information.) As for Lisa, although she is not addressed with her Grand Duchess status often due to most not knowing she is the Czar’s daughter (he chose to only allow certain people to know of her existence), if she is addressed by the few who know, and in an area where they are permitted to treat her as the Grand Duchess, she is the one that gets the “Highness” treatment. So she gets the “Your Imperial Highness,” or simply “Your Highness”. She hates this though and usually asks for it to not be used. Her request is usually overridden by her father’s wishes. 

As for any royal duties they have to fulfill, Igor has plenty. He is the ruler of Russia and has plenty of governmental duties he has to do within the day. He will also have foreign dealings to handle, etc. Lots of stuff for the big guy to do. On top of the fact the C2 Organization answers to him directly, typically getting information no one wants Russia to have, but they wanna have their hands on it anyways. 

For Lisa, most of what she would normally be doing is handled by her father or one of his associates as he has her working within the C2 Organization as soon as she’s ready to do so. When she returned from Wonderland she did have to take on some of the work, but he still didn’t want her making too many choices for the country, as he knows how differing their views are and if nothing else he wants to save face. Hard to do if he let Lisa do as she wished. Although she wouldn’t have as much power as him anyways, she’d still be capable of implementing small things that could end up having large effects, hence why he doesn’t let her be as involved. 

She counteracts this by acting uncaringly about the country as a whole when she is revealed to the nation as the Grand Duchess. It quickly earned her the nickname “The Cold Duchess,” and has resulted in many questioning her uprising and the Czar himself for his daughter’s disregard for Russia. Ultimately she winds up causing problems for her father no matter what he allows her to do or not do…

Now, without Lisa’s knowledge, he is attempting to have another child, one he wants as a proper heir. She doesn’t know of this quite yet upon her return from Wonderland when she makes sure the Hayakawas make it home safely. Ultimately he wishes to keep this as a secret from Lisa, but that can only last so long… 

[jeonstellate]

ocean waves & faded dreams — shore xii

johan comes back to borrow a jacket from sergeant barnes.

⚝༄ platonic!bucky barnes x original character (ft. platonic!tony stark x original character)

⚝༄ mentions of murder, kidnapping, human experimentation, torture, memory wipe, & brainwashing

⚝༄ paragraph format — 1.1K words

masterlist | ow&fd masterlist

[gif’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

⚝༄ think everything in bold is in russian.

⚝༄ kinda crazy how the og ver only had 5 parts w ~5k words, but this one ended up w 13 parts && ~14k words. woa. this had been a wild ride, so thank you sm for reading! :]

The Avengers collapsed on the nearest furnitures as soon as they came back to reality. None of them noticed that barely any time had passed in the real world, even after they viewed years’ worth of memories. They were all exhausted, mental-wise, with the amount of information thrown at them seemingly all at once.

Johan Collins was the daughter of Dawn Collins, a disinherited heiress of a multimillionaire company. Her mother was murdered in front of her at the tender age of four. She was kidnapped by the same HYDRA agents that killed her mother and left in the care of Dr. Wilhelm Fischer.

Johan, presumably soon after her first memory wipe, was permanently housed in a HYDRA base. The experimentations and torture she went through worsened the longer she stayed in their mercy. She became more and more inhuman: without memories of her previous life, without emotions, and without compassion for others’ lives. HYDRA, for an unspecified reason, also replaced her flesh hands with bionic ones.

Johan befriended the Winter Soldier, the deadliest assassin there ever was, and even bestowed him a less terrifying nickname: Win. Despite the presumably frequent memory wipes and brainwashing they went through, she and her fellow assassin remained close nonetheless. The silver of humanity left within them was highly dependent on the other, especially if one was stripped off of their memories suddenly.

But perhaps, the most curious of all was Johan’s unyielding longing for the father she hadn’t met. And her apparent relation to the late genius inventor Howard Stark.

Everyone turned their attention to their resident genius. They didn’t have to confer, all understanding that there was only one plausible way for the kid assassin to be a direct descendant of the co-S.H.I.E.L.D. founder.

‘Stark’ was in English because it was name.

‘Stark’ was part of Riptide’s trigger because HYDRA was amused by the irony. A Stark by blood fighting for the enemies of her forebears with the mere mention of her own name.

Clever. Stark. Orphan.

Someone suddenly cleared their throat, effectively interrupting the trains of thought from leaving the station.

Not expecting anyone else to be in the room with them at this hour of night, the heroes all turned at the exact same second. And there, standing in the entryway, was the person they least expected to see.

It was none other than Johan Collins herself.

"Win— Sergeant Barnes." Before Agent Collins left, she asked the Avengers — particularly Steve — if she could keep the Captain America pajamas Natasha and Wanda dressed her in. When she left with Detective Jessica Jones with them still on, they all just naturally assumed she would go out in public with it. However, she apparently changed out of them sometime between then and now.

"You okay, Johan?" Bucky was seemingly unfazed by her sudden reappearance. Nor by her deliberate choice to address him directly without verbally acknowledging the others.

Johan briefly looked down to her new outfit. "I’m okay . . . physically." Her change of clothes was a short-sleeved romper, which put the scars on her arms and legs in display. Purely based on her body language, she didn’t appear to be uncomfortable with it — as if she was used to having majority of her scars out whenever she wasn’t in her S.H.I.E.L.D. gear. "I just need to borrow a jacket."

Bucky immediately moved to procure the jacket he hanged on the couch’s armrest when he arrived back. "Of course. It must be cold out."

"It is, but that’s not why I need a jacket for." They all saw her eyes swift over the room, presumably analyzing who was in the scene. "It helps if I physically feel lighter after an episode, but I don’t want people to call CPS on Jess." She moved her arms and legs slightly as if she was showcasing them to prove her point.

"Right. We can’t have that." The rest of the team watched closely in the sidelines as the two assassins conversed. As such, they were quick to notice the playful look that suddenly appeared at the corner of his eyes. "You know, you can always come live with me if ever that happens."

Johan had no problem catching his drift, reminding them once more how close they were. "Please," she playfully glared at him, "we’re a disaster waiting to happen together."

"What— We work well together," he faked offense. "Remember Romania?"

"You mean the mission where you— Win went all protective dad mode?" She scoffed softly, amused. Everyone noticed her effort to differentiate between the person she grew up with and the one currently standing before her, at least in terms of the address. "It wasn’t in his mission to be protective of me."

"It wasn’t," Bucky agreed, "but it was mine."

A ghost of a smile suddenly appeared at the corner of her lips. However, as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared just as quick. It must’ve been a trick of the light.

Johan put on the leather jacket as soon as he handed it over. "Thank you." She looked back up to him after she finished adjusting its fit on her shoulders, "Not just for the jacket. For the star rubber band, too, and . . . for sharing your humanity with me."

"It was a two-way street."

Whatever sentimental mood was building in the air dissipated in an instant. She shook her head, "It couldn’t’ve been. All I had was a father I never met."

Some of the Avengers tried to decipher her expression. "We lived in ‘what-if’s then, so of course it counted." However, as a well-trained assassin, she only let her feelings be read whenever she wanted others to. And, at the moment, her face was void of any emotion. "Speaking of . . . you’ll meet him soon, wouldn’t you? You’ve asked S.H.I.E.L.D.."

"I’ve asked to see him, not necessarily to be introduced," Johan corrected. "I highly doubt he’d like an unpredictable, amnesiac assassin suffering from PTSD for a daughter."

They froze. Subtly, they all looked at Tony at the corners of their eyes. No one was certain if the echo was intentional in Johan’s part — or if it was the universe itself projecting. Whatever the case was, it still served as an additional confirmation no one really asked for.

Before anyone — including Bucky — could react, she quickly murmured something about how she "should probably go now" because she had already disturbed their day too long.

"Sergeant Barnes," Johan turned back around to give a mock, yet perfectly formed salute, "don’t die."

The Avengers were left watching Johan Collins’ back as she headed toward the elevator. No one registered yet that she never promised to return Bucky’s leather jacket — nor that she would see them around.

As if Johan knew they’d never cross paths again.

[celestialdetected]

[ UNSENT ]:     a letter written for the recipient, but which the writer ultimately never sends for reasons that the writer conceals, or may reveal within the letter itself. (picking hymnal up and dangling him in front of u)

My friend,

I know this is not the time nor the place, but I don't think there will be a time or place in our lifetimes for this sort of nonsense. And my daughter has threatened to compose a very embarrassing ballad about me if I do not "have this conversation" with you. Her words, not mine. And you know how convincing Rhiannon can be about well, everything, she's almost convinced me that this is a good idea.

I know a relationship is usually defined as more than stolen moments between world ending chaos, but in case it has escaped your notice, we are not in normal times. And this is what we have. And I'm as happy as I can be with that. (If the world wasn't ending...but we all know it is and no amount of wistful thinking will change that)

But I'd like to at least have a word to call our relationship, whatever it may be. If that word is 'friend' I will be perfectly happy with that, but it feels like something more to me. This is not a love confession. Though it could be. I don't know what kind of confession it is.

It's a clarification request I suppose. And a plea for your safety. Come back to me. Come back to the Sanctuary. We could use your light.

Wishing you well,

Arawn Howell Caregiver of the Everlight

[This letter was found half burned between the pages of the Tome scholars believe to have belonged to the keeper of the Everlight's Temple. Scholar's have long debated who it's for as the writer never addresses the recipiant by name. Nevertheless, it gives up valuable insight into the mindset of the people living through the height of the Calamity.]

@tomepact