#the sheer existence of having expressed yourself is the value

[tarotwithavi]

You from the eyes of your future lover/future spouse

Read part 1 here

How to choose a pile?

Take a deep breath and close your eyes. Kindly ask your spirit guides to show you the right pile for yourself and then open your eyes. Whichever pile catches your attention is the right pile for you.

For my female audience , I'll be using she/her pronouns in this post.

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Pile 1

When I'm with her, I feel an overwhelming sense of strength and confidence, as if I could conquer any challenge that comes my way. She embodies everything that brings me joy and fulfillment. Being in her presence makes me feel like the luckiest person in the world because I have her by my side. Her mere existence has the power to make my wildest dreams a reality. Not only does she inspire me to reach for the stars, but she also motivates me to become a better version of myself. Her influence pushes me to strive for greatness in all aspects of life. Just knowing that she is there for me, supporting me, and believing in me, helps me heal wounds that were never caused by her. Her presence alone has a transformative effect on my well-being, bringing me solace and restoration. If her love were poison, I would willingly drink it without hesitation or remorse. Such is the depth of my devotion and the extent to which I value her affection. I yearn to be of assistance to her, to be a reliable pillar she can lean on. I aspire to be her rock, her unwavering support, providing comfort and strength whenever she needs it. Being with her fills me with an indescribable sense of empowerment and joy. She is my beacon of happiness, encouraging me to strive for greatness and inspiring me to become the best version of myself. Her love and presence heal me in ways I never thought possible, and I am eager to reciprocate by being her steadfast support and ally.

Pile 2

Describing her is a challenging task, for she possesses a depth that transcends the confines of ordinary words. She carries an aura that attracts wealth and prosperity wherever she ventures, as if they were faithful companions by her side. From a distance, she appears strong and bold, yet I sense a vulnerable little girl hiding within her, fearful of the harshness this world can wield. She has distanced herself from those around her, for nobody has truly comprehended her essence. No one has made an earnest effort to unravel the intricate puzzle of her being. My deepest desire is to be the one who unravels that enigma, the person who embraces the challenge of understanding her complexities. I yearn to discover every missing piece and gently place it in its rightful position, completing the beautiful picture that is her. I want to penetrate the walls she has built, to listen to her unspoken fears and insecurities, and to offer solace and understanding. By becoming the person who comprehends her deepest self, I hope to bridge the gap between her and the world that often fails to perceive her true nature. I want to be the companion who supports her unconditionally, providing comfort and encouragement as she navigates through life's labyrinth. It is my aspiration to create an environment where she can fully express herself, knowing that she is truly seen, heard, and appreciated.

Pile 3

The moment our eyes met, I was immediately captivated by her essence, as if an invisible force had bound my heart to hers. Prior to meeting her, I had been skeptical of love at first sight, dismissing it as a mere romantic notion. However, in her presence, all doubts were washed away by the sheer brilliance of her beauty. She has bewitched me completely, leaving no room for retreat. Even if her allure leads to my demise, I would embrace it willingly, for the privilege of experiencing her presence outweighs any consequences. Her presence has an intoxicating effect on me, causing me to lose my composure in the most enchanting way. It is as if she holds the power to unravel the layers of my soul, igniting a fire within me that I cannot control. My hands yearn to touch her, to explore every corner of her body, as if searching for an uncharted territory that only she possesses. Every flaw she may perceive within herself, I view as perfect imperfections, enhancing her unique beauty and making her all the more irresistible. Words fail to fully express the depth of my admiration for her. She is a work of art, a masterpiece without blemish in my eyes. I am eager to shower her with praise, to extol every facet of her being, and to make her feel cherished beyond measure. In her presence, I find myself stripped of pretenses and laid bare, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. It is an indescribable sensation, this all-consuming affection, where reason and logic are overshadowed by an overwhelming desire to be closer to her. She has become the center of my universe, a gravitational force pulling me toward her. To love her is to lose myself willingly, surrendering to the magnetic power she holds over me.

[tobiasdrake]

Ranking Octopath Traveler 2 Characters on the Bestie Scale

I've been ruminating on this one. I didn't do a Fight Me Bruh for Octopath 2 because these are all powerful RPG characters so obviously I lose instantly to every single one of them and I didn't do a Bestie for Rain Code because I felt like half of the characters would just be regurgitating what I'd already expressed vividly about them and the other half would just be me going "Yo, that's a fascist," over and over.

But finally, here it is. I'm ranking the Octopath Traveler 2 cast from Most to Least Bestie.

Agnea Bristarni This should come as no surprise to anyone who was with me through my playthrough of Octopath 2. Agnea was my main character and that was a decision I did not regret for a second. She's vibrant, unapologetically kind, and wants good things for people - and entirely willing to do whatever it takes to get those good things. Beware the nice ones.

In a game where the villain's core philosophy is "Having to live is agony, and escaping that fate is a mercy," Agnea is the antithesis of their entire belief system. She fully, thoroughly enjoys life and tries to instill that same enjoyment in everyone she meets. She's a walking celebration of the sheer beauty and magnificence of existing in the world.

Top-tier bestie, bar none.

Ochette How can you not get along with Ochette? She's a happy-go-lucky child that brings you meat. Apart from her inability to comprehend complex societal issues (a product of her youth and inexperience), there is nothing wrong with her.

And even then, there are worse character flaws to have than "Maybe too forgiving." That's the kind of thing you write in the "greatest weakness" section of a job application to puff yourself up.

Temenos Mistral Gonna be honest, I was not expecting to like this guy when we first met him. I'm not very religious and he's literally an Inquisitor. That title is a red flag all on its own.

But as we got to know him, the relationship Temenos has with faith hit me very deeply. I was going to say "his" faith but in a sense, it isn't. Not really. Temenos works for the Sacred Flame church but he refuses to internalize their dogma, insisting that even the heavens themselves are not above scrutiny.

For as standoffish and full of himself as he is, Temenos is a lonely guy. It's hard not to be when you're a high-ranking church employee whose system of belief borders on heresy. But he values his friendships far more than he's willing to admit, and he and I see eye to eye far more than I anticipated.

Throné Anguis Throné deserves friends. She's had to live a hard life for so long that she's barely even had the opportunity to figure out who she even wants to be in this world. Where other characters stories are all about expressing who they fundamentally are as a person, Throné's story ends with her attaining, for the first time in her life, the ability to go off somewhere and do the same.

We don't really know who Throné is because by the time the final credits roll, she hasn't had a chance to live yet. She's hatching from her chrysalis when we leave her.

What she needs right now are good friends who will give her space to find herself without pressure and maybe help her discover new things along the way. And also help her avoid the myriad social cults looking for isolated and naive people that they can scoop up and indoctrinate. Though she does already have some experience with that.

Hikari Ku Okay, I'm going to need to qualify the fuck out of this placement because Hikari is the nicest and sweetest guy ever. So I need to clarify that I think Hikari and I would get along fine. I have absolutely no beef with him as a person. I just don't think we would hang out very much, or have much to talk about when we did.

First, because of the logistics of the thing. Hikari is the fucking king of a nation. A nation in chaos following civil war, violent upheaval, and a complete cultural overhaul from imperialistic ways that have served their country for decades. This man is going to be intensely busy for the rest of his life. When he's not fending off assassination attempts by people dissatisfied with the sweeping changes he's trying to introduce.

But also because, for all his strong moral fiber and rigid integrity, he's not very fun to be around. His personality begins and ends at his duty to his people. His Crossed Paths events with Agnea demonstrate this well; He's a good man with a good heart and strong convictions, but a boring date.

Castti Florenz Castti's in a similar boat to Hikari. She's very nice. She has good ideas and good beliefs. But she works herself to death so much that I doubt we'd ever see each other outside of official apothecary work. She also travels a lot as part of her profession, so more often then not she wouldn't even be in the same part of the country as me.

I would love to have Castti as my doctor. She's motivated, compassionate, and eager to take on whatever is ailing you. But unless I signed on with Eir's Apothecaries myself, it would be logistically difficult to even become her friend in the first place.

But if I pulled it off, I think Castti would be a nice friend to have, but perhaps an overbearing one. Castti tends to take on a maternal quality in her relationships with others. She's not a member of the group; She's Team Mom. That's nice of her, but I've been a grown-ass man for a while now. That's not what I'm looking for in a friendship.

Partitio Yellowil It's hard not to love Partitio. He's a well-meaning guy with strong values that I agree with: That poverty is a terrible evil, and we should work to eradicate it. Unfortunately, he's a bit naive insofar as his ability to recognize capitalism's complicity in that evil. He sees commerce as the cure for poverty, which is. Like. Oh, you dear, sweet, naive soul.

He's got one foot in the door of recognizing the value of socializing vital programs. He supports labor rights and has even led collective action himself. The main thrust of his conflict with the Roque was over Roque wanting to privatize the steam engine versus Partitio wanting to share it for collective good. Like. He's right on the cusp of getting it a lot of the time.

His willingness to forgive is nice. His eagerness to put the people who created the problems back into power because "As long as they report up to me, it will be fine!" is incredibly foolish. I think Partitio is a good guy who means well and I wish I could place him higher, but I also think we would wind up bickering pretty heavily over economics any time we hung out.

For most people, a disagreement over politics isn't necessarily a dealbreaker. But Partitio's economic philosophy is more or less his entire personality so if we don't see eye to eye on it then we're going to get into fights. I love the guy, I just would have a hard time being around him for an extended period of time.

Osvald V. Vanstein I didn't like Osvald's story more or less from the moment I started it. "Hard man embarks on revenge quest because his woman/women were murdered" is a story that I'm just so over. Osvald the Story was bland for me. But Osvald the Character was. Like. He's fine. Serviceable in the role of Vengeful Hard Man, sure.

But then I got to the end of it. Where he's reunited with his daughter and discovers that his love for her is, in fact, the greatest magic in the world. And then, high on this revelation, he promptly dumps her on the nearest female-shaped person so he can go do anything else but raise his child.

That left me cold. Even if Elena doesn't remember him because Magic, he has a responsibility to her. Instead, he pawns her off on his research assistant without even asking the poor kid what she wants. The man she thought was her father tried to sacrifice her for magic, her true father rescued and defended her, and then he's out of her life before she even knows what happened.

Osvald is a neglectful workaholic who abandoned his child moments after reclaiming ownership of her. Everyone in my household has parental issues. He would not be welcome here.

[existentialmagazine]

Review: ARO’s storming new single ‘Crazy’ pivots into alternative-rock while seeking independence from the world’s gendered critiques

The LA-based artist ARO has slowly but surely been finding her sound since her musical beginnings last year, most recently pivoting into pop-rock and alternative music as she seeks to create what feels most natural to her. As she previously held the reigns of electro-pop, this talented up-comer might only carry a few songs at her disposal, but each one dares to delve between sound and style with an impressive understanding for every sound.

Thriving in independence and empowerment, ARO’s newest single ‘Crazy’ is one sure to relate to women worldwide, pulling apart the gendered expectations with a wit of the modern day. The sound is loud, bold and unashamed to match, pushing forward alternative-rock that’s in-your-face with steady drums, a looping electric guitar riff and of course ARO’s leading vocal performance. Kept at bay through a more mid-range delivery that occasionally floats into a higher nod, ‘Crazy’ at first brings out the angsty and unfiltered spoken-sung approach to really drive the message home. With lines like ‘seen the way she’s dressing? really think she’s something else’ to match, ARO expresses the critiques so openly spewed towards women without hesitation, dressing for their own standards or even trying to meet theirs and yet continually met with some kind of gripe. If she’s too attractive she’s trying too hard, if she’s too un-covered she’s “asking for it”, if she looks a mess she’s not trying enough - there’s never a win, and ARO knows it. Continuing ‘I think she looks for drama, always talking bout fighting peace’, ARO really looks to hone in on the comments that come from every angle, always having something to say about you even when you’re doing good - or literally just existing.

Building in pacing as well as slowly heightening tensions, this opening verse can’t help but feel as though it’s holding back, keeping up the calm before one hell of a chorus storm. Led into this eruption by the final pre-chorus line ‘lost all her self respect, heard she was going crazy doing everything that we expect’ , it’s pretty clear where the breaking point lies, trying to meet expectations and finally having enough. Letting free with vigorous, rich guitar strums, clashing drums and some of the most stand-out hooks, this momentary peak looks to do nothing else other than dominate and be heard, taking centre stage after so long squashed-down backstage playing a part that would never please them quite enough. ARO’s vocals are equally unleashed, soaring through powerful heights with layered backing vocal harmonies to add that extra level of emphasis to her words. A shredded guitar solo even takes over the bridge with a sheer amount of built-up anger behind each pluck, relentlessly hammering her message home even through sound until you can’t get it out of your mind anymore.

Defined to be a song for anyone that’s ever outgrown their surroundings, it’s certain that ‘Crazy’ doesn’t just look to speak out, but it yearns to carry the torch of a revolution. Setting the stage for others to find their self-worth and be valued by those they surround themselves with, and in-turn turning their backs on the outdated sexism of the past. If you’ve ever found yourself grossly undermined by the world, or even those nearest and dearest, ‘Crazy’ is that pick-me-up anthem that’s here to remind it’s really not you, it’s them - they’ll never be pleased no matter how hard you try. Give it a spin on your own time to dance away the frustrations and perhaps start to carve your own way too.

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Unknown

// This coverage was supported and created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.

[thebleedingeffect]

OH GOD I almost forgot to show the twinsduo scene, it's not much but my brain was on the rocks today so I'm happy that I wrote at all lmao

“Hunters have a reputation to them, alone, callous, angry and bitter-filled but a necessary evil to fight the monsters of the night.” Techno felt Wilbur’s eyes focus onto him, the sweet, rich thrumming of the guitar's tune still echoing despite the lack of WIlbur’s focus. “But, I’ve known you for one night Techno and I can confidently say that you are most certainly not that.” The strumming seemed to pause for a breath, Wilbur’s eyes focusing on Techno’s face. “I’m just curious as to why that’s the case.” Techno held his breath to wait for the moment to break, to snap, for the peaceful expression drawn over Wilbur’s face to crumble as he snarled at Techno’s very existence. Anxiety thrummed heavily over Techno’s face as silence descended over them both, Techno’s eyes narrowing in distrust despite the gentle, calming tempo surrounding them.

Fabric balled itself within Techno’s white-knuckled grip, his frame still as he stared up at Wilbur’s face, an almost indulgent smirk growing over his face as the seconds passed and thin fingers happily strummed over the silver-tinted strings. “I could be one of those hunters, you’d never know.” A bubbly laugh escaped Wilbur as he opened his eyes once more, the golden brown of his irises almost seeming to shimmer in the low light as the giggling calmed into a pleased hum.

“I’d never know… you know Techno, despite what the vast amount of people believe, I think there’s value in your work. A kind of labor that most like to shun or ignore.” Techno felt Wilbur’s stare, the sheer focus of his eyes tying him to the plush mattress as Wilbur continued to speak. “But I admire you, Techno. Refusing yourself to become a monster of neither the night nor day, it’s a trait that’s rare, priceless even.”

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers Lunatic Parade Special Pamphlet Short Story: The 12 Vampires and the Magic Lamp [ENG Translation]

Original title: １２人のヴァンパイアと魔人のランプ

Source: Diabolik Lovers Lunatic Parade Limited Edition Special Pamphlet

Summary: After the Parade has come to an end, Yui receives a special ‘Magic Lamp’ from Count Walter’s butler which can be used to grant a single wish. As she tries to refuse the gift, the Sakamaki, Mukami and Tsukinami brothers promptly stop her and begin to fight over who has the right to use this valuable treasure. She escapes, but the boys chase her around the city, each of them determined to have their own wish granted. ーー And so, their game of tag begins.

“Chichinashi! Where are you hidin’!?”

“Oooi~ Bitch-chan~! Be a good girl and show yourself?”

With the Parade having come to an end, Ayato-kun and Laito-kun’s voices echo through a now quiet and nearly deserted Glimmer Street. While hiding in the shadow of the buildings, a sof sigh fell from my lips. 

“...What to do? I have to hurry and go to Bernstein Castle...”

Right now, I am on the run not only from Ayato-kun and Laito-kun, but from a total of 12 different Vampires. 

All of this happened because I obtained the golden, shimmering ‘magic lamp’ I’m currently holding in my hands.

ーー It happened after I managed to regain my heart with everyone’s help.

As I was about to leave this city to return to the Human World, I was approached by a butler working for Count Walter. He handed me this ‘Magic Lamp’ as an apology for the trouble his Master had caused me. According to what I was told, it is an extremely valuable treasure which will grant any one wish.

Furthermore...The Sakamaki, Mukami and Tsukinami brothers were there to witness the whole ordeal.

“I just can’t accept something so valuable. ...I’ll give this back to you, okay?”

As I said that in hope of returning to Bernstein castle afterwards, they stopped me in disbelief. 

And then claimed that if I did not want it, they would use it instead. ...This resulted into a fight and before they knew it, I had made a run for it, taking the lamp with me.

ーー And that is how our game of tag started.

I am not quite sure what everyone would wish for, but I believe we don’t need this thing if it can fulfill one person’s wish only.

“Heeh...So that’s your reasoning. Well, I’m pretty sure it’s useless though...”

“ーー S-Shuu-san...!?”

“Not just Shuu. I’m here too. Geez, you really made us go through the trouble of lookin’ for you.”

When I raised my head, Subaru-kun was standing next to me as well. ...No, it wasn’t just the two of them. All of the Sakamaki brothers had gathered, from Ayato-kun and Laito-kun whom I believed had walked past me earlier, to Kanato-kun and even Reiji-san. 

“Hehe...You’re pretty desperate, Subaru.”

“I mean, Subaru-kun’s going to wish for Bitch-chan to fall head over heels in love with him, right~? No wonder he’s so desperate, nfu~”

“D-Don’t be makin’ up lies! My wish is a new coffin!”

“All I want...is to live surrounded by an endless amount of sweets!”

“In that case, I’m gonna wish for a huge load of takoyaーー No, actually, might not be bad to have Chichinashi turned into a Chichiari*.”

--> チチアリ or ‘Chichiari’ would be the opposite of ‘Chichinashi’, literally meaning ‘to have boobs’.

“Eh!? M-Me...!?”

“You can’t, Ayato-kun. I’ll be one turning Bitch-chan into a voluptuous, young woman after all~*”

--> He literally describes it as a ナイスバディのオネーサン or ‘Nice body no Onee-san’. Onee-san is used to refer to women who are older than you are but since Laito-kun is only 17 in human years, it would apply to a girl in her early 20s as well.

“G-Geez! Cut it out, you two...!”

“...You guys really came up with some bullshit. If it can grant any wish, I’d make it so the Old Man never bothers me again...Pwaah...”

And so, they began to slowly close in on me. The very moment they reached for the lamp, Reiji-san - who had been the only one remaining quiet so far - suddenly raised his voice.

“Would you care explain this to me? ...Because you kept touching the lamp with those sweaty palms, there are now fingerprints all over it! Come on, it is not too late yet! Put these on at once!”

While frantically shouting at me, he threw a pair of white gloves my way. Surprised by his menacing look, I put them on as asked, and Reiji-san finally nodded his head in agreement. 

“I am disappointed...Do none of you grasp the true value of this lamp?”

“Haah? Are we really not allowed to touch it with our bare hands...?”

“It looks pretty normal from the outside though~ I’m pretty sure I’ve seen a similar example in Kanato-kun’s room...?”

“Yes. ...Well, that one isn’t capable of granting wishes though.”

Reiji-san sighed deeply at Ayato-kun, Latio-kun and Kanato-kun’s consecutive comments.

“...Only two of these ‘magic lamps’ exist in this world, making them very valuable from a historic point of view. Furthermore, the lamp may disappear once it has granted one’s wish, therefore it revolts me you lot are even considering putting it to use...”

While the other guys seemed little interested in Reiji-san’s emotion-laden speech, he once again spoke up.

“Well, I doubt you will ever understand.  ーー Especially you, whom I did not expect to even join us in the first place...”

“...Shut up. Who cares?”

Shuu-san calmly brushed off Reiji-san’s taunt as if it was nothing. 

“Hehe...Seems like he doesn’t give a shit ‘bout what you say.”

“Fufu, take a look at that frustrated expression on Reiji’s face. ...This might be the most interesting thing I’ve seen in quite some time.”

“Geez, cut it out you two~ Don’t you feel bad for Reiji~?”

“Feel bad? ...Hehe. Pretty sure your words hurt even more.”

The other four brothers who had been listening in on their conversation continued to chuckle...Which eventually caused Shuu-san to burst out laughing as well.

Seems like this sight dealt a pretty hefty blow to Reiji-san’s pride, as he stood there shaking violently from sheer anger.

I better make a run for it before things take a turn for the worse...

I used the fact they had suddenly completely forgotten about me to my advantage, and left the place at once.

“...Phew. Thank god. Seems like they didn’t notice.”

I eventually found myself on Aizen Alley, one of the streets located in the very back of Glimmer street. To be honest, I wasn’t too thrilled about having to pass through there, but if I wanted to head to the castle while avoiding Ayato-kun and the others, I had no other choice. 

“Hehe...Too bad. You can’t escape us First Bloods.”

“Hand over that lamp you are holding at once.”

I gasp at the voices resounding from the darkness. Those who appeared were Shin-kun and Carla-san.

“I-I can’t do that...! I believe it is wrong to use the lamp for one’s own selfish pursuits...”

“If we give it back, it’ll just get thrown into some old, dusty storage room, right? In that case, I’m pretty sure the lamp would be happier to have someone use it as well?”

“B-But...”

“Come on, don’t hesitate. You’re keeping Nii-san waiting as well. Can’t you hurry up?”

“...T-Then, what would you wish for, Shin-kun?”

While snorting at my desperate question, he answered with a smile.

“That should be obvious. I’d make sure those filthy Vampires disappear off the face of the Demon World at onーー”

“ーー No. We want cured ham.”

“N-Nii-san...?”

“We shall change all food in this world to cured ham. That is my...No, the dearest wish of all First Bloods.”

“R-Right...”

Carla-san would blurt that out with a straight face. It is the very definition of a selfish wish but I wonder if Shin-kun is truly okay with it? ...I look over at Shin-kun while wondering that, seeing him look at Carla-san in utter defeat.

“...Well then, woman. Hand it over right now.”

“You’re actually hoping to fulfill that wish...!?”

“Yes, of course.”

All food in this world will turn into cured ham...That is just simply pushing it one step too far. It pains me to have to deceive him...But I decided to tell a certain lie.

“H-Have you already had the chance to try the cured ham galette which is said to be this city’s speciality...?”

“...Pardon?”

“It’s a limited edition galette which is available at stores only after the Parade has ended. While passing by the shops earlier, I noticed that only very few were left, so I figured I would inform you just in case...”

While there was no guaranteeing he would believe me, I wanted to make Carla-san forget about the lamp, even if just for a few minutes. With that sole purpose in mind, I continued my act.

“...Let us go, Shin. Just leave this woman be.”

“W-Wait, Nii-san! You’re just going to believe her on her word!?”

“We will know whether she was speaking the truth or not once we get to the shop. Even if she had been lying, capturing a human woman is child’s play to me. However, if she has been speaking the truth...”

“If we don’t hurry, they’ll run out of cured ham galettes, right? ...Right, I understand.”

Realizing there was no point in trying to reason with him, Shin-kun reluctantly trailed behind Carla-san as they left. 

I truly am sorry...While internally apologizing to both of them, I headed towards my desitation. 

“Haah...I can finally see it in the distance...”

Some time after I bid farewell with the Tsukinami brothers, I finally got close to Bernstein castle.

“Oh no...I can’t approach the castle like this...”

After all, four familiar figures were standing lined up by the castle’s gate. Those are the Mukami brothers...Of course, with Ruki-kun standing in the middle. As to be expected of a strategist like him. If I wanted to return the lamp to its owner, I would have to make it back here eventually. They were one step ahead of me.

“Eve...Found you...”

“...!! A-Azusa-kun!?”

When I timidly turned around at the voice suddenly calling for me from behind, Azusa-kun - who was talking to Ruki-kun and the others up until seconds ago - suddenly stood right in front of me. 

“Ahー M-neko-chan! So this is where you’ve been~!”

“Che...Ya sure took yer sweet time. You’re damn late, Sow!”

“...Calm down, you guys. If we make too much of a ruckus, we’ll attract the attention of the others.”

When I raised my voice, it caught everyone’s attention and without a chance to slip away, I was soon surrounded by the four Mukami brothers.

“I’m sorry, guys. But I won’t hand over this lamp to anyone...!”

After jumping the gun like that, Ruki-kun let out a disappointed sigh.

“...Seems like you have got the wrong idea. I simply want to look after the lamp for you.”

“Eh...? You don’t want to use it to grant your own wish?”

“Of course not. If a Vampire such as myself holds on to the lamp, it will decrease the chances of one of the other guys stealing it.”

“You say that buuuut~ ...Ruki-kun, aren’t you actually hoping to use that lamp to renovate our manor~?”

“Your own exclusive study room off-limits for anyone else, and a play room filled with nothing but chess boards...Hehe, as to be expected of Mr. Eldest son.”

“Kuh...! Don’t assume such things. All I want to do is to make the home we have received from that man the most comfortable for you all to live in...!”

While Ruki-kun chuckles sarcastically after his true intentions are exposed by his siblings, Azusa-kun reached out for me.

“Listen, Eve...The four of us talked it out and...We’ve decided to use the lamp together with Ruki as our representative...”

“Ruki-kun’s so mean, you know~! I was actually going to wish for a hundred year’s worth of Vongole Bianco.” 

“I was gonna ask for the power to manipulate the weather...But my idea got shot down at once. ...Haah...And here I thought I could make field work a lil’ easier on myself...”

“I just want to be with Eve so...I didn’t really have any particular wishes...”

“Is that so...? It’s really admirable of you all to hold back on your own desires.”

Even though the younger brothers were voicing their complaints, it didn’t seem like they were going to force their own wishes through. I’m sure it is because Ruki-kun intends to make a wish which benefits the whole family, as the deep bond of trust between the four brothers somehow made me feel warm inside.

However...That still does not mean I will give them the lamp. 

“Uhm, you see...It just doesn’t sit right with me to only have one person’s wish granteーー!?”

The second I felt as if something was closing on me, a large sound resounded from the nearby buildings before they collapsed.

“...!? This magic...”

“The Tsukinami’s...perhaps? Look, over there...!”

“Ugeh! They look hella pissed off! Did ya do somethin’!?”

“Uu...W-Well...”

I could feel my heart drop at Yuma-kun’s words. Carla-san and Shin-kun must be upset about the lie I ended up telling them back then...

“Say, what should we do!? At this rate, we’ll all be turned to dust...!”

Kou-kun’s exclamation made me panic as I rushed towards the two brothers. Either way, I just had to apologize as quickly as possible...However, I was stopped by the Sakamaki brothers before I could reach them.

“You’ve got nowhere to run now...Oi, hand me the lamp already!”

“What are you saying, Subaru? I will be using the lamp. You’re in the way!”

“Hell no! I’m gonna have my wish granted!”

“Ehー Let me have the honor for once~ We can only use it once and my wish is obviously the best.”

Shuu-san joins in a little late as well and before I know it, the Sakamaki, Mukami and Tsukinami brothers are all gathered just like when we started off.

Glares were being exchanged here and there as a hostile atmosphere fills the air. I can no longer stop them all by myself. In that case, I will have to rely on an outer source to back me up. I didn’t want to use the lamp to have a wish granted but...This is the only way to stop their fight.

While rubbing the side of the lamp, I spoke up with a loud voice.

“Release lanterns into the sky once more!”

White smoke emitted from the lamp and soon after ー Poof! The lamp disappeared with a popping sound. 

When I look up at the sky, I once again witness the same magical sight of countless lanterns floating through the sky, just like they did a few hours ago. ...At some point, their quarreling voices had gone quiet as well. 

“You...Haah. You really are a foolish woman.”

“Ya really think we’re happy with this crap? Geez. Ya really used the lamp for some useless shit...”

“...Eh...?”

Shuu-san and Yuma-kun’s remarks catch me off guard as I froze on the spot.

“...Livestock, seems like you did not grasp the true value of that lamp.”

“Exactly...To think a great hidden treasure of the Demon World has been lost over such a ridiculous wish...!”

Ruki-kun and Reiji-san voiced their complaints as well.

“B-But...! All of you were moved by the lanterns, no...?”

I frantically reached out for the others, hoping that at least one of them would agree with me. ...That was all I wished for, yet...

“I mean, sure? But to be honest, I didn’t need to see it a second time...”

“...I’d hate to have to agree with a mere Vampire...But I’ll admit that Kou is right this one time. You feel the same, don’t you, Nii-san?”

“...My cured ham...”

“Too bad, Shin-san...Seems like Carla-san can’t hear you right now...”

“Ah-aah...I was looking forward to seeing a sexy Bitch-chan as well~”

“Me too. I was already making plans for which sweet I would try first...!”

“Fuck! There goes my plan of gettin’ a coffin in which nobody can bother me...!”

All I got in return were negative responses and sighs.

“...Guess I’ve got no other choice then! Oi, Chichinashi! Let me suck your blood to make up for it!”

“W-Wait! That’s way too sudden...!”

“Shut up! That’s the only thing which can calm this anger inside of me!”

While Ayato-kun closed in, I looked around me in search of someone to save me, but all I could see were a bunch of eyes glaring at me from the darkness. At this rate, they will all take my blood. ...There is no way I would come out of that alive. Realizing I had to make a run for it...I dashed away at full-speed.

“Ah! Wait, M-neko-chan!!”

“Geez, Bitch-chan! I’m not scary though~!”

The many lanterns floating through the night sky was a sight to behold, but unfortunately, I did not have the leaway to enjoy that right now. After all, I had to flee from their approaching footsteps and voices calling out for me as soon as possible.

I didn’t want them to fight and while I never expected them to become friends, I wished they would at least try and be on neutral terms with each other. 

That wish was most definitely granted. Right now, they had put the strained relationship between the different families aside to join forces.

However, knowing their shared goal is my blood...doesn’t make me happy at all.

ーー The Demon World’s Parade safely came to an end, but my night had only just begun.

ーー END ーー

[sleepylixie]

1.3k words, Purge! AU, Enemies to (Possibly) Lovers, Beware of swearing

Mastermind! Hyunjin X Fem! Reader​

Music: Ponzona by Purple Kiss, Boca by Dreamcatcher, Double Knot by Stray Kids, Criminal by TAEMIN.

A/N: PART-2 IS HERE WOOP WOOP!! I’m so excited to write more of this, it inspires me so much! ANYWAYS- ONTO THE FIC!

New Dawn Miniseries || Part-1 ||

The Annual Purge: A 24- hour period in which all crimes are legal and emergency services are suspended for the entire period. Government officials designated as “level 10” are fully protected from harm.

March 16th 2021 ( 5 days to the Annual Purge, 2.45 p.m)

The second time you were marched into Hwang Hyunjin’s office, the primary emotion swirling through your mind was not fear or apprehension, but a searing-hot rage. You weren’t dressed in the garb of tattered royalty either- a sleek pencil skirt and blouse adorned your curves, hair pinned in a way befitting of the governor’s daughter. Your teeth were gritted, hands fisted against your sides as you walked the same opulently designed hallways you had focused on not too long ago.

So much for being the future face of the city- it seemed that cavorting with the enemy had now become your only ( rather unfortunate) pastime.

He was dressed exactly the way you remembered 2 nights ago, his suit jacket immaculately pressed and perfectly fitted against the planes of his body. Blonde hair swung gently as he raised his head from work to watch you walk in, his lips once again curling in a frown as his eyes met yours.

The guards who had walked you to the study made their way out of the room, clicking the door shut on their way out. You walked into the study, closer to the table, eyes still narrowed as you matched Hyunjin stare for stare- it was him who looked away, clearing his throat in annoyance.

“Why is it that you insist on barging into places you are not welcome?” He sighed, his annoyed tone only serving to incense you further. It was rare that you were ever this angry, but something about Hwang Hyunjin’s elegant yet brutally infuriating dismissal was all too good at making your blood boil in your veins.

Sliding into the chair opposite his table and crossing your legs, you raised an eyebrow in irreverent challenge, your lips only just concealing the venom you were dying to spit- no, you would sound casual, unassuming instead.

“Are you telling me you have no idea why I’m here, Hwang?”

At that, Hyunjin smiled- a wide, thoughtless grin that would’ve convinced anybody else of his innocence, but not you. It looked like a threatening snarl to you, like he knew exactly why you were here and was, in fact, counting on it-

“Are you telling me I wanted to see you any more than I absolutely have to?” He chuckled and your hands curled into fists against the fabric of your skirt yet again. Oh, this aggravating bastard-

“Are you telling me you had one of your lackeys tail me everywhere for a reason other than that you were curious about me?” You responded, your voice barely, deceptively light, and yes- you finally spotted it. A crack in Hyunjin’s impertinent armour, the same flicker of surprise that had danced across his eyes when you revealed how you got into his stronghold that first time.

“So you caught him after all.” 

“Han Jisung, right?” You picked at your nails, looking for all the world like a woman uncaring. “He told me he was tailing me because you didn’t have enough information to actually kill my father.” 

Hyunjin’s lip curled in derision, expression darkening at your words.

“And here I was, thinking you were here for the sheer pleasure of antagonizing me.”

“I might look like a rich brat, Hwang, but I think I’ve proven to you that I’m more than just that.” 

Hyunjin leaned back, his arms resting on the sides of his chair as he exhaled through his teeth, head cocked to the side as he watched you.

“All you’ve proven to me is that your loyalties are about as solid as your week’s opinions.” He responded evenly, not letting you get a word in edgewise before continuing.

“You sold your father out to us almost too easily. What’s to say you didn’t agree with the way the Faceless handles things and decide to sell us out? Can’t have that now, can we? I value my power in the Faceless much more than I value this...whatever this is with you. I’m sure you understand.”

You swallowed, a chill settling in your veins as he spoke- as much as you were loath to admit it, he did make sense.

“I don’t care what your intentions were, Hwang. I trusted you to handle it yourself, but clearly, you’re missing important information. If you want details, just ask. You do not send people to stalk me.”

“You’re not exactly instilling any sense of confidence or trust in your motives, ma’am.”

“Fucks sake, Hyunjin,” You threw your arms up in exasperation. “I came here that night ready to hand my dad over to you on a silver fucking platter. It was the most difficult decision I’ve ever had to take but this city won’t survive a year without the Purge and the Faceless. I’m ready to do whatever it takes to make sure my father’s plans fall through. No matter what.” You stressed, looking the blonde man in the eye with your last words. 

A stagnant silence passed between the both of you before Hyunjin stood up and you straightened up in your chair, following his movements. He looked down at you, the sunlight from the windows behind him staining his hair burnished gold.

“I think I’d like to set those words in stone, just to be on the safer side.” 

Ten minutes later, you were standing behind Hyunjin, watching as he ushered another young man into the study- one with an aura of intimidation and irreverence identical to Hyunjin’s. It permeated through the whole room almost effortlessly, despite his short stature and unassuming dark hair. 

He grinned at Hyunjin, eyes crinkling as he shook hands with the blond man before he turned to you- it was like the temperature in the room had gone down a couple of degrees despite the late afternoon heat. There was something intensely icy about the way he stared you down like he was scanning your very existence with just his gaze. 

“This is Chris. He’s the...ah, the counsellor. Lawyer, advisor, strategist-”

“Also the previous leader.”

And it all clicked. This Chris character had clearly trained Hyunjin to be his reflection in all ways possible - identical aura, manner of speaking, standing, down to the icy, insolent scrutiny. You held his gaze, nodding in acknowledgement. Steeling your nerves, you willed yourself to think, say something, anything in response-

“Why would you give up your power if you’re clearly still capable of leading?”

Chris’ eyebrows raised, the shadow of a smirk twisting his lips as he turned away from you, leading the way to the table.

“Who said I gave up any power, princess?”

Maybe it was the dark threat the words were laced with, or maybe the words themselves, but something about Chris made your hackles rise, body unconsciously tensing for a fight. It was a struggle to keep your expression neutral as it always was, to keep your body language closed off to a person who seemingly thrived off unconscious conversation cues. 

Chris was dangerous. Maybe even more so than Hyunjin.

As quickly as the moment came, it was gone- Chris cleared his throat, smoothing out his already immaculate suit.

“Hyunjin told me you had details that would help the Governor’s assassination?”

Thoughts raced and eddied in your mind as you looked between Hyunjin and Chris, weighing your options. If this was Hyunjin’s mentor, you were sure he would scent the slightest apprehension from miles away- no point in hesitation now, was there?

“More details than you’ll know what to do with.”

And the identically wicked smiles that graced both men’s faces was a sight to see, a savage look of celebration and sinful glory. Chris pulled a phone out of his pocket, possibly to record your words-

“You have no idea what we can do with details, princess.”

HUUUUUU A ROGUE VILLAINISH BANG CHAN I SCREAM - okay I'm good ( i think) plOT THICKENs!!!!

Taglist: @aliceu​ @decembermoonskz​ @cuokka​ @lavenderbexlatte @straykidsownmysoul @stellarmonsterr @soya-zz @fylithia @bythesunnotbythemoon @luminois @moonlight-hyunjae @melodie-mingi @cotccotc @popisdead @kisskissbanggang @sungieshines @blueprint-han @danyxthirstae01 @leximb1222 @ohmysparkle

Network Tag: @inkidz @angstyskzclub @kpopscape

Thank you ror reading! Do let me know what you think! - Elliana

[my-writings-and-musings]

Could you do Fort Max and First Aid for the oxygen loss?

Seriosuly loving it, angst and comfort/fluff is the best combination lmao

It is the best combination and those are two of the best boys so I am ON IT! Fort Max is in part eight listed below, but here's First Aid!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: You're Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

First Aid

·Ever one for new experiences, he'd been quite enthusiastic to have a human join the crew, and perhaps it was his penchant for thoroughly appreciating every unknown he came across that had led to your fast paced courtship. The bot had simply demonstrated an almost overwhelming fascination towards you from day one, and in short time the connection between the two of you had been discovered through his efforts. Now you were nearly inseparable. Off days and breaks are always used for bonding, and today is no exception. Atop his lap as he sits comfortably, you happily listen to his enthusiastic and commentary filled reading of a Wrecker's Declassified, loving how he has the most obvious and adorable starstruck look while doing so. You could listen all day just to see his schoolboy crush play out before you.

·For him, having someone who listens and values his opinions without hesitation is enough to get his spark humming. He's rather accustomed to being passed over for bots with more experience and fame, so seeing your eyes focused on him with such rapt attention is... well, it's just nice. Finding you exceptionally adorable doesn't make it any less sweet. Being human also means a great deal of his favorite topics are new to you, so he gets to introduce you to all the wonders of the Wreckers, something that he loves every moment of. It's also not unpleasant to have your tiny body close to his, practically snuggling against him... Cuddling is something more or less new to him as well, so having it at all is yet another wonder you've brought to his life. There's a vague hope in the back of his processor that he'll be brave enough to suggest sharing a berth someday, just for a nice nap together, as he's not yet been brave enough to ask such a thing of you.

·Unfortunately, the universe has very little respect for his plans. Accustomed to interruptions as an always on call medic, he can't help but be a little frustrated when Ratchet starts comming him out of the blue, but he knows better than to show it. Something serious must be going on if their CMO needs assistance. Still in your partner's lap, you watch as he answers the communication, quite used to sudden messages like this pulling him away. It's a part of dating a medic; but nothing about this seems standard. First Aid shifts his expression to one of concern as the voice comes through the comm in broken static, though he's experienced enough to put together what little there is. A warning of failing systems gets him moving on instinct, his arms scooping you up as he moves to stand, and the instructions to head to his emergency stations is almost unnecessary when the line goes dead.

·You're surprised but not offput by the sudden change in your position, if only because being swept into his arms is... very nice. That doesn't prevent you from knowing something is off though, and thankfully he is just as aware of you as he is his responsibilities as a medic, more so of you to tell the truth... A calm visor reflects your face as he lifts you close to relay the situation. Something is wrong with the ship, he explains, and it's bad enough that Ratchet made a preemptive call for medical bots to get moving. That means he needs to get to the medical bay, and before you can ask he brings up the possibility of you coming with him. Worry is just perceptible on his face as he hesitantly expresses that having you there would be safer, and thus he'd feel better... The bashful look is so cute you momentarily forget the danger to give him a reassuring kiss on his faceplate while accepting the proposition.

·Ignoring the stars you make him see with a tiny smooch, he gets right to work, securing you in one arm and ensuring his room is locked before heading out. He can't help but feel protective as he does so, almost like your guard against the threat that feels omnipresent in every hallway. You feel the same, and he can tell by how you hold him tighter in his grasp, something that stirs his spark with almost overpowering affection. It's enough to make him certain he'd fight like a Phase Sixer to protect you... For your part, a similiar drive to keep him safe is present, despite the difference in size between you. Hopefully you help him feel a little more secure as the two of you move through the eerily quiet hallways.

·The protective instincts First Aid has honed in his career as a medic give him a half second warning that danger is inbound, but all he is able to do in that time is curl around you protectively when the world seems to shake itself asunder. Hard floors meet his back in a painful rush, and you're similiarly jostled against him, though thankfully the worst of the blow is softened by his reflexive brace for impact. Tremors continue to rock the ship once you both realize you're on the ground, but a great cacophony of noise fails to die down when the shaking does. It's not a noise you've ever heard before; though you can compare it to metal being torn, the echoing and overbearing sound is at a scale you can't even comprehend.

·First Aid, having a natural coolness under pressure, is able to collect himself even as the situation continues evolving. The alarm begins to go off as he gets himself off the floor, and he notes that had it not the entire crew would probably still be mobilizing. There was no way anybot didn't feel what he just happened to be a front row spectator towards. While being on a ship of soldiers meant backup would soon be available, he had a few concerns that just couldn't wait for the guards to be scrambled. With one path to the medical bay now inaccessible, and you being so vulnerable, he needs to get somewhere safe to plan. He holds you close as the first open room becomes a makeshift shelter.

·Still reeling from the shock of everything, you find yourself atop a table in one of the Lost Light's many maintenance rooms, watching as First Aid attaches a portable operating flashlight to his helm. Before you can ask a single question the light is covering your body as he looks you over, asking for clarification on your basic functions while checking for injuries at the same time. Only when he's satisfied you're stable does the opportunity for speech present itself. Half expecting another massive tremor to hit at any moment, you ask what on earth made the ship move and sound like it had hit a Titan sized can opener, and his visor darkens with worry. You take hold of his hand to reassure and encourage him.

·The explanation is a bit rushed, but understandable; the ship has been ambushed, no doubt the enemy is preparing to board through the makeshift docking station they just created, and enemies will soon flood in... Also, most of the ship's systems appear to be offline. It's bad enough news that you feel suddenly woozy and need to sit back on your little table. Seeing you afraid drives First Aid into action, his processor working overtime to formulate a plan that will get you to safety, though admittedly the situation is a tough one. It's only when he takes proper stock of his surroundings and notes the monitor station that an idea takes shape.

·Intent on finding a clear path, he lays out his plan as he starts typing, explaining his thought process as he hacks into the virus addled program to get what he needs. Though you find solace in his confidence, the surprise from before is still wearing you down. Exhaustion seems to be the only thing you can truly comprehend... First Aid breaks through the enemy programs holding information back, but his victory proves short lived when the many systems start showing their current status, and his triumph turns to horror at one in particular. Critical to your survival, the atmospheric generators are among the malfunctioning systems. Oxygen levels are dropping by the minute. Without a word, he turns on the spot and begins looking you over again, earning a cry of surprise as he scoops you up.

·Alarmed and confused, you haven't a clue what might have spurred the usually in control bot to act so rashly, and have to sputter out the question when your clouded head fails to settle. Something like an explanation pours out of him, but there's very little you understand due to an increasingly sluggish mind. The growing exhaustion alarms him further. There's precious little time before you reach critical levels of oxygen deprivation, and the hypoxia has already rid you of the ability to process the situation... An ache in his spark is joined by one in his head as he tries to formulate a plan, and when he is left with only a long shot, he's forced to take it for your sake. There's a shake in his hands as he cannibalizes the room for parts, throwing together a makeshift air scrubber that will generate just enough breathable oxygen to get you to the medical bay. You smile as you watch him make it, suddenly too tired to stay awake but wanting to watch him craft, if only because his ingenuity is one of your favorite traits. The pleasant haze is still there even as he lifts you again to bring a makeshift oxygen mask to your face and begin running.

·All he can really do is hope, but there's precious little optimism in his spark as he makes the journey to the medical bay in a blind run, not running into enemies by sheer luck. The countless mistakes he's made so far are all that exist beyond your terrifyingly expressionless face. It's distracting enough that he's surprised when the team of Autobots appears from nowhere, particularly as Ratchet is amongst them, but before the CMO can say a word First Aid is pleading with the more experienced medic for help. He feels like a student on their first bad rotation in a hospital ward, facing the possibility of death for the first time, only a million times more agonized because you're on the line. The older bot is mercifully understanding as he gently takes you and guides him back to the medical bay, where he enters a fog and settles in to his job without conscious thought. He sees everything; Ratchet stabilizes you with proper equipment, wounded bots start to come in with news the battle is over, the systems maintaining the ship all come completely online... None of it registers.

·All he can think of is how he failed. The machine he built could have been more effective, he should have predicted oxygen issues from the start, and had he not been distracting you with his foolish interests to begin with... It physically hurts, but he doesn't allow himself even a moment of reprieve from the self admonishment, and dedicates himself entirely to your wellbeing. Every tiny facet of your recovery is microanalyzed, down to the thousandth of a percent. He won't risk losing you to more of his mistakes. It's bad enough that he doesn't permit joy to show on his face when you finally begin to stir, not even cracking a smile when your beautiful eyes finally blink open and you look into his visor. Your own expression, however, immediately shifts to one of exhausted but emphatic relief. Seeing the bot you love alive after the chaos you remember enduring is more than you could have asked for.

·He can't help but be incredibly gentle as he asks how you feel, his affection too strong to ever suppress in its entirety. But you can see the struggle in his actions, having become so accustomed to his presence that the out of character reservation is as obvious to you as a fireworks display, so you quickly ask if he's okay after everything that happened. The innocent question actually makes him flinch. Not a moment later he breaks and loses the calm air of a medic, collapsing into a nearby chair to confess that your injuries are his fault, caused by a myriad of failures he can't reconcile. Head in his hands, he's caught off guard when you make an effort to move from your little bundle of blankets and tubes keeping you stable.

·Before he can say a word to stop you, he is silenced by a little hand taking hold of his digit, and though the mask is firmly fitted you still speak loud and clear enough for him to hear the firmness in your voice. As lovingly as you can, you insist that he stop what he's doing. Loving him is worth any risk, but because he's as resourceful and brilliant as he is, you had made it through a situation most wouldn't have survived. The rest of the universe may not always see his worth, but you do every time you see him. Growing dizzy from the force of your conviction, you're gently shushed and encouraged to lie back, yet to your exhausted delight First Aid appears anything but pained as he works. Adjusting your blankets and tenderly ensuring your comfort, he doesn't need to say thank you through anything but his actions. As always, you've brought him back down from that exhausting despair he grappled with so often in the past. After all, he must be capable indeed to have earned the love of someone so wonderful and unique. The least he can do is show his gratitude in a gentle brush of his thumb over your palm as you drift back to sleep.

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (66) || atz

It’s dark out when wooden boards creak under the tips of your toes lightly, and you glance behind your shoulder to make sure no one is watching you from the ship’s deck before you quickly stride across the pier, hoping the shadows cast from the flickering flames of the torches are enough to shroud you in their darkness.

You’re dressed in one of your Master’s tunics, with a ragged shawl wound around your head to hide your face. Darting down the harbor, you rely purely on your memory to follow the same path your feet had taken seemingly so long ago.

You blend in with the rest of the stragglers littering the dirty seaside hovels, listening to the sound of seawater lapping against the stone docks. The sea winds seem to sense your intent, the trail of salt laced air drifting past your nose and guiding you forward. You double your pace. You’re getting closer.

“Fortune favours the fair...” The raspy whisper curls around your ears, beckons you towards a dingy shack tucked in the recesses of the town, streaked with filth and grime, just as you remember it. Heavy rags and curtains hang from its rickety bamboo frame, the dim light inside barely visible through the thick drapes, suffocating and stifling.

It’s an ominous sight, but you feel no fear as you step forward into the tent without even bothering to announce yourself. You remember the terror you had felt here the last time, even with Jongho at your back, but now, all that consumes you is a ravenous desire for answers.

There’s no more time for fear anymore.

“It’s you!” The fortune teller shrieks, the second you push aside the heavy curtains at the entrance and slip inside. There’s a crash, and you glance up from beneath your hood to see the wizened crone tumbling backwards, knocking over jars of snakeskin and ripping strings of dried talons from the ceiling rafters in her desperate attempt to get away from you. “You, I-”

“Silence.” You say coldly, brushing a spider from your shoulder and she falls silent in an instant, mouth moving soundlessly. “How did you know it was me?”

“Your aura, it’s stronger now, it’s pouring from you.” The fortune teller spits, pressing against the wall behind her in a bid to get as far from you as possible as you cross the cramped hut in three steps to sit on the same chair in front of her table, just as you had so long ago. This chair feels sturdier under you, and you wonder which unfortunate soul bad broken the previous one before you. “Even the biggest fool would be able to tell, why do you think you were not approached on your way here, alone and frail-looking as you are?”

“Huh.” You say curiously, unwinding the shawl from your neck and pulling it free. “That’s a handy skill, now that I think about it.”

“Why are you here, clay one?” The fortune teller hisses, and when you stare back her, she seems smaller than you remember her to be; instead of the looming figure wrapped in darkness she’s merely a trembling, skeletal woman hiding behind her rags. You shrug, prop your chin on your palm and look at her with intent eyes. She flinches.

“You’re a fortune teller, aren’t you?” You ask quietly, your gaze unwavering. “Tell me my future.”

She sputters.

“It- It doesn’t work like that.” The fortune teller spins away from you, but you can see her fingernails, caked with dirt, dragging frantically against the rough grain of the tabletop. “The more one seeks out the future, terrible things come to pass. The more someone plays a god,” her luminous eyes meet yours through her wild tangle of curls, the colour of pond water muddied with scum and filth, “the higher the price they pay, the deeper they sink. But they never turn back until it’s too late, and by then, the price is too high for a mortal to ever pay.”

You frown. “How does someone play god?”

The second you say that, the air in the room changes. You can feel it, the way the temperature seems to drop, the way the flames burning at the ends of the waxy candle stubs flicker weakly, how the rats squeak in the cages and the birds flap desperately. The sea breeze whispers in your ears and the fortune teller stumbles back. “Tell her, tell her, tell her...” Eerie, moaning, indecipherable wails drift in with the wind and the fortune teller shrieks, nearly clawing at the walls in her attempt to escape. “Confess to her all your misdeeds, your sins... how you came to be in this wretched state...”

Frowning, you grab her by the fabric of her shawl and yank her back into her seat. “What did they mean?” She stares back at you, wild eyed and horrified.

“You can hear them?” She breathes, almost incredulous, but before you can answer she’s yanking her clothes out of your grip, mumbling to herself under her breath, teeth chattering and her words stumbling over each other. “Of course you can, you’re one of hers, you-”

“You mean Eldoris?” You ask mildly, but at the very mention of her name the fortune teller jerks across the table to clap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide with terror. “Do not speak her name.” She hushes you desperately, and your eyes narrow as you pull her hand from your mouth.

“Why not?”

“Names have power.” The fortune teller snaps, sinking back into her seat even as she glances warily around her, as if she’s afraid that the sea witch is going to appear any second. “Names are the identity that bind you to this world. If you live without a name, any name, it means that the world does not have any connection to you, that nothing needs to call out for you. You are an insignificant speck, without an immortal soul, as the birds of the sky to the sirens in the sea are.”

Your eyebrows furrow, bringing your hands up to play with the shawl on your lap, the wooden hand catching on stray threads here and there. “What about the names of gods?”

The fortune teller scoffs. “The gods?” There’s a trace of bitterness in her voice as she sinks back into her chair, eyes dark. “Gods, the mortals call them. No, my dear fool. They are not gods... just beings of immense powers, called into consciousness at Creation. They don’t have names, nor do they have eternal souls... no one calls upon them for who they are, only what they are.” She snorts in ridicule, shaking her head. “Thinking that the gods are human enough to listen to their wishes, to their desires... that’s all a lie. A pretty fairy tale, meant to deceive those with a penny in their pocket.”

You fingers still. “What do you mean?”

“Please, don’t tell me you actually believed those legends.” Her eyes are dark as they meet yours. “As if human offerings such as fruit or even gold would be of anything of worth to a god. They have no need for it. They have existed long before the humans have, and will continue to exist long after humans are gone. They do as they wish, and they have no heart for humans, only for each other. We are nothing but mere ants to them.”

You remember how Eldoris had told you of the names the two gods had called each other by, lips pressing into a thin line. Were the gods really such cruel, heartless characters such as what the fortune teller was saying?

“You sound awfully passionate about this.” You remark quietly, and the fortune teller whips around to glare at you straight in the eye, so close you can smell her rancid breath.

“How do you think I got here?” She breathes, and you stiffen, straightening up to look at her more clearly. She’s had dealings with the gods before? You had thought her to be merely a shady magician with a penchant for seeing the future and a flair for the dramatic. “Trying to play god, trying to gain power.” Her expression darkens. “All I wanted was the ability to see the future, to protect my village from the storms that would rage along the coast, and yet... and yet...” Her teeth bare in a growl. “And yet...”

“And?” You coax her, transfixed by the sheer pain burning in her eyes. Her head snaps up to look at you, and you’re stunned to see her eyes shining with tears.

“I do not wish to speak about this any longer.” She croaks, turning away from you and rapidly swiping the tears from her eyes. Something pinches in you, and you hold out your shawl to her. She stares at it for a good few seconds, before she takes it in her hands and holds it there.

“You’re a good person,” she manages, and you only look at her blankly, uncomprehending. “Don’t make the same mistake I did, ever. Trying to obtain the power of a god is nothing but folly.”

“How does one obtain the power of a god?” You ask, hesitantly, and she looks at you for a long while, searching for something in your eyes. Apparently, she seems to finds it, because she exhales, shakes her head. “The essence of the world is all around us, from the very air we breathe to the water in the oceans all around us. We consume it all the time, in minute amounts... but to attain true power?” Her voice drops and you lean in closer to hear her. “One needs to consume bigger sources of power... like the sirens... or god forbid, the hafgufa itself.”

A memory works its way into your mind, a hazy recollection of staring down a cliff and screaming till your throat goes hoarse.

You frown. “Just like that? How is that detrimental to a person?”

The fortune teller sighs, eyes darkening. “You ask too many questions... but you must imagine yourself as a jar. You contain your own life essence, but to take in the essence of the world around you forcibly? You are... limited... and in order to take in more, something must flow out to make more room.”

Your blood goes cold. “So you lose parts of your own human soul?”

The fortune teller nods heavily, head hanging. “A price no human should ever have to pay. Power is crazily addicting, enough for one to completely lose their sense of self... and the value of their own humanity. A human’s weakness is our biggest strength, but to lose your heart and soul in exchange for power is despicable.”

“But you tried, once.” You say, trying to make sense of it all. “You tried, and you’re still here.”

“I was too young, too afraid.” She hisses, shaking her head. “I killed one siren and consumed her essence before she could return to the sea, and immediately the sea witch rose from the waves to strike justice upon me. She couldn’t take the essence that I had stolen from the sea, so she cursed me to have the most terrible of prophecies I spoke of to never be believed, to watch the awful visions I had seen come to pass in front of my very eyes, completely helpless but you,” one of her hands reach out to touch yours almost gingerly, as if she’s afraid that you might end up being nothing but a dream, “you believe me.”

You nod slowly. “I do... I think. Something about the way you speak convinces me.” You exhale lightly, hold out your hands to her, eyes blazing with determination.

“Since I do, will you please tell me my future?”

The fortune teller flinches, before she sighs, rubbing her temples. The seashells on the silver bracelets she wears tinkle with each movement. You continue to stare at her, pleadingly, resolute, until she looks up at you with the shake of the head.

For a second, your heart drops, but then she speaks, perhaps more to herself than to you. “If I send you, too, to your death... but no... perhaps,” she looks up at you, gripping your hand tight with surprising strength for such bony fingers, “if you were already supposed to be dead and yet you still stand before me here... perhaps things will be different for you.”

A pang of fear shoots through you, and you hurry to ask, “what do you mean, I’m supposed to be dead? Did you see something in my future the last time I was here-”

“No, nothing like that.” The fortune teller waves a hand dismissively. “What I mean is that no golem has ever lived past two or three moons, not even the most well made ones I’ve ever seen. And yet, here you are, after so long.”

Something icy cold begins creeping into your heart as you chew on your bottom lip, brows furrowing questioningly. “How exactly does a golem... die?”

The fortune teller exhales, gives you a pitying look. “Well, a golem is a vessel often made of clay or stone, powered by its maker to carry out their wishes.” You nod intently, clinging on to every word. “Golems carry unimaginable amounts of power in their physical forms to animate them even without their master’s conscious effort, which is why only the most powerful of magicians can make them, but their bodies are not meant to house them nor use them.”

Your heart clenches painfully.

“In order to use the magic within them to animate themselves, the golems’ bodies degrade, like how one would break holes into a clay vessel in order to release the water within.” She continues, seemingly unaware of how still you’ve become. “The damage is irreparable. After a while, the body eventually shatters into nothing but dust in a couple of moons or so.”

You pause for a moment, licking your lips, which suddenly feel bone dry. “Ahh... that sounds rather morbid.” You say, nodding slowly. Perhaps that might explain your nosebleeds... and the cracking of your hand. So you were right, you are falling apart and there is no cure; or well, no human cure. You look down at your chest, resting your human hand against your heart gently. What kind of power do you have stored within you that is slowly killing you from the inside?

“I do not know how you came to be, even the sea witch cannot have had this much power to create a being such as you.” The fortune teller says softly, fingertips digging into the table. “But I can try to give you a prophecy, if that is what you so desire.”

Without pomp nor fanfare, she holds out her hands expectantly and you place yours in hers, one flesh and blood and the other carved wood, chewing on your bottom lip nervously. “Not going to take my blood this time?” You try to tease a little, to settle the painful flutter in your belly, but the fortune teller shakes her head, dark eyes searing into yours.

“I have never had a need for it, except to pacify the hearts of others...” She sighs, “No person would believe that I would be able to tell fortunes otherwise.” With that, she falls silent, eyes slipping shut, and you do the same, gripping her hands tightly.

Seconds stretch into moments, and moments into minutes as you wait for something, anything. For a second, you’re almost afraid that the fortune teller has fallen asleep, and are about to tap her on the shoulder when her grip on your hands suddenly tighten near painfully. Eyes flying wide open with shock, you look at her, but before you can ask her what’s wrong, words begin to pour from her opened mouth, even though her lips do not move.

Your heart skips a beat.

“I see darkness... darkness all around me...” The fortune teller breathes and your blood runs cold, throat tightening. “You are bound to another by a promise... and they will come, bearing a gift... a gift to sunder the promise that binds you to this mortal coil...”

A promise?

“No matter the choice you make, all the paths have been set straight, and they lead only to death.” Your breath catches. “There is no other way, your promise is a futile one, and it can only be fulfilled through death. The only future is death... death... death. It comes as the storm approaches... on the horizon of the sea.”

You swallow.

“But take heart at the very end... take... heart, to become weak is to triumph, to die is to live and remember... what... your name... is... and who it is...that... it... calls... to...”

And with that the fortune teller merely slumps over the table in a dead faint, mouth slack as she breathes slowly through her nose. But you simply sit there, silently, heart hammering in your chest as you realise what you’ve just heard.

And only one word replays in your head, like the last lines of a sea shanty that never ends.

Death.

Death.

Death.

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

What do you think it means to be a jedi (as opposed to other beings that don't pursue to the dark side of the force - guardian of whills, etc.)? For example, when ahsoka says "I am no jedi"- how specifically is she not a jedi? Is it because being a jedi entails working with governmental oversight (sort of like how the superheroes in marvel were supposed to work with UN supervision?)?

Ah ah, that’s such a huge question ^^; I don’t wanna mess it up... 

Hmm, I don’t think being a Jedi refers to being accountable to the authorities. Luke becoming a Jedi is a big part of the OT and he answers to no government, but it’s never expressed that he’s somehow “less” of a Jedi because of it. I think being a Jedi is about the mindset and the duty. 

The problem with asking what makes a Jedi different from other Force-centered systems of beliefs is that those (like the Guardians of the Whills, the Bardottans, the Church of the Force, etc, etc) came *after* the Jedi in our universe. (Well, except for the GotW, but in the beginning they were just supposed to be kinda omniscient entities narrating the story, they weren’t really meant to be Force wielders/Force adepts.) When Lucas created the Jedi, there wasn’t an extended universe full of other cultures they had to be different from. So “being a Jedi” only existed in opposition to using the Dark Side. And being a Jedi was solely about the mindset expressed in the OT and PT: don’t let attachment cloud your judgment, reject anger/fear/any negative emotion that holds power over you, be compassionate, trust the Force. 

That somewhat changed with the creation of other Force-centered cultures, but it’s still interesting to see that the Jedi are by far the most prevalent Force-users, and that all other communities that use the Force are *extremely* withdrawn and have very little impact on the Galaxy. People don’t say “Force-powers,” they say “Jedi powers.” Most cultures based on the Force in the EU/Legends are speciest (even in canon, the Nightsisters, the Bardottans or the Lasat don’t really teach outsiders about their beliefs - at least, they don’t take outsiders in). I think it’s fair to say these cultures don’t matter in the greater SW narrative - they certainly weren’t part of Lucas’ original vision for the meaning of “Jedi.” 

So I think a part of the Jedi identity is that importance they have in the Force and to the Galaxy. Basically, *they’re* the Children of the Force - not in the sense that others have a weaker connection to it, but in the sense that the Jedi are the ones acting out its Will and trying to keep its Balance (and indeed, cultures like the Bardottans are represented as connecting to the Force *passively,* as observers - hell, even the Force Priestesses, the Bendu and the Father, Son and Daughter don’t actively participate in the fate of the Galaxy - the Jedi do). 

Essentially, the Jedi Order is like the arm of the Force - and it’s pretty clear in the SW narrative that the Order will never completely die, when other cultures are wiped out without the Force keeping a remnant alive. 

So 1) importance within the Force. 

2) Would be, imo, their beliefs themselves - which are what make them so important in the first place. They’re rather simple. 

Compassion, above all - and defending the innocent.

Willingness to let go (of your own emotions, of your life, of what you hold most dear) in the name of that compassion/of balance. 

Pursuit of balance (which, as I understand it, is peace - inner peace and peace within the Galaxy). 

Trust in the Force

Of course, being a Jedi was also about being part of their culture/community in the PT era, but we are told of several maverick Jedi who disappeared for months/years and doing whatever and nobody had a problem with that (Qui-Gon, Tu-Ahn, Eno Cordova, to cite a few canon ones). 

I think when Ahsoka says: “I’m no longer a Jedi,” she rejects two things - the authority that comes with being a Jedi - government or no government - and some of the values that are indissociable from being a Knight. It’s exactly like Cere Junda or Luke running away from their identity - they can’t deal with the responsibility inherent to being a Jedi. 

Being a Jedi means, without fail, that you are one of the most important people in the universe - that you have the absolute moral duty of placing the Galaxy’s burdens above your own wants, needs and hopes. It’s - still within Lucas’ narrative - the most difficult thing you could aspire to be. Of course after so much death and loss and suffering, Ahsoka would have difficulties taking up that mantle again/would doubt her ability to fulfill that role. She probably doesn’t think she can be a Jedi anymore. (For example, she doesn’t think she can open the Lothal Temple.)

The other things Ahsoka rejects, as I said, are some of the values associated with being a Jedi. Nothing says a Lasat can’t take revenge. But for a Jedi - who has chosen to bear that burden of responsibility and to be the instrument of the Force - there is no room for indulgences. You don’t get to act on your righteous anger, or your justified fears - because then you start to slip up, you inch ever closer to the Dark Side, and it’s a vicious circle that’s exacerbated by how much power you constantly wield to do your duty. 

If you have no duty, you don’t have to hold yourself to that highest of standards. Ahsoka has chosen not to bear the burden of a Jedi anymore (and there’s nothing wrong with that choice), so she’s at liberty to do what she wants, even take revenge (as she tells Vader in the Sith Temple). In contrast, Obi-Wan chose to remain a Jedi instead of building a life with Satine, because being a Jedi is about denying yourself (which by no means is unfulfilling/restrictive/toxic - it’s just another way of seeing life; Obi-Wan and Satine both find fulfillment, joy and growth in their respective paths). 

Hope that’s good enough of an answer :) of course, there are other things I associate with being a Jedi - the gentleness so many of them display, the diversity of their clothes and lightsabers, the open-mindedness that allows Barriss to have an idol in her quarters, the quiet resilience, the badassness, the drama, the sheer awesomeness of space-monks that go “swish-swish zoom-zoom” with their lightsticks as they protect people while looking as extra as possible... I love them. Can you tell? 

[tarotwithavi]

What is it like to be loved by you?

How do people you love/ have loved see you?

Pile : 1~2~3

How to choose a pile?

Take a deep breath and close your eyes. Kindly ask your spirit guides to show you the right pile for yourself and then open your eyes. Whichever pile catches your attention is the right pile for you.

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Pile 1

Being loved by you is an extremely unique and captivating experience that intertwines passion, inspiration, and profound connection. Unknowingly you're a muse for those around you.

For those whom you love , you become the source of their creative inspiration, the very embodiment of their artistic vision. Your presence evokes a stirring within them, igniting a creative fire that fuels their imagination and propels their artistic expression to new heights. People who are loved by you can express themselves authentically, it makes them love themselves more.

They are drawn to your essence, captivated by your beauty, both outwardly and within.

Being loved by you means witnessing their vulnerability firsthand. People open themselves up, allowing you to glimpse into the depths of their aching souls. You witness their moments of self-doubt, their relentless pursuit of perfection, and their unwavering dedication to perfect themselves.

Being loved by you is a journey of self-discovery, mutual inspiration, and unspoken connection. It is a dance of passion and creativity, where your very existence becomes a catalyst for self expression. Together, you traverse the realms of imagination, transcending the boundaries of conventional love, and entering a realm where love and compassion intertwine in an extraordinary symphony of emotions.

Pile 2

Being loved by you is like riding a rollercoaster. It is a wild journey filled with unpredictable twists and turns. Some moments bring sheer delight and exhilaration and Other times, fear grips them tightly, as doubts and insecurities creep in.

Every encounter with you is an adventure, an invitation to surrender to the thrill of the unknown. With each passing day, people can't help but wonder what awaits them around the corner. It is an experience that keeps them on their toes, never allowing them to get too comfortable.

Yet deep down, they know that this love is not meant to last forever. It is a temporary amusement, a fleeting joy. No matter how much they crave stability and security, they think that your time is limited. However it also makes them crave for more of you and your love. It's addicting.

Despite the uncertainty and the knowledge that the love would eventually come to a time of numbness, they can't resist the allure of your love. They are captivated by the exhilaration, the way you make them feel alive. Even in the midst of the fear and uncertainty, they find themselves holding on tightly, cherishing each moment of the love they think is forbidden.

Falling for you is like falling for trouble itself. It's a risky endeavour, filled with uncertainty and potential consequences but it is an addiction they can't resist. Some fear being loved by you because of how addicting it is. They have seen people fall for the way you love.

Gives me the vibe of the one that got away.

Pile 3

Being loved by you is a truly transformative and life-changing experience. Your love is so profound that it has the power to touch the deepest parts of a person's soul. When you pour out your love, people can't help but be overwhelmed by its magnitude and the way it envelops them entirely.

Your love is like that of a toddler's favorite person. Just as a child finds comfort, joy, and unwavering trust in their favorite person, those fortunate enough to be loved by you experience a similar sense of security and contentment. Your affection becomes their safe haven, a place where they can always find solace and be themselves without any fear of judgment.

In your presence, people feel cherished and valued beyond measure. Your love has the ability to heal wounds, mend broken hearts, and restore faith in humanity. It's a love that brings out the best in others, inspiring them to be the most authentic version of themselves.

They become more confident, more compassionate, and more open to the wonders of life. Your love has the power to uplift and empower, encouraging others to pursue their dreams and embrace their true potential.

Being loved by you is an extraordinary privilege, for your love has the capacity to transform lives in profound ways. It's a love that knows no boundaries, that has the ability to break down walls and bridge divides. Those who are lucky enough to experience your love are forever grateful, knowing that they have encountered a love that is truly rare and special.

[wyn-n-tonic]

hi yeah, about that "oh i don't want to bother her" post- i want to tell you and show you how much i love you and your writing all the fucking time. i don't really stop thinking about how cool authors like you in this fandom are, and sometimes i forget i can actually do things like express the sheer joy you give me, it feels wrong almost (i just recently turned 18 and was introduced to this whole fandom shortly after. this circle is full of really mature and developed blogs of people in like their mid 20s and 30s, and while i may know basic fanfic etiquette of "let the author know you like their stuff", i just never think, even though i'm technically allowed to interact with them now, that they would feel comfortable with, care about, or value what i have to say cuz im probably still just a kid to them) but right now i'm trying to get over that and actually give you a fraction of the love you deserve cuz it doesn't seem like you get enough these days. so, hey! in the brief time that i've been here you've been one of the lights of my life as a writer, definitely in my top 3 of day to day comfort fics, your stuff is some of the most entertaining and thought-out shit i've read, and i hope that you know how cool you are not just as a creator but as a person. thank you for existing, and for letting me bring my long winded ted talk to you

um, bestie, holy shit this was the nicest thing and i'm so happy you're here! and look, yeah... for a lot of us, you are still just a kid. but you're allowed to be here. i remember lying about my age to consume things when i was younger but i never spoke to the creators because i didn't want to get in trouble or get them in trouble. but turning eighteen was like this weird in between world where i was an adult and i wanted to be treated that way but i was also still a kid and that's how others treated me.

so like, happy belated birthday! don't be afraid to dip your toe into the waters of things you like or think you might like or want to explore. just do so safely and make sure you read the warnings in order to protect yourself because only you know your limits.

i think that everybody has something valuable to say no matter their age. i think it's really cool that you took this leap to talk to me even if it's just on anon and i do care about this because this is seriously one of the sweetest things i've ever gotten. it's crazy to think that somebody thinks i'm cool.... can you tell my little sisters that?

gosh, i'm gonna be thinking about this for a while. this was so lovely. thank you!

[honey-makki]

Sorry

Characters: Haiba Lev X Fem!Reader Summary: After talking to your father on the phone, Lev wants to help you unlearn unhealthy coping mechanisms. Warnings: family issues, allusions to abuse, bad childhoods, abusive language Song: seven- taylor swift Genre: hurt-> fluff Word Count: 1.7k+ A/N: This is about a rough childhood and growing from that. It’s deeply personal and could very well be triggering to people. I wanted to write something about the value of having a support system without undermining the work an individual has to do personally.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The holidays are generally a joyous time of year, full of reflection on your growth, sweet traditions with friends, and time spent with family. You adore the yearly gift exchange that you and Lev host in your shared apartment. Wreath cookies fresh out of the oven, hot cocoa in everyone’s mugs and silly pajamas.

The gifts were never serious, ranging from bacon toothpaste to a copy of Flubber (which Lev would argue is a fantastic movie, but that's besides the point) to a unicorn mug. Laughter floating around the house as people switch gifts and mosey around snacking on food and catching up with others.

Nothing brings you more joy than seeing your friends, all gathered together and just existing. Nothing can crush your spirit other than a phone call from your father. “Y/N, we expect you will be home Thursday night for the family dinner and stay for breakfast with Grandma in the morning.”

You know it won't matter how you try to get out of it, years of attempts proved that you go, or it gets worse. The already tense relationship strung even tighter, harsh words thrown your direction, implications that were clearly false, guilt piling up until you can’t take it anymore and you head home for a visit.

You tried explaining to your father that you had an overnight shift at the hospital and wouldn’t be able to make it. Hearing laughter from your friends through the phone, he tears into you for “valuing their companionship more than the people who gave you everything.” You try to get a word in but he doesn’t stop.

Lev notices you’ve been gone for almost 20 minutes on a call and decides to check on you. He walks outside to see you, sitting on the snowy stoop. The scene breaks his heart and lights a fire in him. Seeing you crying into your knees, your father still spewing vicious words from the phone sitting at your side. Both of you can hear him clearly even though he isn’t on speaker, the venom of his voice is amplified through sheer anger.

In the coldest tone your silver haired boyfriend has ever used, “Y/N has to go now,” and hangs up on your confused father. He slides into a seated position next to you, placing an arm around your shoulder, cooing soothing nothings to you. His voice brings you back to earth a little, silently crying, rather than the gut wrenching sobs.

Voice raspy from overuse, “I-- I’m sor- sorry-- sorry you had to c-come check on m-m-me.”

“Angel, don’t worry. You have nothing to apologize for. I checked on you because I care about you, not because I felt obligated,” knowing you want to rebut, he continues “don’t talk, let your voice rest. Just let me tell you that I love you and I’m here for you for as long as you’ll have me.”

He pulls you onto his lap and holds you until you feel strong enough to go inside, watching the snowflakes fall together in the meantime. ------------ Lev knew that your childhood wasn’t the best. You never brought up him meeting your parents or visiting home for the weekend. You never joined in the conversations reminiscing about “the good ole days” stating rather that you were more than happy to live in this moment.

You always shot Lev a loving glance or gave him a peck on the cheek to show that you weren't being cheesy, but genuinely meant it.

You were never slow to tell him how much you loved him, lamenting the fact that he made you feel safe, like you truly had a home. He took your words to heart, but never really understood what you were implying until that night on the phone with your dad.

Everything seemed to fall into place, puzzle pieces of your life up until now finally fitting together in his mind. The way you looked relieved when he told you that he loved you, brushing off talking about you family despite loving seeing Alisa and his parents, how you mentioned being independent at an early age.

The way you repeatedly apologize over every tiny mishap from bumping into him in the hallway or spilling a glass of water. How when you have an argument, you put space and preferably a piece of furniture between you two. The way you flinched when you heard a man yelling, retreating into Lev’s arms reflexively.

He didn’t realize what he was seeing were coping mechanisms from abuse. Overapologizing for existing, always being ready to run if needed, anxiety, and the pavlovian physical reaction you have to loud noises.

How did he not see this before? -------- It became Lev’s one true intention to help you. He tracked and noticed what triggered your anxiety so he could remove or reduce them in your daily life, always trying to stay seated and relaxed whenever an argument occurred knowing that his imposing 6’3 figure makes the problem worse, never raising his voice, even in glee, not when he was playing video games.

You noticed he was acting a little different, but weren’t exactly sure where it came from. You had still avoided his questions after the party a few months back just brushing your dad’s behavior as a one time thing. Lev made it clear that you didn’t need to go visit them if you didn’t want to do so, and if you did, that he would be going with you.  Not wanting you to face that alone.

Lev started going to therapy, wanting to make the idea normal. He talked about coping mechanisms he was learning to deal with stress, offering up these little nuggets of advice in a way that you could take them and avoid his questions until you were ready to talk.

It was almost 6 months after the night Lev talked to your dad on the phone that you broke down in his arms again.

----------- Your birthday was next week. When you got out of the shower after a double shift at the hospital, the first thing you saw on your revived phone was a voicemail from your dad. Lev already knew something was wrong by the whimper embedded in the way you called out to him from your bathroom.

You were never one to show emotions unless you wanted to express them, having learned that skill at a young age, but this time it broke through. The image of Lev opening the door with force that teetered between firm and tender, face contorted into concern, his body glistening with a thin sheen of sweat over his bare chest was the epitome of comfort.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your work out ses-”

“No. Y/N you do not need to apologize to me for existing, for feeling or for needing me. Ever. I love you so, so much and would do anything to make you realize that. To make you understand that.”

That confession is how you realized Lev already knew your secret. You didn’t have the ability to process that his past actions were intentional, trying to make you comfortable and grow as an individual. You can’t process that because the thought of someone knowing about your past brought you to tears.

You never wanted to seem broken, like damaged goods, someone with too much baggage to handle. It’s the whole reason you never told Lev even though you were planning on spending your life with him. You didn’t want to ruin that; to have him not pick up the pieces of your heart. Leaving you even more broken than you were before.

He knew that his love wouldn’t fix your heart in totality or immediately resolve bad habits, but he wanted to give you the support to get there. And right now, you needed him to hold you.

The warmth of his body encompassing yours as he moves you into a sitting position reduces the cold wave of worry that ran through your body. The coo of his gentle voice whispering words of adoration and pure unadulterated love into your ear brings you out of your head, grounding you in this moment.

To the only moment that matters. Moments with him, safe, tender, and full of support.  When you gather yourself, you quietly walk him through your childhood. He patiently waits, not interrupting you but assuring you to take your time when you get choked up.

“Y/N, I want to make sure that you never feel like that again. I want to help you move forward.”

And he does just that. He watches you go to therapy and come back a little lighter, even on the bad days. Lev brings you a cup of tea when your anxiety gets too bad, always fast to remove you from situations that might be triggering. He is a constant companion and cheerleader for your transformation.

------

You stand in the nursery for your soon to be child with Lev. Basking in what the future holds for the two, no, three of you. Lev notices the wistful expression on your face as you seem lost in thought. “Hey, we will be fantastic parents. Our kid is going to know what love is and see it exemplified every day.” He cups your cheeks, staring into your eyes trying to see if you not only understand, but believe him.

“I know. Sorry, I’m just, It’s just a concern I have. I don’t want to be like-”

“Y/N. You would never emulate your childhood. I’ve seen you grow so much and become the most resilient and compassionate woman I know. You will be able to teach those things to our child. I have no doubts about that.” He punctuated his proclamation with a sweet kiss on the lips and a soft hug, accommodating for your belly which holds the future, not a repeat of the past.

Tags @ceo-of-daichi​ @roandtheroses​ @sugawara-sweetheart​ @iguessimastannow​@laughingismorefun

[bruciewayne]

And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone

— The Song of Achilles

Bruce will admit, if pressed, that there have been many, many times where he would sorely enjoy punching Clark in his idiotic, perfect face. Though all of those times, bar one, he hasn’t followed through with it, and the one time he did, he rolled with it, turning his head so Bruce only bruised his knuckles and didn’t shatter his hand.

At this particular moment in time, Bruce thinks, he’ll punch him a second time. Except he won’t, because even though he’ll survive it, and he’ll survive anything, up to and including the eventual heat death of their solar system as they currently know it, he won’t, he won’t and he can’t.

And that terrifies him, it terrifies him down to the very depths and fundamentals of his being. He is the only one who can stop Superman, because Superman– because Clark himself willed it so, he is the only one who can stop him, on paper, in theory, as a hypothetical. He is the only one who can stop him and yet, and yet, he can’t.

He knows, in the very depths and fundamentals of his being, that when, if, the time comes, he won’t be able to stop him, if the worst was to ever transpire, if Clark, kind, gentle Clark who lived off the sun and smiled like a thousand stars, like he could outshine a quasar, if Clark– if Superman had turned evil, for a given value of evil (as if Bruce has a checklist, as if Clark himself gave Bruce a certain set of parameters), Bruce, current owner of all (all but 4.3 grams) the kryptonite on the planet, wouldn’t be able to utilise it.

Because, and here’s the kicker, here’s where one takes a long look at Bruce Wayne’s life, at both his lives together, where one decides the kicker in this scenario would be: he can’t stop Superman, because Superman no longer exists. And where one would be wrong.

Superman, Kal-El, Clark, currently, is staring straight at him, expression like barbed wire through the heart Bruce pretends he doesn’t have and acid on the soul he pretends doesn’t exist. He’s almost surprised that he’s not coated in blood, a red river winding down from his chest. Almost.

“You can’t,” he says, softly, though for all intents and purposes he could have shouted it: it would echo in the empty cave the same way, it would echo in his heart and head and soul.

He’s terrified to ask, terrified of the answer, but he does, what else does he have to lose? “Do you? Have you even ever?”

Clark stares down at the floor, at the rough stone, at the atoms. If he squints he could burn a hole to the center of the world. If he smiles, he could burn a hole straight through Bruce.

“Wasn’t it obvious?” Soft, yet deafening, quiet and gentle and like a grenade to a building in the center of a city.

Why else would Bruce tear his chest in half, crack his ribs open and present his heart, bloody and beating?

“Why?” Bruce resolutely doesn’t stumble over the word, he doesn’t stutter, there’s no inconsistencies in the intonation. It's the same voice he uses in the suit, under layers of modulation, undetectable to the human ear. Except it’s Clark.

He smiles. It reaches his eyes, makes the unearthly blue of his irises, or, at least, what look and act like irises, sparkle. He smiles and it’s like all the photons from the sun are expended back out, he’s the sun and Bruce is his moon: he can feel his own lips, without his permission, curving into some facsimile of a smile. He smiles and the room brightens by a good few lumens.

“Have you seen yourself?”

Bruce looks straight into his eyes and shakes his head by the smallest humanly possible degree. He’s fairly sure that it happened, like the facsimile of the smile, without his express permission. Clark understands though, without a spoken word, with the smallest humanly possible change.

The room dims.

“You.. you shouldn’t.”

Bruce gets some sick satisfaction from the way Clark stumbles over his words, a small human part in the one guy who could destroy everything, if he were so inclined. He wears his heart on his sleeve, without a disguise or cowl.

Why would he? When it can’t be broken, why bother protecting it?

He’s too preoccupied hearing him, watching him, to listen.

“Have you seen yourself?”

Clark grants him a small smile. He swallows. On the verge of tears, Bruce realises, like a gunshot to the chest.

“Bruce,” Clark says, brokenly, “we can’t. I can’t do that… not to you.”

Logically, apodictically, they can’t be together publically, of course they can’t, the logistics would be a nightmare alone.

Bruce knows that Clark isn’t a mind-reader, he knows that, because he knows Clark.

“Not.. not because of that, Bruce, I don’t care about the public.”

And Clark knows him.

“Then what the fuck, Clark?” Fundamentally, it’s the simplest thing to him, he tells him as much, “I love you, and you love me, and we’re not… this isn’t some Romeo and Juliet bullshit!”

“They both die at the end,” Clark says, because he’d thought that Bruce knew.

“So will we,” Bruce says, simply, because it's a fact. A fundamental fact of human life.

Like a gunshot to the chest.

“You will.”

Before me, and I’ll watch everyone we know, all the kids, the kids’ kids, die and disintegrate before I even get a single grey hair.

The truth rings around them like the aftermath of a nuclear reaction, like the ripples in a pond, left in the wake of skipped stones.

Bruce almost asks if it matters, if, really, truly, it matters. But he’s not the one who’ll be left alone.

The thing, regarding falling in love with an alien, with his best friend and teammate, the thing is he was in the middle long before he’d realised he’d even begun loving him. At this point, he would, without question, without even considering any other possibility, go to the end of the universe with him.

The thing is, regarding falling in love with Clark Kent, is that he knows, he knows like he knows the exact amount of kryptonite on this planet, like he knows exactly why Clark kept 4.3 grams, he knows that Clark loves him to the same extent. To the end of the universe. To his own destruction.

“Are you going to stop?”

“Stop?”

“Loving me.”

“No.”

He’s decisive, confident. Maybe naive, maybe too hopeful, too optimistic. Or maybe he’s just in love. It’s so, so painfully Clark, it perplexes him how… just how he exists, still like this, despite everything, in the face of the sheer abundance of evil and violence and corruption. An invincible summer in the midst of a perpetual winter.

“I’m not going to stop, either.”

Decisive, confident. Brought about by proof, logical, cogent evidence. Brought about by love, pure, unfiltered, unending, unconditional love.

That’s where they are.

“I love you, and I… I think I’m incapable of stopping, and you love me, and you’re not going to stop.”

Be with me, even if my life is blip on the line of your life, be with me, let us be happy for decades, even if you live for millenia.

“You’re going to grow to resent me.” Decisive. Confident.

“Aren’t we past hating each other?”

And they are. So far flung from it Bruce can barely see it.

Superman, Kal-El, the alien from a far-off planet, the alien who could destroy the world with a squint, who could live out his considerable days anywhere of his choosing. Who could, utterly and wholly and completely, destroy Bruce, soul and body, with one look, with one gesture, looks into Bruce’s eyes, and says, “I’m scared.”

Clark Kent, his best friend, teammate. The man he loves beyond measure and reason, loves beyond the boundaries of the universe and time, looks into his eyes, bright blue, and nothing else matters, the world around them, the universe, falls away to leave just them, alone and infinite.

“So am I.”

Terrified, actually, down to the depths of his core and being and soul.

Clark looks at him the way sailors used to look at the north star, he looks at him the way astronomers now look at the stars, impossibly infinite.

His world falls away to leave the feel of Clark’s waist, hard and firm, under his hands, the gentle, so fucking gentle, way Clark’s hands card through his hair (and if he concentrates, can feel the kryptonite ring Clark refuses to take off around him), his eyes, wide and terrified and determined, the curve of his nose, one black curl. His body, warm and firm and solid and there. The feel of his lips moving against his.

  Even when he buries him, and his children, and his children’s children, he can’t bring himself to regret loving him. Even if, technically, it’ll barely be a blip in the line of his life, even if, for the rest of it, he’ll never find anything like him, like what they had, he doesn’t regret it, he doesn’t resent him for leaving, he doesn’t regret loving him or the life they had together.

Later, long after civilisations have crumbled and humanity and Earth has ceased to exist, long after Clark found a decent use for all the kryptonite, a hand slips into his, warm and solid and there. Impossibly infinite.

“You took your time.”

[atinykidult]

Guilt Was an Ugly, Ugly Emotion — Kwon Soonyoung

[angst] — 1,777 words [summary] — Cheater!Soonyoung owns up to what he’s done. Y/N and he deal with the ramifications. Featuring: Old college BFFs!96-line, potential OOC-ness (or, just dramatic Soonyoung, not so OOC imo), and, yeah. This is angst-y. TW: Cussing (Thank you for reading!) [playlist] — Falling by Harry Styles, Hopes for Tomorrow by Sejeong

Soonyoung knocked on your apartment door, even though it was his as much as it was yours.

When you opened it, wondering who would be knocking this late, you found a mess of a man in front of you.

"I fucked up, Y/N."

It was a reverse big bang: Everything dissolved into nothingness in a blink.

"And I've been fucking up for a month now."

He smelled like alcohol and sex and awful, awful regret.

"I understand if you want me to leave." He couldn't look you in the eyes. "I'll pack my bags this very second."

You couldn't tell if you felt hot or cold as you opened the door wider, letting him step inside. You couldn't feel anything in your body at all, even as tears gathered in your eyes. You could feel them, heartbroken and distressed things that they were.

He slept on the couch.

You laid awake all night, alone in your bedroom.

"Maybe you should give him a second chance," commented Wonwoo, who loved you and Soonyoung equally. He nudged you to take a bite of the waffle in front of you. "What he did was wrong, entirely and unequivocally, but you two have always just been so good together."

You pictured your first date, when you had gone to an escape room. Stuck with a group of elementary schoolers and disinterested mothers, it'd fallen to the two of you to escape. Yelling at each other, laughing when you made breakthroughs, you'd made it out in record team. As you unlocked the final door, Soonyoung had grinned at you so triumphantly; you had hugged him so tightly.

You and me — we're a pretty epic team.

"Each of you is impressive, just by yourself," mused Wonwoo. "But together... You're like superheroes from books. Maybe I'm superimposing my poetic understanding of you onto your real-life relationship, but... but you two are always happiest when you're holding onto each other." He took a sip of his coffee, eyes sad and thoughtful. "I truly don't want you to lose that."

Soonyoung spent the day sitting on the floor.

He didn't deserve the kitchen bar, where you had spent so many mornings together, sharing cereal or doing dishes together.

He didn't deserve the living room, where you had watched so many movie nights with him and your friends.

He certainly didn't deserve the bedroom, which he hadn't been inside since yesterday morning.

So he took a seat on the floor, eyes empty, keeping watch of the door you'd slipped out of this morning.

As you'd left, you'd taken the best parts of his heart with you.

"Dump him," spat Jihoon, who loved Soonyoung more than you. There was a fire in his eyes as he glared at his burger. "Always dump cheaters, especially when they're people that know — fucking know — better."

In college, the arts program had had five premier students, all from the same year: The composing genius Woozi, the gorgeous actor Jun, the playwright-brilliant Wonwoo, the passionate, golden dancer Hoshi, and the equally golden Y/N. They had all drifted into each other's lives, taken root together, and made the art program something damn special. So much so that when they graduated, the local paper had written a piece on them: "The five students who changed everything... Embodying their school's values of creativity, passion, and integrity..."

Integrity.

For his strong assertations, Jihoon looked devastated.

"How could he do that?" he whispered.

Hands pulling at his hair, Soonyoung cursed alcohol for the millionth time. If not for being drunk the first time, he might not have kissed the girl at the bar, might not have followed her home once — and not all those other times...

No.

Needing to punish himself, he pinched his forearm forcefully and hissed at the pain. With no little fat as a buffer, it stung. Good.

He had cheated on you.

He had cheated on you.

And he had cheated on you fully aware of what he was doing.

His fingers wandered to the hickey right above his collarbone, given by a cheap mouth in a cheap bar on a cheap person.

He didn't deserve you.

But, dammit, his mind kept racing back to ways he could try to make it up to you.

"You've decided what you're going to do, haven't you?" asked Jun, who would claim he loved you and Soonyoung equally but always favored you.

You buried your face against his shoulder, watching your unshed tears rub against his shirt.

"I have." You knew you were about to start sobbing, but you still forced the words out. "I'm giving him a second chance."

With those heavy words in the air, you let out a wet sob. "Junnie, I'm giving him that second chance."

"I fully, entirely, one hundred percent support you." Jun ran a comforting hand along your shoulders. "Just, you know, as your best friend... Gotta remind you that you're not obligated to or anything." His voice grew softer as he added: "Cheaters don't deserve second chances, college love story or not."

"I know," you gasped.

"Even if they're Soonyoung."

You sniffled. "I know, Junnie."

When you came home, you decided to knock on the door; it would be Soonyoung's choice to face you or not.

(Even though you knew he would open it.)

To your surprise, it took him a minute. You could almost picture the self-loathing on his face.

(Damn, it had been knives in the heart to see his broken expression last night. Even though it had hurt almost as much to know why.)

"Y/N," his raspy voice greeted you. "I—"

You raised your eyebrows, cringing inside due because you knew your eyes must look like hard, distant things.

He faltered, opened the door, and swept his hand through his hair: The picture of discomfort.

"First, dinner," you announced, walking straight to the kitchen bar and setting down the takeout bag.

The entire meal was silent.

But, neither of you bolted.

Neither of you looked at each other.

You just separately braced yourself.

Because, last night, Soonyoung had essentially turned himself in.

He had given the verdict of your relationship... to you.

To you alone.

Just glancing at him, you could see his nervousness.

Thus, the second you had thrown the bag into the trash, you took a deep breath and asked.

"Do you want us to stay together?"

You wanted to know because, even as in the wrong as he was, he had come clean and saved you the heartache of discovering his disloyalty yourself.

"I do," he replied slowly, voice soft and full of a thousand, regret-tinged, apology-filled emotions. 

A minute of silence passed before he met your eyes for the first time that day.

"Do you?" he asked.

His eyes were mostly terrified and desolate, but you could see that glimmer of hard hope, the hope that had no reason to exist besides sheer audacity.

"I do, too," you told him.

At this, Soonyoung audibly sucked in a breath, eyes squeezing shut. His mouth trembled as he looked like he was preparing to speak.

You spoke first.

"What you did was wrong," you said firmly. "And I know that if Jun or Jihoon or Wonwoo were in my position, I would be very, very angry for them. But it's only me in this position. And I'm very sad, but I'm not angry."

At this, Soonyoung looked ready to fight you.

You knew him too well; you knew how much rage he must be feeling toward himself.

You knew he probably wanted you to hate him.

Guilt was an ugly, ugly emotion.

"I'm not angry," you repeated. "And I love you and know you well enough that I would like to think that, that you would give a second chance at our relationship your everything."

You looked at him, hoping that your eyes could convey everything in your heart:

Asking him to prove you right.

Asking him to love you, too.

Asking him to be a better person for you, for himself.

Telling him that you were only giving him the chance you knew he would offer you if you traded positions.

Telling him that you hadn't forgiven him, but that it wouldn't be impossible to.

"Soonyoung." You swallowed and took the deepest breath you could muster. "If I tell you that I love you — right this second — and if I ask you to promise me it won't happen again, what would you do?"

Everything in you — your heart, your mind, your body — was shaking as you waited for his answer.

He wet his lips and shakily replied: "I would get on my knees and tell you that I am so, so sorry. That I don't deserve your love or deserve the love I feel for you."

The broken hope in his eyes seemed to have grown into something better with your words. Moving to kneel on the floor, he looked up at you with an expression of pure guilt and pure hope and pure sincerity.

"I would tell you that I would do absolutely anything to even have the chance to make it up to you."

You exhaled a rattly breath and gently took his hands in yours.

"Okay," you murmured.

Wonder took over his expression.

"Okay?" he repeated.

"I'm giving you a second chance, Soonyoung."

You pulled him into a standing position.

"I don't deserve it, Y/N; I don't deserve you."

Not many people would kneel on the floor to apologize.

"I know, but I think that makes you much closer to deserving it than you think."

You could feel his hands shaking slightly.

"How can I even start making this up to you?" he asked. "How can I even start deserving you again?"

"I'm not really sure." Something relieved and hopeful awoke in your chest: You truly believed he would go to the ends of the earth if it meant making it up to you. "I think we're going to have to figure this out together."

"How about, as the first thing, I'm never going to drink without you ever again."

His eyes bore into yours, still looking full of wonder, but also full of resolute promises.

"That's a good start," you replied, squeezing his hands in yours.

"Can I hug you?" he asked, voice unsure.

You pulled him down to you, wrapping your arms around his familiar frame. It was full of warmth, and it was almost terrifying how you melted into each other, as though the past conversation was just a bad dream. (It wasn't just a dream, but maybe it also wasn't just bad.)

"This is a good second step."

[argent-vulpine]

Play Stupid Games...

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Rating: G

Characters: Sylvain/F!Byleth

Read it on AO3

He’d gone to bed alone for once, ignoring Felix’s dour stare and slipping into his room, decidedly not slamming his door behind him. Sylvain could admit to himself – and only to himself, in the privacy of his own room – that he’d messed up with the professor. And he’d messed up badly.

This was worse than the first time the professor had caught him mid-break-up with a town girl. At least then he’d only made a fool of himself by blatantly flirting with her, meaningless as it may have been. She was more than nice to look at, he had to admit, and it was worth a shot even if he knew it would go nowhere.

This, though… this was just… bad.

His mask had slipped. It was difficult to keep it up, but it was even harder to do around the professor. Something about her made him want to relax, and in that moment of honesty… he’d panicked.

Sylvain strongly doubted that she took it as a joke, even if he’d claimed it was. They both knew he’d been serious.

Groaning, he put his head in his hands and flopped on the bed.

He didn’t bother to get up or uncover his face when he heard the door crack open; there was only one person awake at this hour who would even bother.

“You’re an idiot, I hope you know that. Pull yourself together.”

Sylvain peeked through his fingers in time to see a dark head of hair turning away, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Shit. Had Felix overheard his conversation with the professor? That was doubly bad.

Sure, he was jealous of the professor. Growing up as a mercenary, protected by the Blade Breaker, living life away from the church and nobility – all while having one of the most powerful Crests in existence! – and not having to worry about the sheer politics involved with it… she was lucky. And he was jealous of that luck.

Jealous because the Crest system had made his brother despise him. It had ended with him having to kill his own kin. It meant growing up being told how he had to choose wisely in order to pass on the Crest to a worthy heir.

And… a part of him really did mean it when he’d said he would make her pay. Collect on that debt. But another part…

Another part was calling him worse names than Felix ever did, because despite himself, he liked the professor. He admired her, even. Sylvain flopped onto his side, staring at the wall and really thinking about what he’d said, what he’d done… why he cared.

The professor had a solid tactical mind. Her refusal to use the Sword of the Creator unless absolutely necessarily was beyond admirable; she refused to rely on her Crest or the (dubious) perks that came with it. Her swordsmanship was excellent – he’d heard Felix attest to that on numerous occasions – and even her magic was solid, though he doubted she’d ever be – or want to be – as proficient as, say, Lysithea or Annette or even Dorothea.

She liked tea, played board games, was an overall amazing instructor, even so far as going out of her way to learning other styles of combat in order to better teach her own students. She didn’t mind going out of her way to returning lost items to her students; even Sylvain had found himself the recipient of such treatment, though he had to wonder, sometimes, how she’d known when an item was his.

And lately, he’d gotten better at reading her micro-expressions. Maybe it was because of being friends with Felix; you just had to learn to read the subtext, but with her, it wasn’t so much what she didn’t say, it was her eyes, the subtlest quirk of her lips when she smiled, the slightest tightening that was her frown.

Sylvain had come to value her smiles, rare as they might be, and today all he’d done was earn not just that frown, but a disapproving stare, and the narrowing of her eyes that he knew meant trouble.

He grabbed his pillow and pressed it against his face, releasing another long groan of annoyance with himself.

And the worst part was… he knew he wasn’t going to be able to suck it up and apologize. He’d just have to continue the charade he’d started.

No one could possibly have predicted the events that happened next.

In the wake of Jeralt’s death, the professor’s quest for revenge against Monica – or Kronya or whatever her name really was – and the girl’s sacrifice by Solon, sealing the professor in darkness only for her to cut through the sky and step out a changed woman (literally), there was no time to really apologize even if he hadn’t been so bent on sucking it up and playing the philandering asshole he’d been for so long already.

Then had come the disaster in the mausoleum, Edelgard’s betrayal, and… war.

He found himself at the professor’s door two days before the Imperial troops were set to arrive, a board game tucked under one arm and a pouch of tea in hand. Sylvain drew a breath, wondering to himself why he was even here, and knocked.

The door opened a crack, then widened when she saw who it was. “Hello Sylvain. Is something wrong?”

“Ah… no, Professor, not… not exactly. Are you free? I brought tea,” he said, lifting the pouch, “and a game.”

Her vibrant green eyes (he was still getting used to those) flickered down to see the game tucked under his arm. “Sure,” she finally said, opening the door fully and stepping aside to let him in. Her room was less than immaculate, which was a bit of a shock. Papers were strewn about the desk, map figures knocked over or placed haphazardly.

It was in complete disarray, and he knew he was right to come, despite his own misgivings. Was she nervous? It was almost too unreal to believe.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing at the little table in the corner. At her nod, he set the game on it and moved the entire thing to the middle of the room, somewhere between her bed and her desk, giving her the option of where to sit.

She’d already pulled out her tea set, setting out cups and saucers on the table once he’d put it into position. The professor even pulled out a small box of shortbreads she must have had tucked away, adding that to the growing collection of items on the little table.

Sylvain poured water from a pitcher into a kettle, heating it with a touch of magic before pouring hot water and tea into the teapot to steep.

The professor had chosen… the desk chair, to his surprise, which left him the only other seat available in the room: her bed. He swallowed a lump in his throat and settled down onto it, angling himself so that his long legs wouldn’t disturb the table between them.

The door, of course, remained open. No doubt a requirement by Seteth, but Sylvain was glad for it for once.

They set up the game in silence while the tea steeped, the professor arranging the board just so. Nervous fidgeting, he guessed, watching her tweak the board into position. He let the silence drag on for a while longer, carefully setting the pieces up.

Perhaps King’s Table wasn’t the best choice of games, all things considered, but he liked games of strategy, and the professor seemed to enjoy them as well. And this way, she could still strategize and hopefully relax a little all the same.

Why do you care? came the voice inside his head. He didn’t have an answer to that.

“King or attackers?” he said instead, gesturing to the board once it was set up.

“Attackers,” was the prompt reply. Sylvain was surprised, actually; she usually took up the more defensive position of the king. But he nodded and settled in for the game, pouring the tea for the both of them when it was ready.

They stuck to lighter topics, for the most part. Places they’d visited or wanted to, sweets they enjoyed, jokes they’d overheard. The professor’s sense of humor had surprised him, once, having been convinced she didn’t have one at all. The fact that it was somewhere between dry and bawdy had frankly been the most startling to him, but once he considered her mercenary background, it made a lot more sense.

She was relaying a tale from her days with her father’s mercenary band when she suddenly stopped, shooting him a puzzled look, her brows furrowing rather adorably. “Sylvain, are you okay?”

He blinked, then flushed when he realized he’d been staring. “Ah, yeah, sorry… you were saying about the horse?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if gauging him, before she launched back into the tale, pausing only briefly to move one of her pieces on the board.

He glanced down as she finished her story, too shocked to register its end, though he knew it was amusing. He would have laughed, even, had he not seen that her finger rested on top of the king piece. When she knew she had his attention, she very carefully knocked it over.

He’d been surrounded and hadn’t even noticed.

“Sylvain, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I need your head in the game. I… I’m counting on you.”

He dragged his eyes back up to hers, clearly shocked at the admission. “Why?” She tilted her head, questioning. “Why me? I’ve done nothing but antagonize you all this time. Why would you count on me for… anything?”

The professor began to straighten the board, putting the pieces back into their starting positions, while she considered his question. After what seemed like an agonizing amount of time – though he knew it was only a few seconds – she spoke. “You try to hide it from the others behind this façade of yours, playing the fool, but every time we have tea, you play board games with me. Not easy games, either; you always bring something that requires serious thought, strategy, technique. You’ve even beaten me on numerous occasions.”

She toyed with her teacup, her thumb stroking along the handle absently as she thought of what to say next. “You – despite all your efforts to show otherwise – are one of the best tactical minds I have available. I think the only person who beats you, really, is Claude, and that’s just from how willing he is to play dirty.” A pause and then she sighed. “Okay, maybe Yuri as well, but for the same reasons. The point is, Sylvain, I need you. I need you to have your head on right for what’s to come, because I’m counting on you.”

The professor stood then, pacing around the little space in the back of her room. “Yuri has his orders; he’s preparing escape routes in Abyss for us, just in case we need them.” That drew a frown from Sylvain; it was the first he’d heard of that kind of contingency which meant…

“And Claude’s schemes can only get us so far.” She was worried. More worried than he’d thought.

“Professor…” She stopped her pacing and turned to face him. “I get it. I really do.” He gestured at the seat across from him. “Your tea is getting cold. We’ve got time for another round, don’t you think? Attack again. I think I know where I went wrong.”

This time, he paid more careful attention, knowing that this was, in a sense, another way for her to impart a lesson on him. She’d chosen to be the attacker for a reason, and he’d realized that too late.

She was counting on him to keep their people safe when Edelgard’s army attacked.

The thought sank into his gut, leaving him with a feeling of unease for the battle to come.

“Sylvain, find Claude! He knows the way to Yuri. Get everyone to safety!” It was the last thing the professor had said to him before she’d run off, sleeves flapping in the wind, sword glinting in the light as she cut down foe after foe, headed toward something that shouldn’t have been possible.

He did as she’d asked, herding his classmates, his friends, after Claude, lingering just long enough to see her fall. His heart clenched, a pang of grief he hadn’t expected, but he tamped it down. She was counting on him, after all, and he would not let her down.

[blahblahwritings]

Contracts and Captains. - IV

A/N: Remember how I posted something before one of my other fics saying that I had been consistently updating for weeks? Neither do I lmao who was she? Don’t know her anyway heres the fourth chapter of this black sails fic.

Words: 1823. Honestly I’ve been writing this since about 12pm I don’t know how its so short and its probably shit bc I haven’t written anything in months.

Warnings: Mentions of vomit as per the last chapter. Think thats it lmao. See you in three months.

As your eyes opened, there were a blissful couple of seconds where the previous night’s encounter didn’t exist in your memory. But, just like the sun flooding the room, unwanted flashes of vomit and slurred words rose like a tidal wave in your minds eye. You rolled over, burying your face and groaning into the pillow out of sheer embarrassment as a dull throbbing started in the depths of your skull. 

Why did you keep drinking? You could’ve simply had one or two before retiring for the night and you wouldn’t have met that boatswain or thrown up on your own boots. What was his name again? Ben? Boyd? No, they weren’t quite right. Either way you made a mental note to apologise again whenever you next saw him. 

Slowly, you tugged your still clothed limbs from the thin sheets, trying not to jostle your stomach too much for fear of whatever was left in there making an unwelcome appearance. Your pants were scuffed from where you took a tumble outside the tavern, your shirt was half undone, probably from a failed attempt to undress before not-so-gracefully falling into bed. A single boot was thrown on the floor alongside your coat, the other still stuck on your foot. What a mess. 

A hot bath, that's what you needed, and a hearty breakfast if your insides don’t bring it back up. Pulling on the other boot, you made your way to one of the girls working downstairs, trading her coin to fill the tub in your room. You must’ve looked rough as you passed her to get to the man at the bar because when he turned to look at you, his brows shot up, disappearing behind his hair. 

“You look like you could use a little hair of the dog, love.” He chuckled, eyes scanning your disheveled form. A grimace was your immediate response. “Some food then.” He offered, filling a bowl with something that you didn’t stop to look at as you practically inhaled it. The man watched you with a knowing smirk and had you not felt so terrible you’d have spat out a snarky comment. You chose to gulp down your water instead.

“Thank you.” You huffed with a small nod, tossing some money on the counter before you headed back upstairs. The state you were in just added to this morning's growing list of regrets but you weren’t quite sure if you cared how you looked to anyone else right now. All that was on your mind was a piercing headache and a good soak.

Stripping off, you stepped into the water, sinking down slowly as your body got used to the heat. Finally, with a heavy sigh, you rested your head on the back of the tub, your aching muscles beginning to relax. Scented oils and soaps were left on a stand by the bath. Working a generous amount between your palms, you massaged your limbs and torso getting rid of any tension and purging the memories of last night’s… festivities. In the quiet of your room, you took a moment to trace the small scars that littered your form, fingers landing at last on the freshly healed knife wound from only a few weeks ago. The soft pink flesh was still tender, and if you moved the wrong way it would ache. It was dangerous to be alone on this island, in this line of work. You needed friends, not just contacts. A crew, perhaps. 

Letting your mind wander, you thought about your new found place among Flint’s men. You had to keep bringing in leads to be of any value to him, lest you risk being tossed aside and left in the dirt. He and his crew were among the most revered on the island, therefore cementing your part in that would bring security. It would ensure that other crews would leave you alone, as you were important to someone they feared and the consequences of harming you could be severe. 

Then again, there was a little more than security on your list of perks as you thought more about the taller man from last night. He was kind to you, not that the others weren’t having bought your drinks and all, but, he made sure you were safe and fed. Billy Bones. You recalled. Replaying the meeting in your head, you winced at the slurred introduction and the puking soon after. Why did you care about how he saw you? Was it because he was the crew’s boatswain or because he was handsome and softer than most pirates you’d met. 

Catching that last thought, you shook it from your head, refusing to let it take root in your brain. Attachments like that are a weakness here and you cannot afford to have those. You’d only met the guy once and he probably didn’t want anything to do with you anyway, especially after that drunken show you gave him. Cupping a handful of water, you splashed your face, scrubbing any further thoughts of the man from your head, instead, choosing to focus on finding a new lead for Flint. 

They would be leaving to chase down the details you gave him yesterday in a couple of days, if not sooner, which meant you probably had around two weeks to find something of substance upon their return. You’d struggled last time but after sending out letters to old friends in neighbouring ports, you were hopeful something would turn up. 

Padding your way to the dresser, you pulled out some fresh clothes and got ready, feeling much better than you did even an hour before. The food had settled your stomach and the water you guzzled seemed to bring some life back into your face as when you left to go hunt down some work, the barman from earlier spouted something along the lines of ‘A whole other woman’ when you walked by.

---

An uneventful morning led to an uneventful afternoon. There were no new letters or leads and the streets were pleasantly calm compared to usual. You certainly weren’t complaining, you had been feeling better since this morning but your body was still recovering. The easy day was probably just what you needed. You were sat on the beach, sipping some water and watching passersby as you sketched in the journal you kept.

It was something you’d taken to keeping since arriving in Nassau just over two years ago. A small leather book to help keep track of potential jobs and record anything interesting that happened. Really, though, you just loved to draw. You’d already filled a couple just like it with sketches of people, ships and landscapes that caught your eye, often accompanied by your messy scrawl. You were just about satisfied with your latest addition when Mr Gates clapped you on the shoulder making you jump and slam the journal closed. You’d never shown anyone the contents before. 

“Sorry, Miss Devereux, didn’t mean to startle you.” He began, chuckling lightly at your reaction. “I heard you and the lads had quite the night..” He moved to stand by you as you got to your feet, dusting the sand from your pants. Tucking away the book, an amused smirk finds its way to your face as you look at him. 

“Depends on who you ask.” You replied. “How were they this morning? Feeling sorry for themselves?” Your brows raised in question as you both started aimlessly wandering along the shore. A snort met your ears as his head fell forwards, looking at the ground then back at you. “I didn’t see the majority of them until at least noon and they were still in a sorry state, although I wonder how you must’ve been. I heard that you hurled your guts up right after meeting our boatswain.” Gates mused, eyes crinkling as he watched your entire face turn a lovely shade of red. You tried to keep your cool but your expression faltered into one of sheer embarrassment. Apparently, this was hilarious as Mr Gates exploded into a fit of hearty laughter, and as much as you told him to stop you couldn’t help but have a good chuckle yourself as you covered your face with a half-sandy palm at the thought.

When you both regain your composure, he gives you a reassuring pat on the back.

“Don’t worry, the only people who know are Billy and myself, the men still think you can hold your drink.” He winked. You made a move to argue that you could in fact hold your drink but he began talking about the plan to set sail the day after tomorrow. You listened intently and explained that you were awaiting correspondence from friends in other ports to supply more promising leads upon their return. 

---

It had been four days since the crew left in search of another haul using your most recent information. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, you’d made some money here and there through smaller jobs and pickpocketing but overall, there was nothing of real interest. You spent the days reading anything you could get your hands on or drawing and you’d even had your eye on some paints in one of the markets, but all you could do was wait. Checking for mail at the front desk of the inn you were staying at every morning had become a routine, desperate for any work or ships that you could relay to Flint. It was on the fifth day that you had gotten a response from someone in Port Royal.

As you read over the letter for the third time, you could feel your eyes widen in disbelief, your heart hammered in your chest and you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. This was far too good to be true. Surely this was a myth. A prize of this magnitude was simply unheard of. Your eyes scanned over the paper again, barely able to focus on the words because your hands were trembling so violently. Calm down. You told yourself. It can’t be the truth. You thought as you stared at the other envelope that had arrived alongside it. At the bottom of the letter it read:

“P.S

Should you doubt my information, I sent you the correspondence shared between the dead man and the merchant with evidence pertaining to this gold. Best not ask how it came into my possession.

Your dear friend,

Josiah.”

You ran to shut the windows to your room and close the drapes. If anyone found out you had this information and the evidence to go with it, you would surely be killed for it. Tearing open the paper, you unfolded its contents. It was all here. The initials of the merchant, R.P., details alluding to the existence of this gold and the name of the dead man involved in plotting the course it would be on. 

Vasquez.