#there have been multiple recent incidents like this

[rainwalker-dragonblade29]

I started reading puzzle house, and I noticed something. There seems to be an age mismatch... In S6, soren looks about 6 ish. Claudia about 4... in the flashback that Lissa leaves. Which is preceded by kppar's disappearance. Soren is shown that young when Viren saved him. (Image credits : @raayllum and @stuck-in-jelly ) look how young soren is! Abd claudia is teeny weeny!

BUT IN PUZZLE HOUSE.... there's a scene between King Atticus (What a lovely man) and Viren.... he asks Viren how he is doing out of genuine concern!

(Pardon the picture quality my camera is not so great)

THE FOLOW UP OF THE SAME INCIDENT THAT IS IN VIREN'S FLASHBACKS!!!! BUT SOREN LOOKS ABOUT 10ISH AND CLAUDIA ABOUT 8ISH!

Now it is very much possible that the puzzle house happens very much later. Like after a time skip.

Also to note: claudia was given kppar's spellbook. Tge kids had been to his house multiple times atleast to mention "he never let us entertained his tower". Also Atticus asks the question as if it all happened fairly recently. Means tge flashback of s6 happened pretty close to the time of puzzle house no? But soren and claudia look older to me...

Wouldn't it make more sense if soren and claudia were a little older than how they are shown in s6 flashbacks to have known kppar! If soren is saved at an older age it would still work.

I don't know if it was a mismatch between the two departments handling the production of the season and the graphic novel. But their ages don't line up... like if all of those flashbacks of s6 happened with a little older claudia and soren, they would remember that incident much more strongly, and that is fitting for character!

I see three possibilities...

A) This is truly a mistake and there was a mismatch between the teams that made the season and the novel.

B) This is deliberate! They showed the flashbacks through Viren's POV. And maybe its the "to parents their children are always young" or this is just how he is seeing them in the memory of that incident now. Memories become distorted over time... we don't remember details and when we recall, we fill their place with details of how we felt that incident to be like, which is sometimes not what it actually was.... Viren's guilt makes him look at himself like the terrible man who hurt his two innocent children. And what better way to make a child look innocent than to literally age them down! Look at this image of claudia from one of the short stories... here she looks about her puzzle house age, seeing Lissa leave.

So it is true that the puzzle house ages are reality and the flashback ages are Viren's projections of his children as how innocent they were when he hurt their family. I AM ONTO SOMETHING HERE, I REALLY WANT THIS TO BE TRUE!

C) I could be wrong at judging character ages too (in that case it would be a bummer cuz what sort of animation student am I then?)

But what do you guys think? I am leaning towards the ages being shown that way is deliberate...

[shiveringsoldier]

caller: I want the phone number for [institution]

me: Okay, I can give you their number

caller: Oh, I see. You’re going to do everything but help me. I don’t want to be routed to another place, I want information from you

[mrderbird]

it's still funny and completely, grotesquely off-base when people compare griffith to homelander but i do think it would be hot if griffith was really that nuts

[gootarts]

as of 8/3, the most recently updated version of this post is here (it's a reblog of this exact post with more info added)

as a lot of you know, limbus company recently fired its CG illustrator for being a feminist, at 11 pm, via phone call, after a bunch of misogynists walked into the office earlier that day and demanded she be fired. on top of this, as per korean fans, her firing went against labor laws---in korea, you must have your dismissal in writing.

the korean fandom on twitter is, understandably, going scorched earth on project moon due to this. there's a lot currently going on to protest the decision, so i'm posting a list here of what's going on for those who want to limit their time on elon musk's $44 billion midlife crisis impulse purchase website (if you are on twitter, domuk is a good person to follow, as they translate important updates to english). a lot of the links are in korean, but generally they play nicely with machine translators. this should be current as of 8/2.

Statements condemning the decision have been issued by The Gyeonggi Youth Union and IT Union.

A press conference at the Gyeonggido Assembly will occur on 8/3, with lawmakers of the Gyeonggi province (where Project Moon is based) in attendance. This appears driven by the leader of the Gyeonggi Youth Union.

The vice chairman of the IT union--who has a good amount of experience with labor negotiations like these--has expressed strong support for the artist and is working to get media coverage due to the ongoing feminist witch hunts in the gaming industry. Project Moon isn't union to my knowledge, but he's noted that he's taken on nonunion companies such as Netmarble (largest mobile game dev in South Korea) by getting the issue in front of the National Assembly (Korea's congress).

Articles on the incident published in The Daily Labor News, Korean Daily, multiple articles on Hankyoreh (one of which made it to the print edition), and other news outlets.

Segments about the termination on the MBN 7 o' clock news and MBC's morning news

Comments by Youth Union leaders about looking into a loan made to Project Moon via Devsisters Ventures, a venture capital firm. Tax money from Gyeonggi province was invested in Devsisters in 2017, and in 2021, Devsisters gave money to Project Moon. The Gyeonggi Youth Union is asking why hard-earned tax money was indirectly given to a company who violates ESG (environmental, social and governance) principles.

Almost nonstop signage truck protests outside Project Moon's physical office during business hours until 8/22 or the company makes a statement. This occurs alongside a coordinated hashtag campaign to get the issue trending on Twitter in Korea. The signage campaign was crowd-funded in about 3 hours.

A full boycott of the Limbus Company app, on both mobile and PC (steam) platforms. Overseas fans are highly encouraged to participate, regardless if whether they're F2P or not. Not opening the app at all is arguably the biggest thing any one person can do to protest the decision, as the app logs the number of accounts that log on daily. For a new gacha such as Limbus, a high number of F2P daily active users, but a small number of paying users is often preferable to having a smaller userbase but more paying users. If the company sees the number of daily users remain stable, they will likely decide to wait out any backlash rather than apologize.

Digging up verified reviews from previous employees regarding the company's poor management practices

Due to the firing, the Leviathan artist has posted about poor working conditions when making the story. As per a bilingual speaker, they were working on a storyboard revision, and thought 'if I ran into the street right now and got hit by a car and died, I wouldn't have to keep working.' They contacted Project Moon because they didn't want their work to be like that, and proposed changes to serialization/reduction in amount of work per picture/to build up a buffer of finished images (they did not have any buffer while working on Leviathan to my knowledge). They were shut out, and had to suck it up and accept the situation.

Hamhampangpang has a 'shrine' section of the restaurant for fans to leave fan-created merch and other items. They also allow the fans to take this merch back if they can prove it's theirs. Fans are now doing just that.

To boost all of the above, a large number of Korean fanartists with thousands of followers have deleted their works and/or converted their accounts from fanart accounts to accounts supporting the protests. Many of them are bilingual, and they're where I got the majority of this information.

[note 1: there's a targeted english-language disinformation campaign by the website that started the hate mob. i have read the artist's tweets with machine translation, and they're talked about in the second hankyoreh article linked above: nowhere does she express any transphobic or similarly awful beliefs. likewise, be wary of any claims that she supported anything whose description makes you raise eyebrows--those claims are likely in reference to megalia, a korean feminist movement. for information on that, i'd recommend the NPR/BBC articles below and this google drive link of english-language scholarly papers on them. for the love of god don't get your information about a feminist movement from guys going on witch hunts for feminists.]

[note 2: i've seen a couple people argue that the firing was for the physical safety of the employees, citing the kyoani incident in japan. as per this korean fan, most fans there strongly do not believe this was the case. we have english-translated transcripts of the meeting between the mob and project moon; the threats the mob was making were to......brand project moon as a feminist company online. yes, really. male korean gamers aren't normal about feminism, and there's been an ongoing witch hunt for feminists in the industry since about 2016, something you see noted in both the labor union statements. both NPR and the BBC this phenomenon to gamergate, and i'd say it's a pretty apt comparison.]

let me know if anything needs correction or if anything should be added.

[exploding-car-hammer]

now that i've spammed and am for sure getting fucking banned, i will talk about Matt and why what he did is fucking disgusting and horrendous

many transgender individuals have had safe for work selfies and other pictures of themselves taken down or flagged on account of being nsfw. this is blatant transphobia due to multiple reasons

1. tagging something related to transgender individuals as nsfw when it is clearly sfw helps to perpetuate the bigoted myth that being transgender is a fetish or kink

2. by censoring our existence you are actively preventing us from even trying to defend ourselves from bigotry or attempting to correct stereotypes or harmful misinformation

recently the incidents have crossed the boundary even farther than usual with the banning of predstrogen. she had the thing described above happen to her because it had been mass reported by terfs and other transphobic individuals. after having the photo taken down she made a joke about wishing the ceo of tumblr @photomatt (im for some reason not allowed to tag him anymore) wash in a car crash involving explosions and hammers. he took this joke seriously and decided to do 2 things

1. ban her because he couldn't take a joke amd he couldn't handle having his transphobia called out

2. threatened to call the fbi on her because he couldn't take a joke and couldn't handle being called out

now i don't know if you know this but organizations like the fbi don't particularly have a great history with minorities. so calling them is basically equivalent to Matt walking up to her and shooting her in the face. if the fbi was called it wouldn't be a raid or a peaceful capture, it would be an execution.

and now we move on to what is currently happening. multiple users have been banned for joking about the situation or discussing it and he's attempting to hide evidence of his actions while also lying about what happened. his defensive statements only make him look worse because of his lies and other reasons such as referring to pred as "it" (according to her bio pred uses she/him). this is extreme transphobia and it needs to be pointed out, called out, and discussed. if these things happen we could hopefully see Matt pay for his actions (there's a legitimate legal case against him btw just pointing that out).

anyways im going to be posting this to my cohost and tranfem social accounts because im probably getting banned and i would like what i said here to be preserved.

don't be quiet.

your voice is important in this situation

[glitterstew]

Warning post for Kallulily

This is a warning post for @/kallulily regarding an incident she was in that happened in January of this year. This is being brought up right now because Kallulily is modding for the Kirby Gijinka Rainbow Zine (as Mod Paintra), a large event in the Kirby community. As this incident happened on Twitter/X it’s not well known here and many continue to support Kallulily without knowing her morals or actions.

Trigger warnings for grooming, abuse, and mentions of NSFW, rape, feral, and incest content in certain links

The incident concerns Kallulily’s friend @/splitser on tumblr and @/splitsterart on twitter (known as “Mod”) being called out for grooming someone starting when the victim was 15 and they were 19-20. A callout was made for this. There were two docs made, both shown in the X link below, with one being explicit, and one being a censored version. Warning for mentions or explicit screenshots of NSFW, rape, feral, incest content being exposed to minors, depending on the document https://x.com/RustyDoodleBot/status/1749553958920577093

Mod would later put out a response to this callout. Despite claiming they don’t condone their own behavior, they gave the excuse of the minor “insisted on seeing [Mod’s] NSFW material”, dismissing their own blame from their inappropriate actions towards minors. 

In the document they portrayed the victim, named Hoco, as the one who made THEM uncomfortable, despite Mod being the adult in the relationship who accepted/continued/sometimes even initiated the advances. Mod ultimately held more power in their dynamic, they could have cut the relationship at any moment before it got sexual. https://x.com/splitsterart/status/1749929155251102148?t=UVpJv9IJPTNiEwVoH-Gv3w

At the same time, Kallulily put out a statement defending her friend. This statement once again blamed the victim, insinuating the victim only came forward with the grooming allegations as an act of revenge (yes, the victim who had been groomed by her friend). Taking it as far as stating that the victim was a greater threat to minors than the groomer ever was.

Kallulily would later delete this statement. These screenshots were saved by another user, and are taken from here: https://x.com/Kaizilero/status/1750261445080883671

Along with this, Kallulily & Mod claimed Hoco knew and enabled a minor to distribute NSFW commissions. This has been cleared up by both the minor and Hoco. It’s important to mention how much making a claim like this can hurt someone’s reputation. https://x.com/RustyDoodleBot/status/1749962678406177246

In no situation is it ever ok to blame or portray a grooming victim as evil for coming out about their abuse. Despite Kallulily claiming she holds her friend accountable, she still brings the victim's reputation down to elevate her friend’s actions. Note that Mod was inappropriate to multiple minors, at least 3, meaning Kallulily and Mod’s argument of this happening because of Hoco’s behavior is null. As Mod has been inactive on all of their accounts since their callout, they are not the focal point of this post. However, other affected minors were recently contacted and new screenshots with both confirmation via memory and hard proof with screenshots of past NSFW conversations and art were given, with permission to share. DM this account for those screenshots if the extra confirmation is necessary.

Kallulily claims her friend has changed, but change isn’t trying to shift the blame onto a minor for starting NSFW conversation. Change isn’t trying to bring down a victim to make yourself and your friends look less bad. The overreaching defenses only come across as a defense of grooming itself.

Regardless of if Hoco did something bad too, it doesn’t take away from Mod’s abuse of them. Both Kallulily and Mod never apologized for claiming Hoco was at fault for being groomed in some way, which is the reason why this post is being made for awareness.

Please do not harass Kallulily, Mod, the Kirby Gijinka Rainbow Zine, or anyone else involved. This post is only to spread awareness.

[minniesmutt]

☾ ━━━━━━ 𝐢 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮

☾ ━━━ PAIRING: HAN X READER ☾ ━━━ CONTENT: GHOST!HAN, MEDIUM!READER, MASTURBATION, SEX TOYS, PERV!HAN, EXHIBITIONISM (?), POSSESSION, PENETRATION, UNPROTECTED SEX (?), MULTIPLE ROUNDS (2), MULTIPLE ORGASMS, DOM!JISUNG, PET NAMES (BABY, BABE). THE WORD “PERVERT” IS JOKINGLY THROWN AROUND, LMK IF I MISSED SOMETHING! ☾ ━━━ WC: 1.8K ☾ ━━━ repost from old blog ☾ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

     The moment Y/n stepped into the apartment to tour it, she knew there was something in there. The relator did disclose someone had recently died in the apartment —which explained the lowered price compared to most units in the building. And she’d have to be crazy to not take that deal.

     A month after moving in, is when she actually noticed it. She’d always been more sensitive to the dead, seeing ghosts and the like. Never really interacted until now. 

     It was a long day after work. She was sitting on the couch watching one of her shows, trying to destress. Then she saw him. At first, she felt his presence and turned to him. The ghost had zero clue she had actually seen him. 

     “You know I can see you, right?” she asked him

     He blinked and took a moment to realize she was talking to him. 

     “Me?” he asked, pointing to himself 

     “Is there another ghost here I don’t know about?” 

     It was a very weird friendship from that point on. It was like having a pet. Jisung was always there, never left, a good companion. He just wasn’t as expensive as a pet. Oddly, he became one of her best friends and she told everything to him. And who was he going to tell?

     “What’s one thing you miss about living?” Y/n asked him one night as they were watching an anime he suggested.

     “Besides coffee and food; sex,” Jisung admitted 

     “Really?”

     “Yeah. Speaking of sex, you’re loud.”

     “Do you listen to me masturbating?” Y/n looked at him

     “Not by choice? I haunt this small one bedroom one bath unit. It’s hard not to hear,” Jisung defended himself. 

     “Perv,” Y/n joked and threw a pillow at him, just for it to go through him. 

     Jisung was very good at being able to take energy to take somewhat of a physical form. He was able to sit on the couch and chairs and pick up small items. Still was able to walk through basically everything and stuff mostly phased through him. Helped a bit that Y/n was a natural medium so he could pull from her to stabilize himself in the land of the living. 

     “Me?! I’ve seen some of the guys you’ve brought home! They are into some weird grade-A pervert things.”

     “I can’t even defend them because you’re right,” Y/n sighed, “They all suck in bed anyways.”

     “I know. Need I remind you of last weekend?”

     “No.” Y/n flushed, remembering when the guy she invited over in the midst of being just absolutely desperate for an actual cock.

     The guy had left after he finished and didn’t bother helping her get off and he was just an ass the whole time. Jisung watched the guy leave not even an hour later. He locked the apartment door after him before going and checking on her. 

     He didn’t think much of just walking through the wall into her room, only the be met with her fucking herself on a dildo. He should have left after but he definitely didn’t. She didn’t even notice his presence until after she finished.

     “You didn’t need to watch,” Y/n sighed

     “I mean, it was kind of hot,” Jisung shrugged 

     “Perv,” Y/n called him again

     “I can’t even really deny it now.” The two laughed as they switched their topic to the dumbass shit the mc in the anime was doing at the moment. 

     Three in the morning, Y/n was turning in bed, unable to sleep, and thinking about her earlier conversation with her ghost best friend. At the time the incident happened, she was shocked at him but thinking about it late at night, it was kind of hot.

     “Fuck,” Y/n groaned, dipping her hand into her pajama pants and panties. Rubbing circles into her clit slowly. 

     She could feel Jisung close by in the small apartment. Not in the bedroom, but close. Y/n moved down to push a finger into her, eyes shut as she went through rubbing her walls and thrusting her finger in and out. 

     It wasn’t enough though. Even after she added a second finger into her, it wasn’t satisfying. She pulled her fingers out and sat up, grabbing a dildo and lube bottle from her bedside drawer and stripping herself of her pajamas and panties, rubbing lube on the toy before slowly pushing it into her, imagining her ghost roommate instead. 

     Jisung heard a noise coming from her room. At first, he thought nothing but curiosity hit. He stood outside her cracked door. Then he heard his name being moaned from inside. He went into the room and his jaw dropped at the sight. 

     The pretty girl that had moved into his old apartment in the wake of his death, was laying stark naked in his old room fucking herself with a toy, moaning his name. He didn’t know ghosts could get hard until now. 

     His eyes raked all along her body from her pretty cunt to her perky nipples. He was frozen. Not knowing what to do. Should he say something? Would she let him fuck her instead? Could he even fuck her?

     “Please, Ji. Wanna come,” Y/n whined as she pumped the dildo in and out of her. 

     If he could be in any more shock, he would. She was really fucking herself to the thought of him. God he wished he was alive. 

     Y/n sensed him in the room now. She was too wrapped up in her pleasure to look for him. Her legs opened more, slightly hoping he was watching her fuck herself again. The thought alone turned her on more. Suddenly she felt it get colder near her bed before it dipped down at the end. She slowed down and opened her eyes. 

     Jisung was leaning forward on the bed, eyes glued to her cunt. “Keep going baby,” Han told her. 

     Y/n felt shy all of a sudden. Legs closing to his view but he was quick. Pushed her legs open, sitting between them now. Y/n looked at him with wide eyes, no longer even trying to use the dildo. 

     “Don’t get all shy on me baby. Do you need me to help you get off now?” Jisung pushed the dildo into her again, a whine escaping her

     “Please, Ji. Need your help.”

     Her hand fell away as Jisung took over. Using all the energy he had to hold the base and quickly thrust the dildo in and out of her, watching as her hands moved to play with her nipples and head threw back into her pillow. Then he got an idea. 

     He didn’t know if it would work. But if he could phase through walls and sit on the sofa, he could try. 

     He worked the dildo with one hand as he pushed down his sweats. He was glad he did comfy and was going through the afterlife in a hoodie and sweats. His cock sprung free before he pushed the toy deep into her. 

     He took his hand off the toy and pushed himself into it, stopping when he got to his pelvis. Slowly, he pulled out, testing to see if the dildo would come with him. And it did. 

     Jisung smiled as Y/n looked down. Her face went red when she realized he had possessed the dildo. All thoughts left her as he harshly pushed back in, hands holding her hips. Her eyes went wide while Jisung fucked her. 

     His hands were cold on her skin. They left a trail of goosebumps on her skin as they ran up her skin and grabbed her breasts. Nipples hardened more under his phantom touch. 

     Her back arches as the toy hit a particular spot inside her. Legs shaking the longer he fucked her, not losing any stamina. Hips rolling against his before she finally came. Cursing and calling his name as she gripped her sheets. 

     Jisung slowed his pace down to let her come down from her high. He pulled the toy out and his own dick out of it as well while she caught her breath. Jisung looked over the faux cock covered in her juices. He really wished it was his dick instead that was covered. 

     Y/n focused on him staring at the toy. His own cock was still hard between her legs. 

     “Ji,” Y/n called to him. He focused back on her, one hand still on her breasts. 

     “Can I… please let me fuck you babe.” He squeezed her breasts. Y/n moaned before mumbling a “yes” for only him to hear. 

     Jisung wasted no time pushing himself into her again. It was an odd feeling at first. To feel full but not at the same time. Didn’t stop her from feeling him pounding her sensitive hole. 

     Y/n could only imagine just how good he was when he was alive. How she wished they met when he was still breathing. Probably would have saved so much heartbreak and shitty one-night stands. Especially with the way he was talking. 

     “Fuck. Wish I could feel you,” Jisung groaned, leaning over her and groping her breasts. 

     Everything around her was hot but cold at the same time. She was sensitive from the first orgasm on the toy but the odd feeling of Jisung inside her was doing more than she thought it would. 

     One thing she quickly figured out Jisung was a hundred percent a shit-talker during sex when he was alive. Proven by the way he was mumbling about “no one alive is gonna make you feel this good” and the “got you all pretty on my cock, huh? Like having your ghost roommate fuck you silly?”

     Definitely not Casper the Friendly Ghost but he could at least prove his shit talk. He did indeed have her fucked silly at the current moment.

     “Gonna come Ji,” Y/n warned him as her fingers reached between her legs to play with her clit

     “Give it to me baby. Wanna see you come for me,” His eyes watched where he disappeared in her and where she was playing with her clit. 

     Y/n bit her lower lip as she came for a second time that night because of her horny ghost roommate. 

     Jisung didn’t stop until moments later. He was burying himself in her before pulling out. He definitely felt the motions of an orgasm but when he pulled out, nothing followed nor did he feel anything come out. 

     “Damn. No more creampies,” He tsked after a minute once they both came down from their highs. 

     “You poor thing,” Y/n giggled as she sat up on her elbows. 

     “Maybe I should possess your next hook-up,” Jisung joked

     “They’d probably fuck better if you did.”

     Y/n for up on shaky legs to clean up so she could get some sleep. 

     “It wasn’t weird? Fucking a ghost?” Jisung asked once she came back to her room and tossed her pajamas back on. 

     “Kinda. But in a good way,” Y/n answered as she lay down under her covers

     “I wish I was still alive,” Jisung sighed as he lay next to her

     “Me too. But, we could probably have a lot more fun with you being a ghost.”

     “Who's the pervert now?”

☾ ━━━━━━ M.LIST    TIP JAR

☾ ━━━ please support writers by reblogging and/or leaving feedback

© 2024 MINNIESMUTT. DO NOT COPY, REPUBLISH OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE

[galedekarios]

plagiarism in the bg3 fandom

disclaimer: this post should not be taken as a springboard to harrass anyone involved.

-

as i've stated previously, i didn't want to make this post because i have a lot going on in real life, but i have been watching this being done to others and myself for months now and i can't not speak about my experience anymore.

laiostoudenn (prev urls: lathanderr/spellbooking/wizardblood) is a plagiarist and he has a history of stealing from other creators like @minthara, @mercymaker, @onewingedangels and others.

in this post, i, finally and after much and long deliberation, want to add my voice to theirs.

i'll try to give a chronological overview of what happened as i have come to experience it, through others and myself, and as condensed as possible and to make it easier for myself to tell:

the story

i became aware of this new blog after he @ me and he messaged me. he's been following me. i was slow to engage because i have a lot of things going on in my real life that cost me a lot of energy during the day. i have also grown cautious of too quickly becoming close to strangers online. i became aware, however, that he had been doing this with multiple bigger creators in this space, like my friend @hawke, who is also a creator in the bg3 space, and who has experienced the same behaviour. they asked me if i knew him and i replied that i did not.

that was it for me at that point and i didn't engage much beyond that because i didn't know him and i thought nothing of it - until later.

during that time, whenever i saw his creations pop up increasingly, either in the tags or on my dash, i noticed more and more that they looked familiar to the works of others, from @minthara, to @mercymaker, to @onewingedangels and other creators, including myself.

it was then confirmed that i wasn't simply imagining things when, months ago, two creators were brave enough to speak up about the fact that he has been plagiarising gifsets and edits from them:

@minthara and @mercymaker:

@onewingedangels original set posted on 31st december 2023:

his set posted on 29th january 2024 (now deleted):

this was done without consent, and after he had already copied prior sets from @onewingedangels.

i would greatly recommend reading the posts shared above, and looking at the examples provided in it, so that you get a clear picture of what's happening here. it's not one isolated incident.

if you take a look at the notes in the post, you can also see other creators speaking about their experiences.

@minthara has recently also uploaded a google docs with the screenshots of the sets stolen from them because they either have been deleted, or lead to nothing due to now multiple url changes.

i was made aware today that he, following the first posts detailing @minthara and @mercymaker's experiences, apologised at first and admitted to what he's been doing on 31st march 2024:

but sadly, this wasn't to last, and the opportunity to learn and grow wasn't taken.

instead what happened was now painted as "bullying" from other creators, as "clique" behaviour and as "gatekeeping", despite many of us operating independently from each other. i, myself, have only started speaking to one other creator involved now that i have noticed the stealing and copying still ongoing.

i have in my time on this website never gatekept anything. i have shared metas, gifsets, creations, mods, art, tutorials, and many other things freely.

but back to the matter at hand: after he has been trying to ingratiate himself to me for some time now, following me, unfollowing me, and refollowing me again until i blocked him for my own mental health, i tried to remain civil before this point, engaging rarely if at all, hoping everything would go away on its own - which was a mistake in hindsight, i realise - i noticed that once again he's been lifting entire concepts and frame-by-frame gifs and sets from me.

things that he now claims - likely after he has been made aware of my prior personal posts and @minthara and @mercymaker's post circulating again by being reblogged by other people who have been affected) - were simply "remade" or "expanded" upon, that he may have been "subconsciously" influenced, while simultaneously claiming that he didn't know these sets existed in the first place, that he came up with the ideas independently, and that it's simply inevitable to use the same scenes because it's a limited game.

this doesn't hold up under scrutiny, however.

i want to make clear that i very much understand and that i am acutely aware that i do not own scenes and i do not own mods or outfits. however, what i do like to pride myself on is coming up with concepts and scene choices and captions accompanying these concepts that are unique, inspired by my metas, headcanons pertaining to gale and my own ocs altonaufein and karl, all of which i have seen copied by him several times now.

this is not as simple as simply gifing the same lines of dialogue from a scene as he and others supporting him are now postulating and i want to make that very, very clear.

another reason why this statement doesn't hold up under any scrutiny and, what ultimately confirmed my suspicion that he has been copying me, was when he - after the first post exposing his behaviour by @minthara and @mercymaker was made - reached out to me, asking if it it's ok to copy a gifset i made (note: again, this happened after he was called out for plagiarising the first time):

i didn't respond quickly enough, so he went ahead and posted it without waiting for my response (the response i gave him is pictured above and for transparancy, i responded about a day later bc of work and irl obligations).

below you can see the stolen post and what i managed to save from it:

the set was a 1:1 copy. he wanted a version for his oc so bad that he went ahead and stole my concept anyhow, without even waiting for the permission he asked for.

he went to take it down after my reply, made cautious most likely by his still fresh callout done in march 2024 by @minthara and @mercymaker, and i thought the issue was resolved and it wouldn't happen again, that he wouldn't take again without asking, despite having been told not only by myself, but by other creators as well, no. we are not comfortable.

but no. he "remade" the set, switching out gifs while complaining about how he "had to make it original":

my set in question was made on 1st february 2024, he reached out to me on 22nd april 2024 to "remake" the set. he is well aware of the existence of these ideas and concepts and sets he wants to copy, underlined by the need to ask for permission when it's simply too obvious to otherwise deny.

it's no coincidence.

like others have had the experience, i too noticed that he often would not engage with content he planned on stealing or did go through with stealing. he would sometimes present it as his own "remake" of a set he did, of another he was "inspired" or wanted to "expand upon", sometimes crediting, sometimes crediting someone largely unrelated, sometimes and, more often, not crediting.

as i mentioned above, this was not the first and not the only set/concept, which he copied from me - whether that was before asking or after asking, or not asking at all, if it was ok to copy.

i use this example mainly to show a clear pattern of behaviour that exists across the board: he takes concepts from other creators and inserts his own oc and/or favourite character into it because he wants a version of it so very badly. it does not matter if said creator might be hurt, if they told him no, or if they exposed his behaviour before. it doesn't matter how old the set is or how recent.

it is still going on today, the only difference is that he has stopped asking at all once again.

my story completely echoes that of @minthara and @mercymaker's.

concrete examples

i will now go into more detail about the concept sets he's been copying, include the caption or quote attached to it. i'm sorry that these will not be in chronological fashion. i will add at a later point, just like @minthara has done, a google document to better do side by side comparisons, highlight the similarities visually even more, and preserve some of the sets, which have now been deleted by him as recently as today:

the theme of hands in gale's romance

-> mine posted on 23rd september 2023

versus

-> his 1 posted on 24th february 2024

-> his 2 posted on 17th june 2024

i want to preface this by saying that the theme of hands was and still is incredibly important to story of my oc altonaufein and has concept of romance with gale. again, while i do not own these scenes, i wished to highlight a theme that i identified as poignant and profound within the relationship context. it's also why i added the poetry and quotes accompanying the set.

notice how even the caption format matches. the only thing lacking are my quotes / poems.

the format matches almost entirely: gifs from the same scenes (pulling gale out of the portal, the bench scene in an illusionary waterdeep, the astral sea scene, the boat scene, and more of the boat scene). the only thing that was added in this gifset are scenes that weren't available to me back then, namely the updated proposal scene, the kisses patches, and the epilogue as they came out well after i made my original gifset.

the second re-make even contains a gif that's not only the same minute detail of a larger scene - one that anyone who played gale's romance knows contains a multitude of other parts that could have been used - but also the same frames:

mine vs his:

i suppose adding that one to the original post with the same format i had chosen for mine would have made it too obvious, but that is only speculation.

gale + missing waterdeep/home

-> mine posted on 30th september 2023

versus

-> his (deleted on 18th july 2024) so i will have to include screenshots so you may compare:

same caption format, overlapping scenes chosen, only new additions are of content that wasn't available to me back when i first made my original set (the epilogue, kiss patches and proposal scene).

an attempt at "credit" even though he is only referencing my tags on an entirely separate set of a different creator, not the concept i came up with in my original set months prior.

and even though i have told him no before, just like others have told him no before.

i think it speaks volumes that this set is now, like some others, have been suddenly and coincidentally deleted.

gale of waterdeep vs gale dekarios

-> mine posted on 20th november 2023

versus

-> his posted on 13th may 2024

the concept is entirely the same, the scenes are largely overlapping, again, the caption format is almost entirely identical, with the sole difference of me including the full quote and devnotes as i'm wont to do.

gale + i love you

-> mine posted 16th september 2023

versus

-> his 2 (a "remake" of an "older" set of "his") posted on 13th may 2024

again, the concept is entirely the same, it's same caption format, the scenes largely overlap, some of the gifs added that were not available to me when i made my set (which, again, would include the epilogue, kisses patches, and the updated proposal scene).

mermay gale

-> mine posted on 13th may 2024

versus

-> his posted on 21st may 2024

it's the same concept again, the caption format is similar, it's the same setting (camp at baldur's gate), the same armour, the same armour tint, the same 3/4 pose except mirrored, and, this time, his tags were inspired too:

my tag: #i have the worst art block still and virtually no time but i still wanted to do smth for mermay so have this

his tag: #i can't do art so heres my mermay contribution i guess

copied oc post

-> mine posted on (likely) 30th september 2021

versus

-> his originally posted on may 7th 2024, which has also now been deleted on 18th july 2024:

the only thing different was the font. sadly, i deleted my oc post since i have redesigned some of them and wanted to make an updated version of it in the future.

thankfully i found the link on my friends blog, @ayrennaranaaldmeri.

as you can see, all of these happened after the first cases of plagiarism and after i personally told him that i'm not comfortable with him "remaking" my concept sets as his.

conclusion

there are many other sets that i suspect have been copied or plagiarised, i want to remain objective, however, and include the ones i feel are the most damning examples, supported by the fact that he has been deleting some of them today while again, trying to set up his narrative to his audience.

again, i want to highlight the pattern is here with him. my post is not the first, my suspicious are the first.

he knows what he is doing wrong, highlighted by the fact of trying to ask for permission, by deleting sets in question, by, at first, apologising, whilst now talking about "gatekeeping", "bullying", "inevitable repeats of scenes", "taking inspiration", "scrolling by", being "subconsciously" influenced, etc.

as a conclusion, i can say nothing more on this topic other than that i'm very sad. it doesn't give me joy. it stressed me immensely then and it still does now. i wish he'd have taken the already admitted wrong-doing to heart and grown from it, instead of attempting to change the narrative and doubling down on his past behaviour, not examining what he has done and is doing several times over by now.

i have blocked him now, as have done many others, and will not engage further with him. we have been through this before and at this point, i don't think he will change.

what i do very much hope, however, is that this is the last i hear of this happening.

edit:

updated the links to lead to his "archive" so you can access the stolen sets that he still hasn't deleted and seems to have no intentions of doing so.

[hurthermore]

Alastor x a reader who is obsessed with his voice perhaps? Like they could just listen to him all day. Also misconduct is SO GOOD I am actually rabid

»»------► 𝚅𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎

Pairing: 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝙶𝙽!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Warnings: 𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗, 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝, 𝚂𝙵𝚆, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

A/N: 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞! 𝙸𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝; 𝙸 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚑𝚊! 𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘, 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚠 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚠 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚍𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠!

Alastor was a sharp man; he had to be given the type of hobbies he partook in during his time alive and dead. So when you- a recent addition to the Hazbin Hotel- began stiffening up every time he entered the room, he obviously noticed.

Did you think he wouldn't catch on to the shivers that touched your skin as he told his jokes? That he didn't observe the tensing muscles of your thighs as he laughed? That he missed the way you flustered as he threatened and killed oncoming dangers towards the hotel?

He knew, from the first incident, that it wasn’t fear that caused you to tremble. No, no. It was something else entirely. 

So as to why your body seemed to seize up around him was what he had decided to decipher. What he wanted to decipher. Alastor would rather end his existence before becoming the type of man to ignore mysteries and secrets.

And a secret you had.

Regardless of his inclination to uncover your strange tendencies around him, he wouldn’t deny that he did in fact enjoy your company. He found your reciprocation of poorly punned jokes quite tasteful, even if they were as bad as his. He enjoyed how, despite your flustered form, you engaged in thoughtful conversations with him. However, he would deny how he was rather fond of your physical reactions toward him.

Although sharp, Alastor had always been an oblivious man to the desires of love; the wants, kinks and fetishes that surrounded the subject. So it started to become slightly agitating when he began finding it increasingly difficult to uncover why in the seven rings of hell you were having those reactions. What emotions were causing it? What thoughts swirled your mind as you shook?

But lady luck finally graced him, and he found out your little secret.

He didn't intend to find out your little obsession so abruptly; he offered you to sit beside him to listen live whilst he broadcasted his next show. You had asked him multiple times before if you could hear him broadcasting in his studio, and despite his usual preference of enacting his shows in solidarity, he began to fantasise about you; slotting yourself next to him as you trembled.

So when you sat next to him, quivering only when he spoke, it became abundantly obvious that it was his voice that sent tremors down the supple flesh that covered your bones within you. It was a sense of obsession over his voice that caused lustful trembling, he concluded.

And oh did that do something to him; something he wasn’t expecting. An emotion that he hadn’t had experience in prior to this moment. It had him conflicted. It was a very entertaining feeling, one sickeningly similar to how he felt during his first kill when he was alive.

From then on, Alastor made it a point to jump out of the shadows when you were alone, only to end up whispering in your ears as he held one of your shoulders; feeling every flustered quiver. He knew you didn’t catch on to the fact that he knew about your little obsession despite his hints. And it was becoming rather hard, resisting how you’d react once you realised. 

So he took it upon himself to straight up ask you.

“Do you like my voice, dear?”

Alastor wasn’t expecting you to almost choke on your own spit as the words left his mouth, but it amused him all the same; laughing almost hysterically as you began to become more flustered than he had ever witnessed. 

A sight to behold.

But before you could pull away from him and put a distance between the two of you, he gripped your shoulder; pushing you into his side before he rested his head against the side of your own.

“Don’t worry my dear, you can listen to my voice until the end of time.”

»»------► 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

[grlpartdoll]

Hi here's anotha bodyguard ghost thingy bcoz I miss him :3 this is not proofread or nothing, crucify me or whatever !! 18+ but no smut in this one yet again!!! Oops. Maybe next time :] this one is about how you two became closer nn pretty much just reader being scared that Simon s'gonna leave her :(

At first, you had been so very reluctant to have a bodyguard, you'd actually hated the idea of having someone watching you day and night. After the day someone climbed through your window to get pictures of you sleeping, though, it had been a suicide mission to try and convince your team that you didn't need one.

You'd been given multiple choices for the head of your security team — and against all odds, you picked Simon. A disgruntled, ex-military with more scar tissue then he had clean flesh. Despite it, though, he was the one who seemed to genuinely care the least when you interviewed him with your team. So you figured it'd be easy to avoid him, to live without having to have a shadow twenty four seven.

At first, it's a tense affair because you have never been so wrong in your life. Your bodyguard cared — and not even just in a casual way. He spent every second of everyday watching you, and you spent that same time trying to act like he didn't exist. You tiptoe around him, and he walks on eggshells around you. He doesn't like you, and you don't like him. Still, though, he refuses to hire more than what he strictly calls "his best men", and he refuses to have anyone else but him interact directly with you, so you have hope that with a team so small, and so avoidant of yourself, you'll be able to shake them off easily. But you're wrong, again.

So, as annoyed as you are at the situation, you act out. You disobey when he asks you to stay away from the barricades, and you treat your safety like it's something so very unimportant that Simon actually wonders if you're suicidal.

But now, after months of Ghost thinking he's fighting against an endless wall he can't actually break down, you start listening to him — or you're trying to behave, at least.

You're trying. That's as much as he can admit. He doesn't know if it's because the last time you were sick he actually stayed with you all night, and every time a cough roused you back to the real world, he rocked you back into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

He doesn't know if it's because he recently almost killed a man who had attempted to climb onto your stage during a performance at a festival.

But he knows that after that day — your eyes had become softer around him.

Generally, Around your staff, you always kept a professional, sharp-eyed look about you, always making sure your fans were treated with respect, always keeping them in check and always making sure they didn't overstep your boundaries.

But Simon, him, gets this doe-eyed, empty headed look from you whenever it's just the two of you. Whenever you're backstage, having your makeup done with him sitting on the couch behind you, and your eyes meet through the mirror, your spine mellows, and your constantly tapping fingers relax.

Or when you're in the rehearsals, and you leave the stage to fetch yourself some water. He finds you blanking out in the corner, staring at him as he goes over all the exits with the security team, two strong hands splayed over the blueprints of the obscenely big venue. He has his uniform on — the one with the bulletproof vest, which makes him bulkier — harder to move around. He wonders if you notice all of that, or if youre just spacing out in his presence because you feel safe enough to.

Simon doesn't know what, but something's changed.

It's late at night, the day after another incident forced him to shove someone out of your way, and then show the creepy fan the colors of his fists upclose when he tried to grab at you, that it all comes to a head. You haven't gotten out of your bed in what seems like days, and he can hear you crying at night — nightmares, he's learned, make you cry in your sleep.

Your manager has been trying to get into your room for hours now — only because the people you partnered with for the tour documentary aren't too happy you aren't giving them content, and it's only for his worry about the fact that you haven't eaten since you got home that night that he lets your manager bribe him into trying to coax you out.

He knocks at your door, his tell-tale rhythm igniting a sound from you. He's not sure what it is.

"C'mon, little one. Let me in."

This time he hears you drag yourself out of bed, and slowly pad to the door. He hears you unlock it, and then move back into your bed.

When he's sure the cameras won't catch you, he quickly slides into the room and closes the door again behind him.

He sighs, watching you for a moment as you sit on the edge of your bed, pushing a hand through your messy, tangled hair. You grimace, and lean forward onto your knees.

He steps closer, only because he knows that if he speaks too loud, his words could end up somewhere he didn't want them to be.

He crouches in front of you, forcing a gentle, rough and calloused hand up to cup your cheek, using the other to push your hair out of your face.

Your eyes are puffy and red, and your face pale from a lack of.. well, everything, really.

"Look'atcha." He grumbles. "Right mess."

You push his hands away, frowning in your short lived anger.

"I don't feel good."

"I know." He pins you with a severe glare. "Does tha' mean you don' got a job to do?"

You sigh, and shake your head, pressing two shaking hands between your thighs.

He nudges your chin, connecting your gazes again so you see the concern in his.

Before he can say what's on his mind though, you pipe up, hesitant and low. "The military — you see a lot of violence."

"Yes." He replies on instinct, not knowing why.

"But I'm... you..." a shaky breath makes it out of you, and you force yourself to keep eye contact in case he starts to think you're afraid of him. "You almost killed a man."

"I was doin' m'job, lamb."

"I know." You purse your lips. Shake your head. "But I'm not used to that."

"It's happened b'for. And it sure as hell g'nna happen again, love. Youre gonna have to get used to it."

You nod. Try to breathe regularly when you remember the sight of him — muscles hidden underneath his uniform rippling against the fabric, bloody fists, fury in those dashing, stormy eyes.

You shift again, your hands going to toy with the shiny thing at his neck. His dogtags.

"You killed a lot of people. Before." It's not a question.

Still, he replies, nodding his head once, even if he feels like you're speaking yourself into a downward spiral.

"Yes." You swear you hear a tremble of restraint in his voice, his eyes traveling to your hands playing with the dogtags.

"Does that bother you?" He asks when you say nothing.

"No.." you whisper. You knew who he was when you hired him. Had been made aware of his history, too. In vague words and short and sweet versions of the facts, but you could imagine. Which is what had made you choose him. You had imagined that, surely, his history would have made him aloof, bored by you, and exceptionally checked out of reality. But he had been the exact opposite — always so tuned into you, always so in sync ; catching you right before you tripped, as though he could see into the future, always ready with a water bottle when you were just about to ask a staff member for one. And he was aware of everything — of so much. And though somehow, you did miss your freedom a little, you couldn't say you didn't like such attention being veered towards you. It was.. different. In a non-shallow way you'd never had before in your life.

"Why are you here?" You ask, suddenly. "I'm not.. I'm just.. me."

"What are you asking, exactly?"

You didn't know, yourself. You are just you. A happy go lucky idol who somehow had made her way to immense fame. You weren't exactly the army, the grith and the danger and the adrenaline he needed.

And when you'd come across those accidents — at first it had made you feel safe, but now, after watching with how much passion your Ghostly bodyguard beat someone's face in, you wondered if he would get bored of you, if you weren't enough for him. Just when you'd been starting to get used to this careful attention, this devotion.

And that is the reason why, for the past few days, you've been hiding away and crying. Because you'd realized, too suddenly, that you couldn't let him leave. That as much as you hated the idea of having a bodyguard, you now hated the idea of him leaving you.

"Are you going to leave?"

Simon's eyes shift underneath that balaclava. He blinks. Twice. Thrice.

"My contract's not over, is it?"

You sigh, pushing at his chest. He doesn't even budge at all. "I'm serious, Simon."

He nods, moving his hand to encapsulate yours, which are still toying with the iron around his neck. He holds them tightly, warmth pooling between the two of you. He brings his face closer — barely a few centimeters away from your own now.

"I'm yours, little lamb." He murmurs. "For as long as you'll have me."

You swallow thickly, and though the words register, your brain immediately twists them around — making sure to put them down in the "DO NOT REVISIT OR OVERTHINK THIS SHIT" jar.

"I don't want you to go back there." You confess as quiet as your voice can go.

For now, you let your eyes close, and you try to convince yourself that it's fine. That he is not going anywhere.

"I'm not." He promises. He closes the space between you, and you feel the ghost of his lips behind his mask as he presses them against your forehead.

[makuzume]

Toge Accidentally Uses His Cursed Speech on You (Part 4)

🔅content: Light angst/light comfort; gn!reader; no pronoun mentions

🔅synopsis: It's been 2 days since you last seen Toge... How do you go about this? What are you supposed to do? You wonder how to address the situation at hand...

🔅a/n: "What happened to posting part 4 soon" I ended up scraping the entire part 4 draft and remade it because I didn't like it :'D Thank you everyone for being so patient and putting up w my bs aaa Let me know if you want to be in the tags list and enable ur tagging :3

[JJK Masterlist] [Part 1 & 2] [Part 3]

🔅Word Count: 2.2K

"...Should I... open it...?" You asked yourself quietly, looking down on your phone as you stared at the multiple notifications you received from Toge.

13 missed calls

31 new messegaes

All unopened, all unanswered.

Slowly, you hover your finger over to his chat box, however, you hesitate- quickly shutting off your phone and plopping down on the soft mattress where you sat.

While the rest of the Okkotsu family went out to watch the movies, you decided to stay in the house by yourself. "You should come...! I'm sure it will help lift your spirits." Mrs. Okkotsu offered, to which you kindly declined her offer.

You figured you needed some time to be alone for now, but the lack of presence in the house ended up cauing a deafening silence to fill the halls, creating more opportunities for you to overthink the recent events between you and Toge.

'...I wonder... what did he say...'

'...why am I so scared to read it...?'

Over the past two days, you've been comfortably staying over Yuta's family home in the city. But since Yuta wasn't there at the moment, his parents and sister have been kindly accomodating you the entire time.

You were incredibly embarassed and reluctant to stay over, afraid of becoming only a nuisance to the Okkotsu family, especially since current situation between you and Toge was not at all very dire, just an arguement between two lovers.

Fortunately, Yuta and his mother were understanding and very insistent that you were welcome for as long as you'd like. Afterall, you were also one of Yuta's closest friends.

Trying your best to not cause them too much trouble, you help out with minor chores like the dishes, setting up the table, throwing out the trash- but each time you do so, you were met with gentle scolding.

"We told you to rest! You're still very hurt!"

"No no no, you're a guest, put that down!"

"We are not letting you wash the plates. Go back to bed and lie down for a nap! We'll bring you some snacks later."

"Nonsense! You are not a burden! You are a good friend of Yuta, and he asked us to take care of you, so sit down and don't worry about us."

Though that did seem to reduce the amount of guilt you felt, you were still rather embarassed for staying over someone else's family home just to hide from an ongoing dispute with Toge. So, you figured you shouldn't overstay your welcome, at least.

You look at your phone once again, staring at Toge's contact name as you remember your last encounter with him.

Staring at the ceiling above, you allow the memories from the incident flood your mind once more- remembering the sorrow, the pain, the sadness....

The entire time you knew Toge, he had always felt like the safest person to be around with, and you trusted him more than anyone- be it about your safety or your feelings. Naturally, the shock from accidentally getting cursed would shaken you up quite a lot.

You were badly hurt, both physically and emotionally.

And even for a short moment, you even felt afraid of him for the first time.

A feeling you knew would devastate him if he knew.

As shy as you were to admit it, all you did the entire day after the incident was quiety cry inside the guest bedroom in Yuta's home.

You can say that you rather had mixed feelings about the whole thing. Not a moment has passed in which you weren't thinking about it.

At first, it was shock, then fear, followed by pain before sadness, eventually leading to worry- the feeling you were experiencing right now.

Why 'worry'? You think to yourself, curious as to why there was this sense of longing to see him despite the accident.

It was a strange feeling in your chest. Most certainly, you were still very much upset and hurt about what he had done to you, but still-

"...I wonder how he must feel right now..." You hug the pillow nearest to you closer to your chest, unable to stray away the concern you felt for him.

Perhaps it was the way he looked at you the moment he misused his speech on you. The way Toge's eyes expressed so much shock, the way his voice was filled with so much guilt and fear... You have never seen him act in such a way before, especially considering the fact that he was always the more calm and composed one between the two of you.

You couldn't get the desperate tone of his voice out of your head, and you frequently find yourself vividly remembering the panicked expression he displayed on his face.

"...He must be worried..." You whisper to the pillow you held tightly, your eyelids closing as you replay the events of the accident.

More than anyone, you understood him the most, and you knew that this must be really messing up his mind right now.

It was one of his deepest fears, hurting someome he loves unintentionally with his speech, and you knew how deep this sort of wound would cut him on the inside.

More so, there was also the fact that Toge had personally witnessed the tragic events that happened to his allies in Shibuya... not to mention the fact that he had also been heavily pinning the blame on himself for the death of innocent civilians' lives.... lives which he felt responsible of protecting, all because he led them to take shelter to the same area Sukuna had unleashed his Malevolent Shrine.

'Truly...' you thought.

'this must be really messing up his mind right now....'

You turn over to your side, eyes staring blankly into the empty air in front of you.

"...He was distant and acting different from what happened in Shibuya afterall... I know he didn't mean to hurt me..." you whispered quietly, trying to think of how to address the situation.

You sat up, your hand firmly grasping your phone, a hesitant but concerned tone evident in your voice "I... don't want to make him feel any worse than he already does..."

Without a doubt, Toge was always so good to you. So protective, so understanding, so kind, so loving...

He was always there for you at your lowest points... and you never even had the chance to return such comfort to him before, so you think to yourself:

'...it's my turn.'

Your previous attempt to aid his sorrow didn't end up so well, but that's why you were willing to try again; To try again for him.

He probably hasn't been consoled ever since the incindent in Shibuya either. You, Panda, Yuta, or even Maki hadn't heard from him the entire time, and that's considering that all of you are his closest friends.

You ponder about it, and then you realize he probably wouldn't have ended up hurting you by accident or behaving so distant towards everyone if he had just allowed himself to be comforted- to be held and be told 'it's okay.'

...And you couldn't help but want to be that person who does that for him.

The more you thought about this, the more you wanted to see him.

You already released all the shock, hurt, and sadness for the past few days through a few weeping sessions in the small guest room before, and you think it's about time to come out of hiding.

You try to gain back your composure.

"...I wonder where he is... I hope... he's not pushing himself." You glance at your wallpaper, looking at a picture of Toge holding up a silly little peace sign while he sat next to a cute little dog you randomly met on the street.

You couldn't help but chuckle softly for a moment, then, your smile slowly fades back to form a serious expression on your face.

You miss the smile in his eyes like in the photo.

The idea of him in such sadness, worry, and pain ended up hurting you just as much as well.

"...I should talk to him."

So, you unlock your phone, open messages, and look for his contact name once again.

His contact nickname and his silly little photo appear.

'Bonito Flakes'

"...There."

Just when you were about to tap his name, you paused.

"Uh... wait... what should I say...?"

You pull back your thumb from the screen, suddenly having a bit of a panic on how to address the situation.

"..How do I reach out to him...? What... did he text me..? Is he upset with me? Is he looking for me...?"

His last text was from yesterday night, so you weren't sure what should be the best mood to approach him at this moment.

Just then, as if fate had timed this moment perfectly, a notification suddenly pops up on the top of your screen.

1 new message from Bonito Flakes

You gasped, completely taken aback from seeing his name.

'Wait... I'm not ready...!!'

You panicked slightly, causing you to drop your phone on the hard wood floor by accident, a loud thump echoing throughout the room. Fortunately, the Okkotsu family still hasn't returned from their outing yet, otherwise, you'd give them another reason to be worried about you.

You sigh, picking it back up as you lightly shook your head to gain back your composure.

As you check your sceen, you see another text from Toge come in.

Then another.

And another.

It made you slightly nervous but curious as to what his multiple texts were saying right now, and it sort of made you even more worried to know what he sent.

Is he sad? Does he need you? Is he just reaching out? Is he leaving the school? Does he want to distance himself from you?

"I'll... wait a little..."

Ultimately, you decided to let him finish sending his messages before you view it.

He sent quite a handful of texts, and it took a while before the messages stopped coming in. But just to be sure, you waited for a few minutes in case he had any late follow ups.

"I'll.... wait a little more..." You whisper to yourself as you stare at the phone in front of you, hoping to view his messages during a time when he's offline- You just wanted to make sure there was enough time for you to process and react to his texts without the pressure of him waiting for your response.

But the green dot next to his profile picture was still lit up, meaning, that he would be able to immediately see your replies the moment you send it.

But you would prefer he only sees it AFTER you're done sending your responses.

Sighing heavily, you whisper once more '...I guess I'll wait again...'

You check again after a few minutes, it was still green. So you wait again.

More time had passed but still- the green dot remained.

You wait again.

It was all you could think about for the past few hours as you move back and forth from checking your phone to lying down, staring into nothing...

Untul finally, at hour three, the green dot turns dim.

And with that, you were left with no excuse to delay opening your inbox any longer. "...alright... here we go.... I guess..."

With a hefty sigh and a single tap of your finger, you open his inbox.

Your eyes widened suddenly, immediate shock at the realization.

With a quickened pace, you hurridly limped towards the nearest window, the cast on your leg creating a slight scratching sound as you drag it across the floor.

Pulling away the curtains, you scan the street below in search for the white haired boy.

You squint your eyes slightly, trying to adjust your eyes to the darkness of the night.

Then, you see him.

"He... he's still there...?"

On the opposite side of the street, there sat Toge on the small pavement across from Yuta's house.

His head rested on his arm and his head hung low, perhaps taking a bit of a nap as he waited for your reply.

A wave of guilt suddenly washes over you as you realize how long you've made him wait out in the cold for a single reply.

You text him.

Toge???? Why did you wait for me?

You look drenched, what happened???

How long have you been there???

But your messages didn't seem to get through, not showing a mark of it being delivered.

"His phone battery must've died...."

Instictively, you hurried out the room with a more detemined expression, carefully treading the stairs with your injured leg, and rushed out the door.

Unintentionally, the noise of opening the door a little too quickly echoed across the dead silent street, casuing Toge to immediately jolt himself awake.

He made eye contact with you while he remained seated across the street, shocked at your sudden appearance.

Embarassed for startling him, you slightly lose your confidence and shy away from his gaze, a small lump in your throat preventing you from voicing out any words.

Toge stood up slowly, his eyes widen but his chest beated out of nervousness.

He doesn't expect anything positve, but still, he remained hopeful, as much as he felt like he didn't deserve you.

"...um...." you started, hoping to break the akward silence that filled the air.

"...I-...."

"....."

"....p-...please, come in...."

....

[Back to JJK Masterlist] [Part 1 & 2] [Part 3] [Part 5]

a/n: So happy I finally finished this :')))))))) Shoutout to anon that poked me abt this that genuinely helped me lolol I just really needed a little push to finish this

NOTE classes are back ^^ and I'm doing some part-time comms sooo I'll be a lil busy but ofc I won't abandon this I luv this series <3

Credits to @makuzume on Tumblr || Do not steal, translate, modify, reupload my works on any platform.

tags list: @zhenyuuu @cowcreamers @mushroommorgue @yunho-leeknow @lemonnotade @exodiam @an-ever-angry-bi @cirieria @chifuyufirstwife @strxbxrrylover @sturns55

[butteronabun]

note: feel free to read the prequel first!

If there is something you are most proud of – it is your courageous spirit.

As the Lady of the House, it’s expected of you to be timid, soft–spoken, and docile, but unfortunately, much to the elder nobles’ dismay, you are the opposite of that. You do not have those traits.

You’re like a volcano. You explode and terrify what’s close to you due to your powerful outbursts.

Well, that’s not the only thing that’s really special – you know how to control your emotions. You know how to read the mood. You know how to fight for yourself. And if there’s anything that causes you great trouble or to the Winery, of course, you’ll boom. Especially when you have something to protect, and especially when you are Diluc Ragnvindr’s wife, who seriously has been through a lot.

You had to strengthen your will. You had to toughen up.

( And perhaps. . . that’s one of the reasons why Diluc is so enamored with you in the first place. You and your fiery personality; you and your passions; you and — ah. Everything about you. )

So. . . you’re not really scared of anything. Abyssal creatures? Nah, you’ll just scowl at these fellas and wield your weapon. Heights? You’re an adrenaline junkie. The dark? Wow. It makes you sleepy.

Ghosts? Well.

Recently, there have been rumors spreading amongst the maids. Of course, since you’re close with the girls – nothing bypasses you. And as the Lady Ragnvindr, you have the right to know what’s going on.

According to Hillie and Moco, the manor is haunted. Maybe it’s because of how old it has been, or maybe because of the previous ancestors who have resided here before. They claim that they have been seeing sightings.

So yeah, more or less, they do believe it’s haunted.

You, however, beg to differ. You are a skeptic at heart, and you definitely do not give a fuck on the paranormal — you respect the spirits, though, and only wish that they’re all resting in peace.

( Also, as an act of revenge after the Windsor Knot incident, you have been playing pranks on the maids. One of which was you playfully shaking the chairs they’ve been sitting on from behind. The ladies screamed. You laughed in mirth. Adelinde smiled amusingly at the background. )

Then one random night, while you are reading one of the novels you bought earlier from the city, you heard something.

That typical knock.

Of course, there are multiple sources for that knock. It could be anyone because there are also people inside the manor. But it’s goddamn late, and you know that you’re the only one who’s awake at this hour, because you’re waiting for Diluc.

Unlike the maids who will simply ignore and close their eyes to pretend that nothing happened, you rise from the bed, and put on a robe. You’re brave. You’re courageous. You’re skeptical. As you saunter towards the door, you grab the nearest object - a bat - and said bat is from another nation. Diluc acquired it for you because you’d gotten interested in it, but it’ll be a story for another time.

The door creaks ominously when you pull it open. Again. You’re brave. You’re courageous. You’re skeptical. It’s dark now, since Adelinde has mostly turned the lights off, and you rely with the orange glow coming from the bedroom. This doesn’t scare you at all. More than anything, you’re annoyed - because really, who dares to mess with you during this time?

Is there a fool who managed to get inside the manor? They’re seriously just asking for a death wish! Just because the Master is not here yet doesn’t mean his wife can not fight.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you swear you saw a shadow down the hallway. Again. This really doesn’t scare you.

It angers you. Infuriates you. Because. Really? Seriously?

You sigh, and walk in that direction casually with your weapon. Let’s just get this over with, you think, Jude and Cardan’s waiting.

With narrowed eyes, you prepare yourself. If it’s a thief, or a ghost, whatever – it is unfortunate for them to face your wrath. Trespassing inside the manor? Interrupting your reading time? Absolutely unacceptable!

So when you turn, you aim and whack at the shadow without any hesitation – not until said shadow predicts your moves first, and fights back.

You blink in surprise, “Wha—“

There’s a loud thud.

The bat falls on the ground. You are also on the ground. And the shadow, the ghost—

— is pinning you down.

You feel your blood boil. You are brave. You are courageous. You are skeptical. This doesn’t really scare you, at all! You demand, “WHO the hell are— mmmph!!?”

A hand covers your mouth from speaking. You’re about to bite the hand due to the audacity, until a familiar scent floods your nostrils — grapes and firewood — and an even familiar color of hair reveals itself from the shadow figure’s cloak. Familiar red hair hangs over the sides of their head. Oh.

Oh.

The shadow figure seems to realize that you’ve calmed down, and elicits a quiet, incredibly charming chuckle. He removes his hand from your mouth, and you exhale in relief.

“This is scandalous. What would my husband say, letting a ghost pin me down?” You ask, and reach up to caress his cheek. You can’t see him behind the mask, but you know he’s being endearing as always.

“Hm? I am not a ghost,” Your beloved Darknight Hero replies. “I am your husband.”

You snicker. “You look like a ghost. Humor me, will you?”

“But I really am not? I am your husband.” He insists, and you feel his smile on your fingers. He takes ahold of your hand and kisses your palm.

Diluc says tenderly, “I’m home.”

[novantinuum]

jen's "Hard-Light Hybrid Steven" headcanon dump

Okay so I'm just making this its own post, because frankly at this point... the original post is so hard to get all the pulp out of due to the headcanons being spread over multiple reblogs and half of it being in the tags.

So here we go. Self indulgent headcanon time. This is how I'm now personally interpreting things within the realm of my own fic work and the post-canon storylines that live in my mind. This is NOT, however, a work of meta- I am by no means suggesting this to be what I see as "canon," only having some fun playing around with ideas I think are cool on a speculative fantasy anatomy level. Take it as you will basically, lol. This is ultimately just for me.

With that stated:

"jen what the fuck do you mean when you say hard-light hybrid Steven, what are you even suggesting"

Essentially I am proposing that Steven becomes progressively more hard-light based in form as he ages. When he was born he was two almost entirely separate halves mashed together- organic and gem- and those two halves slowly but surely merge over the years (hard light replacing organic matter) until one day they are literally inseparable, and Steven is one permanently cohesive being... entirely hewn from hard-light, but with a level of anatomical complexity that still makes him a complete anomaly amongst Gems and humans alike. Instead of the innards of his body being solid light, he is still formed of cells- only now, those cells are entirely hard-light.

His gem is somehow mimicking the form of organic matter with a level of detail that's absolutely unobtainable by shapeshifting or tailored reformation alone. Steven has become the single most complex hard-light system to have ever existed.

Some more specifics on how I imagine this merge working:

Much of the "merging" is natural over time, basically his gem branching out new bits of hard-light circuitry within his body as it integrates within his system.

However, this process is sped up significantly by all the spills and injuries Steven deals with throughout his childhood... because his body's instinctive response to injury is simply to replace damaged cells with hard-light analogues. An almost instantaneous patch job.

Steven's component halves being so distinct early on is a large reason why he takes so long to harness many of his powers.

This is also why Steven's (mostly) organic half is so weakened during the split in Change Your Mind- at that point there's a lot about his anatomy that's been converted to hard-light, so it's basically as if White Diamond yanked the power source out.

(Same idea for why he's so weakened during the movie when his gem's on the fritz... his gem's connection with the rest of his body got partially severed for a time, which. Is not Good for someone who at this point is more hard-light than not hard light.)

At a certain point post-canon, it becomes impossible for Steven's organic and gem halves to be separated. They are so tightly integrated that attempting to remove the gem would only poof him.

Now, here's the thing though...

Steven does not realize that Any of this is taking place until the blunt reality of his strange new anatomical nature is put on display for all to see... when he actually DOES poof.

Here is how (in my own post-canon musings, which I have simplified here because y'all don't live inside all the intensive lore that jangles about my brain) I envision that taking place:

So, Steven would be in his mid to late twenties at this point. He's married to Connie, and they have an infant son.

Recently, there was a fairly severe Gem incident that left Beach City and Little Homeworld pretty damaged. Things are still being mopped up from that.

Steven, Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl head out on a quick mission one day to intercept one of the last few supporters of the Gem who attacked the Crystal Gem's hub of operation, and at first it seems like it's gonna be a straightforward trip.

Then, Steven sees the Gem in question pull a destabilizer wand on Garnet, and- unwilling to watch her to get ripped apart like that again- throws himself in between. He can take it, he thinks. These things never hurt him one bit as a kid

He cannot take it.

He poofs.

His gem unceremoniously falls to the ground, along with the clothes he was wearing and whatever he had in his pockets.

Cue the others going "what the actual FUCK" because based on everything they've ever witnessed and known about him no one had "Steven poofs" on their bingo card.

The insurgent Gem is captured and dealt with, but now... oh, boy. There's literally no playbook for this. Nobody knows what to expect.

Steven's gem is quiet for WEEKS. During that time, the Gems end up consulting the Diamonds on Homeworld to ask for intel on diamond reformation, but none of them are much help- Rose and Steven are the only ones who have actually poofed. Beyond them, this is completely unprecedented.

In a very vague sense, Steven is aware of what must have happened during this time... (even if a part of him wants to deny it, because How???)

He can pick up vague snippets of what's happening just beyond his reach... catching voices and what must be faint sensations of familiar people handling his gem, but beyond that he has no awareness of the passage of time, and he has no means by which to reach out to them mentally.

It takes almost two months for him to finally reform. When he does, his gem quickly shifts through its previous three forms and then just... outright h a n g s for a while on the new one... as if what's trying to "load" up is so complex it's goddamn buffering.

(my brain can only think of This image uyhjfsdbyuhjfg)

No one really knows what to expect but when he finally reforms, he... looks mostly the same? Still rather human in appearance, externally? The only notable difference is that his irises are pink now. (But with no diamond pupil- not unless he's going Full Power Mode.)

Steven also reforms WITH an outfit much like a Gem would.

The second he's back, he runs to embrace Connie (who is sobbing in relief) and asks how long he was out.

And he did NOT anticipate that answer to be two months.

As it turns out, he missed quite a few baby milestones while he was gone, and he feels horrible about it- it's not his fault of course, but he feels so bad that Connie had to go that long without his support, and that there's all those special "firsts" with his son he'll never get to experience.

This whole incident marks Steven's final "retirement" from participating in real combat- he outright tells the Gems to not involve him in any other combat situations unless the whole ass planet is under threat, basically. The potential risks are just not worth it now that he knows how long he'd be out of commission, should he poof once more. He can't put his family through that again.

Now, with all that outlined...

Ways that Steven is Weird now:

He looks rather human- his hair looks like hair and his skin looks like skin- but after he reforms, literally every "cell" of his body is fashioned out of hard-light.

However, if one were to theoretically slice him in half (which I PROMISE I am not going to do, this is only a thought experiment ahahah-), his internal anatomy would glow much like the Gems' do. (See below image for what I mean.) The "human-like" appearance of his skin and hair and other externally visible features does not extend very deep.

He "bleeds" pink now- but it's only surface, and is all just excess hard-light. No real blood.

His body would no longer show up on a radiograph- just the gem.

Many of his anatomical features (not all of them, though) are now vestigial in certain ways-? Like, various functions have overtly been taken over by his gem... he doesn't need to breathe or have any lifeblood beyond light pumping through his system, so his heart and lungs serve no necessary purpose anymore... but all of these organs still "exist" as like an echo of what once was, perfect mimics of their organic form but hewn from hard-light.

That being said, Connie enjoys the reassurance of his heartbeat, so he retains that function while conscious.

(Not to mention, "breathing" is literally just a habit for him by this point.)

HOWEVER, when he sleeps (another thing he technically doesn't Need to do but does anyways) his breathing and heartbeat stops entirely and it kinda spooks Connie out. The literal only evidence she has that he's still kicking during these times is the soft hum of his gemstone.

He does not have a biological NEED for food or water anymore and can fully operate on exposure to light alone, but he still really enjoys eating and drinking anyways. In fact, he's still able to absorb energy from food... so it's basically like he's over-charging his battery or whatever. He also still experiences taste (so still posesses some form of taste receptors) and instinctively feels "hungry" at meal times, so like... the running theory is that he must have hard-light analogues for all these receptors and neurotransmitters and hormones that communicate sensations like hunger in his system even though their function is entirely redundant with his gem powering everything.

Furthermore, his memories and sense of self and everything one might refer to as "the soul" is stored exclusively in his gem now. Which means, if one could manage to analyze his brain like one could with a human brain, there would be entire sections that simply... don't light up the way that others (such as the parts of the brain that govern motor control, as an example) do. This is because all the "data" once stored there has migrated.

He can fully shapeshift now, if he wanted to.

He can also still visually "age"- it's all based on his mental state, same as before.

But despite being hard-light in nature now, he can still interface with organics in fusion because his form is still so organic in shape and function. He's still the bridge between humanity and gemkind. I like to think that... theoretically... a Gem might be able to fuse with an organic too, but the sheer burden of trying to shapeshift and maintain such cellular complexity is what stops this from happening.

Steven, though? His very existence as a hybrid acted as a template by which hard-light could learn to understand organic life. He is still an intensely unique being, even IF he no longer consists of any actual organic matter.

_

I am sure I will probably add something to this later, but for now, those are all my musings.

Anyways, thank you for taking a brief visit to the deepest recesses of my brain, where I am chewing at the drywall and bouncing around the room like a cat who has just devoured the goddamn motherlode of catnip. Good night! !! :DDD

[katnisspeetaprim]

Broad Day Light

Min Yoongi/Reader

Im so sorry if this is bad. i haven't had time to properly edit this. I've been sick again recently, but I wanted to get at least something out for you guys!

Warnings: Injury, crowds, anxiety, established relationship, idol!au

Word Count: 1203 M.list

Walking down a busy street in the middle of the day shouldn’t have been an anxiety inducing task, but here you are. That’s all it’s felt like these days.

You and Yoongi went public a few years ago and paparazzi and sasaeng’s had mostly started to leave you alone after a few months, just the odd personal space invader here and there, but you learnt to live with the new found attention.

Fast forwards to 2023 and Yoongi’s solo tour was well under way. With a world tour came massive media attention, and with media attention, came paparazzi.

You weren’t famous, so having people run up to you with cameras was a surreal experience.

You tried your best to shield your face, but it was to no avail as the group of photographers bolted towards you from across the road.

‘Y/N! Over here!’

‘Are you going to any of the shows!?’

The group of men had effectively blocked your path, not allowing you to leave.

‘Please let me through. I have somewhere to be...’ You mumbled and wrapped your arms round yourself as you kept your head down and away from the cameras. You started forcing your way forwards.

‘Y/N! Yoongi and Halsey have been acting close! Did something happen between them!? Is that why you aren’t on tour with him?’ You know you shouldn’t dignify these people with a response, but the gall of implying that Yoongi would cheat on you with someone that had become a good friend to the both of you... It was enough to make you rage.

‘Of course not! They are good friends, now let me through- Ah!’ As you forcefully pushed your way through the crowd, you didn’t realise how close you were to the curb.  Your ankle rolled, causing you to topple over into the road.

Your hands, arms and knees were all scratched up, along with a twisted ankle. At least no cars were coming so you wouldn’t get run over. Though that seemed like a more preferable situation than the one you were currently in.

‘AH!’ You shakily sat up and grabbed your ankle, causing you to hiss out in pain.

‘Please just leave me alone!’ You screamed out and swiped out at the paparazzi circling round you.

‘Hey that’s assault! She just tried to hit me!’ One of the men shouted out, trying to garner sympathy with his fellow low lives.

You were all but breaking down into a full blown panic attack, when all of a sudden you felt a wave of hope flow through you when you heard the shouts of police officers approaching the scene.

‘Hey! What’s going on here? Out of the way!’ They pushed through the crowd and one knelt next to you, whilst the other two pushed back the group, ultimately threatening arrests if they didn’t dispurse.

‘Miss? Are you ok? Are you hurt?’

‘My ankle- I think it’s twisted!’ You whimpered, trying to hold back your tears.

‘Don’t worry. We’ll get you to the hospital.’

Hours later and you were finally able to go home. With a lot of help from your best friend, you were now sat in your living room, feeling sorry for yourself with your poor ankle all wrapped up.

The scraped that littered your limbs weren’t too bad, just a little sore. Stories had hit the web pretty much immediately, along with plenty of videos of the incident, filmed by multiple people.

With any luck, Yoongi would be too busy to even think about going online...

-Incoming video call from Yoongles-

Ah well. There goes that idea.

After a slight hesitation, you pushed the green answer button.

Yoongi suddenly appeared on screen. He’d clearly changed out of his concert gear and was now clad in comfy sweat pants and a jumper.

And he looked pissed.

‘Hey Yoongi...’ You trailed off, trying to sound normal.

‘Seriously? You going to pretend nothing happened?’ He stared at you in disbelief.

‘You should have called me when it happened!’ He continued on, raising his voice ever slightly.

You looked away from the screen, feeling guilty that you tried to keep it from him. Of course he would see the articles, so it was pointless to even try.

‘I’m sorry...’

Yoongi  took in your defeated appearance and groaned internally for adding more upset to your already stressful day.

‘No, I’m sorry for shouting. When I saw what happened, I just got so angry.’ He paused for a moment before shaking his head. ‘You got hurt because of me...’

‘Yoongi no!’ You sat up straighter, trying to reassure him. ‘This isn’t your fault. At all!’

He nodded slowly, but you could tell by the look in his eyes that he didn’t believe you.

‘I’m going to send you the number for one of our bodyguards. If you need to go somewhere, get him to drive you.

Yoongi suddenly moved the phone in his hands. He was clearly texting you.

You couldn’t help but smile at your boyfriend.

‘Yoongi! I’m sure they have better things to do than look after me!’ His message however, had already pinged on your phone.

‘You got attacked in broad daylight Y/N. Seems pretty serious to me.’ Yoongi deadpanned as he stared you right in the eyes.

The smile fell from your face. You couldn’t argue with the fact that you would feel a lot safer with someone escorting you...

‘I won’t be going anywhere for a while. My ankle is all screwed up.’ You joked, trying to lighten the mood a little.

You didn’t get to see Yoongi often these days, given how in demand he was. The last thing you wanted to do with your precious time together was be miserable.

Yoongi smirked mischievously.

‘Maybe you’ll stay out of trouble then.’ You drew back in mock offense.

‘Excuse me!?’ Where has the compassion gone to?’

‘I’m sure you’ll survive.’ He said, trying to hold back his smirk.

You couldn’t hold back and began to laugh for the first time that day.

‘I wish I could be there for you’ Yoongi suddenly spoke over your laughter. You immediately went quiet, knowing that Yoongi was still upset by the days events.

‘It’s ok. This is enough, for now.’ You smiled gently and gestured towards the phone screen separating the two of you.

‘Remind me again why you couldn’t come with me?’ Yoongi groaned and slumped back in his chair.

‘You know why. I couldn’t get off work.’ You giggled as you also snuggled down into your chair.

He frowned before once again beginning to type on his phone.

‘What’s wrong?’ You enquired curiously.

‘I’m not there, but Tae will be close by tomorrow. I’m sending him to check on you.’

‘Oh my god!’ You exclaimed with a laugh. ‘I can’t convince you I’m fine can I?’

‘Definitely not.’

You and Yoongi spent a long time on call together that night, making the most of every moment.

It was only after ending the call for the night, did you notice Taehyung had sent you a message.

Hey noona! Hope you are ready for a home spa day tomorrow!

P.S, Please tell Yoongi-hyung I made you happy... He’ll kill me if I fail!

[ddarker-dreams]

Nexus III.

Yandere Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Explicit not SFW, mommy issues galore, some psychological horror elements, yandere themes, and unhealthy relationships. Word count: 15.6k.

Nexus index.

When you dream of your mother, it’s in a lotus field.

Everyone’s psyche manifests itself in a distinct way, echoes the teachings she left behind. This is yours. 

The bioluminescent petals cower inward as if hiding a terrible secret. Some bloom along the hazy ground, others swing in the air, suspended by strings hung from a glass dome overhead. 

In this dream, you cannot speak, though you have much to say. 

Gentle as you may be, each step you take to close the gap between you and her demands a sacrifice. The flower’s vibrancy drains like color from a dying man’s face. From the stem upward, it decays. To try and save it is to kill it faster. Brittle fragments crumble into ashen piles that scratch at your bare feet. 

Her back remains facing you. 

You have no way of earning her attention. She is blind to the frantic waving of your arms, deaf to the eroding necropolis you leave in your wake. 

You’re certain you’ll never reach her. Still, you try, only to fail all the same. 

With each passing dream, a crack along your glass dome spreads. It started too small to see and is now too large to fix. Is it best to let it shatter? Could it be the silent warden that cordons you off from a universe you know yet have never experienced? 

Or is it the final bastion that shields you? 

A devastating attack on the Thelx’s main guide causes cataphoric damage to the quadrant’s sixth residential district. The aftershocks resulted in the collapse of multiple buildings, resulting in injuries for hundreds and a rising death toll that currently stands at 34. Local residents have filed complaints for years now, listing concerns that the most recent building inspections have not resulted in appropriate measures taking place. 

“We all knew something bad was bound to happen,” said one woman who happened to be visiting family in Ade during the incident. “We knew, but where else are we supposed to go? Our choices were to stay put and take our chances or try surviving in Arc. No one wanted that. But now…. seeing this… maybe Arc would’ve been better.”

An investigation into the matter is being spearheaded by Chrysus, Ade’s Exalted Regent. 

We reached out to Chrysus’ team for a statement and have yet to receive a response. 

Rumors are swirling online that the attack was targeted at Thelx’s Exalted Arbiter, [First] Phaeales, the single daughter of the deceased Ania Phaeales. A spokesperson for Thelx’s fledgling matriarch has confirmed her safety, though she received minor injuries. Thelx is expected to endure further economic hardship due to the IPC’s recent travel ban. The LOTUS-EATER and similar establishments constitute up to 43% of Thelx’s total gross domestic product—

“It’s rude to read when you have a guest over,” Nona chides. 

“Sorry.” 

You turn your phone off and place it beside the other ornaments atop your vanity. Makeup, jewelry, hair ornaments, and one of the only gifts your mother ever gave; a lotus made of iridescent crystals. It’s sat untouched for years and you assume it will continue to do so. 

Nona, who has helped herself to lying on your bed, rolls over onto her stomach. Both her cheeks squish together as she holds her head up by tiny fists, her elbows digging into your comforter for support. She draws her lips into a thin line. There’s a hollowness to her gaze that rivals the mask she wore when you first met. 

“Why do you care so much?” 

Her inquiry leaves you temporarily at a loss for words. “... What?” 

“About people you haven’t met,” she clarifies. “Whose names you don’t even know. To them, you’re nothing but a glorified mascot to blame when things go bad and praise when things go right.” 

Your mouth is too dry for you to swallow. “Each life in Thelx has been entrusted to me.” 

“So? Did everyone come up to you one by one and ask for your stewardship?” 

“Of course not, don’t be unreasonable.” 

“I’m the one being unreasonable?” Nona barks a caustic laugh. “Have you seen what these people have been saying? ‘Let’s pack up the family and move to Arc!’, as if any of them could survive there for more than the instant their foot crosses over the divide. It’s hilarious! The funniest joke I’ve heard in some time.” 

Your eyes narrow. “That’s enough. The community is understandably hurt. Frightened. When tragedies happen, we each have our ways of making sense of things.” 

She pushes herself up and sits crisscross. “I’m just saying I’d like to see them try. Me… I would’ve given anything to have been born here. An organ, a limb, whatever. At least I’d be hobbling around where there’s light and warmth.” 

“Nona…” 

“They don’t know. They have no idea,” Nona trembles. “People make Arc out to be something it isn’t. ‘Look at how free they are, they can live as they please, answering to no one but themselves!’ Funnily enough, the IPC said the same thing when they built Perianth, didn’t they? Got the whole universe feeling warm and fuzzy. The poor, the wretched, the damned; they’re hideous up close, so let’s tuck them far away from the light. Then we don’t have to see them.”

She hangs her head. “Experiencing rejection from the rejected… that’s what they can look forward to in Arc. Anything else is a pipe dream.” 

You get up from your chair and sit down next to her on the bed. Finding a blanket, you toss it over your shoulder, extra prudent to avoid any accidental contact. Glassy amber eyes blink slowly as you pat the cushioned spot. She starts leaning in, only to pause a few inches shy of her intended target. You don’t need to be in her head to guess what reel she’s flicking through. When the feature film’s end credits roll, she rests her head on your shoulder. 

“Lear’s worried about you, y’know.” 

“I know.” 

“Loopy would be too, if it were sentient.” 

“It’s possible.” 

“...” 

She whispers your name, hesitant, as if she were a child preparing to ask their parents for a gift they know they can’t have.

“If I could, I’d wish that all the stars in the universe would burn so bright, so hot, that each person would melt away like ice until only us three remain. The poor, wretched, and damned. Our happiness would be unrivaled if there were no one else to compare ourselves to. You don’t know misery if no one ever tells you you’re miserable.” 

Or maybe you invent new miseries for yourself, you think. Then, with no one to compare yourself to… would you not be the most miserable person in the universe? 

You could voice your musings but to verbalize them now feels wrong. Instead, you choose to let her live the wish that will never come true. In this pocket dimension, beyond the four walls of your room, nothing exists. No Thelx, Perianth II, Stellaron Hunter or IPC. There are only two jagged shards who have abandoned being whole again. You might not click together like puzzle pieces, perfectly falling into place to form a seamless image, but you can look at the pane you broke free from and decide for yourself if the result was worth it. 

Choosing between two evils is better than being stuck with one. 

“Nona,” you break the silence. If there’s anything you’ve been doing too much of lately, it’s dwelling on factors beyond your control. 

“Hm?” 

“That flower bouquet,” you nod toward the magenta-colored roses on your vanity, which she brought in earlier. “There was a message attached to it, wasn’t there?” 

She stiffens. 

“... Possibly.” 

You knew a ‘gift’ from Miss 10.899 billion wouldn’t come without some poisonous flourish. The roses don’t have thorns, so the sharpness must lay elsewhere. 

“What did it say?” 

“You really want to know?” 

“I’m asking, aren’t I?” 

She deflates like a balloon pricked by a needle, then mumbles, “The tag said ‘Get well soon.’”

Ah, you think. If I could have anyone melt away… she’d certainly be high on the list.

You haven’t spoken one word to Blade since he carried your unconscious body back to the LOTUS-EATER. 

Regardless, he’s still around. He isn’t some option in your settings you can turn off with a single button press. He hasn’t initiated contact while you healed from your injuries, which consisted of a sprained ankle, two broken ribs, and minor abrasions peppered throughout. Your high position ensured you’d receive the best medical care Eris has to offer. 

Fourteen total cycles have passed since the Thelx nectar guide bombing. 

Fourteen dreary cycles filled with nothing but eating bland food, taking bitter medication, and dreaming the same gloomy dream. 

During this festive stretch, Nona has been your primary visitor. Lear restricted himself to electronic communication, fearing the emotional reaction he’d experience from seeing you in this state might harm you. They’ve both taken to distracting you in their own fashion. Nona shows you pictures, such as the googly eyes she put on Loopy, or discusses the strangest psyches she’s seen from clients. One client’s mind manifested itself as a drumstick. 

“Not even a pair, just one,” she giggled. “Hey, don’t start lecturing me about our privacy policy. I see you fighting back a smile. That absolves me from breaking my NDA.” 

Then there’s Lear who laser focuses on your health. At least 80% of his texts follow the ‘Have you x’ format. Stretched, taken medicine, slept, eaten; you half expect him to start asking if you’ve breathed enough. 

The timer you’ve set for your tea goes off. 

You pull the teabag out, dispose of it, and then stir the ruby-colored concoction. Golden flecks swirl in a violent vortex. Content, you throw on a diaphanous, cape-like outer garment over your loungewear. The fabric is deceptively delicate to the eye yet has been synthesized to preserve heat. 

The components that open your bedroom door at your behest emit a low hum. The lack of use must’ve spoiled them. This is the first time you’ve emerged from your hibernation. The light system in your office whirs to life upon your return. You wave off the visual assault. Your eyes have become so accustomed to the dark that you’ll need to build your light tolerance back up. 

After inputting the proper passcode, you pass through to the balcony. 

And then immediately regret it when Blade’s back is the first thing that greets you. 

He’s in a meditative stance. The gales of loud emotion that normally engulf him have quieted down to a hush. From this position, you can see how his long ebony strands cascade down his back, the tips taken on a reddish hue. A pearlescent sheen shimmers along the outline of his body, the moon’s personal gift. When one thinks of a stereotypical warrior, certain biases culminate in the rough image of some brute, like a brigand from a child’s fairytale. 

However, seeing him like this, exuding poise and temperance, you think he fits the role of prince. 

You take a step back. 

“You can stay,” his voice slashes through your entangled thoughts, “I’ll go inside.” 

A beast slithers in the calm waters as soon as he stops his meditation. It isn’t voracious or on the hunt. No, you get the distinct feeling it finds pleasure in lurking just below the surface, not creating so much as a ripple to deter its prey. Waiting and waiting. By the time some poor soul enters and realizes they aren’t alone, it’s too late. Multiple rows of pointed teeth have already pierced their flesh. 

You block his path with your body, an act that’s equally confounding to him as it is to you. 

“I wanted to talk to you,” you say. Your boldness fizzles out beneath the weight of his stare. “If… that’s alright.” 

He considers you briefly. You expect him to walk away without sparing you another glance, but it must be his turn to foster confusion. He turns around and sits on the chair to the left, as he did when you first became acquainted. After what feels like a delay in your neurons providing information to your brain, you sit beside him. It occurs to you that your little balcony is in excellent shape even though you haven’t been able to maintain it. 

You look at him from the corner of your eye. 

Has he been keeping this area clean? 

Oddly enough, it’s Blade who prompts further conversation. “How are your injuries?” 

“My ankle’s fully recovered and my ribs only hurt if I move too much. I’ve got nothing to complain about.” 

You take a sip of your concoction. A sweet, herbal flavor dances on your tongue with a hint of spice. These tea leaves are one of the few that can grow on Eris in an artificial environment. You added a spoonful of the Nectary’s tonic to complement the taste. It’s a drink popularly referred to as ambrosia. 

“How about you? Have you healed— oh, um.” You raise your hand to cover your traitorous mouth. It can prevent more words from coming out, but it can’t take back what’s already been said. 

“I have, unfortunately.” 

“‘Unfortunately?’” You repeat back, though the sound is muffled. You wince. So much for putting an end to your bluntness. 

“You’re acting reserved,” he dryly notes. “Is this the same woman who takes every chance to tell me off?” 

“Hey, I don’t take every chance to—” You throw your head back in exasperation upon seeing the beginning of a self-satisfied smirk. “... I shouldn’t… have behaved as… candidly as I did. It’s unprofessional.” 

“‘That part,’ huh,” Blade mutters. “You don’t have to section off parts of yourself, you choose to.” 

The tea’s aftertaste turns bitter. 

To be whole is a privilege Blade doesn’t have, you think. If he allowed that, then… would he really be ‘Blade’ anymore? 

You stare down at the distorted reflection the tea provides, ripples distorting your likeness before you can confirm his claim. Your hands must be trembling. 

“I advised against it for a reason. My mind is unsightly.” 

“It isn’t that!” you turn your head toward him, catching how he furrows his eyebrows at your outburst of emotion, “What I did… it wasn’t right. I took advantage of your vulnerable state and tried to manipulate you. Control you. A violation like that… it’s unforgivable.”

Anytime a situation threatens to spiral beyond your control, you resort to what you supposedly swore off. 

I’ll only do it this once, the circumstances call for it, you’d tell yourself. No more after that. I mean this time, I really do. It won’t happen again.

Until it does.

Alister with his weapon. Blade after he saved your life. Lear when the loneliness felt excruciating.

Your chest feels like it’s hosting a colony of crawling maggots ready to burst through your flesh. It hurts, this slimy, despicable filth that you scrub raw only to dirty again. Not trusting yourself with the fragile teacup, you set it down. 

“So that’s what you consider a sin,” Blade says. “You oppose incarceration and yet you're a prisoner to your own guilt.” 

“That’s different.” 

“Even so, one is far worse than the other. I should know; I’ve experienced both. If I could choose between a physical prison or my mind, I’d pick the former.” 

You recall the gargantuan structure that is Blade’s repressed psyche. The oppressive atmosphere, how it stood alone, far removed from anything resembling hope. 

If it’s of Xianzhou build, it must be none other than the Shackling Prison. 

“The injuries you received when protecting me,” You work through each word slowly, as if testing their validity. “They should’ve killed you. But instead… you ‘defied the natural order’ — death itself.” 

Blade doesn’t move his gaze from the four moons in the sky. 

The Xianzhou Alliance’s intolerance for those who follow the Aeon of Abundance, Yaoshi, is infamous throughout the universe. What the followers consider blessings, they reject as curses. For the Xianzhou, it’s personal. The ink the Aeon has left behind hardly has time to dry before more transgressions are added to the ledger. 

Those who live on Eris, yourself included, most commonly follow the Noct, the Aeon of The Ideal. Noct is thought to be the one who blessed this planet with the Nectary. Without it, the first generation of prisoners left to fend for themselves by the IPC would have perished. Your Aeon is in what the Genius Society calls ‘an indefinite hibernation’, not interacting with the material world yet not fully removed from it either. Some revere their Aeon enough to die for them, others despise them enough to dedicate everything to their destruction; neither side makes sense.

To you, the Aeons feel almost as distant as the stars. 

“Can it really be considered a sin if it’s beyond your control?” 

“It won’t always be,” he replies. “Until then, I can’t allow myself to forget. You must get why.” 

You wish you didn’t. 

A few moments pass. They flow into each other smoothly, lacking acidity. You resume drinking your tea. It’s lukewarm, but you don’t mind. 

“You truly aren’t afraid of me,” you remark. 

“What’s there to be afraid of?” 

The deep bass of his voice temporarily adjusts to allow bemusement. It takes you a moment to realize he isn’t mocking you, it’s more teasing than anything. The reminder does serve you well. Physically, the gap in your strength is insurmountable. He could snuff out your life before you realized your appointment with death had been expedited. 

“Most people are put off by my company in a casual setting. Being around someone who could peer into your mind, past all the pretenses we work so diligently to build… it’s frightening. Unnatural, even.” 

He focuses on the abyssal horizon. It’s as if your Aeon swaddled this planet in a pitch-black blanket with the four moons acting as a nursery mobile. You can reach up to grasp them as much as you’d like, but the cosmic entities will never be yours. It is you who belongs to them. 

“My mind has a will of its own,” Blade tells you. “It’s loud. Something about you quiets it down.” 

You blink. “Really?” 

He stares at you blankly instead of repeating himself. You take it that’s his way of communicating he has no reason to be dishonest. 

“This affliction you’re suffering from… it’s called mara, correct?” 

The instant the word leaves your lips, his demeanor shifts. It’s subtle, the tightening of his muscles and his frown deepening, yet the physical signs aren’t what tip you off. The pervasive air shrouding the beast inside his psyche is twitching. It longs to permanently rid Blade of control and loathes each rejection it’s endured. 

“I think I saw it. From what I’ve heard, I thought it’d be more self-destructive. Yours, though… how do I put it… it’s vicious, but it’s like a muzzle has been forced on it. I assume Kafka had something to do with that?” 

He doesn’t deny your conjecture. 

“Hmph, figures it’d be her handiwork. She can poke around in people’s heads, but her techniques are more effective in the short term. It lacks staying power,” you cross your arms. “I wonder why my presence deters your mara.” 

“It’s never functioned normally. I’ve long abandoned trying to make sense of it.” 

“I can’t accept that,” you huff. “You’ve saved my life twice now. There has to be something useful to be gleaned from this, even if it isn’t a complete cure.” 

The groundwork has been laid out. You were able to scrape together enough to give his psyche form, an act that’s no small feat, since he didn’t go through the typical interview process. Initiating physical contact with him was a risk, but you’ve yet to notice any consequences. 

While considering the best methods, an epiphany sinks its claws into you. 

You bite your lower lip. “I’m— um. Getting ahead of myself. After what happened, I understand if you don’t want me in your head.” 

The terms of atonement crafted by your own hands can’t be sufficient penance. 

“Multiple influences have fought for control of my mind,” he reveals. Your breath catches in your tightening throat. This isn’t a wound you’ve inflicted, it’s a wound you’ve reopened. Mara’s madness, Kafka’s adjustments; how much tampering has he been subjected to? There have been foreign elements inserted and his original self shifted around, if not removed entirely. His psyche is strung together like fraying patchwork. 

You don’t know what to do. Should you apologize again? Leave him be? Form some sort of arrangement where he doesn’t have to interact with you directly? 

These frantic thoughts halt when you examine his profile. 

Blade isn’t stewing in animosity or grief. He’s simply sitting there, living in the present. Swarming torments don’t caw and peck at him. He isn’t smiling, but his facial features express contentment, the way a laborer would after a toiling day. Flowing with the current instead of struggling against the tide. 

“Out of all of them, though,” 

The brilliant luster of his eyes takes you hostage.

“Yours… wasn’t so bad.” 

Unknown 

You’re there, aren’t you?

Unknown 

Don’t be shy and ignore my messages. 

Unlike some people, I’m busy 

Unknown 

I assure you I’m busy with various preparations too.

Unknown 

Never too busy to check in on my favorite Arbiter though. ♡

Unknown 

Did you like the roses? 

I would’ve liked them more if they weren’t from you 

Unknown

💔

Unknown

So, it’d be different if they were from someone else? Hm… I might get jealous if that’s the case.

It wouldn’t make much of a difference, anyway They’ve already wilted

Unknown

That’s a shame

Unknown

I suppose what I find beautiful doesn’t suit Eris’ climate very well

Unknown

I know you’re not going to respond anymore, so I’ll stop pestering you for now

Unknown

Take good care of yourself, little Miss Arbiter ♡

It’s become a tradition for Lear to join your and Nona’s training sessions. She’s in her highest spirits when the three of you are under the same roof, even if you’re all doing different things. Presently, Lear is replacing Loopy’s hardware with an older operating system. The latest update downloaded automatically and fixed the bug that caused your favorite robot’s premier quality. Having a robot named Loopy who no longer loops is inconceivable. 

Since the LOTUS-EATER is closed for the foreseeable future, you accepted Nona’s idea to have her training on the first floor rather than the second. According to her, The Lounge has ‘distracting’ vibes, so you hoped a change in scenery might recenter her. 

However, you’re beginning to seriously question your judgment. 

“Lear, can I please have a drink?” 

“Lear, don’t pay her any mind. She needs to be sober during her training.” 

“Sobriety is a concept invented by the prohibitionists!” 

Lear’s attention darts between you, standing imposingly with your arms crossed, then to Nona, who mimes what she must think to be a sympathetic countenance. 

“Um…” he trails off. Unable to withstand the immovable object and unstoppable force, he retreats to the motherboard he’s been working on. “I’m technically not on the clock, so I shouldn’t handle merchandise that doesn’t belong to me.” 

Nona wads up a piece of paper and throws it at him. 

It misses. 

By a lot.

“Stop pestering Lear and take your assignment seriously,” you frown. Then you realize what paper she used as ammunition. “Hold on… don’t tell me you just crumpled up and threw correspondence from Chrysus.” 

She shrugs. “That discount hound probably didn’t have anything worthwhile to say, anyway.” 

“Is Eris’ future not ‘worthwhile?’” 

“Not if we hop on a spaceship and never look back.” 

Lear sets his tools aside, unfurls the letter, then returns it to you. Nona sticks her tongue out at him and he flips her off.

… Maybe you need a drink.

“Hey, Stellaron Hunter,” Nona waves her arms wildly. “You must have a ship, right? How about it? Got room for three more? It wouldn’t even disrupt the arrangement. You can keep watch over [First] to your heart’s content.” 

The ‘Stellaron Hunter’ in question has stationed himself on a barstool, where he blatantly ignores Nona’s request. He had been standing against a far wall as you’ve learned he’s apt to do, but this made you feel bad. After some needling, he caved and sat down at your behest. It’s been a little over a week since your conversation on the balcony. Your free time since then has been sparse. An injury doesn’t make your work disappear, it just causes it to pile up higher. 

In light of what Chrysus deems a terrorist attack, you are to have a hearing with him and Caicias. Blade staunchly refused any request for you to meet them in person. For once, you agreed with the strict measures. The nectar guide has been repaired, but the mere chance that more people could be injured at another attempt on your life is unacceptable. After some bureaucratic back and forth, it was agreed upon that the risk of a cyberattack would be the lesser of two evils. 

Chrysus insisted on handwritten correspondence delivered through trustworthy sources until the hearing. The message Nona flung consisted of him tiptoeing around every serious query you’ve brought to his attention. Your most burning question concerns the residential district’s building inspections. More specifically, how the dire reports never made their way to you. 

Initially, you thought it may have fallen through the cracks. Your mother’s sudden death two years prior plunged Thelx into chaos. She wasn’t expected to retire for another fifty years. As such, you were woefully underprepared for the mantle forced onto you. She hadn’t even told you the passcode to unlock the LOTUS-EATER’s front doors. Data restoration from some old hardware she never disposed of provided enough login information for you to keep things rolling. That theory crumbled when you recalled that in 2150 AE, building permits and inspections were made to be public records. 

Upon checking, from 2150 AE to the present, everything has supposedly been up to code. 

The employee who signed off on the inspections is under an Ade company, which falls outside your jurisdiction. 

You wrote to Chrysus detailing your concerns. His response can best be summarized as him telling you that he’ll handle it. 

That did little to put your doubts to rest. 

“I’m telling you, this is impossible,” Nona grumbles. “Can you reset it?” 

“I’ve already reset it four times.” 

“Well, you know, fifth time’s the charm.” 

You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve sighed throughout this training. 

“Let’s not give up so soon, okay? Which part do you feel is impossible?” 

You sit down beside her to get a better look. The blue, holographic screen fills you with nostalgia. This program was developed by a retired Arbiter to aid in their training. Essentially, it generates a ‘person’ with traits indistinguishable from their flesh and blood counterparts. Physiology, disposition, every experience they’ll go through from birth to death; it misses no detail. 

The trainees are supposed to go through the steps as if they were interacting with a client. They must establish a link by piecing together the simulated psyche, giving it an interactable form. 

Nona’s a rare case. Most Arbiters struggle with establishing and maintaining Synalinks, an area she excels at. It’s the first step that presents an issue. She has a difficult time establishing links. It’s a foundational part of the process that can’t be haphazard. 

“He’s so whiny. He’s a bigshot vocalist, traveling around the galaxy to sold-out shows, and he still complains that no one will ever ‘understand’ him or his art when even he doesn’t get it! He’s just coming up with fake deep lyrics.” 

“Did you look at the childhood fragments? For insecurity, that’s a good place to start.” 

“Oh, don’t get me started on that,” she grimaces as if she bit into something sour. “He came from old money. Opera star for a mom and a successful businessman for a dad. He wanted for nothing. But no, apparently he still needs to change his profile picture to black and the about section to ‘gone’ whenever he wants attention.” 

You pull up a critical childhood fragment. “Here you can see his father leaving a recital early to take a phone call. Then, after the performance, his mother is quick to point out the areas he needs to work on.” 

“So? He was screwing around on his phone during his singing lessons, what did he expect?” 

“Consider what happens when his tutor leaves. His face falls and he’s fighting back tears. He’s acting out to get the attention his parents don’t give him. The tutor is older and in a position of power, which makes him a perfect surrogate.” 

“That happened when he was six, though. He’s had decades to get over it.” 

“Even if that were true, it wouldn’t make a difference. A person’s experiences are real to them. Say I think there’s a hidden compartment in my bedroom due to the wall making a peculiar noise. I have lived my entire life believing this. If you saw that fragment while trying to piece my psyche together, then dispute it because you know there’s no hidden compartment, there’d be disunity. Every belief, no matter how small, connects in a complex web. Why did I make that inference? Did I read it in a book? Did my mother scare me into following curfew by saying a secret monster hiding there would get me if I stayed up too late? The mind is a fragile thing and we must treat it as such.” 

Nona puts her hands up. “Alright, alright, geez. Make sense of the events through their lens, not mine. Got it.” 

Unexpectedly, it’s Lear who speaks up next.

“What would happen if those fragments were altered?” 

You place a hand on your chin. “It’d depend on the fragment’s importance. In the example I gave, it’d cause friction in maintaining a link, but it wouldn’t fundamentally change everything I’ve ever known. As for a fragment more significant, well… I’m not sure.” 

“You aren’t?” 

“Without credible data to pull from, I’d only be speculating.” 

A frigid draft whirrs through. You shiver. 

“You’re better at this than I am, Lear. Wanna switch places?” Nona asks.

Lear stands up, his palm covering his mouth. It’s as if the vitality has been drained from his face. He transitions through multiple expressions, each more agonized than the last. Your heart twists violently against your ribcage. You want to call out to him, comfort him, but there’s no combination of words that’d douse the raging fire. 

Is it happening again? You think. No… this has to be the worst one yet! 

It’s before you again. 

A simple stage in a modest auditorium. 

There are no performers or stagehands. The lights in the theater are dim, the chairs are folded up. Pamphlets clutter the ground in disorganized heaps. Looking up, you realize they’re falling from the rafters like rain. One lands by your feet. You pick it up, squinting to make sense of the words. It’s a playbill advertising a show titled The Idiot. 

Directed by

ANIA PHAEALES

THE CAST

(In order of appearance)

The Servant…………………………………………………………………………..UNNAMED

The Fool…………………………………………………………………..…………..UNNAMED

The Coward…………………………………………………………………………...UNNAMED

On and on the list goes, ascribing every unflattering role to an unknown party. 

Mother’s name is here? Why? Was she that influential over Lear?

Spotlights flick on. Hot streams of light illuminate you in a blinding assault, which you try to block with your hands. The light’s intensity overpowers your meager attempts. A spectral crowd cheers, rousing applause and whistles emanating from empty chairs. Champagne glasses clink, men guffaw deep from their diaphragms, and women shriek like banshees. 

It gets hotter and louder, again, then once more; suffocating you in a cacophony of sensory stimuli. 

The audience makes passing comments. 

“... A shame, it couldn’t work out…” 

“Though what did they expect, truly…” 

“... Know how it is…” 

The finale rings crystal clear.

“Some people born will die never knowing love.”  

A wet, metallic-smelling substance drips from your nose. The softness of a rag replaces this feeling. It remains there, tickling your senses. There’s that floral scent again — subtle and pleasant. The flower it’s derived from may be toxic, but the strands of vermillion that curl outward like spider legs look so inviting. The petals are streams of blood frozen by time. Every time they wither, they’re forced to bloom again, perpetuating a cycle from which there’s no escape. 

You’ve seen sunsets in pictures. There are two of them glaring down at you now, circular, as if viewed through a looking glass. 

“How pretty,” your words blur together. “‘ve always to see… a sunset…” 

You never will, though. Eris is far, far away from any brilliant stars. The aloof night sky will be your lullaby and your dirge. 

Sluggishly, you sit up. You’re on one of the nice leather couches in The Club. A headache thumps in your head like a landlord who raps against the door of a tenant late with rent. You’re about to stand when an authoritative voice stops you.

“Stay still.” 

You open your mouth to protest. Blade must know your demeanor when you intend to be petulant, for he cuts you off. 

“That wasn’t a request.” 

You murmur something incomprehensible and melt back into the cushion. Regardless of your obedience, Blade stands close, as if you’re planning to bolt, trip on an uneven floor panel, then hit your head and die instantly. Glancing around, you note no one else is here. 

He follows your eyes and accurately surmises your intentions. “The quiet one ran out and the noisy one ran after him.” 

Any other time, that deadpan delivery mixed with his personal interpretation of Lear and Nona would’ve made you laugh. Presently, though, you’re fighting off a headache that outclasses every other that’s come before it. Top of the class and then some. It helps to know that Lear won’t be alone. Why exactly he experienced such an intense emotional eruption is a mystery to you. Then there’s the chaotic state of his psyche to consider; if you were disoriented from the aftershocks, the epicenter must’ve been cataclysmic. 

You’re so swept up in your thoughts, that it takes you a while to notice how Blade’s been staring at you. This in and of itself is nothing new. He’s been your shadow ever since forced this arrangement. It irritated you at first, but that blistering offense eased into acceptance. His vigilance felt befitting of a guard. Taking in your surroundings, assessing any threats; such is his prerogative. 

How he’s eyeing you now feels different. It’s as if he’s looking through you, not at you. 

“Is something wrong? You’re making such a scary expression,” you joke. 

No visual reaction. 

“I’m waiting for your explanation.” 

“About…?” 

Blade doesn’t bother hiding his displeasure. He glowers down at you, the difference in your height further exacerbated because you’re sitting down. 

The impromptu staring contest comes to an end when he speaks up, his voice carrying less hostility. 

“That idea you proposed,” he begins, moving back to return your personal space, “Are you still willing to try it?” 

He has to bring this up now of all times? You don’t want to loudly announce a deeply private matter, especially if there’s a possibility the information will make it back to Kafka. Your best shot is to downplay the severity of what you went through. He might be doing his job, but you don’t want him cordoning off Lear as a precautionary measure. You don’t blame Lear in the slightest — this punishment is appropriate for your past hubris. 

“Of course.” 

“I accept your offer.” 

Ah, you think. So this is the game he’s going to play.

“In that case… when should we get started?” 

You can guess his next sentence before it comes out. 

“I’m ready whenever you are.” 

Nona

hey hey

Nona

we’re all good here

Nona

lear’s quiet but he’s doing better. he keeps apologizing 

Nona

i thanked him for causing a scene and getting me out of class 

Nona

he kinda maybe let out a sound like a laugh

Nona

i’ll be hanging with him until things simmer down a bit more

Nona

man. i have to say though. sword guy had the most abominable vibes when it all went down

Nona

i yelled at him that if he hurt lear you would turn his mind into goop

Nona

soooo if you wouldn’t mind please tell him that was a joke and that i don’t deserve to get stabbed on sight. 

Nona

anyway. take care of yourself. call me when you feel up to it

It took three hours, a couple of painkillers, and more glasses of water than you cared to count to be ‘ready.’

You change into formal garments, consisting of an ivory gown that flows down to your feet, and a chiffon, indigo cloak that encases you from your shoulders to your knees. You fasten the heavy fabric into place with a broach your mother wore when she served as the Exalted Arbiter. It shows different stages of a moon, connected by four silver spokes. The highest point is the first quarter moon; to the right, the hollow outline of a new moon; the lowest point, the last quarter moon; then lastly, the full moon is to the left. 

Blade sits across from you in the chair designated for clients. He’s silent as you make your preparations, his eyes following you like a haunted painting. His ulterior motives are irrelevant. Inside this room, you’ve carried out your work as an Arbiter hundreds, if not thousands of times. You’ve heard the most clandestine fantasies that wouldn’t even be uttered on a deathbed. Devoid of judgment, you’ve filled your mind with the overflowing desires of their heart, careful not to lose a single drop. 

“Are you comfortable?” 

He nods. 

“Good. Let me know if you need anything.” 

An ornate tea kettle made from Eris’ dark stone sits atop the Nectary’s gemstone. It’s bronze in color and emits a warm, calming glow. Once the water inside is brought to a boil, you pour it into an opal goblet. Next, you add ambrosia leaves that have been ground into a fine powder. It sizzles upon contact with the water. Finally, you procure a vial from a pouch inside your clothes. Four drops of the Necatary’s tonic descend into the concoction. 

“I’ve seen you drink this before,” Blade notes. 

“Now you’ll get to try. Don’t worry, it isn’t poisoned.” 

It could be the low lighting and exhaustion, but you swear you see his lips curl upward. 

“Add however much you please. My only condition is that it works permanently.” 

“It’s a tempting offer. Sadly, I have to drink after you. Maybe another time.” 

After stirring the ambrosia, you hand the goblet to him. His eyes remind you of burning embers. Their radiance fascinates you. You shift in your seat, suddenly conscious of yourself. Has his gaze always held this weight? When he pulls the goblet away, you notice the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, how there’s a pretty sheen coating his lips. 

Where is this onslaught coming from? Why couldn’t it have waited until later? 

You hurriedly take a sip from the goblet. Noct’s ichor tastes sweet and spicy.

It’s tradition to repeat an incantation so as to invoke your slumbering Aeon’s blessing. You’re about to say it, when there’s a cool, smooth sensation against the corner of your lips. Every muscle in your body goes taut as if you’ve been turned to stone by some wicked spell. 

Blade’s gloved finger ghosts over your skin. 

He’s leaning over, still sitting down, close enough that you can see your reflection in his eyes. You see how high your eyebrows have raised, the ‘o’ shape of your mouth. 

“B-Blade?” Your voice comes out like a squeak. 

He says nothing. Goosebumps litter your skin, the hairs on the back of your neck stand. Your heart is a ferocious war drum. Whether it’s sounding an alarm or an invitation, you cannot tell. A beast made in your image has life breathed into it. You thought you slayed it, watched the light drain from its beady eyes, but it’s resuscitating. 

Then again, maybe you’re a fool for thinking lust can stay dead. 

He sinks back into his seat, completely impassive, acting like what he did carried no significance. 

“Some of the drink got on you,” he explains, entirely nonchalant. “I cleaned it off.” 

Being thrown into a furnace wouldn’t compare to the heat ensnaring your body. 

You cough into your hand. “Oh, yeah, that’s— thank you.” 

The awkward jumble of words flounders out before you can stop them. Your lessons in etiquette and oration have hidden themselves, somewhere beyond accessibility, scurrying to the shadows like mice when a cat approaches. If you were to make a list of your dumbest statements, this would make it far in the rankings. 

This time, you’re certain of it. That little smirk. Maybe he’s getting back at you for withholding information earlier. 

Whatever the case, you have a goal you’re determined to see through. You resume the incantation, although your voice lacks assertiveness. 

“To dream is a sacred thing. Don’t fear it. Welcome it, rejoice in it, and shed no tears when it is finished. We’ve been granted your purest blessing. As you slumber, we find rest in you. Allow us the sweetest of dreams.” 

You close your eyes…

… And when you reopen them, the Shackling Prison looms above you. 

This link is far more stable than its predecessor. There’s no ticking timer hurrying you along, you’re free to examine every nook and cranny. You notice how desaturated your surroundings are. The blades of grass closest to the prison blend in with the stone, the only hit belying their true nature being how they sway in the breeze. There isn’t any vegetation or ambiance that suits the surrounding environment. Birds don’t sing, rushing rivers are silent, and bugs refuse to perform their melodies. 

Nothing regresses or progresses; he’s wedged in a constant state of inertia. Your heart aches. 

You make your way to the impenetrable gates. After thinking about it, you hypothesized the seal you previously encountered was an emergency defense he unknowingly created. At that exact moment, Blade didn’t want you puppeteering him. He may be enigmatic, but what you know for certain is that he takes his assignments seriously. The Stellaron Hunters want you alive so he has to as well. 

That’d explain why it acted hostile to your interference. You’ve never established a link in such a high-stakes, volatile setting. You were bound to encounter oddities of some fashion. This explanation reassures you as you get closer. 

Only to ruthlessly get debunked. 

The seal is still here. It’s styled in the outline of a circle, overlapping the doors that keep you from studying Blade’s mara. Frustration floods you. This can’t be Blade’s handiwork. The one comparison is how it emanates steady energy, similar to how he is in a meditative state. The similarities stop there. 

It's grown paler, you realize. Its potency has waned since I’ve last seen it, too. 

To test this, you push against it. 

The gates creak back. 

This gap lets you steal a glance at Blade’s mara. It consists of multiple tumor-like abscesses that writhe against each other, forming a pulsating, fleshy mass. This ebullition isn’t consistent. Different sections have a will of their own. Some try consuming their adversary, others suffocate what’s beneath through their bulk alone. The horror extends down into a pit whose depth you couldn’t possibly guess. Killing, devouring, gorging, and digesting; only to experience a rebirth that will perpetuate the cycle. 

It pushes against the windows and seeps into the structure’s cracks, of which you count many. The mara’s repairing him, vigilant in its upkeep. It is a ghastly glue holding fractured pieces that long for respite together. 

Your intrusion causes it to gurgle and retract. The mara doesn’t break down or weaken, it gradually oozes down like bile in an esophagus. 

The seal repels you, cutting your grotesque investigation short. 

The last thing you see before the gates slam shut is the mara reclaiming its territory. 

…

Blade’s fully conscious while you need some time to refamiliarize yourself with your surroundings. Your head raises its thunderous complaints about how it’s being overused lately. You down a cup of water, careful not to get any on your lips, so your earlier weakness isn’t repeated. 

“Alright. Let me get my thoughts together,” You take a deep breath, then continue, “I only caught a glimpse of your mara. It did retreat after noticing my presence, although I’m not sure why.

Blade doesn’t say anything. You’re beginning to get used to that. 

“And another thing. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning, since everything about our previous link was messy… but this time and the last, there’s this seal preventing me from going deeper. Do you have any idea what that’s about?” 

“You’re the expert here.” 

That must mean he doesn’t. 

“Hah. I’m starting to wonder about that.” 

You don’t mean to sound so defeated. You have some years under your belt — 120, to be exact — but you’ve realized how many areas you’re lacking in. Nymphalians live anywhere from 500 to 700 years. Your mother was 200 when she’d been anointed as Eris’ new Exalted Arbiter. She tried stamping out the quiet pride your prodigious abilities instilled in you. All it did was form a gaping chasm neither of you ever tried to mend. 

You have the materials now, but it’s too late. There’d be no one waiting on the other side once you crossed.

Blade leans forward, presses his elbows to his knees, and rests his chin on his fists. 

“Would it help if you touched me?” 

You shoot up straight from your chair like it just stabbed you. Heat infuses into your cheeks, then spreads throughout, momentarily stupefying you. His monotonous words loop in your head. How can he sit there so collected after making an insinuation like that?! Especially when you’re not at your top performance. 

“That’s highly inna—” 

“You avoid skin-to-skin contact,” he interrupts, his visage unreadable. “The one time you didn’t, you made it far.” 

It’s a mistake to underestimate his perspicacity just because he doesn’t actively flaunt it. 

“What did you think I meant?” 

Why can’t his voice have a little more intonation? If he’s being playful, his delivery is too dry for you to tell. 

“Nothing, nothing at all,” you sit back down and cross your legs in an attempt to look professional. “What you’re referring to is a precaution my mother suggested. In the past, strange reactions have occurred after I came into direct contact with someone. Not always, though. No one could determine the how or why.” 

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Honestly… you Stellaron Hunters should’ve just waterboarded me, you would’ve gotten this information faster, if that’s the objective here.” 

“Lie if you want.” 

“I don’t want to lie to you,” you admit. He knits his eyebrows together, an act that accentuates the dark lines beneath his eyes. “You deserve to understand what I did. If I hadn’t resorted to that, it’d be different.” 

“Hm.” 

No one can ever claim Blade doesn’t have a way with words. 

Suppressing a yawn, you refocus the conversation. “I think we made some good progress here. I’m willing to keep at it if you are.” 

“No. That’s enough for now,” he says. “Go rest.” 

“Eh? I can keep going, though.” 

“I know. Rest anyway.” 

Your body is letting you know that it’s finished, your exhaustion has crossed the semi-tolerable threshold to unbearable. There’s a hearing to prepare for, Nona and Lear to reach out to, and about another million odds and ends. This flurry of activity won’t get done any faster if you’re crawling around like a host controlled by a parasite. 

“... Fine, have it your way. Lear’s always getting on me about my sleeping habits too.” 

You sense an irregular fluctuation from him. However, there’s no shift in his body language, so you decide it isn’t your place to pry. 

“Blade?” 

He turns his head toward you. 

“This ability of mine, it’s only ever provided entertainment for others, which is fine, of course… but… the chance to help someone directly… is a first,” you give him a bashful smile. “Thank you for trusting me. I mean it.” 

For a brief moment, his gaze doesn’t feel so intense.

Nona

hey hey 

Nona

please tell me the sword guy didn’t confiscate your phone. if that’s the case it’s so over

Nona

i’m not going up against him to get it back

It’s me texting from [First]’s phone. I remember what you said about the brain goop. Lock your windows and sleep with one eye open.

Nona

!!!

Nona 

gg

Nona

oh btw. the dust has settled

Nona

it’s weird… this doesn’t happen for years, then suddenly, twice in such close succession? 

Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too I don’t get it

Nona

welcome back from being held hostage btw

Wow thank you

Let me know if you both need anything I actually have no idea how I haven’t passed out yet

Nona

it’s because you haven’t given mushroom mania a chance. their music is so chill

Nona is typing…

Please don’t spam the link to their album again

Nona

alright fine whatever

Nona

i am bored though if you want to play connect four hmu

Nona has invited you to play Connect Four™©®.

Nona

[first]? come back my queen

Nona

wow you fell asleep fast </3

Nona

rest up. you deserve it

There are two monitors in front of you.

To the left is a man with a graceful physiognomy — Chrysus Ophídion. He has hair white as snow, pulled back into a long ponytail that stops at his lower back. His eyes are sharp, cunning, hidden behind thin glasses that reflect his monitor’s shine. He’s already asked you the questions courtesy demands, such as your health and how the LOTUS-EATER is faring during the IPC travel ban. 

“It’s nothing but a power play,” he had reassured you. “I’ve had productive negotiations with their chief financial officer, he’s insinuated that a proposal to remedy the dispute isn’t far off.” 

While you’d often be remiss to take Chrysus at his word, there is one sacred objective he’ll never work against — money. 

He isn’t exactly subtle. His office’s backdrop is a hulking conglomerate; a screen that shows everything from graphs of Eris’ most prominent businesses to stocks throughout the universe updating in real-time. There must be around a hundred different squares dedicated to this flashing panoply. Before Chrysus’ repurposing, it was a wide window from which one could view Eris’ mountain range to the northeast. Your mother detested the change and the room itself. 

Then to the right, there’s Caicias Rex. He’s a burly, bearded man, with dark hair going silver from age. Rumors have been circulating that he’ll announce his retirement on his 500th birthday. Between the two, you prefer dealing with him. Caicias isn’t verbose or prickly. If anything, he’s a little too brazen. 

“How are you holding up, little Miss Arbiter?” 

Caicias’ gravelly voice is at a deafening volume, made worse by the fact you’re using in-ears. His microphone peaks at its own leisure. 

“Caicias, please, your microphone,” Chrysus grits out whilst wincing, “Did you not have your assistant set it up beforehand as I suggested?” 

You both take out your in-ears before he responds. It’s loud enough that you can hear what he’s saying even while holding them far away. 

“Oh, the dial’s screwed up. Alright. There. Any better?” 

You put your in-ears back on. “I believe so.” 

“Great! Let me repeat myself then. Are you feeling any better? Ready to do all that mind magic stuff?” 

“I’m doing much better, thank you. If you’re referring to my capacity to establish links, I haven’t encountered any issues so far.” 

Caicias takes a moment to respond. “That way of speaking, your posture… you’re the spitting image of Ania.” 

The call falls silent. While you’re thinking of something to say, Chrysus takes the initiative himself. 

“May Noct grant her blissful rest,” he repeats the platitude you heard spoken aplenty at your mother’s funeral. “I apologize for changing the topic so abruptly, but there’s a sensitive matter at hand to discuss. I ask that you both listen until I’m finished without any interjections.” 

Sensitive? What could he possibly mean by that? 

You feel a churning in your soul. 

“Thank you. As you’re both well aware, the position of Ade’s Exalted Regent isn’t limited to operating as Eris’ primary treasurer. Caicias and the belated Ania Phaeales agreed to my proposal to form a coalition that’d combat Eris’ uptick in crime decades prior. The coalition has seen great success. 

With Miss Phaeales injured and Mister Rex preoccupied with investigating hazardous mining conditions in the Nectary, I was appointed head of the Thelx nectar guide bombing investigation. My team and I have spared no resources in uncovering the culprits behind such a senseless act of violence. 

Initially, we turned our attention toward the IPC. At this point, we’ve found nothing to implicate them. On the contrary, evidence from the preliminary investigation suggests the involvement of Arc citizens. I am well aware of the prejudice certain people have against those who come from Arc, so I wanted to be absolutely certain. You’ll both receive digital copies of the documented evidence, but for the purpose of this hearing, I’ll focus on the most relevant evidence. 

Through data restoration and witness accounts, two main suspects have been identified. Felix Laurence, a nectar guide engineer who was granted Thelx citizenship by Ania Phaeales, and his nephew, Ryker Laurence, unemployed. A standard employee-issued passcode assigned to Felix accessed the NGT, or Nectar Guide Terminal, three cycles prior to the incident. Logs show he spent considerable time eyeing the schedule of the cycle when Miss Phaeales was to depart.

Felix’s co-workers have corroborated that he offered to take their shifts, as the trip was scheduled on a cycle he doesn’t work. His offer was accepted by the second person he asked. Audio logs recorded in the common area corroborate this. Surveillance places Felix’s arrival at 0100 hours, where he claimed that an emergency malfunction notice was sent to his pager. The NGT confirms no such notice was issued. 

The fragments recovered from the explosive device show it to be the kind that activates on contact, which simplifies the installation process. Felix is seen returning at 0112. Co-workers report he seemed ‘unlike himself’ and was drenched in sweat. Miss Phaeales’ cabin departed at 0200, the tragedy occurred at 0223. A reconstruction of the device reveals a minor malfunction that delayed the device’s detonation, a blessing from Noct, I’m sure. 

The Laurence residence was promptly raided, where materials matching those inside the explosive crime were located. Testimonies from those who know Ryker attest to his hobby of making strange contraptions that never work as intended. I have personnel ready to detain Felix and his co-conspirator Ryker at a moment’s notice, in compliance with Eris’ No Involuntary Confinement Act, where they’ll be extradited to Arc unless they make an appeal.” 

The pictures of the two suspects take up Chrysus’ screen. Caicias strokes his beard while viewing them, whereas you remain motionless. You remember the name Felix Laurence. You attended the event where his special citizenship was awarded, some twenty years ago. What could have driven him to this? Where did you fall short? If it was your mother in charge, would things have gone differently? Chrysus, Caicias, Kafka… none of them take you seriously. They consider you a child playing make pretend. 

Is that not what you are? 

Mother would’ve held her own if Kafka tried coercing her. 

She would’ve found out about the building inspection dilemma through her own channels. 

Blade’s seal, his mara — she would’ve helped him better than you ever could. 

But she can’t. She’s gone and you’ll never be her. 

“I understand it’s a lot to take in,” Chrysus states. It doesn’t sound like he means it. “In truth, the account I gave is highly summarized. I felt I owed it to Miss Phaeales before I arrived at my next point.” 

“... What do you mean by that?” You ask. 

“It became clear to me that an investigation like this couldn’t be limited in scope. For instance, how did Felix know Miss Phaeales was due to use the nectary guide at that specific cycle and that specific time? As I said earlier, he accessed the NGT, but your name isn’t visible there. Only the Director of Operations knows when you’re set to travel. All Felix would’ve been able to see is that a private cabin was scheduled to leave at 0200, which isn’t a rare occurrence.” 

“Please place aside certain biases to the best of your ability,” he says. “Ryker’s correspondence these past two years showed some red flags. Specifically, he had frequent correspondence with an unknown person whose IP was traced back to the LOTUS-EATER. These conversations were largely written in code, but from what we’ve decrypted, this unknown person has been leaking information about you and Ania Phaeales. Based on available information, it’s highly likely that this unknown person is who you refer to as ‘Nona.’”

Caicias closes his eyes and exhales. 

“That… that’s absurd,” your voice is weaker than a breeze. “There’s no way I’ll accept a baseless accusation like this.” 

“Allow me to once again request that you place aside your bias. Nona, whose birth name is unknown, was born and raised in Arc’s most hostile faction. At the self-reported age of 74, she submitted a request for Thelx citizenship. Your mother, in her benevolence, granted the request due to seeing Nona’s potential as a future Arbiter. Do you deny any of this?” 

You think you might be sick. 

“... No,” you grit out. 

“Why would she suddenly abandon an extremist group and request citizenship in Thelx, a quadrant they’re especially hateful towards? Or, did this faction see an opportunity in Nona, who was widely known to have a talent close to yours in establishing Synalinks?”

“Little Nona is what, 113 now? That’s a long time to be acting as a double agent,” Caicias points out. 

“Can indoctrination like that ever be fully deprogrammed?” Chrysus challenges. 

Your horror gives way to an icy rage. 

“If you’re determined to pursue this ‘lead’, so be it, I guarantee my staff and I will fully cooperate. That doesn’t mean you can implicate one of my Arbiters for such a serious offense with nothing but circumstantial evidence.” 

Chrysus sighs. “I’m sorry you see it that way. You’re right that there’s no direct evidence yet — I bring this up to err on the side of caution. It’d deal a severe blow to Eris if anything happened to the Phaeales bloodline. Is it at least fair to say that out of everyone at the LOTUS-EATER, Nona would be one of the most familiar with your itinerary? Did you tell her about your trip to Perianth II?” 

You draw your lips in a thin line. You had told her. 

“Alright, Chrysus, this isn’t an interrogation. This is Ania’s daughter you’re talking to,” Caicias frowns. 

Ania’s daughter, huh?

“... You’re right. I just wish to ensure Miss Phaeales’ safety. I got ahead of myself.” 

“There are better approaches. Let’s call it for now. We won’t get anywhere bickering like this,” Caicias says. He steeples his fingers and looks directly into the camera. “Have your men keep watch on those two. We’ll meet back again in a cycle; that should give us enough time to flip through all these documents you’re sending.” 

This suggestion is for your sake and you all know it. Caicias has good intentions, but you’ll never earn the respect necessary for a leader if you back down now. You imagine you’re preparing to establish a link. The steps it entails, how your mind must surrender its solid form. 

“To dream is a sacred thing. Don’t fear it. Welcome it, rejoice in it, and shed no tears when it is finished. We’ve been granted your purest blessing. As you slumber, we find rest in you. Allow us the sweetest of dreams.” 

“It’s alright, Mister Rex. I can keep going,” you reassure with a smile. Your cadence has lost its vibrato and transitions into a steady timbre. Every dissonant note is scratched out to recite the sheet music lying before you. If you’re to get through this, it’ll be the performance of a lifetime. 

“Hm… are you sure?” Caicias asks. He squints, trying to get a better read on you through the screen. 

You consider a conductor’s baton, how it glides through the air, commanding absolute obedience from its orchestra. Your heart, your lungs, the feeling of static buzzing in your head; you demand a decrescendo. 

You might not be your mother, but you can play in the same key. 

“I am. Mister Ophídion, would you please go over everything from the beginning without paraphrasing? There’s a great deal to examine.” 

You’re occupying a space between reality and fantasy. 

Cogency of any kind flees from you. Chasing after it has become tiring, a prospect that instills dread. There’s no affliction worse than uncertainty. You envy fortunate fools who can cling to a belief from their first breath to their last, what a blessing it must be to never reside in doubt’s shadow. 

You don’t know what to think, what to feel, what to do. 

Chrysus had an explanation for everything. The file he’s built up on Nona? That’s standard procedure, anyone in such close quarters with you must be vetted. The employee who signed off on an unsafe building? A full investigation will be conducted, you need only be patient. Why hadn't he contacted you sooner about any of this? He didn’t want to risk any leaks that’d tip off the enemy before he was prepared. 

You don’t know what was worse. Being treated like an idiot by Chrysus or a sniveling child by Caicias.

Ripping your mother’s broach off, you walk over to the balcony’s edge and raise your arm. 

The inky night spreads out like paint spilled across a canvas. This is the only view you’ve had throughout the years — a cold void that never wanted to host life. The nameless planet must’ve counted itself fortunate to have been passed up by settlers. No one will ever want to settle here, it had thought. I will make my surface so terrible that those who come here will certainly die. 

You lower your arm. The broach is set on a table you subsequently push out of sight.

In a way, this balcony is your cell. You’ve sat here and contemplated freedom as any inmate would. What would it be like to feel the sun? Does it burn, does it sting? Is it true that you shouldn’t stand in it for long? What about the sunrise? How lovely it must be for such a sight to be there every morning, greeting you with its gentle colors and soft edges.

You hug your legs to your chest and rest your head on your knees. 

The door behind you opens without warning. 

You don’t need to look to know who it is. You can pick up on his taciturn presence without trying. It’s inevitable, so long as you’ve been exposed to a person enough.

Blade’s footsteps make no sound, he’s almost like a levitating wraith. You assume he’ll take his place on the leftmost chair. It's become an unspoken ritual. Those who have experienced the sun are ever so enchanted by the moon, he’s no different. Rather than sitting down, however, he lingers behind you. You can feel him staring. After a few seconds, he comes closer, so that he’s beside you.

Wordlessly, he holds out a teacup you’ve never seen. It’s porcelain with a glossy finish, boasting intricate blue designs painted along the sides. The inside contains a bloody ocean that glistens beneath the moonlight. The aroma clues you in — it’s ambrosia, just without the Nectary’s tonic. 

“Is this for me?” You whisper, incredulous.

His flat expression seems to communicate, ‘Who do you think it’s for?’ 

You cradle it in both your hands. Warmth seeps through and becomes acquainted with your skin. Likewise, the steam wafts up, tickling your nose. It’s as if the drink is a pocket watch and you’ve been hypnotized. 

Once it’s secure in your grasp, he pulls back. 

Then he starts to walk away. 

He’s leaving? Why is he leaving? 

Your body springs up of its own accord. You balance the teacup in one hand and reach out to him with the other, your fingers fanning out, ready to sink into whatever they can. Everything happens in the blink of an eye. Your free hand succeeds in finding a destination — settling on the abrasive finish of his bandages. 

You feel another texture alongside it. 

It’s smooth, cold, and visible through the interstices of his winding bandages. 

His skin. 

Realizing this, you withdraw your hand in panic. Then you wait, bracing yourself for a brutal rebound. What horrors could a mind like his prepare for you? Would it cross the threshold of mental anguish to physical harm? You squeeze your eyes shut. 

When you find the courage to reopen them, there’s nothing abominable waiting with bated breath to drag you through a mental purgatory. 

Instead of a consequence, there’s only Blade, fixed in place. He hasn’t moved an inch. 

You’re okay. Nothing’s wrong.

You let out a relieved sigh. 

“Let me at least get the words thank you out,” you insist, desperate to refocus his attention. “I… thank you. You don’t have to be… in such a rush…?” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

Much to your chagrin, Blade takes your teacup by the rim and lifts it. You tilt your head. Did he… did he just repossess your drink? That’s a low blow.

“You were about to drop it,” Blade deadpans. “Quit pouting.” 

“Wh—?! I’m not pouting!” 

He raises an eyebrow. 

To think you went through all that anxiety for this. 

“You Stellaron Hunters are the worst,” you grumble. 

“Hm.” 

Fed up beyond measure, you spin on your heel and start walking back to your chair. You deserve an uninterrupted night of listening to depressing music while thinking depressing thoughts. It’s your right, having endured so much lately.

“[First].” 

A chain reaction goes off in your chest. You’ve made it one measly step away and a blackhole threatens to reel you back. His voice, that deep, resonant tone, stirs something inside you, beckons it out to play. He spoke your name. Has he ever done so before? You don’t know. If someone were to ask you the most basic question right now, you’d be physically incapable of responding. 

He doesn’t have to ask you to come back. You do so willingly. 

Blade brings the teacup back down to your height. Confusingly, he doesn’t return it to your hands, nor does he give any indication that he plans on doing so. He’s holding it level to your face. You want to ask what it is he wants from you. It’s best to have everything out in the open, so that no misconceptions arise, and yet, that rational thinking presents itself as a nuisance. You don’t want anything to ruin this moment. The ambiguity entices you and holds your soul captive while the key is within reach. 

Tentatively, you press your lips to the teacup’s edge. 

The emotions teeming inside of him are palpable. They curl around you, these tendrils of unadulterated carnality squirm against your flesh. It isn’t a fair comparison to say you’re playing with fire. No, you’re laying down at an altar as a voluntary sacrifice. 

He inclines the teacup toward you.

It’s a harmonic union between saccharine and spice, a robust flavor that leaves your tongue tingling. He rebalances the cup while you swallow your first sip. Pulling back, you look up at him through your eyelashes.

“It’s delicious,” you compliment. In a coquettish act, you wet your lips as if you’d made a mess. 

His eyes glow like molten magma. 

Slowly, you stand on your tiptoes, both your arms coiling around his neck. You pull him closer and he lets you. Your lips almost connect, only for you to move back at the last second. He tries remedying this by leaning down further. You prove stubborn by dodging him once more. His nostrils flare and he lets out a sound akin to a growl. 

“Aw,” you coo, a condescending lilt present. You twist your head to the side and jut out your lower lip. “Who’s pouting now?” 

He descends on you like a rabid dog. 

His lips are relentless, demanding more and more, driven by a fervor that belies his seemingly apathetic disposition. It isn’t sensual so much as it is voracious. You’re taken aback yet find it titillating all the same. His bandaged hand flies to your nape, then drops lower, following the ridges of your spine. Subconsciously, you arch your back. He shudders at the softness of your chest pressing against him. His hand eventually settles on the back of your thigh, squeezing and grabbing the flesh with blatant greed. Without warning, he hikes your leg up, an act that causes you to temporarily lose your balance. 

Blade’s chest rumbles in a low chuckle. The husky sound sends heat straight to your core, you may have left out a debauched noise if your lips hadn’t been preoccupied. 

Regardless, you won’t let him off that easily. Who knows what he’ll start to pull if you’re lenient. You pull away and glare at him for the infraction. Considering your messy hair, heaving chest, and swollen lips, you doubt you’re very frightening to one of the universe’s most notorious criminals. The mirth dancing in his eyes confirms this. 

“Still you,” he muses. 

You release an audible yelp as he effortlessly picks you up. Manhandling you must be a newfound delight of his, his satisfaction is readily apparent. You doubt he’d drop you, but your instincts aren’t allowing the risk — you cling yourself to him for extra security. It occurs to you that both his hands are in use. Recalling the teacup, you glance around, curious about its whereabouts. You find it sitting beside your broach, perfectly intact. Wasn’t he holding it seconds ago? 

“How did you do that?” 

He grabs your chin and turns your head back to face him. 

“Strange, clumsy, and distractible,” he mutters, though not without a certain fondness. “Keep your eyes on me, girl.” 

“It’s a legitimate question! Also, hold on,” you jab your fingers at his chest in accusation, “I’m most certainly older than you. Are you familiar with the adage, ‘respect your elders?’”

“Are you?” 

“Well, obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t have said it— ohhh.”

He’s gracious enough to wait as you piece everything together. Xianzhou attire, an ability that could reasonably be classified as immortality… 

“On second thought, ideas like that are outdated. They perpetuate a cycle of complacency. Respect is earned, not given.” 

“At the end of the day, past that haughty exterior…” Blade trails off, his lips nearing your outer earlobe. You swallow while he keeps you in suspense. The pointed tips of his canine teeth drag against the sensitive flesh, sometimes sinking down, only to let up before he leaves behind so much as an indent. 

He plays this game for as long as it pleases him and not a moment longer. 

Finally, he bites down, almost eliciting a whimper. It takes considerable self-control to hold it in. 

“You’re something of a brat, aren’t you?” 

He accentuates this remark by grabbing the tips of your hair and tugging them to the side. Not enough to hurt, but enough to give him a canvas to work with. His teeth trail down from your ear to your neck, settling on your racing pulse point. He nibbles at the area just enough to leave behind marks. Meanwhile, your breathing picks up to an erratic pace. You lull your head to the side so that he has unrestricted access. He rewards your obedience with a kiss, soothing the tender area he’s been working on. 

Amazing as that feels, you swear you’ll go crazy if you don’t receive more stimulation. Whether or not he’s aware of this, you can’t say for sure, but you do know that he’s taking his sweet time sucking and nibbling the second place you want him most. In this position, there’s little you can do to encourage more friction. It’s too awkward an angle to grind against him, not to mention how damaging that’d be to your ego.

You tighten your grip around his broad shoulders in what you hope to be an obvious tell. When that doesn’t get you anywhere, an agitated noise slips by before you can stop it. 

Finally, he pulls back from his assault on your neck. “What?” 

How has his voice deepened in pitch?! 

“Just— don’t you want to, you know, inside?” 

“I don’t know. You’ll have to be clearer.” 

This bastard is deliberately toying with you. Huffing, you move back, unsurprised by the sight of supposed neutrality. He might be able to keep his facial expressions in check, but his eyes give him away. There’s no mistaking it. Those are the eyes of a starving beast. The intensity makes you shiver. Whether it’s from primordial fear or lust, there’s no telling. It’s most likely a warped combination of the two. 

This is a feeling you could get addicted to. 

Your dominant hand rises to cup his cheek. Exhaling a shaky breath, you allow the taut muscles in your face to relax. Your leering gives way to something softer. You familiarize yourself with him, running the pad of your thumb over his cheekbones, then lightly kissing the same cheek. His palms dig into you tighter. Acting as if you have all the time in the world, you pepper his face with featherlight kisses, loosely following a line that ends near his mouth. Finally, having arrived at your spell’s conclusion, you place a chaste kiss on his lips. 

You bat your eyelashes in a show of faux coyness. 

“Please?” 

He audibly swallows. 

Testing your limits, you throw in a sly comment. “Don’t you have a soft spot for me?” 

Blade scoffs. He doesn’t say anything for or against your claim, but you do notice how the tips of his ears turn red. 

“If I’d known this was the best way to deal with you Stellaron Hunters, I would’ve considered doing this with Kafka.”

Blade’s eyes narrow into slits that, realistically, should unsettle you. It does to an extent. Especially considering the maelstrom of heightened emotions swirling around him, and, by extension, you. He’s glowering, sizing you and your intentions up. He lets out a harsh laugh, shaking his head while doing so. 

“What a mouth,” he remarks. 

Unbothered by the vitriol, you shrug. “You’re the one who told me to speak ‘normally.’” 

“My mistake.” 

You don’t get to respond — his lips are on yours again. He steps back, somehow mindful enough to input the door’s passcode while never breaking away from you. His tongue doesn’t ask for entry, it demands it. You’re happy to comply. He takes pleasure in ravishing your mouth, tasting the lingering flavors from the gift that brought you to this. 

You’re back on a solid surface after he pushes some writing implements to the side. You decide that this will be the one time you allow someone to make a mess of your desk. He urges your legs open with his knee, a request you’re quick to fulfill. 

His lung capacity must be otherworldly, you have to give his shoulders a push for him to get the hint. A throaty noise leaves him, expressing his disgruntlement at the prospect of parting. Still, he grants you respite. A thin trail of saliva sees to it that your contact isn’t completely severed. 

Blade doesn’t let you recuperate for long. He presses his hard length against your core, creating heavenly friction. You no longer have the means to muffle your noises, which must’ve been his intent. His hands find your hips in a frenzy. He grabs the flesh, pulls you closer, and grinds against your clothed cunt. 

It doesn’t take long for you to teeter close to the edge. The guttural noises near your ear, the steady stimulation, his scent, and shameless thirst for you; everything envelops your head in an intoxicating haze. Your problems that stack high into the sky seem so far away. The stress evaporates away, the tension you’ve held in your body dissipating alongside it. He’s doing most of the work for you. 

Your peak gets closer, you’re right on the precipice—

—And he stops. 

You can’t say you didn’t see it coming. Blade has a penchant for riling you up, delighting in the vivid reactions he gets. 

This cruelty earns him a whine. 

“You’re awful.”

“And you’re impatient,” is his rebuttal. 

“I am,” you agree. You learn that your equilibrium is askew when you get up. After steadying your wobbly legs, you grab his wrist and tug. Your sulking must be more tantalizing than any destination you could take him to. It isn’t until the fifth pull that he relents and follows along. You pull up the lock specifications for your bedroom, inputting that an unregistered person has permission to enter. Your fingers lack the dexterity to complete this adjustment on the first try. 

And the second. 

And the third. 

“Say anything and I’ll… I’ll…” 

“You’ll…?” he encourages.

“I’ll practice celibacy,” is your final threat. 

“Mhm.” 

Your bedroom door opens on the fourth try.

After fiddling with your do not disturb settling, you point to the edge of your bed. 

“Sit there.” 

He takes off his shoes first then listens to your request. You unfasten your outer cloak. The long fabric falls into your grasp and is put aside. You’re left in nothing but your loungewear, a simple button-up shirt and leggings. Turning around, you anticipate an annoying expression to be sprawled over his face. You even have an insult on standby. 

These thoughts crumble into dust. 

Blade’s gripping your comforter hard enough for his knuckles to turn bone white. He’s leaning forward, as if ready to pounce, yet lucid enough to exercise some semblance of self-control. He reminds you of a starved animal trapped in a cage, salivating over a piece of meat hanging outside the bars. Goosebumps cover your body. This isn’t simple lust… it’s visceral, some primitive desire too overwhelming to be understood. 

You’re the one he’s staring at with this unbridled yearning. 

Yes, he’s teased you. Pushed your buttons and riled you up. Not so subtly flaunted the strength that lets him maneuver you like you weigh nothing. You might have status and mastery in your given field, but he’s participated in the annihilation of worlds; the end of civilizations that span back since time immemorial. 

He should be the one in charge. 

Yet as you stand here, witnessing how he tortures himself by not pouncing on you like he easily could, a thought is planted. 

He’d really do anything you asked if it kept this from ending. 

The adrenaline rush this realization brings is enough to turn any cognition you still possess off. 

Your trembling hands hover above your topmost button. Your mattress dips as he slants forward, his fraying patience almost snapping. You hear the leather of his gloved hand creak from how hard he’s clenching it. You shake your head to deter him. The room’s atmosphere has a headiness to it that renders you breathless. Had you seen this expression without context, you’d think he was in physical agony. 

A button is undone for every step you take toward him.

The thin shirt flutters off your shoulders when your knees hit the bed’s edge. 

Blade gazes at your body as if he’d find salvation in it. 

Since you were planning to relax, you’d discarded your bra earlier. The exposure to the cool air causes your nipples to harden. He can’t settle for ogling any one part of your bare torso, his eyes flitter from your collarbones to your chest, your navel, then back up again. You start bending over. His eyes widen slightly. It takes you a second to find where his mind has wandered off since you were just going to remove your leggings. 

“What? Was there something you wanted from me?” You hum. 

If looks could kill, you’d be a goner. 

You decide he’s suffered enough. Your leggings are thrown aside, you’re past the point of caring to be tidy. You both exhale shakily as you sit your clothed cunt directly over his prominent bulge. Your arousal seeps through your panties and onto his pants; there’ll be no pretending that you aren’t as excited as he is. 

“Are you finished?” 

His low, grumpy voice has no business sounding as good as it does. 

You play with his high collar and pretend to ponder. “Hm… I guess.” 

No sooner than the words leave your mouth do you get flipped over.

Blade’s large hands fondle your chest, memorizing how soft and pliable the flesh is for him. He’s quick to remove one so that he can attach his lips to your pert nipple. He sucks the tender area, releasing sounds that’d have you thinking he was the one being pleasured. Meanwhile, his free palm flattens against your stomach. 

You’re lost in a myriad of sensations. His hot, wet mouth sucking your nipple, the cold smoothness of his gloved hand fondling what isn’t in his mouth, the coarse texture of his bandages sliding along your skin. He’s obsessed with your body and it shows. Whether he’s worshiping or desecrating it remains to be seen. 

“Blade, please,” you roll your hips against his so he can get the message. 

He delivers his punishment swiftly — he tweaks one nipple and nibbles the other. 

Unexpectedly, this extracts a mewl from you. 

Blade pulls back. A self-satisfied grin spreads over his face. 

“Poor needy thing,” he chuckles. Your glare doesn’t last long, for he brushes his fingertips over your clothed clit. He draws featherlight circles. “Soaked too. What? Was there something you wanted from me?” 

His reciting of your previous taunt antagonizes your pride. Rather than responding verbally, you try grinding against his stupidly stationary fingers. He holds your hips down to prevent you from misbehaving further. Having not learned your lesson, you try again. He barely needs to exert any more strength for your body to be pinned to the bed as if you were a butterfly on a collector’s wall. 

He clicks his tongue. “Have you forgotten how to speak?” 

“M-Maybe.” 

“Hm. A shame,” he says. He shifts back and parts your legs. You close your eyes as he nudges his nose against your inner thigh, his warm breath fanning over your skin. He leaves a trail of sloppy, open-mouthed kisses as he leisurely makes his way to your cunt. 

“I’ll have to pry other sounds from you instead.” 

He kisses your covered core, once, then twice, a growl leaving him when your hips desperately raise for more friction. Much to your disappointment, he revisits your inner thigh, this time nipping at it. He subjects the soft flesh to the conquest of his teeth. You prop yourself up on your elbows, intending to remove the last piece of clothing that separates you from him. He pushes you back down and mutters something incomprehensible. 

The sound of fabric tearing reverberates throughout your room. 

You’re not left wondering what he’s done for long. Blade pulls you against him by your hips, attaches his lips to your clit, and sucks.  

He’s relentless, almost as if he’s chasing his release instead of yours. His tongue licks from the bottom to the top. He feasts on you, his face pressing as close as he can get. The rapidly mounting pleasure leaves you incapable of forming coherent words or thoughts. All you can think about is Blade, how he’s grinding himself against your bed, fucking you with his tongue. 

Should you be doing this? Are you using him? Is he using you? These pesky little concerns fade into the foreground. 

He slurps your clit like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. Your previous sensitivity has your release imminent. You thread your hands into his hair and throw your head back. Tugging on the long locks in encouragement has him groaning against you, sending vibrations straight to your core. 

Your release builds and builds. The muscles in your thighs tense, your voice elevates in pitch, pleasure diluting your senses. 

“Gonna— mm—” 

You come on his ruthless tongue and ride out your high, ecstasy rushing throughout your body. 

Once you come back down to reality, you realize he hasn’t stopped. Your nerves are sensitive enough to almost hurt. You keen as he messily kisses your cunt. You can’t move your legs and your arms feel like jello. With some difficulty, you urge his head away. Your slick glistens along his parted lips. He greedily licks up the remnants since you’ve deprived him of the source. 

Blade takes off his overcoat. He then removes his golden shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing both garments aside. Next, he undoes the buckle that hangs across his hips. His silver pants join the heap of his clothes not long after. You drink in the sight of his toned figure. You’ve always thought him to be handsome. His sharp jawline, long, silky hair, and those blazing eyes. You never thought you’d get to see what’s beneath his clothes. Scars litter the expanse of his otherwise pale skin, their shape perplexing you. He catches you staring and gives you a look you can’t place.  

“Is it more unsightly than my mind?” 

You push yourself up, wrap your arms around his neck, and pull him close.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you murmur against his lips. “All I see is a handsome man who I want to fuck me senseless.” 

“Hm. There’s that mouth again.” 

He kisses your forehead while bringing you back down to the bed. Once your head is on the pillow, he lines himself up at your entrance. Abundant pre-cum leaks from his tip, which he smears against you, stimulating your clit in the process. You gnaw on your lower lip to stop a moan from sneaking out. He just barely pushes the head in. As it’s been a while, you hold your breath in anticipation for the stretch to come. However, he doesn’t go any further. He's just staring at you, his eyes like that of a madman. The intensity has you averting your gaze. 

Your cheek barely grazes the pillow before he speaks up, his tone chastising. “[First].” 

You feel your walls clench around nothing. 

Sheepishly, you turn your head back to face him. 

“That’s all it takes, huh?” 

You guess it did work for him twice. It isn’t your fault. Hearing someone call you by your birth name is rare. To everyone else, you’re a title or notable last name. You aren’t an individual. The characteristics that define you remain purposefully hidden from sight. You’ll just be another line on a long list, perhaps a topic for disinterested schoolchildren to write a report on. 

“Yeah,” you admit as he gradually sinks into you, “That’s all it takes.” 

He’s thick enough to make you wince, regardless of how slow he goes. Your walls struggle to accommodate his size. He stills until you recollect yourself, taking deep breaths to relax your tense body. The dull ache fades. You nod at him to continue. He pushes his cock deeper, exhaling shakily by your ear as inch after inch slips in. It’s hot and heavy inside you, occasionally twitching. 

Your legs wrap around his waist, eliciting a choked sound from him. Though you’re panting, you still have enough audacity to let your self-satisfaction show. He doesn’t chastise you or revert to teasing. No, he laughs, low and from the diaphragm. The room is almost unbearably hot and still you shudder. 

Blade slides out of you and thrusts back in. The pace isn’t too fast, but he insists on pulling all the way out and filling you to completion again. His pelvis smacks against yours as he fully stretches you. This time, he lets you throw your head back, his teeth sinking into the bruises he left earlier. You hear your headboard hit the wall from how forcefully he fucks you. It’s raw and brutal, but you love it. For once, you don’t have to think or do a thing. All he wants to do is ravish you and you’ll gladly let him. 

Your eyes shoot open when his gloved hand finds its way to your sensitive clit. He rubs sloppy circles against it, causing your walls to clench around his cock. He groans into your neck. This unrestrained expression of the pleasure you’re providing him is almost too much. You never would’ve imagined he’d be so vocal, panting hot by your ear, holding absolutely nothing back. You could spend an eternity listening to him. 

A second orgasm creeps up on you. Your moans and delighted gasps grow loud enough to let him know. He squishes your cheeks in the coolness of his gloved hand, demanding that your attention wander nowhere else. 

“Open your eyes.” 

What he’s asking of you feels personal, almost too intimate. You hesitate for a moment but ultimately give him what he wants. He rewards you by revisiting your throbbing clit, rubbing and rubbing until there are spots in your vision. You chant his name, sometimes getting through the entire word, or barely stumbling through the first few letters. He hastens his pace. 

You clench down on him hard and cry out. 

He grits his teeth from how you tighten around him throughout your orgasm. He fucks you during its duration, not letting up for a second, chasing his own end. His hands clench on your hips, digging into the flesh hard enough to leave bruises. You collapse onto your pillow, your energy spent. He has no problem adjusting you exactly how he wants. Your leg is thrown over his shoulder and you keen at the change in angle. The head of his cock finds a sensitive, spongy area that you hadn’t realized existed. You arch into him and whine. 

“B-Blade,” you whine, barely audible over the sound of skin slapping against skin, “Too much… It’s too much…!” 

Tears form in the corner of your eyes. One trickles down your cheek, which he promptly licks off. 

“I know. Be good,” he pants.

The insults you set aside earlier form on your tongue. They die a swift death again, for his breath hitches and he groans by your ear. 

Heat floods your tender insides. He forces your hips flush against him, his thrusts stuttering and then stopping entirely. Wave after wave of his thick cum coats your walls. It never seems to end — his throbbing cock continues releasing the viscous substance until it has no choice but to form globs that leak out of you. 

Meanwhile, he slants his lips sloppily against yours, almost growling when you whimper. He pulls back and thrusts in one last time, pushing his release as deep inside as it can go. 

You both heave desperately for air. He still doesn’t pull out, even when his cock goes soft. Something tells you he’d be content to leave it there for as long as you permit. 

“My blanket… I’ll have to wash it.” 

“Mm.” 

Blade fixes the strands of hair sticking to your temples. You tilt your head toward his hand. It’s been so long. A small, malicious fragment of yourself taunted how you’ll never enjoy another’s touch again. That your fate would be one defined by solitude. How could you take a lover with such a risk looming over your head? The last time had been disastrous. It haunts you more effectively than any ghost. 

He pulls out. 

The newfound emptiness feels strange. 

Blade rolls off of you and slides his briefs on. You watch his every movement through heavy eyelids. The scars along his chest seem like nothing compared to the amount on his back. They lay heavy along his neck, shoulders, and spine. The off-color stripes are all similar in length and width. Your stomach churns violently as you realize it must’ve been intentional. 

He must know you’re staring, but he doesn’t utter a word as he finishes getting dressed. 

A petal falls from the bouquet of purple roses Kafka gifted.

The slight movement earns his immediate attention, a reminder of how sharp his senses are. 

You grab a nearby blanket to cover your chest and crawl over, curious about what’s caught his interest. 

Blade picks up your crystal lotus. Its multiple surfaces change color depending on the angle he holds it at, refracting the low light in your room. He inspects it with furrowed eyebrows and a frown. 

“That’s from my mother,” you explain. “She was never big on gift giving, but… for whatever reason, a few years before her death, she started leaving me little trinkets like that. I have a whole drawer full of them.” 

You smile as best as you can, not wanting to be a downer. 

“Pretty, isn’t it?” 

His eyes find yours in the mirror.

He nods.

[patheticpeoplesupreme]

“Shang Houhua?” A voice behind him spoke.

Shang… Hou…Hua?

He raises his head in confusion, the dizziness and nausea overpowering his concentration. He squints through his blurred vision as his world tilts.

A hand holds him firmly. He tries to focus on the sounds instead.

There were multiple people in the room.. for some reason. What happened again? Wasn’t he preparing to leave for a mission? Or soemthing…

Wait, wasn’t cucumber bro with him?

“Cucumber bro?” He questioned, trying ennounciate his words more clearly, fighting through the heaviness of his tongue. Of course, it only serves to confuse everyone, he thinks, because they suddenly started murmuring and not confirming that his best friend was present at all.

He could swear he heard someone say that cucumbers only grew in the demon realm which was ridiculous.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t even remember adding cucumbers to the story.

Wait... He distantly remembers describing one in one of the recent chapters. Oops.

He wonders if he had added coffee or hot chocolate in one of the drafts because damm he really wanted one right now.

“Mmm…” he hummed happily at the thought before sinking into the depths of his consciousness.

—

He shoots up when he hears a loud noise in his ear, “WHAT THE FUCK!?”

Instinct— he’s a little surprised he still has those l— makes him grab a sword and slam the intruder against the wall. Years of carrying things for people during his disciple years and as a peak lord helped, not to mention having to carry Mobei Jun to the medical bed whenever the man had a severe injury, which didn’t happen as often, but often enough to get used to it.

He’s surprised to find out that the person who had spoken had been his…

“Sh…Shizun…?” He says in shock. Hadn’t his master ascended already??? What was going on???

“Wait— where’s cucu— ah I mean— Shen—shixiong?? Is he okay!?” He spoke pleadingly to his master, letting go of the sword. His Shizun seemed surprised and slightly proud oddly enough.

“Shen—shixiong? Do you mean… Shen Jiu?”

Shang Qinghua tilts his head in confusion, noddingy yet correcting her, “Shen Qingqiu, Shizun, forgive this lowly one for asking, but haven’t you… ascended already?”

(His brain and my brain are incredibly slow I love him)

—

Ahh shit he’s time travelled???

He bowed before the previous sect leader (god please he hopes he doesn’t have to stay here and grow up?? He misses his husband man.

Also like what the fuck where’s tiny him? The body he’s in is still the grown up one. So there’s probably a way for him to get back home.

“This one is Shang Qinghua, the current master of the An Ding peak” he introduces himself politely, unused to talking so formally since the present sect had gotten used to his informal blabbering (he could even say they’ve gotten fond of him or something).

His Shizun smiles at him proudly, my lord it’s been so long he missed his master…… the one kind soul throughout his discipleship

“May this one ask if there was anyone who had arrived with this one?”

With good timing, Shen Qingqiu appears with his fan wearing Binghe’s robes

He visibly sighs in relief. “Shen—shixiong… this one is relieved that you are unharmed.”

In response, Shen Qingqiu hides a snort behind his fan. “This one is also glad to see you alive as well.” He turns to the master, everyone present surprised at how he’s not glaring or giving bad vibes.

“This one is Shen Qingqiu, the current master of the Qing Jing Peak unfortunately, this one has had a incident with a severe qi deviation and in turn lost many memories of the past. So excuse this one for not recalling many things.”

—

**SQH and SQQ hidden behind a wall and watches the past peak lords converse in English while they wait for their Shizun to introduce them.**

“Man…. I feel bad for Zhangmen—shixiong.” Shen Qingqiu sighed, “I mean, I get Shen Qingqiu’s behaviour towards him, but like…. I feel really bad for him. I wish I could give him something, anything but the man in our timeline isn’t even angry at me for body stealing.”

“Is it even body stealing if it’s not intentional?”

“Body achievement, then.”

“That makes less sense bro…”