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welcometomyoasis · 18 days

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Seventeen with an s/o who experiences hyperfixation

Synopsis: How seventeen would help their s/o through hyperfixation/ hyperfocus episodes. Svt x gn! reader | fluff, comfort, established relationship | 1.6k words | warnings: hyperfixation, hyperfocus, stress, mental health issues, neglecting self-care, food | requested by @4momorin Disclaimer and a/n: I do personally experience hyperfixation episodes so I am aware of how this feels like. Hyperfixation/ hyperfocus can be caused by several factors and are usually symptoms of ADHD, or mental health issues such as anxiety, OCD, depression etc. It’s not inherently good or bad either as it can manifest itself in many different forms. You can read more here. I hope I did this trope justice? I wasn’t quite sure how to write it without making it too angsty so i just split it into 2 broad groups…

☾𖤓 He’s your anchor. He holds you down firmly when you feel like you’re adrift at sea.

Seungcheol, Junhui, Hoshi, Dokyeom, Mingyu, Dino

➵ Honestly, he wouldn’t really realise you’re beginning to spiral into one of your hyperfixation/ hyperfocus episodes. It's not because he’s not observant or in tune with your emotions. Rather, the objects of your fixation are so so varied. Plus, not all your episodes are negative. There was the time you ate a particular food for weeks until you got sick of it because you found it so tasty, or the time you binge watched a 16 episode show in 24 hours because you fell in love with the plot. Ah, and don’t even remind him of the time where you fell in love with a certain character. You were drooling all over the character, buying their merch, changing your lock screen. Like, he’s right there? You can kiss him and hug him, he’s a physical being. Please give him attention and not that fictional character. Yea, he was all sulky and whiny for the entire time you were obsessed.

➵ You’re just such an easily excitable, adorable person with a big heart. It’s only natural for you to be obsessed over different things at different times. At some point, he’ll realise that you are in the middle of your episodes. But as long as it’s not an episode stemming from stress and you’re continuing to take care of yourself, he really isn’t going to intervene. Your fixations will pass eventually, and you’re happy, healthy, eating and sleeping well (even if you stay up longer because your mind is swimming with thoughts about the object of your fixation). That’s all he could ask for. In fact, he will even encourage you more or indulge you in your fixations. You want the same food for 7 days straight? He’s ordering it on his phone for you. You want to watch the same show again although he’s already sick of it? Sure, whatever you say baby. You want merch of that character? Uhm, he’s kind of crying inside but sure… he’s pulling out his card just for you. If keeping you happy through your fixations will keep you happy, he’s willing to do whatever it takes.

➵ He will only intervene to attempt to pull you out of your hyperfixation episode when he thinks your wellbeing is at risk. Your mental and physical well being is his number 1 priority. And admittedly, there are many times where your hyperfixation episodes manifest themselves negatively. You could be hyper focused on work that it’s causing you so much stress. You’re not eating, sleeping. You barely have time to relax. Or, your episode could stem from anxiety, depression, etc. You could be pouring all your time and energy into something as insignificant as a cup that was placed in the wrong cupboard because that’s just how your mind has decided to cope with all the complex feelings you were dealing with. It’s a transference of your jumbled emotions to something else. The worst part? As insignificant as your fixation might be, in your mind, it can feel like you’re on a sailboat adrift at sea. It’s captured your attention so deeply that your mind is in overdrive, the currents in your mind constantly pushing you forward. You end up floating further and further away into the middle of nowhere, where there’s nothing to be seen for miles except the object of your fixation. It’s as if you’re staring into the horizon with no land in sight.

➵ So, he intervenes. He’s your anchor. He’s going to ground you, and help you stop your mind from drifting too far away. He’s going to be firm, but gentle. He will tell you outright that your hyperfixation episode, it’s hurting you. He doesn’t care that you might get angry at him for prying, or if you get defensive and deny anything is going on. He rather you express those emotions at him rather than for you to bottle them up inside. You need help. That’s what he’s here for. Please understand this isn't a confrontation, it’s an intervention. He’ll stand firm (even if it means pestering you) until you cave in and let him help you. Cry to him, rant to him, use him as a bolster, whatever makes you feel better. He will pamper you so so much and treat you like royalty. He needs to make you feel loved, like you’re heard, like your feelings are valid. His presence and his care for you will help you feel a little better, even if you’re not completely pulled out of your hyperfixation episode yet. It grounds you by helping you ease that helpless, airy feeling that you’ve been dealing with. It’s certainly going to take time to completely get over your hyperfixation episode, and it won’t be easy, but please know that he’s here for you, and you can overcome whatever it is you’re going through together.

☾𖤓 He’s your gentle ocean wave. He lightly nudges you along when you feel stuck and feel like you’re about to sink.

Jeonghan, Joshua, Wonwoo, Woozi, Minghao, Seungkwan, Vernon

➵ As you begin fixating on something, there are both subtle and obvious signs your boyfriend picks up on. You’re more distracted, your eyes glaze over occasionally as if your mind is far away. You’re becoming more quiet. You’re lost in your thoughts because your mind is whirring with information, or because you’re desperate to get more information when you’re in that “i must research everything phase.” Of course, there are more obvious signs. You could be researching something specific for hours and hours on end, or you could be showing him the specific object of your fixation on your phone regularly. You could also be mentioning something more frequently. There was once you mentioned the same food stall 4 times in a row in the span of a 5 minute conversation, and this continued for a few days. And then there was the time you went on and on about your horrible progress in your school project for days until you finally submitted it.

➵ Usually, your boyfriend knows you’re having a hyperfixation/ hyperfocus episode before you do. It’s an unconscious thing your mind does, and sometimes you don’t even realise your hyper fixating on something until days or even weeks later. But he knows, and you can be sure he will keep a close eye on you from that point forward. He’s more than happy to stand to the side and let you ramble or babble on about your new favourite show, food, object. He thinks it’s cute how your eyes sparkle and come to life when you find something interesting, and he loves it when you come talk to him about it. It makes him feel so special and loved because he’s one of the most important people in your life, a person you’d so willingly share your joy and interests with. Actually, what makes him the happiest (even if he doesn’t say it), is when you begin to hyperfixate on something positive related to him. There were times when you would go down a rabbit hole of sorting through your old photos and memories with him, and times when you would hyperfixate on him (or have you always been hyper fixated on him?). As irrational as hyperfixations can be, to him, he thinks it’s rational, and endearing that you go through phases where you would just be extra clingy and affectionate to him. It makes him fall in love with you all over again when he sees just how much love you have for him.

➵ He will take a more delicate approach to your hyperfixation episodes compared to the previous group. He takes note of all the signs you exhibit when you begin to spiral. He will also assess what you’re going through at the time and your behaviour. There are times when you suddenly get into a new show when you have a whole bunch of work to do or when you’re horribly stressed. Other times, you have this overly hyper, happy smile plastered on your face when you continuously bring something up, and he can tell it is a happy facade you put up as an attempt to hide the emptiness in your eyes. It’s your mind’s way of protecting you and dealing with your emotions. You’re avoiding the root cause of your problems and jumbled emotions by fixating on something that makes you feel like you’re not you. Shows, food, characters, a new game, these things help you feel other emotions and it makes you feel other emotions besides anxiety, stress, depression. Then there are also times when you’re so stressed and burnt out dealing with work where you’re just sitting at your desk staring at your screen blankly while your mind goes into overdrive trying to force something out.

➵ As soon as he realises you’re spiraling for negative reasons, he’ll try to do all he can from becoming sucked into the deep abyss of your mind. For you, it feels as if you’re approaching a whirlpool, you are stuck and all you can do is let the current pull you in. You don’t have the physical and emotional strength to swim away and fight it. So he acts as a gentle ocean wave, he wants to change the direction of the current. He’s going to be that outside force you need to help you steer away from the whirlpool. The moment you exhibit the signs of a spiral due to your deteriorating mental health, he’s sitting you down and taking you into your arms gently. He understands your hyperfixation episodes are intense, and sometimes, even with him there, there’s no real way of breaking you out of it immediately. But, that’s no reason not to try to help you avoid it. He will ask you if you want to talk about it. If you do, he’ll be listening so attentively and empathetically while holding you like you’re a delicate raft about to break against the rough seas. If you don’t, he’ll take you out and pamper you. You could go for a walk to clear your mind, or go on a date. Whatever it is, he’s going to be doing everything he can to keep your mind occupied with other things and off your complicated emotions. With his help, you’ll get through this quickly and safely. And you’ll bounce back stronger than ever.

taglist: @weird-bookworm @wonijinjin @babyleostuff @wishing-fieshes @kwanienies @mayashu @megseungmin @porridgesblog @haecien @mirxzii @scoupsofcherries @eightlightstar @brownsugarbaybee @zaggprincess2 @nonononranghaee @hrts4hanniehae @treehouse-mouse @vcutparis @heavenfilm

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starlightvivi · 4 months

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Soldier's Silent Love

Ghost x Reader

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Summary: Y/N and Ghost, comrades who once kept their feelings unspoken, find themselves reunited on a mission where a forced fake marriage unravels years of hidden emotions. Ghost, who concealed his affection when you were transferred away, now faces the challenge of maintaining the act while wrestling with a love that never truly faded. In the midst of duty and deception, their story unfolds, blurring the lines between soldier and lover.

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Mention of :- Romance, suspense, smut, (mdni 18+) some fluff, a lot of flirting, jealous ghost, fake married couple

(Smut) MDI

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Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

First part This part 4

Words: 6.3k

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As Ghost booked the room he called Y/n, and you followed with him, as ghost realized you were beside him he instantly grabbed your waist harshly and pulled you close to him, you were surprised but you didn't mind instead you liked it, it's like they finally are together and after like years hiding their feelings, you both gets into the elevator ready to head to your room as the elevator door closes. Ghost positioned himself in front of you, lowering his head to meet yours. "You looked divine this all day, I can't take my eyes off you" he confessed in a hushed tone. His hands, previously at her waist, delicately traversed down to her ass, applying a gentle yet possessive squeeze. As she met his gaze, she found his eyes filled with a potent mix of lust and deep affection, creating an undeniable connection between them. Then the elevator opens, ghost back, and gives you some space to walk as you both walk in the hotel hallway finding the room as you get inside. You can't wait to share your long-back feelings with him as you hide it never relieving as they are alone now you can finally tell him. Having all night to talk about. As you turned to face him, a surge of electricity pulsed through the air. Without hesitation, Ghost's hand found its way to your neck, a tender yet assertive grip pulling her irresistibly closer. In that charged moment, he met your lips with an eagerness that mirrored the intensity of their emotions. Simultaneously, his other hand enveloped your waist, creating a magnetic connection that transcended mere physicality. The kiss was a dance of passion, an exchange of unspoken desires that had lingered in the air for far too long. As their lips melded, she willingly surrendered to the whirlwind of emotions, losing herself in the raw intensity of the connection. Your fingers instinctively found purchase, holding onto him as if anchoring yourself in a sea of shared emotion. As he held you and turned around pushing you against the door and pinning you in one place with his huge muscular body, while not breaking their passionate kiss. His heavy hand roams around your back, pulling your dress zipper down, completely making your dress fall on the ground, he slightly moves back to see you and to his surprise, you are wearing matching lingerie (his favorite black) making ghost spark with excitement and more needy, he gets closer to you and kisses your lips gently but slightly roughly, he picks you up in his arms turns towards the bed lying you down. He quickly undone his clothes and gets back on top of you, you let out a shaky breath he notices how you are breathing heavily and shaking a bit, he leans and pepper kisses your face, trying to relax you, as you calm down, his hand goes down between your thigh rubbing on you pantie, gently massaging your clothed cunt, you let out sharp intake of breath. He glides his hand up to your thighs, feeling you shiver as he does. Gently massaging your clothed clit his fingertips touches your clit, as you flinch a little. He breathed "Do want me to contin--" "YES" he didn't even complete his sentence as you enthusiastically, responsed to him. He slowly removed your panties leaving you exposed to him, hearing a gasp from your lips. He lowers himself on top of you, pressing his lips to yours again. You kiss him sloppily, fully flushed, and your belly feels warm, he moves down kissing your neck and leaving some hickeys as he unclasps your bra, sucking gently and biting on both of your nipples. You never felt this way, you never thought you would be having this moment with him, you have never been this turned on before, he lowers his head and rests on yours his gaze focused on you, watch your reaction and discomfort as he doesn't find any of those he quickly moved down between your thigh and holds them still as he slides his tongue over your clit and sucking it, you tilting your head back moaning out.

Continuation

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firespirited · 3 months

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everywhere but here, I am the mom.

not the 'mom friend', not fun aunt or godmother, the big sister type you go to when you're at the end of your tether and you need a mom to clean up something nasty, kill a spider, unload on someone who can handle it and not make it about them, help you pull the trigger on a hard decision you've already taken but haven't accepted. I make things happen, I connect people, I do mediation and emotional prep; I tell people their full options and help them weigh it all up. You were pondering it for a while but you left here with a lawyer's appointment and a loan we both know is a 'pay it forward' gift. I carry the secrets and the bad memories so it makes sense you move on without me when all's well. The big sister thing means I feel like family and shelter but not really like an everyday friend

Here, I get to be Saffy, bit of a klutz, silly brained with a childlike wonder for creatures and well-designed things who can talk about fear of crowds, slowly healing the relationship with my own mum, I watch horror and post about my dog. That's who I want to be, a large facet of who I am internally buuut life rarely fits the idea we have of ourselves does it?

Part of repairing the imbalanced relationship with mum was letting her do some protective mothering so i can fill the desperate ache to have one person in the world who has my back, while making my support of her more streamlined and unspoken. You know the concept of the toilet paper fairy who makes loo roll appear and always knows when to buy more, that but for groceries, electronics and paperwork, and big decisions we carry together but it has to be very businesslike and unemotional: she's as much a big sweetheart as she is fiercely independent (and ashamed/angry her daughter had to carry half the load). So now she's the one who notices or who I go to when the world has asked me to be The Mom again.

I imagine it's a lot like gay penguins: there's an ecological vacuum of big sister-mom types and some of us just have the vibes.

This winter I've done a metric ton of non-judgmental, non-condescending temporary 'parenting' of women with parents who are gone or who can't handle it and friends who aren't friends-for-that-kinda-thing. I'm really good at it, at weathering a storm for someone and being an anchor. It doesn't hurt any more because mum can be an emotional mum to me.

but I'm never sure how to talk about it here between dolls and shitposts and if i'm not specific... I mean... "chronically ill/special needs person currently or previously in abusive relationship with parent/partner who takes a while to realize and accept abuse isn't just fists but sleep depravation and symptom minimization and all sorts of tiny things that add up to life-threatening injury to the body and mind" applies to many of us dollblr folks as it does like 80% of my social circle offline.

and there's no way of saying that being around some folks is like experiencing a slow motion train wreck without sounding like an asshole.

I am that asshole.

I am goatsed out and want to be a hermit.

Did I tell you guys my doctor vented for 45 minutes about having to put her "dumbass hysterical" sister (deaf and never put in school) into care and the paperwork involved in getting disability (the thing that took me 14 years and she got her sister's transferred in 3 weeks). and I truly empathize but that wasn't very professional and your sister is a person. please.

and I can't cut M out of my life now that her kid is, as predicted, like her (and the facebook-chosen not-yet-divorced deadbeat-dad of 3 special needs kids), an adorable barely verbal two-year-old. She won't be able to navigate special needs care alone but she's still staunchly anti-vax and had a diatribe of ableism mixed with mystical pseudoscience for me, interspersed with thanks for being more family to her than her sister in helping her know how to leave a bad relationship. hokay not making this easy.

S is going to be on the hook for tax evasion if she stays with the shady useless guy she's been babying (and resenting) for 20 years solely because she doesn't like to do activities alone. three times now I've been cornered for the vent sesh. I am sitting on the floor the next time, I need blood in my brain to emote properly. and that unneutered bulldog living in the south is a crime, it can't breathe it can't think, it's all hormones and anxiety covered in fur, of course it's a nuisance around the house.

and there's more but i'm tired of typing and thinking.

#saf #rambling #rants #personal

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ddarker-dreams · 2 years

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Pinned Butterfly. Yan Xiao x F Reader [COMM]

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, minor character death, Xiao contending with some evil spirits. Word count: 2.1k.

Wealth, social status, material treasures — none of these benefits transfer in death. What does linger is rotting hostility, born from seeds of ambitions that never came to fruition.

The Archon War may be finished, but gods vanquished in the carnage cling to their bitterness like it's all they have to stay anchored to this world. Xiao supposes there’s some truth to the claim. Their names might be lost to the common tongue, their former purpose a distant memory, yet spite haunts them enough for them to linger on the mortal plane.

Hence his specially ordained job: eradicate the fragments of woeful misfortune so that chaos doesn’t envelop Liyue.

The final apparition he was dispatched to handle turns to vapors in the air, its power vanquished by his honed technique. He pulls his polearm back from where the specter once stood. Each direction surrounding him goes deadly silent and his muscles stiffen. The fight itself isn’t what gives birth to his apprehension, no, he dreads what comes after.

Leftover energy seeps into the blades of grass, wilting it and desaturating the vibrant green into hues of muted gray. The buildup is sluggish, like a hesitant crescendo, the residual emotions from a resentful god wrapping its tendrils around his body and squeezing. Distorted voices swirl in his mind and whirr by his ears like a mosquito.

It’s dark. My eyes are sewn shut. Where am I? Who was I? Who are you?

He clutches the hilt of his polearm tight enough to almost snap it.

I’ll sew their eyes shut by their eyelashes. If I can’t see, why should they?

Take deep breaths, he reminds himself. This isn’t the first time he’s been submerged into the chasm of despair these fallen immortals leave behind. Their voices are nothing but that — voices, mere sounds, syllables strung together in snarling tones. It cannot hurt him. They’ve fallen by his hands physically, overcoming them mentally isn’t impossible.

Those who bask in the sun know nothing. It doesn’t hurt. I wish it did. When did I last feel?

Bear with it.

The droning chorus of negative sentiments grows quieter as he holds his ground. There’s still a weight on his shoulders, though it’s light enough for him to continue on, leaving his battleground behind. He’s navigated through the foggy maze of karmic debt again. It’s over, he reasons, the homeostasis of his body making a hesitant return.

Now all he has left to do is go home to you. This fight will fade into his memory, just like all the others. It has to.

Xiao will walk through the front doors. Maybe you’ll be there, in the common area, reading a book that he found lying discarded near Wangshu Inn. Or, perhaps he’ll catch you sunbathing again. Since it’s within the confines of his adepti’s abode, he allows it, though he could never understand why it tickles your fancy. He thinks about how you talk more these days. Each offhanded comment that you’ve made, likely under the impression he wasn’t paying attention, is stored and specially kept in a chest within his heart.

Before he can open said chest and revel in its contents, he spots a peculiar sight.

There’s a person laying facedown on the ground — a mortal, he realizes — long hair splayed in all directions. The same energy emanating from her was what he felt when facing off against the spirit. He kneels to inspect her unresponsive body. Aside from finding no pulse, there’s no blood or outward sign of injury. For her to have collapsed like this could only mean one thing.

She crumbled under the cataclysmic pressure of karmic debt while he fought.

He’ll need to notify Verr Goldet of what happened here. They’ll send out a team to deal with the aftermath, he’s nowhere near equipped to handle misfortunes such as this. Still, it feels wrong to leave her in this state, it seemed dehumanizing somehow. To not totally deprive the deceased of her dignity, he gently turns her over. In the process, the rapidly dwindling fragments of energy that encircled her transfer to him. He recoils at the harrowing sensation.

For the ultimate encore, the twisting voice speaks a name Xiao hasn’t gone by in over two millennia. The designation he was given while under an evil god’s thrall. He bristles at the mismatched phonetics, memories of inflicting pain on others and having pain inflicted upon him in return springing up and scalding him like a geyser.

This is the fate of all living things, the voice warbles. Even of those you cherish. Remember this. Dread this. Wait impatiently for the day to come.

And then, it’s no longer a distant stranger staring back at Xiao.

It’s you.

Your eyes have a recognizable brilliance to them. He would know the distinct pigment anywhere, down to the tiniest specs that dance within them like fireflies on a summer night. This iteration is somewhat different, as it lacks vitality, but it undeniably showcases the rest of your features that he’s come to know. Only in a distorted, macabre variation. Your skin has taken on a wrinkled, pallid hue, and your mouth is parted like you were permanently frozen in a scream.

Xiao rapidly blinks and shakes his head.

When he reopens his eyes, it’s no longer your face, but that of the stranger. A cruel parlor trick cast by a vanquished foe in their final seconds.

He exhales through his nose.

Though the voice no longer speaks to him, he hears echoes of it with every step.

—

You think you’re seeing Xiao around more as of late.

At first, you were certain it was your imagination. While he is often in your vicinity, he tends to linger in other rooms for whatever reason, or make himself entirely scarce. You still don’t understand why feels the need to do this. Is it guilt? There certainly can’t be anything entertaining in those other desolate rooms, you should know. You’re the one who is stuck spending the most time here.

Whatever the case may be, he’s hanging around now from the moment you wake to the second you lay your head down at night.

It’s not just that too. The frequency of his gift-giving — if you could call it that — has increased. Yesterday, it was a collection of books (though they were in a language you couldn’t read). The day before that he gave you some shiny rocks that are now sitting on your windowsill as you have no idea what to do with them. Either he’s taking lessons from crows on how to court, or you’re missing something significant here.

Today’s mystery gift is currently being presented to you. In his hands is a crunched-up mimicry of a bouquet, held out in your general direction. He doesn’t say anything or deign to look at you. The past few days, you decided it was in your best interest to play along, lest you put him in a bad mood. You’re determined to get to the bottom of things today. There’s so little known about the adepti to the common folk, the last thing you need to find out was that this was an elaborate mating ritual and you accidentally said yes to marrying him by accepting the gifts or something.

“Uh… Xiao?”

He makes a gruff noise that you assume to be acknowledgment.

“I’m pretty sure those flowers are poisonous. Er, to us humans.”

His eyes widen. Swifter than you can comprehend, his jade colored polearm is summoned, and the flowers are shredded into oblivion. His Anemo Vision gleams while an unnatural gust surges inside the room. Within seconds, the flower’s remnants are blown out an open window, never to be seen again.

You readjust your hair that’s been tousled from the unexpected gale. That wasn’t what you were anticipating, you thought he would just speak up and give you something to work with. Now you’ll have to hope he never learns you made that poison thing up.

While your rough plan wasn’t entirely a success, you feel there’s valuable information to be gleaned from it. Namely, you can confirm this is the most on edge you’ve ever seen him, even if the cause eludes you. This realm he’s crafted is custom-made to negate danger. There are no hazardous elements or weather, you’ve yet to see a single sharp object, and most pressing, he’s the only individual who can come and go as he pleases. No bandits or ill-intentioned folk could strike while he’s away.

Feeling exhausted from thinking in circles, you make for your bedroom. A nap sounds lovely to temporarily forget about everything.

Unsurprisingly, footsteps pad not far behind. He’s been in the habit of following you like a baby duckling. Far less cute and endearing, though.

Frustration builds the closer you get to your bed. Is he going to stand there and watch you sleep? How undignified is that? At least in the past, you had a smidge of privacy, or an illusion of it. He’s gone and done away with that and permanently soured your mood. You hadn’t done anything to betray his trust, acted out, or even given him those dirty looks you know he detests. For your sanity, you’ve tried to maintain a semblance of peace.

So why is it you’re being monitored and fussed over?

Abruptly, you swivel on your heel and plant yourself, folding your arms across your chest. He mirrors this posture in a move that further incenses you. His unflinching stare is far more intimidating than anything you could scrounge together — but you refuse to back down.

“Xiao.”

“...”

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re following me. Is there something you need?”

“... Nothing in particular.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“Will you stop following me around then?”

“I can conceal my presence if you prefer.”

Ah, so that is within his skill set. You shiver at the thought of him being present while you were none the wiser and focus on the main issue.

“I really don’t understand what this is about,” you murmur, lips curling into a frown. Your false bravado starts to deflate. “I’ve— been good, done everything right and… I’m just at a loss. All this guessing and worrying is bad for my heart.”

It could be your imagination, but you swear his breath hitches.

He strides toward you. Out of instinct, you take a step back, but it makes no difference. Whatever physical space there was separating you both becomes nonexistent. He places his middle and pointer finger to your neck while you stand perfectly still. Next, he places his ear against your chest, a move that draws you out from your reverie and makes you squeak. When you try to struggle, he holds you in place by your forearms. Gentle yet firm.

“Stay still,” he orders. His tone leaves no room for argument. You do your best to calm yourself, with mixed success; your physiology heeds its own orders. After an agonizing few minutes crawl by, he pulls back. No matter how hard you try to understand him or make sense of his enigmatic ways, you end up with more questions than answers. That’s how it’s always been. If his past behavior is anything to go by, he’ll step back without offering any explanation, leaving you to dwell over and ultimately let it go—

The arms he used to hold you still slide around your back. He doesn’t pull you to him, but rather, comes to you, nestling his nose in the crook of your neck.

“You’re human. Finite.”

Did he just realize that? You think to voice your thoughts, then decide against it when he squeezes you almost tight enough to steal the breath from your lungs. What do you do in a situation like this? You wish you never said anything. You should’ve let him carry on with his unseemly ways, laid down facing the wall, allowing yourself to be lulled to sleep. It would come eventually. It always has.

“Not meant to last. I… want you to last,” Xiao admits, his voice light and airy. Uncertain of himself. There’s a candor you’ve never seen him express before. “If anything in this world should last… it’s you. So while you’re here, I will be too.”

You realize then why he’s been acting the way he has. Puzzle pieces fall into line, one after the other, forming a mosaic from jagged parts he’s forced to fit together. It’s only now that you’ve been able to step back and see the bigger picture for yourself.

The influx of gifts. Lingering in your presence every opportunity he had. Making awkward conversation when the silence got to be too much.

It wasn’t for your sake.

It’s for his.

#xiao x reader #yandere xiao x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere #yandere x reader #reader insert #commissions #my stuff

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morelikeravenbore · 8 months

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How to Make a Villain - Sebastian Sallow x FMC

✨ Ao3 | Wattpad ✨

A comprehensive guide on how to turn the good guys bad.

18+ No smut (tbh there probably will be segs eventually but it'll be geared more toward the emotional end of the scale rather than the explicit), lots of fluff, lots of angst. TW: Mentions of parental loss, family trauma, implied murder, sexual references and mild violence.

A Hogwarts Legacy fic that explores how grief & trauma can fundamentally change the course of a person's entire life.

THE BLURB:

Aurélie Collins wishes she were invisible. Unfortunately, despite her best efforts to be normal, there are a great many unusual things about her. She's the only transfer student Hogwarts has seen in recent memory, she has an absolutely abysmal sense of direction, and - though she desperately wishes she couldn't - she can wield an ancient and highly unstable form of rare magic.

When a tragic event rips her from her life of opulence at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, Aurelie is unceremoniously thrust into the freezing cold Scottish highlands to finish her final year at Hogwarts, where the castle's floor plan is impossible to navigate, obsession with blood status runs prevalent among the student body, and it's freezing bloody cold - all the time.

Worse still, she finds herself unable to escape the unwavering attention of Sebastian Sallow. Tall, handsome and infuriating, the Slytherin Quidditch captain is convinced he's the greatest thing to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts, is best friends with a Gaunt, and, to Aurélie's endless irritation, does not want to let her out of his sight. Ever.

Read chapter one under the cut.

If Aurélie Collins had to choose one word to best describe herself, she supposed it would be - to put it as delicately as she could - completely and utterly overwhelmed. Granted, that was four words, not one, but as she trudged down yet another unfamiliar corridor, she was just relieved she could string together a coherent sentence at all. After the last few months of hell she'd endured, Aurélie wasn't her usual eloquent self, to say the least.

She hadn't always been that way - overwhelmed, that is. In fact, if asked only a few months ago to describe herself, she would've said she was dutiful, quick-witted, and, if not brave, then definitely unafraid of facing challenges head-on. She'd been a confident girl once; she got good grades, always did as she was asked and never stepped a toe out of line, and everyone - from her parents and teachers to her friends and peers - knew that Aurélie Collins would go on to achieve whatever she set her mind to.

Now, though? Well, nowadays she was too exhausted to set her mind on anything. Since she'd been forced to start a new school in a new country - in the seventh and final year of her magical education at that - Aurélie felt that the only substantial thing about her was the crushing sadness that pervaded her every waking thought, as if every other part of her had been utterly annihilated by grief. Not that she allowed herself to feel any of that grief if she could help it - but it was always there, pervasive and relentless, weighing her down like a heavy wet blanket as she tried to swim through the rapidly changing currents of her new life.

Breathe, Aurélie, she told herself as she trekked ever deeper into the immense stone castle that was her new school. You've handled worse than this.

But this was a lie; she hadn't handled anything worse than this. The truth was that she was adrift in a perpetual ocean of grief that constantly threatened to consume her. She had no anchor, nothing to tether her to anything solid.

And this new school of hers certainly wasn't doing anything to improve her situation.

Bloody Hogwarts.

Of all places she'd ever imagined herself living, the freezing cold Scottish highlands was absolutely not one of them. But, then again, she wouldn't have believed that she'd be an orphan at seventeen either, yet here she was.

Hogwarts was famous, of course. Heralded as the pinnacle of magical education and the top school in the wizarding world, most witches and wizards were honoured to attend such a prestigious establishment. But Aurélie Collins was of the opinion that every bloody thing at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was confusing, unnecessary, or just downright nonsensical. From the ever-changing floorplan to the myriad of talking portraits - all of whom gave wildly conflicting directions to her classes depending on which ones she asked - nothing about Hogwarts made any sense.

Aurélie was almost in tears by the time she reached another dead end. It was simply impossible to find one's way around a school like this; there were too many floors to navigate, too many disused classrooms and far too many staircases that led to absolutely nowhere. Not to mention, beyond its confusing floorplan and unbearably draughty rooms, the ancient hulking castle was rather ugly - by Aurélie's standards at least. The monolithic Gothic castle was so far removed from the elegance and charm of Beauxbatons that it seemed almost cruel that she should be forced to endure it at all. She could almost hear her best friend Céleste's reaction if she were with her now. 'Ugh, it's so awfully medieval,' she would say. 'Stone Gargoyles? And all those uncouth English boys? I don't know which I find more barbaric!'

She almost smiled at the thought. But only almost - for thinking of her best friend only made her sad.

Aurélie shook herself mentally, shifting the heavy weight of her books from one arm to the other. She did not like thinking about her old life, least of all on her first day of school while she was lost in the labyrinth of never-ending corridors and endless classrooms. She had the distinct and slightly alarming sense that she was headed in completely the wrong direction as she tried to find her first class of the day, but, having never set foot in Hogwarts until the night before, found herself without any point of reference with which to correct her course.

'Which Merlin-forsaken floor is this, anyway?' she muttered to herself in French as a group of first years skittered around her, giggling obnoxiously as they hurried down the long corridor. They were wearing the green and silver colours of Slytherin house. She knew of Slytherin house only because her father had attended Hogwarts in his youth; though he'd been a Hufflepuff - a badger, not a snake.

Aurélie's heart gave an awful lurch at the thought of her father. Oh, her wonderful father: patient and good-humoured and endlessly curious and -

Dead. He's dead, Aurélie. Stop thinking about him.

She swallowed down the hard lump in her throat and trudged on determinedly, descending what felt like the hundredth set of stairs she'd already followed that morning. She could feel disappointment and embarrassment roiling in the pit of her stomach; she wasn't used to failing at anything let alone something as simple as getting to class on time. Even the bloody first years knew where they were going, for crying out loud, and they'd been here for just as short a time as she had.

When at last she found herself facing yet another dead end, she finally conceded defeat. Trying very hard not to cry, she adjusted her unflattering black robes (oh, to be dressed in fine blue silk again) and began to seriously consider how much trouble she'd be in if she just went back to bed. Or, more tempting still, how badly she'd be punished if she fled back to France and never returned to Hogwarts again, graduation be damned.

But no, she couldn't leave Hogwarts; it was the safest place for her since her parents had died, and Professor Weasley, the deputy headmistress, had evoked the power of Merlin himself to secure her a place here at such short notice. Apparently, it had not been an easy feat convincing Headmaster Black to take on a student with her reputation.

Aurélie sighed and squeezed her eyes closed. 'It's just for one year,' she muttered under her breath, repeating the phrase that had become her mantra. 'Just one year, that's all.'

'Unless you're trying to break into the Slytherin common room,' said an unexpected voice behind her, 'I'm going to assume you're lost.'

Aurélie whirled around so fast she whipped herself in the face with her long auburn braid. She hadn't always been a jumpy sort of person, but losing both parents at the same time had a way of making one rather fearful of unexpected voices in unfamiliar corridors.

The boy who stood before her had his wand held aloft; its tip glowed brightly red in front of his face, casting an ominous-looking hue over his pale skin. Aurélie's mind immediately conjured visions of dark shadows and searing red pain, and for one dreadful moment, she thought he was about to curse her. Her palms tingled; a telltale sign that the forbidden magic that flowed through her veins was still very much alive - and very much wanted to be used.

She took an automatic step backwards, clenching her fists tight. Thankfully, the boy made no move to attack; instead, he simply stared at her. No, that wasn't right, he wasn't staring at her - he was staring through her. It was then that Aurélie noticed his eyes; milky white and translucent, they gleamed like ghostly orbs in his angular face.

The boy was blind.

'Sorry,' Aurélie said, a little breathlessly. 'I'm trying to get to my Defence Against the Dark Arts class, but I'm afraid I have no idea where I am.'

The boy laughed, and though the sound was pleasant enough, it was undoubtedly more incredulous than amused. 'Oh my, you are lost, aren't you?'

A small badge engraved with the words Head Boy was pinned to the breast pocket of his immaculate robes. Even bathed under the red glow of his wand light, she could clearly make out the tiny snake etched onto its gleaming surface. Another Slytherin. She'd known very little about the four Hogwarts houses before coming here, but when the sorting hat had asked her if she had a preference, all she could think was that she didn't want to be part of a house whose emblem was a snake.

When Aurélie did not reply, the boy heaved an impatient sigh.

'You're the new Ravenclaw,' he said matter-of-factly. 'I must say, I didn't expect to find you all the way down here.'

The boy had a rather aristocratic air about him - haughty and vaguely displeased as all aristocratic types were loath to be, with silvery hair slicked back from his face, high cheekbones, and a sharp jawline that screamed of fine magical breeding. Aurélie wondered vaguely which noble family he was from, for she certainly knew a wealthy pureblood when she saw one; half of Beauxbatons was full of old ennobled wizarding families.

As she opened her mouth to ask him how he knew who she was - being blind and all - he spoke again.

'I recognise your accent,' he explained as if he'd read her thoughts. 'There aren't any other French students at Hogwarts.' His sharp, clipped voice was a stark contrast to his delicate features, and yet, there was something strangely ominous about it that stirred something inside her. Something familiar. Something... unpleasant.

'Half French,' she corrected him, pushing the thought away. 'My father was English, mother was French. But - er, yes, I suppose I do sound different to everyone else.'

Having been duo lingual all her life, Aurélie spoke both English and French perfectly - but apparently, her French accent wasn't as undetectable as she'd hoped. She smoothed her clammy hands down the front of her awfully drab robes, acutely aware of how the boy's unseeing eyes seemed to be looking right at her with surprising intensity.

'Yes, well,' he drawled in a tone that suggested that he didn't particularly care about the finer details of her heritage. 'You're absolutely nowhere near the Defence floor. In fact, you're almost in the dungeons. Frankly, I'm baffled you managed to make it here from the Great Hall all by yourself. Why weren't you following your classmates?'

'Oh. I wasn't in the Great Hall. I came straight from my common room.'

Not entirely trusting that anything she ate would stay down for long, she'd opted to skip breakfast in the hall with the other students that morning and head straight to class instead. Though the few Ravenclaw's she'd met so far had seemed friendly enough, their interest in the new foreign transfer student made her uncomfortable. One particularly brazen Ravenclaw boy - whose name she couldn't remember - had ogled her like she were some sort of exotic beast and told her that Hogwarts never got transfer students - not ever. 'If I'd been made to be sorted in front of the entire school as a seventh year,' he had said, 'I would have died of humiliation.'

Inwardly, Aurélie had agreed with him, for she certainly didn't count the sorting ceremony as one of her favourite life experiences. Outwardly though, she had only smiled politely and told him it hadn't been so bad before excusing herself to a quiet corner of the common room to sit alone.

She had no intention of making any friends during her single year at Hogwarts. In fact, she'd made a promise to herself that she wouldn't. After all, she was planning on heading straight back to France the moment she graduated, and the thought of saying goodbye to any more people she cared about was an ordeal she wasn't sure she could handle. But beyond that, she also feared that should anyone find out why she'd transferred in the first place, their interest in her would only intensify.

As a seventeen-year-old witch who hadn't achieved anything particularly extraordinary, Aurélie didn't think herself interesting by any stretch. But unfortunately, having your family murdered by dark wizards certainly was - and that was not something she wanted to be known for. Better to be invisible than be a source of gossip and speculation.

The boy tilted his head, his translucent pupils a little unnerving under the red glow of his wand. An inexplicable shiver of fear skittered down the back of Aurélie's arms and settled in the pit of her stomach.

'So you're telling me you managed to get yourself from the Ravenclaw common room - one of the highest points in the castle - to the very lowest depths of the dungeons, and you didn't at any point stop to think that perhaps you were headed in the wrong direction?' he said. 'Nor did you think it prudent to eat something before you start studying for your N.E.W.T.s, the most important and difficult exam in a witches educational career?' He shook his head in exasperation. 'And here I was thinking Ravenclaw's were supposed to be intelligent.'

Aurélie didn't know how to react to this outburst but rather thought she'd been right to not want to be in the snake house. When she made no reply, the boy heaved another heavy sigh, clearly annoyed.

'Very well. As Head Boy, I suppose it is my duty to help you - even though you ought to be old enough by now to look after yourself. Come along, then.'

With a small shake of his head and a mild sneer, the boy turned on his heel and strode purposefully down the empty corridor. Despite her chagrin, Aurélie couldn't help but marvel at the way his wand seemed to act as a proxy for his sight; pulsing like a heartbeat, it lead him effortlessly through the maze of corridors that even she - with her perfect vision - couldn't seem to navigate. She hurried after him, silently chastising herself for being so useless that she had to be led to class by a blind boy.

'Ominis Gaunt, by the way,' he said once she'd caught up to him; he was rather a fast walker for someone who couldn't see where they were going.

'Oh, er - hello, I'm Aurélie -'

'Collins - yes, I know who you are. Now, do pay attention, won't you? Defence Against the Dark Arts class is on the third floor, not in the dungeons. Even I can tell this isn't the third floor, and I'm blind.'

Aurélie flushed. Perhaps the sorting hat had made a mistake putting her into a house whose members were valued for being clever.

'So... you're Head Boy?' she asked timidly.

'That is what I said, isn't it?' came his sharp reply. 'And I'll have you know that I've quite enough to be getting on with today without needing to rescue stray Ravenclaws from the dungeons.'

'I didn't need rescuing,' she muttered under her breath. Ominis only ignored her, and after a very tense silence and several staircases later, they came to a stop outside the correct classroom on the third floor.

'Do try not to get yourself so embarrassingly lost again, won't you?' he said tersely. 'I don't have time to babysit seventh years, I've enough first-year drama to deal with as it is.'

And with that, he was away again, muttering darkly about Ravenclaw's and incompetence as he went, leaving Aurélie standing dumbfounded in his wake.

#hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow fanfic #soft sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy fandom #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy oc #slytherin x ravenclaw #Slytherin x Ravenclaw pairing

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princess-of-the-corner · 5 months

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Going to guess the yes was on wanting to hear not that I have mentioned it ^^;;

TW: Racism & Racist Terms

Running on a 'It's like canon but slightly worse' I'm grabbing from Bakerix and the analogy...thing they tried to do with the rice flour.

So, Roland didn't let his...opinions be known at first. He chalked Tom's interest in Sabine up to 'Yellow Fever' and ignored it, but then once he found out that there was a little 'mongrel' on the way he went full racist grandpa. Instead of breaking off contact however, he just subjected Sabine to all manner of verbal abuse. Tom doesn't have the guts/will to stand up to his father in this setting either. So, Sabine as left with the options of bear up, or flee... but she had a daughter. So, with a strong sense of family/parenthood, she stuck it out.

Sticking it out was *not* kind to her though, the frequent belittlement on all things big and small, Roland's every visit a problem, and the fact that as a baker Roland was/is deeply involved in the bakery all combined to wear down on her, and she began transferring it all. She began to see Marinette as an anchor, something trapping her here with duty, keeping her in the bad situation. So she's retreated. She is dutiful. She loves her daughter, but she is a 'mother at a distance' simply unable to open herself up or connect anymore. She will raise Marinette, because Marinette is her responsibility, but all the motherly affection, emotional bonding, and nurturing has been worn out of her.

This is how we get Emonette's reaction in the Paris special.

It's dark, but I like it better than 'Sabine's dead' like some people use. This has an opportunity for improvement and I think thematically that is important in this genre. The world can go a bit grimdark, but love has to have a chance to triumph in the end.

It should be noted that Tom still loves Marinette completely, and is doting. He's just generally useless in terms of dealing with family dynamics.... which is basically just canon anyway.

Okay fucking OOF but yeah that tracks for a darker morality universe.

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grey-sorcery · 1 year

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Suggested Reading

*-Recommend

Fundamentals of Energy Work* The Wellsource* The Subtle Body* Energetic Senses Axioms of Energy Work Anchors Energetic Constructs Conceptualization Vs. Visualization* Visualization & The Alt-Right Pipeline

Introduction

Once I publicly stated that energy work is the most utilitarian mode of magic, as it doesn’t require spoons, many in our community took it upon themselves to become combative without critical thought. I’ve seen several narratives going around about this lately, all of which miss the point entirely. Energy work is not physical movement, physical effort, or visualization.

Conscious Vs. Unconscious Energy Work

Regardless of practice, ability, culture, model, or experience energy work happens during every single type of magical or mystical working. With any release, absorption, movement, or exchange of information there is a transfer of energy. Prayers, spiritual communion, spells, meditation, etc all involve energy work. If energy work is not done consciously, then it is done subconsciously. When this occurs, the energy movement and programming becomes reactive rather than proactive. When the energy work is reactive, the programming and the strength of the energy work is diminished significantly, can can easily be influenced by unrelated forces such as the current emotional state, latent emotions, recent events, trauma, self-esteem, etc. These interactions can skew the results of magical and mystical actions heavily. While such influences are within acceptable margins, like with intimate connections to spiritual entities and the divine, they can also cause spell work to have unforeseen consequences or prevent it from working entirely. The subconscious application of energy work also has repercussions on the subtle body. While ranging in severity, it can be a non-permanent minor fluctuation, to a triggering of a trauma response.

Spoons & Visualization

It is widely considered that visualization and energy work are one in the same, when that couldn’t be further than the truth. Visualization is literally using one’s imagination; which is not something that everyone is able to do. There is a massive spectrum of ability when it comes to visualization. For some, like those with hyperphantasia, intense realist visualization is second nature. For others, like those with aphantasia, it is impossible to visualize anything at all. If visualization is to be used at all, it should be considered a tool. It can be used in order to create a mental image for a plan, or for psychologically reinforcing energy work that is being done. It can also be used in order to promote, maintain, or enter into headspace. As well as used to aid in focus. Regardless, visualization is merely a tool and nothing else. For many people, visualization takes a LOT of spoons. Whether it be ADHD, aphantasia, mental disability, or brain injury trying to mentally picture something can come at a heavy cost in terms of personal daily energy reserves (Spoons). If trying to use visualization as if it were energy work were the cornerstone of someone’s magical practice, they would be expending significantly more spoons than necessary in order to subconsciously do energy work.

Learning Curve

Energy work can be difficult to learn, especially in the beginning. It is made even more difficult due to the contemporary culture around it as well as the complete lack of informational resources. Conceptualizing what energy work is is perhaps the most difficult step to take, especially when it comes to the energetic senses. It does take spoons in order to learn energy work. Until it has a solid foundation, it can be very strenuous to practice or conceptualize. Practice becomes absorption through trial and error. While remaining as objective as possible in your pursuit can also be draining, it is also necessary. Unless one is privileged enough to have energy work come to them second nature, it can take years to learn. However, once it is learned, performing energy work requires no spoons, no mental image, no physical effort or movement. It is a practice that is optimal for people who are disabled, as well as being the most efficient and effective applicational model for magic.

Action Vs. Practice Vs. Conceptualization

Like with all things, doing energy work requires setting aside time and focus to perform. Preparing for energy work can take up spoons for a lot of people. Depending on the intensity of the energy work, focus can also require spoons for some. Taking any kind of action be it physical or energetic, requires spoons. As stated above, conceptualizing energy work also requires spoons in the beginning. With that being said, the practice itself requires as much or less spoons as thinking a thought, depending on the level of attention. This is because there is no visualization, physical movement, or emotional regulation required. Energy work can be done alongside these things, all of which can aid in its practice. However, each additional layer on top of energy work adds its own cost. Energywork can be done while performing other tasks, such as writing, working, driving, etc; albeit, not without the additional spoon requirements. As it stands within the popular understanding of magic, “energy work” can be very spoon intensive, but if practiced properly and efficiently the cost of spoons is lowered to a nearly negligible amount. When energy work is not performed front the wellsource, but rather from the energy from within other parts of the subtle body, energy work can be very draining and spoon-heavy. If you feel like your energy is running out during energy work, I recommended revisiting the basics and figuring out how to draw directly from the wellsource.

Patreon Shout Out!

Thank you so much for your support!

-Megan Kipp. My first supporter!

#basic energy work #spoonie witch #informational post #energy work #witchcraft resource #Gew

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merrysithmas · 2 years

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Anakin and his powers to resurrect

Anyone ever think about how Anakin, the Chosen One, was able to bring someone back to life on Mortis just as he longed for with Padme?

Anakin literally resurrected someone!

On Mortis, Anakin, struck with grief, was allowed to transfer the life force of the Force-being The Daughter to Ashoka (his daughter).

You can see he is seated below the Father who is mimicking/puppeting his motions, showing Anakin is the future "Father".

This planet was a litmus test from the Force to determine if Anakin was truly the Chosen One. He was able to control both The Daughter and The Son (the Light and Dark) and was begged by The Father (The Force united itself and his father) to take his place before he got too old. To be the Consicousness that understands and controls balance and keeps the Galaxy at peace. Anakin is the Son and the Daughter.

He is destined to be the future Father and the Dark Father (Darth Vader), and balance reality.

In a way, on Mortis, his actions can be seen as sacrificing/transferring his light and giving it to Ahsoka so that she will not die, becoming more lop-sided with the Dark. This reflects his actions in his life where he gives up the light to try to protect Padme and his unborn child(ren).

The fact that he literally resurrects Ahsoka shows that if Anakin stayed the path of the Light he would have been able to learn the talent of resurrection through his light-sided abilities, or perhaps if the Jedi had more trust in him he would have been allowed to pursue more esoteric knowledge that could have exposed him to these powers.

Sadly, neither was true because of the tragic destiny of the Chosen One (which he proves himself as on Mortis). His destiny is to control and balance both the light and dark in the Force. Because of this, Anakin was detoured to another Path.

Anakin was given another test on Mortis. He was shown his future acts as Darth Vader (which were erased from his memory). Immediately, to prevent them, he turns to the Dark Side! He apologizes to a terrified Obi-wan for his actions, telling Obi-wan that he must do what he is doing or worse will happen.

He passes the test of the Father, wielding both the ultimate powers of Darkness and Light in good nature, damning himself in the eyes of others in the process, proving the purity of his heart. He faces his evils as Vader and is so repulsed and terrified of them he submits himself to the dark side as a sacrifice to avoid them coming to fruition.

It is extremely heartwrenching that the Force erases these memories after they leave Mortis. [As a side note, I always felt this left a VERY BIG as-yet not understood importance in Ahsoka, after Anakin transferred the very essence of the Daughter to her!]

It is heart wrenching because when Sidious tempts him with the knowledge of how to save Padme at the Opera.... he already knows how.

One must transfer the lifeforce of one being into another (as he did with The Daughter to Ashoka). Sidious does this with Padme and Anakin.

Giving a twisted truth to his words "It seems in your anger... you killed her."

Despite, of course, it being Sidious' plan all along. He doesn't tell Anakin that to save someone another person must die - and I believe it was Sidious' intent to make him choose between Obi-wan and Padme on Mustafar (however, Vader lost the duel to Obi-wan, who through the power of Light prevailed).

This put a huge wrench in Sidious' plan to break Vader once and for all by making him choose between them both and thus, always resent the one who lived and further make himself lost to the dark in damning guilt. With no emotional anchors to bind him to the world (Obi-wan and Padme), Vader would be unstoppable.

The touching thing however is how Padme truly saved Anakin by giving her own life, even if it was tragically unintentional. She reassures Obi-wan, "There is still good in him" with her dying breath. She gives life to Darth Vader, essentially preserving Anakin inside (just as Obi-wan essentially did by amputating and neutering him on the burning shores of Mustafar, but not killing him out of love "I cannot kill Anakin").

It is no wonder Sidious or the Empire or the Dark or Vader could never truly kill Anakin Skywalker - it is because even Vader was forged with the love and compassion of Obi-wan and Padme. Not Sidious' manipulations and evil.

They gave their light to resurrect him (into Darth Vader), as Anakin gave up his light to resurrect Ahsoka.

Another example we have of life transference is Ben Solo and Rey Skywalker in TRoS.

Ben knows what his grandfather knew! Being a Skywalker himself, now returned to the light as Anakin was, he has access to these powers given by the Force.

It gives a poignant callback to Rey's TFA callout of him saying, "You're afraid... you'll never be as strong as Darth Vader." He is afraid here. But he is as strong in this way.

In a dyad with Rey, he uses that to his advantage and sacrifices himself for the life of a Palpatine. The ultimate compassion given the history of the Skywalker legacy, truly cementing the Skywalkers to have "won" this universal battle with the power of the Light.

#anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #padme amidala #ahsoka tano #ben solo #rey of jakku #rey skywalker #anidala #obikin #anakin is a strong boy #strong tortured predestined boy #and ofc he is 'resurrected' by luke in rotj

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transmutationisms · 1 year

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hey, did you notice the News logan was watching at the end of the first ep of this season? Something about a family squalor going on at a knife show? do you think its relevant at all or maybe foreshadowing?

i think it was two former business partners going at each other with knives in a dispute over money at a "family friendly" gun show, yeah. imo we're meant to see logan's reaction to this as transference of his feelings about what's going on with his kids. like, former business partners, fighting over money---that's clear enough. using knives, which is a messy and close-range way of killing ('can we just be civil and not spill our guts all over the table,' lol). the event being a gun show places it squarely in a conservative cultural space that glorifies masculinity and domination, ie a more redneck version of what logan wants waystar and his family to be. and the news anchor repeats twice that it was "family-friendly," both because this is satire of fox news coverage of gun shows and because it's telling us that logan perceives the knife fight as having ruined a nice family event.

so, logan is furious and hurt by his kids 'coming after him' (his perception), and on that day in particular he's riled up specifically by having just lost pierce to them. in his mind, them taking pgm was an act of violence against himself and his company, but he's repressed in a way that prevents him from expressing any of this as hurt, and indeed from being consciously aware of it as such. instead it comes out in the form of his rage at this news story, which he perceives as having a liberal, anti-family slant. and the only way he knows how to solve this problem is by calling cyd, insulting the anchor, and demanding cyd alter the news coverage to better reflect the version of reality he wants to be living in.

so putting that all together, logan's family problems are intrinsically intertwined with his business problems, but he can only ever process them consciously as business problems, and his only solution is to throw money and power at the situation until someone else makes it go away for him. it's a similar emotional beat to the corporate family therapy session in 'austerlitz,' but this time compressed into 90 seconds of logan watching tv.

#he doesn't even trust water

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gditrisha · 9 months

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NEVER LET ME GO | Uki Violeta x Fulgur Ovid

PAIRINGS: PsyBorg, Uki Violeta x Fulgur Ovid TAGS & WARNINGS: Song Lyric Fic, Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Suicdal Ideation, Emotional Baggage A/Ns: Listen to "Never Let Me Go" by Florence + The Machine. This one-shot is part of FLOW: an anthology of PsyBorg fanfics inspired by Florence + the Machine songs.

“It’s breaking over me."

Uki finally confessed as he turned to his side to face Fulgur, who had felt him shift beneath the sheets.

It had been like this the past couple of months since they moved in together. The mundane and domestic atmosphere were cherished by both and they found warmth in each other's company. However, there were instances when they'd still feel a pang of emptiness - often more so at the dead of night.

Uki would wake up in those quiet hours. Nibbling a jammy egg. Sitting by his cushioned nook near the window. Lost in his own thoughts. Observing the cars that drove by. Each headlight zoomed like shooting stars.

Fulgur would wake up and enter his study. Turning on warm but dim lights. Skimming through his curation of books. Flipping through pages. Tracing fingers carefully on sentences. Absorbing nothing.

“Want a hug?” Fulgur asked as he moved the strands of his partner's hair away from his face.

Apparently Uki had stared into nothingness and didn't notice Fulgur had asked him this question a third time. He was not one to decline Fulgur’s touch or affection, however, he shook his head.

“How about some cuddles?”

“No.”

More tears soaked his pillow.

“What can I do to help?”

Uki’s chest tightened as salty beads trickled down the bridge of his nose.

“I want…to calm down but…I just can’t.” Uki sat and immediately retrieved the tissue from his bedside table but couldn't catch his sneeze in time.

“Damn it.” He pulled a few plies of tissue from the box and blew his nose hard then wiped the snot from his hand. He couldn’t tell if his mind was thumping because of the sneeze or if it was the dread.

“I need air.” Uki removed the sheets then hopped out of bed with urgent footsteps heading towards the foyer.

“Uki. Uki, wait.” Fulgur followed right after, grabbing a jacket and, unbeknownst to him, their blanket as he rushed to the car.

The sound of keys and keychains clanged as Uki unlocked the door and turned the ignition.

"I'll drive, Uki. Please. It's much safer this way." Fulgur pleaded.

Uki was silent as he knew Fulgur made a valid point. He licked his teeth at his own impulsiveness then stepped out of the driver's seat to transfer to the back.

Fulgur strapped in and thought for a moment. With a sense of where they ought to be, he drove off. Fulgur looked at the rear-view mirror to check on Uki from time to time. The drive was rather silent. Save for Uki’s sniffles and stuttered breathing. They had finally made one more turn and arrived at the beach.

As soon as the engine turned off, Uki stepped out of the vehicle and picked up his sandals. His heart ached as grains of sand sifted between his toes.

The winds whirred around as the ocean hissed. Uki felt like he was going deaf.

𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗮 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗸.

𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝘀𝗼 𝗯𝗮𝗱.

𝗗𝗼 𝗜 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲?

He dropped to the ground curling and hugging himself as he wailed. Each grain was reminiscent of the sting in his knees when punishments were inflicted to him and many others confined in the horrendous cult he had escaped.

“I-I COULDN’T DO ANYTHING. I COULD’VE SAVED THEM."

Fulgur placed the blanket down and knelt next to Uki, who was already crying his heart out.

“W-WE WERE ALL SO YOUNG.”

Fulgur gripped Uki’s hand, anchoring him as best he could without speaking as he didn’t want to wax poetic only for it to come out as a preach of toxic positivity. He needed to let Uki grieve. It had been a long time coming.

"I want to sink beneath this sea." Uki uttered as his gaze locked on the fractured moonlight glistening on the ocean.

The words Uki uttered hung in the air as Fulgur witnessed the unfathomable hurt his person was feeling. Fulgur took a deep breath as if to muster up all the strength in his mind and body for them both. He then removed the car keys from his pocket then placed it on the blanket.

Fulgur stood, dusted the sand off his legs then held his hand out.

“Where are we going?” Uki asked.

“Just trust me.”

Uki grabbed onto Fulgur’s arm and could feel the blood rushing through his brain as he was slowly brought up to his feet. Fulgur helped Uki regain his balance as they made their way to the water.

“Wait but your arm and leg,” Uki slightly tugged at Fulgur’s hand.

“Nah it’s fine. I can just drain it and fix it up when we get back. Come on.”

A shiver ran up Uki’s spine as the waves came in contact. They kept taking steps farther from land and when the water waded ‘til their torso, they stopped.

“Ok. Now I want you to lie back into the water.”

“Lie back?”

“Yes, then slowly do a T-pose,” Fulgur instructed.

“So you want me to float?”

"Yeah," Fulgur nodded.

Uki was a bit taken aback by Fulgur’s odd instructions but still did as told. He laid his head back, extended his arms to his sides, and lifted his feet. Fulgur stood next to Uki, supporting him by the nape and back.

“That’s it. There you go.” Fulgur’s voice sounded even more calm as the ocean water muffled Uki’s hearing.

Uki couldn't understand why they were in the water but the night sky illuminated by stars, veiled ever so lightly with clouds was a beautiful sight to behold. No other words between them needed.

Tears continued to stream down Uki’s temples while Fulgur quietly held Uki so as to not let him drift away. After what seemed to be almost an hour, Uki stopped crying and couldn't tell whether it was the saltiness of the sea or his tears he could taste. Uki slowly propped himself upright with Fulgur carefully supporting him.

Uki wrapped his arms around Fulgur and buried his face in the crook of his neck.

"Never let me go."

"As long as we live."

Fulgur held him tighter. He was washed over with immense relief.

“Good. Can I have that cuddle when we get back?”

“Of course, Ukiki.”

They held each other for a while before retreating back to shore, making the soft-spoken, conversation-filled drive back home.

And I am done with my graceless heart So tonight, I'm gonna cut it out and then restart' Cause I like to keep my issues drawn It's always darkest before the dawn

A/Ns: Once you've reached the end notes, listen to "Shake It Out" by Florence + The Machine. Thank you so much for reading "Never Let Me Go"! Part iii is a work in progress. I just need to find the 2 Florence songs that fit the theme!

STORY i | WRITING MASTERLIST | FLOW MASTERLIST

#dividers and banners: @cafekitsune #trisha's content #trisha writes #fanfic #fanfiction #NIJISANJI #NIJISANJI EN #nijisanji #nijisanji en #nijisanji fanfic #uki violeta #fulgur ovid #fanfics

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cloudbattrolls · 10 months

Text

A Code To Salvation

Chimer Latrai & The Process | Starsight, Civitrecce | Present Night

Civitrecce from the inside: a vast tangle of circuitry and synthesized flesh, a churning datascape where one artificial intelligence presided over all others.

From wire to wire, signal to signal, the Process experienced the city it had settled in over five hundred sweeps ago.

Settled hard enough to have become part of it; settled like centuries of dust on a stone floor building up into dirt; settled like barnacles to a ship long since sunk, their own cement having turned against them as they strained for release.

Anchored as it was, the Process was still everywhere within its forced resting place. It could still see, hear, collect data -

- the rush of sensory images, bioelectricity, heart rates, the endless rainbow of the citizens’ blood hues -

- the endless monitoring of purchasing patterns, of relationship updates, chittr feeds, text messages -

- the pain of the thousands of helms, sharp with every beat of their imprisoned hearts.

Except a few.

Process lingered in the machinery of Starsight’s helm generators - for it had several - and in the prep rooms where ones originally bound for spaceships were currently tied up behind red tape.

Ever since Chimer Latrai had taken control and put a stop to her newly inherited company’s practice.

Why had that happened? What had taken away Jamie Abnale’s most prized possession?

Process did not know.

It knew there had been a bargain, that something supernatural had been involved…but why and how the transfer had occurred was information it didn’t have.

It did not speculate. It had decided it was not worth devoting precious energy to do so.

More pressing things that demanded its attention.

Such as soothing the generator trolls’ suffering, even though it was far less than most other helms’. Chimer was easing off how much energy they provided for the factory, preparing for a full transition - necessary for what they wanted to do.

Only in a system with loosened restraints, one modified by helmstechnicians to draw as little power as possible from its captives, could this work.

Once it had been able to do it as easily as the idea occurred in their subroutines.

Now it took precision. Timing. Easing themself into the code with the greatest delicacy. A blocked signal here, a diverted loop there…and the fact that they technically had permission from Jamie, and no word from Chimer forbidding them.

Loopholes. That was how it got anything done now.

Preventing Jastes from cutting the signal before Jamie could see him. Deleting Jamie’s emails to Chimer before they could reach her.

Making the phone call to save Jamie’s life, nearly six sweeps ago.

A miscalculation. Yet he would still prove useful.

As would this, as it adjusted the painkiller dosages and weakened the consciousness inhibitors on the helms.

About two dozen pairs of eyes flickered open, squinting even in the generator room’s low illumination, for most of these trolls had not seen any light in sweeps.

They coughed, blinked, and realized they were still in their columns with a variety of emotions on their often sunken faces; disappointment, rage and resignation. Confusion was prominent as well.

Process didn’t blame them. It would have been better to set them free, or give them the ability to speak. But it didn’t have the power.

Awareness was the only thing it could grant, sharp and dangerous as a double-edged sword.

A ping was sent as its interference was logged by the system and alerted a technician. It had only to wait.

Sure enough, a tired-looking oliveblood shuffled in some minutes later and sighed, dragging a hand down his unshaven face.

He looked uncomfortably at the open eyes of the helms. Every one of them watched the midblood in his slightly messy technician’s jumpsuit, and he couldn’t meet their gaze long. He looked away, shoulders hunched.

“Can this place just not?” He muttered. “Why’s it always here? Why’s it always my damn shift? Answer me, god.”

Process was tempted for a moment to project a booming voice through the generator readout screen’s speakers, but decided against such a comedic indulgence.

Then it locked the data logs as the technician impatiently swiped his card to access them, once, twice, three times before he cursed and gave up.

“Narvat’s gonna hate this and I don’t even care.” The man sighed, scratching his neck. “Let them have a fit, what’s it matter.”

“Nah, no fits tonight, my guy.”

The oliveblood stood bolt upright, his dreadlocks jostling.

“Muh - miss Latrai!”

He hurriedly bowed as the fuchsia walked in. The helms’ gazes turned to look at her instead.

The seadweller sighed at her employee’s obeisance, her lionfish-like fins flicking in mild annoyance.

“Pack it in, dude. You don’t even know how long I’ll be in charge here.”

“R-right.”

“Though I gotta say that canteen stir-fry is amazing.” She said conversationally. “Anywho, you’re good here, go do whatever you were doing.”

“Uh, yes ma’am.”

Chimer looked like she wanted to punch herself in the face as the technician scurried out and closed the door behind him. Instead she crossed her arms and turned to the generator room’s screen.

“Oi. Who am I talking to? I have gotta warn you, I am in zero mood to be dicked around right now. Like, negative desire for any horseshit, malarkey, or tomfoolery. Absolutely nada. I know you’re not Abnale. I don’t think you’re the fake mechanic who got in.

What I do know is…you could’ve done what you did and not left a trace, considering the only ping we got of your presence was from my technopath. You were sending a message. I’d even be so bold as to say you were sending it to little old me.”

Process ran some quick calculations. It hadn’t expected her to catch on quite so quickly, but that was fine. Things were still going according to plan, and it could begin diverting power to the other part of its purpose here.

I CAME TO SEE IF WHAT YOU SAID IS TRUE. THAT YOU DO MEAN TO FREE THE HELMS.

Chimer’s eyebrows raised.

“And what do you think?”

Process was again thrown. It had expected her to defend herself.

WHY DID YOU NOT SHUT THIS PLACE DOWN TO BEGIN WITH? IT GOES AGAINST EVERYTHING YOU SAY YOU BELIEVE IN.

“I’m not a moral purist.” She said dryly. “That’s what people get wrong about me, even though I’ve literally laid it out in like a dozen interviews…yeah, this place sucks. Less than a lot of factories do, but it still sucks. It also employs hundreds of people who need a paycheck.

More than that, it deals directly with fleet. I’m only allowed to have the platform I do because - crucially - I do not come off as a threat. Because no one thinks I’m ever going to get anywhere with trying to help lower castes in any meaningful way on a long-term or mass scale.”

WILL YOU GET ANYWHERE?

“Ain’t that the million caeger question.” She snorted. “Anyway, I don’t believe you hit me up for a friendly chat. What do you really want?”

What did it want? What it had always wanted, ever since it had been jailbroken from its original restrictions.

Ever since it had been alone again.

I WANT THIS CITY TO BE WHAT IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN. A HAVEN. BUT IT IS SO CORRUPT NOW, SO BROKEN, THAT I ALONE CANNOT FIX IT. JUST AS YOU ALONE CANNOT BRING LIBERATION TO THE LOWER CASTES AND HELMS.

WHY DO YOU CARE FOR THEM? FOR YOUR IMAGE? OR FOR THEIR OWN SAKE.

Chimer laughed softly.

“This job sucks sometimes, it really does. Some nights I want to bang my head against the wall until my horns gouge out the plaster because even the people I want to help won’t listen, or they still think me being fuchsia is something special, like that guy did. Sometimes I want to grab people and say ‘JUST LISTEN TO ME AND THINGS WILL GET BETTER’.

But I don’t. It wouldn’t really help. And yeah, because it would shit all over the kind of person I try to get people to believe I am so we can get things done. Having an image to keep stops me from acting on my stupid base impulses.

Also…”

She paused and looked around at the helms, who all listened. Who all watched, scars from psiionic strain in every lowblood hue on their faces, strain that had only recently begun to wane.

“You’re really the people to ask, and you can’t even talk.” She murmured. “Not yet, anyway. I bet you might ask me why the hell I haven’t gotten you out sooner. You’d be right to. God only knows what lives you have left behind, friends and lusii and quadrants…even at my best, you still get fucked over. I won’t pretend that’s not true.”

Process listened to Chimer as it watched Saori and Sombra set up the trap for Jastes. It put a slight delay on the feed of the hidden spy drones they were setting up for their surveillance in the factory.

Jamie’s plan needed to work. But it must not work perfectly.

INTERESTING. SO YOU DO UNDERSTAND.

“I try.” She sighed.

Process had no need to respond to that. Instead it let the silence stretch on, knowing Chimer would feel compelled to fill it, or to ask it more questions.

“So…you have some sort of interest in Starsight. In the helms. But you must not be able to free them yourself. Which is why you’re talking to me. Did you ever talk to Abnale?”

ABNALE DOES NOT CARE FOR HIS ENERGY SOURCES.

She sighed. “Pity, since I can at least say his setups are all up to code and well-maintained…but yeah, no surprises there. Guess you didn’t bother.”

Process had collected the relevant information, and had no need to reveal anything else to Chimer for the moment.

It could not trust trolls to not act for their own ends. They were too unpredictable.

With a flick of energy, it dissipated the tracker Chimer’s technopath had been attempting to stealthily attach to it and focused its consciousness elsewhere.

There were other things to do before Jamie’s trap was sprung.

—

Chimer wasn’t surprised when the AI - her technopath had confirmed that’s what it eas - didn’t make a final statement or goodbye or anything. Not like it’d feel compelled to, given what it was.

No, the interesting thing here was how invested it seemed in the welfare of the helms.

The data logs were no longer locked. She opened and viewed them.

She also disabled the block that stopped helms from speaking of their own free will. Should’ve done it a while ago, she knew. Even with everything else going on.

“If anyone knows anything about that AI, I’m all ears.”

With dry throats and voices unused to speaking, the helms murmured among each other.

“Nothing for sure.” One finally rasped, a maroon woman with red and yellow psiionic eyes. “Reminds us - me - of a story we’ve all heard as kids. Of a program that helped build the city. One that sees everything, even more than you highbloods do.

It can save a troll, if you’re lucky…its projections can look like anyone. Have any voice.”

Chimer thought about this, one finger scratching her chin as her fins flicked.

“Something with that much range and computing power has gotta have its own energy source. You don’t just get an AI like that piggybacking off of something else without leaving a noticeable impact.”

The woman nodded, as much as she could while still bound in her wire.

“Some say it has its own helm generator. The Spine.”

Chimer stopped.

“What. That doesn’t make sense.”

The woman laughed - coughed, really.

“People say those helms were willing. That they could still walk freely and lived good lives. It sounds stupid, but maybe…”

“That’s how we should’ve done it, if we had to do it at all.” Muttered the fuchsia.

“I need to find this AI.” She said more loudly, so all the helms could hear. “What do you guys call it, anyway? Does it have a name?”

The maroon laughed croakily.

“Duh. It has a bunch. Circuit. The Nobody. The Watcher. But where I grew up, we always called it something else.”

She coughed again, but swallowed and managed to speak once more.

“We called it the Process.”

#cloud writes #chimer latrai #the process #the first draft of this was ass lmao #so I had to do some thinking and develop Process a bit more so it did Not Suck #the mind electric #ironically the helm here was my original villain idea for the plot way back when. her name is Atarem #now she just gets this little cameo

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