#chose veneers
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I've seen some OMORI fans talk about the "Sunny and Mari's parents were abusive" fanon and this discussion really fascinates me because like. They were certainly not abusive in the game proper because the story doesn't care about Sunny's family enough to elaborate on what kind of people his mom and dad were. I can also agree that a LOT of stories tend to make the main characters' parents abusive as a quick and convenient way to explain their issues, so it's an overused cliche by now.
At the same time, however, as overused as it may be, abusive parents still are quite a solid reason for a kid to end up with significant mental issues. And what OMORI's story lacks is just that - a solid reason why Sunny and Mari were the way they were. Trust me, you don't grow up with low self-esteem or into an overly uptight perfectionist by eating watermelon on the beach, building a treehouse and partying at your besties' birthdays lmao
#I think it would've been neat if Sunny's family was initially introduced as just this seemingly nice & financially well-off family#and then Black Space would turn out to be a series of horrid childhood memories Sunny chose to suppress#that'd peel back that saccharine veneer to show that no everything was Fucked Up Actually#so yeah. the 'abusive parents' trope is cliche but it'd still be better than the nothing we got from the game itself#honestly as much as I enjoy being salty about this game and tearing it apart the story's wasted potential makes me genuinely sad#all these kids deserved a better writer :(#omori#omori game#omori sunny#omori mari#omori fandom
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here have a wip for a map part
#Looking back I wish I chose to do this with Leland because I could've drawn him kissing Finn#Probably won't change it though#dreamworks trolls#trolls#trolls band together#trolls branch#velvet and veneer
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Titbits and analysis 🖖
As promised, some more titbits from the Con yesterday in Melbourne as well as my interpretations. Prior to attending yesterday, I told myself to keep an open mind and attempt to leave any biases behind (even after having seen the funeral pics). Clean slate. To try and view Sam, the event, questions, and subsequent behaviours objectively.
I'm the sort of person who feels energy and is affected by it and in some ways governed by it. The energy of people, both individually and collectively. The energy of a group. I tend to couple this with objective analysis, which forms the basis of my conclusions about people and situations.
I applied this method yesterday in attempting to understand and view Sam, the OL money 💰 machine and everything else. I also just wanted to go there and bask in the audience and enjoy myself....and....I did like it Jamie.
So first thing I noticed off the cuff was how experienced Sam was in handling questions, and the women, and tailoring his behaviour to suit their desires. He was charming, charismatic, approachable, a skilled professional. I saw the veneer. I felt the veneer. I also saw and felt that he is a pretty decent bloke under that veneer. A man with a solid work ethic, who is mild mannered and working with purpose in his life.
I observed that his handler or Convention agent or whatever he is, Steve, was in full control. He managed Sam's performance in a sense. He asked the questions and even set the directions for some answers. Sam is controlled. I didn't like Steve. I didn't get the best vibe off him. Infact, I got a bad vibe off him. I observed that everything was a performance. Scripted to a large degree. The Single Sam narrative was pushed by Steve. Hard. It was a performance. That much was clear to me.
So Sam chose to mention that he was in Austria skiing 2 weeks ago....blah blah...something about singing a Ronan Keating song. So the script tells everyone nice and early that he is NOT with Caitriona ✅️
Later on in the panel, he mentioned that he "was at the theatre in London the week earlier" watching a play. Huh? Getting his timeline confused? Interesting titbit, I thought. Who would he go to the theatre with whilst in London? Who else likes to go to the theatre? Who have we seen him go to the theatre with before? Ding ding ding!!
One of the first things he spoke about (umprompted) and imo was part of his speaking program, was that Caitriona is back home in Scotland doing prep work and will be directing this season. He said that he spoke to her recently and that she is cold and miserable back home. No one seemed to give a shit. The women were there for their Jamie. Sam read the crowd. He understood.
Sam tried to bring Cait into the conversation again saying something like "Where's Claire?....Caitriona isn't here". Again crickets from the audience.
He said that he auditioned with a lot of Claire's, but they couldn't find the right fit and that nobody was as brilliant as Caitriona.
It sounded like he genuinely missed her.
He spoke of his audition with Cait, saying they were very physical and were almost wrestling each other. He said he was sweating all over her and that his sweat was on her. The crowd still only wanted to hear about their Jamie. I think Sam relished in being cheeky in saying that she wore his sweat that day.
Someone asked about "how do you kiss and make out with a costar and then just carry-on. Isn't it awkward"? Sam responded generally initially, saying that there's lots of checking in with the person and apologising afterwards (in a joking fashion). Then that prompted him to start talking about Cait saying that he has also "snotted" all over Cait and exchanged many body fluids with her (in an acting context presumably)and that there's nothing really left to do together that they haven't already done. I was like "whoooaa wtf Sam?". Shooketh that he said that really. The silence from the crowd was palpable. They really didn't want to hear about Cait and Sam and their shared bodily fluids whilst 'acting'. He is THEIR fantasy man. Not Caitriona's. Silence from the audience. Sam already knew that the crowd were Sam onlies but he loved telling this story. Relished in it imo. He loved the double entendre. It was an unrehearsed, unscripted conversation as it resulted from an audience question. I concluded it was an act of defiance on his behalf. That's what it felt like to me.
Steve the convention agent guy, was always bringing it back to Single Sam. "I worry how are you going to get a date" said Steve. With Sam understanding the prompt ...."I worry too" says Sam. Bachelor narrative secured ✅️
Steve spruked the Bachelor narrative again to Sam's thirsty and adoring fans....."Sam you remind me of that old show where everyone has to guess which bachelor is going to come out of the mystery door". And that's when I knew with 100 percent certainty that the bachelor talk was a ruse. It was so contrived and performative. I smiled to myself. The women in the crowd were eating it up.
Another thing that stood out to me was when Sam was searching for the right terminology when talking about Cait. "My......co star" huge pause.
"I love you Claire" is the line he randomly chose to say when explaining his acting.
When asked how he has time to foster friendships and spend time with his family he talked around it. Avoided the question and kept it about his friendships saying that they are strong friendships that endure. He diverged and started talking about how he still has his core friendships that he had when he was bunking and sharing an apartment/house with them in London when he was younger. The veneer was up. Inpenetrable.
At another point in the panel Sam asked "How many Sheila's are there here"? LOL. I found that amusing.
Now this next part captured my attention the most. It had a weird feeling (energy) around it . Sam gave off a weird energy. Almost hostile. Again that's just what I felt.
Someome from the audience named Toni with an "I" was selected to ask a question. I can't remember what the question was but Sam made a really big deal about her being named Toni. "There's always a Tony have you noticed"? Why is there always a Tony"? He said. He didn't want to drop it. He placed a little too much emphasis on it. I was laughing silently but Sam's double entendre didn't go unnoticed by me. Everyone else was clueless or at least that's how it appeared to me. Was that an Easter egg dropped by Sammy?
Asked about what does he do for self care, he seemed to struggle answering that too. He talked in circles about his way points hike and how he's learning how to live in the moment. There's that wall again.
There were many other things discussed of course but I thought I'd focus on the things that shed light on his situation and that resonated with me.
So my closing Analysis? Sam is controlled. He peforms. He caters. He's intelligent and in tune with people and aims to please but is private. Sunday just reaffirmed and solidified my beliefs. Caitriona snatched up that hard working gem of a man quick smart!
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Horrorfest: I'm a Mouse, Duh [Yandere TPOF!Ren (Fox) x Reader]
Title: I'm a Mouse, Duh [Yandere TPOF!Ren (Fox) x Reader]
Synopsis: Fox wants you in just the right costume for his party.
For Horrorfest request:
Fox making his darling try on different "sexy" Halloween costumes
Word Count: 1291
notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, a bit of humiliation/degradation, descriptions of previous injuries including eye gouging, questionable taste in Halloween costumes
You didn’t know you could feel anything like shame anymore, but there it was, red-hot, covering your cheeks, not unlike a thin, sticky layer of latex that you couldn’t peel off yourself.
Speaking of--
“Turn around,” Fox murmurs, idly swirling his glass of champagne while you swiftly obey his words.
You turn ever so slowly, because you know what’s what he wants to see. You imagine you’re a doll in a music box, sans music and static ballerina pose, spinning slowly enough to let him get a look at his newest handiwork.
The skin-tight latex cat costume does wonders in keeping your movements slow as well, but you try to ignore that part and stay in the music box metaphorical fantasy.
He sighs lowly--your stomach roils--and shakes his head.
“No, not quite right.”
He gives you another once-over, and you must be frowning, because he continues in a casually reassuring tone. “Not that you don’t look lovely, but it’s not what I want for tonight.” What he wants, in this case, is unclear. You’ve already tried on 3 different costumes, and he didn’t care for any of them.
He gestures with his free hand at your hand, and you dutifully remove the latex cat ears (that matched your outfit, of course) and hand them over.
He sets them on the table and beckons you over.You eagerly scamper over, turning away from him; you really did need help removing the thin layer of latex. At least he does it swiftly, though you feel a veneer of sweat on your back when he begins to peel it away. He continues pulling it down until you lift each of your legs, stepping out of the tight concoction with a visible sigh of relief.
There’s a warm chuckle behind you, and you shiver when you feel his nails lightly raking down your back.
When he stands and makes his way over to the long costume rack that one of his employees brought in, you follow. He thumbs through them, humming, pulling a few out now and then.
He pulls out a black and white lacy concoction, something that looks like the type of clothing people world in olden days. A big felt sword hangs off the flimsy top and there’s a large tricorn hat attached to the hanger, and it takes you a moment to realize what the costume is meant to be.
A pirate.
He smiles, but you don’t. Your empty eye socket suddenly aches and your lip trembles. Which just makes him grin a little.
“Too on the nose, huh?” He taps his finger above your eye patch, a neutral black cloth for now. Fox said he wanted to pick your costume before they went about choosing what prosthetic or patch to give you.
You suppose he wants you to care that he’s taking the time to find you the right costume, that he wants you to be appreciative that he’s putting so much effort into it. And when you suppose what he wants, you do your best to fulfill it. That’s how you’ve made it this far.
So you look closer every time you think he might be choosing a costume and you try (pirate mistake notwithstanding) to mimic his reactions. This one is cute, mm-hmm. That one won’t do, nuh-uh.
Maybe you would be appreciative, maybe even a bit excited about the idea of getting to dress up on Halloween, if you weren’t dreading tonight. You were going to attend a Halloween party with him. Thrown by him. Populated by the guests he chose.
You weren’t putting on a show (that fear had already been cooingly whisked away, the moment you broke down into seizure-like sobs at the thought) but you would be… on display.
Like a pet. No, no, that’s not entirely right, is it? You are a pet. You’ve got the collar to prove it.
What would the people at the party be like? As bad as the ones who watched the show? Worse, because they were there in person and not just through a screen? Maybe some of them would be the same… would any of them recognize you? Would they hurt you? Would Fox let them hurt you? What if--
“Ah! This one!” He says, pulling you out of your heavy thoughts. There’s a glint of excitement in his voice that makes the tension in your stomach ease off.
When he gets excited like this, it’s a good sign. Usually it’s related to finding out that you like some of the same things as him (you genuinely enjoyed, at least as much as you could, curling up on a sofa and watching anime with him) or you surprising him in a way that pleases him.
Sometimes he seems younger when he gets like this, more carefree. There’s a pang of envy when that happens, but you never let it last too long.
He pulls out the costume he’s chosen and shoves it into your waiting, slightly trembling, arms. You don’t even have time to really see what he chose.
“Quick now.” He flashes a muted grin. “The guests will arrive soon enough. Don’t want to be late for your first party.”
You don’t waste time getting dressed. The end result, when you stand up and let him zip up the back of the costume, is cuter than you expected. It’s a mouse costume, a short little gray number with a black tail hanging off the edge. The costume covers your ass enough that as long as you don’t bend over, you should be fine.
(You try not to think of ways that Fox might make you bend over in front of others. But then, he didn’t like it much when others were around you, so maybe he didn’t want you to show off more than necessary? The questions are really too difficult to consider for long.)
The finishing touch is a big pair of cutesy gray mouse ears that he tenderly places on your head. It’s the type of costume that you might have worn on a night out with friends, before. Though you’d have worn something else underneath, and you’d definitely still have two eyes.
Still. It’s better than the tight catsuit.
And you look... cute. If you ignore the missing eye, and the scars on your face. And the cauterized nail wounds dotting your body. And the cross-cross of scars, old and new, lining your arms and legs.
These are all things you have gradually forced yourself to ignore, so yes, you can put them aside and appreciate the way that the mouse ears frame your face or the way that the costume is made from nice materials.
You can ignore the hungry gaze of Fox standing behind you, keeping his eyes on your own as you stare at your reflection.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, standing behind you and looking at the finished product through your reflection. In the mirror, you see him place a kiss on your neck. Your body recognizes what will happen before your brain does, because your shoulder tenses even before he bites your skin harshly, lapping at the blood he leaves behind.
“We can leave the patch as-is,” he says. You’re too busy staring at your reflection to answer. Maybe he takes it for being pouty, because he continues. “Unless you want one of your prosthetics tonight?”
How nice of him to ask, you think, and your heart feels sick when you realize the thought came without a trace of sarcasm. You’re really fucked up, huh?
You shake your head and give a little smile, looking at him in the mirror.
“No,” you say, voice meeker than you meant it to be. “Whatever you think looks best, sir.”
He smiles, just a little. An intimate smile, a you’re-being-good smile, the kind you think (you hope) he reserves just for moments like this. And then he places a tender kiss on your bite wound. Bits of red stick to his lips and he licks them away, sighing low and almost husky.
You know this sound, these gestures, the way his breath quickens and comes out of his nose. You feel two hands grope your ass and you squeak, like the mouse you might as well be.
“I suppose it won’t hurt if we’re a little late… it is my party after all.”
#yandere ren hana#ren hana x reader#the price of flesh#tpof#tpof ren#yandere#afterwitch writes#aw horrorfest
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omg someone who will do a male reader with veneer, you are a godsend 💚 can you do a veneer x male reader where veneer’s like rlly clingy/affectionate if that’s ok? thank uu! :]
A/N ~ Aww thank you, you’re so sweet. I had way too much fun writing this. Hope you enjoy!
~🎤Clingy🎤~
Veneer x Male!Reader
Fandom: Trolls 3: Band Together
Reader: Male(though not explicitly said)
Relationship: Romantic
Synopsis: Veneer is being extra clingy today, not that you mind.
Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, Veneer calling Reader “bae”, quite a few kisses
(He’s so cute I just wanna squish his cheeks)
Veneer would not let go. His arms were wrapped around you multiple times. It was like you were his life force, and if he’d let go he’d die. You felt like you were suffocating.
How you got like this happened so quickly, that you barely had time to process it. Velvet had basically dumped Veneer on you, because apparently he would not shut up about you, and how much he missed you. She couldn’t take it anymore, so she brought him over to your house.
So there you were, just you and your boyfriend. Normally, you wouldn’t mind being cuddled, but the lack of oxygen was making you feel lightheaded. So you quickly devised a plan to get him off of you, just for a little bit.
“Hey babe, you hungry? I can warm up a pizza if you want.”
Just as you hoped, Veneer’s arms unraveled from you. You took the opportunity to take a deep breath, not knowing how long it’d be until they were back around you.
“Sure, I could eat!”
You both got up from your couch, and started walking to the kitchen. Veneer’s fingers were interlocked with yours, and you were walking shoulder to shoulder. You laughed to yourself. Your boyfriend was usually clingy, but he was laying it on thick today. Not that you minded.
~~~~
After putting the frozen pizza in the oven, the two of you went back to the living room. You sat on your previous spots on the couch, only this time, Veneer layed his head on your lap. After grabbing the remote and turning on the TV, you took the time to examine his facial expression. He was happy and relaxed. You smiled gently down at him. Sensing your gaze, he looked back at you, and smiled as well. It was your favorite smile of his. Wide, eyes closed and his nose slightly crinkled.
You started flipping through channels. You weren’t looking for anything in particular. Just something to occupy the two of you for the twenty or so minutes it took for the pizza to finish. You eventually chose some talk show, starring a celebrity you knew enough about to be interested.
You put the remote down, and before you could put your arm on the armrest of the couch, your hand was grabbed by Veneer. He cupped both his hands around it, and brought it close to his chest. Looking at him, it seemed like he wasn’t fully aware of what he’d done, as he was watching the show quite attentively. You guessed he liked holding your hand so much, that at this point it was like an instinct to grab it at any given opportunity. Eventually, Veneer’s voice broke you out of your thoughts.
“Hey bae, do you think those are her natural lips, or do you think she got them filled?” He was referring to the celebrity on TV. She had very large lips, definitely not ones the average person has.
“Oh, she definitely got them filled.” You laughed, Veneer doing the same. After the laughter subsided, you leaned down, gently cupped his face in your hands, and kissed him softly. He almost immediately kissed you back, putting his hands on top of yours.
After a few seconds, you tried to pull away, only to be pulled back down by your clingy boyfriend. You laughed into the kiss, but got interrupted by the oven timer going off.
You sat back up. “C’mon. Let’s go eat.”
Veneer groaned loudly. “Can’t we stay here for a few more minutes?”
“No babe. The pizza will burn.”
“Fine.” He flopped up from the couch, his face in a clear pout. You laughed, and linked your arm in his.
“Let’s go.” Veneer’s pout turned into a soft smile. He pulled himself closer to you, and you both walked into the kitchen.
You both enjoyed your pizza while having a casual conversation, paired with the muffled noise of the TV you forgot to turn off in the other room. Veneer’s chair had been scooted right next to yours, not at all to your surprise.
Just as he was about to take a bite of his pizza, Veneer’s face suddenly turned into an anxious and slightly sad expression. He turned to you. “Does it bother you that I’m so clingy? It bothers Velvet a lot, so I wanna make sure that it doesn’t bother you. Are you bothered?” He said rather quickly, something to be expected when he’s nervous.
He anxiously waited for your response. You just smiled, kissed his cheek, and to Veneer’s relief, said:
“Not at all.”
~~~🎤~~~🎤~~~🎤~~~🎤~~~
~~baileypie-writes
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Under Rageous Vennie
Under Rageous Vennie HC || Under Rageous Vels || Under Rageous Art || Story Arc || Under Rageous || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5
Art by me!
Im still bad at drawing Rageons, so I used some movie frames for reference on this one lol. I wanted to go for a more movie accurate look to give it that feel.
I have a very particular look for Veneer in my stories and AU and I kind of wanted to shed some light on it!
Before his fame arc, Vennie was quite a simple teen. Being from Under Rageous, color really wasn’t much of an option. He still wanted to be different, so he began wearing any vibrant beanies his could find over his vibrant hair. Though he’s always seen with a purple beanie, red is actually his favorite color. If you ask him why the purple beanie he’ll say, “I don’t know, matches my hair don’t you think?”
He wasn’t much for jewelry except for going to get his ears pierced with his sister (ouch!) and some leather cuffs he came to own one day. Rumor has it that those leather cuffs he made from the seats of their parent’s car after the accident that claimed them, he really hasn’t denied or approved any of those rumors.
After prison, they were to choose some clothing before being sent back. Of course Vennie chose a red hoodie. The purple beanie he continues to wear is the same one he brought from Under Rageous when the twins made it up to Mount Rageous. His sister forbid him to wear it during any press and/ or concerts. Instead of throwing it away he saved for a day he could wear them again.
#trolls band together#dreamworks trolls#trolls 3#velvet and veneer#trolls veneer#veneer#velvet trolls#velvet#fandom#velvet and veneer trolls#trolls 3 veneer#trolls 3 velvet#veneer trolls#trolls velvet#trolls art#trolls fanart#trolls#dw trolls#trolls au#au#trolls 3 fanart#fanart#trolls 3 band together#under rageous
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Trolls - Branch and Keith Brothers AU
HI!!! I'm back! With more Trolls plot bunnies. This one does not take place in the Prince Char Au, or the Veneer re-carnation one. It's completely separate and closer to canon.
Pre-movie.
Keith is the little trolling who likes to watch his parents sleep, and it's clear by the reactions from his classmates that he's not the most popular kid. A bit of a odd outsider, that finds happiness in things that others don't. There's another troll in Pop village who's a bit of an outsider, our favorite grump, Branch.
Branch would be in the village market one winter day, making some rare purchases rather then getting them from the wilds, when he first comes across Keith. The trolling would've been lost, left behind by his classmates. Branch would be a little confused by the kids blankness, but he isn't going to leave a kid lost in the snow, and helps Keith get back home to his dad. One the way he asks if this, keith getting left behind, happened often. Keith would blankly gripe about it, and how he thought his friends didn't actually like him, and he didn't think he liked them. Branch says that friends should like each other.
Couple of weeks later, Branch is working on gathering supplies, and Keith appears out of no where, then continues to follow the grey troll. When Branch asks what Keith is doing. Keith says, "You said befriend people I like." "Yeah so?" "I like you."
It throws Branch off, no one liked him.
Keith would continue to find and follow Branch for the next few days, it's only after a chance run in with a predator, that the grey troll realizes this kid isn't going away, and he starts training Keith in the ways of survival. Even more shockingly Keith listens to him when he's teaching. Everyone in the village always called Branch crazy with his survival bunker and apocalypse prep, but Keith listens intently. Even if it doesn't appear like it. Branch teaches Keith about, the forest, which fruits were safe to eat and where/when they grew. How to defend yourself from different type dangerous predators. And even about some of the extra traps and defenses Branch made for the village.
Branch gets used to his new little protégée, and honestly likes being able to pass on his knowledge to someone. He eventually learns to read the subtle differences in Keith's expressionless expressions to know how the kid's mood is, whether it's happy or upset. One day, Keith comes to visit Branch upset. Seeing the kid angry makes something in Branch's stomach turn, and he has this need to fix it. He doesn't know how, he hasn't comforted someone in years. So, pulling from vague memories of Floyd helping him when Branch was upset, he asks Keith what's wrong. Keith's upset about the other kids calling his school project weird. They were supposed to make a short presentation on people, they care about and Keith chose Branch. None of the kids would listen to him and said, that Branch was weirdo, and Keith was weirdo and they deserved each other. It made Keith Mad, because, he doesn't think Branch is weird, he thinks the Grey troll is cool and he doesn't want people to be mean to him. Branch does his best to console, Keith saying that sometimes people just don't agree with you no matter how hard you try to convince them, sometimes people just can't hear you.
K: Some times it feels like no one hears me
B: Yeah, I get that. it sucks, Makes you think their something wrong with you. But there isn't. Different doesn't mean bad, it just means you see things other don't.
Keith hugs Branch, and he can't turn the kid away. It's the first person the grey troll hugs in nearly twenty years.
K: Thank you, Branch
B: No problem kid, I'm always here.
K: I've always wanted a brother.
After this, Branch fully is attached. He goes all out for Keith any chance he gets. He's always there if Keith is upset, or to help with home work. Keith is one of the few people Branch allows in the Bunker. Branch makes sure, that he'd be the brother to Keith that his own were never to him. Always there.
Especially when Keith suddenly loses his dad. Branch fights and fights hard to keep Keith, knowing just how much the grief of losing a caretaker is crushing the kid. Unsurprisingly, the Pop trolls foster system fails Keith and eventually Branch gains his custody. "Let the outsider raise an outsider." Keith moves into the bunker, and Branch is with the trolling no matter what, making sure that this kid never goes Grey like he did. Though, waking up to Keith just staring at him is a little startling at first, but branch gets over it, anything to make the kid more comfortable.
By the events of the first movie, Keith has fully moved in with Branch and stays with him during the Chef's attack. And after the whole village is hidden in the bunker by Poppy, Keith pushes Branch to go after her. Peppy stepping up to watch over Keith while Branch is gone. All through out the mission Branch is thinking about Keith, worried how he's fair one his own, because while he can trust Peppy to make sure Keith doesn't die, he doesn't' trust the king to take care of Keith's mental health. They're reunion in the bergan pot is a hard one. On one hand, Branch is happy to have Keith back in sight, but on the other he feels like a failure for not being able to protect Keith from getting eaten. And When Keith goes grey in his arms...let's just say Branch isn't going down with out a fight.
I have no plans for World Tour, other then the possibility of Keith ending up captured with Poppy, and Barb mistaking Keith as her and Branch's son.
Its in Band together that things get a little more interesting...
Keith is Gristle and Bridget's ring bearer, though the rings are to big for him to hold, so he just stands inside of them to keep them from rolling away, with a very flat smile. Poppy and Branch end up dating in this two, and she does put in effort to get to know Keith, understanding that the trolling would be in branch's care for years to come. She's not as good at reading him, but she's getting better at it. And she finds Branch's caregiver side, adorable.
"Stop the Wedding!"
When John Dory shows up, Keith leaves his post, and runs to Branch after the elder troll was finished being man handled, bY JD. John is thrown off by the sight of a tiny Trolling in Branch's Arms. Seriously, when did his baby brother get a baby? Or a girlfriend? Was the kid theirs? Oh crap he missed a lot....
Keith is angry, through out the course of the third movie. Branch had already told him about their (yes, their, Keith is branch's brother now, which sadly makes him also related to these idiots) brothers, and how they all walked out on him. Keith has seen how much this hurt Branch, and how much they are hurting Branch now, he's clinging to his older brother all through out the mission.
Bruce is also shocked, and kind of feels bad, because Keith would be in Branch's hair when Bruce tossed him jostling the trolling. But he likes kids, so quickly warms up to the idea of Keith being a new baby brother. Even if he creeps Bruce out. And Keith is constantly creeping him out on purpose...thought Bruce doesn't realize it.
Keith doesn't like the hustle button.
Clay is scared of Keith. Because thanks to living with Branch the trolling can point out all of his safety measures and traps, understand how the work, and how to out smart them.
While practicing, John tries to get Keith toe join in but the trolling will only sing the words in the same flat stale note. Branch knows he's messing with john (Keith naturally sings flat but he's not that tone deaf) but doesn't say anything. Keith is hugging Branch all through out the fight, and along with poppy promises to not leave.
Floyd's too tired to really notice Keith until after he's rescued, however he's curious about the trolling. He feels proud watching Branch take care of trolling, but it also makes his stomach churn. Watching Branch with Poppy and Keith it feels like he's looking in on a family that Branch built and he missed it. Floyd would move into the bunker continuing his recovery, and during that is where he really interacting with Keith. He finds the kid adorable, not in the sparkly eyes way that Branch was but utterly adorable none the less. Keith becomes family to him too.
The fic would conclude with All the brother's accepting the fact that Branch and Keith are a package deal, and apologizing to branch for abandoning him (Keith and Poppy don't let them get away with shit). There's no long five brothers in Brozone, but six....and at least three sister-in-law...
#dreamworks trolls#trolls branch#trolls keith#trolls au#canon divergent au#branch x poppy#trolls floyd#fic planning#brozone#trolls dreamworks#trolls movie#trolls#trolls john dory#broppy#trolls bruce#trolls clay#let these two weirdos be freinds#Keith needs more love#fanfic#fanfic planning#trolls 3#trolls band together#trolls world tour#trolls 1#trolls 2#Keith and Branch Brother Au#trolls brozone#Field of Forgetmenots au
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Fascists love art. And that's something that might make you uncomfortable because it's something you probably have in common with fascists, but it's true. Fascists love art the same way they love sports. It is a quantifiable measure of betterment and superiority. They will talk quite knowledgeably about their favorite art; the history, the techniques, the themes... If they're particularly well educated, they might talk about the artist's personal life, and all the ways they exemplify the human experience. It is inspiring to them, much in the same way it might be inspiring to you. For them, art is a world with clear winners and losers. In a word, Objective.
It's also part of why I find the AI art movement fascinating. It operates on much the same parameters as the fascist and caters to their sensibilities, deliberately or not. AI art strives to create a visually pleasing objectively accurate depiction of its subject matter, with as many of the flaws removed as possible. Form and function in one. This is appealing to the fascist (who also loves computers) as it comes with the veneer of Objectivism. This machine has not only demonstrated the correct way to create art, but the art it creates looks a lot like the art they already consider to be objectively superior! How validating. (It does not necessarily occur to them that one hand washes the other.)
Of course in practice, what they are applauding is a laundering machine. And while it benefits the makers of these technologies to tout their potential, that we're only just scratching the surface of what AI is really capable of, it seems we've already hit the limit. After all, we chose the winners in Paris in 1748. If we need to, we can always choose new winners and call it progress. But it's all people.
It's only ever been people.
(I know I will likely get comments along the lines of "fascists don't REALLY love art, all they're really doing is-" etc, etc... And that's understandable and I think you could argue it. However I'm hesitant to say there is a wrong way to look at art. Rather I'd like you to consider that love of something, while wonderful, does not and never will justify evil.)
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ILYSM- maybe when reader is feeling a bit down and viv makes sure she feels supported and loved? love you!!
you understand me II v.miedema ~
author note - this is a little bit angsty im ngl. but it's fine you'll deal! tw: indirect panic attack, anxiety
11★ ~ v.miedema
the grass glistened under the floodlights, raindrops blending with beads of sweat, as they traced the curves of exhaustion etched into every player's face.
but there was one face amongst both teams that shone with a fierce focus, a resilience that the torrents of the weather couldn't dampen, - vivianne miedema arsenal's star striker, or better known to you, your girlfriend.
the final whistle blew, signalling another hard-earned victory, another night where your team would travel home scraping out yet another difficult win, another night in which you and your girlfriend would fall into bed with sore muscles, tired eyes, but hearts full. you barely noticed the weight of the rain soaking your kit; the thrill of the tough win lingering heavily on your mind.
you pushed through the stadium's corridors, the sound of your boots against the concrete creating a steady rhythm in your ears, as your head began to space out.
reaching your locker room, you immediately stripped yourself of your rain soaked clothes, immersing yourself in the warmth of the shower. you scrubbed your body clean, a few nasty tackles had resulted in a lot of grass stains, and a few small cuts that you knew your girlfriend would fret over, much to your displeasure.
drying yourself, you dressed yourself in your girlfriends, your plain cream shorts, and an arsenal hoodie you had been gifted by Steph, for secret santa. you brushed your wet hair, neatly braiding it into a plait, before packing away your belongings and heading out of the stadium.
walking out, you were met with a dizzying amount of photographers shouting your name, and yelling out questions. your mind raced, the pounding in your ears unwavering. you pushed your way past begrudgingly, your usually patient persona completely left behind.
as you neared the bus, you pulled your hood over your head, there was only one person you wanted to see right now.
you knew Viv would be waiting for you at the end of the bus, her arms open widely, with a comforting smile adorned on her face, and with the exact words you needed to hear.
walking past the girls seated on the bus, you could feel a swell of emotions cloud your head. the chatter and laughter of your teammates became a distant hum, as you felt tears brim in the corners of your eyes. each step towards the back felt heavier, laden with the weight of the 90 minutes you challenged your body to play for.
despite your best efforts to stay composed, the strong walls you had built up began to crumble, dragging you down in the destruction. you felt your last veneer of strength begin to fade, mirroring the harsh toll of your day. the barrage of flashing cameras, loud speakers, invasive fans and the sheer physical exertion of the game, left you utterly drained and with nothing to do but try and gather the pieces by yourself.
you longed for solitude, for a single moment in which you could just be you. The persona of the calm, enthusiastic, indefatigable athlete was a heavy mask to wear, and in this moment you felt it start to slip.
nearing the end of the bus, your steps became slow, your laboured breaths echoing in your ears. you yearned for viv. her presence was a light in the haze of your crowded head, a promise of comfort and love. she knew the unspoken battles, the silent sacrifices, the relentless push against one's limits that came with the demanding lives you both chose.
finally reaching viv, you saw her sitting down, arms open, a sanctuary in the storm. her smile, so raw and familiar, able to soothe your nerves. she didn't need to speak any words; her presence was comforting enough. in her arms, you found a haven, a safe place, one where you could let the facade you had built fall away, and just be yourself, vulnerable and real.
collapsing into her embrace, the tears that had been threatening to spill finally fell down your cold cheeks. viv held you, her arms wrapped tightly around your body, her heartbeat beating steadily against your own. "you're okay, darling," she whispered into your damp hair, the three words alone enough to mend your heart all over again. "everything is going to be alright, love." she reminded you, her arm rubbing soothingly up and down your back.
"you're safe." you sniffled, air getting caught in your throat. "you're beautiful." your tears began to subside. "you're talented." your breaths returned to their normal pace. "you're loved." she kissed your forehead, her thumb wiping away your dry tears.
"i love you, vivvy."
you nestled your head into the crook of her neck, her comforting arm never leaving you. gazing out the window, you watched as the rain drops traced effortlessly down the glass, the journey seeming aimless yet purposeful, much like the swirl of emotions you felt yourself. the rhythmic pattern of the rain against the roof provided a calming background noise, to the turmoil of thoughts swimming through your head.
you felt yourself become grounded, safe in her arms.
there was nowhere else you had to be, nobody else you needed to be with.
you found your solitude, right there in the arms of your favourite person. right there in the arms of the girl who would be able to mend your broken heart over and over again. right there in the arms of the only girl who truly understood you, and you understood her.
#vivianne miedema#vivianne miedema x reader#woso x reader#woso#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso community
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COMM: A Question of Leadership
(Everglow x Fans, x Reader; 2.4k words) Tags: Creampies, Urination, Urine-Danger, Anal Sex, Multiple-Penetration, Corporate Sabotage, Some Forceful Sex, Some Wholesome Sex, Too Much Math, Inspirational Leadership, Perverse Leadership, These Girls Should Hydrate Less
A cloud of despair hangs over the room, as Everglow stare mournfully at the open tablet on the table. Lounging about on couches, they all shoot glares at their erstwhile leader, EU; whose usually bratty demeanor is much subdued by the judging looks of her group-mates. Immature Onda, haughty Yiren, kindly Sihyeon, obscene Mia, Sultry Aisha; all of them scowling at the cringing form of their leader. Onda is the first to break the silence, soon followed by the others as they berate EU,
"You pissed on the CFO?"
"Oh we are so fucked..."
"How did you even manage to do that?"
"Did you forget to go beforehand, again?"
"I'm starting to see why Onda is getting sent to the top office more often..."
"Okay, it uh, it was an accident okay? It could happen to any of us!"
"Liar! We all saw the video!"
"Well um... He did seem to enjoy it...?"
"Our next three comebacks got cancelled!"
"It's not my fault he had the worst case of post-nut depression ever! He told me to make it kinky!"
"Oh god oh god how do we fix this?"
"Fuck if I know, our dear leader just treated an executive like a toilet."
"Okay, so what if... we chose a new leader! Then she could go make things right!"
"We already sent Mia to make amends, that's why we might even continue to have comebacks"
"Yeah I had three dicks shoved up my ass!"
"Don't... don't you like that sort of thing?"
"Well, yeah, but it still was a little much after the fifth group of guys tried it..."
"..."
"So... a new leader then?"
Everglow spend the next hour squabbling amongst themselves, trying to figure out who should be their next leader; if they even need one. Unfortunately, the position was hotly contested, in large part due to its tangible perks: the first pick of partners at any fan event. After all, while getting worshipped by fans could be quite enjoyable, it was even more intoxicating when their adoring lovers were attractive themselves. And of course, all of the girls had their own... tastes, and would generally prefer to have their own needs satisfied before worrying about the others. Thus, the arguing, the yelling, the screaming, the slapping, the fingering, the mental breakdowns, the tossing of various small objects (including EU), the memorable fisting session. So it was finally agreed upon that the best battlefield to determine who would fill the august role of leader, would be fought in the bedchamber; what was the point of a leader if she could not fuck so exquisitely that she inspired her groupmates? The girls decided that their fans would be the ones to choose the lucky girl, by voting with their cocks! 667 fans would be gathered for the event, with 600 of them used in a general free-for-all, 66 of them used for more... exotic tests, and the final wildcard serving as a potential tiebreaker. Everglows fans did not disappoint in their appointed task.
Scattered over three days, the 600 fans were fed into the ravenous sexual machine that is the heart of any idol group; led into a large room they were free to pick any of the girls to unload their seed into. Of course, the girls pulled out all the stops to attractive potential fans. EU engaged in all manner of perverse and depraved acts, a thin veneer of contempt barely disguising her pleasure from cavorting with perverts. Onda meanwhile turned up her virginal charm to eleven, her mincing squeals and moans driving many a fan wild with breeding lust. Yiren by contrast was at her icy best, haughtily milking her fans with a callous disregard for their safety; just how they liked it. Sihyeon was as warm and loving as Yiren was cold and bitchy, wholesomely welcoming her lovers into her tight holes. Mia was of course, Mia; no orifice was left unviolated, as her charismatic lovemaking drained multiple fans at a time until she was literally soaked in fluids. And finally Aisha served as a mature counterpoint to Mia, receiving such fierce poundings that it was often difficult to tell who exactly was doing the fucking; and the screaming.
Then the girls' more... personal skills were tested on 66 of the 67 remaining fans. Since the leader was often favored to deal with VIPs, it would be best if her sexual skills could handle quality as well as quantity. So after several rounds of rather intimate blowjobs and displays of sexual prowess, Everglow has something approaching a leaderboard of sorts. Who is at the top... well that's a bit of irrelevant information for you, since poor little you have been stuck in a room for the past week; and positively stuffed full of slow-acting aphrodisiacs. Since what's the point of having a tie-breaker, if the deciding dick is unable to get it up? Thus, by the time you are dragged out of your temporary prison, you are more than eager to meet Everglow; and to say your manhood was as well would be an understatement. You are then shoved into a room, only to find yourself facing the idols you have already spilled much seed for; except now they are naked in fact as well as imagination. Everglow coo and nod in approval at the sight of you, your cock so rigid it is nearly vertical.
Eager to begin, EU quickly explains the rules to you, one minute inside of each girl, then after that you can fuck who you please, but you have to switch to another girl after another minute. The idol who claimed your seed would be the winner, and would get a sizable number of points added to their score. Then with a sleazy smile she announces that she would get to go first, since she was still the leader after all. Ignoring the annoyed groans of her group-members, EU welcomes you inside of her with a smile; every inch of your cock somehow fitting inside of her petite frame. She pulls you on top of her, pressing you down as she whispers absolutely filthy things in your ear, promising all sorts of depraved rewards if you would only just cum... But you do not, and you leave EU pouting as you move on to Onda. Who is the complete opposite of EU, simpering adorably as you she urges you to be gentle with her, saccharine sweet as she urges you to relax and creampie her 'virgin' cunt. But Onda is unable to make you finish, so you get passed onto Yiren. Who is as uninterested in you as Onda was over-attentive, blandly ignoring the fact that your manhood was currently pushing past her belly-button as she examines her fingers. Perhaps her bored attitude would have drained you on some other day, but instead she is left with an unfiled pussy.
You then get to enjoy the untender treatment of Aisha, who insists that you fuck her ass as hard as you can. Spanking your ass to spur you on, she cheerfully informs you in sultry tones over the loud slap of your balls against her asshole, that you could be as rough with her as you'd like... Unfortunately for Aisha however, your load remains unmilked, allowing Mia to take over next. Who is fairly calm and composed as you thrust away between her thighs, cupping your cheek with encouragement. Mia will gladly let you do anything to her, no matter how kinky, so long as you just relax and... Switch to Sihyeon, who if anything seems a bit flustered to find a stranger balls deep inside of her pussy. Her endearing squeaks heighten your lust to a surprising degree, her genuine excitement of your coupling scratching an urge you didn't even know you had. With a mighty groan, you empty your balls inside of Sihyeon, her legs instinctively wrapping tight around you as she squeals in surprise. She holds you tight against her, as the heat of your orgasm fades and your member shrinks out into the stuffy air with a wet pop.
It's difficult to hear what the other members of Everglow are saying over the pounding of blood in your ears, but judging by their tone they are not entirely pleased with this outcome. Sihyeon lets out a startled moan as squelching noises come from behind you as the girls examine the scene.
"Wait, so that's it?"
"Ugh, he came so fast!"
"Did he like, cum cum though or just leak a lot?"
"No he finished, holy fuck that's a fat load"
"I'm kind of happy he didn't jizz inside of me now..."
You are distracted by Everglow's chatter by the gentle pushing from Sihyeon, still getting squished by your body weight. You stagger up off of her, helped along by the unkind hauling of the other girls. Beaming with barely contained joy, Sihyeon wiggles to her feet, her pussy belching your load down her thighs as she hurriedly throws a shift over her nude form. EU glares daggers at you as she pokes the tablet, updating the scores; a cheerful celebratory noise sounds from it as it announces the winner. Doing a little dance, Sihyeon hurries out of the room after giving you a quick peck on the cheek; as the new leader, it's her job to make nice with the VIPs. Meanwhile, you... get shoved onto the floor by an irate Yiren, who pins you easily with a leg on your chest. Her lips curl into a snarl as she drags her foot down your torso before toeing your still obvious erection. Yiren's eyes glimmer as you shudder from her prodding, evidently you are still extremely sensitive from your recent orgasm; so, punishment then.
"I sincerely hope you don't enjoy this, because your worthless meat caused me to lose," Yiren calmly explains as she orients your twitching cock skywards before sitting on it. You writhe at the over-stimulation, your manhood burning with sensations as Yiren's premium cunt abuses it, "Useless scum, you could have spent yourself inside of me, but no, instead you busted inside of fucking Sihyeon. Those VIPs would have been slobbering over a well-bred lady like myself, I would have had them eating out of my hand..." Yiren continues her monotonous riding, uncaring about your own pleasure as she adroitly grinds on it to maximize the pressure on her g-spot. Her eyes narrow as she notices your building excitement however, and she reacts accordingly, contemptuously slapping your balls to halt their rise, "No. you don't get to finish until I say so, evidently you are in need of training if you can barely last a minute inside of a woman." Yiren's calculated abuse only serves to arouse you even more though, and soon she is forced to hold on to your balls as pre-cum starts leak inside of her. Now thoroughly annoyed, she stops trying to contain your growing orgasm and simply seeks to ruin it. Yiren plants herself firmly against your crotch, unmoving as your balls finally empty themselves inside of that imperious bitch's pussy. You moan piteously though at the lack of pleasure, your member greedy for more stimulation yet unable to find it as Yiren makes sure that your cock is unable to move an inch. She wears a triumphant smirk as she slowly unmounts you, allowing your surprisingly rigid dick to flop out of her as she rises, "Disgusting, I feel bloated from all of your worthless semen; allow me to return it." With that, Yiren stoops slightly, straining as she does her best to force out every last drop of your cum. Your load leaks out onto your crotch, splattering messily across your cock as she rhythmically cleans herself out to the best of her abilities. With all that pushing however, is it any wonder that Yiren accidentally begins to piss on you? She lets out a disbelieving chuckle at first, but soon warms to the idea and smugly empties her bladder onto you as a gesture of disdain. Know your place, worm.
EU observes all this with barely disguised arousal, indiscreetly fingering herself as Yiren stalks away with her head held high. EU slithers over to you, arresting your attempt to get up by throwing herself atop of you; writhing in the puddle Yiren left. She is of course, vocal about her disgust at you forcing her to engage in such a deviant act, "You filthy pervert, how dare you haul me over your piss-covered body! I bet you're going to force me to clean off and ride your disgusting dick too!" With her lame excuse proclaimed, she confidently wiggles down your body and begins slurping on your manhood, forcing it to arise once more under her distressing attentions. After cleaning Yiren's piss and juices off of your cock, she scrambles to line it up with the damp lips of her pussy. But this pervert still has a trick up her sleeve, as she starts to squat on you, her hips suddenly rock forward, and you find your dick forcing its way into her barely lubricated asshole before you can stop her. EU Shrieks with pain, "Oh you brute! You forced your fat cock into my poor asshole, how could you!" Whereupon she squirts messily all over your crotch, her fingers going into overdrive as they churn the cum out of her. And this was just the start... EU rides you for what seems like an hour, haphazardly bouncing about as she squirts and squeals; even pausing to add her own piss to the messy puddle drenching your torso. Getting slathered with her stinking piss is the final straw for you however, your dick giving into the foul sensations enveloping you and rewarding EU with your seed. She howls as she feels your cum spew into your asshole, spasming as she sticks her tongue out and drools like some cheap hentai character; gurgling disgusting comments about how your semen feels inside of her guts.
Evidently not too put out by her loss of position, EU then retires from the room, leaving a stinking trail of liquid behind her as she hobbles out. Onda and Mia soon follow, grumbling between themselves as they leave; evidently searching for fresher meat to work their frustrations out upon. Which just leaves Aisha, who helps you to your feet before casually rubbing your still attentive manhood, "My offer still stands you know," she informs you with a sultry growl. Aisha bends over, spreading her cheeks in welcome as you grasp her hips.
"Don't hold back, I want this to hurt..."
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CHAPTER SIX : …What is essential is invisible to the eye.
-> Ao3 link is here.
-> Chapter Five link is here.
Pairing : Sub-Zero / Bi-Han x Reader
Summary : In the midst of unexpected sparring sessions and shared personal moments, the icy veneer of Bi-Han’s demeanor gradually thaws, revealing glimpses of his true self, particularly when he witnesses your struggle to cope with haunting nightmares.
Author’s Note : This chapter is one I’ve eagerly anticipated writing since before outlining the plot and establishing the story basics. I’m so proud of the outcome and excited to share it with you. I hope you find as much pleasure in reading it. Please keep in mind that English is not my native language, so if you happen to notice any mistakes, I welcome your feedback. Happy reading!
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Bi-Han took his usual seat at the dinner table, and as the day unfolded, Kuai Liang shared rumors about the Black Dragon mercenaries entering the country during his return from the city.
While familiar with the dangerous reputation of the Black Dragon, Bi-Han didn’t consider them a significant threat to the clan, likely here to buy weapons or engage in business dealings. He saw no reason to engage unless they breached their borders.
Bi-Han noticed everyone at the table but you, yet he chose not to inquire about your absence, instead focusing on filling his plate with food at his usual pace. The breakfast proceeded quietly, with only the occasional clink of utensils breaking the stillness. However, the persistent absence of your presence piqued Bi-Han’s curiosity. Throughout your month here, you had typically been the first to arrive, and the empty chair disrupted the usual routine.
‘’I wonder if something has happened?’’ When Tomas voiced the question echoing in Bi-Han’s mind, he found himself responding. “She’ll be here in a moment.’’
‘’Maybe we should send someone to take a look at her. She was never late normally.’’ Tomas suggested, prompting Bi-Han to pause his breakfast, examining his brother’s concerned expression.
Despite crediting Tomas’ words, Bi-Han perceived no valid reason for concern. Guards were assigned to protect you, and he would have known if anything happened. Yet, a peculiar emotional response lingered, leaving Bi-Han feeling somewhat foolish for harboring such sentiments.
“Everyone can be late from time to time, Tomas. Relax.’’ Kuai Liang responded in place of Bi-Han, known for his moderate and understanding approach in communication.
In matters requiring transmission, messages often went through Kuai Liang before reaching Bi-Han. Echoes of your words from the previous night lingered in Bi-Han’s mind. The title of grandmaster had heightened the avoidance of direct communication with him, a consequence of his intimidating demeanor. It was a necessary stance to maintain authority and order within the clan. Bi-Han, who embraced his role with a certain pride, favored the imposing aura that came with his position. Unfazed by the solitude his demeanor brought, he remains aware of the consequences of his actions, however, he relishes the control and respect his grandmaster status affords him
‘’If you say so.’’ Tomas responded quietly. Bi-Han observed his brother and began to understand the source of his worry. Being the only other person present during the poisoning incident, Tomas likely felt responsible for not preventing it.
The sliding doors suddenly opened, and you rushed in, offering greetings with a slight bow. ‘’Sorry, I fell asleep,’’ you apologized in a voice that could be described as soft and even cheerful. Bi-Han’s brows furrowed slightly, sensing an abnormality in your tone but unable to pinpoint it.
As you settled into your chair, Bi-Han gazed you in silence. Your hair was carefully pulled back, revealing your face. Adorned in a dark blue turtleneck sweater, the usual choice to conceal the scar on your throat, he couldn’t help but notice the change in your complexion. Normally boasting a healthy glow, your skin now appeared dull, as if you had encountered a ghost. Pale and colorless, your face revealed the aftermath of a restless night. Dark circles under your eyes betrayed the struggle of a recurring nightmare. Suppressing the growl that threatened to escape his throat, Bi-Han discerned the truth – anyone observing your face could easily tell that you were lying.
‘‘Are you all right?’’ Cyrax inquired. "You appear a bit under the weather."
‘’I’m not exactly a morning person,’’ you replied with the same cheerful tone, beginning to irk Bi-Han. ‘’But other than that, I’m great. I’m just a little hungry. I’ll wake up after I’ve eaten something.’’
Your face, pretending to be cheerful with a forced sweetness in your voice, looked contradictory. Bi-Han, unable to comprehend why this contradiction bothered him, chose to push the thoughts aside. Understanding you and the feelings you stirred within him remained a complete mystery.
With a polite gesture signaling the end of the conversation, you reached for a dish with your chopsticks. Without questioning his own movement, Bi-Han pushed the plate toward you with the tip of his hand. A subtle smile of thanks crossed your lips, and you managed to secure one of the steamed buns. Bi-Han noticed your hand trembling, a detail likely overlooked by most, but at this proximity, he easily discerned your struggle with the chopsticks.
His brows furrowed further. In the month you’d been here, this was the first time Bi-Han witnessed you so visibly shaken and jittery. Despite your weakened state during the recovery process after being poisoned, you consistently avoided showing it, maintaining a strong posture and a resolute face. While he had glimpsed your nightmares during your unconscious state, not visiting again made it challenging to gauge if this internal struggle persisted. Yet, you adeptly hid it from everyone, especially him, despite his keen eye for details. As he observed you, a forgotten memory resurfaced.
He couldn’t be more than six years old, in his father’s study. His father’s tense demeanor hung in the air. Pacing the room in the midst of a strained alliance, his father focused more on maintaining order than taking risks, even though they were strong.
His mother knocked on the door, and upon entering gracefully, she held a tray adorned with a ceramic teapot and a steaming cup of chamomile tea. The sweet, pleasant aroma filled the room as his mother softly left the tray on the desk, offering him a small smile and an affectionate pat on the head.
Curious about the tea, his father sniffed the cup. “What’s this?” Bringing it closer to his nose, he inquired, “Herbal tea?”
‘’Actually chamomile tea, my dear.’‘ His mother’s soft voice filled the room as she approached her husband, leaving a small, loving kiss on his cheek. ‘‘I hope it will calm your nerves a little.’’
Bi-Han blinked, dismissing the resurfaced memory, and signaled one of the helpers to approach. Silently, she inquired, ‘’Do you have a request, master?’’
‘‘Bring chamomile tea to my wife,’’ Bi-Han spoke, the words meant only for her ears.
‘’Of course.’’ The woman left promptly to fulfill his request, leaving Bi-Han’s gaze fixed on you once again. However, you showed no interest in the untouched steamed bun on your plate. Poking it occasionally with your chopsticks, you attempted to engage in Tomas and Cyrax’s conversation. Yet, the forced smile on your face betrayed your inner turmoil.
Bi-Han noticed the transformation in your expression, especially when he brought you a book from his mother’s library. The initial confusion gave way to a warm and sincere look, creating a sweet warmth in his heart that contrasted with his icy powers. Since your arrival, you had never displayed hostility, even after being poisoned. While your behavior remained moderate, maintaining a certain distance, the persistent smile on your face had become a habitual aspect. Only last week did Bi-Han discern subtle differences, your eyes, slightly dimmed yet shining with sincere happiness, your lips curled in a smile illuminating your face, and a faint warmth coloring your cheeks.
Normally, your reflexive defense mechanism was apparent whenever he approached—a reasonable reaction considering his challenging personality. Trusting someone like you, especially someone unknown, posed difficulties. Hence, his conduct toward you remained distant, cold, and often judgmental.
After your nightmares and a few conversations, Bi-Han’s reserved attitude towards you slowly shifted. Though trust was still elusive, his growing interest was undeniable. Your fearless demeanor and clever, witty responses intrigued him, setting you apart from the typical noblewoman profile.
As the woman approached with the tea Bi-Han had requested, an unexpected incident unfolded. Behind your back, she stated, “Your tea, ma’am.” When she bent down to place it in front of you, you abruptly snapped out of your reverie, accidentally knocking over the tea. Panic ensued as the woman attempted to dry you with a napkin, but you leaped to your feet in fright. The chair emitted a painful squeal on the floor, capturing the full attention of everyone at the table.
Your chest heaved rapidly, muttering something like ‘’There’s no harm,’’ avoiding eye contact with anyone. Bi-Han silently observed as your skin underwent subtle color changes, resembling an impending faint. However, you surprised him by straightened your posture and said, ‘’I’m sorry, please excuse me.’’ With those words, you swiftly left the room.
Cyrax, breaking the silence, questioned. ‘’What the hell just happened?’’
Tomas and Kuai Liang turned their gazes toward Bi-Han. ‘’Do you have any idea, brother?’’ Kuai Liang said.
‘’No, but I will find out.’’ Bi-Han concluded, leaving the room to pursue you. Without needing to contemplate your destination, he discovered you at the end of the corridor on the veranda leading to the garden, your back turned to him. Treading softly to avoid startling you, he signaled the guards to give you space. As you turned around upon hearing footsteps, you locked eyes with Bi-Han.
‘’I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause a scene.’’ Your voice, now exhausted and weak, contrasted sharply with the panic just moments ago. Bi-Han couldn’t help but wonder about the nightmare that had rattled you so profoundly. Was it connected to memories of the wound on your throat, or an entirely different ordeal?
Having formed a few ideas about you, Bi-Han knew that under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t reveal such vulnerability. You typically held yourself with unwavering posture and grace. Your current demeanor, akin to attempting to ward off a shark from sensing blood, intrigued him. It deviated from the routine reactions he was accustomed to.
‘’Show me your hand.’’ Bi-Han commanded, his tone firm but laced with a touch of concern.
‘’I’m all right.’’ You swiftly responded, taking a step back, as if physical distance could provide solace. ‘’The water just spilled a little.’’
‘‘I know your hand is burning, (y/n). Don’t make me repeat myself.’’ Bi-Han insisted, his cold eyes reflecting a rare moment of empathy.
Realizing you had lost this silent battle, you reluctantly extended your hand toward him. Bi-Han closed the distance, surprised by the unexpected gentleness he displayed, even to himself. Your hand, resting in his large one, seemed delicate and vulnerable. He was certain that if he attempted to fully enclose it with his fingers, it might vanish or worse, break
Examining your scalded skin, now a furious red, it was evident to anyone that you were in pain. However, you displayed no reaction, as if a steaming tea had merely been a minor inconvenience. Bi-Han found your stoicism peculiar, the pain should have acted as a potent stimulus, overshadowing the effects of your nightmare
‘’How did all this happen?’’
Bi-Han inquired as he felt the calluses under your fingers. Without giving you a chance to pull your hand away, he grasped your wrist and turned the back of your hand to inspect the large and small calluses that adorned your fingertips and palm, along with scars that lingered, slightly lighter than your skin color.
‘’I told you that I trained with my brothers for a while.’’ You replied in a low voice, attempting to pull your hand away.
‘’These are not calluses that form in a short amount of time.’’ Bi-Han remarked, tightening his grip just enough to keep you from escaping.
‘’I was a hardworking student.’’ You retorted in a clear voice, signaling an end to further questions.
Bi-Han turned your hand again and placed his other hand on it, applying minimal pressure to offer a cooling effect. Though capable of more, he refrained from intensifying it, as it could exacerbate the scald rather than provide relief.
‘’Why are you helping me?’’ You questioned in confusion. ‘’I could have handled it myself.’’
‘’It’s faster this way.’’ Bi-Han responded casually, his gaze focused on your hand. ‘‘What just happened?’’
Your hand tensed for a moment at the question, but you quickly regained composure, merely shrugging your delicate shoulders.
‘’I just—I fell asleep. When I sleep too much, it takes me a little longer to wake up and get myself ready.’’
‘’Don’t lie to me, (y/n).’’ Bi-Han’s voice, though less harsh than he intended, startled you as you attempted to break free. Yet, he held his grip firm. ‘‘Did you have a nightmare about your scar?’’
‘’I don’t want to talk about this.’’
“Talking will lighten the burden you are carrying.”
“Why is it so important for you to know?’’
When you softly posed the question your gaze shifted to your hands, positioned at the center, instead of meeting his eyes. In that moment, Bi-Han sensed an impulse to cup your chin, raising it gently to meet his gaze properly. The courage to hold his gaze, the subtle tilt of your head, the lift of your chin—Bi-Han had committed your routine to memory, becoming accustomed to its nuances. He didn’t appreciate your attempt to evade him now. Despite his instincts he resisted, opting to respond to your inquiry.
“I’m trying to get to know you,” Bi-Han replied.
“Every time feels like an interrogation, your approach isn’t quite right.” you remarked.
“Then show me the right way.” Bi-Han said, attempting to keep his deep voice light. Your surprise at his response was evident.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.” As the warmth in your hand gradually dissipated, Bi-Han’s fingers delicately traced over your skin, a ghostly touch. The dialogue from a few days ago replayed in his mind. ‘If you want to exchange information, you should also reveal something about yourself.’ He added, “Although it is the color of our clan, I actually don’t like the color blue.”
“What?” Bewilderment filled your gaze as you stared at him, unable to make sense of this unexpected revelation. Bi-Han continued in a casual tone without breaking his mood.
“It reminds me of monotony. Our lives are predictable, as if doomed in an order. You can only move within the boundaries of this repeating endless circle.”
“Those words of yours seem more like your feelings about what you shared a night ago about your father and the way he runs the clan. You’ve associated the color of your clan with his rule, am I right?” Your kind voice conveyed understanding. “Still, when you look around, you hear echoes of the past, and it bothers you. You don’t want to suffer the same fate as him.”
Unexpectedly, you delved directly into the underlying source of his words, surprising him with an understanding he hadn’t anticipated. Despite his initial hostility, your kindness and intelligence took him by surprise. Rather than perceiving your presence as a constant thorn, you approached him with an understanding that gradually melted the icy reserve he usually maintained.
Your gaze remained distant, yet a fragile warmth emanated from it, delicate and fleeting, as if teetering on the edge of disappearance.
“That’s true,” Bi-Han affirmed, his voice carrying a sharp edge. “Monotony hinders development and the realization of potential. My clan deserves more than being condemned to such a cycle.”
Convinced that your hand was fully healed, he released his grip. As you raised your hand briefly, examining it at eye level, Bi-Han observed you for a few seconds. The angry red hue had receded, your skin now restored to a healthy color, as if untouched by boiling water. Though the pain had subsided, you still felt the need to test it with your other hand. Your expression, impressed by his work, flattered Bi-Han.
“You’re too fierce to be confined, grandmaster,” you remarked, turning your gaze back to him. “As I said before, I don’t think you’ll share the same fate as your father.”
Bi-Han shifted the subject, crossing his arms before attempting the audacious act of touching you again.
“It’s your turn.”
You only blinked back at him. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ve shared something about myself with you. Now it’s your turn to do the same.”
With an unexpected outpouring of laughter from your lips, you politely covered your mouth.Though he disliked you hiding your smile, your voice was as warm, soft, and friendly as the spring sun. Bi-Han felt a pleasant surprise, causing this reaction himself for the first time. He yearned to hear more of your genuine laughter.
‘’Fair enough. Let me answer your previous question then. My nightmares often revolve around my past, not an easy topic for me to discuss, especially with people I don’t trust or have never met.’’
‘’An understandable reason,’’ Bi-Han acknowledged. ‘’Walk with me.’’
You took your place next to him without question, keeping up with his pace. In one of the indoor training areas that Bi-Han led you to, the distance between you narrowed, almost to the point where your arms could touch. Perhaps, you could feel the cool air spreading over him.
‘’I grew up with my four brothers. My older brother is about five years my senior, and the middle brother, my junior by a year. The others are a few years younger than me.’’
‘’So you’re the only daughter?’’
“Yes.’’
‘’You must have held a special place.’’
Another smile graced your lips, but this time it bore a bitter edge.
‘’That depends on how you interpret the situation.’’ Your eyes fixed on the horizon, reflecting memories. ‘‘In terms of physical strength and endurance, men and women are not considered equal in our clan. Women don’t receive martial arts training, partake in missions, or engage even in minor political negotiations. The system is completely different from here.’’
‘’Nonsense. While there may be a difference in physical strength between men and women, it doesn’t justify treating you like a decoy. My mother never engaged in missions, my father feared for her safety. However, she was skilled in self-defense and combat. This basic knowledge is crucial, especially in a clan setting.’’
‘’I agree with what you’re saying. I wish everyone saw the bigger picture like you do.’’ You responded with a tight smile. As both of you arrived at the indoor training ground, he opened the door and you entered first.
While Bi-Han followed like a looming shadow, he pondered the origin of the marks on your hands. ‘’How could you train with your brothers when such a mentality prevails?’’ he voiced his thoughts.
‘’My father’s mindset has changed.’’
“Stereotyped thoughts do not change easily, something must have happened to shift his mindset.”
As you strolled through the sparsely populated area, with only a few people around, your gaze shifted to the ground beneath your feet instead of focusing forward.
“What caused his change of heart was when I faced an assassination attempt. Though his views about the clan order remained steadfast, his strict perspective towards me softened to some extent. Who would have thought such an incident could play a role in a positive outcome, right?” You spoke in a half-smiling, half-dull voice. Upon reaching the middle of the area, Bi-Han halted. Without delay, you also paused to face him, and continued your words in a lower tone, “I think sometimes bad things have to happen in life so that good things can come out.”
Your words brought his father’s advice to mind. ‘Never forget this Bi-Han, either we win or we learn in any case. Learn to view the events in your life, both past and future, from this perspective.’
“Why did we come here?” With your question, Bi-Han snapped out of his thoughts. He didn’t appreciate that you closed the subject, wanting to know more about you. However, he also understood your lack of trust, realizing you were hesitant to divulge more about your past. Pressing forward could risk pushing you back into your shell. This delicate progress was too fragile to jeopardize, so he allowed you the freedom and space you sought.
On one hand, he gained little more insight into the environment you grew up in. Uncertain about how much of it was influenced by your clan, the scars and nightmares he witnessed hinted at a challenging childhood.
‘‘’I want to see your skills.’’ As Bi-Han stood in front of you, forming a semicircle, the widening of your eyes revealed your understanding of his implication. ’’Spar with me.’’
“Why? The training I have received is nothing compared to yours, there’s nothing remarkable to see.” you said in a timid voice. Bi-Han, indifferent to your words, took a fighting stance. Your face turned pale when you noticed this, and Bi-Han couldn’t understand why you felt so uncomfortable while gently biting your lower lip and tugging. His presence, perhaps more dominant and frightening than he thought, made you nervous, or there was a completely different reason that he failed to guess and see.
‘’I’ve seen the state of your hands, there’s no need to pretend. Show me what you can do, and perhaps I’ll reconsider the level of protection you require.”
In a hopeful voice, you asked, “Really?” Your eyes, moments ago desperate, transformed into precious jewels, sparking with anticipation. After the question, your gaze scanned the area. “Do we have to do this in public?’’
“There are only a few people, no need to worry about them. Focus on me and your movements.”
“You’re not going to use your powers, are you?”
A grunt similar to a chuckle poured from Bi-Han’s lips.
“My goal is not to beat you. I just want to see and test your skills, I don’t need my powers for this.”
“All right, let’s do this then.”
After looking around with worried eyes for the last time, you closed your eyes. Taking a deep breath and reopening them, your gaze had changed in an instant. Sharpened by determination, your expression showed complete focus on the task at hand, devoid of previous emotions. Slightly opening your legs, one behind and the other in front, you assumed a fighting position with open hands and a slight backward tilt of the upper body.
Bi-Han wasted no time, making the first move. Swinging his right arm, you instantly blocked him with a swift parry, your body flowing seamlessly into a defensive stance. When he swung his left arm, you matched his speed, hitting his arm with a well-timed block and countering with a hard kick to his torso. With a muffled sound resembling a growl, Bi-Han closed the distance, standing close enough to challenge your defense.
Throwing his arm for a punch, he also aimed a kick. A few seconds after preventing his fist from reaching your face, you blocked his kick with your knee. Bi-Han raised the same leg toward your face, but you skillfully avoided it with a slight recoil of your upper body. When Bi-Han raised his kick again, you parried it with your arm, swiftly directing a fist to his face with your other hand. Though he avoided the move by turning his head, your chain of punches hit him in the chest, causing him to stumble backward.
When you both assumed your fighting positions again, this time, you took the initiative. Charging towards him, you launched into a flying kick and Bi-Han collided with one of the hall’s rafters from the blow to his stomach. A hoarse sound escaped his lips as agile fists aimed at his exposed body were met with a counter kick. You gracefully swept from under the incoming kick, almost like a dance. To halt the brutal continuous punches, Bi-Han seized your arms and delivered a hard kick to your midsection without giving you time to react.
A little moan left your lips as you were thrown a few meters away. Falling on all fours like a cat, you rotated your body on one hand before getting up. With only the support from the ground, Bi-Han instinctively pulled his head back as you attempted a head kick, feeling the wind pass in front of his face.
As the two of you engaged in a high-speed exchange of punches and kicks, Bi-Han felt his blood, once ice-cold in his veins, begin to boil. Someone training in fighting since the day he opened his eyes, he couldn’t recall the last time he had fought with so much pleasure. The practices and workouts he did, whether alone or with his siblings, were always perfection-based, relentless, and result-oriented. The future of the clan hinged primarily on them, ensuring that he and his brothers, as perfect warriors, could protect the future of their clan.
Here it was different, Bi-Han wondered about your abilities and potential, not attacking you with all his might, but not making things easier either. His movements were fast and brutal, enough to challenge most top-level students he trained.
Not anticipating that you would fare so well and keep up with him, Bi-Han was genuinely surprised by the grace, determination, and lithe fighting style you displayed. From the first moment he saw you, he recognized you were not a fragile woman, but the surprise you presented exceeded his predictions, and he found it more pleasing than he had hoped.
In the clan, Bi-Han had always valued power, and while he acknowledged the appeal of a powerful woman as a wife, he found this matter burdensome and did not actively seek it. Now, as you stood before him, turning physical differences to your advantage, it would be a humorous lie to say he wasn’t impressed.
Knowing you weren’t equal in physical strength, your fighting style favored Wing Chun principles. Focused on self-defense rather than attack, you targeted joints with precision. Your impeccable hand and foot coordination revealed extensive combat training.
“Are you tired, grandmaster?” You teased. A drop of sweat gliding from your temple to your chin, and Bi-Han clenched his fist, resisting the urge to wipe it away. He replied with a half-smile.
“Self-confidence shown without winning is dangerous.”
“Win?” The smile on your face widened. “I thought this was just a test.”
“And you haven’t passed the test yet.”
Raising an eyebrow, you said, “Is that so?” Then you jumped forward, raising your knee to kick his abdomen. Bi-Han blocked your move with his elbow, and immediately threw his other hand at you. You stopped him by grabbing his wrist, doing the same with the other hand, and threw a kick, rising with support from the two arms you held.
Bi-Han staggered but maintained his balance, crossing his leg between your two legs as if to trip you. Seizing this opportunity, before you could react, he wrapped his other leg around your left leg, hooking it and causing you to fall to the ground. With your back meeting the floor, a groan escaped, indicating the pain and the breath leaving your lungs.
In a shocking display of speed, you recovered in the blink of an eye, turning around on your back. You grabbed Bi-Han from both sides of the waist with your strong legs, then tightly held his ankles with your hands, knocking him down with pressure from both sides. Although the mats on the floor spared him much pain, his vision fluctuated momentarily. When he opened his eyes again, you were sitting on his waist as if on a horse, a clenched fist inches away from his face.
“Yield.” you gasped. Your hair scattered, fine tufts escaping from the ponytail, reaching your sweat-soaked forehead and flushed cheeks. Your eyes sparkled with the joy and pride of successfully bringing him down. In that moment, Bi-Han felt like he saw the real you behind the mask—natural, beautiful, radiating positive energy to his core.
Bi-Han, with his combative nature and the refusal to give up, supported you with his legs and pushed you forward to disrupt your structure. As you placed your hands on both sides of his head to maintain balance, Bi-Han anticipated your move. He easily rolled you sideways, then grabbed both of your arms, pinning you down and looking down at you.
‘’You can’t get out of this lock, yield.” His voice, though retaining its usual harshness, carried a tone of amusement. Instead of yielding immediately, you tried different escape forms, but under his steel-like grip, you remained as motionless. The heat radiating from your body due to the intense sparring, coupled with your unique natural scent, almost sweet despite a hint of sweat, didn’t escape Bi-Han’s awareness. He also enjoyed seeing you like this, pinned under his weight, appearing genuinely carefree and joyful for once.
Finally, you took a deep breath and conceded in an unhappy voice, “Fine. I yield.”
Bi-Han couldn’t suppress a small sound resembling laughter in response to your childish reaction. As he got up, he admitted, ‘‘You surpassed my expectations.’’ His honest voice carried a touch of acknowledgment. ‘’I may have been unjust in underestimating you.’’ When he extended his hand to help you up, your surprised eyes revealed the disappearance of the earlier childish unhappiness.
‘’Is this an apology?’’
‘’Don’t be so full of hope.’’
You rolled your eyes at his response, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you curiously asked while standing and holding onto the hand he offered. ‘‘Does this mean I won’t have guards anymore?’’
‘’I said I might reduce their number. I’ll think about it later.’’
“But you just said-‘’
‘’I know what I’m saying. But the person who tried to kill you is still out there somewhere. Ensuring your safety is first and foremost one of my duties.’’
“You’ve seen that I can protect myself. I don’t need three guards at once.’’ Bi-Han sighed in response to your unwavering stance, signaling that you wouldn’t easily drop the matter. He crossed his arms over his chest.
‘’I’ll arrange something.’’ His answer brought a smile back to your face, and Bi-Han felt an odd desire to consistently witness this expression of yours. Your smile was bright, like sunlight piercing through dark clouds, comforting him. ‘‘Do you feel better?’’
Your smile softened into a genuine, grateful expression.
‘‘Yes, thanks to you.’’
‘’(Y/n)!’’
Despite your parted lips, seemingly ready to say something more, Tomas’ voice interrupted. As you both turned toward him, realizing the hall’s attention, Bi-Han observed your cheeks reddening and your uneasiness becoming evident. The area was full of people, as everyone was curious about the sparring.Though understandable to dislike the spotlight, you should have been proud rather than embarrassed, you fought exceptionally well.
‘‘It was an amazing fight! How did you learn to move like that? Everyone watched with bated breath.’’
‘’Thank you,’’ you said shyly, your cheeks now crimson. Bi-Han wondered if you might have a heart attack right there. ‘’I trained with my brothers for a while.’’
‘’Let’s spar together sometime. I’d like you to teach me a few moves.’’
‘‘I would very much like to-‘’
‘’No.’’ Bi-Han interrupted. Both of you shared a puzzled expression, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t understand why he felt the need to intervene, he just didn’t like the idea of you working alone with Tomas. The words escaped his lips impulsively. Dismissing the absurd thoughts, he quickly composed himself, cleared his throat and continued in his usual cold, emotionless voice.
‘’We have new members whose training requires your attention, it’s unacceptable for you to slack off.’’
‘’Slack off? We don’t train from morning to night. Come on, I’m sure my training with (y/n) for a few hours a week won’t create any vital changes in the clan.’’ Tomas responded. A smile settled on his young face, as if he understood a truth behind the lie Bi-Han just told. Instead of giving in, Bi-Han responded with furrowed brows and an assertive voice.
“Tell the others then, to practice alternately with (y/n).’’
‘‘There is no need for that at all.’’ You said in a panicked and somewhat embarrassed voice. ‘’Enough people are already tasked to look after me by sacrificing their time, more people don’t need to be a part of it.’’
‘’It would be good for you to see different fighting styles.’’
‘’Our grandmaster is right.’’ Tomas said, joining him. ‘’Ah, but I just remember now. I have to go to the Fire Temple this week with Kuai Liang to report to Lord Liu Kang. Sektor has already gone to America for a mission, Cyrax is taking care of both his and Sektor’s group’s training in his absence. In this case, you’re the best option right now, brother.’’
Although Tomas finished his sentence with an innocent smile, Bi-Han could almost hear his quiet laughter ringing in his ears.
You little shit.
“There’s really no need for that at all-‘’
‘’Be here at the same time in the morning.’’ Said Bi-Han interrupting you once again. After he made the last point, he couldn’t stand to see the stupid smile on Tomas’s face anymore, so he turned on his heels and left the hall to start his routine work.
***
After signing the last document, Bi-Han felt the weariness in his bones. He rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath and finally rose from the chair where he’d been stationed for hours. His movements were initially slow, working out the stiffness in his muscles, and then he cracked his neck, stirring his body into action.
Having dealt with the remaining paperwork in the study after dinner, he glanced at the clock and realized midnight had arrived. Despite his aversion to paperwork, Bi-Han’s method was to let it accumulate before facing it head-on and completing the task, leaving the desk only when it was done.
A sigh of relief escaped him as he finally left the room, quickening his pace towards the bedroom. The weight of the day pressed on him, and the paperwork had been an additional burden. As he navigated the corridors and reached the floor where his room was located, his eyes were instinctively drawn to the end of the corridor. His eyebrows furrowed at the sight of you standing there.
Changing his direction, he walked toward you and your two guards, engaged in a quiet conversation. The echo of footsteps on the hushed hardwood floor signaled his approaching, as clansmen bowed their heads as a sign of respect and greeted him with a unified, ‘‘Goodnight, Master.’’
Bi-Han’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before he finally spoke, “Is there a problem?”
‘‘We were chatting,’’ you replied in a low voice. Bi-Han’s frown deepened, and he couldn’t discern your gaze as you spoke with your head tilted. His intuition told him something wasn’t right—perhaps another haunting nightmare or sleepless night troubled you. A nagging feeling insisted the former was more likely. ‘’They were telling me about the festival held in Fengjian village every spring.’’
There was a subtle unease in your tone, reminiscent of your timid demeanor from earlier. Setting aside the persistent pain from hours of frowning over paperwork, Bi-Han shifted his attention to the clan members flanking you. Recognizing their shared look of concern, he silently signaled for them to withdraw. Their departure revealed you, tensed like a bow, still avoiding eye contact. Yet, the subtle cues you emitted spoke volumes.
“Lift up your head (y/n), bowing does not suit you.’’ he commanded, his words prompting a sharp intake of breath from you. The internal struggle was evident as your fists clenched. Slowly, you raised your head, and Bi-Han’s gaze was drawn to your eyes. Dark circles, more pronounced than earlier, surrounded the undersides, and your eyes reflected a redness, a telltale sign of recent tears.
This situation was even more distressing than the morning encounter. It seemed you had lingered in your room to gather yourself before joining for breakfast, here now the impact of whatever nightmare haunted you was vivid, rendering you seemingly fragile and diminished. The shoulders, once confidently held upright, now slouched, emanating signals of desperation and a desire for isolation from the world.
Bi-Han felt his blood start to flow angrily in his veins as he looked at you. He didn’t know exactly what and why he was angry, but for some reason, the fact that you had become like this triggered the anger inside him that was ready to shine. It didn’t feel right to see you like this, especially after he started getting to know you. It was as if he was looking at someone completely different.
As he pondered what he could do, he realized the source of his anger at that moment. This was not a problem that he could solve by resorting to brute force when he got angry. If nightmares had tangible forms, Bi-Han would have obliterated them, turning them into ice masses down to the last atom. However, he had to rely on communication skills now, an area where he had always been incompetent. Kuai Liang was the diplomat, Bi-Han was the one with an easily angered nature.
On the one hand, he didn’t know why he wanted to help you. This was just a marriage made on paper, established for the sake of a permanent alliance, serving no purpose beyond that. Although he knew all this, it bothered him to see you like this. Maybe if he had witnessed this a month ago, he might not have been affected. Yet now, with each passing day revealing how different you are from what he thought, Bi-Han couldn’t stand idly by while this situation happened.
‘’Your men… they’re good people. They agreed to chat with me because I couldn’t sleep, I had never participated in the festivals held in Fengjian before. According to what they say, it hosts a very pleasant atmosphere.’’ You said in a weak voice that showed that you were uncomfortable with the prolonged silence. ‘‘Are you angry with me for chatting with them?’’
‘’Of course not. This is your home too, you can talk to anyone you want.’’
‘’But I can’t get in anywhere I want to, can I?’’
Bi-Han changed the subject instead of answering the question, ‘’Come with me, I have something I want to show you.” He said. You were intrigued by a bit of curiosity that broke your timid expression. Bi-Han could feel your gaze focused on his neck as he silently crossed the corridors. He asked carefully.
‘’Do you have nightmares all the time?’’
After one heartbeat, then the second, followed by shaky breaths you answered the question.
‘’Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Lately…I—I’ve been seeing it a little too often lately.’’
Bi-Han was aware that he was walking on a sensitive topic, the only problem was that he didn’t know what the right words were. He was hesitant about how he should approach you.
‘‘A month ago you were at your home, now you’ve been married to a man you’ve known as an enemy all your life, and you’re trying to get used to this place you’ve never known. All these are factors that put pressure on a person, the stress you feel may be triggering nightmares.’’
You chuckled a little, but your voice didn’t carry any warmth. It was dull and carried the kind of wetness that would worry Bi-Han.
‘’Although the issues are different, I have always been raised under pressure throughout my life. I think I can’t cope with stress as easily as I used to anymore, I feel crushed under it.’’ You took deep breaths several times to maintain your calm, trying not to shed tears with great force, your gaze was turned to the corridor stretching out in front of you. ‘’Sometimes I don’t want to sleep, even the thought of it feels terrifying.’’
In response to your confession, Bi-Han felt a strong need to calm you down. Although you tried to keep your emotions under control calmly, your battle to keep your tears from flowing was obvious. Bi-Han had never had such a hard time trying to find the right words. Kuai Liang had warned him many times because of his rude attitude, since he usually expressed what was going through his mind the way he was, but he himself had made no effort to change it.
During his struggle with himself, both of you arrived at the door of the room where he had already wanted to bring you. ‘‘I have never come to this side of the temple before.’’ You said. ‘’Why did we come here?’’
‘’This is my mother’s library.’’
Bi-Han opened the sliding door and slid to the side so that you could go in first. You looked at him first and then at the room with big red rimmed, and quite innocent-looking eyes.
‘‘I thought I was forbidden to enter here.’’
Bi-Han let out a little grunt.
‘’Get inside before I change my mind.’’
When you went inside without repeating what he said, Bi-Han lit the lamp standing on the work table, allowing you to see inside more clearly. Her mother’s study was a small place, not too big; two of the four walls were filled with full-length bookcases. In the middle of the room, there was a polished desk made of cherry wood and a chair with the same material as the desk. On the other side of the table, there was an old leather sofa for two, in dark coffee shades. A blanket with yellow-orange stripes that her mother had knitted when she was pregnant with Kuai Liang was laid out on the sofa.
When her mother was pregnant, Bi-Han remembered her most often in this room, lying on the double sofa, reading a book or knitting. Sometimes, when the winter was quite harsh and the snow was thick enough to exceed his height, Bi-Han also remembered that he used to read books with his mother in this room. Although he is not affected by the cold, his mother always tries to cover him with a blanket. Bi-Han often tries to stop her while she is trying to make sure that he is tightly wrapped, but ultimately, at the end of the day, he had no choice but to let her do what she wanted.
It felt different to see you in this room now. The soft, warm glow from the lamp added a cozy touch as your fingers gently explored the books. The room carried the scent of old books and polished wood.
‘’Have you read all this? There must be more than a thousand books on this side alone.’’
“I didn’t have time to read them all, but my mother did.’’ Said Bi-Han, leaning one shoulder on the bookshelf from where he was standing, he watched you walk around the room and look around with interest. “My father always brought her a lot of books from everywhere he could because he knew that she liked to read. She had so many books in a short time that he finally reserved this room for her to use as she wished. Although my mother was very pleased with this, my old man regretted his decision after a while.’’
“Why?’’
“My mother cherished this room, especially during her pregnancy. She found solace among the books. That’s why my father visited often, eager to catch a glimpse of her.’’
You laughed a little.
‘’It seems that your father was very fond of your mother.’’
‘’More than enough. Theirs was also a forced marriage. They wed as two strangers, completely unaware of each other, yet my father was the first to fall in love with my mother. He, too, was a cryomancer, unaffected by the cold like me. However, my mother somehow forgot this detail – quite impossible to overlook. Being fond of knitting, she crafted a scarf for him, consisting the colors of our clan. It was the first gift my father ever received, and you can imagine his surprise. Despite his bemused reaction, my mother loved recounting this tale to us. It was her favourite memory about him.’’
‘’What a sweet gesture,’’ you said in a soft, kind voice. ‘’They have a chance that not everyone has. My parents also met the same way, but unfortunately, they were not as lucky as yours.’’
The smile on your face fell, and Bi-Han caught the haunted expression as you averted your gaze from him and turned to the books in front of you.
‘’What do you mean—‘’
‘’Oh! I don’t believe this! This book is also here?’’ You interrupted his speech with your voice, which suddenly rose with happiness. When you excitedly pulled the book from the shelf, Bi-Han turned his gaze to the book in your hand to see which book you were talking about. The book you were holding was ‘The Little Prince,’ with its cover worn out from reading it over and over, and its pages starting to turn yellow. It was one of the books that his mother loved to read, it had not left her bedside for a long time. ‘‘I couldn’t finish this.’’
‘’That’s a very short book to not finish.’’
“My father did not like us to read such books, he believed that they cut us off from reality. So I would try to read it without getting caught, but that was unlikely. My middle brother caught me secretly reading under the duvet one day, and as he told my father, he destroyed the book by burning it.’’
Bi-Han was starting to hate this man more and more.
‘’A big reaction for a harmless book.’’
‘‘It is so.’’ You said it in a sad voice. When you caressed the cover carefully with your fingers, as if you were afraid of harming it, Bi-Han felt that strange, painful ache in his chest again.
‘’You asked me why I brought you here. Sometimes there are times when I have nightmares too, I come here when I can’t sleep after waking up. It’s good for me to read something that will distract my mind, and I thought it might be good for you too.’’
This time, tears welled up uncontrollably, a few tracing down your cheeks as Bi-Han finished speaking. He grappled with what went wrong, clueless on how to cease the flow of emotion. Tension laced his voice as he questioned, “Why are you crying?”
‘’Thank you.’’ Your response caught him off guard. Swiftly wiping away the tears, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, yet a rekindled smile brought solace to Bi-Han. ‘’I didn’t expect you to be so kind. I realize I may have been a bit too prejudiced against you, feeling a bit confused now.’’
‘’You had the materials to feed your prejudices, you’re not so wrong about that.’’ Said Bi-Han with a grunt. “Sit down on the sofa, you’ll read more comfortably.’’
You did what he said, quickly sat down on the sofa, and when you opened the first pages of the book to read, a silence fell on the room. Bi-Han heard you sigh as he started wandering around the room rummaging through the books.
‘’What’s the matter?’’
‘’I know it’s going to sound ridiculous, but my mind… It is so loud, the words I’m reading don’t make any sense. I can’t focus even though it’s a children’s book.’’ As the weight of insomnia was getting heavier and heavier on you, your tired gaze looked at him as if asking for help. ‘’Will you read to me?’’
Bi-Han instantly turned against you.
‘’My voice isn’t up to it.’’
‘’I can’t calm my mind. Please, Bi-Han.’’
Your silent plea managed to break the resistance within Bi-Han. As he settled at the other end of the seat, you graciously handed over the book. Leaning back comfortably, he spread his legs and turned the yellowed first page.
Despite the weariness that clung to his eyes from hours of paperwork, a sense of duty toward you lingered, especially considering your unrestful state since the poisoning. If the simple act of reading could offer a balm to your restlessness, Bi-Han was more than willing to provide it.
As he continued to immerse himself in the narrative, you shifted your position to face him, pulling your knees together and wrapping your arms around them. By the thirtieth page, a gentle, sleep-induced of your mumble filled the room.
‘’By the way, you are wrong about your voice. It has a deep timbre that draws people in.’’ Suppressing a yawn with your hand, you continued. ‘‘At first, I admit, it sounded intimading. And right now I’m thinking the exact opposite… Isn’t it weird? My thoughts can’t stay the same when it comes to you. You’ve thrown me a curve a few times these days.’’
Bi-Han, curious, marked the spot he was reading with his finger.
‘’So how are you feeling right now?’’
Resisting sleep, your head leaned against the seat, eyelids half-lowered. You answered innocently, as if afraid the response might be overheard.
‘‘It’s peaceful.’’ Your eyes closed momentarily as you covered another yawn. Speaking became more of a challenge. ‘’I haven’t had this feeling for a long time.’’
Your seemingly harmless confession halted Bi-Han in his tracks, casting an unexpected shadow over the room. What kind of hell had you emerged from, and what haunted stories did those eyes hold? The weight of your words seemed to materialize, settling in the air like an unspoken presence. As the silence stretched, your eyes fluttered open, revealing a weariness that begged understanding. In the soft, exhausted tone that followed, you queried.
“Is there a problem? Aren’t you going to continue?”
Bi-Han redirected his focus to the book, letting the words flow as time passed. The air carried the soothing rhythm of your breath, the golden light weaving a tranquil atmosphere. In the midst of the book, you mumbled a sentence in unison.
“And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”
“I didn’t understand that phrase when I was a little girl. How meaningful that sounds now, doesn’t it?” you added.
Bi-Han could barely understand what you were trying to say as you were struggling to speak. Your eyes closed completely now, a serene, small smile gracing your face. With each rhythmic breath, it was evident sleep was about to claim you.
Carefully, Bi-Han covered you with the blanket that was laid across the armrest of the sofa. A sweet sigh escaped you as you cocooned yourself, succumbing to the embrace of sleep. Bi-Han observed you for a while, long eyelashes casting delicate shadows on your cheeks. The relaxed expression of slumber made you appear younger, innocent, and achingly vulnerable, awakening a primal sense of protection in him.
Feeling the weight of exhaustion and the calm ambiance of the room, Bi-Han decided to position himself nearby, ready to wake you up if nightmares haunted your dreams again. Easing down on the opposite end of the sofa, he listened to your soft breaths, his own eyes growing heavier with weariness.
As the warmth of sleep began to wrap around him, Bi-Han muttered.
“What the hell are you doing to me, woman?”
. . . . . . . . . . . .
(Y/N)’s brother: Use your body and seduce him already!
(Y/N): I’m just gonna spar with him and show that we can be equals.
(Y/N)’s brother: That’s not the plan!
(Bi-Han attempting to conceal his awe): Damn, she can kick ass.
For the second part;
(Y/N)’s brother: The fuck are you doing?
(Y/N): …Listening him reading to The Little Prince?
(Y/N)’s brother: Wtf.
(Meanwhile Tomas): I ship them, now kiss.
#mk1 bi han#bi han x reader#bi han x you#bi han mk#bi han#mk x reader#bi han sub zero#mk1 2023#mk1#mortal kombat#subzero#sub zero x reader#sub zero mk1#sub zero mortal kombat#sub zero#bi han x y/n#bi han imagine#bi han mortal kombat#arranged marriage#reader input#x reader#reader insert#ao3#ao3 writer#ao3 author#ao3fic#ao3 fanfic#writing fanfic#fanfic#fanfiction
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Dear Child (Chapter Two)
Pairing — Wanda x Reader
Synopsis — Your father was notorious for going on failed tinder dates for years after your mother had left for her own reasons which she never told you. You never actually thought your father had a chance in the vast sea of relationships until you found out that one of his friends knew a European woman a couple years older than you who wanted to marry him. Strange.
Warnings — Failure dad, absent mother, jealousy
꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎
As you finally nestled into the comforting embrace of your bed, the residual echoes of the day's events lingered like shadows in the recesses of your mind. Despite the comforting veil of darkness that enveloped you, a lingering sense of unease gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, like an unwelcome specter haunting the sanctity of your solitude.
In the stillness of the night, the palpable sensation of eyes upon you prickled at the edges of your awareness, a silent presence that seemed to linger just beyond the threshold of perception. With a steadfast resolve, you chose to steel yourself against the unsettling notion, burying the unsettling whispers of doubt beneath the cloak of indifference. Yet, even as you sought refuge in the solace of sleep, the lingering sense of scrutiny persisted, a ghostly reminder of the enigmatic gaze that had haunted you throughout the day.
As the thoughts swirled in the quiet of the night, a subtle shift in perspective crept into your consciousness. Despite the unease and the lingering sense of scrutiny, an undeniable truth emerged—the realization that beneath the veneer of uncertainty, Wanda possessed a certain allure, a charm that transcended the boundaries of familial dynamics. Her proximity, coupled with the realization of her relative youth, sparked a flicker of curiosity and admiration that danced at the edges of your consciousness.
In the quiet solitude of your thoughts, you couldn't help but acknowledge the inherent innocence in finding someone attractive, irrespective of the circumstances. After all, what harm lay in appreciating the beauty that surrounded you, even if it resided in the unexpected form of your new stepmother? As the tendrils of sleep began to embrace you, the notion of acknowledging Wanda's allure, however fleeting, brought a subtle sense of comfort—a reminder of the intrinsic complexities that defined the human experience.
You heard the door open and saw Wanda there. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Wanda smiles, shutting her book and setting it aside. Her messy dark hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, out of her face. She is dressed comfortably in sweats and a tank top.
“Wanda? It’s like one in the morning, why are you up?”
“I was reading,” she shrugs, leaning back in her chair. She reaches into a small bowl next to the couch. “Had some chocolate covered espresso beans. They did not help me sleep. Want some?”
"No thanks," you responded, rolling your eyes in a display of weariness, your primary desire being to escape into the realm of sleep. The lingering question echoed in the quiet space between you and Wanda, a query that sought insight into the newfound dynamic brought about by her union with your father.
"Oh yeah, how's it like being married to my dad?" you inquired, the words tinged with a subtle blend of curiosity and a hint of skepticism, as if probing for the unspoken nuances that defined the peculiar relationship unfolding within the walls of your home.
She raises an eyebrow. “It’s… a learning curve,” Wanda admits. What she really meant was: Your dad is the biggest mess of a person I’ve ever met. “But we’re managing. Kind of.” You’re not totally sure if she’s just placating you, but you sense a bit of honesty in her tone.
“You sure he hasn’t been too pervy?” You asked, wanting to make sure that she was comfortable.
She snorts. “Aside from your dad’s occasional comments — and I do mean occasional — he’s been pretty respectful. A bit overly doting and affectionate, but nothing pervy. At least as far as I’ve noticed.” In the beginning, your dad had definitely made some off-color remarks about his bride-to-be, but that seemed to have died down.
“Okay, good.” There was a deafening silence between you both for a few minutes. “So, uh, why are you in my room?”
“I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d come and read in here,” she shrugs. “And I was in the mood for some company, so I figured I should come check on you.” Wanda gestures to the door. “You were dead to the world when I did come in.”
“Wow, thanks.”
“Eh, don’t mention it. I mean, if it were you waking me up in my bed at the ass crack of dawn, I know I’d be all bitchy about it. I’m not going to hold it against you that you’re a bit cranky.” Wanda smirked, her eyes pierced through your skin and into your soul.
“How old are you? I know my dad said you were young, just want to know how young.”
“I’m twenty.” Your dad must’ve mentioned this to you already, since Wanda can’t think of anything else he would’ve told you besides her age. That’s such the type of thing he’d prioritize.
“So I’m only a few years older than you, and I guess we can officially call me your stepmom.” She chuckles. “That probably stings.”
As laughter intertwined in the otherwise silent house, the sound reverberated through the air, weaving a fleeting moment of camaraderie between you and Wanda. Amidst the echoes of shared mirth, the weight of uncertainty momentarily lifted, replaced by a sense of fleeting connection that bridged the gap between the unfamiliar and the familiar. In that brief interlude, the voices of laughter echoed like whispered promises of understanding, offering a glimpse into the potential for newfound bonds to blossom amidst the quiet solitude of the night.
━━━━━
“Okay, okay, enough talk, time for gossip,” she says, leaning into your pillow with a smile. “Are there any cute boys in your class? Come on, I know high school is ripe with drama.” Wanda reaches over and grabs your arm and pulls you up to a sitting position.
“Absolutely not! And the ones that are mediocre at best are Jackasses.”
“Well, there have to be at least some cute guys in school with at least a grain of common sense.” Wanda rolls her eyes. “Don’t you have crushes on anybody?”
“Well, there is this one girl…” You started.
Wanda freezes, her bright smile falling away. She suddenly looks very tense. “Girl?” she whispers in a strained voice.
“Did I say something wrong?”
Wanda clears her throat, trying to brush off her sudden discomfort. “Nope. Nothing.” She forces herself to grin at you again. “That’s great, I hope it works out. Girls are nice.”
A subtle shift in the atmosphere hinted at an undercurrent of tension, barely perceptible yet unmistakably present. Through the finely tuned lens of intuition honed over years of navigating social dynamics, you detected a faint trace of jealousy emanating from Wanda—a subtle shift in her demeanor that betrayed the lingering shadows of insecurity and possessiveness.
The telltale signs were subtle but unmistakable—the slight tightening of her jaw, the subtle narrowing of her eyes, the barely perceptible shift in posture—all subtle cues that spoke volumes of the unspoken turmoil brewing beneath the surface. Like a skilled observer, attuned to the intricacies of human interaction, you recognized the familiar pattern of jealousy, a universal sentiment that transcended boundaries of age and circumstance, leaving an indelible mark upon the fragile fabric of relationships.
Wanda tries to dismiss her feelings, knowing she’s being unreasonable and irrational. She’s just being supportive, right? But despite her best efforts, her jaw stays clenched, her shoulders tensed, as she forces through her anxiety. Your relationship with this girl—your crush—was strictly platonic, but Wanda can’t help but feel a bit… threatened. Her heart starts beating faster and faster in her chest.
This had to be the start of something new.
#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximov x reader#wanda maximoff#elizabeth olsen#lizzie olsen#my fic#fanfiction#step mom!wanda#step!wanda
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Nexus IV.
Yandere Blade x F Reader.
Warnings: Explicit not SFW, alcohol consumption, Space Politics, possessive behavior, yandere themes and unhealthy relationships.
Word count: 15.4k.
Nexus index.
Time plucked away at the few petals still clinging to Kafka’s roses.
The insipid end brought an inexplicable sense of relief. An irrational foreboding cast suspicion upon the bouquet; you considered it an ill-omen. You observed it religiously as one would an upside-down hourglass. Waiting, anticipating, dreading. When the last petal fell, you breathed a sigh of relief. It was late by then, so you decided to throw the remains away in the morning.
Presently, you examine the vase.
The once wilted stems stand tall, pridefully lifting its crowning gem on a green pedestal. Ruby-colored petals burst forth, wickedly beautiful and fragrant.
Is this a practical joke? Some little parlor trick intended to unnerve you?
The latest developments in holograms include olfactory stimulation. Consider this, you decide to test its authenticity. You reach out, expecting your hands to glide through an incorporeal image.
Your fingers meet resistance.
You try again just to be certain — the results are the same.
You’re more determined to get rid of it now than ever.
You pick up the most vain rose by its stem. It delays its demise by pricking you, earning a temporary pardon along the white veneer of your vanity.
Blood pools into a crimson dome on your finger. You watch it, mesmerized, taken aback by memories that emerge alongside it.
The voice of a haughty girl echoes throughout your being.
“What’s wrong? It’s just a bit of blood. We all have it inside us, don’t we?”
The LOTUS-EATER has always been your home.
So long as it wasn’t open for business, you were free to run amuck. Of course, you refused to run amuck — how unladylike is that — but you did enjoy roaming. There were a lot of interesting things to look at. Anything was better than spending hours in front of that dumb blue screen with its stupid made-up people with stupid made-up problems. You didn’t get it. Everyone always said you’d grow up to be a super amazing Arbiter. You’d get tons of clients, make them all happy, get mountains of credits, buy the IPC, and then fire their staff.
Miss Calliope, your teacher when mother was busy, said it took most twenty years to get to where you’ve gotten in one. This reinforced an argument you’d practiced for many cycles. You thought for sure you could convince mother.
It didn’t work out that way.
Mother said you had to keep studying before you could make a link with an organic being. You really wanted to argue, but you chose to act like an adult and be angry in silence instead. She tried to win you over and offered a ride on the nectar guides. This bribe almost swayed you from your mission. To ensure she knew how serious you were, you said you’d pass, calmly enough for her to know you weren’t actually calm.
She went off somewhere to discuss boring things with boring people. You seized this opportunity to further refine your strategy and paced The Lounge’s hallways. Maybe if you broke the blue screen, mother would have no choice but to let you learn through experience. This idea greatly enthused you, until you remembered they could just get another blue screen. For this mission to succeed, you needed to cause the ‘collapse of supply chains.’ This was adult for ‘we can’t get the stuff we want’ from what you could surmise. The problem was, you didn’t know where these important chains were located. There’s Thelx, the good place, Ade, the weird place, Mele, the boring place, and Arc, the scary place.
You stood and contemplated. If you had to hide something important, you’d put it in the scariest spot. Arc it is then.
A mission of this magnitude would be unlike anything you pulled before. You’d need a… what was that term again…? Accompanied lice…?
Accomplice!
That’d be the crux of the whole thing. It couldn’t be any of the adults either, they’re all snitches. You required someone who would do your bidding. You closed your eyes and concentrated. There were three people around. Two on the first floor, one on the second. You sought out the latter.
A little boy with long blonde hair and dull blue eyes sat by himself in the break room. He hadn’t noticed you yet, he just stared off into space and halfheartedly kicked his legs. The workers sometimes brought their kids along and stuffed them in here, where there were snacks and games. He didn’t seem interested in either.
What resolve, you thought. What fortitude!
You walked in front of him, pointed, and loudly demanded, “What’s your name?”
“M-Miss Phaeales?” He squeaked.
“No, that’s my name,” you sighed. Maybe your intuition was off. “What’s your name?”
He hung his head and frowned.
“Oh, um… I’m Vincent.”
You squinted. “Huh? That can’t be right. Vincent’s the bartender. You can’t do that.”
“He’s my dad. We have the same name.”
You felt a strange feeling from tinier Vincent; the kind of strange feeling that made your stomach and head hurt. Mother said you’d be able to block it out as you grew up. You hoped you’d grow up soon.
“Well, that’s dumb. I don’t like that name,” you decided. He remained silent. “Pick a new one.”
“I don’t think I can…?”
“You can because I said you can. Pick a new one, or I’ll pick one for you.”
He stared at you like you had three heads. You did the scary thing mother does when angry — you counted down from three to one in a mean voice. Not-tinier-Vincent just sat there and looked confused. You scrunched your face up when your mean counting finished. You didn’t get it, that always worked on you. He must be immune to pressure… a quality your mission required.
Maybe he had his merits after all.
“Alright, I’ll pick one. From now on, you’re… hm… Lear.”
You placed your hands on your hips and nodded. This is a great name, you thought. It rhymes with so many things.
Lear tilted his head. “Uh… alright?”
“Great. Onto the next business order — how old are you?”
He put up five fingers.
What luck you have!
You grinned. “I’m seven, so according to the law, you have to listen to me.”
“The law?” He questioned.
“Yeah, the law. It’s what you have to do or you get in trouble.”
Lear processed this new information and nodded. “Okay. I don’t wanna get in trouble.”
“From now on, you’ll be my ac—”
You covered your mouth with your hands. Wait a moment, you can’t tell him he’s an accomplice! He might not help you then. That was a close one. You considered alternative titles, but none of them sounded as cool as accomplice. What a shame, but it can’t be helped. Missions required sacrifice.
“From now on, Lear, you’ll be my best friend.”
…
A few cycles later, you convened on the balcony outside of mother’s office.
You liked the balcony. No one made you use the blue screen there. Sometimes, when you weren’t monitored, you’d grab a chair, pull it to the railing, hop up, and stare. This is Eris, you’d think. A cold planet far away from the stars. Stars are big fireballs that make everything nice and warm. I don’t think I’ll ever get to see one. It’d be cool if I could.
You displayed a vital object for the mission.
“Lear, do you know what this is?”
Lear stood still with his hands in his pockets. “A circle?”
“No. Well, okay, yeah, it’s a circle, but this is called a hair tie. You use it to tie your hair.”
“That’s cool.”
You held it out to him. “For this mission, full visibility is required. I’d cut your hair, but mother hid the scissors from me.”
His tiny hand grabbed it. Lear regarded your gift blankly and glanced back at you, his eyebrows furrowed. Did he not know what to do with it?
You sighed because that’s what mother did in these situations. You started to get why. You took the gift back, tied your hair up, then returned it. He managed to do it on the fourth try. Relieved that the trial was over, you clapped and smiled. Your effort has been rewarded.
“Good job, Lear.”
Lear’s head rose at that. “What?”
“I said good job. When someone gets something right, that’s what you say.”
“... It is?” He murmured. You nodded. You didn’t think you needed to teach him the basics, but an accomplice must be capable. Miss Calliope said that extra effort was always worth it. She changed her mind after you grabbed a stool to mix the adult drinks. You’d like to think she still meant it.
“Since that’s finished, we can get to the main event.”
You pulled out a paperclip from a pocket inside your dress. The object was subjected to your immense strength, manipulated, and reforged. It went from a boring shape to a useful shape. You took a deep breath, brought the paperclip’s edge to your pointer finger, then stabbed down. Lear released a choked sound when blood surfaced.
You cleaned the paperclip’s edge with your dress’ hem and handed it to him. This would go on to determine the rest of your life, you decided. It needed to be done well.
“I read that doing this makes your promises stronger. Since we’re gonna make an important promise, it has to be extra strong,” you explained. The color drained from Lear’s face. “What’s wrong? It’s just a bit of blood. We all have it inside us, right?”
Lear refused to take the paperclip. “A promise? Miss Phaeales, I don’t know if I can.”
“You don’t have to press hard. It barely stings, anyway.”
“B-But...”
You pursed your lips. “Lear, we have to, or the promise will be weak.”
Lear shook his head and took a step back. There were lots of weird feelings that came from him. They confused you, you couldn’t think of a word to describe them. It didn’t hurt, but it felt heavy on your chest. What did you do wrong? Were paper clips that scary? No, it had to be something else. Mother said you can’t focus on another person too hard because it’s unfair. If they don’t tell you it themselves, you shouldn’t know it.
“Lear…?”
He stood on his tiptoes and reached for the number pad. You revealed the top-secret passcode to him, since the balcony was to be your top-secret hideout. Every top-secret hideout had to have a top-secret password. The detective books you read said so.
“I can’t, I’m sorry,” Lear apologized. His voice sounded tiny. “I’m really sorry.”
You didn’t know what to say to stop him or if you should try.
Was this what people meant when they called you pushy? You wanted to complete the mission, but you also didn’t want Lear to be sad.
The door opened and quietly closed.
With that, the first friend you ever made was gone.
…
The next time you were allowed on the balcony, you were curled up in a ball.
You hugged your knees to your chest and sniffled. Mom was mad at you. Miss Calliope was mad at you. Mister Caicias had scolded you. The other Arbiters were less nice too. You don’t think they ever liked you, but at least they pretended they did. It’s okay to hate you for now so they stopped pretending.
You could hear their thoughts. You didn’t want to, but you could anyway.
What a spoiled child.
If anyone else had done what she did, they’d never be allowed in this line of work.
I hope the Exalted Arbiter lives a long life, if this is to be her successor.
Your throat was sore, your eyes burned, and your chest hurt. You didn’t know you were spoiled. You never thought you were better than anyone. You hadn’t realized your attitude was awful. You just wanted to be confident like mom. That way, no one would be worried about the future. Everyone on Eris relied on mom. Everyone on Eris will have to rely on you eventually.
You looked at the black sky, the only sky you’d ever known. It always felt sad. The gray clouds were like little discolored tears.
You wondered if Noct ever felt bad that they made a planet where everyone was unhappy.
Someone’s coming, you realized. Is it moma?
It isn’t.
It’s the little boy with blue eyes and long, blonde hair. This time, it’s pulled back into a ponytail. You hadn’t changed the top-secret password, he must’ve used it to gain entry.
You hurriedly rubbed your tears away, and he looked elsewhere until you gave up on your task. Afterward, he sat down beside you. He hugged his knees to his chest as well.
“Are you okay?” He murmured.
You nodded and sunk your head into your knees.
“... Those kids are mean, anyway,” he reassured. “I dunno what they said, but it’s not true.”
“It is too. The adults think it but they don’t say it,” you whispered.
You know it’s true. Your mission to Arc almost caused what Miss Calliope called ‘a scandal.’
You snuck out of the LOTUS-EATER by yourself.
It wasn’t as difficult as you expected. You just borrowed a staff member’s lanyard, pressed it against the door, and it opened. You stuck to the shadows and navigated your way south. You could tell when an adult was close if you heard their thoughts. The thoughts were rarely happy. You pushed on until you encountered an alley, where some older kids were gathered.
You froze; you hadn’t accounted for kids. Their thoughts weren’t as loud and terrible. You didn’t hear them.
This bunch, though… they had a kid’s build and the expression of an adult. You counted four in total. One was tall, another was scrawny, the tiniest covered in dirt, and the last kid wore a tattered shirt that reached their knees.
The tall kid spat on the ground.
“This is our spot,” he said. “Get lost.”
You fidgeted.
“Hello, um… could I just pass over that fence? I’ll be quick,” you reasoned.
“Are you deaf or something? I said, get lost.”
The scrawniest kid squinted at you. “Hey, wait a sec, J. I feel like I’ve seen her before.”
“Really? When?” The tiny one squeaked.
“Y’know, during those big events for when Arc folk move over.”
“Huh, now that you mention it…” the tall boy trailed off, “You’re [First] Phaeales, right?”
He said your name like it was a disease. It made your heart hurt.
“Can you read my mind? What am I thinkin’ about, huh?” The scrawny kid called out.
“Hey, be careful. I heard those things can make your head explode with a single look,” the kid in a long shirt whispered.
The tall boy guffawed and stepped forward. “Really? Is that true?”
You took a step back.
“What? You gonna run away? Can’t stand to see people like us, huh?” He remarked. “Must be nice, getting everything you ever need handed to you. Yeah. Real fuckin’ nice.”
“I don’t—” your voice gave out. You ignored how they snickered and pressed on to finish your important sentence. “I don’t think that about you! When I grow up, I wanna help—”
The tall boy stormed over and lifted you by your dress’ collar. “Help? Help? You can’t do shit. You people never do anything! You promise and promise and never come through!”
You didn’t understand, there was too much to process. Anger and sadness mixed to become a storm that you were caught in the middle of. You closed your eyes and hoped the pain would go away. Maybe you prayed to Noct, maybe you cried out for your mom, you don’t really remember.
When you reopened your eyes you saw a music box. It was simple, small, and made of wood. There was nothing else around it. No ceiling or sky, floor or ground. You couldn’t speak, so you couldn’t scream. Nothing felt normal. This wasn’t Eris. Did you float into space? Can anyone save you? Would anyone find you?
The music box’s handle creaked; the lid lifted like a yawning mouth. No song was played. Voices came out instead, though they sounded far away. There was nothing else to do but listen.
“At this rate, she’s only going to get worse…”
“You don’t know that. I have a few more items I can pawn off, and then…”
“... Temperature of 102 degrees…”
“How much longer will this embargo last? Why can’t they just give in to the IPC’s fucking demands already? We all know they’re going to, but we have to sit and suffer while they play politics!”
“Honey, keep your voice down, the children are trying to sleep…”
“... Temperature of 104 degrees…”
“My wedding ring! There’s still my wedding ring! We have— we have to go fast, the pharmacy closes at 3400!”
“Jason, your mom and I need to run a very important errand. I need you to keep an eye on Iris, okay? Can you do that for me? I know it’s scary, but it’ll all be okay, I promise. We’ll be quick.”
“Hey… big bro?”
“You shouldn’t get up! Here, lay back down. There you go, take it easy. Mom and dad will be back soon. They’ll get what you need, and… and… it’ll be okay. They promised.”
“I’m sorry… for making everyone sad.”
“No, no, that isn’t true! When you get better, we’ll be the happiest family there is. We’ll— we’ll take a trip to the entertainment district, get tons of yummy food. I’ve been saving up my allowance so I can spoil you. You can have cookies, cakes, whatever you want, it’s yours.”
“... Pudding too?”
“Of course, pudding too. You’ll have so much, you’ll need an entire lifetime to eat it. A long, long lifetime. So… just wait a bit longer. They should be back any minute now.”
“You want to hear the music box mom gave you? That’s all the way in the— no no no, don’t look at me like that, I’ll go get it. See? Keep an eye on the door, lift your head just a little bit. I’ll be quick.”
“Hey, look what I found. Works like a charm too. Hm? Did you fall asleep? That was fast. It normally… it takes… normally takes… l-longer…?”
The music box slammed shut.
The tall boy — Jason — released his grip on you and staggered back. His friends ran to his aid. You squeezed your head in your hands, fell to your knees, and tried to disappear. It hurt, it hurt, oh, it hurt, a pain you’d never experienced before. It felt like your chest was stabbed over and over again with something sharper than a paperclip. This pain, his pain, it was too much.
A few guards that’d been dispatched to search for you overheard the commotion. They ran over, worried that you were injured. Nothing was wrong with you physically. The pain came from within. You thrashed and screamed when they picked you up. You wanted to be left alone, you wanted it to go away.
You looked at the tall boy one more time before they pulled you away.
Tears fell from his eyes and they couldn’t stop.
You don’t think those kids were mean. They were just really sad.
“I’m sorry I ran away,” the little boy said. His voice wavered. “I was scared.”
You felt numb. “Of me?”
His eyes widened and he waved his hands as if he’d caught on fire. “N-No, well, kinda, but not like that. You’re nice. You don’t tell me to smile or to stop looking sad.”
Your lower lip trembled. “But I made you tie your hair up.”
“I see better now.”
“And— and I said your name was dumb.”
“... I don’t like it,” he said. The strange feeling reappeared. “That name. It is dumb. You know that I guess, ‘cause of the mind stuff.”
“Isn’t that scary?”
“Maybe if you did mean things with it, but… that name made me sad. So you picked a new one. Lear is cool. It rhymes with stuff.”
You lifted your head. The little boy wasn’t lying, you could tell.
“Why’d you leave then?”
His little hands balled into fists by his side.
“I was scared. I was asked to make a promise before, and I lied. It was a promise I didn’t like,” he explained.
Then, he lifted his finger. A droplet of blood dripped from it. “I shoulda said something. I’ll try, I’ll really try, so please don’t be sad. It makes me sad. I want… I want to be best friends!”
A lump formed in your throat. Tears stung your eyes, the strength of his words pierced through your sadness like an arrow. A friend. You never had a friend before. You didn’t think you’d ever get to have one. Mom said it’d be difficult, that if you wanted it, you’d need to try harder than you’d ever tried before.
You launched at Lear, your arms outstretched, and wailed loudly. He caught you awkwardly with a gasp. You pressed your forehead to his shoulder and hugged him tight.
“I don’t want you as an accomplice anymore! You’re my best friend! I really mean it this time!” You exclaimed in between sobs.
“Eh? Accom-police?” Lear struggled to repeat the new word. Then, for the first time since you met him, he laughed. “I don’t really get you, Miss Phaeales, but… I wanna.”
That kid, Jason… is he okay? Did he ever go back home to his parents? You wonder. I used to think I could prove him wrong, that I just needed to grow up faster so I could fix everything. And yet, these past two years have been some of the worst economically.
You grab the rose by its petals and return it to the vase.
The crystal lotus shines beside it, its multiple surfaces flickering between brilliant hues. This gift, while beautiful, never particularly stuck out to you before. It wasn’t until Blade expressed an interest that it stood out more.
You sit in front of your vanity.
Mom… was I a good daughter?
You brush foundation along your face.
I always thought you never understood me, but…
Mascara darkens and thickens your eyelashes.
… I never tried to understand you.
You slam the makeup drawer shut.
It has officially been three months since the IPC instituted its travel ban on Eris with seemingly no end in sight.
Unemployment rates have crept up from 5.3% to a staggering 15%. We reached out to a financial advisor for Metis Mining from Mele, a company that has laid off one-third of its workforce.
“It’s an awful situation,” he said. “Essentially, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. I’ve been in this field for some 150 years — never have I seen anything like this. Thelx is our heart. If it stops pumping, we stop getting the blood we need to live. We need tourism. We need our heart to beat again.”
An advisor for Chrysus, however, is singing a different, more upbeat tune.
“We’re feeling optimistic. The negotiations have been going well. None of us want this to last longer than it has to. We’ve cooperated fully with the IPC’s requests, working endlessly to provide the necessary documentation for them to drop this unfounded charge. We ask that the people of Eris stand together. I will not be accepting questions at this time. Thank you.”
“What is Chrysus doing,” you groan. “The optics on this are terrible. ‘We ask that the people of Eris stand together,’ sounds like a bumper sticker for a spaceship.”
The comment section on the article expresses a similar sentiment. The most upvoted post is a picture of Eris on fire with bottom text that reads, ‘Don’t worry, just keep standing.’ The second is a screenshot of the advisor’s comment with the caption ‘me when i lie.’ To make matters worse, the user’s profile picture is the lead singer for Mushroom Mania but with a flower crown photoshopped onto his head.
You squint at the tiny text beneath it.
Your friend banona69 liked this post.
“Blade, can you cut my phone in half?”
He throws you a disinterested glance.
“Riveting conversation, as usual,” you lean heavily on sarcasm to reel him in.
“You’re working. I won’t interrupt,” he drawls.
Or maybe it didn’t, who knows, he’s as easy to read as an esoteric tome in a lost language. It is true that you’re working. Keeping up with clients, overseeing reimbursements for canceled appointments, apologizing for circumstances you have no control over; the usual. Your latest torment involved your bank’s servers going down when your employees’ paychecks were due. They’re testing out a new customer service android, but yours had a bug that caused it to repeat everything you said.
That predicament came to an end and five more popped up in its place.
You stretch your arms above your head. “If I handed you over to the IPC, do you think they’d lift the travel ban?”
“Find out for yourself.”
“Huh?” You swipe your monitors away so you can gauge him better. “What do you mean by that?”
Blade kicks himself off the wall and uncrosses his arms. “If you can subdue me, you can turn me in.”
That’s one of the biggest ‘ifs’ to ever if. You narrow your eyes, like that’ll help your ability to discern his intentions. He’s standing there, intimidating as ever, his countenance betraying nothing. You decide he has to be joking. It’d be a major inconvenience for Kafka and her cronies to break him out of IPC holding. You know precious little about Blade, but you do know he takes his job seriously.
Regardless, this cycle has raised your blood pressure to unprecedented levels, so you play along. A little fun never hurts.
“Didn’t Nona tell you about my mind-liquifying technique?”
“Screeched it, more like,” Blade dryly recalls. “It’s a bluff.”
You swivel around on your chair and get up. He remains perfectly still as you languidly approach, his burning eyes never leaving yours. An electrifying sensation courses through your body the closer you get. It’s unfair how beautiful he is. His dark hair that shifts into a crimson shade, broad shoulders, narrow waist, his surprisingly soft lips that are almost always drawn in a straight line; the wanted posters don’t do him justice.
You have to crane your head to look up at him, the man’s so ridiculously tall. You’ve never liked it when people look down on you — this must be the lone exception.
“And if it isn’t?” You challenge.
“You would never,” Blade insists. It isn’t your eyes he’s focusing on anymore, it’s your lips. “You’re too…”
On the occasions you can get Blade talking, he’s never at a loss for words. His cadence has a quiet confidence. If he’s in the mood, he’ll have a rebuttal for every possible sentence you could concoct. It’s immediate too, as swift as his bladework. It’s unusual for him to trail off for this long.
“Too…?” You encourage, tilting your head.
“Forget it.”
You don’t have the luxury of pressing the issue. He quite literally sweeps you off your feet, taking long strides to your office’s couch like he owns the place.
“You missed your chance,” Blade lays you down on the cushions and crawls over you. “Unless you’d still like to try.”
You glare at him halfheartedly and prop yourself up on your elbows. This guy must have a thing for manhandling you, because every chance he gets, he goes for it. You splay your hand against his chest and lightly push. He gets the message and moves back, allowing you the space necessary to lift up your blouse. He’s all over you immediately after, kneading your chest and trailing hot kisses down your neck. He stops at the spots with bite marks or bruises, giving them extra attention so they don’t fade.
“Maybe I could, who knows? Perhaps I’ve extended you mercy,” you breathe out.
Blade pins your wrists above your head with one hand, his amusement evident. “You’d be the first.”
He leers at your cleavage like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. His lips are back on your skin, starting at your collarbones and then moving down. He lavishes your chest in lovebites, his teeth practically married to your skin. Your low-cut shirts will be collecting dust in your closet at this rate, he’s seen to that. He kisses down your navel and stops shy of your skirt’s waistband.
“Is this for me?” He plays with your skirt’s short hem, raising it to reveal your thighs.
You did choose this risque skirt to see how he’d react, but he doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing this.
“You’re not the only person I ever see,” is your cheeky reply.
He doesn’t look impressed.
“I’m the only one who can fuck you, though,” he says, as plain as someone describing the weather.
You frown and twist your head to the side. He picked up on that, huh? You don’t know if it’s definitive, but you haven’t conducted tests to find out. It is exhilarating to lose yourself in carnality without fearing the repercussions. Still, you don’t want him to believe that gives him an exclusive claim to you. You’ll both enjoy yourselves, he’ll get recalled from this job, and that’ll be the end of it. He’ll be nothing but a story you drunkenly recall to Nona. Nothing more, nothing less.
Possessive men are a turnoff. If they wanted to own the thing they stick their dick in, they could buy a sex android. You’re not a sex android. You don’t run out of battery power in six hours or incur hilarious yet painful-sounding reasons for lawsuits.
“Pouting again?” Blade taunts.
Long, gloved fingers lightly glide against your inner thigh.
“I don’t pout,” you sigh as his hand dips past your waistband. “I brood.”
“Mhm.”
His fingers are quick to find your clit. He rubs the sensitive nub in slow motions, applying minimum pressure. Your breath hitches and you look up at him through lidded eyes. His towering form cages you in. This couch is one of the few surfaces he hasn’t taken you on yet. Your bed, your office chair, your desk, hell, even the wall; he’s fucked you on almost every object with the geometry to permit it.
Your head tilts back as he steadily drags his fingers down the length of your pussy. His ring and middle finger barely slip in before he pulls them out, returning to their previous task of gathering your slick. There’s enough for each swipe to create audible sounds, despite the relaxed rhythm he’s set. This detail doesn’t go unnoticed by him. No, he grins at you, his eyes practically shining.
“Shut up,” you grumble, covering your face with your forearm.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to, it’s written all over your— ah!”
His fingers plunge into you without the slightest resistance, all the way up to his knuckles. You gasp at the abrupt intrusion. Normally, he takes surprising care when pushing anything inside you — whether it be his cock, tongue, or fingers — gauging how your face contorts to ensure you aren’t in pain. He couldn’t have been touching you for more than a minute and yet your body produced enough lubrication to easily suck him in.
“My what?” He probes, lowering his face close enough for your noses to touch. His soft black locks tickle your cheeks.
Blade curls his fingers as if beckoning you toward him, which is exactly what he gets; your back arches and you curl your arms around his neck for purchase. He’s noted this clinging tendency of yours and has taken great pleasure in pointing it out. You mewl as he carries on his ministrations, loving the contrast of the cold leather against your warm insides. He finger fucks you nice and slow. His lips find yours, kissing you in a way that can only be described as tender. You reciprocate, though the lustful haze permeating your mind desires something rougher. This is the sweet kiss of a lover, not a… whatever the two of you are.
Blade pulls back an inch when you run your tongue over the seam of his lips.
“Are you ever satisfied?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” you huff. “Do you have any idea how much shipping Plan B to this planet costs?”
He exhales sharply in amusement. “You like when I finish inside.”
Your walls clamp down on him before you can protest this claim.
“Would you look at that,” Blade hums, his voice dropping in volume as if he were sharing a secret. “I can’t even move my fingers, that made you squeeze them so tight.”
You’d like to think he was exaggerating, but it does take a few seconds for him to comfortably slide his fingers in and out again.
“You’re delusional. That’s… an involuntary muscle contraction.”
He quirks an eyebrow.
His fingers abandon their prior creed. He embraces a new tenet — one that seeks to make your lips part in pure pleasure. You writhe beneath him at the unrelenting onslaught. He angles his palm so that it rubs against your clit with every thrust of his fingers. You’re quick to sync up with his sharp movements. Every time his fingers glide back in, your hips rise to meet him halfway. Soft gasps and moans fill the air as your peak grows closer.
Your walls start to tighten, promising that sweet ecstasy will soon be yours.
The second time it squeezes down, his merciless pace relaxes. He doesn’t stop entirely, he just slows down enough that you aren’t getting the stimulation necessary to come undone. You bite down on your lower lip. He hasn’t deprived you of an orgasm since this feverish passion began; he’s been more interested in seeing how many times he can fuck you to completion. He didn’t even subject you to this cruelty when you made a jab at his age that set him out to prove he doesn’t ‘have the refractory period of an old man.’
You don’t bother trying to move your hips for more friction. One night, during the afterglow of sex, you inquired after his sword. Among other things, he nonchalantly revealed its weight of three thousand pounds. You called his bluff. He was in an agreeable enough mood to summon it, allowing you to test the claim’s validity yourself.
Sure enough, you couldn’t even drag it an inch across the ground…
His breath is hot on your ear as he whispers, “Admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“That you love it,” he commands, his fingers massaging your walls. “Don’t be shy.”
“I’m anything but shy.”
“Hm. Dishonesty doesn’t suit you.”
You groan in exasperation when his fingers come to a complete halt. Is he really going to make you admit something so embarrassing…? Your face burns as hot as those faraway stars. You examine his expression, searching for some sign that he isn’t being serious. It’s a poor tactic. His countenance is stern, except for the blush on his cheeks from how aroused he is.
“I…” you inhale shakily, your lower lip trembling, “I like… when…”
“Love,” he corrects.
You turn your head to the side and squeeze your eyes shut. “I love when you… cum inside me.”
His clothed cock twitches against your leg.
“I know.”
Blade returns to the heavenly speed that has your mind all but floating away. His palm rubs down hard on your clit, his fingers searching out for that spot you love so much. Inhibitions gone, his name is the only word your tongue can form. Everything else that isn’t Blade has been erased from your lexicon. He makes you feel so good, it’s maddening. He’s addicted to your body and you couldn’t be more grateful.
To be wanted, to be desired… what bliss this brings.
Your muscles tighten and release as waves of pleasure devour you.
Your insides spasm around him, demanding that he doesn’t let up until you’re satiated. He’s happy to oblige. Once your orgasm-induced daze lessons, you yank him down to your lips into an open-mouthed kiss that has you swapping saliva. He swallows a whimper from you while pulling his fingers out, leaving the area he’s become so intimately acquainted with. The arm that he was using to hold himself above you snakes behind your back. You’re made to sit on his lap as he shifts upright, your skirt flaring out.
As always, it’s you who breaks from the heated kiss first.
Blade raises his gloved hand for you to see. You gape at how the onyx-colored leather has lightened, thoroughly coated in you. He parts his middle and ring, allowing dewy threads of your essence to form. Those crimson eyes go from admiring his handiwork to reveling in your embarrassed expression. As if you weren’t flustered enough, he slips his fingers into his mouth. His length hardens and he groans quietly while sucking off your slick.
While savoring your taste, he starts the familiar process of pulling your drenched panties down. You set to work on undoing his belt. He then hits an area that’s difficult to pull them over. He gives it one more try before frustration surges from him, hinting at his solution.
“Stop ripping my undergarments,” you chastise, lifting your leg to make it easier for him. “I’ll have to go shopping at this rate.”
Blade exercises a modicum of decorum and flings the scant fabric aside instead of eviscerating it.
“Quit wearing them.”
“That dream of yours might come true if I have none left. If that happens, I’m stealing your credit card.”
“It’s yours.”
You roll your eyes, focusing on freeing his cock. His length is flushed red and painfully hard. You wrap your hands around the base. Pre-cum leaks from his head in steady streams that flow down, coating him enough that it’s easy to glide your hand up. He hisses out through gritted teeth. Once your hand reaches the top, you rub his smooth tip with the pad of your thumb. The way he leers at you is borderline animalistic. You keep at your task, pumping him up and down.
“Does this count as me subduing you?” You muse, your voice taking a sickeningly sweet cadence, “Should I get handcuffs ready?”
“Watch it, girl.”
You would’ve if he hadn’t teased you so much earlier. But he did, and you must have some compensation. You sink onto the ground. Blade shoots you an inquisitive look, to which you flutter your eyelashes and smile. The realization of your intentions hits him when your lips place an amorous kiss on his leaking tip. The veins running along the length of his cock pulsate from the sight. Such a chaste way of going about a lustful act must do something for him.
“You…” He growls out, clenching his hands into tight fists, “God.”
You suck him gently, swirling your tongue along his slit. Meanwhile, your hand pumps him faster. He thrusts his pelvis forward to force more of his cock into your mouth. He isn’t immediately gratified — no, you take him in at your leisure. His gloved hand entangles itself in your hair and helps guide your head up and down. The wet sound of you sucking him off grows louder from the copious amount of saliva slathered along his cock. You reach for his balls, gently cupping and massaging them. Blade pants above you and throws his head back.
The telltale twitching of his cock starts.
You pull yourself off him. He glares down at you, silently fuming.
You suppress a laugh and climb onto his lap. His hand goes to your shoulder, a sign he intends to push your body down so he can fuck you. Rather than moving aside and complying, you undo your bra’s clasp. His enchantment with your bare tits distracts him enough for your scheme to carry on undetected. You align your entrance with the head of his cock and start sinking down, taking the initiative yourself.
Blade’s large hands fly to either side of your hips from instinct. Inch after inch slides in and stretches you. He maintains unflinching eye contact, the intensity behind his gaze is almost more embarrassing than the act of sex itself. Maybe he’s as pent-up as you are? Whatever the case, the tension in the air begs to be diffused.
“Have I earned your forgiveness?” You ask.
“You’re getting there.”
Your lips part in a silent moan when you fully envelop him. Blade grunts, pulling you down so he can go as deep inside you as possible. His thickness caresses your walls and sets your nerves ablaze. You gyrate your hips in one last little act of revenge. He squeezes your flesh, sending the unspoken warning that you’re truly testing his patience. Thinking it best not to test your luck any further, you rise off him and sink back down.
The legs in your muscles are sore from overexertion but the burden barely falls to you. Blade lifts you off his cock then back down again — you could go completely limp and it wouldn’t make a difference. He must’ve wanted to know you were ready before ruthlessly maneuvering your body for his pleasure.
What a gentleman.
This position has him consistently rubbing against a spot inside you that’s mind-numbing. He fills and stretches you like your body was molded with him in mind. Your gratification isn’t his goal at the moment he’s lost in the pursuit of what you snatched away. He’s greedy because he can be; he’s greedy because you welcome it. You’ve had so much to give and no one to receive it. You aren’t sure how much he’ll take. You’ve decided it’s better to be empty than bursting at the seams with ardor no one can swallow, lest their throat get scorched.
Maybe his premonition is right. Maybe no one will be able to fuck you but him.
So you’ll enjoy it while you can.
The rosy hue on his cheeks, his countenance reflecting the pleasure he derives from your body, the inhuman grip that mars your skin so beautifully; you take everything in. You want it all. You’ll gladly take from him too. You might not like possessive men, but passionate men are a different story. It’s boring if they aren’t a little frenzied.
“Not… going to last long,” he pants out, his voice strained.
Your nipples brush against the fabric of his shirt as you lean in to embrace him, your lips right by his ear.
“Cum in me then,” you whisper, nibbling his earlobe. “Cause I think we both know you love it even more than I do.”
Blade groans out a series of expletives. Some you recognize, some you don’t.
His cock throbs as he empties himself inside you. He thrusts upward in sharp movements, his pelvis hitting yours hard enough to sting. He’s drunk on the high you’ve brought him. Spurts of his cum slide out from your coated walls, an egregious act he remedies by fucking it back into you. By the time he finally stills, you’re both panting, sweat glistening along your bodies. You rest your head on his shoulder to regain yourself. His bandaged hand runs up and down your back, almost soothingly.
In a matter of seconds, his flaccid cock steadily hardens, still snug inside you.
“Who… who’s never satisfied again?” You breathlessly murmur.
His hand finds your clit and lightly brushes over it. You whimper, your walls tightening enough to give you both a jolt of pleasure. The pitch you hit is high enough to stupefy you from mortification. You slap your hand over your mouth, hoping it’ll dissuade any further involuntary infractions. He gingerly grabs your hand and pulls it away.
“Still you,” he says, grazing his lips along the pulse point of your inner wrist.
You don’t get the chance to bite back.
A robotic voice slices through the lustful atmosphere like a scythe.
“Miss Phaeales, incoming call, Miss Phaeales, incoming call,” it intones.
You stifle a groan. “Alright alright, I get that, who is it from?”
“Contact name: Lear.”
Your eyes widen. Though your limbs feel like jelly, you lift yourself off Blade, who doesn’t give much assistance. You mouth the word ‘sorry’ to him, snatch your bra off the floor, and start wobbling over to your desk. After some quick rummaging, you find the device you need.
“Put him through to my in-ears,” you order the virtual assistant.
“[First]? Hello?”
Relief surges through you upon hearing the sound of his voice.
“Lear, it’s been so long since we talked, I started to think you were a figment of my imagination,” you say whilst securing your bra back into place.
“I know, I’m— I’m sorry,” he sounds terribly flustered. You can picture his expression without trying. “It’s just, you’re busy, and then that happened and I—”
“Slow down, I’m only teasing. It’s alright. I get it.”
“Eh… you’re as bad as Nona,” he grumbles. “You just hide it better.”
“Don’t worry, it’s out of my system.”
“I don’t believe you, but I’ll leave it at that,” he’s quiet for a moment, before adding, “You sound like you’re in high spirits, [First]. You don’t know what a relief that is.”
You twirl a pen on your fingers. “I’ve dabbled with the alternative and found it lacking. It does help that some pesky issues have finally been resolved… which reminds me. Your paycheck came through without any issues, correct?”
There’s indistinct murmuring from two voices. Lear’s tone sounds chastising, while the other comes off as petulant.
“Hi Nona,” you greet, to which there’s a faint yet audible ‘Fuck!’ along with rapid footsteps retreating. “How fortunate is it that our paths have crossed like this? I noticed something very interesting. You can’t respond to my texts relating to your studies, but you can like a social media post from a few hours ago?”
Now, rapid footsteps approach.
“I’m taking a break from texting for my mental health,” Nona’s voice reasons.
“... Don’t people normally take a break from social media for that reason?”
“Check the DSM-106. It’s actually a thing.”
“Be that as it may, you’re making good progress. Your scores are consistent enough that you can take a few clients again when we reopen. You need to keep practicing so it stays that way.”
There’s a slight commotion. When it settles, Lear’s the one speaking again. “Sorry, she wanted me to say there’s still an issue with the paycheck coming through.”
In the background, you hear her cry out, “Teacher’s pet!”
“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 quietly take a deep breath.
“... How does Nona seem to you, Lear?”
What should be such a natural question feels like speaking with glue coating your tongue.
“The same as usual. And, no matter what she says, she is studying the notes you sent. She just hates the training program. You were the same way, weren’t you?”
“I was, yes,” A heavy smile finds its way onto your face. “Has anyone been giving her trouble?”
The silence on the other line lasts longer than you’d prefer.
“It hasn’t… been directly at her, per se. There’s just a general atmosphere of unease. Thelx has the highest percentage of citizens integrated from Arc, so things aren’t so bad here. Occasionally, there’ll be a confused kid pointing and asking why her eyes are different, but that’s nothing new.”
The tension in your shoulders relaxes. “Alright, that’s reassuring. Please keep an eye out for her in my stead, okay?”
You refuse to believe Chrysus. Everything with him is a move, some preplanned tactic to achieve a goal that advances his interests. You’ve lived life with Nona; he’s read a few paragraphs about her from a .txt file. There isn’t time to be at war with yourself. If he felt comfortable enough to make an accusation like that, there’s no chance it’ll end there. You’ll need countermeasures set in place.
Countermeasures, countermeasures… there’s Caicias. He loathes ‘secret alliances’ and ‘bloated bureaucracy,’ preferring to keep everything as simple as possible. Depending on your approach, you might be able to sway the former principal. He’s always treated you as an uncle would their niece. While it feels infantilizing now, this soft spot could be an advantage if played correctly.
An in-person meeting would be your best chance.
“Of course,” Lear says, breaking you from your thoughts. Then he’s quiet again. “[First]?”
“Mhm?”
“...”
You hear him sigh.
“It’s nothing. I should let you get back to your work.”
“Hold on, you can’t ‘it’s nothing,’ me!”
A shrill alarm chirps and pierces your unsuspecting ears.
“Oh, shit, Nona set the fire alarm off while cooking again,” Lear sounds more exasperated than worried. “Let’s finish this another time, [First]. I… I promise that I will.”
“Wha— again? How often does this happen?” You demand. “Hello? Hello? Ugh.”
Irate, you tug your in-ears out and toss them on your desk. What could Lear possibly have wanted to discuss? The tone he used made your heart drop. It sounded so firm, so resolute. He’s always been on the more soft-spoken side unless provoked. He did promise that he’d pick it up ‘another time,’ an unintended callous sentencing. Your mind is going to play fill-in-the-blank with the most dreadful words possible until this burden is lifted.
You’re about to return to your office chair when you remember your present condition.
Tousled hair, a hastily put-on bra, a wrinkled skirt, and one of the most sought-after fugitives in the universe’s cum dripping out of you.
Ah. And said fugitive is still behind you.
You spin on your heels. “So, um—”
Blade isn’t anything like when you last saw him. He’s redressed, and composed, his expression a mix between indifference and boredom. He’s returned to his favorite position too. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, with one knee slightly bent. Why he favors this stance so much, you’ll never know. You’ve offered him a seat more times than you can count. He comes across as less intimidating when he isn’t at his full height.
He stares at you.
You stare at him.
“I’ll… be getting back to work, I guess?”
He doesn’t so much as nod and he says you’re the pouty one?!
You gather your clothes off the floor for what feels like the umpteenth time, your cheeks burning. It isn’t that you feel ashamed, rather, you think he could at least help instead of standing there like his portrait is getting painted. He’s not trying to hide that he’s watching you. His eyes have always had a physical presence, they weigh on you heavily.
You briefly consider making a snarky comment, but your maturity wins out. You’re above such petty drivel. You finish collecting your garments. Next, you pull up the bra strap that decided to go awol, straighten your skirt, and fuss over your hair. Are you doing this so he knows you’re not embarrassed and in a rush to scamper off like a wounded animal? Maybe. Who could blame you?
You make for your bedroom door, head held high.
Blade speaks your name in that low, dark voice of his, stopping you dead in your tracks. Your body erupts in uncontrollable shivers.
You stiffly turn around like a rusted cog.
“Missed a spot,” is all he says.
You blink. “Huh?”
Blade nods to the lower half of your body.
Sure enough, there’s a dribble of his cum caked against your inner left thigh.
…
You hurl your belongings at him, which he catches without so much as batting an eyelash.
Your very short-lived satisfaction dissipates when you recall how much you adore that blouse. The same blouse you just chucked at the immortal sword-wielding Stellaron Hunter who can kill people faster than the afterlife can claim them. He’s still holding it. You get the feeling he will continue to hold it.
“Could I… have… that… back?”
This appeal doesn’t move him in the slightest.
You shift your weight between your legs. “Please?”
“You can,” Blade starts, momentarily filling you with hope, “Come reach for it.”
There is no hope in this universe, you decide. Nihilism is the only plausible option.
Blade dodges all your valiant attempts. When you’re about to give up, he lowers the garment, dangling it in a silent taunt. It then ascends to the heavens the second you dive for it.
He leaves your office that night with a blouse he hadn’t owned hours earlier.
And your cute panties.
Lear
Hello
Lear
Are you awake?
You’ll scold me if I say I am
Lear
Historically, that is true
Lear
You focus on caring for others so much you forget to care for yourself
You make me sound like a better person than I really am
I’m just doing my job
Lear
There you go with self-deprecation again…
It isn’t self-deprecation if it’s true >:)c
Lear
That isn’t how that works
Lear
You’ve always been hard on yourself
Lear
I know what you’re going to say so I’ll stop you preemptively
Lear
Anyone could’ve been born in your role and decided not to take it seriously. You didn’t choose the situation but you chose your response to it
Lear
… I swear I didn’t intend for this to become a lecture
I believe you
What was your original intention then?
Lear
Our phone call
Lear
Nona decided to try a grilled cheese ‘hack’ she saw on the internet
Lear
She’s lost stove privileges for a week
Is it truly a punishment if she gets to eat your cooking?
Lear
Well
Lear
It’s either that or she starves
Fair point
Bring me some leftovers or I’m docking your pay >:)c
Lear
I wish Nona never taught you that face. It brings something primitive out of you
>:)c
Lear
(ง •̀_•́)ง
Oh I forgot about those
They’re way better
Lear
Yeah
Lear
ε (*´･ω･) з
Lear
… I got distracted again…
( ͡° ͜ʖ├┬┴┬┴
Lear
Okay okay enough with the emoticons
Lear
I wanted to ask if we could please talk one-on-one
Pick a date and time and I’ll do my best to fit you into my schedule.
I make no promises.
The current estimated wait list is five Trailblazer Years.
Lear
Do you accept bribes
Naturally.
I am a government official.
Lear
I’ll bring you a slice of my galatopita
You’re in
Lear
Actually, I wanted you to pick the time
Lear
I know that person has to be around and I won’t ask about it
Lear
But there is something about him that unsettles me
Lear
Does he ever leave?
He’s always on the LOTUS-EATER’s premises
He doesn’t have to be in the room though
I can ask him to leave
Lear
You feel comfortable doing that?
Yeah, it’ll be fine
Lear
Even after what happened last time?
You could hit me in the head with a brick and I’d still trust your judgment
If you think it’ll be okay I’ll think the same
Lear
(^◇^；)
Lear
What an extreme example
Lear
It’s very you though
I know a backhanded compliment when I see one
Lear
(;° ロ°)
Lear
Hey don’t say that
Lear
[First]? ?????
Lear
… You’re messing with me again, I take it?
>:)c
I’ll send you the details
Lear
Thank you
Lear
Want to play a round of Connect Four?
Need you even ask
Lear has invited you to play Connect Four™©®.
You have accepted Lear’s invitation to play Connect Four™©®.
The break room has changed significantly since you were little. Gone are the sterile, eggshell white walls and beige furniture. The redone interior boasts bold greens and yellows, colors that aren’t commonly seen on Eris. This bright expanse was one of the few suggestions your mother took you up on. You even convinced her to get a terrarium imported that goes through a randomly selected flora’s lifespan in twenty-four hours. A few besmirched it as ‘watching grass grow but slightly sped up,’ until certain flowers got popular. The daisy with petals that burned was a LOTUS-EATER staff favorite. So is the dahlia that spins like a pinwheel.
“Was there something you wanted to ask?”
Lear places his cup of ice water down. “Does it taste alright?”
“It’s delicious,” you hum. “That’s not what I was referring to, though.”
You finish your dessert while Lear mulls over your words. The light, creamy taste of the egg custard, the dash of cinnamon strewn across the browned top; he’d do well if he ever started a dessert business.
“I know I said I wouldn’t ask about it, but…” Lear’s sapphire eyes flitter toward the door, the paper-thin barrier dividing you from Blade. “Has everything been alright during this… er…”
“House arrest?”
“That’s a way of putting it,” he sighs. “I know it’s for your safety, but being stuck in this building for weeks on end can’t be good for you.”
“It’s always been this way to an extent. Now it’s just official.”
He grimaces.
“That doesn’t bother you?”
This area utilizes the same technology available in your office or the private rooms. Sound waves cannot travel beyond a set point, or in this case, beyond the breakroom. This safety net allows you to comfortably speak your mind.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t stopped long enough to ask myself that. From my perspective, I have two choices — accept the current situation and carry on, or, get upset and carry on, only with less efficiency.”
Lear struggles to maintain a neutral countenance. It’s why you always beat him at card games.
“... Okay, that sounds a bit bleak. What I’m trying to say is that I can’t dwell on what’s out of my control. I’ll focus on what I can do and work from there.”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t brooded at least a little.”
“Ha, I’ve done my fair share of that. I’ve just reduced it from boiling to a nice, tolerable simmer.”
Lear’s grip on his glass tightens. “You’ve matured a lot.”
“Eh? You think so?” You wonder. “If anything, I should’ve been this way to begin with. I had you as the premier example to follow.”
Lear’s smile doesn’t reach his tired eyes.
He inhales sharply. After a moment’s consideration, he comes over, pulls out a chair, and sits facing you. This is the closest you’ve been for a long time. He never wanted you to be afflicted with those visceral headaches, so he maintained his distance. For him to cross the bulwark he painstakingly built cannot be easy.
Slowly, he raises his palm. He stops at the halfway mark between you. You knit your eyebrows. Does he want you to…?
“It might not be a brick, but it’s similar,” Lear says, his voice soft.
His hand is calloused from years of cleaning dishes and tinkering with various contraptions. His fingers tremble, belying the nerves he’s trying to push out of sight. This trepidation isn’t for his sake, it’s for yours. The dire consequences that could be reaped. It’s a gamble where you’re the one forced to go all in.
Your heart pounds and pounds.
You’ll trust him.
You’ve always trusted him.
Lear’s skin is cold yet clammy. His hand overshadows yours, though not by much. They fit together as well as they used to. Unlike then, your touch is more hesitant than his. His fingers sink down and clasp your hand, an action you mirror. Nothing’s happening. Nothing hurts.
You expect a relieved exclamation or expression from Lear, only to receive heavy silence instead.
He squeezes your hand once then pulls away.
“Do you remember the ‘important promise’ you wanted to make when we were kids?”
You nod.
“I did want to make it, actually. I don’t know if I ever mentioned that.”
“It’s been so long, it’s possible I don’t remember, but… I don’t think you ever said that, no.”
“The promise I mentioned was one I made with my mom,” Lear lowers his head. “She made me promise that I’d forgive my father. I never planned on it, not while he was living and breathing at least. I knew that and still… I agreed for her sake. It might seem silly, but that ate at me. She never asked me for anything, and the one time she did, it was something I refused to fulfill.”
You lean forward, hesitate to put your hand on his shoulder, yet ultimately overcome the instinct. “You were just a child, Lear.”
“I know. The reason I’m going into this is that… even when I wasn’t a child, I’d sit there and judge my father. I thought he’d acted cowardly. Instead of acknowledging mom’s declining condition, he’d buy more equipment and supposed miracle cures. He worked nonstop. Mom didn’t want that. She just wanted to be with her family while she could.”
You can hear the lump forming in his throat. You pass him your water, which he gulps down. He gives himself a second and then continues.
“He wasn’t delusional. He knew, and still, he tried so hard to convince himself that he didn’t. There must’ve been some moment of clarity when it hit him,” Lear’s fair eyelashes flutter shut. “What you said to Nona… that was my moment of clarity. My punishment.”
Thoughts swarm through your mind like the Propagation’s reign of terror from eras past.
“‘Punishment?’ Why would you deserve a punishment?” You probe.
Lear doesn’t know how to respond. His lips open and close, words escaping him. What comes out next is interwoven with anguish’s thread.
“Mrs. Phaeales approached me about our relationship. I was so worried, I don’t remember her exact words… it was something along the lines of, ‘If you truly care about her, you need to end this before she gets hurt.’ She wouldn’t go into the specifics. It didn’t come across as a threat, just… a plea, maybe. Eventually, I agreed. It hurt, but I didn’t see any other option. How could I ever willingly do something that’d make you suffer? You, the person who matters to me the most?”
This torrential downpour soaks into your very being.
“It should’ve ended there. I thought it ended there. Then I saw you again, and god. You’re so… so confident, beautiful, and bright; I couldn’t do it. I was at a loss, and… then I had this thought. ‘I want to keep her even if it destroys her.’ I couldn’t shake it. That isn’t love, I-I don’t know what that is.”
“Everyone has thoughts they aren’t proud of.”
“But you didn’t know, because I was too ashamed to tell you,” Lear insists, each word growing quieter. “So instead, you thought you did something to me, right?”
He wouldn’t look you in the eye. His arms remained limp by his side as you unbuttoned his shirt, tense and strained. You pulled back. Something felt terribly wrong. A sharp pang shot through your skull. You ignored it and beseeched him to tell you what was wrong. He wouldn’t. The sharp pang ricocheted. Being close to him hurt. It was as if you were on the same side of a magnet. He repelled you and you couldn’t fight it. You tried to preserve, tried to claw through whatever barrier he’d put up.
… A barrier?
Had he not wanted this? Was the gravity of your desire too intense for an individual who isn’t trained to resist?
“I…” your mouth is dry. “Yes.”
“You didn’t. I knew you didn’t, and like my father, I tried convincing myself otherwise,” he reopens his eyes, revealing a glassy sheen. He wipes it away with his long sleeve. “I ran out of excuses.”
You don’t know how to begin parsing through this information. It undermines the rough understanding you’ve operated on for decades. The foundations haven’t just cracked, they’ve collapsed, and the materials are damaged beyond reuse. Anything you build will require a new blueprint.
“If it isn’t manipulation, what exactly is it?” You murmur, placing a hand on your chin. “You rightfully guessed nothing would happen if we came into contact. What made you think that?”
The direction you’ve chosen to steer this conversation toward surprises him. This must not be the response he braced himself for. Regardless, he’s quick to offer anything he can.
“Something just felt different, I guess? I’m sorry if that isn’t helpful, I can’t think of a better way to describe it.”
Mother must’ve known more than she let on, you think. ‘Before she gets hurt,’ she said. Shouldn’t it have been ‘before Lear gets hurt?’ She cared about him plenty too. So why…?
You pace around the breakroom, your heels clicking throughout the otherwise silent room.
Alister listened when he thought you were taking him to ‘Roze’, a significant other he created in past Synalinks. He tried to kill you after you took him outside and it became evident that wasn’t your intention. No link could be established past that point. Then there’s Blade. You thought you could manipulate him to rescue potential survivors. You were rushed, yes, but you made absolutely no progress.
“My mind has a will of its own,” Blade tells you. “It’s loud. Something about you quiets it down.”
What can psyches roughly be broken down into? Primary, unfiltered instincts; an individual’s rationality, or ability to reason; then their mortality, what lines they will or won’t cross. When properly aligned, the mind operates as a cohesive mechanism. However, if there’s friction, disharmony abounds. The resulting fissure causes strife until it’s plastered back together.
It hits you.
What it is that makes Exalted Arbiters so paramount, why your abilities far surpass others.
You’re a living, breathing conductor, amplifying raw, often questionable instincts. A lightning rod meant to attract the attention of what reason and morality try so valiantly to suppress.
You forgo your pacing and sit back down. “Lear.”
“Y-Yes?”
“All of us are stupid.”
“Eh?”
“Well-meaning and stupid,” you reiterate. “I know what you want from me. You’re not going to get it. You condemned yourself, I condemned myself… what good did that do? Did it change anything? Make it better?”
You shake your head. “We like to torture ourselves; we’re adept at it. Enough. It’s finished.”
“... You don’t need to make me feel better—”
Lear receives a flick on the forehead.
“Idiot, half of that spiel was for me. Maybe three-quarters.”
You grab his hand and give it a hearty squeeze.
He squeezes back.
You both sit there, in this room that’s changed throughout the decades. Where you played make-believe (or, to be more exact, coerced Lear into playing the princess role so you could be the knight), gorged on junk food until you both got sick, plotted how to blow up the IPC with a water gun; you never thought you’d be able to do those things. The dumb, silly things you’d watch in movies or read about in books.
Lear runs the pad of his thumb up and down your hand. “[First].”
“Mhm?”
“Everything you just said — I can tell you believe it.” His breath hitches. “So why… why do you look so sad?”
You force a smile.
“I think I had my moment of clarity,” you tell him. “Like mother, like daughter.”
Whoever coined the term ‘misery loves company’ deserves the 85th spot in the Genius Society.
Blade sits beside you on a sinfully comfortable couch in The Club. His legs are crossed and his arm finds its respite behind you; not touching yet close enough. He’s your perpetual shadow. You steal a glance at his side profile. His jaw’s set and his eyebrows crease inward enough for his otherwise unblemished skin to wrinkle.
“Would you like to talk about your innermost feelings, Mr. 8.13 billion?”
Nothing, not even a halfhearted grunt, which comprises 50% of his vocabulary.
“No? Okay. Let’s focus on mine then,” you motion to the empty bar. “My innermost feelings are telling me to drink until my brain becomes a gray matter slushie. Any recommendations?”
It’s as if you’re trying to communicate with a rock. Which, according to the latest journals published in Geo Elements Organized, might be possible thanks to an artificial intelligence translator who learned how to speak rock. Apparently, pebbles are prone to bigotry. Marble sings operatic arias but each note is flat. These cutting-edge discoveries justify your 10,000 credit monthly subscription no matter what your financial advisor says.
You exaggerate your sigh. “Fine, I’ll pick my own poison.”
“Baijiu,” he eventually says.
“Hm? What’s that?”
He looks at you like you’re an idiot.
“My, my, somebody’s touchy.”
You hop the counter and peruse your establishment’s expansive selection. Hundreds of brands slapped over uniquely shaped bottles line the wall, each displaying information about their inside contents. You squint. What if he just said a random word to get you out of his hair? Your liquor knowledge consists of the basics, you’d be none the wiser if that’s the case.
“Where might I find this— oh, fuck.”
Blade is right beside you in the blink of an eye. Your hand flies to your chest, and while you’re trying to process how someone can move so fast, he finds what must be his intended target. It’s a tall, green bottle with a script you recognize as belonging to the Xianzhou Alliance. How did he ever expect you to find that on your own?
He rummages around and finds little wine-shaped shot glasses. In the meantime, you scan over the various juices and additives available. It’s been rough, but not drinking-alcohol-without-a-fruity-infusion rough. Blade notices your scheming and shakes his head.
“Men are so pretentious about liquor,” you lament.
“You asked.”
“My mistake.”
He ignores you and returns to the couch. You do the same, up until the point where you’re about to sit down. His gaze grows heavier, more concentrated. It took millions of years of evolution to develop complex language and he still chooses to opt out. What a waste. An unofficial staring contest commences. What does he take you for? A mind reader? You technically are, but still, using your abilities for this is beneath you. Especially while you’re in the midst of a crisis that you’d give anything to stop thinking about.
Blade must have a mind-altering epiphany that he has additional motor functions at his disposal. He pats his thigh.
He stares at you.
You stare at him.
You examine your black pencil skirt that stops above your knees. Hopping the counter in this was more of a way to pretend you’re in your early twenties again, not an invitation to test the fabric’s limits. You’ve lost multiple pairs of panties, a nice bra, and a blouse to this bodyguard who took the occupation’s prefix very seriously. This classy skirt isn’t going to be an addition to the clothes necropolis.
“I like this skirt,” you simply state.
You stare at him.
He stares at you.
Your vision undergoes an odd change. One moment, you were standing tall and assertive, looking down your nose at him. In the instant that follows, you’re facing the bar, its black marble countertop and gravity adaptive stools coming into focus. What you’re sitting on isn’t a foam cushion that’s as soft as a cloud. It’s rigid and displeases your tailbone. You struggle to balance yourself, an issue that’s solved by Blade’s left arm curving snugly around your waist.
“Did you just—” You cut yourself off, unable to dredge up the energy necessary to get annoyed. He could throw you through the roof for all you care. Sitting you on his lap is forgivable enough. “Whatever, you’re pouring my drink then.”
He’s already in the process of doing so. He pops the lid and fills the specially shaped shot glass with clear liquid. An aromatic fragrance of fruits and spices wafts through the air. It’s a world captured in a bottle; another place you’ll never get to see. You have to settle for admiring pictures and reading firsthand accounts.
Does Blade have an association with the Xianzhou Alliance? It isn’t your place to ask, but you’re curious nonetheless. He’s been a silent spectator of your life for the past few months yet you know nothing about him. It should stay that way — getting involved with him physically is already questionable enough. Especially now that you fully grasp the phenomena that’s been haunting you.
The thought makes you wince.
You lean your head back and down the shot.
It burns as it travels down your throat. You cough, the unexpected strength hitting you with the force of a collapsing star. Maybe you should’ve worked your way up to taking shots. It’s too late to rectify the mistake, your hubris is irreversible. The bastard chuckles at your suffering. It’s the briefest chuckle you’ve ever heard, but it still counts.
“What is the— what is the alcohol content of that?” You rasp out.
“Eighty.”
You crane your neck to glare at him. “If you wanted to kill me, the sword would’ve been faster.”
He rolls his eyes. He actually rolled his eyes at you. He picks you up, sticks a little ribbon on your head, and delivers you to death’s doorstep only to disregard your valid concerns? The 8.13 billion bounty isn’t enough. They need to double it.
“I’d like to see you drink this. Considering your prehistoric age, it might short-circuit your cardiovascular system.”
Blade pilfers your empty shot glass. He refills it, swallows without any fanfare, and then resumes his staring regimen.
You don’t know if you should be impressed or offended that his tolerance is better than yours.
Ultimately, your competitive nature wins out. You manage two more shots before waving the white flag. The flavor itself isn’t that bad once you get past the initial shock, it’s slightly fruity. The alcohol taste packs a punch though. A version with a lower ABV would suit you better.
You sigh, lean into his chest, and try in vain to smooth out your bunched-up skirt.
Your inebriated daze hits fast. There’s no pleasant buzz accompanying it, only exhaustion. The kind that makes the prospect of sleeping for a few years tempting. Those cryogenic pod ads know how to sell their product. It speaks volumes how simple their marketing remains since they’re so high in demand.
You inspect your soulless business. There aren’t any clients traveling to and fro, well-dressed ladies having their fur coats removed by valets, or businessmen celebrating a deal by clinking their glasses together. It’s eerily quiet. There’s nothing but the sound of your slow breathing and the thrum of the oxygen generator.
This planet’s heart remains frozen with you at the epicenter.
“What’s it like to travel across the universe?” You ask.
“It’s just work.”
Just work. You’ve received variations of this response when you’ve used this question on clients. They’ll take your silence as a signal to prattle, complaining about jet lag, getting through customs, finding a hotel that isn’t ridiculously overpriced during busy seasons; on and on they’d go. You’d sit across from them, smiling and nodding along, verbally empathizing with their plight. If they went on too long, you’d temporarily excuse yourself before your agitation spewed forth.
“That’s it?” You murmur.
He’s silent.
You kick your heels off, lay your legs across his lap and the couch, then sling your right arm around his shoulders to hold yourself in place. He observes you with no discernible emotion as you make yourself comfortable.
“Tell me about it,” you implore. “The universe. Please.”
Blade considers your request. You take it as a good sign he hasn’t shut you down immediately. For once, you don’t needle him. You just sit there with high hopes and a pleading expression. A peculiar emotion surges around him. It whispers to you, requesting that you lean in and hear it better. You deny the impulse and swat it away.
This mental exertion almost causes you to miss his frown and pinched-together eyebrows.
It’s fleeting, but there’s no misinterpreting what you saw.
Have you ever seen Blade’s face reveal so much?
It’s a vault he doesn’t leave open long. The doors seal shut before you can catalog the contents inside.
“Nothing I’ve seen is worth telling.”
You part your lips yet no sound comes out. You retract your arms from him and lay on your back, resting your forearm against your head. The LOTUS-EATER’s dark ceiling becomes your latest intrigue. It’s a cool shade of gray, mimicking the joyless sky that hovers outside like a specter deadset on haunting the living. You hate it. Everything’s gray, bland, depressing, an insult to the vibrancy that accompanies sentient beings.
You close your eyes and all goes silent.
After a while, his deep voice rumbles, “Do you want to see it?”
“Hm?”
“The universe,” he clarifies.
“Oh. Of course. But…” you pause, noticing how draining an endeavor it is to string together a coherent thought, “If I could, I wouldn’t. Too much… there’s too much I hafta do… here.”
There’s Nona. You want to help her reach her full potential, she’s brimming with it, a never-ending source of energy and zeal. Then there’s Lear. Why he idolizes you to such a degree, you’ll never understand. He should turn that starry-eyed gaze inward. It’s ironic — he considers you confident, yet you’ve always shied away from ever revealing the fathomless depths of your care.
You were born to be an object and he made you a person.
How can you ever repay a debt like that? Why is it so awkward and awful to express anything you feel without theatrics accompanying them? You have to tell him. You know he loves you, and while the love you hold for him is different, does he know that? How could he, if you’ve been so hesitant to say those three harrowing words?
Man, you think. My head’s killing me.
“Tired?”
After you grumble in the affirmative, he lifts you up. You think you might be floating. Your head lulls to the side and comes into contact with something solid, which proves you aren’t. Gravity hasn’t quit its longstanding tenure. Your blurred journey begins when you’re laid down in a spot more cozy than the couch cushions. It feels familiar and safe. Tension melts from your body, slinking off to loan you a brief solace. The interest is set high, but you’re too blissfully content to care.
That night, you dream of an ocean dutifully guarded by the sun.
The waves rise and fall along the shoreline, the breeze carries the scent of saltwater, and aquatic birds caw from above.
Bright white sand is plentiful beneath your bare feet. It tickles your toes and tricks you into thinking you’ll sink with every tentative step.
As you walk along this esplanade, an object hidden amongst the sand jabs into your sole.
Blood pools from the wound, trickles down a steep slope, and infects the ocean.
The scarlet droplet corrupts and warps it, devouring any color it comes into contact with. It's insatiable, a bloody blight that proliferates until the sea is swallowed whole.
The moon eclipses a dying sun. Driven by vanity, it paints its likeness across red, shimmering waves.
Unknown
I have good news
Unknown
I’ll be recalling Bladie soon
Unknown
I located the party responsible for endangering your life
Unknown
Isn’t that great?
If you’re being honest, then yes
Unknown
Am I not renowned for my honesty?
Unknown
No harm will befall you, so rest easy
Unknown
I hope we can continue our mutually beneficial partnership ♡
-
If there’s anything your mother’s passing has taught you, it’s that time isn’t guaranteed.
You thought you’d have a lifetime to see eye to eye with her. Over centuries, the layers you cultivated would peel back. You’d then ask her the questions that have lingered on the tip of your tongue.
Did you want to have me, or was it out of obligation?
Is this the way you want to live?
Am I a daughter or a burden?
You don’t know what scared you more. The idea of asking her, or what the answers might be.
None of your blood relations are living, but you still have a family. You refuse to treat something as fickle as time lightly again. Nona’s past, Lear’s present, your future; you can only dance around it for so long. The tempo will inevitably speed up beyond what you can follow. Lear’s confession reaffirmed how dangerous this complacency is. By believing you’re sparing one another pain, you’re only sparing yourself.
Your tea’s gone cold. The remnants swirl down the basin’s drain.
The true nature of your abilities, the shackles it puts you in, you’ll tell them everything.
You shoot them a text, asking them to meet you tonight at the LOTUS-EATER. You then set your phone to Do Not Disturb and place it aside.
Blade won’t be on Eris much longer. Your chances to help him are limited and you still haven’t fulfilled your promise.
You’d like to try and remedy that.
“I may have been a bit prickly when we first met, but I want to express my heartfelt gratitude for all you’ve done. I’m sure you just consider this a job, which is just as well, still, I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. I don’t even want to imagine what would become of this planet in my absence. So please give me one last opportunity to deter your mara.”
Blade gives you a long, hard look.
“You’re talking like that again?”
“I’m trying to be professional.”
He walks over and leers down at you. You return his blank stare unabashedly. Eventually, he readjusts the collar of your ivory blouse.
“What was that for?” You ask.
“I saw something that isn’t very professional.”
Glancing down, you pull the fabric back, revealing a prominent hickey. Your face ignites and you frantically cover it.
You clear your throat. “Is it a contractual obligation for you Stellaron Hunters to get on my nerves?”
The glint in his eye makes you nervous.
“Actually, do me a favor and don’t answer that. Just tell me if you’re interested or not, I’m a busy woman.”
He thinks it over and nods.
Throughout the preparation and rites, you consider what you’ve learned. Individuals exposed to you become more willing to act or dwell on their subconscious desires. The exact metrics aren’t clear, but you can safely assume this effect amplifies the longer they’re around you. These desires have a wide range. It can be as innocent as causing an older brother who ran away from his grief to finally cry over his deceased sister, or fuel for justifying selfish actions.
Blade’s case feels different.
Unprecedented as the other examples are, you can understand them somewhat. If a person acts on their most innate wishes, their behavior will change accordingly. However, what you’re causing here extends beyond psychological — it’s physiological too. Is that even possible? What could he possibly want enough to alter the fabric of his very being?
If you can find out, maybe the revelation will help him.
And so you close your eyes.
“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.”
…
Blade’s psyche has changed.
The grayscale composition is gone. Vitality has been crowned the new ruler, overthrowing the morose atmosphere in a successful rebellion. This change brings no alleviation to the undercurrents of grief that hang heavy in the air. Instead, it feels more erratic, like a heart beating wildly after waking from a coma.
The Shackling Prison stands beyond a straight path as if it's been waiting for you.
The first time you entered his mind, it rejected you. Now, it’s pulling you in, its gravity far-reaching.
You hesitate to proceed.
Is it his mara that’s responsible for this? You won’t be able to tell unless you keep going.
The invisible force that expelled you nudges you from behind.
You recall when Blade first appeared before you. Your physical eyes showed you a man while every other sense warned he was a beast. A carnivore that would devour anything, predator or prey alike. You believed it then and you believe it now. His condition has condemned him. Where he walks, destruction follows. It’d make sense for you to abandon him to fate’s whims.
This excruciating hunger digests him too. It’s destined to eat him alive while postponing merciful death.
Fate can be cruel, but you have an opportunity to be kind.
You make your way to the Shackling Prison’s gates.
The seal that’s served as a hindrance halts you. You examine the once bold obstruction. It has faded, its strength depleted, held together by nothing. At its peak, you think it would have pushed you out instantly. Now, as your incorporeal hand presses against it, there’s little it can do. The most it can muster is the resilience to delay you a few more seconds.
After that, it shatters and fades like weeping stardust.
A prismatic shard forms from its ashes, coalescing into a blurred, moving image. Distorted sounds crackle from it, which you soon recognize as garbled speech. The noise becomes clearer. You hear a low thrum in the background. Its timbre matches the oxygen generator standard in Eris’ buildings.
This must be one of Blade’s memories.
“I know you’re impatient, but play nice a while longer,” a saccharine voice hums. “She’ll be here any minute now.”
That voice…
The image sharpens and unveils a grand screen plastered against a wall. It sections off into numerous squares, each dedicated to displaying financial data. It’s bright, obnoxiously so, attesting to the owner’s tacky taste.
Chrysus’ office?
A door creaks. Hastened footsteps approach, ringing throughout the brightly lit room. The pair of eyes you’re viewing this memory from — Blade’s — shift to locate the source. The color they arrive at is familiar. It’s the same shade you see upon viewing your reflection, although the shape differs.
Mom? You wonder, astonishment hitting like pelting hail. What was she doing, meeting with a Stellaron Hunter in Chrysus’ office of all places…?
“Your message surprised me, Exalted Arbiter. Getting you to agree to a face-to-face meeting is normally like pulling a tooth. What’s the occasion?” The honeyed voice, which can only belong to Kafka, greets.
“Don’t play coy with me,” your mother replies. While her words are sharp, they aren’t warped with emotion. This is the demeanor she assumed when conducting business. Her sagacity is a trait you’ve never been able to fully emulate. “That thing’s leaving baubles on my daughter’s balcony. How many times have I told you to tighten your dog’s leash?”
“Oh? I thought I had.”
Your mother smiles thinly. “Should I add incompetent leadership to your list of defects? Deals are meant to be followed. Otherwise, why make them at all?”
“We draw lines to test them. So long as they aren’t crossed, there’s no harm.”
“Spare me your casuistry. I don’t want that thing anywhere near her.”
Your head feels like it’s being stretched in multiple directions at once. This sequence unfolding before you has a dizzying effect. Why is your mother so outwardly hostile to Kafka? The Stellaron Hunter isn’t your favorite person either, but this transcends simple dislike. It’s personal, raw. She’s maneuvered through diatribes that’d make anyone else go red in the face, her poise unruffled. Kafka’s little provocations pale in comparison.
Not to your mother, though. She’s a thinning thread close to snapping.
“As per our original agreement, there’s no harm as long as she doesn’t notice him,” Kafka dismisses. She leisurely sits on Chrysus’ desk, not bothering to move his papers aside. She then crosses her legs and smiles. Her eyes emit an unnatural glow. “On the topic of testing lines… let’s not pretend you’re innocent either.”
Your mother doesn’t so much as flinch. “If you’re going to make accusations, at least have the confidence to be forthright.”
“You’re fascinating to deal with, Exalted Arbiter,” Kafka croons. “This is why I look forward to our chats. You don’t cower or plead for mercy like our friend outside did. It’s a welcome change.”
“I’d rather you don’t compare me to Ophídion.”
Kafka drums her fingers against the table’s surface. For such a simple sound, it’s deeply grating. “Forgive me in advance, then, because I intend to one more time.”
Your mother remains silent, her lips taut.
“Still not afraid, hm? Let’s see if we can change that,” Kafka’s smile widens, which crinkles the skin beneath her eyes. “Chrysus’ shipments of ichor are exact, down to the milliliter. Always delivered on time as well. Comparatively, your end of the bargain is far simpler. You just have to grant Bladie ready access to Miss Phaeales’ vicinity. But, I heard something regrettable through the grapevine.”
Your mother’s eye twitches.
“You’ve been shopping around for a way to sneak [First] off Eris, correct? Tsk, tsk.”
All falls silent save for the generator’s dedicated hum.
Your mother stands unflinching, folding her hands in front of her. The two openly scrutinize each other. Calculating, strategizing. Her posture betrays nothing. There’s no guilt or apprehension, making it impossible for you to determine the credibility of Kafka’s words.
“It’s fear you devils can’t experience, correct?” Your mother queries. “Here’s a suggestion — try having a daughter yourself. You praise me for not caving to intimidation; that’s because I’ve experienced far worse. From their conception to our death, fear is the only thing we mothers know. Fear that they won’t become like us, or, even worse, that they will. What a funny juncture we occupy.”
Mom’s voice doesn’t sound right. It’s so… forlorn.
You don’t want to keep watching.
You can’t pull yourself away — the memory’s weight is heavy enough to pull you back in.
“Is that maternal dedication enough to condemn an entire planet?” Kafka ponders. “I’m not a judge who is eager to sentence. I’ve been lenient with you and would love to keep it that way. Leave Miss Phaeales in my care, no harm will befall her.”
For the first time since entering the room, your mother acknowledges Blade’s existence. Her eyes turn to slits as she scowls at him. Disgust, reprehension, and wrath; it converges in a maelstrom that could sink fleets of ships. You hone in on the emotions Blade experienced at that instant. There’s nothing. It’s hollow, save for blots of mild impatience.
“It wouldn’t be your care, it’d be his.”
Your soul convulses.
“Is that so terrible?” Kafka hums. “Separated, they’re essentially cursed, the poor things. They complement each other well, the more you think about it. One who incites madness and another who has the means to resist it. You of all people should understand that, hm? Or is Mr. Phaeales available to voice his dissent?”
Dad?
Darkness passes over her countenance.
You don’t understand and you’re afraid to. Kafka freely tosses around the most taboo topics as if twirling a poisoned dagger on her fingers.
One who incites madness. Is that what you are? A catastrophe patiently waiting for its chance? That can’t always be the case, but, more often than not, what a person covets most should never be fully realized. There’s a reason the sensible and moral components of one’s psyche stuff this risk down as deep as it’ll go. If everyone did what they wanted, whenever they wanted, civilization itself would cease to exist.
As for Blade’s role in this… Kafka must know whatever he wants would have a value that outweighs the potential drawbacks.
“I won’t let her be reduced to a retractable leash for your attack dog,” she seethes. “Let your Cancer of All Worlds do what it will. My decision is final.”
Electricity crackles in the air.
“It’s this script, then,” Kafka murmurs, more to herself than anything. “So many diverging paths, so many possibilities. To think that out of all futures you’d get to pick out specially for [First]...”
Kafka motions toward Blade, who readies his weapon.
“You chose one of the worst ones.”
some misc author notes for this one:
regarding the reader's condition, i didn't want to include a sigmund freud jumpscare in the story itself, so it gets to be down here instead. for those unfamiliar with his theories, what reader is referring to here:
'What can psyches roughly be broken down into? Primary, unfiltered instincts; an individual’s rationality, or ability to reason; then their mortality, what lines they will or won’t cross. When properly aligned, the mind operates as a cohesive mechanism. However, if there’s friction, disharmony abounds. The resulting fissure causes strife until it’s plastered back together.'
is a more abstract version of freud's concept of the id, ego, and superego respectively. originally, i used this exact terminology, but something about it just felt very immersion breaking to me 😭 all i could do was think about mr freud floating about in the honkai universe. consequently, the unreliable narration of reader trying to understand her condition + not using the widely known terminology made me worry it'd be a bit confusing...
so, in freudian terms, being continually exposed to reader's presence causes an individual's id to dominate their thoughts/actions instead of their ego and superego.
#blade x reader#yandere blade x reader#honkai star rail x reader#yandere honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#yandere hsr x reader#yandere#yandere x reader#not sfw#nexus#my stuff
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For the writing prompts - steddie, 3. “I’m not jealous” or 31. “You weren’t supposed to laugh!”? Pls & Ty
-steddierthings
Thank you so much @steddierthings for your lovely prompt! I chose number 3, "I'm not Jealous" (I was trying to get both prompts but just couldn't come up with a solid enough idea for the two of them)
This is partly inspired by this post that I read recently but I really like this idea and I do hope that you enjoy!
This was the last straw, Gareth thinks to himself, his face in his hands, fingers dangerously close to plunging themselves into his eyes.
“I can’t take it anymore man,” Gareth groans as Jeff takes a seat at their favorite table. It’s tucked away into the far corner of the Hideaway, the thick shiny veneer has been dulled over the years and the honey wood beneath is covered in thick layers of graffiti and carved initials. Jeff is particularly proud of the Metallica logo he painstakingly free-drew out on one of the corners while the bartender wasn’t looking.
Jeff snorts as his gaze travels to Eddie at the bar before falling back to Gareth, who has dropped his hands in favour of glaring at the back of their friend.
"If I have to hear him fuckin' harp about Harringtons perfect lips one more time I swear I'm going to lose it," he mutters before taking one last pull on the nearly empty bottle in front of him. Gareth winces at the taste of warm beer as he swallows the dregs and puts the bottle down a tad harsher than he means to.
Jeff rolls his eyes and smirks, "I don't think it's going to stop anytime soon dude, he's too much of a chicken-shit to actually do anything about it," he shrugs and takes a swig of his own beer, "besides, you remember him after the senior swim meet?"
"Oh my Goood," Gareth groans and drops his head to the sticky table surface, "he didn't shut up about that swim suit, or his moles, for a fucking month".
Now admittedly, Gareth could appreciate that Steve Harrington was hot, he had eyes in his head after all.
But he just couldn't understand this sudden resurgence of Eddie's very vocal pining from afar.
After the whole business with poor Chrissy, the man-hunt that left Gareth and Jeff incredibly spooked, and the sudden earthquakes that swallowed much of their small town, Eddie had come back to their band with a gaggle mismatched party members that trailed after him like lost puppies -including Steve Harrington.
Now, Robin Buckley and Nancy Wheeler made sense. Robin was one of their own -a band geek, sheep adjacent in her own right and Nancy was Mike's sister, whip-smart and twice as scary.
But Steve, former jock and King of the hallways of Hawkins high?
It made no sense.
But, he had been there for Eddie through it all apparently. Steve had sat at his bedside in the hospital, trading off with Wayne and Dustin to let them go home for a rest while they waited for Eddie to wake up. He had brought over food to the Munson's new trailer to help while Eddie was still recovering, and even offered to host their renewed Hellfire nights at the Harrington House rather than the school.
As much as Gareth hated to admit it, Steve Harrington actually seemed to have turned into a decent dude.
Which brings him back to the issue at hand.
"I just don't get why he won't shut up about him man," Gareth says with a sigh, he looks over at Jeff who is busy rolling his eyes and looking for an empty spot on their table to tag with his pen.
"I mean, you would if you've ever been hopelessly in love with someone before," Jeff says with a shrug before elbowing Gareth sharply as Eddie makes his way back to the table with three beers.
Oh…well shit.
"Maybe he just needs a little push," Gareth hums under his breath to Jeff as Eddie plunks the bottles down and slides them across the table toward them.
"What are we talking about?" Eddie asks as he takes a seat on one of the mismatched chairs on the far side of the table, he looks between Jeff and Gareth expectantly with a crooked grin.
Gareth takes the new bottle in front of him and tears at the slightly damp paper label with his nail, as a new thought blooms, he turns to meet Jeff's eyes with a grin and lets the thought travel through their gaze.
I have a plan.
No.
Dude, trust me!
Jeff shakes his head and hides a smile behind his beer as he takes another swig.
"We were just talking about the next Hellfire meeting, maybe we can sweet talk Harrington into hosting again for us," Gareth says, trying to keep his voice level, he leans forward on his elbows and ignores the sigh that escapes Jeff beside him.
Eddie brightens slightly and smiles for a moment before it disappears as his eyes narrow suspiciously, "probably," he says after a beat, "why?"
"No reason," Gareth hums again as innocently as he can manage, "Steve's great, it'll be cool to catch up on how the Hoosiers are doing, that's all".
Eddie freezes across the table and Jeff kicks Gareth's leg, hard, he fights off a wince at the impact and kicks back.
"I uh," Eddie stutters out as he slowly seems to gain his movement back, "I didn't know you liked Basketball".
Gareth waves his left hand and drops his gaze back to the bottle in his right, trap set.
"I don't follow it that closely, that's why it's nice to talk to Steve about it," he lies.
Gareth has no interest in Basketball and has not in fact spoken to Steve much, outside of thanking him for hosting their last session. He can feel Jeff's gaze boring into the side of his face, it's one lie, one little white lie and it's for a good purpose, right? For love!
He tries not to let Eddie's somber face eat away at him for the rest of the night.
It's at the next Hellfire night that Gareth decides to kick things up a notch despite Jeff's warnings.
"Just don't do anything really stupid man," Jeff tells him over the phone before the game. It wasn't like it was malicious, Eddie just needed a little push in the right direction.
Maybe a big push.
Gareth takes a deep breath as he walks into the kitchen of the Harrington house, he'd never been here himself during the wild party phase King Steve had been infamous for and he can see why it was the central hub for the popular crowd.
The kitchen itself is massive and the in-ground pool outside the window seems like it would be fun in the summer without the chill of April winds and the tarp covering it.
Steve is in the kitchen talking with Eddie, he's wearing a slightly oversized forest green sweater and tight blue-jeans which --even Gareth catches himself staring a little too long at. Focus.
He's bent over the oven and putting something on a cookie sheet onto the middle rack before standing back up and closing the door. Steve takes off the floral oven mitts and sweeps his wild hair away from his heat-flushed face. Eddie seems to be listening but his eyes are just slightly glazed over and lingered far too long on the swell of Steve's jean-clad ass as he bent over.
"Hey man," Gareth calls out from the kitchen entrance, he ignores the way Eddie freezes again before slumping into a pout.
"Oh hey," Steve says, his voice tinged with slight surprise, "you excited for the session tonight?"
Gareth nods and siddles up closer to the pair, he leans around to take a peek at the oven behind them and sniffs the air exaggeratedly, "oh what did you make for us this time Harrington? I swear, if you cooked for me like that every day I'd die a happy man".
A pretty pink blush blooms over Steve's cheeks and ears as he fumbles with one of the oven mitts, and Okay, if Eddie doesn't make a move soon maybe….
No. Focus up man.
Steve's large hazel eyes flick from Gareth to Eddie so fast he almost misses it.
"Uh, I mean, it's just some pizza rolls, I didn't actually have time today," Steve mumbles with a shrug, he doesn't seem to notice the furious glare that Eddie shoots Gareth's way, too busy turning around to set the timer on the little plastic egg on the counter.
"Next time, I'm sure," Gareth says with a smile, knocking his shoulder into Steves and leaning into his space, a startled high pitched laugh bubbles out of Steve who shrugs again.
Eddie reaches out and slings an arm around Steve's shoulders, tugging him slightly away from Gareth and into Eddie's space. He watches, fascinated as Steve relaxes slightly into Eddie's hold.
"Stevie here does such a good job taking care of us," Eddie says sweetly into Steve's ear, he may as well have pissed in a circle around the kitchen and told Gareth to back off and eat glass, it doesn't go unnoticed the way Steve seems to bask in the attention -to Gareth anyway.
Ah well, in for a penny.
"How is it that someone hasn't snatched you up yet Harrington? He cooks, he cleans, he hosts game nights? Like a regular Carol Brady or something," Gareth asks, his voice almost wavers as Eddie's hackles rise. Eddie's normally soft brown eyes have hardened and he's looking at Gareth as though trying to figure out if he could actually get away with kicking him in the shin, or somewhere slightly higher.
But then all at once Eddie sags, he abruptly drops his arm from Steve's shoulder and stomps out of the kitchen leaving Steve and Gareth alone as the back door slams shut.
Well shit.
Steve's eyebrows crinkle together worriedly as he bites his bottom lip, his eyes trained on the back door, "that was mean," he says softly before finally shifting his gaze to meet Gareth's surprised face, "I know what you were trying to do, but I don't think he was really ready to talk about it yet man," Steve continues with a shake of his head before seemingly steeling himself.
Steve breathes out a long sigh and hands Gareth the oven mitt in his hand without looking at him, "that timer is going to go off in about eight more minutes, just flip them when it goes off and then put them back for another ten".
And with that Steve steps around him to follow Eddie out the door.
"I told you not to do anything stupid man," Jeff's voice floats into the kitchen from the hall, Gareth resists the urge to knock his head into the wall beside him.
"I know, I know," he mumbles as Jeff takes the spot that Eddie and Steve had vacated, "I should probably go apologize, can you watch these?" Gareth gestures towards the oven as he hands over the mitts.
Jeff's nods and rolls his eyes again as he leans back against the counter, "I better hear groveling dude," he calls out as Gareth makes his way towards the back door, "don't think Eddie wouldn't kill your character just to spite you!"
Gareth walks a little faster at the thought.
Without a porch light the yard is dark but for the pale moonlight that stretches over the lawn and patio. He makes his way down the stairs but pauses as soft voices reach his ears.
"I'm not, I'm not jealous man," Eddie scoffs, his voice comes out in a sharp growl.
"No, Eds, that's not what I'm saying--"
"Why would I be jealous, I don't own you, you can date or screw whoever you want Harrington," Eddie says again, his voice now bitter and soft.
There's silence for a moment before Steve speaks slowly, "whoever I want huh?"
"Be my guest," Eddie scoffs again.
Gareth tip toes over, closer to the corner of the house and crouches down beside the bushes before peeking around the corner, just in time to see Steve step forward and slowly cup Eddie's face before leaning in to kiss him.
Gareth resists the urge to cheer in relief, but it's a near thing.
Eddie is frozen for a moment before he seems to come back to himself, his hands rise up to thread into Steve's hair and around the small of his back as Eddie walks them backwards into the side of the house, he presses Steve against it drawing out a surprised gasp which Eddie swallows with a please hum.
Gareth takes this as his queue to back away slowly and tip toe back up the stairs, no need to add voyeurism to his list of crimes for the day.
When Steve and Eddie do finally return to the kitchen, Steve's hair is in complete disarray and his lips are nearly as red as his flushed cheeks. Eddie grins widely, radiating happiness, and saunters in with his arm loosely draped around Steve's waist.
Eddie spots Gareth hovering awkwardly near the oven, Jeff pays neither of them any mind as he takes out their treats from the oven and asks Steve for a hand plating everything for the kids in the living room. Steve smiles knowingly at Jeff, his eyes trail over to Eddie and Gareth once before he snags a platter from the cupboard and leads Jeff to the farthest side of the kitchen.
"I suppose I have you to thank for that?" Eddie says quietly, the rising volume in the living room teases the arrival of the kids at any moment.
"Yeah, look I'm sorry man--"
Eddie waves him off and claps him on the back with a small smile, "eh, it's fine, I needed a little push, wasted a lot of time thinking I didn't deserve everything I wanted," he says softly.
Eddie snorts suddenly and a playful grin blooms over his face as he brings up his hand to poke Gareths chest, "Besides, I'm your DM remember? I can throw an ancient red dragon at you guys next time and tell the kids it's your fault".
Eddie cackles as he leaves Gareth in stunned silence to join Steve and Jeff on their way into the hallway. He slips his hand into Steve's back pocket as he joins them.
Gareth groans quietly, and starts mentally writing out a new character backstory, he has a feeling his current Elf Ranger wasn't going to last that much longer.
#steddie#afewproblems answers#afewproblems writes#steddie prompts#steve harrington#eddie munson#mutual pining#eddie munson is a lil possesive and we love that for him#steve harrington is a sweetheart#gareth tries his best#gareth and jeff are supportive friends#gareth had good intensions and shit execution#hellfire club#steve x eddie#getting together
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Can you write about Veneer... Just, like, anything at all. I'm BEGGING. They could be headcanons, drabbles, oneshots, ANYTHING. My little gay mind can't handle it. If you don't have any ideas here are some that I have off the top of my head ^_^ (also if you could make any of these male reader I will love you forever BUT you obviously don't have to <33)
- Baking with him (but either veneer or the reader is a nightmare in the kitchen and everything goes wrong)
- Having a slumber party !! (Doing eachothers nails, hair, makeup, watching movies, just talking, possibly falling asleep in eachothers arms and being embarrassed in the morning)
- Playing hide and seek together
- CHRISTMAS WITH VENEER!!! (Decorating the house/Christmas tree, getting presents, playing out in the snow, just general festive activities:3)
- Reader who has a shit ton of stuffies and has named them all (introducing them to Veneer, cuddling, fluffy things)
- Eepy time (sleeping/cuddling hcs, shenanigans, not being able to fall asleep, weird midnight chats)
I had more but I forgot....
NAHHH UR LITERALLLY SO BASED I LOVE YOU FOR THAT!!! Veneer is literally such a criminal cuz like?? He kidnapped someone, tortured them, AND he stole your heart??? SOMEONE STOP HIM ASDKJALJSLD
Ended up combining a few of your ideas into one big concept! Hope you don't mind :3
Also heads up that this takes place before the events of Band Together took off! Just figured it'd be kinda hard to throw a sleepover when your ass is literally in prison lol
Veneer x Reader: when your favorite twink invites you to a sleepover
Includes: Male! Reader, sleepover shenanigans, fluff, slight angst, gaygaygaygay—
💎 You and Veneer would have to be INCREDIBLY close before he even considered invited you over
💎 Tbh I feel like getting invited to hangout with this guy in any way is actually? Kind of a privilage?? Like his fame is obviously a big factor in that but growing up, I doubt he had any actual friends who weren't his sister. I imagine him as kinda shy and non-confrontational as a kid, and though Velvet wasn't the BEST sibling, she never hesitated to cuss out whatever poor soul chose to pick on her brother. She's always been the one to lead and Veneer has always just followed
💎 I mean... the guy literally participated in tortue just cuz his sister told him to. He sheep coded as hell 😔
💎 So yeah, this boy probably has like zero experience when it comes to having friends who don't use him for his fame and/or are related to him by blood. Luckily you came along! Now he's actually got someone with whom he shares a genuine connection with!!
💎 Whether that connection is strictly platonic has... yet to be determined >;3c
💎 WITH THAT BEING SAID!! This guy has never once participated in a sleepover (hanging out in his sister's room doesn't count), and he's got absolutely no clue what to do ://
💎 Will conduct numerous amounts of research days in advance! And by research, I mean he's binging all his favorite chick flicks and having Krimp take notes aslkdhaljsdl
💎 FR THO!! THIS BOY IS JITTERY AS HELL WHEN THE TIME COMES TO ASK YOU OUT OVER LIKE---!
💎 "Oh heyyyy, (____)! Fancy seeing you here!"
"This... is my house?"
"R-right, right! Obviously! Um, anyway, do you like sleeping?"
"Uh."
"Also, u-uh, totally unrelated but have you ever wondered what the inside of my house looks like?"
💎 Pls just accept his invitation. If he gets any redder he might pop a blood vessel or something
💎 Heaves out the BIGGEST sigh once you say yes. He'll try to play himself off as nonchalant even though he's absolutely ecstatic, but like... the boy is literally vibrating with excitement okay, he's not fooling anyone lol
💎 Once the big day comes and you show up to his house— sorry, MANSION? Prepare yourself cuz he is most definitely giving a tour. From the indoor pool, to the outdoor pool, to the personal studio/production room, to the many walk-in closets, to a room that is literally just one big ball pit, to a heigh-ceiling hallway just lined with photos/painting of him and his sister... he is NOT afraid to show off asdkajsdlkhjf
💎 (Sidenote: don't worry about Velvet potentially intruding on the sleepover. She's agreed to step out for the day on her brother's behalf. Was definitely pretty pissy about having to vacate her own home but eventually relented... but Veneer definitely owes her for her kindness)
💎 Yknow all those cliche sleepover activities people do in movies? Yeah, you guys are doing literally all of them
💎 Such a dumbass <33
💎 NO LIKE ACTUALLY THO?? Krimp made Veneer a list of popular and totally optional things to do at a sleepover and the second he saw it, he was just like "uugh, seems like a lot of work but I GUESS I'll do it 🙄"
💎 You guys are painting your nails matching colors, doing facemasks, messing around with each others' hair— the whole shebang!! And considering this dude is rich as fuck, you just KNOW he's got nothing but all the top-of-the-line products 😤😤. Only the finest for him (and you <33)
💎 LET HIM DO YOUR MAKEUP!! I feel like he really enjoys it as a whole! Like it's probably his favorite part of getting ready for shows or just his day in general, and the only person he's done makeup for is Velvet (tho those instances were VERY rare)... but if you just? Suggest that he does yours for you?? Like just sitting back so he can do his thing, allowing him to call the shots like he rarely ever does???
💎 Literally swooning SO HARD ASLDHKALKJSJDLKJA
💎 Unfortunately the whole thing kinda backfires on him cuz: 1) you're already super cute without makeup, and 2) he knows what he's doing and could easily boost someone's looks with just some eyesliner and the right shade of lipstick
💎 He makes you look hotter, is basically what I'm getting at
💎 He's not sure if he's just done himself a huge favor or screwed himself over for the rest of the night
💎 Considering his crazy wealth and the fact he probably grew up pretty sheltered/spoiled, I doubt this boy knows anything about how a kitchen works lol. Like most of his meals were either made for him by Krimp or served at high-end hoity-toity restaurants with caviar that probably cost more than most organs sell on the black market ://
💎 So yeah, dinner is really gonna come down to you and your skill level
💎 If you know you're away around, CONGRATS!! You've just signed yourself up for cooking lessons with Veneer! And yes, the kitchen WILL end up a mess (but no worries, he'll just make Krimp clean it up). You'll definitely have to take the lead here and he's more than happy to let you do so! Just tell him what spices you need or what utensil to grab, and his ass is on it 🫡 If you wanna teach him how to knead dough or peel certain ingredients?? He won't complain (especially if said activity requires you two to be in close proximity hehe)
💎 Do NOT leave him alone in the kitchen for more than 10 seconds. You'll just return to find him trying to cut strawberries with the dull side of a knife u_u
💎 If you're also total shit in the kitchen?? No worries! Veneer may be living that high life but he's not above ordering takeout lol
💎 Remember those chick flicks I mentioned earlier? Yeah, you two are totally running a marathon of those. If you happen to have any good recs or other movies you happen to like?? He's totally willing to give them a try! Just know that if it's a scary movie… he's gonna be wrapped around you like a koala and screaming into your ear at every jumpscare
💎 He may be talentless but this boy can hit a high note if he feels he's in danger
💎 He may be different from his sister in some ways, but one attribute he shares with her is the fact that he's a TOTAL GOSSIP LIKE?? THIS BOY IS MORE THAN PREPARED TO SPILL THE TEA ON ANY GIVEN OCCASION—
💎 "Oh my gosh, did you HEAR about what happened to Nikki Mirage the other day??"
"No? Wait, who's that again?"
"YOU DON'T KNOW WHO--- okay, sit down so I can educate you 😤"
💎 Him and Velvet literally thrive on drama, idk what else to tell you
💎 (he might also spill some tea about his sister... nothing too incriminating, but like, a few embarrassing childhood stories couldn't hurt, right?)
💎 Late night talks are a MUST!! At some point in the night the two of you end up like... nestled under the covers of whatever fort you guys threw together... you're facing each other, heads centimeters apart as you share a pillow... whispering and giggling for no real reason...
💎 Maybe he vents a little about his insecurities and the way Velvet treats him, less like a brother and more like a shadow she can manipulate as she pleases... and maybe you grab his hand under the blanket... yknow, just to comfort him or whatever...
💎 Veneer only ever gets physical affection when he visits his parents, and even then it's just like? The bare minimum?? Pats on the head/shoulder/back, brief hugs, chaste kisses on his cheek— that kinda crap. And it's so tragic cuz this boy is literally the biggest little spoon to ever spoon. Like actually pls just hold him
💎 If he wakes up the next morning to find you laying behind him? Arms wound around his middle?? You face burried against his neck/shoulder blades/top of his head????
💎 He is not moving from that spot even after you wake up too <33
Cannibal, I absolutely ADORE YOU FOR THIS ASK!! LITERALLY SO FUN TO WRITE SAKLJASADKJSD THANK YOU SO MUCH <3333 (was originally gonna split this into two parts but was like, "nah, this ask deserves to be hella long" uwu)
Veneer redemption arc when??
#love that noodle limbed elastic shiny plastic twink <33#can twinks also be himbos? or is having muscle mass a requirement?#guess he's just a dumb twink 😔#*me writing this and realizing that there are a lot of parallels btwn Velvet and John Dory*#mayhaps for another day#the guards at Mount Rageous Correctional Facility don't allow sleepovers unfortunately ;((#Veneer agreed to serve his time...#but at what cost#trolls#trolls band together#trolls x reader#x reader#trolls veneer#velvet and veneer#ask
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Barb and Crimp are not Redeemed characters and its odd how their films gave them happy endings.
lets start with Barb for one she led armies attacking other Tribes destroying cities and imprisoning countless people all so she could get the strings.
and wipe out all other cultures deciding only her own should Remain and anyone who didn't conform to that culture would be turned into a brainwashed zombie.
some people try and argue she has good intentions but frankly her intentions aren't all that good compared to everything she did and this wasn't even a problem in the first place its not like all the Tribes were at war or anything.
they were fine living separately so combining the Tribes is a nice idea but going to these extremes is not excusable in any sense given there was no legit reason for her to take such extreme action.
and in the end she gets beaten she doesn't have a last minute change of heart and decide to do the Right thing
( tho to be clear this wouldn't mean it would suddenly be okay for her to face no consequences one posotive I'll say about Veneer's arc in TBT is that he was still held accountable in the end despite having a last minute change of heart because Redemption doesn't mean someone gets let off scott free if anything it means the opposite )
and after her defeat Barb is instantly forgiven for no legit reason like I know story wise you could argue its because she's queen and they don't want more conflict with the Rock Tribe.
but from a basic story point of view its wrong especially for a kids film Barb isn't only let off scott free but Poppy light heartedly befriends her.
and makes it clear there's no ill will so yeah showing a film where a villain who causes this level of destruction simply because they believe they are right is let off scott free is not very satisfying story telling imo.
and its bad in a kids film Teaching lack of consequences and accountability for your actions no matter how bad.
like don't get me wrong I like Barb personality wise and that's deffo why a good chunk of the fandom don't have a problem with her being let off the Hook.
but obviously villains being likable doesn't mean they shouldn't face consequences loads of people love Velvet but most of her fans can accept that she deserved to go to prison at the end for kidnapping and torturing someone.
and then there's Crimp she's less of a bad example but still an example she went along with kidnapping and torturing someone simply because she didn't want to lose her Job.
she came and went as she pleased only being held against her will right at the end and just because her bosses were mean to her doesn't mean she isn't still a villain.
the movie acts like this makes her a victim and someone who shouldn't be blamed for V and Vs crimes when frankly yes she should she was complicit.
she turned a blind eye to someone's suffering because she didn't wanna lose her pay check she's just a cowardly Henchmen not an out and out victim.
and she should have still been held accountable in the end for being an accomplice.
and I'm sorry but to circle back to my guy Creek the morality of the movies is all over the place in this regards.
the fact that the movies consider characters who actively chose to do evil things of their own free will as still redeemable and deserving of happy endings.
even with no actual work put in to better themselves yet Creek the literal Hostage tortured and threatened into doing a bad thing was lumped in with the actual big bad villain in the end.
and was seen as deserving of a gruesome comeuppance is frankly a Horrifying sense of morality and justice in my opinion.
yes he came back in the tv show but I'm only talking about the movie cannon.
and this way of thinking in Regards to what villains do and don't deserve to be Redeemed is Honesty arsed backwards.
characters who do evil things because they decided that they should get to make choices that effect and change other Tribes filled with large populations of people simply because they think their culture is better than other people's.
and characters who do evil things simply because they don't want to lose a Job no matter how much they may need it are infinitely worse.
than a character who simply gave in to the very human fear of not wanting to die horrifically and who was basically forced into the role of villain due to having literally no other option other than lie down and die.
I love Trolls but man these movies have a terrible sense of morality and they do not do Redemption Arcs well. 😅😅😅😅
#trolls#dreamworks trolls#trolls band together#trolls dreamworks#trolls 3#trolls world tour#trolls barb#trolls crimp#trolls creek#trolls creek defence#trolls 2
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