Many, Many Individual Reports Are Coming In Of How Violent This Night Has Been.

PLEASE JUST PLEASE 🙏 ANGTS

? Invisible .✾. Kazuha

"You don't even know it, I can't ever win"

SYNOPSIS:

You are someone who loves art. You draw with emotion and freedom. But despite your artistic self, you are someone with no luck of gaining even a grain of attention or popularity. Most times people forget you exist, and the only people who know your existence are your friends and family.

While you were rushing through the hallways to get to your class, you bump into a popular boy named Kaedehara Kazuha. The most kindest, outgoing, and refreshing boy ever known in the school. And thats the first moment your heart beat fast for a boy.

Sadly for you, there was no way for Kazuha to notice you. And in the end, you might aswell live the remaining years of your highschool with a love thats one-sided.

INSPIRED BY ➫ KiMi Ni TODOKE ➫ From me to you

FOLLOW MY MAIN ➫ @lostzeron

Painter!reader ↣ Fem!reader

Status? IDK IF ILL START TO DISCARD 💀

Update schedule? None

SMAU ───── HIGHSCHOOL AU

SLOWBURN STORY.

HEADS UP! Angst, fluff, comdey and fill-in characters (OC's) included

For? @mokiverse

M A S T E R L I S T

─────

Introducing... Who? ↣ The art kids + Venti ↣Mr/Ms Popular's

─────

00. Prolouge

01. Even the teachers forgot me 💀

02. The feeling of being bullied

03. Venti pulling up

04. Late for art club?!

05. Oh shoot!

06. Kaedehara Kazuha

07. Nothing happend. Yeah.

08. Another meeting

09. Heart goes boom boom

10. Literally save me

11. Can't help it

12. Denial

13. Acceptance

14. Hitting reality check

ACT 2

15. When Scaramouche cleans (KAZUHA POV)

16. DID YOU STEP ON MY CANVAS?! (Filler)

17. That sweet smile

18. Wait, he remembers me?

19. Denial strucks again

20. Can't help falling inlove

21. Let's yoga our worries away - Venti

22. He won't notice you

23. Im trying, Im trying

24. Another girl

25. Let's just give up.

26. Xiao's genius plan

27. Venti pulls up again (with a rocket booster)

28. The exchange of numbers

29. HE WANTS TO HANGOUT?!

30. A date (clickbait)

31. When he walked you home

32. Don't get your hopes up

ACT 3

33. Actually lets get our hopes up

34. Wrong idea💀

35. Heart=broken

36. Xiaos genius plans strikes

37. The OG ways of cupid

38. When he wipes your tears away

39. Me, You, and painting

40. The other woman?

41. Bullied.

42. Nurse Kazuha

43. Tension (Scaramouche ruins it)

44. Another hangout

45. "I've always noticed you"

46. Wait. Are we gonna kiss?

47. Oh

48. Just friends

49. Venti rages

50. Should've stayed on the low.

─────

➫ Camera's off!

══════════════════════

A NEW ENDING ?

══════════════════════

FOR THE LOVE OF A DAUGHTER

summary: the price she pays for being the adoptive daughter of the outstanding dr. ratio wherein love and support are out of the question.

pairing: dr. ratio. . . hsr (the reader is included)

was it requested? nope

genre: angst, adoptive father x adoptive child trope, lack of love from a parent, burdened by academic pressure, visible favoritism, ooc dr ratio?

note: this bond is strictly platonic in the story and also the reader here is around her teenage years, let's say 16. this is purely based on fiction, nothing in this fic is really based on the character behind the story. i might also plan to make it a small series as a continuation of this story. wahahaha, this is the first time I'm writing a story after a year so it's to be expected that the quality is not the same as before and some parts might not make some sense.

In Dr. Ratio's assigned classes, only one qualified student has caught his interest among the other idiotic students he has to deal with daily. Witnessing another genius who stands on the same level as him is a rare opportunity for him to finally engage with someone who understands his complex theories and ideas.

This student's intelligence and passion for the subject matter reignite Dr. Ratio's own enthusiasm for teaching and push him to delve even deeper into the material during their discussions.

The subject itself is significant enough to warrant attention. Many students were initially intimidated by Dr. Ratio's high expectations as they strived to work harder in order to pass his challenging classes. However, envy brewed within some students as they witnessed the special connection he formed with this particular student, leading them to see them as a threat to their own academic success.

It is uncommon to hear Dr. Ratio lavish this student with such praise, but it is an absolute privilege to behold. The student is very lucky to have Dr. Ratio's mentorship and support, as it is clear that he sees great potential in them.

Unfortunately, it is not the student whom Dr. Ratio has adopted and formed a private father-daughter relationship with. The student who always received average grades and rarely stood out in the class is not favored by her adoptive father due to her lack of academic achievement.

Her name is [Y/N] [L/N], and though she is legally adopted, her adoptive father preferred not to share his surname with her, as he only wanted to be associated with excellence.

A found family? No, this was a mistake. [Y/N]'s relationship with Dr. Ratio is more transactional than familial, based on abiding by unrealistic expectations rather than genuine care and connection.

Burdening such weight upon her shoulders has led [Y/N] to constantly strive for perfection to gain her adoptive father's approval, creating a sense of pressure and inadequacy in her academic pursuits.

There were many uncomfortable moments where she tried to persuade Dr. Ratio to see her as more than just a student, but these attempts were often met with dismissal and disinterest.

One day, when she received an almost perfect score on a test she had worked hard to achieve, especially when the subject was not her strong suit, she finally felt a glimmer of hope that maybe she could prove herself worthy in Dr. Ratio's eyes.

At their shared home, she eagerly showed him the test, hoping for praise and validation. "Father, look! I did really well on my test!" she exclaimed, holding her breath in anticipation of his reaction.

Veritas Ratio merely looked at the test paper and scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Why are you so proud of this mediocre performance? You still have a long way to go before I will be impressed," he remarked coldly, crushing her hopes with his harsh words. She felt a sinking feeling in her chest, realizing that no matter how hard she tried, it may never be enough for her father's approval.

"Why can't you be like one of the top students? They always excel in everything they do," he added, his disappointment palpable in his tone.

He shook his head and walked past his daughter without a second glance, leaving her feeling dejected and unappreciated. The girl clenched her fists in frustration, attempting to battle off the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

Upon her firm grip, the paper in her hands crumpled, almost accidentally creating a small hole where her father's words had pierced through her confidence.

This is not fair to her.

Aren't fathers supposed to be proud of their children's efforts and support them unconditionally? Then again, this is Dr. Ratio she is referring to; it's nearly impossible to earn his approval if she's within average.

She closed her eyes, exhaling deeply as her shoulders nearly fell in defeat. In Dr. Ratio's eyes, becoming the ideal student is the only way to repay him for all of his sacrifices to ensure her a comfortable life.

Her having a place to call home and food on the table every day is a great privilege that she was granted because of him. He gave her a second chance to excel in life to secure a future for her to proudly walk on. However, as a teenager in need of unwavering love and support from a figurehead, she wanted her father to be proud of her, or maybe love her the way she is.

Tears were already forming in her eyes when she opened them. She quickly entered her bedroom while trying to stop the tears from falling, but her quivering lips betrayed her attempt at composure.

The cries only increased when she entered her room, following her door lock immediately. She sat on her bed and grabbed the nearest pillow she could find, burying her face in it to muffle the sobs that wracked her body. "What should I do?" Her voice was shaking as she whispered to herself, feeling overwhelmed by the weight of her emotions.

One thing that differentiates her from her adoptive father is how she easily adapts to her own emotions. To her perspective, it's considered her strength, but to him, it's considered a weakness.

Another thing that the both of them can't relate to one another besides excellence and personal preferences.

[Y/N] removed the pillow from her face, revealing a visible damp trail of tears on the fabric. Her cheeks hurting from the force of her sobs, she took a deep breath and tried to steady herself.

She was beginning to zone out, her mind wandering to a place of solitude where she could process her emotions without judgment.

"I just want him to be proud of me," she whispered, her gaze undeniably sorrowful as she wiped off the last remnants of tears from her cheeks.

Many days had passed since the embarrassing event, and recalling the painful memory still brought a pang to her heart, but she cringed at the way she presented herself at that time.

She scoffed at herself. "I can't believe I let myself act like that," she muttered, feeling embarrassed and frustrated. "Father wouldn't even approve of my behavior if he saw me like that."

Once more, Dr. Ratio argued that expressing emotion was a sign of weakness, yet she couldn't help but feel exposed in that situation. This is yet another concern besides academic performance: struggling to maintain composure and control over her emotions in front of others.

She could not take the chance of listening to his tirades about self-control. Not when it means that she is being called "emotionally immature" for displaying even the smallest trace of vulnerability and that she is being compared to other students who managed their emotions better than she did.

In her father's sharp words, "Crying is meaningless and only shows that you are unable to handle your own emotions like a mature adult. Take an example from one of your classmates, who always remains composed and never lets their emotions get the best of them. Understand?"

It didn't take a guess who he was referring to; it was always the same student, the one who seemed to have it all together. A card that her father always uses whenever he wants to highlight her shortcomings and push her to be more like the "perfect" student.

She had no choice if she wished to gain his approval; she made a conscious effort to suppress her emotions and put on a facade of strength both in public and to her father, even when she felt overwhelmed inside.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a mild throbbing in her forehead. Gosh, even her physical pain is such a hassle. She massaged her temples, trying to alleviate the discomfort.

Dr. Ratio, however, was occupied conversing with his favorite student. It was the longest record to see him fully engage with someone other than himself.

They both exchanged their own theories or perspectives on the topic at hand, with Dr. Ratio showing genuine interest in his students's ideas and later giving praise for their insightful analysis.

It's a common occurrence between the two of them. After class, Dr. Ratio would sometimes invite the student to one of his discussions in his office, away from the idiotic students who always spoil the intellectual atmosphere.

No one could understand their conversations as much as they do, as they delved into complex topics with ease and understanding that surpassed the comprehension of others.

It irritates the gambler to no end.

Aventurine regarded the exchange with a hawk's eye. He is aware that the doctor has an adoptive daughter from behind the scenes, as he is trusted to keep it a secret from the public.

He isn't stupid enough, though, to ignore the neglect the doctor shows toward her. The doctor's indifference towards his adoptive daughter is evident in the way he rarely mentions her or includes her in any activities, causing Aventurine to question the doctor's responsibility as a legal guardian.

He planned to rile him up with the issue at hand privately today, but with the favored student present, he needed to get them out of the way first.

Before making another flamboyant approach to the doctor, the man quickly fixed his appearance. He opened the door widely and greeted the two individuals with a boyish grin, his arm resting on his waist in a casual yet confident manner.

"Well, well, well, what a pleasant surprise to see both of you here. I was just about to discuss something important with the doctor if you don't mind stepping out for a moment." Despite his friendly smile, he spoke with his eyes narrowed toward the favored student.

With an awkward glance at the doctor, the student got up from the chair and excused themselves from the room while Aventurine kept staring at them with a sharp gaze.

With an irritated groan, Dr. Ratio returned his attention to the remaining visitor. He asked sharply, cocking his head suspiciously, "What brings you here, gambler?"

Aventurine chuckled and replied, "What? You should be used to my presence by now, Doctor. I always seem to find my way into interesting situations." He dragged a chair closer and leaned in, observing him with a dead stare.

"Such as?" Dr. Ratio questioned, crossing his leg and tapping his fingers on the armrest. He can already smell trouble from a mile away, and Adventurine was always at the center of it.

Aventurine smirked. "To see you constantly hanging out with the top student instead of your daughter is a bit odd, don't you think?" He straightened his posture and slowly walked towards the doctor, his intimidating purple eyes never leaving his. "Don't tell me that you're forgetting your responsibility as a parent, doctor," he added with a sly grin, his face slowly inching closer to Dr. Ratio's.

Dr. Ratio's expression remained unreadable, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes as Aventurine's words hung in the air. He is aware that Aventurine is jabbing him where his conscience lies, questioning his priorities and loyalty to his own child.

"Foolish question," Dr. Ratio finally replied, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of defensiveness. "I assure you, Mr. Aventurine, I take my responsibilities very seriously." Aventurine scoffed, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh, I'm sure you do, Doctor. But actions speak louder than words," he retorted smoothly. "Your child may need more than just assurances."

Dr. Ratio's jaw clenched, a flash of irritation crossing his features before he regained his composure. "You may think you know best, gambler, but meddling in my personal affairs is not your place," he shot back, his tone cool and controlled.

However, Aventurine could see the doubt lingering in Dr. Ratio's gaze, a crack in the facade that only he seemed to notice.

"Suit yourself," Aventurine chuckled, a knowing glint in his eye. "But remember, sometimes a little help is all it takes to make things right."

Dr. Ratio's expression hardened as he glared at him, his resolve unwavering despite Aventurine's words. "What are you trying to propose, gambler?"

Aventurine simply shrugged, his smile never faltering. "Just offering a friendly suggestion; leave the kid to me," he replied casually before turning to leave, leaving Dr. Ratio to ponder his words in silence.

Leave [Y/N] to Aventurine?

He clicked his tongue in disapproval, knowing that trusting the gambler was a risky move. He couldn't ever pass his child to his companion when he knew Adventurine's background was filled with deception and unpredictability. What does he know about parenting anyway?

It's funny that as soon as he thought those words, they stuck with him as well.

What does Dr. Ratio know about parenting? He knows that a parent must always let their children get involved in their academic pursuits if they wish to secure a future or be worthless. He knows that, as a parent, emotions are useless, a distraction from the ultimate goal of one's dream, and an inconvenience to be avoided at all costs.

Dr. Ratio knows what he's doing when it comes to raising successful children, even if his methods may seem harsh to some. He doesn't need someone like Aventurine to remind him about something he doesn't know.

"Insolent fool," Dr. Ratio mumbled, rolling his eyes at the thought of Aventurine questioning his parenting skills. He is confident in his approach and believes in the importance of discipline and focus for achieving success.

It will continue to be that way.

Who needs people as followers? STAND ARANARAS !!!

Genshin sagau except god reader is more open about their feelings to aranaras

random thought I had since sometimes I talk to my dolls about how I feel tbh

Imagine we're just venting about our problems 💀 ESPECIALLY IN THE IMPOSTOR AU

“ I don't know, I just feel like it's too much.. ” “ Aren't Naras supposed to know Creator is Nara [Name]? ”

Or you crying your ass out and they just look at you like this

They'd probably tell stories about Festival Utsava or the impact you did when you descended to Teyvat in hopes they can comfort you

Or them making a soft fluffy big flower so you can relaxingly sleep on it

or maybe them singing to you or giving you their cookings

or when you're just talking about someone lovingly they just

“ Give flowers to Nara [favorite character]! ” “ And delicious cookings too! ” “ Ararycan will accompany Creator so no feeling nervous anymore! ”

Aranara best hype man 💪😈

PROMISCUOUS BOY

prompt: your next-door neighbour keeps bringing hookups one night after other disturbing your precious sleep. exhausted, you decide to write a letter venting all your frustrations — not expecting that in the middle of all this it would reach it recipient.

pairing: blade, jing yuan x fem! reader

cw: scenario format, modern au, slightly ooc to fit the plot, suggestive themes, mentions of sex, flirt, not beta-read

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

Dear apt 502’ neighbour, I understand that starting a letter with "dear" may sound a bit old-fashioned and ridiculous when I don't even know you, but I hope you take in consideration my romantic spirit as a passionate literature student and will overlook this fact. That said, the reason why we’ve never met is mainly based on the times when I leave and get home. You see, I'm in my last year of a master's degree and the university has been charging all my time and dedication, so I barely have time to take care of myself other than to fall into bed and sleep. But lately, in the late hours of the night, I’ve had my rest interrupted at the only moment when my mind should find peace. And I swear, I've tried to use all possible methods to prevent the noise from affecting me but it has been increasingly difficult. Far be it for me to look for trouble because of someone else sex' life, no. I'd rather say good for you instead. But would it be nice of you to fuck your bitches without breaking my wall in the process? I can deal with their horrible moans, but definitely not with my damaged apartment. Be that as it may, I wish you the best intentions. Your apt 503’ neighbour

Blade

Oh, how you hated your neighbour. You hated him so much.

There were few people who achieved such a feat since you were the most patient and easygoing person to ever exist. Not even your Languages ​​and Cultures II’ partner who was extremely irresponsible or your idiot ex-boyfriend who still didn't seem to understand the meaning of the word break-up were able to get out of you a feeling as negative as hate. But, well, for everything in this life there was a first time, and your not-so-dear-neighbour was getting the upper hand.

When you wrote the letter on one of the dozens of nights in which his nocturnal activities seemed to be more important than other people's rest, you didn't expect a few days later for it to disappear from your desk where it belonged, much less for your friendly doorman to confirm your worst nightmare: all the mail for the week had already been sent.

What was supposed to be a joke turned into more days and nights of stress and you even considered writing him a second letter explaining that it was all just a misunderstanding and that the cracks in your wall weren't that important after all. However, when a week passed and your next-door neighbour's sexual activities began to last until the next morning, you understood that he was deliberately mocking you and, consequently, declaring war.

Now take a good look. You were a person known for your poise and calmness in overcoming challenges despite so much pressure, so it was expected that it’d be no different this time. Except it was. Because not even the calm and composure that the gods gave you could help you ignore the terrible moans in the next room, and the investment you put into that apartment was too high to let it go unnoticed.

And so, at 7:05 am on a Sunday morning, you found yourself in front of apartment 502' door knocking continuously on it as you waited not so patiently the willingness of your neighbour to finish his fuck and attend you. How a person managed to have so much sex drive was beyond your understanding, but perhaps this was due to the fact that your neighbour was an old and lonely man who must have found pleasure in the company of women only at night. Yes, that was a plausible reason.

In the end, you spent at least five minutes abusing the door’s wood without stopping. And just as you prepared to knock once more, it suddenly opened and the man who had tormented you all your nights had finally revealed himself.

Your impressions: Well, old he certainly was. Lonely? Hard to say. Now, unfairly hot and attractive? Unexpectedly yes.

When you came to your senses, you and the half-naked man spent a long time staring at each other in silence, absorbing each other's characteristics. You were clearly affected by his beauty and he was clearly irritated by your presence.

"Are you going to stare at me all the way, or are you going to say what you want?"

You blinked once, twice, three times until his words hit you, making you visibly red with embarrassment. How rude!

"First, good morning to you too," you said venomously, "Second, didn’t you read the letter, no? What part of not breaking the wall didn’t you get?"

The man seemed to take your words into consideration for a few seconds before a sneer appeared on his lips and his eyes narrowed in amusement. He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms over his bare, scarred chest, making him more attractive than he already was.

"I don't see how this is up to you alone. After all, the wall is as much yours as it’s mine," he says and you open your mouth in shock.

"Excuse me? How can I not when it’s my side that is being damaged the most!"

"Then you better start looking for a bricklayer."

Gods, this man was impossible! You already knew that you hated him for a very insignificant reason, but now you were sure that he was more detestable than he let on. And the fact that he counts your arguments with that purposeful blank expression infuriated you even more.

"Unbelievable. Not only can't I keep my apartment intact, but I also have to spend sleepless nights because of the noise too."

"If the noise bothers you so much you can always come and join in," your neighbour offers with a small smirk, but the devilish glow that radiated from his crimson iris didn’t hide the true meaning behind his words.

Too embarrassed and disconcerted to continue the argument with the man, you angrily return to your house, slamming the door aggressively and containing the scream of frustration that bubbled in your chest.

Yingxing in turn couldn't help but think that you had a nice ass, and that annoy you was even better than he thought.

Jing Yuan

Two whole days looking for the letter all over your apartment took you to the most advanced stage of despair. Even though you had already ransacked your living room from floor to ceiling more times you could remember, messing up your kitchen and bedroom in the process, you still hadn't found a single trace of the piece of paper. And even though a part of you already knew that there was a high chance that the letter had been mixed in with the other correspondences and had been forwarded to its intended recipient, you'd rather have a hole in the ground swallow you than consider the only plausible option.

Even so, now here you found yourself: in front of the apartment 502’ door with a courage and pride that wasn't yours, sweat running down your spine and the dread of finally coming face to face with the man who not only ruined your last nights sleep, but who could very well ruin your social life too. God, just thinking that he could be a troublemaker and report you to the police, tarnishing your criminal record and your reputation as a good neighbor made you sick to your stomach.

But there was no other alternative. You had to make sure he hadn't opened the letter, or, in the worst case, consider not bringing this humiliation to the public.

So, minutes after knocking on the door, you were finally greeted by the resident of apartment 502 who, for much your surprise (or much delight) was wearing nothing but a bath towel with the steam's traces still emanating from his pale, wet skin. It suddenly became very clear to you why all those dozens of women made sure to scream “Oh, Jing Yuan!” every time they reached an orgasm.

"May I help you?"

Yeah. Fucking kill me, you wanted to answer.

The words you had practiced so much seemed to have escaped your brain and a familiar heat burned your cheeks. The embarrassment was huge, but you had already come this far and there was no going back. You only wished your neighbour wasn't this attractive, though.

"Hi. Good evening, sir. I’m your nextdoor neighbour and I wanted to know if by any chance you received a letter signed in my name", you stuttered so fast that you feared you’d have to repeat the sentence all over again since Jing Yuan didn’t seem to express any reaction for a few seconds. 

As the realization hit him, though, a faint gleam of amusement crossed his golden irises and mortification hit you like a bolt of lightning.

Oh shit. He had read the letter.

"Just a moment, my lady", Jing Yuan said with a playful smile on his lips and entered his apartment for a few seconds, returning shortly afterwards with the well-known envelope in hand.

He held out the letter and you trembled as you finally picked it.

"I can tell that this was not a letter intended to be sent, right?"

"No, it wasn't. And I'm so sorry for causing you so much trouble! God, what a humiliation! Now would be a great time to die", you pleaded into the void and your handsome neighbour laughed in response.

"It’s alright. You know, it's the first time I've received a letter from such a beautiful lady, although the content was definitely not what I expected", he said contemplatively crossing his huge arms on his huge chest. You looked away feeling more embarrassed, "Nevertheless, I also apologize for my lack of attention. I’ll be more considerate from now on."

If only it could get any worse. Here he was apologizing for having a healthy sex life when you should probably be doing the same. Having sex not apologizing, of course. 

Fearing that if you said anything else your words would come out more clumsy than the erratic beating of your heart, you forced a smile to your neighbour who was now looking at you intensely in slight amusement. And realizing that if you stared back at the man for too long your role as a fool would only get worse, you came up with a quick excuse to escape from there and back to your apartment. Maybe your next letter would be a goodbye to the world because you refuse to leave your home from now on.

"Thank you for your attention and again I apologize for the confusion, Mr. Jing Yuan. It was great meeting you, really, but I need to go so have a good night and don’t mind me anymore," you bow quickly and respectfully as your face burned in red, and stumble on wobbly legs back to your door.

However, before you could enter your house due to fumbling with the wrong keys for the lock, Jing Yuan let out a light laugh and replied: “It was my pleasure to meet you, Miss Neighbour. Although, I must say that I would like to keep hearing more from you from now. This time, in person, of course."

Needless to say you entered your apartment at lightning speed vowing never to exit it again, leaving behind a very good-humored Jing Yuan.

How delightful to know that you already knew his name before he even needed to introduce himself, huh.

What’s the point in writing when no one interacts?

I see people write something, long or short, and they instantly get a ton of likes for it.

Then there’s me, who sits up on my computer late at night trying my best to make something at least some people will like and show the love for it. But they either read and move on or just don’t interact with the post whatsoever.

The Neuvillette fic part 1 i posted, i worked really hard on it, even if it may not seem it, i thought that it would do well considering how loved he is in game right now

Am i bad at writing? Or am i shadowbanned?

Or are people just not interested?

I don’t know.

Thank you to those who do interact and try to signal boost, im forever greatful

tiny robin & sunday

sunday with a singer! darling, one who had escaped from him almost seven years ago, and disappeared off the face of the galaxy. imagine his reaction when he gets word of a famous belobogian band on the radio soon after it’s connections to the IPC were restored, comprised of a woman named serval landau, and a *very* familiar young woman, with an even more familiar voice.

- (…could i be ✨ anon?)

Curtain Call

Yandere!Sunday x Reader

cw(s) : yandere, written before 2.2

wc : 2.6k

You have the power of democracy by your side ✨ anon and I have no choice but to adhere to public demand :] Even though you mentioned a female!reader, the direction of the narrative didn't necessitate that specification, so the reader is gender-neutral! But they have been called ‘babygirl’ once.

“How can the bird that is born for joy

Sit in a cage and sing?”

— William Blake

You've avoided all shades of white and blue since the dawn of this day.

Serval regarded your pertinacity with a voiceless breadth of intrigue, before yielding with little to no resistance. A smidgen of guilt had briefly permeated your consciousness upon the vague shadow of a pout on her face, you recalled her enthusiasm passed through plans of matching outfits on your debutante from days now labeled as the near past. She picked herself up quickly though, her free-spirited ideals would not be compromised by some mere color choice.

It was difficult to not admire her. Lamentably, it is much easier to cradle the preachings of an unrestrained life than to actually act upon them — and by doing so, shouldering the frigid reality that came with such a life. As a child of frozen terrains although, frigidity must be Serval's playground, you eventually conclude. That is hardly the case for you, but you'd rather swallow whole chunks of ice than pin the blame on yourself alone for that apparent incapability.

You aren't at fault for your paranoia in embracing freedom, but you are resolved enough to try breaking away from its clutches. But just as tattoos sink deep beneath skin, that anxiety stubbornly clings to your psyche and the memories of the past nurture and allow it to fester. Which is why, you must avoid any shades of white and blue, at least until the dawn of tomorrow graces Belobog. Be it a superstition with no rational ground or scientific explanation, you decide to believe firmly in your gut.

The walls of the makeshift back-room muffle the chorus of the crowd outside, but it is enough to comfort you that your long held wish did come true. The single light bulb hanging beyond the door of the room serves as the sole source of luminescence, although it is barely helpful, the light bounces off from your back and reflects a scarcely tangible silhouette in the mirror of the dressing table. Glitters of dust floating around are illuminated by that light, abandoned furniture peek beneath their veils from your peripheral — they exclaim what this room's previous purpose had been.

Neither the modest setting nor the small trinkets spread across the dressing table come close to what you had a taste of ; glimmering surfaces, brands of beauty products worth a man's life savings and silks of no contender would mock this shack, if they could. But your heart soaks in solace whenever that irritatingly bright light flickers and mellowed cheers of the crowd permeate the room's thin walls, not because you lack taste in life, but because you recognize the futility of vanity.

“You did amazing there, babygirl!”

Your vision stutters at the impact of firm touch, you feel arms rest atop your decolletage, a shadow cloaks your reflection in the mirror. The cool touch of metal upon your left shoulder and a distinct streak of blue masquerading among blond locks of hair draw out a breath of relief from your lungs. But a faint twist engulfs your gut the very next second, you recall asking for a moment of quietude vividly.

“I don't think my performance was as great as you say, Serval. And whatever I achieved, it wouldn't have been possible without you guys.” your fingers twiddle with your sleeves, your eyes find interest in an abandoned nail polish.

You peek up in time to meet the rockstar's stare through the mirror, with some wrestling with the light, her disapproval shines through to your eyes.

“Nonsense, you were the star of today's show. Give yourself some credit, would ya?” your cheek soaks in the pinch before your brain can decode her words, you muffle a whine in protest.

“Okay, okay! I'm sorry.” your hand quickly soothes over the tempered skin when her fingers retreat, that's the extent of ‘retaliation’ you offer Serval, having accustomed yourself to her spontaneity in the interim of your stay under her care.

“I saw you look... pretty unnerved after the performance, so I came to check.” you scratch your cheek, eyes darting upwards to find her face shielded by your hair. You cannot pinpoint why, but for a second it seemed like she struggled to find footing with her phrasing of words. You've never heard her falter, at least in speech, but the waves of conversation swallow that momentary observation just as quickly.

Instead of being candid, you take a different turn, “You know, I wasn't lying about being grateful to you all. To perform on a stage without any rules was a long held dream of mine,” you feel gooseflesh bloom across your arms as tip-toeing touch descends to your sides, something within tempts you to curl in on yourself but you force your breath to finish. “If it hadn't been for your help, I would never succeed in fulfilling it.”

Serval hums in understanding, the timbres of it traverses from your skull and extends to your nerves. Her arms rest snuggly around your waist and you swallow dryly. Serval always wrapped her arms around your shoulders whenever she felt the need to and the fact that it made your head nearly spiral with questions didn't require to be stated. Only now do you reckon the slumbering atmosphere, without the jeer and cheer of the audience, you felt Belobog's cold biting into the tips of your fingers. You told everyone to not disturb you — your mind echoes without clarification.

“Is it because of that husband of yours?”

Your shoulders tense and for a litany of reasons, most obscure enough to be dismissed as misnomers produced by your instincts, none but one potent enough to be addressed. “Well yes… I told you about a man, but I don't remember specifying that it was a ‘husband’ responsible for my situation.”

Your words materialize as half confused and half laden with caution, you'd told Serval a few things about your predicament — nothing groundbreakingly detailed, just enough to earn a portion of her empathy. It kills you to follow tactics that enticed you to your doom, but what is life, if not a series of trial and error? It's best to apply the teachings of a manipulator than to continue being manipulated for eternity. But of course, you'll admit, such carefully taken steps still don't lessen the likelihood of meeting a dead-end to zero. How unfortunate.

It's Serval's turn to tense, but it's so quick you're left questioning whether it really happened. “Ah, but there was a ring on your right ring finger when you first came here! And the ‘man’ in your stories didn't seem to be different persons. So, I took a guess…”

An awkward chuckle leaves the rockstar's lips and you blink. She's right, you were still wearing your wedding ring when you came here ; an amateur mistake, you should've left it at some abstruse corner of the Dewlight Pavilion. You glance up at your reflections on the mirror, Serval was now mimicking your previous antics, a painted nail against her cheek albeit, the opposing light veiled her expression from recognition. One of her arms was still around your waist, loosely this time.

“I didn't say anything offending, did I?” the mechanic mutters tentatively. You take a deep breath and exhale, vacillating between the multitude of scenarios conjured by your lingering paranoia. But if it's Serval, you give it more thought, there was no tangible reason as to why she of all people would bring this up with malicious intent — or at least, none that you could come up with. She was likely merely concerned for your well-being, a big sister's instincts perhaps.

“Not at all,” the three words are uttered with more difficulty than needed but the effort is proved worth it when she relaxes and returns to embrace you with gusto.

This time you can feel her touch vividly across the bare skin of your midriff, a reminder of your present dress up automatically causes blood to rush to your face. The matching crop-top with Serval was hardly the most revealing thing someone had worn in this universe, but it was the boldest you'd been with your attire. You think you saw her gaze tilting at the sight but the only way to affirm it would make things further awkward. As you melt upon recalling that you'd sung your lungs out with this on in front of a crowd, the rockstar chimes in again.

“Ah right, I almost forgot why I actually came here. I have a gift for you!” you blink out of your stupor to hear shuffles, a bottle of hairspray is knocked to the ground due to her movements. The object clamors down and rolls a few feet away but Serval pays it no attention, you quirk a brow at her sudden briskness. “Close your eyes.” she lulls sweetly, you obey despite your state of disorientation.

You feel the faint brushes of her fingers first, then a noticeable weight around your neck, fastened a little too tightly. After she beckons you to open your eyes, you scrutinize the object through your reflection on the mirror and recognize it to be… a choker. It's heavier than what you recall chokers to be, its body is painted in baby blue and when you turn your head the light bounces off its surface to reveal golden outlinings. Three small wings curl around the white tassel hanging from the middle, you find the wings to be unnervingly soft when your fingers brush across them.

The choker looked expensive, despite its somewhat gaudy appearance and it didn't seem like something aligning with Serval's tastes. But most importantly, there's blue and white in it — the two colors you'd been stubbornly avoiding. Your mind spirals, you clearly remember telling Serval that you didn't want to see those two colors today — or, did you? Perhaps it was your mind weaving its own narratives in the flurry of adrenaline? A chill rears its grotesque head, a panic you can't quite push down despite your mind adapting to give her the benefit of the doubt, your breaths lapse unevenly.

“For being such a darling member of Mechanical Fever, a token of our friendship. I didn't know how else to thank you, so I got this instead.” Serval's voice yanks you from the edge of a panic attack, you force yourself to breathe deeply. You turn around when you notice the absence of her shadow, finding her retreating into the shadow of the half ajar door.

You remain seated on the juncture between light and shadow, returning to face the mirror after the rockstar settles on a stool. “I should be the one saying that and… you didn't have to give me this, but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless.” your thumb and index fingers twiddle with the pure white tassel.

Her words seem to make you forget about your earlier paranoia, nostalgia cascades down your soul as you recall the fond memories inherent to Belobog. Destiny's game is truly difficult to comprehend, to think you'd find an actual home so far from your supposed one.

You add without waiting for her reply, “When I first came here, I was so scared and paranoid. I couldn't sleep the first night and I wanted nothing more than to flee the next morning. I really mean it when I say I couldn't make it without your and the others' help.”

Your palm cradles the beat of your existence, the thin fabric of the crop top does little to muffle your heart's clamorous prance.

“Thank you, thank you so much for everything.” your pour as much gratitude from the river coursing through the recesses of your soul in those words. Your chest constricts as you sigh, you remember all the faces that are now known as familiar and random instances buried deep in your memories. Perhaps it's the naturally cold weather of this planet that plays a part, but you furrow your brows as inexplicable sorrow engulfs your heart.

“I, too, hope that you've had a wonderful experience on this planet.”

A much younger you used to judge the victims of stories for choosing to freeze than to flee in the face of candid danger, vowing to not follow in their footsteps should you meet such a predicament one day. Your heart would shatter to incorrigible bits if it hadn't been so viciously twisted, you realize how futile promises are at the thin line separating life and death.

Your body flinches from its hunched position to meet watchful golden eyes, shielded by the door's shadow. You blink a multitude of times, as if that'd make his poised presence disappear, as if that'd affirm that you were simply in the grips of anxiety and Serval would return to reprimand you back to reality.

The warmth drains from your body when he's still there, sitting in front of you with a mocking serenity — you've never hated the vice grip he maintains on his composure more than this moment. Why, how, when and what conjoins his name to frame a myriad of questions, each being answered by none other than you the very next second. Your ears twitch when you catch voices at the end of the hallway, the actual Serval and others must be retreating. You might be a deer inches away from the tiger's jaw, but you'll not go down without a fight, at least.

“If you're planning to scream, I'd advise against that.” Sunday calmly states, your breath catches in your throat. “The choker on your neck has a shock mechanism and it can be activated in various ways. Namely, any time you raise your voice above the coded decibels and the voltage will increase the louder you scream.”

Your hand flies upwards towards the cursed choker and you wrestle a breath in disbelief, you were made a fool of and quite exquisitely. You realize you should've listened to your gut instincts when you still had the choice. Sunday raises a gloved palm when you restlessly tug at the thing, “Don’t bother, it can only be taken off with a password.”

A password only he knows, you conclude. It was not news to you that his sanity is loose from the hinges of his soul, but never would you have expected him to go this far. You glare at your husband, though it looks more like a gazelle's helpless stare as it struggles in the jaws of a predator. The voices from the hallway disappear entirely, you'd told them not to look for you so they'll not return, you feel your eyes moisten as you realize you're stuck alone with Sunday.

“Why—” you choke.

“I understand that you must have a lot of questions,” his words are half resignation and half cheap empathy. “But it is not your turn to speak, for there are more pressing matters at hand.”

Sunday stands up, brows scrunching at the dust floating around the room. “The matter of your possible unfaithfulness is one thing,” his hand grips the handle of the door and you flinch. “But performing in front of so many people without any consideration of how far it'll spread, or choice of attire,” your body erupts in shudders upon feeling his pointed stare, the expanse of your exposure finally registering.

“Truly unbefitting of my spouse.”

But it's not his judging gaze that has your nerves frayed, it's the hints of genuine disappointment that borders on anger leaking through his words that makes you feel parched, makes you want the earth split in half and take you from this situation. Your experience with Sunday has taught you that he has the patience of a saint, but none of those memories reassure you that it's boundless. You realize that you've never actually seen his face contorted in ire, no matter how defiant you'd been. Aeons, you wish it stayed that way forever.

As the shadow of the closing door engulfs your form and leaves the rest to interpretation, the last thing you see are his darkened golden eyes — you're certain that, that was the instance the last spirited part of you died.

rest in peace i guess

You’re a thigh lover?

I think not loving thighs is a felony

give me chaotic dan heng. give me dan heng who would do the most absolutely wild shit if he thinks its justified. give me dan heng who would deck someone on sight for picking on march. give me dan heng who would narrowly avoid an assault charge after hearing a researcher insult the trailblazer’s intelligence. give me dan heng who would offer to cause trouble so bailu can run off and play and have the childhood he never had

pls give me chaotic dan heng