part two for this <3
the coat becomes your favorite piece of clothing in the coming weeks, the shred of normalcy in your life despite not being particularly normal at all. as pathetic as it sounds, it's almost a lifeline of sorts, keeping you warm as your heart turns to stone and ice, deadened and silent. it unnerved your coworkers when they saw you so silent, so you do your best to act like you did before- with long-suffering wit and cheer.
but it's hard to keep a facade up, and whenever you get home it slips and you settle into quiet melancholy, going through your routines mechanically.
it doesn't help that you barely feel the need to interact with people anymore, becoming more of a chore than anything else.
it doesn't help that the Fatui still roaming the streets are all tense and irritable, one even snapping at you for wearing Childe's coat.
it doesn't help that Liyue's going through an icy winter, forcing you to take refuge in the warm fur jacket.
but you don't mind the winter weather- taking walks in the woods and watching raindrops on leaves has become a habit. the coat is, as usual, hanging off your shoulders, the hood over your head as you meander down the sodden dirt path. the drops are freezing cold, almost sleet, but your coat is warm and soft as always.
when the rain picks up, though, the definitely-not-waterproof coat begins to truly soak up water, each raindrop splashing and seeping down to your skin, and you shiver. you're not sure where to go- there isn't good shelter for miles- so you're surprised when you somehow happen upon a small hole-in-the-wall door that looks like it hasn't been used in ages. but old shelter is better than no shelter, and you push the door open, tumbling into a factory of sorts.
the place is huge, an entire production line hidden behind an old, decrepit door, and you walk around in wonder. there's mechanisms and parts strewn everywhere over the floor, covered in dust and grime, and you pass through room after room covered in metal and grates. your amazement quickly comes to an end though, when you wander into an enormous room housing the true production line- Ruin Guards, hanging one by one from the ceiling, all deactivated, but all very much intact.
and new. someone has been here recently, and you feel goosebumps on your skin prickling against your sodden clothes. despite how wet and heavy it is, you refuse to take the coat off, perhaps for your own petty reasons.
a rustle of chains reaches your ears, and you turn and see nobody but a dark room beside you. spurred on by your curiosity, you venture inside, keeping a vice grip on the edge of your sleeve to temper the bubbling fear. the room is small- even tiny- and has a single inhabitant- a otherwordly bestial creature with a pair of red horns and a cape that sparkles like the stars, kept by tight chains attached to the wall.
you're thinking about how peculiarly beautiful the creature is when the thought to run crosses your mind.
but the beast isn't even attacking, it's just *staring* at you, with what looks like a mixture of pain, horror, and desperate relief. it's staring at you and your coat crystal blue eye flicking from your face to the jacket and back, and you defensively wrap the sodden thing tighter around you. the creature drags itself to its feet suddenly, and you take a step back, fear alight in your eyes, and it sees and opens its mouth as if to reassure you and tell you everything's alright, but all that comes out is a rusty-sounding chirp. but it's enough to get you to stop moving away, and the creature makes its way over with a prominent limp. it stumbles, and you instinctively dart out to catch it, falling to your knees under the weight.
the creature simply exhales in relief, wrapping its claw-tipped arms around your tense body and snuggling into your hair, leaving you confused and scared for your life. you attempt to ignore the chains still rattling in the chamber, and you find yourself looking at the creature's broken, injured body and torn cape, and you wince when you realize the cape is actually a set of ripped wings. your hands are poised in the air, but eventually lower into the monster's hair as you allow yourself to relax and lean towards it, rubbing your cheek against the soft lilac fluff, just as warm as your jacket was.
the creature's claws brush over the surface of your coat, tracing the details and stitches as if it finds *familiarity* in them. when you look up, a crimson forehead presses against your own and you find yourself staring into the beast's singular eye as it lets out a single, quiet purr.
and then you know, and you can feel your heart melting and defrosting as you begin to shed amazed, impossible tears and wrap your arms tightly around the Abyssal beast that is the Eleventh Harbinger Tartaglia
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thiefwclf ( @stcnehaven ) asked: but what does that mean, protect, it’s only a word. @ jeremy
When Jeremy was a kid, he had no one to protect him. He had Antonio, but Antonio was also a child. The weight of protecting Jeremy could not be placed upon his shoulders.
Jeremy’s grandfather tried to protect him; but despite his efforts, Jeremy had not been safe.
Jeremy’s Alpha only protected him when it was needed; otherwise he turned a blind eye.
Jeremy’s pack brothers either could not protect him or would not protect him.
Jeremy’s father was who he needed protecting from.
So what DOES protect mean? It is a word, yes, thrown around when it’s not meant.
Malcolm won’t hurt you, Jeremy. I’ve made sure of it. This will protect you. ( tell that to the bruises; and to the sharp words that cut deeper than any blade could. )
Dominic is your Alpha, Jeremy. He will protect you. ( will he? what about when it wasn’t convenient to? )
For the longest time Jeremy did not know what it meant to be protected; but he did learn what it meant to protect. He could protect others, and he did. When he became Alpha he made sure that no one in his pack felt the way he had; isolated, lonely, alone, different. In return, his pack protected him. Not because he was their Alpha, but because they cared about him.
They were his family.
“It’s more than a word.” Jeremy says after a moment, his tone soft but even. “It’s a PROMISE. One that is broken far too often - but I won’t. I will not break this promise. To my pack; to you.”
Jeremy wasn’t a kid anymore. Karl wasn’t a kid either. But Karl was Jeremy’s pack. Jeremy would protect him; even if Karl didn’t want it or think he needed it.
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its so scary to put yourself out there but a SINGLE message saying "hi i loved what you made it touched me in some way" makes it all worth it 10000%
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when u go to write a mentally ill person in ur story you are presented two options. the first option is to write your mental illness realistically as you actually experience it with all the ups and downs and people who are like you will resonate with it and feel seen. except every person who reads instagram infographics on mental health that uses the phrase narcicisst for anyone who does anything that crosses them and unironically call themself a dark empath will call you scary and tell you that youre demonizing mentally ill people
the second option is to lie and write inspiration porn for those people to get hard to
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