On This Year Women's Day, All We Could Think About Are Palestinian Women In Gaza.

TWO OF THEM.

i love this app so much because there's always someone who knows how to express what i feel better than me lol

LINAAAAA I have an idea again;3

So like we helped scara with his traumas or smth in the past and helped him many times that we started dating we showed alot of affection and love to him but suddenly he became so distant and always say he's busy until we heard to our friend that scara is dating someone for a few months without us knowing and after that day we confronted him and broke up with him but then he kicked us out and started saying "I don't even want you. I just used you and you're worthless anyway." Forgetting we helped him get better from his traumas

It sounds cringy and corny ik but this is based on a scara bot in c.ai btw but I added some extras;3

not a lot, just forever

a/n: thank you for the request! this is a really good one and i have a ton of ideas for it! i hope you enjoy <3 one of my og supporters!!

warnings: angst, no comfort, arguments, cheating

muffled cries behind scaramouche’s pale hands were all you could hear from just a room next door. the walls were thin in your shared dorm, but even you couldn’t ignore every sound that broke the silence. though you didn’t know much about this man, you knew you had to help him. in any way that you could. that’s what you would have wanted for yourself.

so you found yourself in front of his door, gently knocking on his door. “scaramouche? are you okay?”

“fuck off.” a weak voice spat out at the wood that separated you both. “can i come in?” you asked softly, forehead against the cool wood.

a sound wasn’t heard from the other side as you slowly opened the door. the old wood creaked with the movement of your hands pushing it in and out of place. huddled in a corner was the purple haired young man you had met five months prior. he was a student at the academia, and very important at that. nahida herself oversaw his progress and achievements with his studies. whenever she came for a visit you were sure to make yourself as scarce as possible, as you were too shy to interact with a being such as nahida herself.

but somehow that led you to see scaramouche in the same light. he had a mouth that he wasn’t afraid of showing, but bit his tongue when addressing nahida. you had noticed this after a few of her visits when he first arrived.

the man that once stood so confidently in front of a lesser god now looked so weak in comparison. hot tears streaked down his cheeks, eyes swollen from crying. the skin around his fingernails had been picked raw with his hair pulled in different directions. he was having a meltdown. the cause of it? you didn’t know.

you knelt down in front of his sobbing form, his hands shaking with every breath he seemed to take. “what happened?” you whispered, hesitantly reaching out to take his hand. he shook his head firmly, “the dreams are coming back.” he mumbled.

that’s right. he had some nightmares of his past with the fatui. you had overheard him mentioning this to nahida previously.

“it’s okay, scara. you’re safe now. you’re not with them, okay? you’re in your dorm room far away from them.” you told him reassuringly. you gently put your hand on his shoulder, which he didn’t shrug off.

after that night he seemed to grow comfortable in your presence. he wouldn’t shy away from you, hiding away in his room. but he’d linger close by whenever you were around. this closeness melted into adoration for one another. gentle touches here and there, promises being made on late night study sessions, until a shared kiss on new years and a new relationship to start the new year.

things were going well. you both now shared a single room in your dorm and turned the extra room into a hangout corner. desks pushed together in a corner and bean bag chairs occupied the space. it was a home created by the comfort and warmth of you and scaramouche.

that was until he started flinching from your touches, grimacing after every kiss you gave him. like it hurt him.

it was your last year at the university, but it almost seemed like it was your last year with him. the shared dorm was vacant of scaramouche most nights. he’d dismiss your plans for study sessions with friends or childe’s volleyball games. you’d smile and nod every time, ignoring the crushing pain in your heart every time he blew you off. you were happy for him, he found a place for himself. you only wished he could have included you in it.

it was a calm morning, but would soon become the worst day of the year. you woke up to cold sheets and no texts from scaramouche. this had gone on for months now and was no longer something out of the ordinary. your fourth anniversary was only a week away, and you were nothing but excited for the milestone coming up.

online shopping for scaramouche’s anniversary gift was easier said than done, but you had aquired a solid list of gift activities you were planning on looking forward to in the evening.

as you were walking to your third class for the day you spotted scaramouche. seeing scaramouche in the hallway was unusual, as his classes were in a different building, so you figured he had come to see you. a smile prickled your lips as you walked closer to him, “scara!”

“can you believe that girl? she’s calling scaramouche like he’s her boyfriend when he has a whole girlfriend. embarrassing!”

your head shot in the direction of the voice, confusion and annoyance pulsing through your mind. “i’m scaramouche’s girlfriend.”

the blonde haired girl scoffed in your face and pointed behind you, “no, SHE is.”

you turned to see scaramouche with a teal haired girl clinging to his arm. he didn’t shake her off or shoo her, he welcomed it.

your heart felt like it was being ripped in two. the scene of a happy couple unfolding in front of you as if it wasn’t your lover, as if you hadn’t held him every night for the past three years.

you didn’t utter a word. holding tightly onto the strap of your bag, you quietly got through the day and made your way back to your dorm.

you didn’t know what to do now. your dorm room didn’t feel like a safe space anymore. every corner of your room and living area was filled with mementos and memories of scaramouche, of your relationship.

the aching in your heart didn’t settle as you laid in bed, his scent on your pillows reminding you of the scene you had watched just hours before.

it felt like a cruel joke. like something you’d hope he would admit was a prank to get you riled up, though that was something he’d never do. you knew that. and you knew he lied.

as the sun went down and darkness enveloped your room, you eventually heard scaramouche arrive home to your shared dorm. you faced the wall as you heard the gentle click of your door being pushed open, only for it to close again as he had assumed you had gone to bed early. he hadn’t noticed you earlier, after all.

your eyes were swollen and puffy from the tears you had let escape, clutching onto a jellyfish stuffed animal that he had given you, you fell into a restless sleep.

as the night went on, scaramouche eventually found his way into your room once again. his cold hands wrapped around your waist, gentle breath against your ear as he fell asleep. you loathed the feeling of his hands on you after you had seen how he let her near him, when you knew you’d be in trouble if you were to do the same.

by the time you had woken up, scaramouche was long gone. it was your off day for classes, but scaramouche had his schedule filled for the day. you didn’t feel the need to leave the dorm, or do anything at all.

you spent the day anxiously waiting in the dorm, waiting for scaramouche to return. the hours slowly passed by, until the familiar sound of the lock turning in the door broke the silence you had been sitting in for hours.

“hey, (y/n). don’t tell me you were just sitting here all day.” he remarked half jokingly as he set his keys down on the coffee table in front of you.

your palms felt sweaty as you dug your nails into them, the burning question on the tip of your tongue. a question that would change your relationship with him forever.

“scara.. i saw you yesterday. with some.. girl, what is she to you?” you asked quietly without looking at him. you felt his eyes bore into your head as he stood still. you knew, you had finally caught him.

“what’re you talking about (y/n)? what bullshit are you trying to piss me off with now?”

you looked up at him now, the defensive anger in his words wouldn’t scare you. not this time.

“don’t bullshit me, scara. i saw you with that girl. she was so close to you and hugging your arm and you didn’t even mind it! what the fuck is going on?”

scaramouche sucked his teeth, rubbing his temple with his fingers. “fuck.” he muttered under his breath.

“fine, you wanna know the truth? here’s the truth, (y/n). i’ve been going out with her for the past few months now and honestly, she makes me happy. she satisfies me in ways you never could. there, happy? is that what you wanted to hear? you knew what i’d say, didn’t you? you just wanted to hear it. so there you go.”

months? he had been with her for months? your breath felt as if it was caught in your throat. the world seemed to stop in that moment. you didn’t register scaramouche walking around the dorm angrily throwing every framed photo, every single thing that had a connection to you. you sat silent on the couch as he went through the dorm, dumping your things onto the ground.

“i want you fucking out, seeing as you’re too nosy for your own good. request a change with the housing coordinator. we’re done. im not leaving, you are.”

you didn’t say a word to him as he left the dorm, slamming the door behind him.

it was really, truly over.

with a heavy heart, you packed your things in garbage bags and your backpack. you wouldn’t have wanted to stay in this dorm room even if you had the choice. you wouldn’t have been able to live with the ghosts of once cherished memories.

you carefully packed your items into your car, planning to sleep there until you were found a new dorm-mate.

there was no reason to respond or say anything to scaramouche. what’s done was done, nothing you could’ve said would’ve changed the outcome. and you knew he would only further your humiliation if you were to beg him to choose you.

blocking his accounts on all of your social media, you made a promise to yourself. a promise to never give more of yourself to anyone again.

taglist: @whorerificstuff @ayameei @samarill @sakiimeo @astrolomona @dearsumire @saeism @shoheartluv @0kauy @lelemnh @aqualesha @msdevilis @linkookie197 @beriiov @xiaonscaraswife @foxlover1144 @gh0sts0up @darliingyu @magica-ren @scara6 @Maxineslair @jihyuniepark @atanukileaf @kenmabfasf @somatchajade

😭😭😭

I won’t forget you.

Unwanted reunion

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ prompts: “catching the other one crying shortly after an argument and immediately feeling an overwhelming wave of guilt crash onto you.” + "it's okay, we can fix this..." + “playing with their hair until they fall asleep”|| 1k event

✧ contents: hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, implied character death

✧ a/n: if u wonder how in the world i came up with the scenario below. i genuinely don't know either it's a mystery to even me. CREATIVE LIBERTY WINS AGAIN THE PROMPTS WERE LITERALLY INSPO AND NOT WRITTEN DIRECTLY INTO THE SCENARIO. also implied that this took place after the battle with phantylia so keep that in mind.

NOT BETA-READ AS USUAL FELLAS I WANTED TO HAND THIS OVER TO YA'LL ASAP AS AN APOLOGY FOR STARVING YOU ALL FOR SO LONG!! it's mild angst though, so sorry.

Jing Yuan's can feel a familiar heaviness weigh on his body as well as the feeling of someone wrapping a roll of gauze on his arm. However opening his eyes proved to be a challenge in itself and it's only with great struggle that he can manage to force them slightly open to the bright light.

The first thing he notices is the familiar ceiling of your shared home. A bit weird since whenever he did get injured he would immediately be rushed towards a private room by the Seat of Divine Foresight - which was the safest place for him to stay. Perhaps you had gotten your will again to take care of him - seeing as you're a high ranking healer yourself and quite a stubborn soul.

But his eyes still widen a tiny bit when he sees you sitting by the edge of the bed, one hand gripping his gauzed wound while your other hand is busy trying to find something to keep your hard work in place. You're humming a soft tune again, he never knows what sort of melody you're humming, only that it had become a habit for you after the amount of years you had spent by his side bandaging his battle wounds. Something about helping your mood and staying positive.

"Your recklessness knows no bounds, Jing Yuan." the sternness of your voice snaps him out of the daze he's in, immediately rising up from the bed only to groan in pain when the wounds that you had just wrapped up react to his body folding, "... And still don't know when to rest - even when I'm in the middle of treating you."

"...How much time has passed?" he asks, voice hoarse after having slept for who knows how long. You only hum, setting the bandages aside - the gesture causing Jing Yuan to follow your hand movements which makes him notice the bloodied bandages inside the trash by your legs.

"A couple of days, I was just finishing changing your bandages when you finally woke up. Here, some water." you inform, raising a glass towards his lips, patiently waiting for him to move closer.

You only start to speak again after he's taken several gulps, placing the cup of water back on the nightstand beside his bed. "Why are you so willing to throw your life away?" you ask after a moment of silence, helping Jing Yuan rest against the headboard, eyes never leaving his own that don't dare to even look into your own.

"It's my duty-"

"Your duty is to make sure as many of the Cloud Knights survive a battle. Not gamble your life on a piece that you weren't sure had the capabilities to help."

Jing Yuan bites his tongue at your immediate rebuttal, you were right after all. "The Master Diviner was right there by you. A troop was enough to guard the entrance, you didn't need to leave the master diviner with them to go on this-"

"... Can't you be happy for once whenever we meet like this?" he asks quietly, effectively stopped you from saying anything more. His gaze is cast downwards whenever he mutters the same question to you whilst shrinking a bit after asking. There's no sign of the proud general in your presence - in front of you is just Jing Yuan asking a supposedly harmless question.

Perhaps that's the reason why you can never shove him away immediately.

"... You know what my answer is."

Jing Yuan was no crier. In fact, you think he stopped crying or showing any visible sign of discomfort or uneasiness the day he got the title as General. You're pretty sure you can count the amount of times you've seen Jing Yuan cry on one hand.

Perhaps his ability to hide his own needs and wants so often day by day for the past centuries makes your dismissal of his simple wishes that more gut-wrenching for you. You try to ignore the overwhelming guilt that washes over you every time you have to say the same thing to him.

"... You have a lot of things that you want to get done on the Luofu, Jing Yuan." you murmur softly, extending a hand to run your fingers through his locks, breaking apart any knots that may have formed in his sleep.

"You know we can meet again, but now is not the time - especially now," you gently remind with a sombre smile, your hand moving from his hair to rest against his chin to make him face you.

"It's gonna be alright, okay?" he scoffs at your reassurance, finally coming to terms with your conditions once again like always, wrapping his arms around your waist to fall down back on the bed with you on top.

"Remember the last time you said those words to me?" he says, almost sounding offended at your choice of words to which you only smile against his skin in guilt.

"It was the first time I saw you cry so hard," you try to joke, pressing your hands against the mattress to push yourself off of Jing Yuan, choosing to hover above him instead.

"... I'm sorry," you decide to say in the end after a moment of silence, once again threading your fingers through his hair - an act you knew used to calm him before. At this moment though, you're not so sure.

"Why? Shouldn't I be sorry?" he asks in return, a small yawn leaving his lips as his eyes struggle to stay open. You smile bitterly as you shake your head, still threading your fingers through his hair.

"No, none of it was your fault - what happened back then was out of your control. But this time it isn't. I can wait for a long time, Jing Yuan. I know you're aware of that so don't try to rush anything to meet me again." you tell him, leaning down to press your lips against his forehead.

"So it's time to wake up, dear. Luofu is waiting for you."

You know what the anon option is for? (✿◠‿◠)

For shy people who are too scared to talk to their favourite blogs. (◡‿◡✿)

Not for you to act like a piece of shit. ✿◕ ‿ ◕✿

translation

Aventurine doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you. (Or: You are the only person in the universe who understands Aventurine in his mother tongue. He often regrets teaching it to you.)

5k words. gender neutral reader, established relationship, angst, non-graphic sex (reader bottoms, anatomy neutral), themes of cultural loss, references to slavery, aventurine’s canonically implied desire to die. MDNI.

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.

Deception does not come easily to him in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak—and too kind. The universe was a different place in the days when his life was coloured by the warble of Avgin dialect. It felt simpler, partly because he was a child and partly because Sigonia was yet untouched by outsiders. There were no corporations, no casinos, no commodity codes. His entire world was sand, desert, mother, sister, father (or more often—ghost), goddess, tent, wagon, luck, sin, rain, blessing, Avgin.

Katican.

Aventurine is sure that he knew more than just those words. He was fluent as a child. He had conversations with his sister that were complex enough to make his heart hurt, though perhaps his heart was just constantly aching anyway. But the rest of his early words escapes him. He could maybe dredge them up if he thinks long enough, but he also isn't sure if his tongue and lips could form the shape of them anymore. Sometimes he still counts in Avgin, memorises phone numbers in it, but he doesn’t remember the last time he actually strung together a full sentence in the language.

When Aventurine was first stolen into slavery (a word that he had not known as a child, and still doesn't know in Avgin), he wasn’t given a Synesthesia Beacon. He had to rely on his ears and his wits, deciphering the harsh edges of the Katican dialect and then the strange garble of Interastral Standard Language. By the time he had a Beacon installed, it was already translating all speech into Standard—his dominant language.

Sometimes he feels a little aggrieved by it, but at least it wasn't Katican. He'd have blown out his brains if it were.

But it is easy to console himself: Avgin is not a useful language anyway. Dead languages have no value, and the Avgin dialect was killed along with its people. You can’t perform commerce in a dead language, can't negotiate contracts, can't enter a gambling den and use your silver tongue to rob people blind. You can't use a dead language to fell governments and extract resources; you can't use a dead language to bring an entire planet to its knees. You can’t use a dead language to gamble your life; you can't use it to save yourself from the gallows.

You cannot deceive people in a language that is defined by sand, sister, goddess, ghost.

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin. His command of it is too weak, and there is no one left to which he can lie, anyway.

When you ask Aventurine to teach you his first language, he gives you an amused look.

“Why Avgin?” he asks. “No one speaks it anymore. I can teach you Common Sigonian if you’d like. Or we could learn Xianzhounese together. Maybe Intellitron code? I know a little.”

“You speak Avgin,” you argue.

“Not often,” he says. “And badly when I do.”

“But it's still your language. And I want to understand you.”

Aventurine has to stop himself from laughing. Understand him? He hates being understood. When people understand him, it makes him predictable. And unlikeable. Hardly a position from which he can manipulate people in.

You understand him well enough to know that.

“You'll have to give me a better reason than that,” he says neatly. “Make it worth my while. Reward me.”

You look at him as you ponder, your eyes lingering on his. Perhaps trying to read him, though he prefers to think you're just enjoying the sight of them.

“I’ll teach you my language as well?”

“You mean—you'll reward my hard labour with more work?” he says, lighthearted.

You frown at him despite the joke. “You don't want to understand me better than what a Synesthesia Beacon would allow?” He blinks, pausing. “It’ll be convenient too. We can talk shit about other people in public and no one will understand us.”

Aventurine considers you. He doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you.

He also likes the idea of talking shit in public.

“I'm listening,” he says, voice lilting. You lean in, smiling. Sweet. It makes his heart feel something he isn't used to. Something addictive. Something disgusting. He scrambles to cover it with one of the usual tools: humour or distraction or maybe just plain old lying—his most reliable weapon.

“I'll throw in a kiss?” you try.

He hums. “Just one?”

“One per day.”

“Three.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“Well, I am a businessman.”

You snort, but he knows you're endeared. You have very noticeable tells when you’re flustered.

“Okay,” you say. “Three kisses on days you teach me.”

“Deal.”

Aventurine remembers more Avgin than he thought he would.

It comes to him slowly, painstakingly. You aren't interested in structured lessons, and he wouldn't be able to provide them anyway. He has a nonexistent grasp of grammar aside from this sounds right and that sounds strange, and Avgin dialect is both so niche and so dead that no textbooks are available. The scholars have abandoned the language as much as the politicians abandoned its people. Aventurine only has you, his fragmented memory, and whatever questions come to mind as you live out your days with him.

Mostly, you ask him about basic vocabulary. Sometimes you ask him to repeat sentences from your conversations in Avgin, like he’s some kind of multilingual parrot. Each prompt forces him to wade through the fog in his mind, the one that’s been shrouding his childhood memories until now. He's startled at how naturally the old words roll off his tongue: One, two, three, four. Good morning. Good evening. Good night. Sweet dreams. Five, six, seven, eight. You're lying to me. Why do you always lie to me? I don't know what you're talking about. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Welcome home. Have you eaten? Have some bread. I made you stew. Twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. That was dangerous. I thought you wouldn't make it back to me. Sometimes I think you want to die. One hundred, one thousand, one million, one billion. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

When you say, How do I ask you to let me hold you, he answers easily. He'd heard the words so often as a child: Let me hold you, Kakavasha. Let Mama hold you. His mouth forms the sounds without conscious thought.

He regrets it almost immediately.

When Aventurine hears it from you—stilted, halting, but no less gentle—he stops breathing. Let me hold you. You say it all the time in Standard, but it feels different in Avgin. More painful. A strange sense of panic closes in on him when he's wrapped up in you, thinking in Avgin, thinking sand, sister, goddess, ghost. He holds you tightly, like the rags cut from his father’s shirt, or his mother’s locket won back from the shell-slashers, or a bag of poker chips beneath a card table, clutched within his trembling grip.

“Aventurine, is something wrong?” you ask in Avgin, and he replies in Standard with his usual smile.

“Hm? No. What could be wrong if I have you here?”

Lying is one of his greatest tools. Sex is another one. So he says, “I think I'd like my reward now,” and he runs his lips along your jaw, your pulse, the spot over your heart (there's a word for that in Avgin but not Standard, he tells you), until you're laughing. I thought you wanted three kisses, you tease, and he replies, Who said I wanted to kiss you on the mouth?

But he coaxes open your thighs, and once he's inside you, he collects his payment properly. He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and you swallow his lies whole.

There are some things that Aventurine doesn't teach you. Mostly, they’re things that he can’t teach you.

There are countless gaps in his Avgin. His speech is painfully childish—probably more childish than it was when he actually stopped speaking it. He doesn't know how to swear (something that disappoints you) and he doesn't know how to flirt (something that devastates you). He doesn’t know any words that would be useful for work either: commercialization, governance, stakes, winnings, profit. When you ask him what his job title is in Avgin (“Was senior management even a thing in Avgin society?”), he laughs and gives you the word for gambler.

Then there are the words that he remembers—has remembered his whole life—but never says. Not to you, and not to himself. He doesn't teach you any prayers. He doesn't teach you any blessings. He doesn't teach you about Mama Fenge, or the Kakava Festival, or how the rain fell when he was born. When you ask him, What holidays did you celebrate when you were little? he shrugs and says, We didn't have any. Sigonia’s too bleak to do any partying.

Then you ask him one day, while your bodies are spent in the afterglow of sex, sticky with sweat and sweetness, how to say I love you. And he goes quiet.

Love is a cheap word in Interastral Standard. In the language of globalisation and trade, love has been commercialised, commodified, capitalised for power. You say it to him in many contexts: I love this, I love that, I love you. He hardly ever reacts, and he's never said it back. It would feel unnecessary and also cruel if he did: Aventurine has only ever said the words himself as either a joke or a manipulation.

But love feels different in Avgin than in Interastral Standard, doesn't sound like a thing that can be traded or bought. Kakavasha only ever said the word love to his mother, to his sister, to his father's grave. Love in his mother tongue feels priceless.

When Aventurine thinks about you saying it—I love you, Kakavasha, in clumsy, earnest Avgin—something so painful swells in his throat that he can hardly breathe.

“There is no word for love in my language,” he tells you.

You blink. “Okay, then what's an idiom for it?”

“There is none. There’s no word or phrase expressing love.”

You raise a brow. “That’s hard to believe.”

“Is it?” He smiles. “There’s no Avgin in the known universe who cares about love. Only scheming, thieving, and treachery—and you can't do those things when love is involved.”

You look at him in alarm. “Why are you saying that?” You're practically squirming in your discomfort. “I don't know why you think I'd believe such a racist stereotype.”

“It’s not a stereotype,” he says. “I'm not talking about the Avgin culture. I'm talking about myself.”

After all, he is the only Avgin left.

It is an unfair thing to say. A cruel thing to say. After all the laughing and kissing and crying and fucking, after all the tender eyes and gentle words from you—it is probably the worst pain imaginable: I don't give a shit about you. He waits for you to cry.

But you only stare at him calmly, studying him. You brush the hair out of his eyes, seeing them clearly.

“If you lie to me all the time,” you say in Avgin, “eventually I'll stop believing anything you say.”

Aventurine is speechless. His heart does that addictive, disgusting thing again. He thinks about leaving, but then you say, Let me hold you, and he can't do anything other than obey.

Avgin dialect was once included in the Synesthesia Beacon list of functions. The Intelligentsia Guild added it before the Second Katica-Avgin Extinction Event, when the IPC was trying to get a political foothold on Sigonia via the Avgin people. The language was alive then, with enough value to be included into the Synesthesia LLM by the linguists.

But since the Extinction Event—since Kakavasha ran away from home—the Synesthesia data on Avgin has been stagnant, a fossil. Aventurine knows because he's subscribed to software updates for certain languages (Avgin Sigonian, Common Sigonian, Interastral Standard, and now your mother tongue). He gets pinged every time there's a new addition for slang, for neologisms—but there hasn't been a ping for the Avgin dialect since he had the Beacon installed. The live translation function hasn't even been available since the previous Amber Era. When he checks its page on his Synesthesia app, it's very clear why—

SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT SPEAKERS: 0 STATUS: Extinct END OF SERVICE: 2156 AE

The complete death of the language has led to an irritating dilemma for you and Aventurine. You keep running into words that he doesn't know—this time not because of his childlike speech, but because they never existed in his language to begin with. Ocean, tropical, rainforest. Starskiff, accelerator, space fleet. Stock market, shortselling, mutual funds. Black hole, event horizon, spaghettification. All things that never came up for Kakavasha, but now come up for Aventurine, and the language has not evolved to include it.

He always wants to switch to Standard to discuss these things, but you're insistent on speaking in Avgin as much as possible. He doesn't know why, but he doesn't mind humouring you—partly because he likes to indulge you, and partly because he’s grown used to hearing the honeyed timbre of Avgin dialect in your household. The place would feel strange without it.

So you start filling the gaps with other languages, filtering them through the lyricism of Avgin. Loanwords, he thinks they’re called. You take ocean, tropical, rainforest from Amazian; starskiff, accelerator, space fleet from Xianzhounese; stock market, shortselling, mutual funds from Interastral Standard. For the astrophysics terms, you try directly translating them—with limited success.

“Can't I literally just say ‘black hole’?” you ask in Avgin, and he nearly spits out his coffee.

“Please don't. That's a dirty word.” He can't bring himself to say what it means, but from the way you’re laughing, you can clearly guess.

“I thought you said you didn't know how to swear.”

“You've just reminded me how.”

“You're welcome.” You look on the verge of cackling. Aventurine finishes his coffee and wonders when you're going to surprise him with your newfound vulgarity.

“Let's just do the space terms based on Standard,” he says. Begs.

“No, that's so boring.”

“Then let's do your language.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Give him a blank look.

“You don't know how to say those words in your mother tongue either, do you,” he intuits.

“Well, ‘spaghettification’ doesn't really come up in everyday conversation, does it?”

“Then maybe we don't need it.” He smiles, senses an opportunity. Smells blood. “How about ‘love’? I'd much rather know how you say that. I bet it sounds beautiful.”

You give him a long look. Your eyes are vulnerable when you share it: Love. I love you. He’s fascinated by the sound of it. Your voice is never that fragile when you say it in Standard. It's never so earnest. He repeats it, staring at you, and your gaze falls to the ground. His mouth curls.

“I like it,” he says. “Let's use that. It'll sound nice in Avgin.”

You try to recover. “Sure. That works. But back to ‘black hole’—”

And the two of you continue like that for days, weeks, months. It feels like a complete bastardization of his mother tongue on some days, in some conversations. Almost unrecognisable. But it doesn't feel bad. It’s all he has, it's all you have, and when he walks into your home, he starts speaking it without thinking: your bastard, patchwork language. The Avgin dialect that exists only in your house. A tongue that can only be understood by a liar.

And then, one lazy Sunday morning, he gets a familiar ping. He expects it to be Interastral Standard, as usual. The language balloons with each planet that the IPC colonises.

But instead, he opens his screen and freezes.

SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT SPEAKERS: 2 STATUS: Endangered. SERVICE RESUMED: 2157 AE NEW UPDATES: 103 loanwords and 5 neologisms added.

He can't stop looking at the status. Endangered. Endangered, which means dying, but alive. The Avgin dialect is alive again. The Intelligentsia Guild determined it, so it must be true. But Aventurine can't agree: there are no Avgin speakers in the known universe other than the two of you, and what you speak isn't real Avgin. The Avgin spoken by his mother and father and sister is dead; the Avgin spoken by Kakavasha is dead. The festivals are gone; the deserts have been terraformed. There are no wagons; there are no dances; there are no prayers. There are no blessings, and he has no home—

As long as you are alive, the blood of the Avgin will never run dry.

His throat locks up.

“Aventurine?” you ask. Your voice is drowsy, but concerned. “Is something wrong?”

He looks at you from his phone, a polished smile on his face.

“No.” His syllables are plain and efficient in the noise of Interastral Standard: “Just looking at details for a new assignment. It’ll be a long one.”

“Oh.” You frown. “Will you be away from home for a long time, then?”

He stops himself from swallowing. “Yes, I'll be away from the house. For several months, probably.”

“Okay.” Your voice is small. “Take care of yourself, okay? I'll miss you.”

Each word you speak resonates with heartbreak. It always does in these conversations, even in Standard—but the sorrow is amplified in Avgin. His mother tongue has an inherently sad quality to it, he's noticed. His people have lost so much over their history—their language is one of loss. It's his language of loss. Kakavasha did all his grieving in Avgin; Aventurine has never felt sorrow in Standard. When the language died, so did Kakavasha—and all his regrets with it.

“You'll come home to me, right?” you ask. It's a beautiful sentence in Avgin. A heartrending one. He feels something that he hasn't known since he was a child.

It's a feeling he has to kill.

“Yes,” he says in Standard. “Of course I'll come back.”

This is not the first time that Aventurine has been mistaken for dead, but this is the longest time.

The latest world to join the IPC network was a tough acquisition. It had been ruled by a despot who wreaked havoc on both the people and the planet, and who was too stupid and reckless to resolve conflicts with his trade partners. He probably would have blown up the whole star system had he been left to his own devices. Aventurine had no qualms about bringing him to ruin, nor did he have qualms about nearly dying in the process.

If things had gone his way, he'd either be dead or missing. This would have been the perfect opportunity to do the latter, actually—to be freed from the IPC. Free to drift alone, speaking with strangers in strange, unfamiliar tongues. No connection to his past, to the cruel history of his luck, to his commodity code. No tether to his inherently unjust destiny. But instead he's back in your house, pockets heavy with his borrowed wealth, speaking to you in his bastardised, childish Avgin. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

Your Avgin is—shockingly fluent. He doesn't know how. He can't think about it right now. All he can process is the wounded animal noise of your speech as you yell at him, as you cry. Like an injured songbird, or a weeping child. Why did you leave, why did you lie, why do you always lie to me, why don't you give a shit about me, you spit. Why do you want to die, why do you want to die, why do you want to die, you keep saying. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost, he keeps hearing. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost. Don't leave me, big sister. People will die. Why do you have to go?

“I’m sorry,” he tries again, this time in your language. “I'm so sorry. Come here. Let me hold you.”

You collapse into your mother tongue. Aventurine is both relieved and horrified. Relieved that he doesn't need to hear the language of his grief—horrified that he needs to hear yours. He's never heard you cry like this. He's never heard you break like this. These must have been the words you used when the soldiers found you hiding in your closet, when they dragged you out of your home. You were just a child.

Aventurine doesn't know the words you are using—you've never taught them—but he still understands them.

You're very malleable when you’re sad; even more so when you're hysterical. Aventurine understands this about you, and he understands how to calm you—this time in your native tongue—and he understands how to kiss you. He understands that you need to feel close to him. He understands that there are ways to accomplish this other than sex. A normal person would talk it out, have an honest conversation, come to a mutual understanding, and maybe even stop trying to kill himself. They wouldn't fuck you into the mattress while your face is still wet with tears.

But Aventurine is not a normal person. He doesn't know how to have an honest conversation, and he doesn't want to be understood. Lying is his greatest weapon, and sex is a close second. So he kisses you until you’re too breathless to cry, fucks you until you can't think, and makes you come so hard that you’re in too much bliss to grieve. And maybe it's horrible of him, but he enjoys it. He enjoys the way your body takes him in so easily, the way your nails dig into his back, the way you tighten around him when you climax, so wet and needy for him. The way you beg for him in your language for liars as he spends himself inside you: I love you, Aventurine, I love you, I love you, I love you—

Only because it feels good. This is all only because he enjoys fucking you. This is all only because you enjoy fucking him. This is all it'll ever be, and it'll be this way until he gets to meet his end.

(Some months ago, Aventurine started dreaming in Avgin.

It surprised him when he first noticed it. The last time he remembers having a dream in his native tongue, he was twelve years old and still in chains. And even then, it had become a sporadic, strange thing. Awful to wake up from. One minute he was with his mother and sister on a cool, rainy day, speaking fluently in Avgin as he laughed and played—and the next minute, he was being shaken awake in his cage, hearing the cruel lash of Katican.

But ever since he's started speaking Avgin with you, he's been dreaming in it. Vividly. Sometimes he's a child in these dreams, and sometimes he's grown. He's always back in the Sigonian desert, among the tents and the campfires and his family wagons. His mother and sister are alive. Sometimes his father is too. The skies roar with thunder and the stellar winds are always harsh, but they always keep him cocooned up in their arms. He's always warm.

Sometimes Aventurine dreams of nicer days. Clear skies, warm sun, cool breeze—all blessings from the Mother Goddess. On these days, he tends to be an adult, and you tend to be there with him. Your Avgin is fluent but strange, filled with funny loanwords and peculiar slang. His father likes the neologisms and starts using them—but only in wrong ways. His sister finds it embarrassing and keeps apologising to you.

His mother loves you. She loves you so much it hurts. This is how I know you're blessed, Kakavasha, she says, glowing. You’re so lucky to have found such a kind person.

Kakavasha knows this. He knows he's lucky, and in his dreams, that isn't a bad thing. In his dreams, his luck means that his home is not violently excised from his heart: his father never dies; his mother never dies; his sister never dies. The tents are not burned; the wagons are not destroyed. He is never forced to forget his people's dishes, their songs, their language, their joy. And in his dreams, his luck means that he meets you anyway, without all the loss and the chains and the lying.

In his dreams, he is able to bring you to the desert. He is able to teach you the Avgin he spoke as a child, to cook all the meals his mother used to make, to share with you their coffee and their tea. He teaches you prayers. He teaches you blessings. He tells you about Mama Fenge, about how the rain fell when he was born. He takes you to the Kakava Festival, shows you how to dance, sings to you all the Avgin songs until you're singing back. He presses his palm to yours in prayer; he kisses you in devotion, not avoidance.

Sometimes the two of you still fight, the same fights that you have in real life, but he handles them with honesty. He listens to you. He apologises to you. He tells you that he’ll change, and he means it—because this world is a kind one, and he has no need to be so cruel to you.

In this kind world, when you lay in bed with his arms tight around you, you smile at him and say, I love you, Kakavasha. You say it in Avgin—real Avgin, not the dialect born from genocide and deceit—and when he responds, there's not even a little bit of insincerity in his voice. Because Kakavasha never became Aventurine in these dreams, so he has no Interastral Standard in which he can lie to you, no silver tongue with which he can manipulate you, no commodity code that inspires his fear of being controlled by you. Kakavasha only knows Avgin, and he only has his sand, his family, his goddess, his home.

And he has you. Finally, he has you.

He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and then he tells you the truth.)

.

.

.

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.

You noticed this very early on: whenever he lies to you, he always switches to Interastral Standard. Probably he wouldn't be able to do it in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak, and the words he knows are all too kind. He speaks with the innocence of a child, and children cannot deceive people in the way that adults can. Children cannot perform commerce or negotiate contracts. They cannot use a silver tongue to rob people blind. They cannot save themselves from the gallows.

So Aventurine’s Avgin is defenceless. Vulnerable. So vulnerable it hurts. You are not so vulnerable in your first language because your captors spoke it on occasion, and you learned to lie in it to gain their pity. You told Aventurine that knowing it would help him understand you, but this was a deception. Aventurine’s mother tongue was a language of trust, but yours is a dialect of abuse.

The Avgin language died before Aventurine could be gutted by it; this is why it disarms him so completely. This is why he’s so indulgent and so warm when you use it with him, why he yields to all your requests. Not requests for money or gifts—you’re certain those are meaningless to him—but for affection. Let me hold you. Let me touch you. Let me kiss you. He can never say no.

This is also why he loves hearing you speak his mother tongue, you think—it makes him feel at home, it makes him feel safe. Maybe it even makes him feel loved. He never seems so at peace speaking any other language, so you try to use Avgin as much as possible. You like seeing him happy. You like it even if it means you need to teach him your own native language in exchange, even when it means you need to hear him say all the things your captors used to say. You don't mind it if it's him. You never mind the harm he inflicts on you, especially not when it brings you closer to him.

It is convenient that he cannot lie in Avgin. You only wanted to learn it in the first place because he talks in his sleep—mostly in Standard, but sometimes in his native tongue. And now that you know he cannot lie in Avgin, you also know he's always being honest in his dreams. Honest when he throws his arms around you in his sleep. Honest when he grabs you so tightly that you bruise. Honest when he buries his face into your neck and whispers prayers into your skin.

Most of the words he says are common ones, the earliest vocabulary that he taught you. But there are some things he's withheld from you—and to learn those things, you had to track down linguists from the Intelligentsia Guild, bribe them with your dirty money, have them give you all their deprecated, extinct data. It felt two-faced, and it was violating, but it was the only way. You already know that Aventurine would rather die than translate his feelings for you, would never want this part of himself understood.

I'm sorry for always leaving you.

I'm sorry for making you cry.

I can't bear the thought of losing you.

Freedom would be too lonely without you.

I don't want to hurt you anymore.

I don't want to lie to you anymore.

I missed you.

I want you.

I need you.

I love you.

end

afterword

His character in this fanfic is so well done 🫶

*Reen casually slides through your asks*

May I ask how will he feels or react towards his darling who's so clearly fall over heels for him? Like she doesn't even know what's lurking behind his playful mask yet she keeps showering him with her love and attention,

"Sometimes I wonder why you'd want to go out with me in the first place. You're so charming and fun to he around, I must be dreaming!"

"I found this fox keychain while strolling around and it reminds me of you! Come to think of it, have you ever actually seen a yellow fox anywhere?"

"You look so tired today, what happened? Let me make you some warm tea real quick!"

Will he unknowingly became more possessive each time passed or will he remains as calm as before? Anyways no pressure to reply and I hope you're having a great day everyday!

Am to totally not projecting myself here

(Ahhh! Thank you so much for being my first ask! I love your prompt so much, this is absolutely amazing! I hope you like this, and have a great day every day too!)

Aventurine never expected you to fall in love with him or reciprocate any of his advances in any way. He’s so used to people not liking him, or barely even tolerating him, that every bit of affection you offer him comes as a total shock and surprise. He thinks you’re so sweet and perfect in every way, and while it’s completely like you to be kind even to those who don’t deserve it, he never expected that he’d ever be the one on the receiving end of that kindness and affection. He can’t control the warmth that spreads through his chest every time you say something sweet, or smile at him, or even just the fact that you seem so willing to be around him. It’s like nothing he’s ever experienced in his life before, and he can’t get enough. He wants more and more.

"Sometimes I wonder why you'd want to go out with me in the first place. You're so charming and fun to he around, I must be dreaming!"

When you say those words, it hits him like a bolt of lightning. You’re wondering why he’d want to go out with you? Shouldn’t he be the one saying these words? Everything about you is complete perfection, he’s obsessed with everything about you and can’t get enough of you and your light. You’re the only warmth and sunshine he’s ever experienced in his life. When he was young, he often wondered what the warmth of the sun truly felt like, to be able to feel it caress his skin and to feel truly safe. Now that he’s with you, he knows the answer to that question with all his heart. Every time you touch him, when you hold his hand or gently run your hand across his cheek, he can feel sparks flying under your touch. He’s always been very touch starved and so even just accidentally brushing against you causes the same reaction in him. He laughs softly as he pulls you into a tight embrace, the sound of his voice very light and airy, but there’s also a gentle tone to it- one you aren’t very used to hearing from him yet.

“Every day is a dream come true with you,” He pauses for a second, trying to find the words, “I love you more than life itself, and I’d do anything and everything to keep you by my side. You’re the best person I’ve ever met in my life, and I can’t imagine my life without you.” He feels that it’s more important to reassure you in this moment than come up with a witty, teasing one liner like he usually might. He wants you to know how much he loves you and truly values you.

Of course he’d want to be with you, every day, for all of eternity and beyond.

"I found this fox keychain while strolling around and it reminds me of you! Come to think of it, have you ever actually seen a yellow fox anywhere?"

“Ahaha, it reminds you of me, does it~?” He can’t help the flirty and playful edge to his voice as he speaks, but he also can’t deny that he has a slight blush on his face that you were thinking of him so fondly, “Aww, that’s quite adorable… Because you know what,” He pulls out a wrapped gift and presents it to you. You quickly open it and inside you find a rabbit plush, one with the same color eyes as yours and a ribbon in your favorite color around its neck, “I was thinking this cute little bunny reminds me of you! What do you think?” He winks at you in an extremely flirtatious manner, and you find yourself blushing as well. The warmth and softness between the two of you in interactions like these is unparalleled.

"You look so tired today, what happened? Let me make you some warm tea real quick!"

He sits down on the couch next to you and pulls you into the tightest hug without a word, it seems he had an extremely hard and stressful day at work. But you- you always make him feel so much better. All of the stress and pain disappears when he’s holding you, when he gets to be with you like this. You’re his anchor and his rock and the pillow that he likes to lay his head on after a long day. You open your mouth to say something, to insist you’ll go get him that tea, but he simply shushes you and pulls you in closer, arms wrapped so tightly around you that you can’t escape from his grasp.

“Please… Just let me hold you for a bit…”

Undoubtedly, every time you show him these little bits of affection, he becomes more and more in love and obsessed with you. He wants to keep you all to himself, he wants to hoard your light and warmth, and every day he’s constantly fighting against the urge and thoughts of locking you away, just for himself, forever.

But when he sees the way you look at the sky, or the sunset, or the stars at night… And he remembers how he too once looked so wistfully toward it, he can’t bring himself to do it. He wants to keep you this happy forever. 

And when you’re being so willing and compliant for him, who is he to rip your little bit of freedom away? You’re already in his grasp, forever, and he’s never going to let you go no matter what. You’re the little bunny to his fox, and he just wants to melt into your embrace every day for the rest of his life.

He loves you, and nothing will ever come between the two of you. Not even fate itself.

Have you seen these cuties

Sorruly i am late to the party, i managed to do this event before i retire from HSR

I spammed the hell out of Clara and Kafka cats

⟳ BLURRED LINES

— a genshin impact smau

pairing scaramouche / wanderer x fem!reader

You say you’re just friends. You say it every time you leave a party together, every time you wake up tangled in sheets, every time you swear it’s the last time. But habits form, lines blur, and pretending gets harder when jealousy starts to sting.

tags friends with benefits, college / university setting, fluff and angst, comedy

warnings mature content, profanity, suggestive jokes, alcohol, intimacy, tba

status 2/9/25 — [on-going]

taglist open

⟳ PROFILES ⟳

⟡ 00. LAST

⟡ 01. BET ⟡ 02. MASK ✦ 03. FALSE HOPE ⟡ 04. CALL

✦ 05. GOODNIGHT ⟡ 06. FURTHER DOWN ✦ 07. SOLACE

✦ 08. FLOWER CHARM ✦ 09. MEANS NOTHING

⟡ 10. BFF ADVICE ⟡ 11. NEVERMIND ✦ 12. CHIN UP

⟡ 13. SHE’S BACK ✦ 14. NEVER MINE ⟡ 15. GHOST

⟡ 16. BFF ADVICE 2 ⟡ 17. TBA ⟡ 18. TBA ⟡ 19. TBA

⟡ 20. TBA ⟡ 21. TBA

note not a new author, just a new account. you may have read some of my deleted works before so say hi if you recognize my writing style ^^ it’s not guaranteed that i’ll finish this work. i’m doing this smau for fun so i’ll update when i feel like it. sorry in advance!

© lmvari do not repost, translate, or plagiarize any of my works on any platform.

likes and reblogs are appreciated!